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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Five Tales, by John Galsworthy
+
+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: Five Tales
+
+Author: John Galsworthy
+
+Release Date: June 14, 2006 [EBook #2684]
+Last Updated: February 18, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIVE TALES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+FIVE TALES
+
+
+By John Galsworthy
+
+
+     “Life calls the tune, we dance.”
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS:
+
+THE FIRST AND LAST THE FIRST AND LAST
+
+A STOIC A STOIC
+
+THE APPLE TREE THE APPLE TREE
+
+THE JURYMAN THE JURYMAN
+
+INDIAN SUMMER OF A FORSYTE [Also posted as Etext #2594]
+
+   [In this 1919 edition of “Five Tales” the fifth tale was “Indian
+   Summer of a Forsyte;” in later collections, “Indian Summer...” became
+   the first section of the second volume of The Forsyte Saga]
+
+
+
+
+
+THE FIRST AND LAST
+
+     “So the last shall be first, and the first last.”--HOLY WRIT.
+
+
+It was a dark room at that hour of six in the evening, when just the
+single oil reading-lamp under its green shade let fall a dapple of
+light over the Turkey carpet; over the covers of books taken out of the
+bookshelves, and the open pages of the one selected; over the deep blue
+and gold of the coffee service on the little old stool with its Oriental
+embroidery. Very dark in the winter, with drawn curtains, many rows of
+leather-bound volumes, oak-panelled walls and ceiling. So large, too,
+that the lighted spot before the fire where he sat was just an oasis.
+But that was what Keith Darrant liked, after his day's work--the hard
+early morning study of his “cases,” the fret and strain of the day
+in court; it was his rest, these two hours before dinner, with books,
+coffee, a pipe, and sometimes a nap. In red Turkish slippers and his
+old brown velvet coat, he was well suited to that framing of glow and
+darkness. A painter would have seized avidly on his clear-cut, yellowish
+face, with its black eyebrows twisting up over eyes--grey or brown, one
+could hardly tell, and its dark grizzling hair still plentiful, in spite
+of those daily hours of wig. He seldom thought of his work while he
+sat there, throwing off with practised ease the strain of that long
+attention to the multiple threads of argument and evidence to be
+disentangled--work profoundly interesting, as a rule, to his clear
+intellect, trained to almost instinctive rejection of all but the
+essential, to selection of what was legally vital out of the mass
+of confused tactical and human detail presented to his scrutiny; yet
+sometimes tedious and wearing. As for instance to-day, when he had
+suspected his client of perjury, and was almost convinced that he must
+throw up his brief. He had disliked the weak-looking, white-faced fellow
+from the first, and his nervous, shifty answers, his prominent startled
+eyes--a type too common in these days of canting tolerations and weak
+humanitarianism; no good, no good!
+
+Of the three books he had taken down, a Volume of Voltaire--curious
+fascination that Frenchman had, for all his destructive irony!--a
+volume of Burton's travels, and Stevenson's “New Arabian Nights,” he
+had pitched upon the last. He felt, that evening, the want of something
+sedative, a desire to rest from thought of any kind. The court had
+been crowded, stuffy; the air, as he walked home, soft, sou'-westerly,
+charged with coming moisture, no quality of vigour in it; he felt
+relaxed, tired, even nervy, and for once the loneliness of his house
+seemed strange and comfortless.
+
+Lowering the lamp, he turned his face towards the fire. Perhaps he would
+get a sleep before that boring dinner at the Tellasson's. He wished it
+were vacation, and Maisie back from school. A widower for many years, he
+had lost the habit of a woman about him; yet to-night he had a positive
+yearning for the society of his young daughter, with her quick ways, and
+bright, dark eyes. Curious what perpetual need of a woman some men had!
+His brother Laurence--wasted--all through women--atrophy of willpower! A
+man on the edge of things; living from hand to mouth; his gifts all down
+at heel! One would have thought the Scottish strain might have saved
+him; and yet, when a Scotsman did begin to go downhill, who could
+go faster? Curious that their mother's blood should have worked so
+differently in her two sons. He himself had always felt he owed all his
+success to it.
+
+His thoughts went off at a tangent to a certain issue troubling
+his legal conscience. He had not wavered in the usual assumption of
+omniscience, but he was by no means sure that he had given right advice.
+Well! Without that power to decide and hold to decision in spite of
+misgiving, one would never have been fit for one's position at the Bar,
+never have been fit for anything. The longer he lived, the more certain
+he became of the prime necessity of virile and decisive action in all
+the affairs of life. A word and a blow--and the blow first! Doubts,
+hesitations, sentiment the muling and puking of this twilight age--!
+And there welled up on his handsome face a smile that was almost
+devilish--the tricks of firelight are so many! It faded again in sheer
+drowsiness; he slept....
+
+He woke with a start, having a feeling of something out beyond the
+light, and without turning his head said: “What's that?” There came a
+sound as if somebody had caught his breath. He turned up the lamp.
+
+“Who's there?”
+
+A voice over by the door answered:
+
+“Only I--Larry.”
+
+Something in the tone, or perhaps just being startled out of sleep like
+this, made him shiver. He said:
+
+“I was asleep. Come in!”
+
+It was noticeable that he did not get up, or even turn his head, now
+that he knew who it was, but waited, his half-closed eyes fixed on the
+fire, for his brother to come forward. A visit from Laurence was not an
+unmixed blessing. He could hear him breathing, and became conscious of
+a scent of whisky. Why could not the fellow at least abstain when he was
+coming here! It was so childish, so lacking in any sense of proportion
+or of decency! And he said sharply:
+
+“Well, Larry, what is it?”
+
+It was always something. He often wondered at the strength of that sense
+of trusteeship, which kept him still tolerant of the troubles, amenable
+to the petitions of this brother of his; or was it just “blood” feeling,
+a Highland sense of loyalty to kith and kin; an old-time quality which
+judgment and half his instincts told him was weakness but which, in
+spite of all, bound him to the distressful fellow? Was he drunk now,
+that he kept lurking out there by the door? And he said less sharply:
+
+“Why don't you come and sit down?”
+
+He was coming now, avoiding the light, skirting along the walls just
+beyond the radiance of the lamp, his feet and legs to the waist brightly
+lighted, but his face disintegrated in shadow, like the face of a dark
+ghost.
+
+“Are you ill, man?”
+
+Still no answer, save a shake of that head, and the passing up of a
+hand, out of the light, to the ghostly forehead under the dishevelled
+hair. The scent of whisky was stronger now; and Keith thought:
+
+'.e really is drunk. Nice thing for the new butler to see! If he can't
+behave--'
+
+The figure against the wall heaved a sigh--so truly from an overburdened
+heart that Keith was conscious with a certain dismay of not having yet
+fathomed the cause of this uncanny silence. He got up, and, back to the
+fire, said with a brutality born of nerves rather than design:
+
+“What is it, man? Have you committed a murder, that you stand there dumb
+as a fish?”
+
+For a second no answer at all, not even of breathing; then, just the
+whisper:
+
+“Yes.”
+
+The sense of unreality which so helps one at moments of disaster enabled
+Keith to say vigorously:
+
+“By Jove! You have been drinking!”
+
+But it passed at once into deadly apprehension.
+
+“What do you mean? Come here, where I can see you. What's the matter
+with you, Larry?”
+
+With a sudden lurch and dive, his brother left the shelter of the
+shadow, and sank into a chair in the circle of light. And another long,
+broken sigh escaped him.
+
+“There's nothing the matter with me, Keith! It's true!”
+
+Keith stepped quickly forward, and stared down into his brother's face;
+and instantly he saw that it was true. No one could have simulated the
+look in those eyes--of horrified wonder, as if they would never again
+get on terms with the face to which they belonged. To see them squeezed
+the heart-only real misery could look like that. Then that sudden pity
+became angry bewilderment.
+
+“What in God's name is this nonsense?”
+
+But it was significant that he lowered his voice; went over to the
+door, too, to see if it were shut. Laurence had drawn his chair forward,
+huddling over the fire--a thin figure, a worn, high-cheekboned face with
+deep-sunk blue eyes, and wavy hair all ruffled, a face that still had a
+certain beauty. Putting a hand on that lean shoulder, Keith said:
+
+“Come, Larry! Pull yourself together, and drop exaggeration.”
+
+“It's true; I tell you; I've killed a man.”
+
+The noisy violence of that outburst acted like a douche. What was the
+fellow about--shouting out such words! But suddenly Laurence lifted his
+hands and wrung them. The gesture was so utterly painful that it drew a
+quiver from Keith's face.
+
+“Why did you come here,” he said, “and tell me this?”
+
+Larry's face was really unearthly sometimes, such strange gleams passed
+up on to it!
+
+“Whom else should I tell? I came to know what I'm to do, Keith? Give
+myself up, or what?”
+
+At that sudden introduction of the practical Keith felt his heart
+twitch. Was it then as real as all that? But he said, very quietly:
+
+“Just tell me--How did it come about, this--affair?”
+
+That question linked the dark, gruesome, fantastic nightmare on to
+actuality.
+
+“When did it happen?”
+
+“Last night.”
+
+In Larry's face there was--there had always been--something childishly
+truthful. He would never stand a chance in court! And Keith said:
+
+“How? Where? You'd better tell me quietly from the beginning. Drink this
+coffee; it'll clear your head.”
+
+Laurence took the little blue cup and drained it.
+
+“Yes,” he said. “It's like this, Keith. There's a girl I've known for
+some months now--”
+
+Women! And Keith said between his teeth: “Well?”
+
+“Her father was a Pole who died over here when she was sixteen, and left
+her all alone. A man called Walenn, a mongrel American, living in the
+same house, married her, or pretended to--she's very pretty, Keith--he
+left her with a baby six months old, and another coming. That one died,
+and she did nearly. Then she starved till another fellow took her on.
+She lived with him two years; then Walenn turned up again, and made
+her go back to him. The brute used to beat her black and blue, all for
+nothing. Then he left her again. When I met her she'd lost her elder
+child, too, and was taking anybody who came along.”
+
+He suddenly looked up into Keith's face.
+
+“But I've never met a sweeter woman, nor a truer, that I swear. Woman!
+She's only twenty now! When I went to her last night, that brute--that
+Walenn--had found her out again; and when he came for me, swaggering and
+bullying--Look!”--he touched a dark mark on his forehead--“I took his
+throat in my hands, and when I let go--”
+
+“Yes?”
+
+“Dead. I never knew till afterwards that she was hanging on to him
+behind.”
+
+Again he made that gesture-wringing his hands.
+
+In a hard voice Keith said:
+
+“What did you do then?”
+
+“We sat by it a long time. Then I carried it on my back down the street,
+round a corner to an archway.”
+
+“How far?”
+
+“About fifty yards.”
+
+“Was anyone--did anyone see?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“What time?”
+
+“Three.”
+
+“And then?”
+
+“Went back to her.”
+
+“Why--in Heaven's name?”
+
+“She was lonely and afraid; so was I, Keith.”
+
+“Where is this place?”
+
+“Forty-two, Borrow Street, Soho.”
+
+“And the archway?”
+
+“Corner of Glove Lane.”
+
+“Good God! Why--I saw it in the paper!”
+
+And seizing the journal that lay on his bureau, Keith read again that
+paragraph: “The body of a man was found this morning under an archway in
+Glove Lane, Soho. From marks about the throat grave suspicions of foul
+play are entertained. The body had apparently been robbed, and nothing
+was discovered leading to identification.”
+
+It was real earnest, then. Murder! His own brother! He faced round and
+said:
+
+“You saw this in the paper, and dreamed it. Understand--you dreamed it!”
+
+The wistful answer came:
+
+“If only I had, Keith--if only I had!”
+
+In his turn, Keith very nearly wrung his hands.
+
+“Did you take anything from the--body?”
+
+“This dropped while we were struggling.”
+
+It was an empty envelope with a South American post-mark addressed:
+“Patrick Walenn, Simon's Hotel, Farrier Street, London.” Again with that
+twitching in his heart, Keith said:
+
+“Put it in the fire.”
+
+Then suddenly he stooped to pluck it out. By that command--he
+had--identified himself with this--this--But he did not pluck it out. It
+blackened, writhed, and vanished. And once more he said:
+
+“What in God's name made you come here and tell me?”
+
+“You know about these things. I didn't mean to kill him. I love the
+girl. What shall I do, Keith?
+
+“Simple! How simple! To ask what he was to do! It was like Larry! And he
+said:
+
+“You were not seen, you think?” “It's a dark street. There was no one
+about.”
+
+“When did you leave this girl the second time?”
+
+“About seven o'clock.”
+
+“Where did you go?”
+
+“To my rooms.”
+
+“In Fitzroy Street?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Did anyone see you come in?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“What have you done since?”
+
+“Sat there.”
+
+“Not been out?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Not seen the girl?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“You don't know, then, what she's done since?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Would she give you away?”
+
+“Never.”
+
+“Would she give herself away--hysteria?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Who knows of your relations with her?”
+
+“No one.”
+
+“No one?”
+
+“I don't know who should, Keith.”
+
+“Did anyone see you going in last night, when you first went to her?”
+
+“No. She lives on the ground floor. I've got keys.”
+
+“Give them to me. What else have you that connects you with her?”
+
+“Nothing.”
+
+“In your rooms?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“No photographs. No letters?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Be careful.”
+
+“Nothing.”
+
+“No one saw you going back to her the second time?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“No one saw you leave her in the morning?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“You were fortunate. Sit down again, man. I must think.”
+
+Think! Think out this accursed thing--so beyond all thought, and all
+belief. But he could not think. Not a coherent thought would come. And
+he began again:
+
+“Was it his first reappearance with her?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“She told you so?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“How did he find out where she was?”
+
+“I don't know.”
+
+“How drunk were you?”
+
+“I was not drunk.”
+
+“How much had you drunk?”
+
+“About two bottles of claret--nothing.”
+
+“You say you didn't mean to kill him?”
+
+“No-God knows!”
+
+“That's something.”
+
+“What made you choose the arch?”
+
+“It was the first dark place.”
+
+“Did his face look as if he had been strangled?”
+
+“Don't!”
+
+“Did it?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Very disfigured?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Did you look to see if his clothes were marked?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“Why not? My God! If you had done it!”
+
+“You say he was disfigured. Would he be recognisable?”
+
+“I don't know.”
+
+“When she lived with him last--where was that?”
+
+“I don't know for certain. Pimlico, I think.”
+
+“Not Soho?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“How long has she been at the Soho place?”
+
+“Nearly a year.”
+
+“Always the same rooms?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Is there anyone living in that house or street who would be likely to
+know her as his wife?”
+
+“I don't think so.”
+
+“What was he?”
+
+“I should think he was a professional 'bully.'.
+
+“I see. Spending most of his time abroad, then?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Do you know if he was known to the police?”
+
+“I haven't heard of it.”
+
+“Now, listen, Larry. When you leave here go straight home, and don't go
+out till I come to you, to-morrow morning. Promise that!”
+
+“I promise.”
+
+“I've got a dinner engagement. I'll think this out. Don't drink. Don't
+talk! Pull yourself together.”
+
+“Don't keep me longer than you can help, Keith!”
+
+That white face, those eyes, that shaking hand! With a twinge of pity
+in the midst of all the turbulence of his revolt, and fear, and disgust
+Keith put his hand on his brother's shoulder, and said:
+
+“Courage!”
+
+And suddenly he thought: 'My God! Courage! I shall want it all myself!'
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+Laurence Darrant, leaving his brother's house in the Adelphi, walked
+northwards, rapidly, slowly, rapidly again. For, if there are men who by
+force of will do one thing only at a time, there are men who from lack
+of will do now one thing, now another; with equal intensity. To
+such natures, to be gripped by the Nemesis which attends the lack of
+self-control is no reason for being more self-controlled. Rather does it
+foster their pet feeling: “What matter? To-morrow we die!” The effort
+of will required to go to Keith had relieved, exhausted and exasperated
+him. In accordance with those three feelings was the progress of his
+walk. He started from the door with the fixed resolve to go home and
+stay there quietly till Keith came. He was in Keith's hands, Keith would
+know what was to be done. But he had not gone three hundred yards before
+he felt so utterly weary, body and soul, that if he had but had a pistol
+in his pocket he would have shot himself in the street. Not even the
+thought of the girl--this young unfortunate with her strange devotion,
+who had kept him straight these last five months, who had roused in him
+a depth of feeling he had never known before--would have availed against
+that sudden black defection. Why go on--a waif at the mercy of his own
+nature, a straw blown here and there by every gust which rose in him?
+Why not have done with it for ever, and take it out in sleep?
+
+He was approaching the fatal street, where he and the girl, that early
+morning, had spent the hours clutched together, trying in the refuge of
+love to forget for a moment their horror and fear. Should he go in?
+He had promised Keith not to. Why had he promised? He caught sight of
+himself in a chemist's lighted window. Miserable, shadowy brute! And he
+remembered suddenly a dog he had picked up once in the streets of Pera,
+a black-and-white creature--different from the other dogs, not one of
+their breed, a pariah of pariahs, who had strayed there somehow. He had
+taken it home to the house where he was staying, contrary to all custom
+of the country; had got fond of it; had shot it himself, sooner than
+leave it behind again to the mercies of its own kind in the streets.
+Twelve years ago! And those sleevelinks made of little Turkish coins
+he had brought back for the girl at the hairdresser's in Chancery Lane
+where he used to get shaved--pretty creature, like a wild rose. He had
+asked of her a kiss for payment. What queer emotion when she put her
+face forward to his lips--a sort of passionate tenderness and shame,
+at the softness and warmth of that flushed cheek, at her beauty and
+trustful gratitude. She would soon have given herself to him--that one!
+He had never gone there again! And to this day he did not know why he
+had abstained; to this day he did not know whether he were glad or sorry
+not to have plucked that rose. He must surely have been very different
+then! Queer business, life--queer, queer business!--to go through it
+never knowing what you would do next. Ah! to be like Keith, steady,
+buttoned-up in success; a brass pot, a pillar of society! Once, as a
+boy, he had been within an ace of killing Keith, for sneering at
+him. Once in Southern Italy he had been near killing a driver who was
+flogging his horse. And now, that dark-faced, swinish bully who had
+ruined the girl he had grown to love--he had done it! Killed him! Killed
+a man!
+
+He who did not want to hurt a fly. The chemist's window comforted him
+with the sudden thought that he had at home that which made him safe, in
+case they should arrest him. He would never again go out without some
+of those little white tablets sewn into the lining of his coat. Restful,
+even exhilarating thought! They said a man should not take his own life.
+Let them taste horror--those glib citizens! Let them live as that girl
+had lived, as millions lived all the world over, under their canting
+dogmas! A man might rather even take his life than watch their cursed
+inhumanities.
+
+He went into the chemist's for a bromide; and, while the man was
+mixing it, stood resting one foot like a tired horse. The “life” he had
+squeezed out of that fellow! After all, a billion living creatures gave
+up life each day, had it squeezed out of them, mostly. And perhaps
+not one a day deserved death so much as that loathly fellow. Life! a
+breath--aflame! Nothing! Why, then, this icy clutching at his heart?
+
+The chemist brought the draught.
+
+“Not sleeping, sir?”
+
+“No.”
+
+The man's eyes seemed to say: 'Yes! Burning the candle at both ends--I
+know!' Odd life, a chemist's; pills and powders all day long, to hold
+the machinery of men together! Devilish odd trade!
+
+In going out he caught the reflection of his face in a mirror; it seemed
+too good altogether for a man who had committed murder. There was a
+sort of brightness underneath, an amiability lurking about its shadows;
+how--how could it be the face of a man who had done what he had done?
+His head felt lighter now, his feet lighter; he walked rapidly again.
+
+Curious feeling of relief and oppression all at once! Frightful--to long
+for company, for talk, for distraction; and--to be afraid of it! The
+girl--the girl and Keith were now the only persons who would not give
+him that feeling of dread. And, of those two--Keith was not...! Who
+could consort with one who was never wrong, a successful, righteous
+fellow; a chap built so that he knew nothing about himself, wanted to
+know nothing, a chap all solid actions? To be a quicksand swallowing
+up one's own resolutions was bad enough! But to be like Keith--all
+willpower, marching along, treading down his own feelings and
+weaknesses! No! One could not make a comrade of a man like Keith, even
+if he were one's brother? The only creature in all the world was the
+girl. She alone knew and felt what he was feeling; would put up with him
+and love him whatever he did, or was done to him. He stopped and took
+shelter in a doorway, to light a cigarette. He had suddenly a fearful
+wish to pass the archway where he had placed the body; a fearful wish
+that had no sense, no end in view, no anything; just an insensate
+craving to see the dark place again. He crossed Borrow Street to the
+little lane. There was only one person visible, a man on the far side
+with his shoulders hunched against the wind; a short, dark figure which
+crossed and came towards him in the flickering lamplight. What a face!
+Yellow, ravaged, clothed almost to the eyes in a stubbly greyish growth
+of beard, with blackish teeth, and haunting bloodshot eyes. And what
+a figure of rags--one shoulder higher than the other, one leg a
+little lame, and thin! A surge of feeling came up in Laurence for this
+creature, more unfortunate than himself. There were lower depths than
+his!
+
+“Well, brother,” he said, “you don't look too prosperous!”
+
+The smile which gleamed out on the man's face seemed as unlikely as a
+smile on a scarecrow.
+
+“Prosperity doesn't come my way,” he said in a rusty voice. “I'm a
+failure--always been a failure. And yet you wouldn't think it, would
+you?--I was a minister of religion once.”
+
+Laurence held out a shilling. But the man shook his head.
+
+“Keep your money,” he said. “I've got more than you to-day, I daresay.
+But thank you for taking a little interest. That's worth more than money
+to a man that's down.”
+
+“You're right.”
+
+“Yes,” the rusty voice went on; “I'd as soon die as go on living as
+I do. And now I've lost my self-respect. Often wondered how long a
+starving man could go without losing his self-respect. Not so very long.
+You take my word for that.” And without the slightest change in the
+monotony of that creaking voice he added:
+
+“Did you read of the murder? Just here. I've been looking at the place.”
+
+The words: 'So have I!' leaped up to Laurence's lips; he choked them
+down with a sort of terror.
+
+“I wish you better luck,” he said. “Goodnight!” and hurried away. A sort
+of ghastly laughter was forcing its way up in his throat. Was everyone
+talking of the murder he had committed? Even the very scarecrows?
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+There are some natures so constituted that, due to be hung at ten
+o'clock, they will play chess at eight. Such men invariably rise.
+They make especially good bishops, editors, judges, impresarios, Prime
+ministers, money-lenders, and generals; in fact, fill with exceptional
+credit any position of power over their fellow-men. They have spiritual
+cold storage, in which are preserved their nervous systems. In such men
+there is little or none of that fluid sense and continuity of feeling
+known under those vague terms, speculation, poetry, philosophy. Men
+of facts and of decision switching imagination on and off at will,
+subordinating sentiment to reason... one does not think of them when
+watching wind ripple over cornfields, or swallows flying.
+
+Keith Darrant had need for being of that breed during his dinner at
+the Tellassons. It was just eleven when he issued from the big house in
+Portland Place and refrained from taking a cab. He wanted to walk that
+he might better think. What crude and wanton irony there was in his
+situation! To have been made father-confessor to a murderer, he--well
+on towards a judgeship! With his contempt for the kind of weakness which
+landed men in such abysses, he felt it all so sordid, so “impossible,”
+ that he could hardly bring his mind to bear on it at all. And yet
+he must, because of two powerful instincts--self-preservation and
+blood-loyalty.
+
+The wind had still the sapping softness of the afternoon, but rain had
+held off so far. It was warm, and he unbuttoned his fur overcoat. The
+nature of his thoughts deepened the dark austerity of his face, whose
+thin, well-cut lips were always pressing together, as if, by meeting,
+to dispose of each thought as it came up. He moved along the crowded
+pavements glumly. That air of festive conspiracy which drops with the
+darkness on to lighted streets, galled him. He turned off on a darker
+route.
+
+This ghastly business! Convinced of its reality, he yet could not see
+it. The thing existed in his mind, not as a picture, but as a piece of
+irrefutable evidence. Larry had not meant to do it, of course. But it
+was murder, all the same. Men like Larry--weak, impulsive, sentimental,
+introspective creatures--did they ever mean what they did? This man,
+this Walenn, was, by all accounts, better dead than alive; no need to
+waste a thought on him! But, crime--the ugliness--Justice unsatisfied!
+Crime concealed--and his own share in the concealment! And yet--brother
+to brother! Surely no one could demand action from him! It was only a
+question of what he was going to advise Larry to do. To keep silent, and
+disappear? Had that a chance of success? Perhaps if the answers to
+his questions had been correct. But this girl! Suppose the dead man's
+relationship to her were ferreted out, could she be relied on not
+to endanger Larry? These women were all the same, unstable as water,
+emotional, shiftless pests of society. Then, too, a crime untracked,
+dogging all his brother's after life; a secret following him wherever he
+might vanish to; hanging over him, watching for some drunken moment, to
+slip out of his lips. It was bad to think of. A clean breast of it?
+But his heart twitched within him. “Brother of Mr. Keith Darrant, the
+well-known King's Counsel”--visiting a woman of the town, strangling
+with his bare hands the woman's husband! No intention to murder,
+but--a dead man! A dead man carried out of the house, laid under a dark
+archway! Provocation! Recommended to mercy--penal servitude for life!
+Was that the advice he was going to give Larry to-morrow morning?
+
+And he had a sudden vision of shaven men with clay-coloured features,
+run, as it were, to seed, as he had seen them once in Pentonville, when
+he had gone there to visit a prisoner. Larry! Whom, as a baby creature,
+he had watched straddling; whom, as a little fellow, he had fagged; whom
+he had seen through scrapes at college; to whom he had lent money time
+and again, and time and again admonished in his courses. Larry! Five
+years younger than himself; and committed to his charge by their mother
+when she died. To become for life one of those men with faces like
+diseased plants; with no hair but a bushy stubble; with arrows marked on
+their yellow clothes! Larry! One of those men herded like sheep; at the
+beck and call of common men! A gentleman, his own brother, to live that
+slave's life, to be ordered here and there, year after year, day in,
+day out. Something snapped within him. He could not give that advice.
+Impossible! But if not, he must make sure of his ground, must verify,
+must know. This Glove Lane--this arch way? It would not be far from
+where he was that very moment. He looked for someone of whom to make
+enquiry. A policeman was standing at the corner, his stolid face
+illumined by a lamp; capable and watchful--an excellent officer, no
+doubt; but, turning his head away, Keith passed him without a word.
+Strange to feel that cold, uneasy feeling in presence of the law! A grim
+little driving home of what it all meant! Then, suddenly, he saw that
+the turning to his left was Borrow Street itself. He walked up one side,
+crossed over, and returned. He passed Number Forty-two, a small house
+with business names printed on the lifeless windows of the first and
+second floors; with dark curtained windows on the ground floor, or was
+there just a slink of light in one corner? Which way had Larry turned?
+Which way under that grisly burden? Fifty paces of this squalid
+street-narrow, and dark, and empty, thank heaven! Glove Lane! Here it
+was! A tiny runlet of a street. And here--! He had run right on to the
+arch, a brick bridge connecting two portions of a warehouse, and dark
+indeed.
+
+“That's right, gov'nor! That's the place!” He needed all his
+self-control to turn leisurely to the speaker. “'Ere's where they found
+the body--very spot leanin' up 'ere. They ain't got 'im yet. Lytest--me
+lord!”
+
+It was a ragged boy holding out a tattered yellowish journal. His lynx
+eyes peered up from under lanky wisps of hair, and his voice had the
+proprietary note of one making “a corner” in his news. Keith took the
+paper and gave him twopence. He even found a sort of comfort in the
+young ghoul's hanging about there; it meant that others besides himself
+had come morbidly to look. By the dim lamplight he read: “Glove Lane
+garrotting mystery. Nothing has yet been discovered of the murdered
+man's identity; from the cut of his clothes he is supposed to be
+a foreigner.” The boy had vanished, and Keith saw the figure of a
+policeman coming slowly down this gutter of a street. A second's
+hesitation, and he stood firm. Nothing obviously could have brought him
+here save this “mystery,” and he stayed quietly staring at the arch. The
+policeman moved up abreast. Keith saw that he was the one whom he had
+passed just now. He noted the cold offensive question die out of the
+man's eyes when they caught the gleam of white shirt-front under the
+opened fur collar. And holding up the paper, he said:
+
+“Is this where the man was found?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Still a mystery, I see?”
+
+“Well, we can't always go by the papers. But I don't fancy they do know
+much about it, yet.”
+
+“Dark spot. Do fellows sleep under here?”
+
+The policeman nodded. “There's not an arch in London where we don't get
+'.m sometimes.”
+
+“Nothing found on him--I think I read?”
+
+“Not a copper. Pockets inside out. There's some funny characters about
+this quarter. Greeks, Hitalians--all sorts.”
+
+Queer sensation this, of being glad of a policeman's confidential tone!
+
+“Well, good-night!”
+
+“Good-night, sir. Good-night!”
+
+He looked back from Borrow Street. The policeman was still standing
+there holding up his lantern, so that its light fell into the archway,
+as if trying to read its secret.
+
+Now that he had seen this dark, deserted spot, the chances seemed to him
+much better. “Pockets inside out!” Either Larry had had presence of mind
+to do a very clever thing, or someone had been at the body before the
+police found it. That was the more likely. A dead backwater of a place.
+At three o'clock--loneliest of all hours--Larry's five minutes' grim
+excursion to and fro might well have passed unseen! Now, it all depended
+on the girl; on whether Laurence had been seen coming to her or going
+away; on whether, if the man's relationship to her were discovered, she
+could be relied on to say nothing. There was not a soul in Borrow Street
+now; hardly even a lighted window; and he took one of those rather
+desperate decisions only possible to men daily accustomed to the instant
+taking of responsibility. He would go to her, and see for himself. He
+came to the door of Forty-two, obviously one of those which are only
+shut at night, and tried the larger key. It fitted, and he was in a
+gas-lighted passage, with an oil-clothed floor, and a single door to his
+left. He stood there undecided. She must be made to understand that he
+knew everything. She must not be told more than that he was a friend of
+Larry's. She must not be frightened, yet must be forced to give her very
+soul away. A hostile witness--not to be treated as hostile--a matter for
+delicate handling! But his knock was not answered.
+
+Should he give up this nerve-racking, bizarre effort to come at a basis
+of judgment; go away, and just tell Laurence that he could not advise
+him? And then--what? Something must be done. He knocked again. Still no
+answer. And with that impatience of being thwarted, natural to him, and
+fostered to the full by the conditions of his life, he tried the other
+key. It worked, and he opened the door. Inside all was dark, but a
+voice from some way off, with a sort of breathless relief in its foreign
+tones, said:
+
+“Oh! then it's you, Larry! Why did you knock? I was so frightened. Turn
+up the light, dear. Come in!”
+
+Feeling by the door for a switch in the pitch blackness he was conscious
+of arms round his neck, a warm thinly clad body pressed to his own; then
+withdrawn as quickly, with a gasp, and the most awful terror-stricken
+whisper:
+
+“Oh! Who is it?”
+
+With a glacial shiver down his own spine, Keith answered
+
+“A friend of Laurence. Don't be frightened!”
+
+There was such silence that he could hear a clock ticking, and the sound
+of his own hand passing over the surface of the wall, trying to find the
+switch. He found it, and in the light which leaped up he saw, stiffened
+against a dark curtain evidently screening off a bedroom, a girl
+standing, holding a long black coat together at her throat, so that
+her face with its pale brown hair, short and square-cut and curling up
+underneath, had an uncanny look of being detached from any body. Her
+face was so alabaster pale that the staring, startled eyes, dark blue or
+brown, and the faint rose of the parted lips, were like colour stainings
+on a white mask; and it had a strange delicacy, truth, and pathos, such
+as only suffering brings. Though not susceptible to aesthetic emotion,
+Keith was curiously affected. He said gently:
+
+“You needn't be afraid. I haven't come to do you harm--quite the
+contrary. May I sit down and talk?” And, holding up the keys, he added:
+“Laurence wouldn't have given me these, would he, if he hadn't trusted
+me?”
+
+Still she did not move, and he had the impression that he was looking at
+a spirit--a spirit startled out of its flesh. Nor at the moment did it
+seem in the least strange that he should conceive such an odd thought.
+He stared round the room--clean and tawdry, with its tarnished gilt
+mirror, marble-topped side-table, and plush-covered sofa. Twenty years
+and more since he had been in such a place. And he said:
+
+“Won't you sit down? I'm sorry to have startled you.”
+
+But still she did not move, whispering:
+
+“Who are you, please?”
+
+And, moved suddenly beyond the realm of caution by the terror in that
+whisper, he answered:
+
+“Larry's brother.”
+
+She uttered a little sigh of relief which went to Keith's heart, and,
+still holding the dark coat together at her throat, came forward and sat
+down on the sofa. He could see that her feet, thrust into slippers, were
+bare; with her short hair, and those candid startled eyes, she looked
+like a tall child. He drew up a chair and said:
+
+“You must forgive me coming at such an hour; he's told me, you see.” He
+expected her to flinch and gasp; but she only clasped her hands together
+on her knees, and said:
+
+“Yes?”
+
+Then horror and discomfort rose up in him, afresh.
+
+“An awful business!”
+
+Her whisper echoed him:
+
+“Yes, oh! yes! Awful--it is awful!”
+
+And suddenly realising that the man must have fallen dead just where he
+was sitting, Keith became stock silent, staring at the floor.
+
+“Yes,” she whispered; “Just there. I see him now always falling!”
+
+How she said that! With what a strange gentle despair! In this girl of
+evil life, who had brought on them this tragedy, what was it which moved
+him to a sort of unwilling compassion?
+
+“You look very young,” he said.
+
+“I am twenty.”
+
+“And you are fond of--my brother?”
+
+“I would die for him.”
+
+Impossible to mistake the tone of her voice, or the look in her eyes,
+true deep Slav eyes; dark brown, not blue as he had thought at first.
+It was a very pretty face--either her life had not eaten into it yet,
+or the suffering of these last hours had purged away those marks;
+or perhaps this devotion of hers to Larry. He felt strangely at sea,
+sitting there with this child of twenty; he, over forty, a man of the
+world, professionally used to every side of human nature. But he said,
+stammering a little:
+
+“I--I have come to see how far you can save him. Listen, and just answer
+the questions I put to you.”
+
+She raised her hands, squeezed them together, and murmured:
+
+“Oh! I will answer anything.”
+
+“This man, then--your--your husband--was he a bad man?”
+
+“A dreadful man.”
+
+“Before he came here last night, how long since you saw him?”
+
+“Eighteen months.”
+
+“Where did you live when you saw him last?”
+
+“In Pimlico.”
+
+“Does anybody about here know you as Mrs. Walenn?”
+
+“No. When I came here, after my little girl died, I came to live a bad
+life. Nobody knows me at all. I am quite alone.”
+
+“If they discover who he was, they will look for his wife?”
+
+“I do not know. He did not let people think I was married to him. I was
+very young; he treated many, I think, like me.”
+
+“Do you think he was known to the police?”
+
+She shook her head. “He was very clever.”
+
+“What is your name now?”
+
+“Wanda Livinska.”
+
+“Were you known by that name before you were married?”
+
+“Wanda is my Christian name. Livinska--I just call myself.”
+
+“I see; since you came here.”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Did my brother ever see this man before last night?”
+
+“Never.”
+
+“You had told him about his treatment of you?”
+
+“Yes. And that man first went for him.”
+
+“I saw the mark. Do you think anyone saw my brother come to you?”
+
+“I do not know. He says not.”
+
+“Can you tell if anyone saw him carrying the--the thing away?”
+
+“No one in this street--I was looking.”
+
+“Nor coming back?”
+
+“No one.”
+
+“Nor going out in the morning?”
+
+“I do not think it.”
+
+“Have you a servant?”
+
+“Only a woman who comes at nine in the morning for an hour.”
+
+“Does she know Larry?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Friends, acquaintances?”
+
+“No; I am very quiet. And since I knew your brother, I see no one.
+Nobody comes here but him for a long time now.”
+
+“How long?”
+
+“Five months.”
+
+“Have you been out to-day?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“What have you been doing?”
+
+“Crying.”
+
+It was said with a certain dreadful simplicity, and pressing her hands
+together, she went on:
+
+“He is in danger, because of me. I am so afraid for him.” Holding up his
+hand to check that emotion, he said:
+
+“Look at me!”
+
+She fixed those dark eyes on him, and in her bare throat, from which the
+coat had fallen back, he could see her resolutely swallowing down her
+agitation.
+
+“If the worst comes to the worst, and this man is traced to you, can you
+trust yourself not to give my brother away?”
+
+Her eyes shone. She got up and went to the fireplace:
+
+“Look! I have burned all the things he has given me--even his picture.
+Now I have nothing from him.”
+
+Keith, too, got up.
+
+“Good! One more question: Do the police know you, because--because of
+your life?”
+
+She shook her head, looking at him intently, with those mournfully true
+eyes. And he felt a sort of shame.
+
+“I was obliged to ask. Do you know where he lives?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“You must not go there. And he must not come to you, here.”
+
+Her lips quivered; but she bowed her head. Suddenly he found her quite
+close to him, speaking almost in a whisper:
+
+“Please do not take him from me altogether. I will be so careful. I will
+not do anything to hurt him; but if I cannot see him sometimes, I shall
+die. Please do not take him from me.” And catching his hand between her
+own, she pressed it desperately. It was several seconds before Keith
+said:
+
+“Leave that to me. I will see him. I shall arrange. You must leave that
+to me.”
+
+“But you will be kind?”
+
+He felt her lips kissing his hand. And the soft moist touch sent a queer
+feeling through him, protective, yet just a little brutal, having in it
+a shiver of sensuality. He withdrew his hand. And as if warned that she
+had been too pressing, she recoiled humbly. But suddenly she turned,
+and stood absolutely rigid; then almost inaudibly whispered: “Listen!
+Someone out--out there!” And darting past him she turned out the light.
+
+Almost at once came a knock on the door. He could feel--actually feel
+the terror of this girl beside him in the dark. And he, too, felt
+terror. Who could it be? No one came but Larry, she had said. Who else
+then could it be? Again came the knock, louder! He felt the breath of
+her whisper on his cheek: “If it is Larry! I must open.” He shrank back
+against the wall; heard her open the door and say faintly: “Yes. Please!
+Who?”
+
+Light painted a thin moving line on the wall opposite, and a voice which
+Keith recognised answered:
+
+“All right, miss. Your outer door's open here. You ought to keep it shut
+after dark.”
+
+God! That policeman! And it had been his own doing, not shutting the
+outer door behind him when he came in. He heard her say timidly in her
+foreign voice: “Thank you, sir!” the policeman's retreating steps, the
+outer door being shut, and felt her close to him again. That something
+in her youth and strange prettiness which had touched and kept him
+gentle, no longer blunted the edge of his exasperation, now that he
+could not see her. They were all the same, these women; could not speak
+the truth! And he said brusquely:
+
+“You told me they didn't know you!”
+
+Her voice answered like a sigh:
+
+“I did not think they did, sir. It is so long I was not out in the town,
+not since I had Larry.”
+
+The repulsion which all the time seethed deep in Keith welled up at
+those words. His brother--son of his mother, a gentleman--the property
+of this girl, bound to her, body and soul, by this unspeakable event!
+But she had turned up the light. Had she some intuition that darkness
+was against her? Yes, she was pretty with that soft face, colourless
+save for its lips and dark eyes, with that face somehow so touchingly,
+so unaccountably good, and like a child's.
+
+“I am going now,” he said. “Remember! He mustn't come here; you mustn't
+go to him. I shall see him to-morrow. If you are as fond of him as you
+say--take care, take care!”
+
+She sighed out, “Yes! oh, yes!” and Keith went to the door. She was
+standing with her back to the wall, and to follow him she only moved her
+head--that dove-like face with all its life in eyes which seemed saying:
+'.ook into us; nothing we hide; all--all is there!'
+
+And he went out.
+
+In the passage he paused before opening the outer door. He did not want
+to meet that policeman again; the fellow's round should have taken him
+well out of the street by now, and turning the handle cautiously, he
+looked out. No one in sight. He stood a moment, wondering if he should
+turn to right or left, then briskly crossed the street. A voice to his
+right hand said:
+
+“Good-night, sir.”
+
+There in the shadow of a doorway the policeman was standing. The fellow
+must have seen him coming out! Utterly unable to restrain a start, and
+muttering “Goodnight!” Keith walked on rapidly:
+
+He went full quarter of a mile before he lost that startled and uneasy
+feeling in sardonic exasperation that he, Keith Darrant, had been taken
+for a frequenter of a lady of the town. The whole thing--the whole
+thing!--a vile and disgusting business! His very mind felt dirty and
+breathless; his spirit, drawn out of sheath, had slowly to slide
+back before he could at all focus and readjust his reasoning faculty.
+Certainly, he had got the knowledge he wanted. There was less danger
+than he thought. That girl's eyes! No mistaking her devotion. She would
+not give Larry away. Yes! Larry must clear out--South America--the
+East--it did not matter. But he felt no relief. The cheap, tawdry room
+had wrapped itself round his fancy with its atmosphere of murky love,
+with the feeling it inspired, of emotion caged within those yellowish
+walls and the red stuff of its furniture. That girl's face! Devotion;
+truth, too, and beauty, rare and moving, in its setting of darkness and
+horror, in that nest of vice and of disorder!... The dark archway; the
+street arab, with his gleeful: “They 'ain't got 'im yet!”; the feel of
+those bare arms round his neck; that whisper of horror in the darkness;
+above all, again, her child face looking into his, so truthful! And
+suddenly he stood quite still in the street. What in God's name was he
+about? What grotesque juggling amongst shadows, what strange and ghastly
+eccentricity was all this? The forces of order and routine, all the
+actualities of his daily life, marched on him at that moment, and swept
+everything before them. It was a dream, a nightmare not real! It was
+ridiculous! That he--he should thus be bound up with things so black and
+bizarre!
+
+He had come by now to the Strand, that street down which every day he
+moved to the Law Courts, to his daily work; his work so dignified and
+regular, so irreproachable, and solid. No! The thing was all a monstrous
+nightmare! It would go, if he fixed his mind on the familiar objects
+around, read the names on the shops, looked at the faces passing. Far
+down the thoroughfare he caught the outline of the old church, and
+beyond, the loom of the Law Courts themselves. The bell of a fire-engine
+sounded, and the horses came galloping by, with the shining metal,
+rattle of hoofs and hoarse shouting. Here was a sensation, real and
+harmless, dignified and customary! A woman flaunting round the corner
+looked up at him, and leered out: “Good-night!” Even that was customary,
+tolerable. Two policemen passed, supporting between them a man the worse
+for liquor, full of fight and expletives; the sight was soothing, an
+ordinary thing which brought passing annoyance, interest, disgust.
+It had begun to rain; he felt it on his face with pleasure--an actual
+thing, not eccentric, a thing which happened every day!
+
+He began to cross the street. Cabs were going at furious speed now
+that the last omnibus had ceased to run; it distracted him to take this
+actual, ordinary risk run so often every day. During that crossing of
+the Strand, with the rain in his face and the cabs shooting past, he
+regained for the first time his assurance, shook off this unreal sense
+of being in the grip of something, and walked resolutely to the corner
+of his home turning. But passing into that darker stretch, he again
+stood still. A policeman had also turned into that street on the other
+side. Not--surely not! Absurd! They were all alike to look at--those
+fellows! Absurd! He walked on sharply, and let himself into his house.
+But on his way upstairs he could not for the life of him help raising a
+corner of a curtain and looking from the staircase window. The policeman
+was marching solemnly, about twenty-five yards away, paying apparently
+no attention to anything whatever.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+Keith woke at five o'clock, his usual hour, without remembrance. But
+the grisly shadow started up when he entered his study, where the lamp
+burned, and the fire shone, and the coffee was set ready, just as when
+yesterday afternoon Larry had stood out there against the wall. For a
+moment he fought against realisation; then, drinking off his coffee, sat
+down sullenly at the bureau to his customary three hours' study of the
+day's cases.
+
+Not one word of his brief could he take in. It was all jumbled with
+murky images and apprehensions, and for full half an hour he suffered
+mental paralysis. Then the sheer necessity of knowing something of the
+case which he had to open at half-past ten that morning forced him to a
+concentration which never quite subdued the malaise at the bottom of his
+heart. Nevertheless, when he rose at half-past eight and went into
+the bathroom, he had earned his grim satisfaction in this victory of
+will-power. By half-past nine he must be at Larry's. A boat left London
+for the Argentine to-morrow. If Larry was to get away at once, money
+must be arranged for. And then at breakfast he came on this paragraph in
+the paper:
+
+           “SOHO MURDER.
+
+“Enquiry late last night established the fact that the Police have
+discovered the identity of the man found strangled yesterday morning
+under an archway in Glove Lane. An arrest has been made.”
+
+By good fortune he had finished eating, for the words made him feel
+physically sick. At this very minute Larry might be locked up, waiting
+to be charged-might even have been arrested before his own visit to the
+girl last night. If Larry were arrested, she must be implicated. What,
+then, would be his own position? Idiot to go and look at that archway,
+to go and see the girl! Had that policeman really followed him home?
+Accessory after the fact! Keith Darrant, King's Counsel, man of mark! He
+forced himself by an effort, which had something of the heroic, to drop
+this panicky feeling. Panic never did good. He must face it, and see. He
+refused even to hurry, calmly collected the papers wanted for the day,
+and attended to a letter or two, before he set out in a taxi-cab to
+Fitzroy Street.
+
+Waiting outside there in the grey morning for his ring to be answered,
+he looked the very picture of a man who knew his mind, a man of
+resolution. But it needed all his will-power to ask without tremor: “Mr.
+Darrant in?” to hear without sign of any kind the answer: “He's not up
+yet, sir.”
+
+“Never mind; I'll go in and see him. Mr. Keith Darrant.”
+
+On his way to Laurence's bedroom, in the midst of utter relief, he had
+the self-possession to think: 'This arrest is the best thing that could
+have happened. It'll keep their noses on a wrong scent till Larry's got
+away. The girl must be sent off too, but not with him.' Panic had ended
+in quite hardening his resolution. He entered the bedroom with a feeling
+of disgust. The fellow was lying there, his bare arms crossed behind his
+tousled head, staring at the ceiling, and smoking one of many cigarettes
+whose ends littered a chair beside him, whose sickly reek tainted the
+air. That pale face, with its jutting cheek-bones and chin, its hollow
+cheeks and blue eyes far sunk back--what a wreck of goodness!
+
+He looked up at Keith through the haze of smoke and said quietly: “Well,
+brother, what's the sentence? 'Transportation for life, and then to be
+fined forty pounds?'.
+
+The flippancy revolted Keith. It was Larry all over! Last night
+horrified and humble, this morning, “Don't care” and feather-headed. He
+said sourly:
+
+“Oh! You can joke about it now?”
+
+Laurence turned his face to the wall.
+
+“Must.”
+
+Fatalism! How detestable were natures like that!
+
+“I've been to see her,” he said.
+
+“You?”
+
+“Last night. She can be trusted.”
+
+Laurence laughed.
+
+“That I told you.”
+
+“I had to see for myself. You must clear out at once, Larry. She can
+come out to you by the next boat; but you can't go together. Have you
+any money?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“I can foot your expenses, and lend you a year's income in advance. But
+it must be a clean cut; after you get out there your whereabouts must
+only be known to me.”
+
+A long sigh answered him.
+
+“You're very good to me, Keith; you've always been very good. I don't
+know why.”
+
+Keith answered drily
+
+“Nor I. There's a boat to the Argentine tomorrow. You're in luck;
+they've made an arrest. It's in the paper.”
+
+“What?”
+
+The cigarette end dropped, the thin pyjama'd figure writhed up and stood
+clutching at the bedrail.
+
+“What?”
+
+The disturbing thought flitted through Keith's brain: 'I was a fool. He
+takes it queerly; what now?'
+
+Laurence passed his hand over his forehead, and sat down on the bed.
+
+“I hadn't thought of that,” he said; “It does me!”
+
+Keith stared. In his relief that the arrested man was not Laurence, this
+had not occurred to him. What folly!
+
+“Why?” he said quickly; “an innocent man's in no danger. They always
+get the wrong man first. It's a piece of luck, that's all. It gives us
+time.”
+
+How often had he not seen that expression on Larry's face, wistful,
+questioning, as if trying to see the thing with his--Keith's-eyes,
+trying to submit to better judgment? And he said, almost gently--
+
+“Now, look here, Larry; this is too serious to trifle with. Don't worry
+about that. Leave it to me. Just get ready to be off'. I'll take your
+berth and make arrangements. Here's some money for kit. I can come round
+between five and six, and let you know. Pull yourself together, man.
+As soon as the girl's joined you out there, you'd better get across to
+Chile, the further the better. You must simply lose yourself: I must
+go now, if I'm to get to the Bank before I go down to the courts.” And
+looking very steadily at his brother, he added:
+
+“Come! You've got to think of me in this matter as well as of yourself.
+No playing fast and loose with the arrangements. Understand?”
+
+But still Larry gazed up at him with that wistful questioning, and not
+till he had repeated, “Understand?” did he receive “Yes” for answer.
+
+Driving away, he thought: 'Queer fellow! I don't know him, shall
+never know him!' and at once began to concentrate on the practical
+arrangements. At his bank he drew out L400; but waiting for the notes
+to be counted he suffered qualms. A clumsy way of doing things! If
+there had been more time! The thought: 'Accessory after the fact!' now
+infected everything. Notes were traceable. No other way of getting him
+away at once, though. One must take lesser risks to avoid greater. From
+the bank he drove to the office of the steamship line. He had told
+Larry he would book his passage. But that would not do! He must only ask
+anonymously if there were accommodation. Having discovered that there
+were vacant berths, he drove on to the Law Courts. If he could have
+taken a morning off, he would have gone down to the police court and
+seen them charge this man. But even that was not too safe, with a face
+so well known as his. What would come of this arrest? Nothing, surely!
+The police always took somebody up, to keep the public quiet. Then,
+suddenly, he had again the feeling that it was all a nightmare; Larry
+had never done it; the police had got the right man! But instantly the
+memory of the girl's awe-stricken face, her figure huddling on the sofa,
+her words “I see him always falling!” came back. God! What a business!
+
+He felt he had never been more clear-headed and forcible than that
+morning in court. When he came out for lunch he bought the most
+sensational of the evening papers. But it was yet too early for news,
+and he had to go back into court no whit wiser concerning the arrest.
+When at last he threw off wig and gown, and had got through a conference
+and other necessary work, he went out to Chancery Lane, buying a paper
+on the way. Then he hailed a cab, and drove once more to Fitzroy Street.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+Laurence had remained sitting on his bed for many minutes. An innocent
+man in no danger! Keith had said it--the celebrated lawyer! Could
+he rely on that? Go out 8,000 miles, he and the girl, and leave a
+fellow-creature perhaps in mortal peril for an act committed by himself?
+
+In the past night he had touched bottom, as he thought: become ready to
+face anything. When Keith came in he would without murmur have accepted
+the advice: “Give yourself up!” He was prepared to pitch away the end of
+his life as he pitched from him the fag-ends of his cigarettes. And the
+long sigh he had heaved, hearing of reprieve, had been only half relief.
+Then, with incredible swiftness there had rushed through him a feeling
+of unutterable joy and hope. Clean away--into a new country, a new life!
+The girl and he! Out there he wouldn't care, would rejoice even to have
+squashed the life out of such a noisome beetle of a man. Out there!
+Under a new sun, where blood ran quicker than in this foggy land, and
+people took justice into their own hands. For it had been justice on
+that brute even though he had not meant to kill him. And then to hear of
+this arrest! They would be charging the man to-day. He could go and see
+the poor creature accused of the murder he himself had committed! And he
+laughed. Go and see how likely it was that they might hang a fellow-man
+in place of himself? He dressed, but too shaky to shave himself, went
+out to a barber's shop. While there he read the news which Keith had
+seen. In this paper the name of the arrested man was given: “John Evan,
+no address.” To be brought up on the charge at Bow Street. Yes! He must
+go. Once, twice, three times he walked past the entrance of the court
+before at last he entered and screwed himself away among the tag and
+bobtail.
+
+The court was crowded; and from the murmurs round he could tell that it
+was his particular case which had brought so many there. In a dazed way
+he watched charge after charge disposed of with lightning quickness. But
+were they never going to reach his business? And then suddenly he saw
+the little scarecrow man of last night advancing to the dock between
+two policemen, more ragged and miserable than ever by light of day, like
+some shaggy, wan, grey animal, surrounded by sleek hounds.
+
+A sort of satisfied purr was rising all round; and with horror Laurence
+perceived that this--this was the man accused of what he himself had
+done--this queer, battered unfortunate to whom he had shown a passing
+friendliness. Then all feeling merged in the appalling interest of
+listening. The evidence was very short. Testimony of the hotel-keeper
+where Walenn had been staying, the identification of his body, and of a
+snake-shaped ring he had been wearing at dinner that evening. Testimony
+of a pawnbroker, that this same ring was pawned with him the first thing
+yesterday morning by the prisoner. Testimony of a policeman that he had
+noticed the man Evan several times in Glove Lane, and twice moved him on
+from sleeping under that arch. Testimony of another policeman that,
+when arrested at midnight, Evan had said: “Yes; I took the ring off
+his finger. I found him there dead .... I know I oughtn't to have done
+it.... I'm an educated man; it was stupid to pawn the ring. I found him
+with his pockets turned inside out.”
+
+Fascinating and terrible to sit staring at the man in whose place he
+should have been; to wonder when those small bright-grey bloodshot eyes
+would spy him out, and how he would meet that glance. Like a baited
+raccoon the little man stood, screwed back into a corner, mournful,
+cynical, fierce, with his ridged, obtuse yellow face, and his stubbly
+grey beard and hair, and his eyes wandering now and again amongst the
+crowd. But with all his might Laurence kept his face unmoved. Then came
+the word “Remanded”; and, more like a baited beast than ever, the man
+was led away.
+
+Laurence sat on, a cold perspiration thick on his forehead. Someone
+else, then, had come on the body and turned the pockets inside out
+before John Evan took the ring. A man such as Walenn would not be out
+at night without money. Besides, if Evan had found money on the body he
+would never have run the risk of taking that ring. Yes, someone else had
+come on the body first. It was for that one to come forward, and prove
+that the ring was still on the dead man's finger when he left him, and
+thus clear Evan. He clung to that thought; it seemed to make him less
+responsible for the little man's position; to remove him and his own
+deed one step further back. If they found the person who had taken the
+money, it would prove Evan's innocence. He came out of the court in a
+sort of trance. And a craving to get drunk attacked him. One could not
+go on like this without the relief of some oblivion. If he could only
+get drunk, keep drunk till this business was decided and he knew whether
+he must give himself up or no. He had now no fear at all of people
+suspecting him; only fear of himself--fear that he might go and give
+himself up. Now he could see the girl; the danger from that was as
+nothing compared with the danger from his own conscience. He had
+promised Keith not to see her. Keith had been decent and loyal to
+him--good old Keith! But he would never understand that this girl was
+now all he cared about in life; that he would rather be cut off from
+life itself than be cut off from her. Instead of becoming less and less,
+she was becoming more and more to him--experience strange and thrilling!
+Out of deep misery she had grown happy--through him; out of a sordid,
+shifting life recovered coherence and bloom, through devotion to him
+him, of all people in the world! It was a miracle. She demanded nothing
+of him, adored him, as no other woman ever had--it was this which had
+anchored his drifting barque; this--and her truthful mild intelligence,
+and that burning warmth of a woman, who, long treated by men as but a
+sack of sex, now loves at last.
+
+And suddenly, mastering his craving to get drunk, he made towards Soho.
+He had been a fool to give those keys to Keith. She must have been
+frightened by his visit; and, perhaps, doubly miserable since, knowing
+nothing, imagining everything! Keith was sure to have terrified her.
+Poor little thing!
+
+Down the street where he had stolen in the dark with the dead body on
+his back, he almost ran for the cover of her house. The door was opened
+to him before he knocked, her arms were round his neck, her lips pressed
+to his. The fire was out, as if she had been unable to remember to keep
+warm. A stool had been drawn to the window, and there she had evidently
+been sitting, like a bird in a cage, looking out into the grey street.
+Though she had been told that he was not to come, instinct had kept her
+there; or the pathetic, aching hope against hope which lovers never part
+with.
+
+Now that he was there, her first thoughts were for his comfort. The fire
+was lighted. He must eat, drink, smoke. There was never in her doings
+any of the “I am doing this for you, but you ought to be doing that for
+me” which belongs to so many marriages, and liaisons. She was like a
+devoted slave, so in love with the chains that she never knew she wore
+them. And to Laurence, who had so little sense of property, this
+only served to deepen tenderness, and the hold she had on him. He
+had resolved not to tell her of the new danger he ran from his own
+conscience. But resolutions with him were but the opposites of what was
+sure to come; and at last the words:
+
+“They've arrested someone,” escaped him.
+
+From her face he knew she had grasped the danger at once; had divined
+it, perhaps, before he spoke. But she only twined her arms round him and
+kissed his lips. And he knew that she was begging him to put his love
+for her above his conscience. Who would ever have thought that he
+could feel as he did to this girl who had been in the arms of many! The
+stained and suffering past of a loved woman awakens in some men only
+chivalry; in others, more respectable, it rouses a tigerish itch, a
+rancorous jealousy of what in the past was given to others. Sometimes it
+will do both. When he had her in his arms he felt no remorse for killing
+the coarse, handsome brute who had ruined her. He savagely rejoiced in
+it. But when she laid her head in the hollow of his shoulder, turning
+to him her white face with the faint colour-staining on the parted lips,
+the cheeks, the eyelids; when her dark, wide-apart, brown eyes gazed
+up in the happiness of her abandonment--he felt only tenderness and
+protection.
+
+He left her at five o'clock, and had not gone two streets' length before
+the memory of the little grey vagabond, screwed back in the far corner
+of the dock like a baited raccoon, of his dreary, creaking voice, took
+possession of him again; and a kind of savagery mounted in his brain
+against a world where one could be so tortured without having meant harm
+to anyone.
+
+At the door of his lodgings Keith was getting out of a cab. They went in
+together, but neither of them sat down; Keith standing with his back to
+the carefully shut door, Laurence with his back to the table, as if they
+knew there was a tug coming. And Keith said: “There's room on that boat.
+Go down and book your berth before they shut. Here's the money!”
+
+“I'm going to stick it, Keith.”
+
+Keith stepped forward, and put a roll of notes on the table.
+
+“Now look here, Larry. I've read the police court proceedings. There's
+nothing in that. Out of prison, or in prison for a few weeks, it's
+all the same to a night-bird of that sort. Dismiss it from your
+mind--there's not nearly enough evidence to convict. This gives you your
+chance. Take it like a man, and make a new life for yourself.”
+
+Laurence smiled; but the smile had a touch of madness and a touch of
+malice. He took up the notes.
+
+“Clear out, and save the honour of brother Keith. Put them back in your
+pocket, Keith, or I'll put them in the fire. Come, take them!” And,
+crossing to the fire, he held them to the bars. “Take them, or in they
+go!”
+
+Keith took back the notes.
+
+“I've still got some kind of honour, Keith; if I clear out I shall have
+none, not the rag of any, left. It may be worth more to me than that--I
+can't tell yet--I can't tell.” There was a long silence before Keith
+answered. “I tell you you're mistaken; no jury will convict. If they
+did, a judge would never hang on it. A ghoul who can rob a dead body
+ought to be in prison. What he did is worse than what you did, if you
+come to that!” Laurence lifted his face. “Judge not, brother,” he said;
+“the heart is a dark well.” Keith's yellowish face grew red and swollen,
+as though he were mastering the tickle of a bronchial cough. “What
+are you going to do, then? I suppose I may ask you not to be entirely
+oblivious of our name; or is such a consideration unworthy of your
+honour?” Laurence bent his head. The gesture said more clearly than
+words: 'Don't kick a man when he's down!'
+
+“I don't know what I'm going to do--nothing at present. I'm awfully
+sorry, Keith; awfully sorry.”
+
+Keith looked at him, and without another word went out.
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+To any, save philosophers, reputation may be threatened almost as much
+by disgrace to name and family as by the disgrace of self. Keith's
+instinct was always to deal actively with danger. But this blow, whether
+it fell on him by discovery or by confession, could not be countered. As
+blight falls on a rose from who knows where, the scandalous murk would
+light on him. No repulse possible! Not even a wriggling from under!
+Brother of a murderer hung or sent to penal servitude! His daughter
+niece to a murderer! His dead mother-a murderer's mother! And to wait
+day after day, week after week, not knowing whether the blow would fall,
+was an extraordinarily atrocious penance, the injustice of which, to a
+man of rectitude, seemed daily the more monstrous.
+
+The remand had produced evidence that the murdered man had been drinking
+heavily on the night of his death, and further evidence of the accused's
+professional vagabondage and destitution; it was shown, too, that for
+some time the archway in Glove Lane had been his favourite night
+haunt. He had been committed for trial in January. This time, despite
+misgivings, Keith had attended the police court. To his great relief
+Larry was not there. But the policeman who had come up while he was
+looking at the archway, and given him afterwards that scare in the
+girl's rooms, was chief witness to the way the accused man haunted
+Glove Lane. Though Keith held his silk hat high, he still had the
+uncomfortable feeling that the man had recognised him.
+
+His conscience suffered few, if any, twinges for letting this man rest
+under the shadow of the murder. He genuinely believed that there was not
+evidence enough to convict; nor was it in him to appreciate the tortures
+of a vagabond shut up. The scamp deserved what he had got, for robbing
+a dead body; and in any case such a scarecrow was better off in prison
+than sleeping out under archways in December. Sentiment was foreign to
+Keith's character, and his justice that of those who subordinate the
+fates of the weak and shiftless to the needful paramountcy of the strong
+and well established.
+
+His daughter came back from school for the Christmas holidays. It was
+hard to look up from her bright eyes and rosy cheeks and see this shadow
+hanging above his calm and ordered life, as in a glowing room one's
+eye may catch an impending patch of darkness drawn like a spider's web
+across a corner of the ceiling.
+
+On the afternoon of Christmas Eve they went, by her desire, to a church
+in Soho, where the Christmas Oratorio was being given; and coming away
+passed, by chance of a wrong turning, down Borrow Street. Ugh! How that
+startled moment, when the girl had pressed herself against him in the
+dark, and her terror-stricken whisper: “Oh! Who is it?” leaped out
+before him! Always that business--that ghastly business! After the trial
+he would have another try to get them both away. And he thrust his arm
+within his young daughter's, hurrying her on, out of this street where
+shadows filled all the winter air.
+
+But that evening when she had gone to bed he felt uncontrollably
+restless. He had not seen Larry for weeks. What was he about? What
+desperations were hatching in his disorderly brain? Was he very
+miserable; had he perhaps sunk into a stupor of debauchery? And the
+old feeling of protectiveness rose up in him; a warmth born of long ago
+Christmas Eves, when they had stockings hung out in the night stuffed by
+a Santa Claus, whose hand never failed to tuck them up, whose kiss was
+their nightly waft into sleep.
+
+Stars were sparkling out there over the river; the sky frosty-clear, and
+black. Bells had not begun to ring as yet. And obeying an obscure, deep
+impulse, Keith wrapped himself once more into his fur coat, pulled a
+motoring cap over his eyes, and sallied forth. In the Strand he took a
+cab to Fitzroy Street. There was no light in Larry's windows, and on a
+card he saw the words “To Let.” Gone! Had he after all cleared out for
+good? But how-without money? And the girl? Bells were ringing now in
+the silent frostiness. Christmas Eve! And Keith thought: 'If only this
+wretched business were off my mind! Monstrous that one should suffer for
+the faults of others!' He took a route which led him past Borrow Street.
+Solitude brooded there, and he walked resolutely down on the far side,
+looking hard at the girl's window. There was a light. The curtains just
+failed to meet, so that a thin gleam shone through. He crossed; and
+after glancing swiftly up and down, deliberately peered in.
+
+He only stood there perhaps twenty seconds, but visual records gleaned
+in a moment sometimes outlast the visions of hours and days. The
+electric light was not burning; but, in the centre of the room the girl
+was kneeling in her nightgown before a little table on which were four
+lighted candles. Her arms were crossed on her breast; the candle-light
+shone on her fair cropped hair, on the profile of cheek and chin, on her
+bowed white neck. For a moment he thought her alone; then behind her
+saw his brother in a sleeping suit, leaning against the wall, with arms
+crossed, watching. It was the expression on his face which burned the
+whole thing in, so that always afterwards he was able to see that little
+scene--such an expression as could never have been on the face of one
+even faintly conscious that he was watched by any living thing on earth.
+The whole of Larry's heart and feeling seemed to have come up out of
+him. Yearning, mockery, love, despair! The depth of his feeling for this
+girl, his stress of mind, fears, hopes; the flotsam good and evil of
+his soul, all transfigured there, exposed and unforgettable. The
+candle-light shone upward on to his face, twisted by the strangest
+smile; his eyes, darker and more wistful than mortal eyes should be,
+seemed to beseech and mock the white-clad girl, who, all unconscious,
+knelt without movement, like a carved figure of devotion. The words
+seemed coming from his lips: “Pray for us! Bravo! Yes! Pray for us!” And
+suddenly Keith saw her stretch out her arms, and lift her face with a
+look of ecstasy, and Laurence starting forward. What had she seen beyond
+the candle flames? It is the unexpected which invests visions with
+poignancy. Nothing more strange could Keith have seen in this nest of
+the murky and illicit. But in sheer panic lest he might be caught thus
+spying he drew back and hurried on. So Larry was living there with her!
+When the moment came he could still find him.
+
+Before going in, he stood full five minutes leaning on the terrace
+parapet before his house, gazing at the star-frosted sky, and the
+river cut by the trees into black pools, oiled over by gleams from
+the Embankment lamps. And, deep down, behind his mere thoughts, he
+ached-somehow, somewhere ached. Beyond the cage of all that he saw and
+heard and thought, he had perceived something he could not reach. But
+the night was cold, the bells silent, for it had struck twelve. Entering
+his house, he stole upstairs.
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+If for Keith those six weeks before the Glove Lane murder trial came on
+were fraught with uneasiness and gloom, they were for Laurence almost
+the happiest since his youth. From the moment when he left his rooms
+and went to the girl's to live, a kind of peace and exaltation took
+possession of him. Not by any effort of will did he throw off the
+nightmare hanging over him. Nor was he drugged by love. He was in a sort
+of spiritual catalepsy. In face of fate too powerful for his will, his
+turmoil, anxiety, and even restlessness had ceased; his life floated in
+the ether of “what must come, will.” Out of this catalepsy, his spirit
+sometimes fell headlong into black waters. In one such whirlpool he was
+struggling on the night of Christmas Eve. When the girl rose from her
+knees he asked her:
+
+“What did you see?”
+
+Pressing close to him, she drew him down on to the floor before the
+fire; and they sat, knees drawn up, hands clasped, like two children
+trying to see over the edge of the world.
+
+“It was the Virgin I saw. She stood against the wall and smiled. We
+shall be happy soon.”
+
+“When we die, Wanda,” he said, suddenly, “let it be together. We shall
+keep each other warm, out there.”
+
+Huddling to him she whispered: “Yes, oh, yes! If you die, I could not go
+on living.”
+
+It was this utter dependence on him, the feeling that he had rescued
+something, which gave him sense of anchorage. That, and his buried life
+in the retreat of these two rooms. Just for an hour in the morning, from
+nine to ten, the charwoman would come, but not another soul all day.
+They never went out together. He would stay in bed late, while Wanda
+bought what they needed for the day's meals; lying on his back, hands
+clasped behind his head, recalling her face, the movements of her slim,
+rounded, supple figure, robing itself before his gaze; feeling again the
+kiss she had left on his lips, the gleam of her soft eyes, so strangely
+dark in so fair a face. In a sort of trance he would lie till she came
+back. Then get up to breakfast about noon off things which she had
+cooked, drinking coffee. In the afternoon he would go out alone and
+walk for hours, any where, so long as it was East. To the East there
+was always suffering to be seen, always that which soothed him with the
+feeling that he and his troubles were only a tiny part of trouble; that
+while so many other sorrowing and shadowy creatures lived he was not
+cut off. To go West was to encourage dejection. In the West all was like
+Keith, successful, immaculate, ordered, resolute. He would come back
+tired out, and sit watching her cook their little dinner. The evenings
+were given up to love. Queer trance of an existence, which both were
+afraid to break. No sign from her of wanting those excitements which
+girls who have lived her life, even for a few months, are supposed to
+need. She never asked him to take her anywhere; never, in word, deed,
+look, seemed anything but almost rapturously content. And yet he knew,
+and she knew, that they were only waiting to see whether Fate would
+turn her thumb down on them. In these days he did not drink. Out of his
+quarter's money, when it came in, he had paid his debts--their expenses
+were very small. He never went to see Keith, never wrote to him, hardly
+thought of him. And from those dread apparitions--Walenn lying with
+the breath choked out of him, and the little grey, driven animal in the
+dock--he hid, as only a man can who must hide or be destroyed. But daily
+he bought a newspaper, and feverishly, furtively scanned its columns.
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+Coming out of the Law Courts on the afternoon of January 28th, at the
+triumphant end of a desperately fought will case, Keith saw on a poster
+the words: “Glove Lane Murder: Trial and Verdict”; and with a rush of
+dismay he thought: 'Good God! I never looked at the paper this morning!'
+The elation which had filled him a second before, the absorption he had
+felt for two days now in the case so hardly won, seemed suddenly quite
+sickeningly trivial. What on earth had he been doing to forget that
+horrible business even for an instant? He stood quite still on the
+crowded pavement, unable, really unable, to buy a paper. But his face
+was like a piece of iron when he did step forward and hold his penny
+out. There it was in the Stop Press! “Glove Lane Murder. The jury
+returned a verdict of Guilty. Sentence of death was passed.”
+
+His first sensation was simple irritation. How had they come to commit
+such an imbecility? Monstrous! The evidence--! Then the futility of even
+reading the report, of even considering how they had come to record such
+a verdict struck him with savage suddenness. There it was, and nothing
+he could do or say would alter it; no condemnation of this idiotic
+verdict would help reverse it. The situation was desperate, indeed! That
+five minutes' walk from the Law Courts to his chambers was the longest
+he had ever taken.
+
+Men of decided character little know beforehand what they will do in
+certain contingencies. For the imaginations of decided people do not
+endow mere contingencies with sufficient actuality. Keith had never
+really settled what he was going to do if this man were condemned. Often
+in those past weeks he had said to himself: “Of course, if they bring
+him in guilty, that's another thing!” But, now that they had, he was
+beset by exactly the same old arguments and feelings, the same instincts
+of loyalty and protection towards Laurence and himself, intensified by
+the fearful imminence of the danger. And yet, here was this man about
+to be hung for a thing he had not done! Nothing could get over that!
+But then he was such a worthless vagabond, a ghoul who had robbed a
+dead body. If Larry were condemned in his stead, would there be any less
+miscarriage of justice? To strangle a brute who had struck you, by the
+accident of keeping your hands on his throat a few seconds too long, was
+there any more guilt in that--was there even as much, as in deliberate
+theft from a dead man? Reverence for order, for justice, and established
+fact, will, often march shoulder to shoulder with Jesuitry in natures to
+whom success is vital.
+
+In the narrow stone passage leading to his staircase, a friend had
+called out: “Bravo, Darrant! That was a squeak! Congratulations!” And
+with a bitter little smile Keith thought: 'Congratulations! I!'
+
+At the first possible moment the hurried back to the Strand, and hailing
+a cab, he told the man to put him down at a turning near to Borrow
+Street.
+
+It was the girl who opened to his knock. Startled, clasping her hands,
+she looked strange to Keith in her black skirt and blouse of some soft
+velvety stuff the colour of faded roses. Her round, rather long throat
+was bare; and Keith noticed fretfully that she wore gold earrings. Her
+eyes, so pitch dark against her white face, and the short fair hair,
+which curled into her neck, seemed both to search and to plead.
+
+“My brother?”
+
+“He is not in, sir, yet.”
+
+“Do you know where he is?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“He is living with you here now?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Are you still as fond of him as ever, then?”
+
+With a movement, as though she despaired of words, she clasped her hands
+over her heart. And he said:
+
+“I see.”
+
+He had the same strange feeling as on his first visit to her, and when
+through the chink in the curtains he had watched her kneeling--of pity
+mingled with some faint sexual emotion. And crossing to the fire he
+asked:
+
+“May I wait for him?”
+
+“Oh! Please! Will you sit down?”
+
+But Keith shook his head. And with a catch in her breath, she said:
+
+“You will not take him from me. I should die.”
+
+He turned round on her sharply.
+
+“I don't want him taken from you. I want to help you keep him. Are you
+ready to go away, at any time?”
+
+“Yes. Oh, yes!”
+
+“And he?”
+
+She answered almost in a whisper:
+
+“Yes; but there is that poor man.”
+
+“That poor man is a graveyard thief; a hyena; a ghoul--not worth
+consideration.” And the rasp in his own voice surprised him.
+
+“Ah!” she sighed. “But I am sorry for him. Perhaps he was hungry. I have
+been hungry--you do things then that you would not. And perhaps he has
+no one to love; if you have no one to love you can be very bad. I think
+of him often--in prison.”
+
+Between his teeth Keith muttered: “And Laurence?”
+
+“We do never speak of it, we are afraid.”
+
+“He's not told you, then, about the trial?”
+
+Her eyes dilated.
+
+“The trial! Oh! He was strange last night. This morning, too, he got up
+early. Is it-is it over?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“What has come?”
+
+“Guilty.”
+
+For a moment Keith thought she was going to faint. She had closed her
+eyes, and swayed so that he took a step, and put his hands on her arms.
+
+“Listen!” he said. “Help me; don't let Laurence out of your sight. We
+must have time. I must see what they intend to do. They can't be going
+to hang this man. I must have time, I tell you. You must prevent his
+giving himself up.”
+
+She stood, staring in his face, while he still held her arms, gripping
+into her soft flesh through the velvety sleeves.
+
+“Do you understand?”
+
+“Yes-but if he has already!”
+
+Keith felt the shiver which ran through her. And the thought rushed into
+his mind: 'My God! Suppose the police come round while I'm here!' If
+Larry had indeed gone to them! If that Policeman who had seen him here
+the night after the murder should find him here again just after the
+verdict! He said almost fiercely:
+
+“Can I trust you not to let Larry out of your sight? Quick! Answer!”
+
+Clasping her hands to her breast, she answered humbly:
+
+“I will try.”
+
+“If he hasn't already done this, watch him like a lynx! Don't let him go
+out without you. I'll come to-morrow morning early. You're a Catholic,
+aren't you? Swear to me that you won't let him do anything till he's
+seen me again.”
+
+She did not answer, looking past him at the door; and Keith heard a key
+in the latch. There was Laurence himself, holding in his hand a great
+bunch of pink lilies and white narcissi. His face was pale and haggard.
+He said quietly:
+
+“Hallo, Keith!”
+
+The girl's eyes were fastened on Larry's face; and Keith, looking from
+one to the other, knew that he had never had more need for wariness.
+
+“Have you seen?” he said.
+
+Laurence nodded. His expression, as a rule so tell-tale of his emotions,
+baffled Keith utterly.
+
+“Well?”
+
+“I've been expecting it.”
+
+“The thing can't stand--that's certain. But I must have time to look
+into the report. I must have time to see what I can do. D'you understand
+me, Larry--I must have time.” He knew he was talking at random. The only
+thing was to get them away at once out of reach of confession; but he
+dared not say so.
+
+“Promise me that you'll do nothing, that you won't go out even till I've
+seen you to-morrow morning.”
+
+Again Laurence nodded. And Keith looked at the girl. Would she see that
+he did not break that promise? Her eyes were still fixed immovably on
+Larry's face. And with the feeling that he could get no further, Keith
+turned to go.
+
+“Promise me,” he said.
+
+Laurence answered: “I promise.”
+
+He was smiling. Keith could make nothing of that smile, nor of the
+expression in the girl's eyes. And saying: “I have your promise, I rely
+on it!” he went.
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+To keep from any woman who loves, knowledge of her lover's mood, is as
+hard as to keep music from moving the heart. But when that woman has
+lived in suffering, and for the first time knows the comfort of love,
+then let the lover try as he may to disguise his heart--no use! Yet by
+virtue of subtler abnegation she will often succeed in keeping it from
+him that she knows.
+
+When Keith was gone the girl made no outcry, asked no questions, managed
+that Larry should not suspect her intuition; all that evening she acted
+as if she knew of nothing preparing within him, and through him, within
+herself.
+
+His words, caresses, the very zest with which he helped her to prepare
+the feast, the flowers he had brought, the wine he made her drink, the
+avoidance of any word which could spoil their happiness, all--all told
+her. He was too inexorably gay and loving. Not for her--to whom every
+word and every kiss had uncannily the desperate value of a last word
+and kiss--not for her to deprive herself of these by any sign or gesture
+which might betray her prescience. Poor soul--she took all, and would
+have taken more, a hundredfold. She did not want to drink the wine he
+kept tilting into her glass, but, with the acceptance learned by women
+who have lived her life, she did not refuse. She had never refused
+him anything. So much had been required of her by the detestable, that
+anything required by a loved one was but an honour.
+
+Laurence drank deeply; but he had never felt clearer, never seen things
+more clearly. The wine gave him what he wanted, an edge to these few
+hours of pleasure, an exaltation of energy. It dulled his sense of pity,
+too. It was pity he was afraid of--for himself, and for this girl.
+To make even this tawdry room look beautiful, with firelight and
+candlelight, dark amber wine in the glasses, tall pink lilies spilling
+their saffron, exuding their hot perfume he and even himself must look
+their best. And with a weight as of lead on her heart, she managed that
+for him, letting him strew her with flowers and crush them together with
+herself. Not even music was lacking to their feast. Someone was playing
+a pianola across the street, and the sound, very faint, came stealing
+when they were silent--swelling, sinking, festive, mournful; having a
+far-off life of its own, like the flickering fire-flames before which
+they lay embraced, or the lilies delicate between the candles. Listening
+to that music, tracing with his finger the tiny veins on her breast, he
+lay like one recovering from a swoon. No parting. None! But sleep, as
+the firelight sleeps when flames die; as music sleeps on its deserted
+strings.
+
+And the girl watched him.
+
+It was nearly ten when he bade her go to bed. And after she had gone
+obedient into the bedroom, he brought ink and paper down by the fire.
+The drifter, the unstable, the good-for-nothing--did not falter. He had
+thought, when it came to the point, he would fail himself; but a sort
+of rage bore him forward. If he lived on, and confessed, they would shut
+him up, take from him the one thing he loved, cut him off from her; sand
+up his only well in the desert. Curse them! And he wrote by firelight
+which mellowed the white sheets of paper; while, against the dark
+curtain, the girl, in her nightgown, unconscious of the cold, stood
+watching.
+
+Men, when they drown, remember their pasts. Like the lost poet he had
+“gone with the wind.” Now it was for him to be true in his fashion. A
+man may falter for weeks and weeks, consciously, subconsciously, even in
+his dreams, till there comes that moment when the only thing impossible
+is to go on faltering. The black cap, the little driven grey man looking
+up at it with a sort of wonder--faltering had ceased!
+
+He had finished now, and was but staring into the fire.
+
+         “No more, no more, the moon is dead,
+          And all the people in it;
+          The poppy maidens strew the bed,
+          We'll come in half a minute.”
+
+Why did doggerel start up in the mind like that? Wanda! The weed-flower
+become so rare he would not be parted from her! The fire, the candles,
+and the fire--no more the flame and flicker!
+
+And, by the dark curtain, the girl watched.
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+Keith went, not home, but to his club; and in the room devoted to the
+reception of guests, empty at this hour, he sat down and read the report
+of the trial. The fools had made out a case that looked black enough.
+And for a long time, on the thick soft carpet which let out no sound
+of footfall, he paced up and down, thinking. He might see the defending
+counsel, might surely do that as an expert who thought there had been
+miscarriage of justice. They must appeal; a petition too might be
+started in the last event. The thing could--must be put right yet, if
+only Larry and that girl did nothing!
+
+He had no appetite, but the custom of dining is too strong. And while he
+ate, he glanced with irritation at his fellow-members. They looked so at
+their ease. Unjust--that this black cloud should hang over one blameless
+as any of them! Friends, connoisseurs of such things--a judge among
+them--came specially to his table to express their admiration of his
+conduct of that will case. Tonight he had real excuse for pride, but he
+felt none. Yet, in this well-warmed quietly glowing room, filled with
+decorously eating, decorously talking men, he gained insensibly some
+comfort. This surely was reality; that shadowy business out there only
+the drear sound of a wind one must and did keep out--like the poverty
+and grime which had no real existence for the secure and prosperous. He
+drank champagne. It helped to fortify reality, to make shadows seem more
+shadowy. And down in the smoking-room he sat before the fire, in one of
+those chairs which embalm after-dinner dreams. He grew sleepy there, and
+at eleven o'clock rose to go home. But when he had once passed down the
+shallow marble steps, out through the revolving door which let in no
+draughts, he was visited by fear, as if he had drawn it in with the
+breath of the January wind. Larry's face; and the girl watching it! Why
+had she watched like that? Larry's smile; and the flowers in his hand?
+Buying flowers at such a moment! The girl was his slave-whatever he told
+her, she would do. But she would never be able to stop him. At this very
+moment he might be rushing to give himself up!
+
+His hand, thrust deep into the pocket of his fur coat, came in contact
+suddenly with something cold. The keys Larry had given him all that time
+ago. There they had lain forgotten ever since. The chance touch decided
+him. He turned off towards Borrow Street, walking at full speed. He
+could but go again and see. He would sleep better if he knew that he had
+left no stone unturned. At the corner of that dismal street he had to
+wait for solitude before he made for the house which he now loathed with
+a deadly loathing. He opened the outer door and shut it to behind him.
+He knocked, but no one came. Perhaps they had gone to bed. Again and
+again he knocked, then opened the door, stepped in, and closed it
+carefully. Candles lighted, the fire burning; cushions thrown on the
+floor in front of it and strewn with flowers! The table, too, covered
+with flowers and with the remnants of a meal. Through the half-drawn
+curtain he could see that the inner room was also lighted. Had they gone
+out, leaving everything like this? Gone out! His heart beat. Bottles!
+Larry had been drinking!
+
+Had it really come? Must he go back home with this murk on him; knowing
+that his brother was a confessed and branded murderer? He went quickly,
+to the half-drawn curtains and looked in. Against the wall he saw a bed,
+and those two in it. He recoiled in sheer amazement and relief. Asleep
+with curtains undrawn, lights left on? Asleep through all his knocking!
+They must both be drunk. The blood rushed up in his neck. Asleep! And
+rushing forward again, he called out: “Larry!” Then, with a gasp he went
+towards the bed. “Larry!” No answer! No movement! Seizing his brother's
+shoulder, he shook it violently. It felt cold. They were lying in each
+other's arms, breast to breast, lips to lips, their faces white in the
+light shining above the dressing-table. And such a shudder shook Keith
+that he had to grasp the brass rail above their heads. Then he bent
+down, and wetting his finger, placed it close to their joined lips. No
+two could ever swoon so utterly as that; not even a drunken sleep could
+be so fast. His wet finger felt not the faintest stir of air, nor was
+there any movement in the pulses of their hands. No breath! No life! The
+eyes of the girl were closed. How strangely innocent she looked! Larry's
+open eyes seemed to be gazing at her shut eyes; but Keith saw that they
+were sightless. With a sort of sob he drew down the lids. Then, by
+an impulse that he could never have explained, he laid a hand on his
+brother's head, and a hand on the girl's fair hair. The clothes had
+fallen down a little from her bare shoulder; he pulled them up, as if
+to keep her warm, and caught the glint of metal; a tiny gilt crucifix
+no longer than a thumbnail, on a thread of steel chain, had slipped down
+from her breast into the hollow of the arm which lay round Larry's neck.
+Keith buried it beneath the clothes and noticed an envelope pinned to
+the coverlet; bending down, he read: “Please give this at once to the
+police.--LAURENCE DARRANT.” He thrust it into his pocket. Like
+elastic stretched beyond its uttermost, his reason, will, faculties
+of calculation and resolve snapped to within him. He thought with
+incredible swiftness: 'I must know nothing of this. I must go!' And,
+almost before he knew that he had moved, he was out again in the street.
+
+He could never have told of what he thought while he was walking home.
+He did not really come to himself till he was in his study. There, with
+a trembling hand, he poured himself out whisky and drank it off. If he
+had not chanced to go there, the charwoman would have found them when
+she came in the morning, and given that envelope to the police! He took
+it out. He had a right--a right to know what was in it! He broke it
+open.
+
+
+“I, Laurence Darrant, about to die by my own hand, declare that this
+is a solemn and true confession. I committed what is known as the Glove
+Lane Murder on the night of November the 27th last in the following
+way”--on and on to the last words--“We didn't want to die; but we could
+not bear separation, and I couldn't face letting an innocent man be
+hung for me. I do not see any other way. I beg that there may be no
+postmortem on our bodies. The stuff we have taken is some of that which
+will be found on the dressing-table. Please bury us together.
+
+“LAURENCE DARRANT.
+
+“January the 28th, about ten o'clock p.m.”
+
+
+Full five minutes Keith stood with those sheets of paper in his hand,
+while the clock ticked, the wind moaned a little in the trees outside,
+the flames licked the logs with the quiet click and ruffle of their
+intense far-away life down there on the hearth. Then he roused himself,
+and sat down to read the whole again.
+
+There it was, just as Larry had told it to him-nothing left out, very
+clear; even to the addresses of people who could identify the girl as
+having once been Walenn's wife or mistress. It would convince. Yes! It
+would convince.
+
+The sheets dropped from his hand. Very slowly he was grasping the
+appalling fact that on the floor beside his chair lay the life or death
+of yet another man; that by taking this confession he had taken into his
+own hands the fate of the vagabond lying under sentence of death; that
+he could not give him back his life without incurring the smirch of this
+disgrace, without even endangering himself. If he let this confession
+reach the authorities, he could never escape the gravest suspicion that
+he had known of the whole affair during these two months. He would have
+to attend the inquest, be recognised by that policeman as having come to
+the archway to see where the body had lain, as having visited the
+girl the very evening after the murder. Who would believe in the mere
+coincidence of such visits on the part of the murderer's brother. But
+apart from that suspicion, the fearful scandal which so sensational an
+affair must make would mar his career, his life, his young daughter's
+life! Larry's suicide with this girl would make sensation enough as it
+was; but nothing to that other. Such a death had its romance; involved
+him in no way save as a mourner, could perhaps even be hushed up! The
+other--nothing could hush that up, nothing prevent its ringing to the
+house-tops. He got up from his chair, and for many minutes roamed the
+room unable to get his mind to bear on the issue. Images kept starting
+up before him. The face of the man who handed him wig and gown each
+morning, puffy and curious, with a leer on it he had never noticed
+before; his young daughter's lifted eyebrows, mouth drooping, eyes
+troubled; the tiny gilt crucifix glinting in the hollow of the dead
+girl's arm; the sightless look in Larry's unclosed eyes; even his own
+thumb and finger pulling the lids down. And then he saw a street and
+endless people passing, turning to stare at him. And, stopping in his
+tramp, he said aloud: “Let them go to hell! Seven days' wonder!” Was he
+not trustee to that confession! Trustee! After all he had done nothing
+to be ashamed of, even if he had kept knowledge dark. A brother! Who
+could blame him? And he picked up those sheets of paper. But, like
+a great murky hand, the scandal spread itself about him; its coarse
+malignant voice seemed shouting: “Paiper!... Paiper!... Glove Lane
+Murder!... Suicide and confession of brother of well-known K.C.....
+Well-known K.C.'. brother.... Murder and suicide.... Paiper!” Was he
+to let loose that flood of foulness? Was he, who had done nothing, to
+smirch his own little daughter's life; to smirch his dead brother, their
+dead mother--himself, his own valuable, important future? And all for
+a sewer rat! Let him hang, let the fellow hang if he must! And that was
+not certain. Appeal! Petition! He might--he should be saved! To have got
+thus far, and then, by his own action, topple himself down!
+
+With a sudden darting movement he thrust the confession in among the
+burning coals. And a smile licked at the folds in his dark face,
+like those flames licking the sheets of paper, till they writhed and
+blackened. With the toe of his boot he dispersed their scorched and
+crumbling wafer. Stamp them in! Stamp in that man's life! Burnt! No more
+doubts, no more of this gnawing fear! Burnt? A man--an innocent-sewer
+rat! Recoiling from the fire he grasped his forehead. It was burning hot
+and seemed to be going round.
+
+Well, it was done! Only fools without will or purpose regretted. And
+suddenly he laughed. So Larry had died for nothing! He had no will,
+no purpose, and was dead! He and that girl might now have been living,
+loving each other in the warm night, away at the other end of the
+world, instead of lying dead in the cold night here! Fools and weaklings
+regretted, suffered from conscience and remorse. A man trod firmly, held
+to his purpose, no matter what!
+
+He went to the window and drew back the curtain. What was that? A gibbet
+in the air, a body hanging? Ah! Only the trees--the dark trees--the
+winter skeleton trees! Recoiling, he returned to his armchair and sat
+down before the fire. It had been shining like that, the lamp turned
+low, his chair drawn up, when Larry came in that afternoon two months
+ago. Bah! He had never come at all! It was a nightmare. He had been
+asleep. How his head burned! And leaping up, he looked at the calendar
+on his bureau. “January the 28th!” No dream! His face hardened and
+darkened. On! Not like Larry! On! 1914.
+
+
+
+
+A STOIC
+
+I
+
+1
+
+         “Aequam memento rebus in arduis
+          Servare mentem:”--Horace.
+
+In the City of Liverpool, on a January day of 1905, the Board-room of
+“The Island Navigation Company” rested, as it were, after the labours
+of the afternoon. The long table was still littered with the ink, pens,
+blotting-paper, and abandoned documents of six persons--a deserted
+battlefield of the brain. And, lonely, in his chairman's seat at the top
+end old Sylvanus Heythorp sat, with closed eyes, still and heavy as an
+image. One puffy, feeble hand, whose fingers quivered, rested on the arm
+of his chair; the thick white hair on his massive head glistened in the
+light from a green-shaded lamp. He was not asleep, for every now and
+then his sanguine cheeks filled, and a sound, half sigh, half grunt,
+escaped his thick lips between a white moustache and the tiny tuft of
+white hairs above his cleft chin. Sunk in the chair, that square thick
+trunk of a body in short black-braided coat seemed divested of all neck.
+
+Young Gilbert Farney, secretary of “The Island Navigation Company,”
+ entering his hushed Board-room, stepped briskly to the table,
+gathered some papers, and stood looking at his chairman. Not more than
+thirty-five, with the bright hues of the optimist in his hair, beard,
+cheeks, and eyes, he had a nose and lips which curled ironically. For,
+in his view, he was the Company; and its Board did but exist to chequer
+his importance. Five days in the week for seven hours a day he wrote,
+and thought, and wove the threads of its business, and this lot came
+down once a week for two or three hours, and taught their grandmother
+to suck eggs. But watching that red-cheeked, white-haired, somnolent
+figure, his smile was not so contemptuous as might have been expected.
+For after all, the chairman was a wonderful old boy. A man of go and
+insight could not but respect him. Eighty! Half paralysed, over head and
+ears in debt, having gone the pace all his life--or so they said!--till
+at last that mine in Ecuador had done for him--before the secretary's
+day, of course, but he had heard of it. The old chap had bought it up
+on spec'--“de l'audace, toujours de l'audace,” as he was so fond of
+saying--paid for it half in cash and half in promises, and then--the
+thing had turned out empty, and left him with L20,000 worth of the old
+shares unredeemed. The old boy had weathered it out without a bankruptcy
+so far. Indomitable old buffer; and never fussy like the rest of them!
+Young Farney, though a secretary, was capable of attachment; and his
+eyes expressed a pitying affection. The Board meeting had been long and
+“snadgy”--a final settling of that Pillin business. Rum go the chairman
+forcing it on them like this! And with quiet satisfaction the secretary
+thought 'And he never would have got it through if I hadn't made up my
+mind that it really is good business!' For to expand the company was
+to expand himself. Still, to buy four ships with the freight market
+so depressed was a bit startling, and there would be opposition at
+the general meeting. Never mind! He and the chairman could put it
+through--put it through. And suddenly he saw the old man looking at him.
+
+Only from those eyes could one appreciate the strength of life yet
+flowing underground in that well-nigh helpless carcase--deep-coloured
+little blue wells, tiny, jovial, round windows.
+
+A sigh travelled up through layers of flesh, and he said almost
+inaudibly:
+
+“Have they come, Mr. Farney?”
+
+“Yes, sir. I've put them in the transfer office; said you'd be with them
+in a minute; but I wasn't going to wake you.”
+
+“Haven't been asleep. Help me up.”
+
+Grasping the edge of the table with his trembling hands, the old man
+pulled, and, with Farney heaving him behind, attained his feet. He stood
+about five feet ten, and weighed fully fourteen stone; not corpulent,
+but very thick all through; his round and massive head alone would have
+outweighed a baby. With eyes shut, he seemed to be trying to get the
+better of his own weight, then he moved with the slowness of a barnacle
+towards the door. The secretary, watching him, thought: 'Marvellous old
+chap! How he gets about by himself is a miracle! And he can't retire,
+they say-lives on his fees!'
+
+But the chairman was through the green baize door. At his tortoise gait
+he traversed the inner office, where the youthful clerks suspended their
+figuring--to grin behind his back--and entered the transfer office,
+where eight gentlemen were sitting. Seven rose, and one did not. Old
+Heythorp raised a saluting hand to the level of his chest and moving to
+an arm-chair, lowered himself into it.
+
+“Well, gentlemen?”
+
+One of the eight gentlemen got up again.
+
+“Mr. Heythorp, we've appointed Mr. Brownbee to voice our views. Mr.
+Brownbee!” And down he sat.
+
+Mr. Brownbee rose a stoutish man some seventy years of age, with little
+grey side whiskers, and one of those utterly steady faces only to be
+seen in England, faces which convey the sense of business from father
+to son for generations; faces which make wars, and passion, and free
+thought seem equally incredible; faces which inspire confidence, and
+awaken in one a desire to get up and leave the room. Mr. Brownbee rose,
+and said in a suave voice:
+
+“Mr. Heythorp, we here represent about L14,000. When we had the pleasure
+of meeting you last July, you will recollect that you held out a
+prospect of some more satisfactory arrangement by Christmas. We are now
+in January, and I am bound to say we none of us get younger.”
+
+From the depths of old Heythorp a preliminary rumble came travelling,
+reached the surface, and materialised--
+
+“Don't know about you--feel a boy, myself.”
+
+The eight gentlemen looked at him. Was he going to try and put them off
+again? Mr. Brownbee said with unruffled calm:
+
+“I'm sure we're very glad to hear it. But to come to the point. We
+have felt, Mr. Heythorp, and I'm sure you won't think it unreasonable,
+that--er--bankruptcy would be the most satisfactory solution. We have
+waited a long time, and we want to know definitely where we stand; for,
+to be quite frank, we don't see any prospect of improvement; indeed, we
+fear the opposite.”
+
+“You think I'm going to join the majority.”
+
+This plumping out of what was at the back of their minds produced in
+Mr. Brownbee and his colleagues a sort of chemical disturbance. They
+coughed, moved their feet, and turned away their eyes, till the one who
+had not risen, a solicitor named Ventnor, said bluffly:
+
+“Well, put it that way if you like.”
+
+Old Heythorp's little deep eyes twinkled.
+
+“My grandfather lived to be a hundred; my father ninety-six--both of
+them rips. I'm only eighty, gentlemen; blameless life compared with
+theirs.”
+
+“Indeed,” Mr. Brownbee said, “we hope you have many years of this life
+before you.”
+
+“More of this than of another.” And a silence fell, till old Heythorp
+added: “You're getting a thousand a year out of my fees. Mistake to kill
+the goose that lays the golden eggs. I'll make it twelve hundred. If you
+force me to resign my directorships by bankruptcy, you won't get a rap,
+you know.”
+
+Mr. Brownbee cleared his throat:
+
+“We think, Mr. Heythorp, you should make it at least fifteen hundred. In
+that case we might perhaps consider--”
+
+Old Heythorp shook his head.
+
+“We can hardly accept your assertion that we should get nothing in the
+event of bankruptcy. We fancy you greatly underrate the possibilities.
+Fifteen hundred a year is the least you can do for us.”
+
+“See you d---d first.”
+
+Another silence followed, then Ventnor, the solicitor, said irascibly:
+
+“We know where we are, then.”
+
+Brownbee added almost nervously:
+
+“Are we to understand that twelve hundred a year is your--your last
+word?”
+
+Old Heythorp nodded. “Come again this day month, and I'll see what I can
+do for you;” and he shut his eyes.
+
+Round Mr. Brownbee six of the gentlemen gathered, speaking in low
+voices; Mr. Ventnor nursed a leg and glowered at old Heythorp, who sat
+with his eyes closed. Mr. Brownbee went over and conferred with Mr.
+Ventnor, then clearing his throat, he said:
+
+“Well, sir, we have considered your proposal; we agree to accept it for
+the moment. We will come again, as you suggest, in a month's time.
+
+“We hope that you will by then have seen your way to something more
+substantial, with a view to avoiding what we should all regret, but
+which I fear will otherwise become inevitable.”
+
+Old Heythorp nodded. The eight gentlemen took their hats, and went out
+one by one, Mr. Brownbee courteously bringing up the rear.
+
+The old man, who could not get up without assistance, stayed musing in
+his chair. He had diddled 'em for the moment into giving him another
+month, and when that month was up-he would diddle 'em again! A month
+ought to make the Pillin business safe, with all that hung on it. That
+poor funkey chap Joe Pillin! A gurgling chuckle escaped his red lips.
+What a shadow the fellow had looked, trotting in that evening just a
+month ago, behind his valet's announcement: “Mr. Pillin, sir.”
+
+What a parchmenty, precise, thread-paper of a chap, with his bird's claw
+of a hand, and his muffled-up throat, and his quavery:
+
+“How do you do, Sylvanus? I'm afraid you're not--”
+
+“First rate. Sit down. Have some port.”
+
+“Port! I never drink it. Poison to me! Poison!”
+
+“Do you good!”
+
+“Oh! I know, that's what you always say.”
+
+“You've a monstrous constitution, Sylvanus. If I drank port and smoked
+cigars and sat up till one o'clock, I should be in my grave to-morrow.
+I'm not the man I was. The fact is, I've come to see if you can help me.
+I'm getting old; I'm growing nervous....”
+
+“You always were as chickeny as an old hen, Joe.”
+
+“Well, my nature's not like yours. To come to the point, I want to sell
+my ships and retire. I need rest. Freights are very depressed. I've got
+my family to think of.”
+
+“Crack on, and go broke; buck you up like anything!”
+
+“I'm quite serious, Sylvanus.”
+
+“Never knew you anything else, Joe.”
+
+A quavering cough, and out it had come:
+
+“Now--in a word--won't your 'Island Navigation Company' buy my ships?”
+
+A pause, a twinkle, a puff of smoke. “Make it worth my while!” He
+had said it in jest; and then, in a flash, the idea had come to him.
+Rosamund and her youngsters! What a chance to put something between them
+and destitution when he had joined the majority! And so he said: “We
+don't want your silly ships.”
+
+That claw of a hand waved in deprecation. “They're very good
+ships--doing quite well. It's only my wretched health. If I were a
+strong man I shouldn't dream....”
+
+“What d'you want for 'em?” Good Lord! how he jumped if you asked him a
+plain question. The chap was as nervous as a guinea-fowl!
+
+“Here are the figures--for the last four years. I think you'll agree
+that I couldn't ask less than seventy thousand.”
+
+Through the smoke of his cigar old Heythorp had digested those figures
+slowly, Joe Pillin feeling his teeth and sucking lozenges the while;
+then he said:
+
+“Sixty thousand! And out of that you pay me ten per cent., if I get it
+through for you. Take it or leave it.”
+
+“My dear Sylvanus, that's almost-cynical.”
+
+“Too good a price--you'll never get it without me.”
+
+“But a--but a commission! You could never disclose it!”
+
+“Arrange that all right. Think it over. Freights'll go lower yet. Have
+some port.”
+
+“No, no! Thank you. No! So you think freights will go lower?”
+
+“Sure of it.”
+
+“Well, I'll be going. I'm sure I don't know. It's--it's--I must think.”
+
+“Think your hardest.”
+
+“Yes, yes. Good-bye. I can't imagine how you still go on smoking those
+things and drinking port.
+
+“See you in your grave yet, Joe.” What a feeble smile the poor fellow
+had! Laugh-he couldn't! And, alone again, he had browsed, developing the
+idea which had come to him.
+
+Though, to dwell in the heart of shipping, Sylvanus Heythorp had lived
+at Liverpool twenty years, he was from the Eastern Counties, of a
+family so old that it professed to despise the Conquest. Each of its
+generations occupied nearly twice as long as those of less tenacious
+men. Traditionally of Danish origin, its men folk had as a rule bright
+reddish-brown hair, red cheeks, large round heads, excellent teeth and
+poor morals. They had done their best for the population of any county
+in which they had settled; their offshoots swarmed. Born in the
+early twenties of the nineteenth century, Sylvanus Heythorp, after an
+education broken by escapades both at school and college, had fetched
+up in that simple London of the late forties, where claret, opera, and
+eight per cent. for your money ruled a cheery roost. Made partner in his
+shipping firm well before he was thirty, he had sailed with a wet sheet
+and a flowing tide; dancers, claret, Cliquot, and piquet; a cab with a
+tiger; some travel--all that delicious early-Victorian consciousness of
+nothing save a golden time. It was all so full and mellow that he was
+forty before he had his only love affair of any depth--with the daughter
+of one of his own clerks, a liaison so awkward as to necessitate a
+sedulous concealment. The death of that girl, after three years, leaving
+him a natural son, had been the chief, perhaps the only real, sorrow
+of his life. Five years later he married. What for? God only knew! as
+he was in the habit of remarking. His wife had been a hard, worldly,
+well-connected woman, who presented him with two unnatural children,
+a girl and a boy, and grew harder, more worldly, less handsome, in the
+process. The migration to Liverpool, which took place when he was sixty
+and she forty-two, broke what she still had of heart, but she lingered
+on twelve years, finding solace in bridge, and being haughty towards
+Liverpool. Old Heythorp saw her to her rest without regret. He had
+felt no love for her whatever, and practically none for her two
+children--they were in his view colourless, pragmatical, very unexpected
+characters. His son Ernest--in the Admiralty--he thought a poor, careful
+stick. His daughter Adela, an excellent manager, delighting in spiritual
+conversation and the society of tame men, rarely failed to show him that
+she considered him a hopeless heathen. They saw as little as need be of
+each other. She was provided for under that settlement he had made on
+her mother fifteen years ago, well before the not altogether unexpected
+crisis in his affairs. Very different was the feeling he had bestowed
+on that son of his “under the rose.” The boy, who had always gone by his
+mother's name of Larne, had on her death been sent to some relations of
+hers in Ireland, and there brought up. He had been called to the Dublin
+bar, and married, young, a girl half Cornish and half Irish; presently,
+having cost old Heythorp in all a pretty penny, he had died impecunious,
+leaving his fair Rosamund at thirty with a girl of eight and a boy of
+five. She had not spent six months of widowhood before coming over from
+Dublin to claim the old man's guardianship. A remarkably pretty woman,
+like a full-blown rose, with greenish hazel eyes, she had turned up one
+morning at the offices of “The Island Navigation Company,” accompanied
+by her two children--for he had never divulged to them his private
+address. And since then they had always been more or less on his hands,
+occupying a small house in a suburb of Liverpool. He visited them there,
+but never asked them to the house in Sefton Park, which was in fact his
+daughter's; so that his proper family and friends were unaware of their
+existence.
+
+Rosamund Larne was one of those precarious ladies who make uncertain
+incomes by writing full-bodied storyettes. In the most dismal
+circumstances she enjoyed a buoyancy bordering on the indecent; which
+always amused old Heythorp's cynicism. But of his grandchildren Phyllis
+and Jock (wild as colts) he had become fond. And this chance of getting
+six thousand pounds settled on them at a stroke had seemed to him
+nothing but heaven-sent. As things were, if he “went off”--and, of
+course, he might at any moment, there wouldn't be a penny for them; for
+he would “cut up” a good fifteen thousand to the bad. He was now giving
+them some three hundred a year out of his fees; and dead directors
+unfortunately earned no fees! Six thousand pounds at four and a half per
+cent., settled so that their mother couldn't “blue it,” would give them
+a certain two hundred and fifty pounds a year-better than beggary. And
+the more he thought the better he liked it, if only that shaky chap, Joe
+Pillin, didn't shy off when he'd bitten his nails short over it!
+
+Four evenings later, the “shaky chap” had again appeared at his house in
+Sefton Park.
+
+“I've thought it over, Sylvanus. I don't like it.
+
+“No; but you'll do it.”
+
+“It's a sacrifice. Fifty-four thousand for four ships--it means a
+considerable reduction in my income.”
+
+“It means security, my boy.”
+
+“Well, there is that; but you know, I really can't be party to a secret
+commission. If it came out, think of my name and goodness knows what.”
+
+“It won't come out.”
+
+“Yes, yes, so you say, but--”
+
+“All you've got to do's to execute a settlement on some third parties
+that I'll name. I'm not going to take a penny of it myself. Get your
+own lawyer to draw it up and make him trustee. You can sign it when the
+purchase has gone through. I'll trust you, Joe. What stock have you got
+that gives four and a half per cent.?”
+
+“Midland”
+
+“That'll do. You needn't sell.”
+
+“Yes, but who are these people?”
+
+“Woman and her children I want to do a good turn to.” What a face the
+fellow had made! “Afraid of being connected with a woman, Joe?”
+
+“Yes, you may laugh--I am afraid of being connected with someone else's
+woman. I don't like it--I don't like it at all. I've not led your life,
+Sylvanus.”
+
+“Lucky for you; you'd have been dead long ago. Tell your lawyer it's an
+old flame of yours--you old dog!”
+
+“Yes, there it is at once, you see. I might be subject to blackmail.”
+
+“Tell him to keep it dark, and just pay over the income, quarterly.”
+
+“I don't like it, Sylvanus--I don't like it.”
+
+“Then leave it, and be hanged to you. Have a cigar?”
+
+“You know I never smoke. Is there no other way?”
+
+“Yes. Sell stock in London, bank the proceeds there, and bring me six
+thousand pounds in notes. I'll hold 'em till after the general meeting.
+If the thing doesn't go through, I'll hand 'em back to you.”
+
+“No; I like that even less.”
+
+“Rather I trusted you, eh!”
+
+“No, not at all, Sylvanus, not at all. But it's all playing round the
+law.”
+
+“There's no law to prevent you doing what you like with your money. What
+I do's nothing to you. And mind you, I'm taking nothing from it--not a
+mag. You assist the widowed and the fatherless--just your line, Joe!”
+
+“What a fellow you are, Sylvanus; you don't seem capable of taking
+anything seriously.”
+
+“Care killed the cat!”
+
+Left alone after this second interview he had thought: 'The beggar'll
+jump.'
+
+And the beggar had. That settlement was drawn and only awaited
+signature. The Board to-day had decided on the purchase; and all that
+remained was to get it ratified at the general meeting. Let him but get
+that over, and this provision for his grandchildren made, and he would
+snap his fingers at Brownbee and his crew-the canting humbugs! “Hope you
+have many years of this life before you!” As if they cared for anything
+but his money--their money rather! And becoming conscious of the length
+of his reverie, he grasped the arms of his chair, heaved at his own
+bulk, in an effort to rise, growing redder and redder in face and neck.
+It was one of the hundred things his doctor had told him not to do for
+fear of apoplexy, the humbug! Why didn't Farney or one of those young
+fellows come and help him up? To call out was undignified. But was he to
+sit there all night? Three times he failed, and after each failure sat
+motionless again, crimson and exhausted; the fourth time he succeeded,
+and slowly made for the office. Passing through, he stopped and said in
+his extinct voice:
+
+“You young gentlemen had forgotten me.”
+
+“Mr. Farney said you didn't wish to be disturbed, sir.”
+
+“Very good of him. Give me my hat and coat.”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Thank you. What time is it?”
+
+“Six o'clock, sir.”
+
+“Tell Mr. Farney to come and see me tomorrow at noon, about my speech
+for the general meeting.”
+
+“Yes, Sir.”
+
+“Good-night to you.”
+
+“Good-night, Sir.”
+
+At his tortoise gait he passed between the office stools to the door,
+opened it feebly, and slowly vanished.
+
+Shutting the door behind him, a clerk said:
+
+“Poor old chairman! He's on his last!”
+
+Another answered:
+
+“Gosh! He's a tough old hulk. He'll go down fightin'.”
+
+
+
+
+2
+
+Issuing from the offices of “The Island Navigation Company,” Sylvanus
+Heythorp moved towards the corner whence he always took tram to Sefton
+Park. The crowded street had all that prosperous air of catching or
+missing something which characterises the town where London and New
+York and Dublin meet. Old Heythorp had to cross to the far side, and he
+sallied forth without regard to traffic. That snail-like passage had in
+it a touch of the sublime; the old man seemed saying: “Knock me down and
+be d---d to you--I'm not going to hurry.” His life was saved perhaps ten
+times a day by the British character at large, compounded of phlegm and
+a liking to take something under its protection. The tram conductors on
+that line were especially used to him, never failing to catch him under
+the arms and heave him like a sack of coals, while with trembling hands
+he pulled hard at the rail and strap.
+
+“All right, sir?”
+
+“Thank you.”
+
+He moved into the body of the tram, where somebody would always get up
+from kindness and the fear that he might sit down on them; and there he
+stayed motionless, his little eyes tight closed. With his red face, tuft
+of white hairs above his square cleft block of shaven chin, and his big
+high-crowned bowler hat, which yet seemed too petty for his head with
+its thick hair--he looked like some kind of an idol dug up and decked
+out in gear a size too small.
+
+One of those voices of young men from public schools and exchanges where
+things are bought and sold, said:
+
+“How de do, Mr. Heythorp?”
+
+Old Heythorp opened his eyes. That sleek cub, Joe Pillin's son! What
+a young pup-with his round eyes, and his round cheeks, and his little
+moustache, his fur coat, his spats, his diamond pin!
+
+“How's your father?” he said.
+
+“Thanks, rather below par, worryin' about his ships. Suppose you haven't
+any news for him, sir?”
+
+Old Heythorp nodded. The young man was one of his pet abominations,
+embodying all the complacent, little-headed mediocrity of this new
+generation; natty fellows all turned out of the same mould, sippers and
+tasters, chaps without drive or capacity, without even vices; and he did
+not intend to gratify the cub's curiosity.
+
+“Come to my house,” he said; “I'll give you a note for him.”
+
+“Tha-anks; I'd like to cheer the old man up.”
+
+The old man! Cheeky brat! And closing his eyes he relapsed into
+immobility. The tram wound and ground its upward way, and he mused. When
+he was that cub's age--twenty-eight or whatever it might be--he had done
+most things; been up Vesuvius, driven four-in-hand, lost his last penny
+on the Derby and won it back on the Oaks, known all the dancers and
+operatic stars of the day, fought a duel with a Yankee at Dieppe and
+winged him for saying through his confounded nose that Old England was
+played out; been a controlling voice already in his shipping firm; drunk
+five other of the best men in London under the table; broken his neck
+steeple-chasing; shot a burglar in the legs; been nearly drowned, for a
+bet; killed snipe in Chelsea; been to Court for his sins; stared a ghost
+out of countenance; and travelled with a lady of Spain. If this young
+pup had done the last, it would be all he had; and yet, no doubt, he
+would call himself a “spark.”
+
+The conductor touched his arm.
+
+“'Ere you are, sir.”
+
+“Thank you.”
+
+He lowered himself to the ground, and moved in the bluish darkness
+towards the gate of his daughter's house. Bob Pillin walked beside him,
+thinking: 'Poor old josser, he is gettin' a back number!' And he said:
+“I should have thought you ought to drive, sir. My old guv'nor would
+knock up at once if he went about at night like this.”
+
+The answer rumbled out into the misty air:
+
+“Your father's got no chest; never had.”
+
+Bob Pillin gave vent to one of those fat cackles which come so readily
+from a certain type of man; and old Heythorp thought:
+
+'.aughing at his father! Parrot!'
+
+They had reached the porch.
+
+A woman with dark hair and a thin, straight face and figure was
+arranging some flowers in the hall. She turned and said:
+
+“You really ought not to be so late, Father! It's wicked at this time of
+year. Who is it--oh! Mr. Pillin, how do you do? Have you had tea? Won't
+you come to the drawing-room; or do you want to see my father?”
+
+“Tha-anks! I believe your father--” And he thought: 'By Jove! the old
+chap is a caution!' For old Heythorp was crossing the hall without
+having paid the faintest attention to his daughter. Murmuring again:
+
+“Tha-anks awfully; he wants to give me something,” he followed. Miss
+Heythorp was not his style at all; he had a kind of dread of that thin
+woman who looked as if she could never be unbuttoned. They said she was
+a great churchgoer and all that sort of thing.
+
+In his sanctum old Heythorp had moved to his writing-table, and was
+evidently anxious to sit down.
+
+“Shall I give you a hand, sir?”
+
+Receiving a shake of the head, Bob Pillin stood by the fire and watched.
+The old “sport” liked to paddle his own canoe. Fancy having to lower
+yourself into a chair like that! When an old Johnny got to such a state
+it was really a mercy when he snuffed out, and made way for younger men.
+How his Companies could go on putting up with such a fossil for chairman
+was a marvel! The fossil rumbled and said in that almost inaudible
+voice:
+
+“I suppose you're beginning to look forward to your father's shoes?”
+
+Bob Pillin's mouth opened. The voice went on:
+
+“Dibs and no responsibility. Tell him from me to drink port--add five
+years to his life.”
+
+To this unwarranted attack Bob Pillin made no answer save a laugh; he
+perceived that a manservant had entered the room.
+
+“A Mrs. Larne, sir. Will you see her?”
+
+At this announcement the old man seemed to try and start; then he
+nodded, and held out the note he had written. Bob Pillin received it
+together with the impression of a murmur which sounded like: “Scratch a
+poll, Poll!” and passing the fine figure of a woman in a fur coat, who
+seemed to warm the air as she went by, he was in the hall again before
+he perceived that he had left his hat.
+
+A young and pretty girl was standing on the bearskin before the fire,
+looking at him with round-eyed innocence. He thought: 'This is better; I
+mustn't disturb them for my hat'. and approaching the fire, said:
+
+“Jolly cold, isn't it?”
+
+The girl smiled: “Yes-jolly.”
+
+He noticed that she had a large bunch of violets at her breast, a lot
+of fair hair, a short straight nose, and round blue-grey eyes very frank
+and open. “Er” he said, “I've left my hat in there.”
+
+“What larks!” And at her little clear laugh something moved within Bob
+Pillin.
+
+“You know this house well?”
+
+She shook her head. “But it's rather scrummy, isn't it?”
+
+Bob Pillin, who had never yet thought so answered:
+
+“Quite O.K.”
+
+The girl threw up her head to laugh again. “O.K.? What's that?”
+
+Bob Pillin saw her white round throat, and thought: 'She is a ripper!'
+And he said with a certain desperation:
+
+“My name's Pillin. Yours is Larne, isn't it? Are you a relation here?”
+
+“He's our Guardy. Isn't he a chook?”
+
+That rumbling whisper like “Scratch a Poll, Poll!” recurring to Bob
+Pillin, he said with reservation:
+
+“You know him better than I do.” “Oh! Aren't you his grandson, or
+something?”
+
+Bob Pillin did not cross himself.
+
+“Lord! No! My dad's an old friend of his; that's all.”
+
+“Is your dad like him?”
+
+“Not much.”
+
+“What a pity! It would have been lovely if they'd been Tweedles.”
+
+Bob Pillin thought: 'This bit is something new. I wonder what her
+Christian name is.' And he said:
+
+“What did your godfather and godmothers in your baptism---?”
+
+The girl laughed; she seemed to laugh at everything.
+
+“Phyllis.”
+
+Could he say: “Is my only joy”? Better keep it! But-for what? He
+wouldn't see her again if he didn't look out! And he said:
+
+“I live at the last house in the park-the red one. D'you know it? Where
+do you?”
+
+“Oh! a long way--23, Millicent Villas. It's a poky little house. I hate
+it. We have awful larks, though.”
+
+“Who are we?”
+
+“Mother, and myself, and Jock--he's an awful boy. You can't conceive
+what an awful boy he is. He's got nearly red hair; I think he'll be just
+like Guardy when he gets old. He's awful!”
+
+Bob Pillin murmured:
+
+“I should like to see him.”
+
+“Would you? I'll ask mother if you can. You won't want to again; he goes
+off all the time like a squib.” She threw back her head, and again Bob
+Pillin felt a little giddy. He collected himself, and drawled:
+
+“Are you going in to see your Guardy?”
+
+“No. Mother's got something special to say. We've never been here
+before, you see. Isn't he fun, though?”
+
+“Fun!”
+
+“I think he's the greatest lark; but he's awfully nice to me. Jock calls
+him the last of the Stoic'uns.”
+
+A voice called from old Heythorp's den:
+
+“Phyllis!” It had a particular ring, that voice, as if coming from
+beautifully formed red lips, of which the lower one must curve the least
+bit over; it had, too, a caressing vitality, and a kind of warm falsity.
+
+The girl threw a laughing look back over her shoulder, and vanished
+through the door into the room.
+
+Bob Pillin remained with his back to the fire and his puppy round eyes
+fixed on the air that her figure had last occupied. He was experiencing
+a sensation never felt before. Those travels with a lady of Spain,
+charitably conceded him by old Heythorp, had so far satisfied the
+emotional side of this young man; they had stopped short at Brighton
+and Scarborough, and been preserved from even the slightest intrusion of
+love. A calculated and hygienic career had caused no anxiety either
+to himself or his father; and this sudden swoop of something more than
+admiration gave him an uncomfortable choky feeling just above his high
+round collar, and in the temples a sort of buzzing--those first symptoms
+of chivalry. A man of the world does not, however, succumb without a
+struggle; and if his hat had not been out of reach, who knows whether he
+would not have left the house hurriedly, saying to himself: “No, no,
+my boy; Millicent Villas is hardly your form, when your intentions are
+honourable”? For somehow that round and laughing face, bob of glistening
+hair, those wide-opened grey eyes refused to awaken the beginnings of
+other intentions--such is the effect of youth and innocence on even the
+steadiest young men. With a kind of moral stammer, he was thinking: 'Can
+I--dare I offer to see them to their tram? Couldn't I even nip out
+and get the car round and send them home in it? No, I might miss
+them--better stick it out here! What a jolly laugh! What a tipping
+face--strawberries and cream, hay, and all that! Millicent Villas!' And
+he wrote it on his cuff.
+
+The door was opening; he heard that warm vibrating voice: “Come along,
+Phyllis!”--the girl's laugh so high and fresh: “Right-o! Coming!” And
+with, perhaps, the first real tremor he had ever known, he crossed
+to the front door. All the more chivalrous to escort them to the tram
+without a hat! And suddenly he heard: “I've got your hat, young man!”
+ And her mother's voice, warm, and simulating shock: “Phyllis, you awful
+gairl! Did you ever see such an awful gairl; Mr.---”
+
+“Pillin, Mother.”
+
+And then--he did not quite know how--insulated from the January air by
+laughter and the scent of fur and violets, he was between them walking
+to their tram. It was like an experience out of the “Arabian Nights,” or
+something of that sort, an intoxication which made one say one was going
+their way, though one would have to come all the way back in the same
+beastly tram. Nothing so warming had ever happened to him as sitting
+between them on that drive, so that he forgot the note in his pocket,
+and his desire to relieve the anxiety of the “old man,” his father. At
+the tram's terminus they all got out. There issued a purr of invitation
+to come and see them some time; a clear: “Jock'll love to see you!” A
+low laugh: “You awful gairl!” And a flash of cunning zigzagged across
+his brain. Taking off his hat, he said:
+
+“Thanks awfully; rather!” and put his foot back on the step of the tram.
+Thus did he delicately expose the depths of his chivalry!
+
+“Oh! you said you were going our way! What one-ers you do tell! Oh!” The
+words were as music; the sight of those eyes growing rounder, the most
+perfect he had ever seen; and Mrs. Larne's low laugh, so warm yet so
+preoccupied, and the tips of the girl's fingers waving back above her
+head. He heaved a sigh, and knew no more till he was seated at his
+club before a bottle of champagne. Home! Not he! He wished to drink and
+dream. “The old man” would get his news all right to-morrow!
+
+
+
+
+3
+
+The words: “A Mrs. Larne to see you, sir,” had been of a nature to
+astonish weaker nerves. What had brought her here? She knew she mustn't
+come! Old Heythorp had watched her entrance with cynical amusement. The
+way she whiffed herself at that young pup in passing, the way her eyes
+slid round! He had a very just appreciation of his son's widow; and a
+smile settled deep between his chin tuft and his moustache. She lifted
+his hand, kissed it, pressed it to her splendid bust, and said:
+
+“So here I am at last, you see. Aren't you surprised?”
+
+Old Heythorp, shook his head.
+
+“I really had to come and see you, Guardy; we haven't had a sight of
+you for such an age. And in this awful weather! How are you, dear old
+Guardy?”
+
+“Never better.” And, watching her green-grey eyes, he added:
+
+“Haven't a penny for you!”
+
+Her face did not fall; she gave her feather-laugh.
+
+“How dreadful of you to think I came for that! But I am in an awful fix,
+Guardy.”
+
+“Never knew you not to be.”
+
+“Just let me tell you, dear; it'll be some relief. I'm having the most
+terrible time.”
+
+She sank into a low chair, disengaging an overpowering scent of violets,
+while melancholy struggled to subdue her face and body.
+
+“The most awful fix. I expect to be sold up any moment. We may be on the
+streets to-morrow. I daren't tell the children; they're so happy, poor
+darlings. I shall be obliged to take Jock away from school. And Phyllis
+will have to stop her piano and dancing; it's an absolute crisis. And
+all due to those Midland Syndicate people. I've been counting on at
+least two hundred for my new story, and the wretches have refused it.”
+
+With a tiny handkerchief she removed one tear from the corner of one
+eye. “It is hard, Guardy; I worked my brain silly over that story.”
+
+From old Heythorp came a mutter which sounded suspiciously like:
+
+“Rats!”
+
+Heaving a sigh, which conveyed nothing but the generosity of her
+breathing apparatus, Mrs. Larne went on:
+
+“You couldn't, I suppose, let me have just one hundred?”
+
+“Not a bob.”
+
+She sighed again, her eyes slid round the room; then in her warm voice
+she murmured:
+
+“Guardy, you were my dear Philip's father, weren't you? I've never said
+anything; but of course you were. He was so like you, and so is Jock.”
+
+Nothing moved in old Heythorp's face. No pagan image consulted with
+flowers and song and sacrifice could have returned less answer. Her dear
+Philip! She had led him the devil of a life, or he was a Dutchman! And
+what the deuce made her suddenly trot out the skeleton like this? But
+Mrs. Larne's eyes were still wandering.
+
+“What a lovely house! You know, I think you ought to help me, Guardy.
+Just imagine if your grandchildren were thrown out into the street!”
+
+The old man grinned. He was not going to deny his relationship--it was
+her look-out, not his. But neither was he going to let her rush him.
+
+“And they will be; you couldn't look on and see it. Do come to my rescue
+this once. You really might do something for them.”
+
+With a rumbling sigh he answered:
+
+“Wait. Can't give you a penny now. Poor as a church mouse.”
+
+“Oh! Guardy
+
+“Fact.”
+
+Mrs. Larne heaved one of her most buoyant sighs. She certainly did not
+believe him.
+
+“Well!” she said; “you'll be sorry when we come round one night and sing
+for pennies under your window. Wouldn't you like to see Phyllis? I left
+her in the hall. She's growing such a sweet gairl. Guardy just fifty!”
+
+“Not a rap.”
+
+Mrs. Larne threw up her hands. “Well! You'll repent it. I'm at my last
+gasp.” She sighed profoundly, and the perfume of violets escaped in a
+cloud; Then, getting up, she went to the door and called: “Phyllis!”
+
+When the girl entered old Heythorp felt the nearest approach to a
+flutter of the heart for many years. She had put her hair up! She was
+like a spring day in January; such a relief from that scented humbug,
+her mother. Pleasant the touch of her lips on his forehead, the sound of
+her clear voice, the sight of her slim movements, the feeling that she
+did him credit--clean-run stock, she and that young scamp Jock--better
+than the holy woman, his daughter Adela, would produce if anyone were
+ever fool enough to marry her, or that pragmatical fellow, his son
+Ernest.
+
+And when they were gone he reflected with added zest on the six thousand
+pounds he was getting for them out of Joe Pillin and his ships. He
+would have to pitch it strong in his speech at the general meeting. With
+freights so low, there was bound to be opposition. No dash nowadays;
+nothing but gabby caution! They were a scrim-shanking lot on the
+Board--he had had to pull them round one by one--the deuce of a tug
+getting this thing through! And yet, the business was sound enough.
+Those ships would earn money, properly handled-good money.
+
+His valet, coming in to prepare him for dinner, found him asleep. He had
+for the old man as much admiration as may be felt for one who cannot put
+his own trousers on. He would say to the housemaid Molly: “He's a game
+old blighter--must have been a rare one in his day. Cocks his hat at
+you, even now, I see!” To which the girl, Irish and pretty, would reply:
+“Well, an' sure I don't mind, if it gives um a pleasure. 'Tis better
+anyway than the sad eye I get from herself.”
+
+At dinner, old Heythorp always sat at one end of the rosewood table and
+his daughter at the other. It was the eminent moment of the day. With
+napkin tucked high into his waistcoat, he gave himself to the meal with
+passion. His palate was undimmed, his digestion unimpaired. He could
+still eat as much as two men, and drink more than one. And while he
+savoured each mouthful he never spoke if he could help it. The holy
+woman had nothing to say that he cared to hear, and he nothing to say
+that she cared to listen to. She had a horror, too, of what she called
+“the pleasures of the table”--those lusts of the flesh! She was always
+longing to dock his grub, he knew. Would see her further first! What
+other pleasures were there at his age? Let her wait till she was eighty.
+But she never would be; too thin and holy!
+
+This evening, however, with the advent of the partridge she did speak.
+
+“Who were your visitors, Father?”
+
+Trust her for nosing anything out! Fixing his little blue eyes on her,
+he mumbled with a very full mouth: “Ladies.”
+
+“So I saw; what ladies?”
+
+He had a longing to say: 'Part of one of my families under the rose.'
+As a fact it was the best part of the only one, but the temptation
+to multiply exceedingly was almost overpowering. He checked himself,
+however, and went on eating partridge, his secret irritation crimsoning
+his cheeks; and he watched her eyes, those cold precise and round grey
+eyes, noting it, and knew she was thinking: 'He eats too much.'
+
+She said: “Sorry I'm not considered fit to be told. You ought not to be
+drinking hock.”
+
+Old Heythorp took up the long green glass, drained it, and repressing
+fumes and emotion went on with his partridge. His daughter pursed her
+lips, took a sip of water, and said:
+
+“I know their name is Larne, but it conveyed nothing to me; perhaps it's
+just as well.”
+
+The old man, mastering a spasm, said with a grin:
+
+“My daughter-in-law and my granddaughter.”
+
+“What! Ernest married--Oh! nonsense!”
+
+He chuckled, and shook his head.
+
+“Then do you mean to say, Father, that you were married before you
+married my mother?”
+
+“No.”
+
+The expression on her face was as good as a play!
+
+She said with a sort of disgust: “Not married! I see. I suppose those
+people are hanging round your neck, then; no wonder you're always in
+difficulties. Are there any more of them?”
+
+Again the old man suppressed that spasm, and the veins in his neck and
+forehead swelled alarmingly. If he had spoken he would infallibly have
+choked. He ceased eating, and putting his hands on the table tried to
+raise himself. He could not and subsiding in his chair sat glaring at
+the stiff, quiet figure of his daughter.
+
+“Don't be silly, Father, and make a scene before Meller. Finish your
+dinner.”
+
+He did not answer. He was not going to sit there to be dragooned and
+insulted! His helplessness had never so weighed on him before. It was
+like a revelation. A log--that had to put up with anything! A log! And,
+waiting for his valet to return, he cunningly took up his fork.
+
+In that saintly voice of hers she said:
+
+“I suppose you don't realise that it's a shock to me. I don't know what
+Ernest will think--”
+
+“Ernest be d---d.”
+
+“I do wish, Father, you wouldn't swear.”
+
+Old Heythorp's rage found vent in a sort of rumble. How the devil had he
+gone on all these years in the same house with that woman, dining with
+her day after day! But the servant had come back now, and putting down
+his fork he said:
+
+“Help me up!”
+
+The man paused, thunderstruck, with the souffle balanced. To leave
+dinner unfinished--it was a portent!
+
+“Help me up!”
+
+“Mr. Heythorp's not very well, Meller; take his other arm.”
+
+The old man shook off her hand.
+
+“I'm very well. Help me up. Dine in my own room in future.”
+
+Raised to his feet, he walked slowly out; but in his sanctum he did
+not sit down, obsessed by this first overwhelming realisation of his
+helplessness. He stood swaying a little, holding on to the table, till
+the servant, having finished serving dinner, brought in his port.
+
+“Are you waiting to sit down, sir?”
+
+He shook his head. Hang it, he could do that for himself, anyway. He
+must think of something to fortify his position against that woman. And
+he said:
+
+“Send me Molly!”
+
+“Yes, sir.” The man put down the port and went.
+
+Old Heythorp filled his glass, drank, and filled again. He took a cigar
+from the box and lighted it. The girl came in, a grey-eyed, dark-haired
+damsel, and stood with her hands folded, her head a little to one side,
+her lips a little parted. The old man said:
+
+“You're a human being.”
+
+“I would hope so, sirr.”
+
+“I'm going to ask you something as a human being--not a servant--see?”
+
+“No, sirr; but I will be glad to do anything you like.”
+
+“Then put your nose in here every now and then, to see if I want
+anything. Meller goes out sometimes. Don't say anything; Just put your
+nose in.”
+
+“Oh! an' I will; 'tis a pleasure 'twill be to do ut.”
+
+He nodded, and when she had gone lowered himself into his chair with a
+sense of appeasement. Pretty girl! Comfort to see a pretty face--not a
+pale, peeky thing like Adela's. His anger burned up anew. So she counted
+on his helplessness, had begun to count on that, had she? She should see
+that there was life in the old dog yet! And his sacrifice of the uneaten
+souffle, the still less eaten mushrooms, the peppermint sweet with which
+he usually concluded dinner, seemed to consecrate that purpose. They all
+thought he was a hulk, without a shot left in the locker! He had seen a
+couple of them at the Board that afternoon shrugging at each other,
+as though saying: 'Look at him!' And young Farney pitying him. Pity,
+forsooth! And that coarse-grained solicitor chap at the creditors'
+meeting curling his lip as much as to say: 'One foot in the grave!' He
+had seen the clerks dowsing the glim of their grins; and that young pup
+Bob Pillin screwing up his supercilious mug over his dog-collar. He
+knew that scented humbug Rosamund was getting scared that he'd drop off
+before she'd squeezed him dry. And his valet was always looking him up
+and down queerly. As to that holy woman--! Not quite so fast! Not quite
+so fast! And filling his glass for the fourth time, he slowly sucked
+down the dark red fluid, with the “old boots” flavour which his soul
+loved, and, drawing deep at his cigar, closed his eyes.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+1
+
+The room in the hotel where the general meetings of “The Island
+Navigation Company” were held was nearly full when the secretary came
+through the door which as yet divided the shareholders from their
+directors. Having surveyed their empty chairs, their ink and papers, and
+nodded to a shareholder or two, he stood, watch in hand, contemplating
+the congregation. A thicker attendance than he had ever seen! Due, no
+doubt, to the lower dividend, and this Pillin business. And his tongue
+curled. For if he had a natural contempt for his Board, with the
+exception of the chairman, he had a still more natural contempt for his
+shareholders. Amusing spectacle when you came to think of it, a general
+meeting! Unique! Eighty or a hundred men, and five women, assembled
+through sheer devotion to their money. Was any other function in the
+world so single-hearted. Church was nothing to it--so many motives
+were mingled there with devotion to one's soul. A well-educated young
+man--reader of Anatole France, and other writers--he enjoyed ironic
+speculation. What earthly good did they think they got by coming here?
+Half-past two! He put his watch back into his pocket, and passed into
+the Board-room.
+
+There, the fumes of lunch and of a short preliminary meeting made cosy
+the February atmosphere. By the fire four directors were conversing
+rather restlessly; the fifth was combing his beard; the chairman sat
+with eyes closed and red lips moving rhythmically in the sucking of a
+lozenge, the slips of his speech ready in his hand. The secretary said
+in his cheerful voice: “Time, sir.”
+
+Old Heythorp swallowed, lifted his arms, rose with help, and walked
+through to his place at the centre of the table. The five directors
+followed. And, standing at the chairman's right, the secretary read
+the minutes, forming the words precisely with his curling tongue. Then,
+assisting the chairman to his feet, he watched those rows of faces, and
+thought: 'Mistake to let them see he can't get up without help. He ought
+to have let me read his speech--I wrote it.'
+
+The chairman began to speak:
+
+“It is my duty and my pleasure,' ladies and gentlemen, for the
+nineteenth consecutive year to present to you the directors' report and
+the accounts for the past twelve months. You will all have had special
+notice of a measure of policy on which your Board has decided, and to
+which you will be asked to-day to give your adherence--to that I shall
+come at the end of my remarks....”
+
+“Excuse me, sir; we can't hear a word down here.”
+
+'.h!' thought the secretary, 'I was expecting that.'
+
+The chairman went on, undisturbed. But several shareholders now rose,
+and the same speaker said testily: “We might as well go home. If the
+chairman's got no voice, can't somebody read for him?”
+
+The chairman took a sip of water, and resumed. Almost all in the last
+six rows were now on their feet, and amid a hubbub of murmurs the
+chairman held out to the secretary the slips of his speech, and fell
+heavily back into his chair.
+
+The secretary re-read from the beginning; and as each sentence fell from
+his tongue, he thought: 'How good that is!' 'That's very clear!' 'A neat
+touch!' 'This is getting them.' It seemed to him a pity they could not
+know it was all his composition. When at last he came to the Pillin sale
+he paused for a second.
+
+“I come now to the measure of policy to which I made allusion at the
+beginning of my speech. Your Board has decided to expand your enterprise
+by purchasing the entire fleet of Pillin & Co., Ltd. By this transaction
+we become the owners of the four steamships Smyrna, Damascus, Tyre, and
+Sidon, vessels in prime condition with a total freight-carrying capacity
+of fifteen thousand tons, at the low inclusive price of sixty thousand
+pounds. Gentlemen, de l'audace, toujours de l'audace!”--it was the
+chairman's phrase, his bit of the speech, and the secretary did it more
+than justice. “Times are bad, but your Board is emphatically of the
+opinion that they are touching bottom; and this, in their view, is the
+psychological moment for a forward stroke. They confidently recommend
+your adoption of their policy and the ratification of this purchase,
+which they believe will, in the not far distant future, substantially
+increase the profits of the Company.” The secretary sat down with
+reluctance. The speech should have continued with a number of appealing
+sentences which he had carefully prepared, but the chairman had cut them
+out with the simple comment: “They ought to be glad of the chance.” It
+was, in his view, an error.
+
+The director who had combed his beard now rose--a man of presence, who
+might be trusted to say nothing long and suavely. While he was speaking
+the secretary was busy noting whence opposition was likely to come. The
+majority were sitting owl-like-a good sign; but some dozen were
+studying their copies of the report, and three at least were making
+notes--Westgate, for, instance, who wanted to get on the Board, and was
+sure to make himself unpleasant--the time-honoured method of vinegar;
+and Batterson, who also desired to come on, and might be trusted to
+support the Board--the time-honoured method of oil; while, if one knew
+anything of human nature, the fellow who had complained that he might
+as well go home would have something uncomfortable to say. The director
+finished his remarks, combed his beard with his fingers, and sat down.
+
+A momentary pause ensued. Then Messieurs Westgate and Batterson rose
+together. Seeing the chairman nod towards the latter, the secretary
+thought: 'Mistake! He should have humoured Westgate by giving him
+precedence.' But that was the worst of the old man, he had no notion of
+the suaviter in modo! Mr. Batterson thus unchained--would like, if he
+might be so allowed, to congratulate the Board on having piloted their
+ship so smoothly through the troublous waters of the past year. With
+their worthy chairman still at the helm, he had no doubt that in
+spite of the still low--he would not say falling--barometer, and
+the-er-unseasonable climacteric, they might rely on weathering
+the--er--he would not say storm. He would confess that the present
+dividend of four per cent. was not one which satisfied every aspiration
+(Hear, hear!), but speaking for himself, and he hoped for others--and
+here Mr. Batterson looked round--he recognised that in all the
+circumstances it was as much as they had the right--er--to expect. But
+following the bold but to his mind prudent development which the
+Board proposed to make, he thought that they might reasonably, if not
+sanguinely, anticipate a more golden future. (“No, no!”) A shareholder
+said, 'No, no!' That might seem to indicate a certain lack of confidence
+in the special proposal before the meeting. (“Yes!”) From that lack of
+confidence he would like at once to dissociate himself. Their chairman,
+a man of foresight and acumen, and valour proved on many a field
+and--er--sea, would not have committed himself to this policy without
+good reason. In his opinion they were in safe hands, and he was glad to
+register his support of the measure proposed. The chairman had well said
+in his speech: 'de l'audace, toujours de l'audace!' Shareholders would
+agree with him that there could be no better motto for Englishmen. Ahem!
+
+Mr. Batterson sat down. And Mr. Westgate rose: He wanted--he said--to
+know more, much more, about this proposition, which to his mind was of a
+very dubious wisdom.... 'Ah!' thought the secretary, 'I told the old
+boy he must tell them more'.... To whom, for instance, had the proposal
+first been made? To him!--the chairman said. Good! But why were Pillins
+selling, if freights were to go up, as they were told?
+
+“Matter of opinion.”
+
+“Quite so; and in my opinion they are going lower, and Pillins were
+right to sell. It follows that we are wrong to buy.” (“Hear, hear!” “No,
+no!”) “Pillins are shrewd people. What does the chairman say? Nerves!
+Does he mean to tell us that this sale was the result of nerves?”
+
+The chairman nodded.
+
+“That appears to me a somewhat fantastic theory; but I will leave that
+and confine myself to asking the grounds on which the chairman bases his
+confidence; in fact, what it is which is actuating the Board in pressing
+on us at such a time what I have no hesitation in stigmatising as a rash
+proposal. In a word, I want light as well as leading in this matter.”
+
+Mr. Westgate sat down.
+
+What would the chairman do now? The situation was distinctly
+awkward--seeing his helplessness and the lukewarmness of the Board
+behind him. And the secretary felt more strongly than ever the absurdity
+of his being an underling, he who in a few well-chosen words could so
+easily have twisted the meeting round his thumb. Suddenly he heard the
+long, rumbling sigh which preluded the chairman's speeches.
+
+“Has any other gentleman anything to say before I move the adoption of
+the report?”
+
+Phew! That would put their backs up. Yes, sure enough it had brought
+that fellow, who had said he might as well go home, to his feet! Now for
+something nasty!
+
+“Mr. Westgate requires answering. I don't like this business. I
+don't impute anything to anybody; but it looks to me as if there were
+something behind it which the shareholders ought to be told. Not
+only that; but, to speak frankly, I'm not satisfied to be ridden over
+roughshod in this fashion by one who, whatever he may have been in the
+past, is obviously not now in the prime of his faculties.”
+
+With a gasp the secretary thought: 'I knew that was a plain-spoken man!'
+
+He heard again the rumbling beside him. The chairman had gone crimson,
+his mouth was pursed, his little eyes were very blue.
+
+“Help me up,” he said.
+
+The secretary helped him, and waited, rather breathless.
+
+The chairman took a sip of water, and his voice, unexpectedly loud,
+broke an ominous hush:
+
+“Never been so insulted in my life. My best services have been at your
+disposal for nineteen years; you know what measure of success this
+Company has attained. I am the oldest man here, and my experience of
+shipping is, I hope, a little greater than that of the two gentlemen who
+spoke last. I have done my best for you, ladies and gentlemen, and we
+shall see whether you are going to endorse an indictment of my judgment
+and of my honour, if I am to take the last speaker seriously. This
+purchase is for your good. 'There is a tide in the affairs of men'--and
+I for one am not content, never have been, to stagnate. If that is what
+you want, however, by all means give your support to these gentlemen and
+have done with it. I tell you freights will go up before the end of
+the year; the purchase is a sound one, more than a sound one--I, at any
+rate, stand or fall by it. Refuse to ratify it, if you like; if you do,
+I shall resign.”
+
+He sank back into his seat. The secretary, stealing a glance, thought
+with a sort of enthusiasm: 'Bravo! Who'd have thought he could rally
+his voice like that? A good touch, too, that about his honour! I believe
+he's knocked them.
+
+It's still dicky, though, if that fellow at the back gets up again;
+the old chap can't work that stop a second time. 'Ah! here was 'old
+Apple-pie' on his hind legs. That was all right!
+
+“I do not hesitate to say that I am an old friend of the chairman; we
+are, many of us, old friends of the chairman, and it has been painful to
+me, and I doubt not to others, to hear an attack made on him. If he is
+old in body, he is young in mental vigour and courage. I wish we were
+all as young. We ought to stand by him; I say, we ought to stand by
+him.” (“Hear, hear! Hear, hear!”) And the secretary thought: 'That's
+done it!' And he felt a sudden odd emotion, watching the chairman
+bobbing his body, like a wooden toy, at old Appleby; and old Appleby
+bobbing back. Then, seeing a shareholder close to the door get
+up, thought: 'Who's that? I know his face--Ah! yes; Ventnor, the
+solicitor--he's one of the chairman's creditors that are coming again
+this afternoon. What now?'
+
+“I can't agree that we ought to let sentiment interfere with our
+judgment in this matter. The question is simply: How are our pockets
+going to be affected? I came here with some misgivings, but the attitude
+of the chairman has been such as to remove them; and I shall support the
+proposition.” The secretary thought: 'That's all right--only, he said it
+rather queerly--rather queerly.'
+
+Then, after a long silence, the chairman, without rising, said:
+
+“I move the adoption of the report and accounts.”
+
+“I second that.”
+
+“Those in favour signify the same in the usual way. Contrary? Carried.”
+ The secretary noted the dissentients, six in number, and that Mr.
+Westgate did not vote.
+
+A quarter of an hour later he stood in the body of the emptying room
+supplying names to one of the gentlemen of the Press. The passionless
+fellow said: “Haythorp, with an 'a'. oh! an 'e'. he seems an old man.
+Thank you. I may have the slips? Would you like to see a proof? With an
+'.' you said--oh! an 'e.' Good afternoon!” And the secretary thought:
+'.hose fellows, what does go on inside them? Fancy not knowing the old
+chairman by now!'...
+
+
+
+
+2
+
+Back in the proper office of “The Island Navigation Company” old
+Heythorp sat smoking a cigar and smiling like a purring cat. He was
+dreaming a little of his triumph, sifting with his old brain, still
+subtle, the wheat from the chaff of the demurrers: Westgate--nothing in
+that--professional discontent till they silenced him with a place on
+the board--but not while he held the reins! That chap at the back--an
+ill-conditioned fellow! “Something behind!” Suspicious brute! There was
+something--but--hang it! they might think themselves lucky to get four
+ships at that price, and all due to him! It was on the last speaker
+that his mind dwelt with a doubt. That fellow Ventnor, to whom he owed
+money--there had been something just a little queer about his tone--as
+much as to say, “I smell a rat.” Well! one would see that at the
+creditors' meeting in half an hour.
+
+“Mr. Pillin, sir.”
+
+“Show him in!”
+
+In a fur coat which seemed to extinguish his thin form, Joe Pillin
+entered. It was snowing, and the cold had nipped and yellowed his meagre
+face between its slight grey whiskering. He said thinly:
+
+“How are you, Sylvanus? Aren't you perished in this cold?”
+
+“Warm as a toast. Sit down. Take off your coat.”
+
+“Oh! I should be lost without it. You must have a fire inside you. So-so
+it's gone through?”
+
+Old Heythorp nodded; and Joe Pillin, wandering like a spirit,
+scrutinised the shut door. He came back to the table, and said in a low
+voice:
+
+“It's a great sacrifice.”
+
+Old Heythorp smiled.
+
+“Have you signed the deed poll?”
+
+Producing a parchment from his pocket Joe Pillin unfolded it with
+caution to disclose his signature, and said:
+
+“I don't like it--it's irrevocable.”
+
+A chuckle escaped old Heythorp.
+
+“As death.”
+
+Joe Pillin's voice passed up into the treble clef.
+
+“I can't bear irrevocable things. I consider you stampeded me, playing
+on my nerves.”
+
+Examining the signatures old Heythorp murmured:
+
+“Tell your lawyer to lock it up. He must think you a sad dog, Joe.”
+
+“Ah! Suppose on my death it comes to the knowledge of my wife!”
+
+“She won't be able to make it hotter for you than you'll be already.”
+
+Joe Pillin replaced the deed within his coat, emitting a queer thin
+noise. He simply could not bear joking on such subjects.
+
+“Well,” he said, “you've got your way; you always do. Who is this Mrs.
+Larne? You oughtn't to keep me in the dark. It seems my boy met her at
+your house. You told me she didn't come there.”
+
+Old Heythorp said with relish:
+
+“Her husband was my son by a woman I was fond of before I married; her
+children are my grandchildren. You've provided for them. Best thing you
+ever did.”
+
+“I don't know--I don't know. I'm sorry you told me. It makes it all
+the more doubtful. As soon as the transfer's complete, I shall get away
+abroad. This cold's killing me. I wish you'd give me your recipe for
+keeping warm.”
+
+“Get a new inside.”
+
+Joe Pillin regarded his old friend with a sort of yearning. “And yet,”
+ he said, “I suppose, with your full-blooded habit, your life hangs by a
+thread, doesn't it?”
+
+“A stout one, my boy”
+
+“Well, good-bye, Sylvanus. You're a Job's comforter; I must be getting
+home.” He put on his hat, and, lost in his fur coat, passed out into the
+corridor. On the stairs he met a man who said:
+
+“How do you do, Mr. Pillin? I know your son. Been' seeing the chairman?
+I see your sale's gone through all right. I hope that'll do us some
+good, but I suppose you think the other way?”
+
+Peering at him from under his hat, Joe Pillin said:
+
+“Mr. Ventnor, I think? Thank you! It's very cold, isn't it?” And, with
+that cautious remark, he passed on down.
+
+Alone again, old Heythorp thought: 'By George! What a wavering,
+quavering, thread paper of a fellow! What misery life must be to a
+chap like that! He walks in fear--he wallows in it. Poor devil!' And a
+curious feeling swelled his heart, of elation, of lightness such as
+he had not known for years. Those two young things were safe now from
+penury-safe! After dealing with those infernal creditors of his he would
+go round and have a look at the children. With a hundred and twenty a
+year the boy could go into the Army--best place for a young scamp like
+that. The girl would go off like hot cakes, of course, but she needn't
+take the first calf that came along. As for their mother, she must look
+after herself; nothing under two thousand a year would keep her out
+of debt. But trust her for wheedling and bluffing her way out of any
+scrape! Watching his cigar-smoke curl and disperse he was conscious of
+the strain he had been under these last six weeks, aware suddenly of how
+greatly he had baulked at thought of to-day's general meeting. Yes!
+It might have turned out nasty. He knew well enough the forces on the
+Board, and off, who would be only too glad to shelve him. If he were
+shelved here his other two Companies would be sure to follow suit, and
+bang would go every penny of his income--he would be a pauper dependant
+on that holy woman. Well! Safe now for another year if he could stave
+off these sharks once more. It might be a harder job this time, but he
+was in luck--in luck, and it must hold. And taking a luxurious pull at
+his cigar, he rang the handbell.
+
+“Bring 'em in here, Mr. Farney. And let me have a cup of China tea as
+strong as you can make it.”
+
+“Yes, sir. Will you see the proof of the press report, or will you leave
+it to me?”
+
+“To you.”
+
+“Yes, sir. It was a good meeting, wasn't it?”
+
+Old Heythorp nodded.
+
+“Wonderful how your voice came back just at the right moment. I was
+afraid things were going to be difficult. The insult did it, I think. It
+was a monstrous thing to say. I could have punched his head.”
+
+Again old Heythorp nodded; and, looking into the secretary's fine blue
+eyes, he repeated: “Bring 'em in.”
+
+The lonely minute before the entrance of his creditors passed in the
+thought: 'So that's how it struck him! Short shrift I should get if it
+came out.'
+
+The gentlemen, who numbered ten this time, bowed to their debtor,
+evidently wondering why the deuce they troubled to be polite to an old
+man who kept them out of their money. Then, the secretary reappearing
+with a cup of China tea, they watched while their debtor drank it. The
+feat was tremulous. Would he get through without spilling it all down
+his front, or choking? To those unaccustomed to his private life it was
+slightly miraculous. He put the cup down empty, tremblingly removed some
+yellow drops from the little white tuft below his lip, refit his cigar,
+and said:
+
+“No use beating about the bush, gentlemen; I can offer you fourteen
+hundred a year so long as I live and hold my directorships, and not a
+penny more. If you can't accept that, you must make me bankrupt and get
+about sixpence in the pound. My qualifying shares will fetch a couple of
+thousand at market price. I own nothing else. The house I live in, and
+everything in it, barring my clothes, my wine, and my cigars, belong
+to my daughter under a settlement fifteen years old. My solicitors
+and bankers will give you every information. That's the position in a
+nutshell.”
+
+In spite of business habits the surprise of the ten gentlemen was only
+partially concealed. A man who owed them so much would naturally say
+he owned nothing, but would he refer them to his solicitors and bankers
+unless he were telling the truth? Then Mr. Ventnor said:
+
+“Will you submit your pass books?”
+
+“No, but I'll authorise my bankers to give you a full statement of my
+receipts for the last five years--longer, if you like.”
+
+The strategic stroke of placing the ten gentlemen round the Board
+table had made it impossible for them to consult freely without being
+overheard, but the low-voiced transference of thought travelling round
+was summed up at last by Mr. Brownbee.
+
+“We think, Mr. Heythorp, that your fees and dividends should enable you
+to set aside for us a larger sum. Sixteen hundred, in fact, is what
+we think you should give us yearly. Representing, as we do, sixteen
+thousand pounds, the prospect is not cheering, but we hope you have some
+good years before you yet. We understand your income to be two thousand
+pounds.”
+
+Old Heythorp shook his head. “Nineteen hundred and thirty pounds in a
+good year. Must eat and drink; must have a man to look after me not as
+active as I was. Can't do on less than five hundred pounds. Fourteen
+hundred's all I can give you, gentlemen; it's an advance of two hundred
+pounds. That's my last word.”
+
+The silence was broken by Mr. Ventnor.
+
+“And it's my last word that I'm not satisfied. If these other gentlemen
+accept your proposition I shall be forced to consider what I can do on
+my own account.”
+
+The old man stared at him, and answered:
+
+“Oh! you will, sir; we shall see.”
+
+The others had risen and were gathered in a knot at the end of the
+table; old Heythorp and Mr. Ventnor alone remained seated. The old man's
+lower lip projected till the white hairs below stood out like bristles.
+'.ou ugly dog,' he was thinking, 'you think you've got something up your
+sleeve. Well, do your worst!' The “ugly dog” rose abruptly and joined
+the others. And old Heythorp closed his eyes, sitting perfectly still,
+with his cigar, which had gone out, sticking up between his teeth. Mr.
+Brownbee turning to voice the decision come to, cleared his throat.
+
+“Mr. Heythorp,” he said, “if your bankers and solicitors bear out your
+statements, we shall accept your offer faute de mieux, in consideration
+of your--” but meeting the old man's eyes, which said so very plainly:
+“Blow your consideration!” he ended with a stammer: “Perhaps you will
+kindly furnish us with the authorisation you spoke of?”
+
+Old Heythorp nodded, and Mr. Brownbee, with a little bow, clasped
+his hat to his breast and moved towards the door. The nine gentlemen
+followed. Mr. Ventnor, bringing up the rear, turned and looked back. But
+the old man's eyes were already closed again.
+
+The moment his creditors were gone, old Heythorp sounded the hand-bell.
+
+“Help me up, Mr. Farney. That Ventnor--what's his holding?”
+
+“Quite small. Only ten shares, I think.”
+
+“Ah! What time is it?”
+
+“Quarter to four, sir.”
+
+“Get me a taxi.”
+
+After visiting his bank and his solicitors he struggled once more into
+his cab and caused it to be driven towards Millicent Villas. A kind of
+sleepy triumph permeated his whole being, bumped and shaken by the cab's
+rapid progress. So! He was free of those sharks now so long as he could
+hold on to his Companies; and he would still have a hundred a year or
+more to spare for Rosamund and her youngsters. He could live on four
+hundred, or even three-fifty, without losing his independence, for there
+would be no standing life in that holy woman's house unless he could pay
+his own scot! A good day's work! The best for many a long month!
+
+The cab stopped before the villa.
+
+
+
+
+3
+
+There are rooms which refuse to give away their owners, and rooms
+which seem to say: 'They really are like this.' Of such was Rosamund
+Larne's--a sort of permanent confession, seeming to remark to anyone
+who entered: 'Her taste? Well, you can see--cheerful and exuberant; her
+habits--yes, she sits here all the morning in a dressing-gown, smoking
+cigarettes and dropping ink; kindly observe my carpet. Notice the
+piano--it has a look of coming and going, according to the exchequer.
+This very deep-cushioned sofa is permanent, however; the water-colours
+on the walls are safe, too--they're by herself. Mark the scent of
+mimosa--she likes flowers, and likes them strong. No clock, of course.
+Examine the bureau--she is obviously always ringing for “the drumstick,”
+ and saying: “Where's this, Ellen, and where's that? You naughty gairl,
+you've been tidying.” Cast an eye on that pile of manuscript--she
+has evidently a genius for composition; it flows off her pen--like
+Shakespeare, she never blots a line. See how she's had the electric
+light put in, instead of that horrid gas; but try and turn either of
+them on--you can't; last quarter isn't paid, of course; and she uses an
+oil lamp, you can tell that by the ceiling: The dog over there, who will
+not answer to the name of 'Carmen,' a Pekinese spaniel like a little
+Djin, all prominent eyes rolling their blacks, and no nose between--yes,
+Carmen looks as if she didn't know what was coming next; she's
+right--it's a pet-and-slap-again life! Consider, too, the fittings of
+the tea-tray, rather soiled, though not quite tin, but I say unto you
+that no millionaire's in all its glory ever had a liqueur bottle on it.'
+
+When old Heythorp entered this room, which extended from back to front
+of the little house, preceded by the announcement “Mr. Aesop,” it was
+resonant with a very clatter-bodandigo of noises, from Phyllis playing
+the Machiche; from the boy Jock on the hearthrug, emitting at short
+intervals the most piercing notes from an ocarina; from Mrs. Larne on
+the sofa, talking with her trailing volubility to Bob Pillin; from Bob
+Pillin muttering: “Ye-es! Qui-ite! Ye-es!” and gazing at Phyllis over
+his collar. And, on the window-sill, as far as she could get from all
+this noise, the little dog Carmen was rolling her eyes. At sight of
+their visitor Jock blew one rending screech, and bolting behind the
+sofa, placed his chin on its top, so that nothing but his round pink
+unmoving face was visible; and the dog Carmen tried to climb the blind
+cord.
+
+Encircled from behind by the arms of Phyllis, and preceded by the
+gracious perfumed bulk of Mrs. Larne, old Heythorp was escorted to the
+sofa. It was low, and when he had plumped down into it, the boy Jock
+emitted a hollow groan. Bob Pillin was the first to break the silence.
+
+“How are you, sir? I hope it's gone through.”
+
+Old Heythorp nodded. His eyes were fixed on the liqueur, and Mrs. Larne
+murmured:
+
+“Guardy, you must try our new liqueur. Jock, you awful boy, get up and
+bring Guardy a glass.”
+
+The boy Jock approached the tea-table, took up a glass, put it to his
+eye and filled it rapidly.
+
+“You horrible boy, you could see that glass has been used.”
+
+In a high round voice rather like an angel's, Jock answered:
+
+“All right, Mother; I'll get rid of it,” and rapidly swallowing the
+yellow liquor, took up another glass.
+
+Mrs. Larne laughed.
+
+“What am I to do with him?”
+
+A loud shriek prevented a response. Phyllis, who had taken her brother
+by the ear to lead him to the door, let him go to clasp her injured
+self.
+
+Bob Pillin went hastening towards her; and following the young man with
+her chin, Mrs. Larne said, smiling:
+
+“Aren't those children awful? He's such a nice fellow. We like him so
+much, Guardy.”
+
+The old man grinned. So she was making up to that young pup! Rosamund
+Larne, watching him, murmured:
+
+“Oh! Guardy, you're as bad as Jock. He takes after you terribly. Look
+at the shape of his head. Jock, come here!” The innocent boy approached;
+with his girlish complexion, his flowery blue eyes, his perfect mouth,
+he stood before his mother like a large cherub. And suddenly he blew his
+ocarina in a dreadful manner. Mrs. Larne launched a box at his ears, and
+receiving the wind of it he fell prone.
+
+“That's the way he behaves. Be off with you, you awful boy. I want to
+talk to Guardy.”
+
+The boy withdrew on his stomach, and sat against the wall cross-legged,
+fixing his innocent round eyes on old Heythorp. Mrs. Larne sighed.
+
+“Things are worse and worse, Guardy. I'm at my wits' end to tide over
+this quarter. You wouldn't advance me a hundred on my new story? I'm
+sure to get two for it in the end.”
+
+The old man shook his head.
+
+“I've done something for you and the children,” he said. “You'll get
+notice of it in a day or two; ask no questions.”
+
+“Oh! Guardy! Oh! you dear!” And her gaze rested on Bob Pillin, leaning
+over the piano, where Phyllis again sat.
+
+Old Heythorp snorted. “What are you cultivating that young gaby for? She
+mustn't be grabbed up by any fool who comes along.”
+
+Mrs. Larne murmured at once:
+
+“Of course, the dear gairl is much too young. Phyllis, come and talk to
+Guardy!”
+
+When the girl was installed beside him on the sofa, and he had felt that
+little thrill of warmth the proximity of youth can bring, he said:
+
+“Been a good girl?”
+
+She shook her head.
+
+“Can't, when Jock's not at school. Mother can't pay for him this term.”
+
+Hearing his name, the boy Jock blew his ocarina till Mrs. Larne drove
+him from the room, and Phyllis went on:
+
+“He's more awful than anything you can think of. Was my dad at all like
+him, Guardy? Mother's always so mysterious about him. I suppose you knew
+him well.”
+
+Old Heythorp, incapable of confusion, answered stolidly:
+
+“Not very.”
+
+“Who was his father? I don't believe even mother knows.”
+
+“Man about town in my day.”
+
+“Oh! your day must have been jolly. Did you wear peg-top trousers, and
+dundreary's?”
+
+Old Heythorp nodded.
+
+“What larks! And I suppose you had lots of adventures with opera dancers
+and gambling. The young men are all so good now.” Her eyes rested on Bob
+Pillin. “That young man's a perfect stick of goodness.”
+
+Old Heythorp grunted.
+
+“You wouldn't know how good he was,” Phyllis went on musingly, “unless
+you'd sat next him in a tunnel. The other day he had his waist squeezed
+and he simply sat still and did nothing. And then when the tunnel ended,
+it was Jock after all, not me. His face was--Oh! ah! ha! ha! Ah! ha!”
+ She threw back her head, displaying all her white, round throat. Then
+edging near, she whispered:
+
+“He likes to pretend, of course, that he's fearfully lively. He's
+promised to take mother and me to the theatre and supper afterwards.
+Won't it be scrummy! Only, I haven't anything to go in.”
+
+Old Heythorp said: “What do you want? Irish poplin?”
+
+Her mouth opened wide: “Oh! Guardy! Soft white satin!”
+
+“How many yards'll go round you?”
+
+“I should think about twelve. We could make it ourselves. You are a
+chook!”
+
+A scent of hair, like hay, enveloped him, her lips bobbed against his
+nose,--and there came a feeling in his heart as when he rolled the
+first sip of a special wine against his palate. This little house was
+a rumty-too affair, her mother was a humbug, the boy a cheeky young
+rascal, but there was a warmth here he never felt in that big house
+which had been his wife's and was now his holy daughter's. And once more
+he rejoiced at his day's work, and the success of his breach of trust,
+which put some little ground beneath these young feet, in a hard and
+unscrupulous world. Phyllis whispered in his ear:
+
+“Guardy, do look; he will stare at me like that. Isn't it awful--like a
+boiled rabbit?”
+
+Bob Pillin, attentive to Mrs. Larne, was gazing with all his might over
+her shoulder at the girl. The young man was moonstruck, that was clear!
+There was something almost touching in the stare of those puppy dog's
+eyes. And he thought 'Young beggar--wish I were his age!' The utter
+injustice of having an old and helpless body, when your desire for
+enjoyment was as great as ever! They said a man was as old as he felt!
+Fools! A man was as old as his legs and arms, and not a day younger. He
+heard the girl beside him utter a discomfortable sound, and saw her
+face cloud as if tears were not far off; she jumped up, and going to the
+window, lifted the little dog and buried her face in its brown and white
+fur. Old Heythorp thought: 'She sees that her humbugging mother is using
+her as a decoy.' But she had come back, and the little dog, rolling its
+eyes horribly at the strange figure on the sofa, in a desperate effort
+to escape succeeded in reaching her shoulder, where it stayed perched
+like a cat, held by one paw and trying to back away into space. Old
+Heythorp said abruptly:
+
+“Are you very fond of your mother?”
+
+“Of course I am, Guardy. I adore her.”
+
+“H'm! Listen to me. When you come of age or marry, you'll have a hundred
+and twenty a year of your own that you can't get rid of. Don't ever be
+persuaded into doing what you don't want. And remember: Your mother's a
+sieve, no good giving her money; keep what you'll get for yourself--it's
+only a pittance, and you'll want it all--every penny.”
+
+Phyllis's eyes had opened very wide; so that he wondered if she had
+taken in his words.
+
+“Oh! Isn't money horrible, Guardy?”
+
+“The want of it.”
+
+“No, it's beastly altogether. If only we were like birds. Or if one
+could put out a plate overnight, and have just enough in the morning to
+use during the day.”
+
+Old Heythorp sighed.
+
+“There's only one thing in life that matters--independence. Lose that,
+and you lose everything. That's the value of money. Help me up.”
+
+Phyllis stretched out her hands, and the little dog, running down her
+back, resumed its perch on the window-sill, close to the blind cord.
+
+Once on his feet, old Heythorp said:
+
+“Give me a kiss. You'll have your satin tomorrow.”
+
+Then looking at Bob Pillin, he remarked:
+
+“Going my way? I'll give you a lift.”
+
+The young man, giving Phyllis one appealing look, answered dully:
+“Tha-anks!” and they went out together to the taxi. In that draughtless
+vehicle they sat, full of who knows what contempt of age for youth; and
+youth for age; the old man resenting this young pup's aspiration to his
+granddaughter; the young man annoyed that this old image had dragged him
+away before he wished to go. Old Heythorp said at last:
+
+“Well?”
+
+Thus expected to say something, Bob Pillin muttered
+
+“Glad your meetin' went off well, sir. You scored a triumph I should
+think.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“Oh! I don't know. I thought you had a good bit of opposition to contend
+with.”
+
+Old Heythorp looked at him.
+
+“Your grandmother!” he said; then, with his habitual instinct of attack,
+added: “You make the most of your opportunities, I see.”
+
+At this rude assault Bob Pillin's red-cheeked face assumed a certain
+dignity. “I don't know what you mean, sir. Mrs. Larne is very kind to
+me.”
+
+“No doubt. But don't try to pick the flowers.”
+
+Thoroughly upset, Bob Pillin preserved a dogged silence. This fortnight,
+since he had first met Phyllis in old Heythorp's hall, had been the most
+singular of his existence up to now. He would never have believed that a
+fellow could be so quickly and completely bowled, could succumb without
+a kick, without even wanting to kick. To one with his philosophy of
+having a good time and never committing himself too far, it was in the
+nature of “a fair knock-out,” and yet so pleasurable, except for the
+wear and tear about one's chances. If only he knew how far the old
+boy really counted in the matter! To say: “My intentions are strictly
+honourable” would be old-fashioned; besides--the old fellow might have
+no right to hear it. They called him Guardy, but without knowing more he
+did not want to admit the old curmudgeon's right to interfere.
+
+“Are you a relation of theirs, sir?”
+
+Old Heythorp nodded.
+
+Bob Pillin went on with desperation:
+
+“I should like to know what your objection to me is.”
+
+The old man turned his head so far as he was able; a grim smile bristled
+the hairs about his lips, and twinkled in his eyes. What did he object
+to? Why--everything! Object to! That sleek head, those puppy-dog eyes,
+fattish red cheeks, high collars, pearl pin, spats, and drawl-pah! the
+imbecility, the smugness of his mug; no go, no devil in any of his
+sort, in any of these fish-veined, coddled-up young bloods, nothing but
+playing for safety! And he wheezed out:
+
+“Milk and water masquerading as port wine.”
+
+Bob Pillin frowned.
+
+It was almost too much for the composure even of a man of the world.
+That this paralytic old fellow should express contempt for his virility
+was really the last thing in jests. Luckily he could not take it
+seriously. But suddenly he thought: 'What if he really has the power to
+stop my going there, and means to turn them against me!' And his heart
+quailed.
+
+“Awfully sorry, sir,” he said, “if you don't think I'm wild enough.
+Anything I can do for you in that line--”
+
+The old man grunted; and realising that he had been quite witty, Bob
+Pillin went on:
+
+“I know I'm not in debt, no entanglements, got a decent income, pretty
+good expectations and all that; but I can soon put that all right if I'm
+not fit without.”
+
+It was perhaps his first attempt at irony, and he could not help
+thinking how good it was.
+
+But old Heythorp preserved a deadly silence. He looked like a stuffed
+man, a regular Aunt Sally sitting there, with the fixed red in his
+cheeks, his stivered hair, square block of a body, and no neck that
+you could see-only wanting the pipe in his mouth! Could there really be
+danger from such an old idol? The idol spoke:
+
+“I'll give you a word of advice. Don't hang round there, or you'll burn
+your fingers. Remember me to your father. Good-night!”
+
+The taxi had stopped before the house in Sefton Park. An insensate
+impulse to remain seated and argue the point fought in Bob Pillin with
+an impulse to leap out, shake his fist in at the window, and walk off.
+He merely said, however:
+
+“Thanks for the lift. Good-night!” And, getting out deliberately, he
+walked off.
+
+Old Heythorp, waiting for the driver to help him up, thought 'Fatter,
+but no more guts than his father!'
+
+In his sanctum he sank at once into his chair. It was wonderfully still
+there every day at this hour; just the click of the coals, just the
+faintest ruffle from the wind in the trees of the park. And it was
+cosily warm, only the fire lightening the darkness. A drowsy beatitude
+pervaded the old man. A good day's work! A triumph--that young pup had
+said. Yes! Something of a triumph! He had held on, and won. And dinner
+to look forward to, yet. A nap--a nap! And soon, rhythmic, soft,
+sonorous, his breathing rose, with now and then that pathetic twitching
+of the old who dream.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+1
+
+When Bob Pillin emerged from the little front garden of 23, Millicent
+Villas ten days later, his sentiments were ravelled, and he could not
+get hold of an end to pull straight the stuff of his mind.
+
+He had found Mrs. Larne and Phyllis in the sitting-room, and Phyllis
+had been crying; he was sure she had been crying; and that memory still
+infected the sentiments evoked by later happenings. Old Heythorp had
+said: “You'll burn your fingers.” The process had begun. Having sent
+her daughter away on a pretext really a bit too thin, Mrs. Larne had
+installed him beside her scented bulk on the sofa, and poured into his
+ear such a tale of monetary woe and entanglement, such a mass of present
+difficulties and rosy prospects, that his brain still whirled, and only
+one thing emerged clearly-that she wanted fifty pounds, which she would
+repay him on quarter-day; for their Guardy had made a settlement by
+which, until the dear children came of age, she would have sixty pounds
+every quarter. It was only a question of a few weeks; he might ask
+Messrs. Scriven and Coles; they would tell him the security was quite
+safe. He certainly might ask Messrs. Scriven and Coles--they happened to
+be his father's solicitors; but it hardly seemed to touch the point. Bob
+Pillin had a certain shrewd caution, and the point was whether he was
+going to begin to lend money to a woman who, he could see, might borrow
+up to seventy times seven on the strength of his infatuation for her
+daughter. That was rather too strong! Yet, if he didn't she might take a
+sudden dislike to him, and where would he be then? Besides, would not
+a loan make his position stronger? And then--such is the effect of love
+even on the younger generation--that thought seemed to him unworthy. If
+he lent at all, it should be from chivalry--ulterior motives might go
+hang! And the memory of the tear-marks on Phyllis's pretty pale-pink
+cheeks; and her petulantly mournful: “Oh! young man, isn't money
+beastly!” scraped his heart, and ravished his judgment. All the same,
+fifty pounds was fifty pounds, and goodness knew how much more; and what
+did he know of Mrs. Larne, after all, except that she was a relative of
+old Heythorp's and wrote stories--told them too, if he was not mistaken?
+Perhaps it would be better to see Scrivens'. But again that absurd
+nobility assaulted him. Phyllis! Phyllis! Besides, were not settlements
+always drawn so that they refused to form security for anything? Thus,
+hampered and troubled, he hailed a cab. He was dining with the Ventnors
+on the Cheshire side, and would be late if he didn't get home sharp to
+dress.
+
+Driving, white-tied--and waist-coated, in his father's car, he thought
+with a certain contumely of the younger Ventnor girl, whom he had been
+wont to consider pretty before he knew Phyllis. And seated next her at
+dinner, he quite enjoyed his new sense of superiority to her charms, and
+the ease with which he could chaff and be agreeable. And all the time he
+suffered from the suppressed longing which scarcely ever left him now,
+to think and talk of Phyllis. Ventnor's fizz was good and plentiful,
+his old Madeira absolutely first chop, and the only other man present a
+teetotal curate, who withdrew with the ladies to talk his parish shop.
+Favoured by these circumstances, and the perception that Ventnor was an
+agreeable fellow, Bob Pillin yielded to his secret itch to get near the
+subject of his affections.
+
+“Do you happen,” he said airily, “to know a Mrs. Larne--relative of old
+Heythorp's--rather a handsome woman-she writes stories.”
+
+Mr. Ventnor shook his head. A closer scrutiny than Bob Pillin's would
+have seen that he also moved his ears.
+
+“Of old Heythorp's? Didn't know he had any, except his daughter, and
+that son of his in the Admiralty.”
+
+Bob Pillin felt the glow of his secret hobby spreading within him.
+
+“She is, though--lives rather out of town; got a son and daughter. I
+thought you might know her stories--clever woman.”
+
+Mr. Ventnor smiled. “Ah!” he said enigmatically, “these lady novelists!
+Does she make any money by them?”
+
+Bob Pillin knew that to make money by writing meant success, but that
+not to make money by writing was artistic, and implied that you had
+private means, which perhaps was even more distinguished. And he said:
+
+“Oh! she has private means, I know.”
+
+Mr. Ventnor reached for the Madeira.
+
+“So she's a relative of old Heythorp's,” he said. “He's a very old
+friend of your father's. He ought to go bankrupt, you know.”
+
+To Bob Pillin, glowing with passion and Madeira, the idea of bankruptcy
+seemed discreditable in connection with a relative of Phyllis. Besides,
+the old boy was far from that! Had he not just made this settlement on
+Mrs. Larne? And he said:
+
+“I think you're mistaken. That's of the past.”
+
+Mr. Ventnor smiled.
+
+“Will you bet?” he said.
+
+Bob Pillin also smiled. “I should be bettin' on a certainty.”
+
+Mr. Ventnor passed his hand over his whiskered face. “Don't you believe
+it; he hasn't a mag to his name. Fill your glass.”
+
+Bob Pillin said, with a certain resentment:
+
+“Well, I happen to know he's just made a settlement of five or six
+thousand pounds. Don't know if you call that being bankrupt.”
+
+“What! On this Mrs. Larne?”
+
+Confused, uncertain whether he had said something derogatory or
+indiscreet, or something which added distinction to Phyllis, Bob Pillin
+hesitated, then gave a nod.
+
+Mr. Ventnor rose and extended his short legs before the fire.
+
+“No, my boy,” he said. “No!”
+
+Unaccustomed to flat contradiction, Bob Pillin reddened.
+
+“I'll bet you a tenner. Ask Scrivens.”
+
+Mr. Ventnor ejaculated:
+
+“Scrivens---but they're not--” then, staring rather hard, he added: “I
+won't bet. You may be right. Scrivens are your father's solicitors too,
+aren't they? Always been sorry he didn't come to me. Shall we join the
+ladies?” And to the drawing-room he preceded a young man more uncertain
+in his mind than on his feet....
+
+Charles Ventnor was not one to let you see that more was going on within
+than met the eye. But there was a good deal going on that evening, and
+after his conversation with young Bob he had occasion more than once to
+turn away and rub his hands together. When, after that second creditors'
+meeting, he had walked down the stairway which led to the offices of
+“The Island Navigation Company,” he had been deep in thought. Short,
+squarely built, rather stout, with moustache and large mutton-chop
+whiskers of a red brown, and a faint floridity in face and dress, he
+impressed at first sight only by a certain truly British vulgarity.
+One felt that here was a hail-fellow--well-met man who liked lunch and
+dinner, went to Scarborough for his summer holidays, sat on his wife,
+took his daughters out in a boat and was never sick. One felt that he
+went to church every Sunday morning, looked upwards as he moved through
+life, disliked the unsuccessful, and expanded with his second glass of
+wine. But then a clear look into his well-clothed face and red-brown
+eyes would give the feeling: 'There's something fulvous here; he might
+be a bit too foxy.' A third look brought the thought: 'He's certainly
+a bully.' He was not a large creditor of old Heythorp. With interest
+on the original, he calculated his claim at three hundred
+pounds--unredeemed shares in that old Ecuador mine. But he had waited
+for his money eight years, and could never imagine how it came about
+that he had been induced to wait so long. There had been, of course, for
+one who liked “big pots,” a certain glamour about the personality of old
+Heythorp, still a bit of a swell in shipping circles, and a bit of an
+aristocrat in Liverpool. But during the last year Charles Ventnor had
+realised that the old chap's star had definitely set--when that happens,
+of course, there is no more glamour, and the time has come to get your
+money. Weakness in oneself and others is despicable! Besides, he had
+food for thought, and descending the stairs he chewed it: He smelt a
+rat--creatures for which both by nature and profession he had a nose.
+Through Bob Pillin, on whom he sometimes dwelt in connection with his
+younger daughter, he knew that old Pillin and old Heythorp had been
+friends for thirty years and more. That, to an astute mind, suggested
+something behind this sale. The thought had already occurred to him when
+he read his copy of the report. A commission would be a breach of
+trust, of course, but there were ways of doing things; the old chap was
+devilish hard pressed, and human nature was human nature! His
+lawyerish mind habitually put two and two together. The old fellow
+had deliberately appointed to meet his creditors again just after the
+general meeting which would decide the purchase--had said he might do
+something for them then. Had that no significance?
+
+In these circumstances Charles Ventnor had come to the meeting with eyes
+wide open and mouth tight closed. And he had watched. It was certainly
+remarkable that such an old and feeble man, with no neck at all, who
+looked indeed as if he might go off with apoplexy any moment, should
+actually say that he “stood or fell” by this purchase, knowing that
+if he fell he would be a beggar. Why should the old chap be so keen on
+getting it through? It would do him personally no good, unless--Exactly!
+He had left the meeting, therefore, secretly confident that old Heythorp
+had got something out of this transaction which would enable him to make
+a substantial proposal to his creditors. So that when the old man had
+declared that he was going to make none, something had turned sour in
+his heart, and he had said to himself: “All right, you old rascal! You
+don't know C. V.” The cavalier manner of that beggarly old rip, the
+defiant look of his deep little eyes, had put a polish on the rancour of
+one who prided himself on letting no man get the better of him. All that
+evening, seated on one side of the fire, while Mrs. Ventnor sat on
+the other, and the younger daughter played Gounod's Serenade on the
+violin--he cogitated. And now and again he smiled, but not too much.
+He did not see his way as yet, but had little doubt that before long
+he would. It would not be hard to knock that chipped old idol off his
+perch. There was already a healthy feeling among the shareholders that
+he was past work and should be scrapped. The old chap should find that
+Charles V. was not to be defied; that when he got his teeth into a
+thing, he did not let it go. By hook or crook he would have the old
+man off his Boards, or his debt out of him as the price of leaving him
+alone. His life or his money--and the old fellow should determine which.
+With the memory of that defiance fresh within him, he almost hoped
+it might come to be the first, and turning to Mrs. Ventnor, he said
+abruptly:
+
+“Have a little dinner Friday week, and ask young Pillin and the curate.”
+ He specified the curate, a tee-totaller, because he had two daughters,
+and males and females must be paired, but he intended to pack him off
+after dinner to the drawing-room to discuss parish matters while he and
+Bob Pillin sat over their wine. What he expected to get out of the young
+man he did not as yet know.
+
+On the day of the dinner, before departing for the office, he had gone
+to his cellar. Would three bottles of Perrier Jouet do the trick, or
+must he add one of the old Madeira? He decided to be on the safe side. A
+bottle or so of champagne went very little way with him personally, and
+young Pillin might be another.
+
+The Madeira having done its work by turning the conversation into such
+an admirable channel, he had cut it short for fear young Pillin might
+drink the lot or get wind of the rat. And when his guests were gone, and
+his family had retired, he stood staring into the fire, putting together
+the pieces of the puzzle. Five or six thousand pounds--six would be ten
+per cent. on sixty! Exactly! Scrivens--young Pillin had said! But Crow &
+Donkin, not Scriven & Coles, were old Heythorp's solicitors. What could
+that mean, save that the old man wanted to cover the tracks of a secret
+commission, and had handled the matter through solicitors who did not
+know the state of his affairs! But why Pillin's solicitors? With this
+sale just going through, it must look deuced fishy to them too. Was it
+all a mare's nest, after all? In such circumstances he himself would
+have taken the matter to a London firm who knew nothing of anybody.
+Puzzled, therefore, and rather disheartened, feeling too that touch of
+liver which was wont to follow his old Madeira, he went up to bed and
+woke his wife to ask her why the dickens they couldn't always have soup
+like that!
+
+Next day he continued to brood over his puzzle, and no fresh light came;
+but having a matter on which his firm and Scrivens' were in touch, he
+decided to go over in person, and see if he could surprise something out
+of them. Feeling, from experience, that any really delicate matter would
+only be entrusted to the most responsible member of the firm, he had
+asked to see Scriven himself, and just as he had taken his hat to go, he
+said casually:
+
+“By the way, you do some business for old Mr. Heythorp, don't you?”
+
+Scriven, raising his eyebrows a little, murmured: “Er--no,” in exactly
+the tone Mr. Ventnor himself used when he wished to imply that though he
+didn't as a fact do business, he probably soon would. He knew therefore
+that the answer was a true one. And non-plussed, he hazarded:
+
+“Oh! I thought you did, in regard to a Mrs. Larne.”
+
+This time he had certainly drawn blood of sorts, for down came Scriven's
+eyebrows, and he said:
+
+“Mrs. Larne--we know a Mrs. Larne, but not in that connection. Why?”
+
+“Oh! Young Pillin told me--”
+
+“Young Pillin? Why, it's his---!” A little pause, and then: “Old Mr.
+Heythorp's solicitors are Crow & Donkin, I believe.”
+
+Mr. Ventnor held out his hand. “Yes, yes,” he said; “goodbye. Glad to
+have got that matter settled up,” and out he went, and down the street,
+important, smiling. By George! He had got it! “It's his father”--Scriven
+had been going to say. What a plant! Exactly! Oh! neat! Old Pillin had
+made the settlement direct; and the solicitors were in the dark; that
+disposed of his difficulty about them. No money had passed between old
+Pillin and old Heythorp not a penny. Oh! neat! But not neat enough for
+Charles Ventnor, who had that nose for rats. Then his smile died,
+and with a little chill he perceived that it was all based on
+supposition--not quite good enough to go on! What then? Somehow he
+must see this Mrs. Larne, or better--old Pillin himself. The point to
+ascertain was whether she had any connection of her own with Pillin.
+Clearly young Pillin didn't know of it; for, according to him, old
+Heythorp had made the settlement. By Jove! That old rascal was deep--all
+the more satisfaction in proving that he was not as deep as C. V. To
+unmask the old cheat was already beginning to seem in the nature of
+a public service. But on what pretext could he visit Pillin? A
+subscription to the Windeatt almshouses! That would make him talk in
+self-defence and he would take care not to press the request to the
+actual point of getting a subscription. He caused himself to be driven
+to the Pillin residence in Sefton Park. Ushered into a room on the
+ground floor, heated in American fashion, Mr. Ventnor unbuttoned his
+coat. A man of sanguine constitution, he found this hot-house atmosphere
+a little trying. And having sympathetically obtained Joe Pillin's
+reluctant refusal--Quite so! One could not indefinitely extend one's
+subscriptions even for the best of causes!--he said gently:
+
+“By the way, you know Mrs. Larne, don't you?”
+
+The effect of that simple shot surpassed his highest hopes. Joe Pillin's
+face, never highly coloured, turned a sort of grey; he opened his thin
+lips, shut them quickly, as birds do, and something seemed to pass with
+difficulty down his scraggy throat. The hollows, which nerve exhaustion
+delves in the cheeks of men whose cheekbones are not high, increased
+alarmingly. For a moment he looked deathly; then, moistening his lips,
+he said:
+
+“Larne--Larne? No, I don't seem---”
+
+Mr. Ventnor, who had taken care to be drawing on his gloves, murmured:
+
+“Oh! I thought--your son knows her; a relation of old Heythorp's,” and
+he looked up.
+
+Joe Pillin had his handkerchief to his mouth; he coughed feebly, then
+with more and more vigour:
+
+“I'm in very poor health,” he said, at last. “I'm getting abroad at
+once. This cold's killing me. What name did you say?” And he remained
+with his handkerchief against his teeth.
+
+Mr. Ventnor repeated:
+
+“Larne. Writes stories.”
+
+Joe Pillin muttered into his handkerchief
+
+“Ali! H'm! No--I--no! My son knows all sorts of people. I shall have to
+try Mentone. Are you going? Good-bye! Good-bye! I'm sorry; ah! ha! My
+cough--ah! ha h'h'.! Very distressing. Ye-hes! My cough-ah! ha h'h'.!
+Most distressing. Ye-hes!”
+
+Out in the drive Mr. Ventnor took a deep breath of the frosty air. Not
+much doubt now! The two names had worked like charms. This weakly
+old fellow would make a pretty witness, would simply crumple under
+cross-examination. What a contrast to that hoary old sinner Heythorp,
+whose brazenness nothing could affect. The rat was as large as life!
+And the only point was how to make the best use of it. Then--for his
+experience was wide--the possibility dawned on him, that after all, this
+Mrs. Larne might only have been old Pillin's mistress--or be his
+natural daughter, or have some other blackmailing hold on him. Any such
+connection would account for his agitation, for his denying her, for his
+son's ignorance. Only it wouldn't account for young Pillin's saying that
+old Heythorp had made the settlement. He could only have got that from
+the woman herself. Still, to make absolutely sure, he had better try
+and see her. But how? It would never do to ask Bob Pillin for an
+introduction, after this interview with his father. He would have to
+go on his own and chance it. Wrote stories did she? Perhaps a newspaper
+would know her address; or the Directory would give it--not a common
+name! And, hot on the scent, he drove to a post office. Yes, there it
+was, right enough! “Larne, Mrs. R., 23, Millicent Villas.” And thinking
+to himself: 'No time like the present,' he turned in that direction.
+The job was delicate. He must be careful not to do anything which
+might compromise his power of making public use of his knowledge.
+Yes-ticklish! What he did now must have a proper legal bottom. Still,
+anyway you looked at it, he had a right to investigate a fraud on
+himself as a shareholder of “The Island Navigation Company,” and a fraud
+on himself as a creditor of old Heythorp. Quite! But suppose this Mrs.
+Larne was really entangled with old Pillin, and the settlement a mere
+reward of virtue, easy or otherwise. Well! in that case there'd be no
+secret commission to make public, and he needn't go further. So that, in
+either event, he would be all right. Only--how to introduce himself? He
+might pretend he was a newspaper man wanting a story. No, that wouldn't
+do! He must not represent that he was what he was not, in case he had
+afterwards to justify his actions publicly, always a difficult thing, if
+you were not careful! At that moment there came into his mind a question
+Bob Pillin had asked the other night. “By the way, you can't borrow on a
+settlement, can you? Isn't there generally some clause against it?” Had
+this woman been trying to borrow from him on that settlement? But at
+this moment he reached the house, and got out of his cab still undecided
+as to how he was going to work the oracle. Impudence, constitutional and
+professional, sustained him in saying to the little maid:
+
+“Mrs. Larne at home? Say Mr. Charles Ventnor, will you?”
+
+His quick brown eyes took in the apparel of the passage which served for
+hall--the deep blue paper on the walls, lilac-patterned curtains over
+the doors, the well-known print of a nude young woman looking over her
+shoulder, and he thought: 'H'm! Distinctly tasty!' They noted, too,
+a small brown-and-white dog cowering in terror at the very end of the
+passage, and he murmured affably: “Fluffy! Come here, Fluffy!” till
+Carmen's teeth chattered in her head.
+
+“Will you come in, sir?”
+
+Mr. Ventnor ran his hand over his whiskers, and, entering a room, was
+impressed at once by its air of domesticity. On a sofa a handsome woman
+and a pretty young girl were surrounded by sewing apparatus and some
+white material. The girl looked up, but the elder lady rose.
+
+Mr. Ventnor said easily
+
+“You know my young friend, Mr. Robert Pillin, I think.”
+
+The lady, whose bulk and bloom struck him to the point of admiration,
+murmured in a full, sweet drawl:
+
+“Oh! Ye-es. Are you from Messrs. Scrivens?”
+
+With the swift reflection: 'As I thought!' Mr. Ventnor answered:
+
+“Er--not exactly. I am a solicitor though; came just to ask about a
+certain settlement that Mr. Pillin tells me you're entitled under.”
+
+“Phyllis dear!”
+
+Seeing the girl about to rise from underneath the white stuff, Mr.
+Ventnor said quickly:
+
+“Pray don't disturb yourself--just a formality!” It had struck him at
+once that the lady would have to speak the truth in the presence of this
+third party, and he went on: “Quite recent, I think. This'll be your
+first interest-on six thousand pounds? Is that right?” And at the limpid
+assent of that rich, sweet voice, he thought: 'Fine woman; what eyes!'
+
+“Thank you; that's quite enough. I can go to Scrivens for any detail.
+Nice young fellow, Bob Pillin, isn't he?” He saw the girl's chin tilt,
+and Mrs. Larne's full mouth curling in a smile.
+
+“Delightful young man; we're very fond of him.”
+
+And he proceeded:
+
+“I'm quite an old friend of his; have you known him long?”
+
+“Oh! no. How long, Phyllis, since we met him at Guardy's? About a month.
+But he's so unaffected--quite at home with us. A nice fellow.”
+
+Mr. Ventnor murmured:
+
+“Very different from his father, isn't he?”
+
+“Is he? We don't know his father; he's a shipowner, I think.”
+
+Mr. Ventnor rubbed his hands: “Ye-es,” he said, “just giving up--a warm
+man. Young Pillin's a lucky fellow--only son. So you met him at old Mr.
+Heythorp's. I know him too--relation of yours, I believe.”
+
+“Our dear Guardy such a wonderful man.”
+
+Mr. Ventnor echoed: “Wonderful--regular old Roman.”
+
+“Oh! but he's so kind!” Mrs. Larne lifted the white stuff: “Look what
+he's given this naughty gairl!”
+
+Mr. Ventnor murmured: “Charming! Charming! Bob Pillin said, I think,
+that Mr. Heythorp was your settlor.”
+
+One of those little clouds which visit the brows of women who have owed
+money in their time passed swiftly athwart Mrs. Larne's eyes. For a
+moment they seemed saying: 'Don't you want to know too much?' Then they
+slid from under it.
+
+“Won't you sit down?” she said. “You must forgive our being at work.”
+
+Mr. Ventnor, who had need of sorting his impressions, shook his head.
+
+“Thank you; I must be getting on. Then Messrs. Scriven can--a mere
+formality! Goodbye! Good-bye, Miss Larne. I'm sure the dress will be
+most becoming.”
+
+And with memories of a too clear look from the girl's eyes, of a warm
+firm pressure from the woman's hand, Mr. Ventnor backed towards the door
+and passed away just in time to avoid hearing in two voices:
+
+“What a nice lawyer!”
+
+“What a horrid man!”
+
+Back in his cab, he continued to rub his hands. No, she didn't know old
+Pillin! That was certain; not from her words, but from her face. She
+wanted to know him, or about him, anyway. She was trying to hook
+young Bob for that sprig of a girl--it was clear as mud. H'm! it would
+astonish his young friend to hear that he had called. Well, let it! And
+a curious mixture of emotions beset Mr. Ventnor. He saw the whole thing
+now so plainly, and really could not refrain from a certain admiration.
+The law had been properly diddled! There was nothing to prevent a man
+from settling money on a woman he had never seen; and so old Pillin's
+settlement could probably not be upset. But old Heythorp could. It was
+neat, though, oh! neat! And that was a fine woman--remarkably! He had a
+sort of feeling that if only the settlement had been in danger, it might
+have been worth while to have made a bargain--a woman like that
+could have made it worth while! And he believed her quite capable of
+entertaining the proposition! Her eye! Pity--quite a pity! Mrs. Ventnor
+was not a wife who satisfied every aspiration. But alas! the settlement
+was safe. This baulking of the sentiment of love, whipped up, if
+anything, the longing for justice in Mr. Ventnor. That old chap should
+feel his teeth now. As a piece of investigation it was not so bad--not
+so bad at all! He had had a bit of luck, of course,--no, not luck--just
+that knack of doing the right thing at the right moment which marks a
+real genius for affairs.
+
+But getting into his train to return to Mrs. Ventnor, he thought: 'A
+woman like that would have been--!' And he sighed.
+
+
+
+
+2
+
+With a neatly written cheque for fifty pounds in his pocket Bob Pillin
+turned in at 23, Millicent Villas on the afternoon after Mr. Ventnor's
+visit. Chivalry had won the day. And he rang the bell with an elation
+which astonished him, for he knew he was doing a soft thing.
+
+“Mrs. Larne is out, sir; Miss Phyllis is at home.”
+
+His heart leaped.
+
+“Oh-h! I'm sorry. I wonder if she'd see me?”
+
+The little maid answered
+
+“I think she's been washin' 'er'air, sir, but it may be dry be now. I'll
+see.”
+
+Bob Pillin stood stock still beneath the young woman on the wall. He
+could scarcely breathe. If her hair were not dry--how awful! Suddenly
+he heard floating down a clear but smothered “Oh! Gefoozleme!” and other
+words which he could not catch. The little maid came running down.
+
+“Miss Phyllis says, sir, she'll be with you in a jiffy. And I was to
+tell you that Master Jock is loose, sir.”
+
+Bob Pillin answered “Tha-anks,” and passed into the drawing-room.
+He went to the bureau, took an envelope, enclosed the cheque, and
+addressing it: “Mrs. Larne,” replaced it in his pocket. Then he crossed
+over to the mirror. Never till this last month had he really doubted his
+own face; but now he wanted for it things he had never wanted. It had
+too much flesh and colour. It did not reflect his passion. This was a
+handicap. With a narrow white piping round his waistcoat opening, and a
+buttonhole of tuberoses, he had tried to repair its deficiencies. But
+do what he would, he was never easy about himself nowadays, never up
+to that pitch which could make him confident in her presence. And until
+this month to lack confidence had never been his wont. A clear, high,
+mocking voice said:
+
+“Oh-h! Conceited young man!”
+
+And spinning round he saw Phyllis in the doorway. Her light brown
+hair was fluffed out on her shoulders, so that he felt a kind of
+fainting-sweet sensation, and murmured inarticulately:
+
+“Oh! I say--how jolly!”
+
+“Lawks! It's awful! Have you come to see mother?”
+
+Balanced between fear and daring, conscious of a scent of hay and
+verbena and camomile, Bob Pillin stammered:
+
+“Ye-es. I--I'm glad she's not in, though.”
+
+Her laugh seemed to him terribly unfeeling.
+
+“Oh! oh! Don't be foolish. Sit down. Isn't washing one's head awful?”
+
+Bob Pillin answered feebly:
+
+“Of course, I haven't much experience.”
+
+Her mouth opened.
+
+“Oh! You are--aren't you?”
+
+And he thought desperately: 'Dare I--oughtn't I--couldn't I somehow take
+her hand or put my arm round her, or something?' Instead, he sat very
+rigid at his end of the sofa, while she sat lax and lissom at the other,
+and one of those crises of paralysis which beset would-be lovers fixed
+him to the soul.
+
+Sometimes during this last month memories of a past existence, when
+chaff and even kisses came readily to the lips, and girls were fair
+game, would make him think: 'Is she really such an innocent? Doesn't she
+really want me to kiss her?' Alas! such intrusions lasted but a moment
+before a blast of awe and chivalry withered them, and a strange and
+tragic delicacy--like nothing he had ever known--resumed its sway. And
+suddenly he heard her say:
+
+“Why do you know such awful men?”
+
+“What? I don't know any awful men.”
+
+“Oh yes, you do; one came here yesterday; he had whiskers, and he was
+awful.”
+
+“Whiskers?” His soul revolted in disclaimer. “I believe I only know one
+man with whiskers--a lawyer.”
+
+“Yes--that was him; a perfectly horrid man. Mother didn't mind him, but
+I thought he was a beast.”
+
+“Ventnor! Came here? How d'you mean?”
+
+“He did; about some business of yours, too.” Her face had clouded over.
+Bob Pillin had of late been harassed by the still-born beginning of a
+poem:
+
+         “I rode upon my way and saw
+          A maid who watched me from the door.”
+
+It never grew longer, and was prompted by the feeling that her face
+was like an April day. The cloud which came on it now was like an April
+cloud, as if a bright shower of rain must follow. Brushing aside the two
+distressful lines, he said:
+
+“Look here, Miss Larne--Phyllis--look here!”
+
+“All right, I'm looking!”
+
+“What does it mean--how did he come? What did he say?”
+
+She shook her head, and her hair quivered; the scent of camomile,
+verbena, hay was wafted; then looking at her lap, she muttered:
+
+“I wish you wouldn't--I wish mother wouldn't--I hate it. Oh! Money!
+Beastly--beastly!” and a tearful sigh shivered itself into Bob Pillin's
+reddening ears.
+
+“I say--don't! And do tell me, because--”
+
+“Oh! you know.”
+
+“I don't--I don't know anything at all. I never---”
+
+Phyllis looked up at him. “Don't tell fibs; you know mother's borrowing
+money from you, and it's hateful!”
+
+A desire to lie roundly, a sense of the cheque in his pocket, a feeling
+of injustice, the emotion of pity, and a confused and black astonishment
+about Ventnor, caused Bob Pillin to stammer:
+
+“Well, I'm d---d!” and to miss the look which Phyllis gave him through
+her lashes--a look saying:
+
+“Ah! that's better!”
+
+“I am d---d! Look here! D'you mean to say that Ventnor came here about
+my lending money? I never said a word to him---”
+
+“There you see--you are lending!”
+
+He clutched his hair.
+
+“We've got to have this out,” he added.
+
+“Not by the roots! Oh! you do look funny. I've never seen you with your
+hair untidy. Oh! oh!”
+
+Bob Pillin rose and paced the room. In the midst of his emotion he
+could not help seeing himself sidelong in the mirror; and on pretext of
+holding his head in both his hands, tried earnestly to restore his hair.
+Then coming to a halt he said:
+
+“Suppose I am lending money to your mother, what does it matter? It's
+only till quarter-day. Anybody might want money.”
+
+Phyllis did not raise her face.
+
+“Why are you lending it?”
+
+“Because--because--why shouldn't I?” and diving suddenly, he seized her
+hands.
+
+She wrenched them free; and with the emotion of despair, Bob Pillin took
+out the envelope.
+
+“If you like,” he said, “I'll tear this up. I don't want to lend it, if
+you don't want me to; but I thought--I thought--” It was for her alone
+he had been going to lend this money!
+
+Phyllis murmured through her hair:
+
+“Yes! You thought that I--that's what's so hateful!”
+
+Apprehension pierced his mind.
+
+“Oh! I never--I swear I never--”
+
+“Yes, you did; you thought I wanted you to lend it.”
+
+She jumped up, and brushed past him into the window.
+
+So she thought she was being used as a decoy! That was awful--especially
+since it was true. He knew well enough that Mrs. Larne was working his
+admiration for her daughter for all that it was worth. And he said with
+simple fervour:
+
+“What rot!” It produced no effect, and at his wits' end, he almost
+shouted: “Look, Phyllis! If you don't want me to--here goes!” Phyllis
+turned. Tearing the envelope across he threw the bits into the fire.
+“There it is,” he said.
+
+Her eyes grew round; she said in an awed voice: “Oh!”
+
+In a sort of agony of honesty he said:
+
+“It was only a cheque. Now you've got your way.”
+
+Staring at the fire she answered slowly:
+
+“I expect you'd better go before mother comes.”
+
+Bob Pillin's mouth fell afar; he secretly agreed, but the idea of
+sacrificing a moment alone with her was intolerable, and he said
+hardily:
+
+“No, I shall stick it!”
+
+Phyllis sneezed.
+
+“My hair isn't a bit dry,” and she sat down on the fender with her back
+to the fire.
+
+A certain spirituality had come into Bob Pillin's face. If only he could
+get that wheeze off: “Phyllis is my only joy!” or even: “Phyllis--do
+you--won't you--mayn't I?” But nothing came--nothing.
+
+And suddenly she said:
+
+“Oh! don't breathe so loud; it's awful!”
+
+“Breathe? I wasn't!”
+
+“You were; just like Carmen when she's dreaming.”
+
+He had walked three steps towards the door, before he thought: 'What
+does it matter? I can stand anything from her; and walked the three
+steps back again.
+
+She said softly:
+
+“Poor young man!”
+
+He answered gloomily:
+
+“I suppose you realise that this may be the last time you'll see me?”
+
+“Why? I thought you were going to take us to the theatre.”
+
+“I don't know whether your mother will--after---”
+
+Phyllis gave a little clear laugh.
+
+“You don't know mother. Nothing makes any difference to her.”
+
+And Bob Pillin muttered:
+
+“I see.” He did not, but it was of no consequence. Then the thought of
+Ventnor again ousted all others. What on earth-how on earth! He searched
+his mind for what he could possibly have said the other night. Surely he
+had not asked him to do anything; certainly not given him their address.
+There was something very odd about it that had jolly well got to be
+cleared up! And he said:
+
+“Are you sure the name of that Johnny who came here yesterday was
+Ventnor?”
+
+Phyllis nodded.
+
+“And he was short, and had whiskers?”
+
+“Yes; red, and red eyes.”
+
+He murmured reluctantly:
+
+“It must be him. Jolly good cheek; I simply can't understand. I shall go
+and see him. How on earth did he know your address?”
+
+“I expect you gave it him.”
+
+“I did not. I won't have you thinking me a squirt.”
+
+Phyllis jumped up. “Oh! Lawks! Here's mother!” Mrs. Larne was coming
+up the garden. Bob Pillin made for the door. “Good-bye,” he said; “I'm
+going.” But Mrs. Larne was already in the hall. Enveloping him in fur
+and her rich personality, she drew him with her into the drawing-room,
+where the back window was open and Phyllis gone.
+
+“I hope,” she said, “those naughty children have been making you
+comfortable. That nice lawyer of yours came yesterday. He seemed quite
+satisfied.”
+
+Very red above his collar, Bob Pillin stammered:
+
+“I never told him to; he isn't my lawyer. I don't know what it means.”
+
+Mrs. Larne smiled. “My dear boy, it's all right. You needn't be so
+squeamish. I want it to be quite on a business footing.”
+
+Restraining a fearful inclination to blurt out: “It's not going to be on
+any footing!” Bob Pillin mumbled: “I must go; I'm late.”
+
+“And when will you be able---?”
+
+“Oh! I'll--I'll send--I'll write. Good-bye!” And suddenly he found that
+Mrs. Larne had him by the lapel of his coat. The scent of violets and
+fur was overpowering, and the thought flashed through him: 'I believe
+she only wanted to take money off old Joseph in the Bible. I can't leave
+my coat in her hands! What shall I do?'
+
+Mrs. Larne was murmuring:
+
+“It would be so sweet of you if you could manage it today”; and her hand
+slid over his chest. “Oh! You have brought your cheque-book--what a nice
+boy!”
+
+Bob Pillin took it out in desperation, and, sitting down at the bureau,
+wrote a cheque similar to that which he had torn and burned. A warm kiss
+lighted on his eyebrow, his head was pressed for a moment to a furry
+bosom; a hand took the cheque; a voice said: “How delightful!” and a
+sigh immersed him in a bath of perfume. Backing to the door, he gasped:
+
+“Don't mention it; and--and don't tell Phyllis, please. Good-bye!”
+
+Once through the garden gate, he thought: 'By gum! I've done it now.
+That Phyllis should know about it at all! That beast Ventnor!'
+
+His face grew almost grim. He would go and see what that meant anyway!
+
+
+
+
+3
+
+Mr. Ventnor had not left his office when his young friend's card was
+brought to him. Tempted for a moment to deny his own presence, he
+thought: 'No! What's the good? Bound to see him some time!' If he had
+not exactly courage, he had that peculiar blend of self-confidence and
+insensibility which must needs distinguish those who follow the law; nor
+did he ever forget that he was in the right.
+
+“Show him in!” he said.
+
+He would be quite bland, but young Pillin might whistle for an
+explanation; he was still tormented, too, by the memory of rich curves
+and moving lips, and the possibilities of better acquaintanceship.
+
+While shaking the young man's hand his quick and fulvous eye detected
+at once the discomposure behind that mask of cheek and collar, and
+relapsing into one of those swivel chairs which give one an advantage
+over men more statically seated, he said:
+
+“You look pretty bobbish. Anything I can do for you?”
+
+Bob Pillin, in the fixed chair of the consultor, nursed his bowler on
+his knee.
+
+“Well, yes, there is. I've just been to see Mrs. Larne.”
+
+Mr. Ventnor did not flinch.
+
+“Ah! Nice woman; pretty daughter, too!” And into those words he put
+a certain meaning. He never waited to be bullied. Bob Pillin felt the
+pressure of his blood increasing.
+
+“Look here, Ventnor,” he said, “I want an explanation.”
+
+“What of?”
+
+“Why, of your going there, and using my name, and God knows what.”
+
+Mr. Ventnor gave his chair two little twiddles before he said
+
+“Well, you won't get it.”
+
+Bob Pillin remained for a moment taken aback; then he muttered
+resolutely:
+
+“It's not the conduct of a gentleman.”
+
+Every man has his illusions, and no man likes them disturbed. The
+gingery tint underlying Mr. Ventnor's colouring overlaid it; even the
+whites of his eyes grew red.
+
+“Oh!” he said; “indeed! You mind your own business, will you?”
+
+“It is my business--very much so. You made use of my name, and I don't
+choose---”
+
+“The devil you don't! Now, I tell you what---”
+
+Mr. Ventnor leaned forward--“you'd better hold your tongue, and
+not exasperate me. I'm a good-tempered man, but I won't stand your
+impudence.”
+
+Clenching his bowler hat, and only kept in his seat by that sense of
+something behind, Bob Pillin ejaculated:
+
+“Impudence! That's good--after what you did! Look here, why did you?
+It's so extraordinary!”
+
+Mr. Ventnor answered:
+
+“Oh! is it? You wait a bit, my friend!”
+
+Still more moved by the mystery of this affair, Bob Pillin could only
+mutter:
+
+“I never gave you their address; we were only talking about old
+Heythorp.”
+
+And at the smile which spread between Mr. Ventnor's whiskers, he jumped
+up, crying:
+
+“It's not the thing, and you're not going to put me off. I insist on an
+explanation.”
+
+Mr. Ventnor leaned back, crossing his stout legs, joining the tips of
+his thick fingers. In this attitude he was always self-possessed.
+
+“You do--do you?”
+
+“Yes. You must have had some reason.”
+
+Mr. Ventnor gazed up at him.
+
+“I'll give you a piece of advice, young cock, and charge you nothing
+for it, too: Ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies. And here's
+another: Go away before you forget yourself again.”
+
+The natural stolidity of Bob Pilings face was only just proof against
+this speech. He said thickly:
+
+“If you go there again and use my name, I'll Well, it's lucky for you
+you're not my age. Anyway I'll relieve you of my acquaintanceship in
+future. Good-evening!” and he went to the door. Mr. Ventnor had risen.
+
+“Very well,” he said loudly. “Good riddance! You wait and see which boot
+the leg is on!”
+
+But Bob Pillin was gone, leaving the lawyer with a very red face, a very
+angry heart, and a vague sense of disorder in his speech. Not only
+Bob Pillin, but his tender aspirations had all left him; he no longer
+dallied with the memory of Mrs. Larne, but like a man and a Briton
+thought only of how to get his own back, and punish evildoers. The
+atrocious words of his young friend, “It's not the conduct of a
+gentleman,” festered in the heart of one who was made gentle not merely
+by nature but by Act of Parliament, and he registered a solemn vow to
+wipe the insult out, if not with blood, with verjuice. It was his duty,
+and they should d---d well see him do it!
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+Sylvanus Heythorp seldom went to bed before one or rose before eleven.
+The latter habit alone kept his valet from handing in the resignation
+which the former habit prompted almost every night.
+
+Propped on his pillows in a crimson dressing-gown, and freshly shaved,
+he looked more Roman than he ever did, except in his bath. Having
+disposed of coffee, he was wont to read his letters, and The Morning
+Post, for he had always been a Tory, and could not stomach paying a
+halfpenny for his news. Not that there were many letters--when a man has
+reached the age of eighty, who should write to him, except to ask for
+money?
+
+It was Valentine's Day. Through his bedroom window he could see the
+trees of the park, where the birds were in song, though he could not
+hear them. He had never been interested in Nature--full-blooded men with
+short necks seldom are.
+
+This morning indeed there were two letters, and he opened that which
+smelt of something. Inside was a thing like a Christmas card, save that
+the naked babe had in his hands a bow and arrow, and words coming out
+of his mouth: “To be your Valentine.” There was also a little pink note
+with one blue forget-me-not printed at the top. It ran:
+
+
+“DEAREST GUARDY,--I'm sorry this is such a mangy little valentine; I
+couldn't go out to get it because I've got a beastly cold, so I asked
+Jock, and the pig bought this. The satin is simply scrumptious. If you
+don't come and see me in it some time soon, I shall come and show it
+to you. I wish I had a moustache, because my top lip feels just like a
+matchbox, but it's rather ripping having breakfast in bed. Mr. Pillin's
+taking us to the theatre the day after to-morrow evening. Isn't it
+nummy! I'm going to have rum and honey for my cold.
+
+“Good-bye,
+
+“Your PHYLLIS.”
+
+
+So this that quivered in his thick fingers, too insensitive to feel it,
+was a valentine for him!
+
+Forty years ago that young thing's grandmother had given him his last.
+It made him out a very old chap! Forty years ago! Had that been
+himself living then? And himself, who, as a youth came on the town
+in 'forty-five? Not a thought, not a feeling the same! They said you
+changed your body every seven years. The mind with it, too, perhaps!
+Well, he had come to the last of his bodies, now! And that holy woman
+had been urging him to take it to Bath, with her face as long as
+a tea-tray, and some gammon from that doctor of his. Too full a
+habit--dock his port--no alcohol--might go off in a coma any night!
+Knock off not he! Rather die any day than turn tee-totaller! When a man
+had nothing left in life except his dinner, his bottle, his cigar, and
+the dreams they gave him--these doctors forsooth must want to cut them
+off! No, no! Carpe diem! while you lived, get something out of it. And
+now that he had made all the provision he could for those youngsters,
+his life was no good to any one but himself; and the sooner he went off
+the better, if he ceased to enjoy what there was left, or lost the power
+to say: “I'll do this and that, and you be jiggered!” Keep a stiff lip
+until you crashed, and then go clean! He sounded the bell beside him
+twice-for Molly, not his man. And when the girl came in, and stood,
+pretty in her print frock, her fluffy over-fine dark hair escaping from
+under her cap, he gazed at her in silence.
+
+“Yes, sirr?”
+
+“Want to look at you, that's all.”
+
+“Oh I an' I'm not tidy, sirr.”
+
+“Never mind. Had your valentine?”
+
+“No, sirr; who would send me one, then?”
+
+“Haven't you a young man?”
+
+“Well, I might. But he's over in my country.
+
+“What d'you think of this?”
+
+He held out the little boy.
+
+The girl took the card and scrutinised it reverently; she said in a
+detached voice:
+
+“Indeed, an' ut's pretty, too.”
+
+“Would you like it?”
+
+“Oh I if 'tis not taking ut from you.”
+
+Old Heythorp shook his head, and pointed to the dressing-table.
+
+“Over there--you'll find a sovereign. Little present for a good girl.”
+
+She uttered a deep sigh. “Oh! sirr, 'tis too much; 'tis kingly.”
+
+“Take it.”
+
+She took it, and came back, her hands clasping the sovereign and the
+valentine, in an attitude as of prayer.
+
+The old man's gaze rested on her with satisfaction.
+
+“I like pretty faces--can't bear sour ones. Tell Meller to get my bath
+ready.”
+
+When she had gone he took up the other letter--some lawyer's writing,
+and opening it with the usual difficulty, read:
+
+
+“February 13, 1905.
+
+“SIR,--Certain facts having come to my knowledge, I deem it my duty to
+call a special meeting of the shareholders of 'The Island Navigation
+Coy.,' to consider circumstances in connection with the purchase of Mr.
+Joseph Pillin's fleet. And I give you notice that at this meeting your
+conduct will be called in question.
+
+“I am, Sir,
+
+“Yours faithfully,
+
+“CHARLES VENTNOR.
+“SYLVANUS HEYTHORP,ESQ.”
+
+
+Having read this missive, old Heythorp remained some minutes without
+stirring. Ventnor! That solicitor chap who had made himself unpleasant
+at the creditors' meetings!
+
+There are men whom a really bad bit of news at once stampedes out of all
+power of coherent thought and action, and men who at first simply do not
+take it in. Old Heythorp took it in fast enough; coming from a lawyer it
+was about as nasty as it could be. But, at once, with stoic wariness
+his old brain began casting round. What did this fellow really know?
+And what exactly could he do? One thing was certain; even if he knew
+everything, he couldn't upset that settlement. The youngsters were all
+right. The old man grasped the fact that only his own position was at
+stake. But this was enough in all conscience; a name which had been
+before the public fifty odd years--income, independence, more perhaps.
+It would take little, seeing his age and feebleness, to make his
+Companies throw him over. But what had the fellow got hold of? How
+decide whether or no to take notice; to let him do his worst, or try and
+get into touch with him? And what was the fellow's motive? He held ten
+shares! That would never make a man take all this trouble, and over a
+purchase which was really first-rate business for the Company. Yes!
+His conscience was quite clean. He had not betrayed his Company--on the
+contrary, had done it a good turn, got them four sound ships at a low
+price--against much opposition. That he might have done the Company a
+better turn, and got the ships at fifty-four thousand, did not trouble
+him--the six thousand was a deuced sight better employed; and he had not
+pocketed a penny piece himself! But the fellow's motive? Spite? Looked
+like it. Spite, because he had been disappointed of his money, and
+defied into the bargain! H'm! If that were so, he might still be got
+to blow cold again. His eyes lighted on the pink note with the blue
+forget-me-not. It marked as it were the high water mark of what was left
+to him of life; and this other letter in his hand-by Jove! Low water
+mark! And with a deep and rumbling sigh he thought: 'No, I'm not going
+to be beaten by this fellow.'
+
+“Your bath is ready, sir.”
+
+Crumpling the two letters into the pocket of his dressing-gown, he said:
+
+“Help me up; and telephone to Mr. Farney to be good enough to come
+round.” ....
+
+An hour later, when the secretary entered, his chairman was sitting by
+the fire perusing the articles of association. And, waiting for him to
+look up, watching the articles shaking in that thick, feeble hand, the
+secretary had one of those moments of philosophy not too frequent with
+his kind. Some said the only happy time of life was when you had no
+passions, nothing to hope and live for. But did you really ever reach
+such a stage? The old chairman, for instance, still had his passion for
+getting his own way, still had his prestige, and set a lot of store by
+it! And he said:
+
+“Good morning, sir; I hope you're all right in this east wind. The
+purchase is completed.”
+
+“Best thing the company ever did. Have you heard from a shareholder
+called Ventnor. You know the man I mean?”
+
+“No, sir. I haven't.”
+
+“Well! You may get a letter that'll make you open your eyes. An impudent
+scoundrel! Just write at my dictation.”
+
+“February 14th, 1905.
+
+“CHARLES VENTNOR, Esq.
+
+“SIR,--I have your letter of yesterday's date, the contents of which I
+am at a loss to understand. My solicitors will be instructed to take the
+necessary measures.”
+
+'.hew What's all this about?' the secretary thought.
+
+“Yours truly....”
+
+“I'll sign.” And the shaky letters closed the page: “SYLVANUS HEYTHORP.”
+
+“Post that as you go.”
+
+“Anything else I can do for you, sir?”
+
+“Nothing, except to let me know if you hear from this fellow.”
+
+When the secretary had gone the old man thought: 'So! The ruffian hasn't
+called the meeting yet. That'll bring him round here fast enough if it's
+his money he wants-blackmailing scoundrel!'
+
+“Mr. Pillin, sir; and will you wait lunch, or will you have it in the
+dining-room?”
+
+“In the dining-room.”
+
+At sight of that death's-head of a fellow, old Heythorp felt a sort of
+pity. He looked bad enough already--and this news would make him look
+worse. Joe Pillin glanced round at the two closed doors.
+
+“How are you, Sylvanus? I'm very poorly.” He came closer, and lowered
+his voice: “Why did you get me to make that settlement? I must have been
+mad. I've had a man called Ventnor--I didn't like his manner. He asked
+me if I knew a Mrs. Larne.”
+
+“Ha! What did you say?”
+
+“What could I say? I don't know her. But why did he ask?”
+
+“Smells a rat.”
+
+Joe Pillin grasped the edge of the table with both hands.
+
+“Oh!” he murmured. “Oh! don't say that!”
+
+Old Heythorp held out to him the crumpled letter.
+
+When he had read it Joe Pillin sat down abruptly before the fire.
+
+“Pull yourself together, Joe; they can't touch you, and they can't upset
+either the purchase or the settlement. They can upset me, that's all.”
+
+Joe Pillin answered, with trembling lips:
+
+“How you can sit there, and look the same as ever! Are you sure they
+can't touch me?”
+
+Old Heyworth nodded grimly.
+
+“They talk of an Act, but they haven't passed it yet. They might prove
+a breach of trust against me. But I'll diddle them. Keep your pecker up,
+and get off abroad.”
+
+“Yes, yes. I must. I'm very bad. I was going to-morrow. But I don't
+know, I'm sure, with this hanging over me. My son knowing her makes it
+worse. He picks up with everybody. He knows this man Ventnor too. And
+I daren't say anything to Bob. What are you thinking of, Sylvanus? You
+look very funny!”
+
+Old Heythorp seemed to rouse himself from a sort of coma.
+
+“I want my lunch,” he said. “Will you stop and have some?”
+
+Joe Pillin stammered out:
+
+“Lunch! I don't know when I shall eat again. What are you going to do,
+Sylvanus?”
+
+“Bluff the beggar out of it.”
+
+“But suppose you can't?”
+
+“Buy him off. He's one--of my creditors.”
+
+Joe Pillin stared at him afresh. “You always had such nerve,” he
+said yearningly. “Do you ever wake up between two and four? I do--and
+everything's black.”
+
+“Put a good stiff nightcap on, my boy, before going to bed.”
+
+“Yes; I sometimes wish I was less temperate. But I couldn't stand it.
+I'm told your doctor forbids you alcohol.”
+
+“He does. That's why I drink it.”
+
+Joe Pillin, brooding over the fire, said: “This meeting--d'you think
+they mean to have it? D'you think this man really knows? If my name gets
+into the newspapers--” but encountering his old friend's deep little
+eyes, he stopped. “So you advise me to get off to-morrow, then?”
+
+Old Heythorp nodded.
+
+“Your lunch is served, sir.”
+
+Joe Pillin started violently, and rose.
+
+“Well, good-bye, Sylvanus-good-bye! I don't suppose I shall be back till
+the summer, if I ever come back!” He sank his voice: “I shall rely on
+you. You won't let them, will you?”
+
+Old Heythorp lifted his hand, and Joe Pillin put into that swollen
+shaking paw his pale and spindly fingers. “I wish I had your pluck,” he
+said sadly. “Good-bye, Sylvanus,” and turning, he passed out.
+
+Old Heythorp thought: 'Poor shaky chap. All to pieces at the first
+shot!' And, going to his lunch, ate more heavily than usual.
+
+
+
+
+2
+
+Mr. Ventnor, on reaching his office and opening his letters, found, as
+he had anticipated, one from “that old rascal.” Its contents excited in
+him the need to know his own mind. Fortunately this was not complicated
+by a sense of dignity--he only had to consider the position with an eye
+on not being made to look a fool. The point was simply whether he set
+more store by his money than by his desire for--er--Justice. If not, he
+had merely to convene the special meeting, and lay before it the plain
+fact that Mr. Joseph Pillin, selling his ships for sixty thousand
+pounds, had just made a settlement of six thousand pounds on a lady
+whom he did not know, a daughter, ward, or what-not--of the purchasing
+company's chairman, who had said, moreover, at the general meeting,
+that he stood or fell by the transaction; he had merely to do this,
+and demand that an explanation be required from the old man of such a
+startling coincidence. Convinced that no explanation would hold water,
+he felt sure that his action would be at once followed by the collapse,
+if nothing more, of that old image, and the infliction of a nasty slur
+on old Pillin and his hopeful son. On the other hand, three hundred
+pounds was money; and, if old Heythorp were to say to him: “What do
+you want to make this fuss for--here's what I owe you!” could a man of
+business and the world let his sense of justice--however he might itch
+to have it satisfied--stand in the way of what was after all also his
+sense of Justice?--for this money had been owing to him for the deuce of
+along time. In this dilemma, the words:
+
+“My solicitors will be instructed” were of notable service in
+helping him to form a decision, for he had a certain dislike of other
+solicitors, and an intimate knowledge of the law of libel and slander;
+if by any remote chance there should be a slip between the cup and
+the lip, Charles Ventnor might be in the soup--a position which he
+deprecated both by nature and profession. High thinking, therefore,
+decided him at last to answer thus:
+
+“February 19th, 1905.
+
+“SIR,--I have received your note. I think it may be fair, before taking
+further steps in this matter, to ask you for a personal explanation
+of the circumstances to which I alluded. I therefore propose with your
+permission to call on you at your private residence at five o'clock
+to-morrow afternoon.
+
+“Yours faithfully, “CHARLES VENTNOR.
+
+“SYLVANUS HEYTHORP, Esq.”
+
+Having sent this missive, and arranged in his mind the damning, if
+circumstantial, evidence he had accumulated, he awaited the hour with
+confidence, for his nature was not lacking in the cock-surety of a
+Briton. All the same, he dressed himself particularly well that
+morning, putting on a blue and white striped waistcoat which, with a
+cream-coloured tie, set off his fulvous whiskers and full blue eyes;
+and he lunched, if anything, more fully than his wont, eating a stronger
+cheese and taking a glass of special Club ale. He took care to be late,
+too, to show the old fellow that his coming at all was in the nature of
+an act of grace. A strong scent of hyacinths greeted him in the hall;
+and Mr. Ventnor, who was an amateur of flowers, stopped to put his nose
+into a fine bloom and think uncontrollably of Mrs. Larne. Pity! The
+things one had to give up in life--fine women--one thing and another.
+Pity! The thought inspired in him a timely anger; and he followed the
+servant, intending to stand no nonsense from this paralytic old rascal.
+
+The room he entered was lighted by a bright fire, and a single electric
+lamp with an orange shade on a table covered by a black satin cloth.
+There were heavily gleaming oil paintings on the walls, a heavy old
+brass chandelier without candles, heavy dark red curtains, and an
+indefinable scent of burnt acorns, coffee, cigars, and old man. He
+became conscious of a candescent spot on the far side of the hearth,
+where the light fell on old Heythorp's thick white hair.
+
+“Mr. Ventnor, sir.”
+
+The candescent spot moved. A voice said: “Sit down.”
+
+Mr. Ventnor sat in an armchair on the opposite side of the fire; and,
+finding a kind of somnolence creeping over him, pinched himself. He
+wanted all his wits about him.
+
+The old man was speaking in that extinct voice of his, and Mr. Ventnor
+said rather pettishly:
+
+“Beg pardon, I don't get you.”
+
+Old Heythorp's voice swelled with sudden force:
+
+“Your letters are Greek to me.”
+
+“Oh! indeed, I think we can soon make them into plain English!”
+
+“Sooner the better.”
+
+Mr. Ventnor passed through a moment of indecision. Should he lay
+his cards on the table? It was not his habit, and the proceeding was
+sometimes attended with risk. The knowledge, however, that he could
+always take them up again, seeing there was no third person here to
+testify that he had laid them down, decided him, and he said:
+
+“Well, Mr. Heythorp, the long and short of the matter is this: Our
+friend Mr. Pillin paid you a commission of ten per cent. on the sale
+of his ships. Oh! yes. He settled the money, not on you, but on your
+relative Mrs. Larne and her children. This, as you know, is a breach of
+trust on your part.”
+
+The old man's voice: “Where did you get hold of that cock-and-bull
+story?” brought him to his feet before the fire.
+
+“It won't do, Mr. Heythorp. My witnesses are Mr. Pillin, Mrs. Larne, and
+Mr. Scriven.”
+
+“What have you come here for, then--blackmail?”
+
+Mr. Ventnor straightened his waistcoat; a rush of conscious virtue had
+dyed his face.
+
+“Oh! you take that tone,” he said, “do you? You think you can ride
+roughshod over everything? Well, you're very much mistaken. I advise you
+to keep a civil tongue and consider your position, or I'll make a beggar
+of you. I'm not sure this isn't a case for a prosecution!”
+
+“Gammon!”
+
+The choler in Charles Ventnor kept him silent for a moment; then he
+burst out:
+
+“Neither gammon nor spinach. You owe me three hundred pounds, you've
+owed it me for years, and you have the impudence to take this attitude
+with me, have you? Now, I never bluster; I say what I mean. You just
+listen to me. Either you pay me what you owe me at once, or I call this
+meeting and make what I know public. You'll very soon find out where you
+are. And a good thing, too, for a more unscrupulous--unscrupulous---” he
+paused for breath.
+
+Occupied with his own emotion, he had not observed the change in old
+Heythorp's face. The imperial on that lower lip was bristling, the
+crimson of those cheeks had spread to the roots of his white hair.
+He grasped the arms of his chair, trying to rise; his swollen hands
+trembled; a little saliva escaped one corner of his lips. And the words
+came out as if shaken by his teeth:
+
+“So-so-you-you bully me!”
+
+Conscious that the interview had suddenly passed from the phase of
+negotiation, Mr. Ventnor looked hard at his opponent. He saw nothing
+but a decrepit, passionate, crimson-faced old man at bay, and all the
+instincts of one with everything on his side boiled up in him. The
+miserable old turkey-cock--the apoplectic image! And he said:
+
+“And you'll do no good for yourself by getting into a passion. At your
+age, and in your condition, I recommend a little prudence. Now just take
+my terms quietly, or you know what'll happen. I'm not to be intimidated
+by any of your airs.” And seeing that the old man's rage was such that
+he simply could not speak, he took the opportunity of going on: “I don't
+care two straws which you do--I'm out to show you who's master. If you
+think in your dotage you can domineer any longer--well, you'll find two
+can play at that game. Come, now, which are you going to do?”
+
+The old man had sunk back in his chair, and only his little deep-blue
+eyes seemed living. Then he moved one hand, and Mr. Ventnor saw that
+he was fumbling to reach the button of an electric bell at the end of a
+cord. 'I'll show him,' he thought, and stepping forward, he put it out
+of reach.
+
+Thus frustrated, the old man remained-motionless, staring up. The word
+“blackmail” resumed its buzzing in Mr. Ventnor's ears. The impudence
+the consummate impudence of it from this fraudulent old ruffian with one
+foot in bankruptcy and one foot in the grave, if not in the dock.
+
+“Yes,” he said, “it's never too late to learn; and for once you've come
+up against someone a leetle bit too much for you. Haven't you now? You'd
+better cry 'Peccavi.'.
+
+Then, in the deathly silence of the room, the moral force of his
+position, and the collapse as it seemed of his opponent, awakening a
+faint compunction, he took a turn over the Turkey carpet to readjust his
+mind.
+
+“You're an old man, and I don't want to be too hard on you. I'm only
+showing you that you can't play fast and loose as if you were God
+Almighty any longer. You've had your own way too many years. And now
+you can't have it, see!” Then, as the old man again moved forward in his
+chair, he added: “Now, don't get into a passion again; calm yourself,
+because I warn you--this is your last chance. I'm a man of my word; and
+what I say, I do.”
+
+By a violent and unsuspected effort the old man jerked himself up and
+reached the bell. Mr. Ventnor heard it ring, and said sharply:
+
+“Mind you, it's nothing to me which you do. I came for your own good.
+Please yourself. Well?”
+
+He was answered by the click of the door and the old man's husky voice:
+
+“Show this hound out! And then come back!”
+
+Mr. Ventnor had presence of mind enough not to shake his fist.
+Muttering: “Very well, Mr. Heythorp! Ah! Very well!” he moved with
+dignity to the door. The careful shepherding of the servant renewed the
+fire of his anger. Hound! He had been called a hound!
+
+
+
+
+3
+
+After seeing Mr. Ventnor off the premises the man Meller returned to his
+master, whose face looked very odd--“all patchy-like,” as he put it in
+the servants' hall, as though the blood driven to his head had mottled
+for good the snowy whiteness of the forehead. He received the unexpected
+order:
+
+“Get me a hot bath ready, and put some pine stuff in it.”
+
+When the old man was seated there, the valet asked:
+
+“How long shall I give you, sir?”
+
+“Twenty minutes.”
+
+“Very good, sir.”
+
+Lying in that steaming brown fragrant liquid, old Heythorp heaved a
+stertorous sigh. By losing his temper with that ill-conditioned cur he
+had cooked his goose. It was done to a turn; and he was a ruined man.
+If only--oh! if only he could have seized the fellow by the neck and
+pitched him out of the room! To have lived to be so spoken to; to have
+been unable to lift hand or foot, hardly even his voice--he would sooner
+have been dead! Yes--sooner have been dead! A dumb and measureless
+commotion was still at work in the recesses of that thick old body,
+silver-brown in the dark water, whose steam he drew deep into his
+wheezing lungs, as though for spiritual relief. To be beaten by a cur
+like that! To have that common cad of a pettifogging lawyer drag him
+down and kick him about; tumble a name which had stood high, in the
+dust! The fellow had the power to make him a byword and a beggar! It
+was incredible! But it was a fact. And to-morrow he would begin to do
+it--perhaps had begun already. His tree had come down with a crash!
+Eighty years-eighty good years! He regretted none of them-regretted
+nothing; least of all this breach of trust which had provided for his
+grandchildren--one of the best things he had ever done. The fellow was
+a cowardly hound, too! The way he had snatched the bell-pull out of
+his reach-despicable cur! And a chap like that was to put “paid” to the
+account of Sylvanus Heythorp, to “scratch” him out of life--so near the
+end of everything, the very end! His hand raised above the surface fell
+back on his stomach through the dark water, and a bubble or two rose.
+Not so fast--not so fast! He had but to slip down a foot, let the water
+close over his head, and “Good-bye” to Master Ventnor's triumph Dead men
+could not be kicked off the Boards of Companies. Dead men could not be
+beggared, deprived of their independence. He smiled and stirred a little
+in the bath till the water reached the white hairs on his lower lip.
+It smelt nice! And he took a long sniff: He had had a good life, a good
+life! And with the thought that he had it in his power at any moment to
+put Master Ventnor's nose out of joint--to beat the beggar after all, a
+sense of assuagement and well-being crept over him. His blood ran
+more evenly again. He closed his eyes. They talked about an
+after-life--people like that holy woman. Gammon! You went to sleep--a
+long sleep; no dreams. A nap after dinner! Dinner! His tongue sought his
+palate! Yes! he could eat a good dinner! That dog hadn't put him off his
+stroke! The best dinner he had ever eaten was the one he gave to Jack
+Herring, Chichester, Thornworthy, Nick Treffry and Jolyon Forsyte at
+Pole's. Good Lord! In 'sixty--yes--'sixty-five? Just before he fell in
+love with Alice Larne--ten years before he came to Liverpool. That was
+a dinner! Cost twenty-four pounds for the six of them--and Forsyte
+an absurdly moderate fellow. Only Nick Treff'ry and himself had been
+three-bottle men! Dead! Every jack man of them. And suddenly he thought:
+'.y name's a good one--I was never down before--never beaten!'
+
+A voice above the steam said:
+
+“The twenty minutes is up, sir.”
+
+“All right; I'll get out. Evening clothes.”
+
+And Meller, taking out dress suit and shirt, thought: 'Now, what does
+the old bloomer want dressin' up again for; why can't he go to bed and
+have his dinner there? When a man's like a baby, the cradle's the place
+for him.'....
+
+An hour later, at the scene of his encounter with Mr. Ventnor, where
+the table was already laid for dinner, old Heythorp stood and gazed. The
+curtains had been drawn back, the window thrown open to air the room,
+and he could see out there the shapes of the dark trees and a sky
+grape-coloured, in the mild, moist night. It smelt good. A sensuous
+feeling stirred in him, warm from his bath, clothed from head to foot in
+fresh garments. Deuce of a time since he had dined in full fig! He
+would have liked a woman dining opposite--but not the holy woman; no,
+by George!--would have liked to see light falling on a woman's shoulders
+once again, and a pair of bright eyes! He crossed, snail-like, towards
+the fire. There that bullying fellow had stood with his back to
+it--confound his impudence!--as if the place belonged to him. And
+suddenly he had a vision of his three secretaries' faces--especially
+young Farney's as they would look, when the pack got him by the throat
+and pulled him down. His co-directors, too! Old Heythorp! How are the
+mighty fallen! And that hound jubilant!
+
+His valet passed across the room to shut the window and draw the
+curtains. This chap too! The day he could no longer pay his wages, and
+had lost the power to say “Shan't want your services any more”--when he
+could no longer even pay his doctor for doing his best to kill him off!
+Power, interest, independence, all--gone! To be dressed and undressed,
+given pap, like a baby in arms, served as they chose to serve him, and
+wished out of the way--broken, dishonoured!
+
+By money alone an old man had his being! Meat, drink, movement, breath!
+When all his money was gone the holy woman would let him know it fast
+enough. They would all let him know it; or if they didn't, it would be
+out of pity! He had never been pitied yet--thank God! And he said:
+
+“Get me up a bottle of Perrier Jouet. What's the menu?”
+
+“Germane soup, sir; filly de sole; sweetbread; cutlet soubees, rum
+souffly.”
+
+“Tell her to give me a hors d'oeuvre, and put on a savoury.”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+When the man had gone, he thought: 'I should have liked an oyster--too
+late now!' and going over to his bureau, he fumblingly pulled out the
+top drawer. There was little in it--Just a few papers, business papers
+on his Companies, and a schedule of his debts; not even a copy of his
+will--he had not made one, nothing to leave! Letters he had never kept.
+Half a dozen bills, a few receipts, and the little pink note with the
+blue forget-me-not. That was the lot! An old tree gives up bearing
+leaves, and its roots dry up, before it comes down in a wind; an old
+man's world slowly falls away from him till he stands alone in the
+night. Looking at the pink note, he thought: 'Suppose I'd married
+Alice--a man never had a better mistress!' He fumbled the drawer to; but
+still he strayed feebly about the room, with a curious shrinking from
+sitting down, legacy from the quarter of an hour he had been compelled
+to sit while that hound worried at his throat. He was opposite one of
+the pictures now. It gleamed, dark and oily, limning a Scots Grey who
+had mounted a wounded Russian on his horse, and was bringing him
+back prisoner from the Balaclava charge. A very old friend--bought in
+'.ifty-nine. It had hung in his chambers in the Albany--hung with him
+ever since. With whom would it hang when he was gone? For that holy
+woman would scrap it, to a certainty, and stick up some Crucifixion or
+other, some new-fangled high art thing! She could even do that now if
+she liked--for she owned it, owned every mortal stick in the room, to
+the very glass he would drink his champagne from; all made over under
+the settlement fifteen years ago, before his last big gamble went wrong.
+“De l'audace, toujours de l'audace!” The gamble which had brought him
+down till his throat at last was at the mercy of a bullying hound.
+The pitcher and the well! At the mercy---! The sound of a popping cork
+dragged him from reverie. He moved to his seat, back to the window, and
+sat down to his dinner. By George! They had got him an oyster! And he
+said:
+
+“I've forgotten my teeth!”
+
+While the man was gone for them, he swallowed the oysters, methodically
+touching them one by one with cayenne, Chili vinegar, and lemon. Ummm!
+Not quite what they used to be at Pimm's in the best days, but not
+bad--not bad! Then seeing the little blue bowl lying before him, he
+looked up and said:
+
+“My compliments to cook on the oysters. Give me the champagne.” And he
+lifted his trembling teeth. Thank God, he could still put 'em in for
+himself! The creaming goldenish fluid from the napkined bottle slowly
+reached the brim of his glass, which had a hollow stem; raising it to
+his lips, very red between the white hairs above and below, he drank
+with a gurgling noise, and put the glass down-empty. Nectar! And just
+cold enough!
+
+“I frapped it the least bit, sir.”
+
+“Quite right. What's that smell of flowers?”
+
+“It's from those 'yacinths on the sideboard, sir. They come from Mrs.
+Larne, this afternoon.”
+
+“Put 'em on the table. Where's my daughter?”
+
+“She's had dinner, sir; goin' to a ball, I think.”
+
+“A ball!”
+
+“Charity ball, I fancy, sir.”
+
+“Ummm! Give me a touch of the old sherry with the soup.”
+
+“Yes, sir. I shall have to open a bottle:”
+
+“Very well, then, do!”
+
+On his way to the cellar the man confided to Molly, who was carrying the
+soup:
+
+“The Gov'nor's going it to-night! What he'll be like tomorrow I dunno.”
+
+The girl answered softly:
+
+“Poor old man, let um have his pleasure.” And, in the hall, with the
+soup tureen against her bosom, she hummed above the steam, and thought
+of the ribbons on her new chemises, bought out of the sovereign he had
+given her.
+
+And old Heythorp, digesting his osyters, snuffed the scent of the
+hyacinths, and thought of the St. Germain, his favourite soup. It
+would n't be first-rate, at this time of year--should be made with
+little young home-grown peas. Paris was the place for it. Ah! The French
+were the fellows for eating, and--looking things in the face! Not
+hypocrites--not ashamed of their reason or their senses!
+
+The soup came in. He sipped it, bending forward as far as he could, his
+napkin tucked in over his shirt-front like a bib. He got the bouquet of
+that sherry to a T--his sense of smell was very keen to-night; rare old
+stuff it was--more than a year since he had tasted it--but no one drank
+sherry nowadays, hadn't the constitution for it! The fish came up,
+and went down; and with the sweetbread he took his second glass of
+champagne. Always the best, that second glass--the stomach well warmed,
+and the palate not yet dulled. Umm! So that fellow thought he had him
+beaten, did he? And he said suddenly:
+
+“The fur coat in the wardrobe, I've no use for it. You can take it away
+to-night.”
+
+With tempered gratitude the valet answered:
+
+“Thank you, sir; much obliged, I'm sure.” So the old buffer had found
+out there was moth in it!
+
+“Have I worried you much?”
+
+“No, sir; not at all, sir--that is, no more than reason.”
+
+“Afraid I have. Very sorry--can't help it. You'll find that, when you
+get like me.”
+
+“Yes, sir; I've always admired your pluck, sir.
+
+“Um! Very good of you to say so.”
+
+“Always think of you keepin' the flag flying', sir.”
+
+Old Heythorp bent his body from the waist.
+
+“Much obliged to you.”
+
+“Not at all, sir. Cook's done a little spinach in cream with the
+soubees.”
+
+“Ah! Tell her from me it's a capital dinner, so far.”
+
+“Thank you, sir.”
+
+Alone again, old Heythorp sat unmoving, his brain just narcotically
+touched. “The flag flyin'--the flag flyin'.” He raised his glass and
+sucked. He had an appetite now, and finished the three cutlets, and all
+the sauce and spinach. Pity! he could have managed a snipe fresh shot! A
+desire to delay, to lengthen dinner, was strong upon him; there were
+but the souffle' and the savoury to come. He would have enjoyed, too,
+someone to talk to. He had always been fond of good company--been good
+company himself, or so they said--not that he had had a chance of late.
+Even at the Boards they avoided talking to him, he had noticed for a
+long time. Well! that wouldn't trouble him again--he had sat through his
+last Board, no doubt. They shouldn't kick him off, though; he wouldn't
+give them that pleasure--had seen the beggars hankering after his
+chairman's shoes too long. The souffle was before him now, and lifting
+his glass, he said:
+
+“Fill up.”
+
+“These are the special glasses, sir; only four to the bottle.”
+
+“Fill up.”
+
+The servant filled, screwing up his mouth.
+
+Old Heythorp drank, and put the glass down empty with a sigh. He had
+been faithful to his principles, finished the bottle before touching
+the sweet--a good bottle--of a good brand! And now for the souffle!
+Delicious, flipped down with the old sherry! So that holy woman was
+going to a ball, was she! How deuced funny! Who would dance with a
+dry stick like that, all eaten up with a piety which was just sexual
+disappointment? Ah! yes, lots of women like that--had often noticed
+'.m--pitied 'em too, until you had to do with them and they made you as
+unhappy as themselves, and were tyrants into the bargain. And he asked:
+
+“What's the savoury?”
+
+“Cheese remmykin, sir.”
+
+His favourite.
+
+“I'll have my port with it--the 'sixty-eight.” The man stood gazing with
+evident stupefaction. He had not expected this. The old man's face was
+very flushed, but that might be the bath. He said feebly:
+
+“Are you sure you ought, sir?”
+
+“No, but I'm going to.”
+
+“Would you mind if I spoke to Miss Heythorp, Sir?”
+
+“If you do, you can leave my service.”
+
+“Well, Sir, I don't accept the responsibility.”
+
+“Who asked you to?”
+
+“No, Sir....”
+
+“Well, get it, then; and don't be an ass.”
+
+“Yes, Sir.” If the old man were not humoured he would have a fit,
+perhaps!
+
+And the old man sat quietly staring at the hyacinths. He felt happy, his
+whole being lined and warmed and drowsed--and there was more to come!
+What had the holy folk to give you compared with the comfort of a good
+dinner? Could they make you dream, and see life rosy for a little? No,
+they could only give you promissory notes which never would be cashed. A
+man had nothing but his pluck--they only tried to undermine it, and make
+him squeal for help. He could see his precious doctor throwing up his
+hands: “Port after a bottle of champagne--you'll die of it!” And a very
+good death too--none better. A sound broke the silence of the closed-up
+room. Music? His daughter playing the piano overhead. Singing too! What
+a trickle of a voice! Jenny Lind! The Swedish nightingale--he had never
+missed the nights when she was singing--Jenny Lind!
+
+“It's very hot, sir. Shall I take it out of the case?”
+
+Ah! The ramequin!
+
+“Touch of butter, and the cayenne!”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+He ate it slowly, savouring each mouthful; had never tasted a better.
+With cheese--port! He drank one glass, and said:
+
+“Help me to my chair.”
+
+And settled there before the fire with decanter and glass and hand-bell
+on the little low table by his side, he murmured:
+
+“Bring coffee, and my cigar, in twenty minutes.”
+
+To-night he would do justice to his wine, not smoking till he had
+finished. As old Horace said:
+
+“Aequam memento rebus in arduis Servare mentem.”
+
+And, raising his glass, he sipped slowly, spilling a drop or two,
+shutting his eyes.
+
+The faint silvery squealing of the holy woman in the room above, the
+scent of hyacinths, the drowse of the fire, on which a cedar log had
+just been laid, the feeling of the port soaking down into the crannies
+of his being, made up a momentary Paradise. Then the music stopped; and
+no sound rose but the tiny groans of the log trying to resist the fire.
+Dreamily he thought: 'Life wears you out--wears you out. Logs on a
+fire!' And he filled his glass again. That fellow had been careless;
+there were dregs at the bottom of the decanter and he had got down to
+them! Then, as the last drop from his tilted glass trickled into the
+white hairs on his chin, he heard the coffee tray put down, and taking
+his cigar he put it to his ear, rolling it in his thick fingers. In
+prime condition! And drawing a first whiff, he said:
+
+“Open that bottle of the old brandy in the sideboard.”
+
+“Brandy, sir? I really daren't, sir.”
+
+“Are you my servant or not?”
+
+“Yes, sir, but---”
+
+A minute of silence, then the man went hastily to the sideboard, took
+out the bottle, and drew the cork. The tide of crimson in the old man's
+face had frightened him.
+
+“Leave it there.”
+
+The unfortunate valet placed the bottle on the little table. 'I'll have
+to tell her,' he thought; 'but if I take away the port decanter and the
+glass, it won't look so bad.' And, carrying them, he left the room.
+
+Slowly the old man drank his coffee, and the liqueur of brandy. The
+whole gamut! And watching his cigar-smoke wreathing blue in the orange
+glow, he smiled. The last night to call his soul his own, the last night
+of his independence. Send in his resignations to-morrow--not wait to be
+kicked off! Not give that fellow a chance!
+
+A voice which seemed to come from far off, said:
+
+“Father! You're drinking brandy! How can you--you know it's simple
+poison to you!” A figure in white, scarcely actual, loomed up close. He
+took the bottle to fill up his liqueur glass, in defiance; but a hand
+in a long white glove, with another dangling from its wrist, pulled it
+away, shook it at him, and replaced it in the sideboard. And, just as
+when Mr. Ventnor stood there accusing him, a swelling and churning in
+his throat prevented him from speech; his lips moved, but only a little
+froth came forth.
+
+His daughter had approached again. She stood quite close, in white
+satin, thin-faced, sallow, with eyebrows raised, and her dark hair
+frizzed--yes! frizzed--the holy woman! With all his might he tried to
+say: 'So you bully me, do you--you bully me to-night!' but only the word
+“so” and a sort of whispering came forth. He heard her speaking. “It's
+no good your getting angry, Father. After champagne--it's wicked!” Then
+her form receded in a sort of rustling white mist; she was gone; and he
+heard the sputtering and growling of her taxi, bearing her to the ball.
+So! She tyrannised and bullied, even before she had him at her mercy,
+did she? She should see! Anger had brightened his eyes; the room came
+clear again. And slowly raising himself he sounded the bell twice, for
+the girl, not for that fellow Meller, who was in the plot. As soon as
+her pretty black and white-aproned figure stood before him, he said:
+
+“Help me up.”
+
+Twice her soft pulling was not enough, and he sank back. The third time
+he struggled to his feet.
+
+“Thank you; that'll do.” Then, waiting till she was gone, he crossed the
+room, fumbled open the sideboard door, and took out the bottle. Reaching
+over the polished oak, he grasped a sherry glass; and holding the bottle
+with both hands, tipped the liquor into it, put it to his lips and
+sucked. Drop by drop it passed over his palate mild, very old, old as
+himself, coloured like sunlight, fragrant. To the last drop he drank it,
+then hugging the bottle to his shirt-front, he moved snail-like to his
+chair, and fell back into its depths. For some minutes he remained there
+motionless, the bottle clasped to his chest, thinking: 'This is not the
+attitude of a gentleman. I must put it down on the table-on the table;'
+but a thick cloud was between him and everything. It was with his hands
+he would have to put the bottle on the table! But he could not find
+his hands, could not feel them. His mind see-sawed in strophe and
+antistrophe: “You can't move!”--“I will move!” “You're beaten”--“I'm not
+beat.” “Give up”--“I won't.” That struggle to find his hands seemed
+to last for ever--he must find them! After that--go down--all
+standing--after that! Everything round him was red. Then the red cloud
+cleared just a little, and he could hear the clock--“tick-tick-tick”; a
+faint sensation spread from his shoulders down to his wrists, down his
+palms; and yes--he could feel the bottle! He redoubled his struggle to
+get forward in his chair; to get forward and put the bottle down. It
+was not dignified like this! One arm he could move now; but he could not
+grip the bottle nearly tight enough to put it down. Working his whole
+body forward, inch by inch, he shifted himself up in the chair till he
+could lean sideways, and the bottle, slipping down his chest, dropped
+slanting to the edge of the low stool-table. Then with all his might he
+screwed his trunk and arms an inch further, and the bottle stood. He had
+done it--done it! His lips twitched into a smile; his body sagged back
+to its old position. He had done it! And he closed his eyes ....
+
+At half-past eleven the girl Molly, opening the door, looked at him and
+said softly: “Sirr! there's some ladies, and a gentleman!” But he did
+not answer. And, still holding the door, she whispered out into the
+hall:
+
+“He's asleep, miss.”
+
+A voice whispered back:
+
+“Oh! Just let me go in, I won't wake him unless he does. But I do want
+to show him my dress.”
+
+The girl moved aside; and on tiptoe Phyllis passed in. She walked to
+where, between the lamp-glow and the fire-glow, she was lighted up.
+White satin--her first low-cut dress--the flush of her first supper
+party--a gardenia at her breast, another in her fingers! Oh! what a
+pity he was asleep! How red he looked! How funnily old men breathed! And
+mysteriously, as a child might, she whispered:
+
+“Guardy!”
+
+No answer! And pouting, she stood twiddling the gardenia. Then suddenly
+she thought: 'I'll put it in his buttonhole! When he wakes up and sees
+it, how he'll jump!'
+
+And stealing close, she bent and slipped it in. Two faces looked at
+her from round the door; she heard Bob Pillin's smothered chuckle; her
+mother's rich and feathery laugh. Oh! How red his forehead was! She
+touched it with her lips; skipped back, twirled round, danced silently a
+second, blew a kiss, and like quicksilver was gone.
+
+And the whispering, the chuckling, and one little out-pealing laugh rose
+in the hall.
+
+But the old man slept. Nor until Meller came at his usual hour of
+half-past twelve, was it known that he would never wake.
+
+
+
+
+THE APPLE TREE
+
+              “The Apple-tree, the singing and the gold.”
+                MURRAY'S “HIPPOLYTUS of EURIPIDES.”
+
+In their silver-wedding day Ashurst and his wife were motoring along the
+outskirts of the moor, intending to crown the festival by stopping the
+night at Torquay, where they had first met. This was the idea of Stella
+Ashurst, whose character contained a streak of sentiment. If she had
+long lost the blue-eyed, flower-like charm, the cool slim purity of face
+and form, the apple-blossom colouring, which had so swiftly and so oddly
+affected Ashurst twenty-six years ago, she was still at forty-three a
+comely and faithful companion, whose cheeks were faintly mottled, and
+whose grey-blue eyes had acquired a certain fullness.
+
+It was she who had stopped the car where the common rose steeply to the
+left, and a narrow strip of larch and beech, with here and there a pine,
+stretched out towards the valley between the road and the first long
+high hill of the full moor. She was looking for a place where they might
+lunch, for Ashurst never looked for anything; and this, between the
+golden furze and the feathery green larches smelling of lemons in the
+last sun of April--this, with a view into the deep valley and up to
+the long moor heights, seemed fitting to the decisive nature of one who
+sketched in water-colours, and loved romantic spots. Grasping her paint
+box, she got out.
+
+“Won't this do, Frank?”
+
+Ashurst, rather like a bearded Schiller, grey in the wings, tall,
+long-legged, with large remote grey eyes which sometimes filled with
+meaning and became almost beautiful, with nose a little to one side, and
+bearded lips just open--Ashurst, forty-eight, and silent, grasped the
+luncheon basket, and got out too.
+
+“Oh! Look, Frank! A grave!”
+
+By the side of the road, where the track from the top of the common
+crossed it at right angles and ran through a gate past the narrow wood,
+was a thin mound of turf, six feet by one, with a moorstone to the
+west, and on it someone had thrown a blackthorn spray and a handful of
+bluebells. Ashurst looked, and the poet in him moved. At cross-roads--a
+suicide's grave! Poor mortals with their superstitions! Whoever lay
+there, though, had the best of it, no clammy sepulchre among other
+hideous graves carved with futilities--just a rough stone, the wide sky,
+and wayside blessings! And, without comment, for he had learned not to
+be a philosopher in the bosom of his family, he strode away up on to the
+common, dropped the luncheon basket under a wall, spread a rug for
+his wife to sit on--she would turn up from her sketching when she
+was hungry--and took from his pocket Murray's translation of the
+“Hippolytus.” He had soon finished reading of “The Cyprian” and her
+revenge, and looked at the sky instead. And watching the white clouds
+so bright against the intense blue, Ashurst, on his silver-wedding day,
+longed for--he knew not what. Maladjusted to life--man's organism! One's
+mode of life might be high and scrupulous, but there was always an
+undercurrent of greediness, a hankering, and sense of waste. Did
+women have it too? Who could tell? And yet, men who gave vent to their
+appetites for novelty, their riotous longings for new adventures, new
+risks, new pleasures, these suffered, no doubt, from the reverse side
+of starvation, from surfeit. No getting out of it--a maladjusted
+animal, civilised man! There could be no garden of his choosing, of
+“the Apple-tree, the singing, and the gold,” in the words of that
+lovely Greek chorus, no achievable elysium in life, or lasting haven
+of happiness for any man with a sense of beauty--nothing which could
+compare with the captured loveliness in a work of art, set down for
+ever, so that to look on it or read was always to have the same precious
+sense of exaltation and restful inebriety. Life no doubt had moments
+with that quality of beauty, of unbidden flying rapture, but the trouble
+was, they lasted no longer than the span of a cloud's flight over the
+sun; impossible to keep them with you, as Art caught beauty and held it
+fast. They were fleeting as one of the glimmering or golden visions one
+had of the soul in nature, glimpses of its remote and brooding spirit.
+Here, with the sun hot on his face, a cuckoo calling from a thorn tree,
+and in the air the honey savour of gorse--here among the little fronds
+of the young fern, the starry blackthorn, while the bright clouds
+drifted by high above the hills and dreamy valleys here and now was
+such a glimpse. But in a moment it would pass--as the face of Pan, which
+looks round the corner of a rock, vanishes at your stare. And suddenly
+he sat up. Surely there was something familiar about this view, this bit
+of common, that ribbon of road, the old wall behind him. While they were
+driving he had not been taking notice--never did; thinking of far things
+or of nothing--but now he saw! Twenty-six years ago, just at this time
+of year, from the farmhouse within half a mile of this very spot he had
+started for that day in Torquay whence it might be said he had never
+returned. And a sudden ache beset his heart; he had stumbled on just
+one of those past moments in his life, whose beauty and rapture he had
+failed to arrest, whose wings had fluttered away into the unknown; he
+had stumbled on a buried memory, a wild sweet time, swiftly choked and
+ended. And, turning on his face, he rested his chin on his hands, and
+stared at the short grass where the little blue milkwort was growing....
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+And this is what he remembered.
+
+On the first of May, after their last year together at college, Frank
+Ashurst and his friend Robert Garton were on a tramp. They had walked
+that day from Brent, intending to make Chagford, but Ashurst's football
+knee had given out, and according to their map they had still some seven
+miles to go. They were sitting on a bank beside the-road, where a track
+crossed alongside a wood, resting the knee and talking of the universe,
+as young men will. Both were over six feet, and thin as rails; Ashurst
+pale, idealistic, full of absence; Garton queer, round-the-corner,
+knotted, curly, like some primeval beast. Both had a literary bent;
+neither wore a hat.
+
+Ashurst's hair was smooth, pale, wavy, and had a way of rising on either
+side of his brow, as if always being flung back; Carton's was a kind of
+dark unfathomed mop. They had not met a soul for miles.
+
+“My dear fellow,” Garton was saying, “pity's only an effect of
+self-consciousness; it's a disease of the last five thousand years. The
+world was happier without.”
+
+Ashurst, following the clouds with his eyes, answered:
+
+“It's the pearl in the oyster, anyway.”
+
+“My dear chap, all our modern unhappiness comes from pity. Look at
+animals, and Red Indians, limited to feeling their own occasional
+misfortunes; then look at ourselves--never free from feeling the
+toothaches of others. Let's get back to feeling for nobody, and have a
+better time.”
+
+“You'll never practise that.”
+
+Garton pensively stirred the hotch-potch of his hair.
+
+“To attain full growth, one mustn't be squeamish. To starve oneself
+emotionally's a mistake. All emotion is to the good--enriches life.”
+
+“Yes, and when it runs up against chivalry?”
+
+“Ah! That's so English! If you speak of emotion the English always think
+you want something physical, and are shocked. They're afraid of passion,
+but not of lust--oh, no!--so long as they can keep it secret.”
+
+Ashurst did not answer; he had plucked a blue floweret, and was
+twiddling it against the sky. A cuckoo began calling from a thorn tree.
+The sky, the flowers, the songs of birds! Robert was talking through his
+hat! And he said:
+
+“Well, let's go on, and find some farm where we can put up.” In uttering
+those words, he was conscious of a girl coming down from the common just
+above them. She was outlined against the sky, carrying a basket, and you
+could see that sky through the crook of her arm. And Ashurst, who saw
+beauty without wondering how it could advantage him, thought: 'How
+pretty!' The wind, blowing her dark frieze skirt against her legs,
+lifted her battered peacock tam-o'-shanter; her greyish blouse was worn
+and old, her shoes were split, her little hands rough and red, her neck
+browned. Her dark hair waved untidy across her broad forehead, her face
+was short, her upper lip short, showing a glint of teeth, her brows were
+straight and dark, her lashes long and dark, her nose straight; but her
+grey eyes were the wonder-dewy as if opened for the first time that day.
+She looked at Ashurst--perhaps he struck her as strange, limping along
+without a hat, with his large eyes on her, and his hair falling back.
+He could not take off what was not on his head, but put up his hand in a
+salute, and said:
+
+“Can you tell us if there's a farm near here where we could stay the
+night? I've gone lame.”
+
+“There's only our farm near, sir.” She spoke without shyness, in a
+pretty soft crisp voice.
+
+“And where is that?”
+
+“Down here, sir.”
+
+“Would you put us up?”
+
+“Oh! I think we would.”
+
+“Will you show us the way?”
+
+“Yes, Sir.”
+
+He limped on, silent, and Garton took up the catechism.
+
+“Are you a Devonshire girl?”
+
+“No, Sir.”
+
+“What then?”
+
+“From Wales.”
+
+“Ah! I thought you were a Celt; so it's not your farm?”
+
+“My aunt's, sir.”
+
+“And your uncle's?”
+
+“He is dead.”
+
+“Who farms it, then?”
+
+“My aunt, and my three cousins.”
+
+“But your uncle was a Devonshire man?”
+
+“Yes, Sir.”
+
+“Have you lived here long?”
+
+“Seven years.”
+
+“And how d'you like it after Wales?”
+
+“I don't know, sir.”
+
+“I suppose you don't remember?”
+
+“Oh, yes! But it is different.”
+
+“I believe you!”
+
+Ashurst broke in suddenly: “How old are you?”
+
+“Seventeen, Sir.”
+
+“And what's your name?”
+
+“Megan David.”
+
+“This is Robert Garton, and I am Frank Ashurst. We wanted to get on to
+Chagford.”
+
+“It is a pity your leg is hurting you.”
+
+Ashurst smiled, and when he smiled his face was rather beautiful.
+
+Descending past the narrow wood, they came on the farm suddenly-a long,
+low, stone-built dwelling with casement windows, in a farmyard where
+pigs and fowls and an old mare were straying. A short steep-up grass
+hill behind was crowned with a few Scotch firs, and in front, an old
+orchard of apple trees, just breaking into flower, stretched down to a
+stream and a long wild meadow. A little boy with oblique dark eyes was
+shepherding a pig, and by the house door stood a woman, who came towards
+them. The girl said:
+
+“It is Mrs. Narracombe, my aunt.”
+
+“Mrs. Narracombe, my aunt,” had a quick, dark eye, like a mother
+wild-duck's, and something of the same snaky turn about her neck.
+
+“We met your niece on the road,” said Ashurst; “she thought you might
+perhaps put us up for the night.”
+
+Mrs. Narracombe, taking them in from head to heel, answered:
+
+“Well, I can, if you don't mind one room. Megan, get the spare room
+ready, and a bowl of cream. You'll be wanting tea, I suppose.”
+
+Passing through a sort of porch made by two yew trees and some
+flowering-currant bushes, the girl disappeared into the house, her
+peacock tam-o'-shanter bright athwart that rosy-pink and the dark green
+of the yews.
+
+“Will you come into the parlour and rest your leg? You'll be from
+college, perhaps?”
+
+“We were, but we've gone down now.”
+
+Mrs. Narracombe nodded sagely.
+
+The parlour, brick-floored, with bare table and shiny chairs and sofa
+stuffed with horsehair, seemed never to have been used, it was so
+terribly clean. Ashurst sat down at once on the sofa, holding his lame
+knee between his hands, and Mrs. Narracombe gazed at him. He was the
+only son of a late professor of chemistry, but people found a certain
+lordliness in one who was often so sublimely unconscious of them.
+
+“Is there a stream where we could bathe?”
+
+“There's the strame at the bottom of the orchard, but sittin' down
+you'll not be covered!”
+
+“How deep?”
+
+“Well, 'tis about a foot and a half, maybe.”
+
+“Oh! That'll do fine. Which way?”
+
+“Down the lane, through the second gate on the right, an' the pool's by
+the big apple tree that stands by itself. There's trout there, if you
+can tickle them.”
+
+“They're more likely to tickle us!”
+
+Mrs. Narracombe smiled. “There'll be the tea ready when you come back.”
+
+The pool, formed by the damming of a rock, had a sandy bottom; and the
+big apple tree, lowest in the orchard, grew so close that its boughs
+almost overhung the water; it was in leaf, and all but in flower-its
+crimson buds just bursting. There was not room for more than one at a
+time in that narrow bath, and Ashurst waited his turn, rubbing his
+knee and gazing at the wild meadow, all rocks and thorn trees and feld
+flowers, with a grove of beeches beyond, raised up on a flat mound.
+Every bough was swinging in the wind, every spring bird calling, and a
+slanting sunlight dappled the grass. He thought of Theocritus, and the
+river Cherwell, of the moon, and the maiden with the dewy eyes; of so
+many things that he seemed to think of nothing; and he felt absurdly
+happy.
+
+
+
+
+2
+
+During a late and sumptuous tea with eggs to it, cream and jam, and
+thin, fresh cakes touched with saffron, Garton descanted on the Celts.
+It was about the period of the Celtic awakening, and the discovery that
+there was Celtic blood about this family had excited one who believed
+that he was a Celt himself. Sprawling on a horse hair chair, with a
+hand-made cigarette dribbling from the corner of his curly lips, he had
+been plunging his cold pin-points of eyes into Ashurst's and praising
+the refinement of the Welsh. To come out of Wales into England was like
+the change from china to earthenware! Frank, as a d---d Englishman, had
+not of course perceived the exquisite refinement and emotional capacity
+of that Welsh girl! And, delicately stirring in the dark mat of his
+still wet hair, he explained how exactly she illustrated the writings of
+the Welsh bard Morgan-ap-Something in the twelfth century.
+
+Ashurst, full length on the horsehair sofa, and jutting far beyond its
+end, smoked a deeply-coloured pipe, and did not listen, thinking of the
+girl's face when she brought in a relay of cakes. It had been exactly
+like looking at a flower, or some other pretty sight in Nature-till,
+with a funny little shiver, she had lowered her glance and gone out,
+quiet as a mouse.
+
+“Let's go to the kitchen,” said Garton, “and see some more of her.”
+
+The kitchen was a white-washed room with rafters, to which were attached
+smoked hams; there were flower-pots on the window-sill, and guns hanging
+on nails, queer mugs, china and pewter, and portraits of Queen Victoria.
+A long, narrow table of plain wood was set with bowls and spoons, under
+a string of high-hung onions; two sheep-dogs and three cats lay here and
+there. On one side of the recessed fireplace sat two small boys, idle,
+and good as gold; on the other sat a stout, light-eyed, red-faced youth
+with hair and lashes the colour of the tow he was running through the
+barrel of a gun; between them Mrs. Narracombe dreamily stirred some
+savoury-scented stew in a large pot. Two other youths, oblique-eyed,
+dark-haired, rather sly-faced, like the two little boys, were
+talking together and lolling against the wall; and a short, elderly,
+clean-shaven man in corduroys, seated in the window, was conning a
+battered journal. The girl Megan seemed the only active creature-drawing
+cider and passing with the jugs from cask to table. Seeing them thus
+about to eat, Garton said:
+
+“Ah! If you'll let us, we'll come back when supper's over,” and without
+waiting for an answer they withdrew again to the parlour. But the colour
+in the kitchen, the warmth, the scents, and all those faces, heightened
+the bleakness of their shiny room, and they resumed their seats moodily.
+
+“Regular gipsy type, those boys. There was only one Saxon--the fellow
+cleaning the gun. That girl is a very subtle study psychologically.”
+
+Ashurst's lips twitched. Garton seemed to him an ass just then. Subtle
+study! She was a wild flower. A creature it did you good to look at.
+Study!
+
+Garton went on:
+
+“Emotionally she would be wonderful. She wants awakening.”
+
+“Are you going to awaken her?”
+
+Garton looked at him and smiled. 'How coarse and English you are!' that
+curly smile seemed saying.
+
+And Ashurst puffed his pipe. Awaken her! That fool had the best opinion
+of himself! He threw up the window and leaned out. Dusk had gathered
+thick. The farm buildings and the wheel-house were all dim and bluish,
+the apple trees but a blurred wilderness; the air smelled of woodsmoke
+from the kitchen fire. One bird going to bed later than the others was
+uttering a half-hearted twitter, as though surprised at the darkness.
+From the stable came the snuffle and stamp of a feeding horse. And away
+over there was the loom of the moor, and away and away the shy stars
+which had not as yet full light, pricking white through the deep blue
+heavens. A quavering owl hooted. Ashurst drew a deep breath. What a
+night to wander out in! A padding of unshod hoofs came up the lane, and
+three dim, dark shapes passed--ponies on an evening march. Their heads,
+black and fuzzy, showed above the gate. At the tap of his pipe, and
+a shower of little sparks, they shied round and scampered. A bat went
+fluttering past, uttering its almost inaudible “chip, chip.” Ashurst
+held out his hand; on the upturned palm he could feel the dew. Suddenly
+from overhead he heard little burring boys' voices, little thumps of
+boots thrown down, and another voice, crisp and soft--the girl's putting
+them to bed, no doubt; and nine clear words “No, Rick, you can't have
+the cat in bed”; then came a skirmish of giggles and gurgles, a soft
+slap, a laugh so low and pretty that it made him shiver a little. A
+blowing sound, and the glim of the candle which was fingering the dusk
+above, went out; silence reigned. Ashurst withdrew into the room and sat
+down; his knee pained him, and his soul felt gloomy.
+
+“You go to the kitchen,” he said; “I'm going to bed.”
+
+
+
+
+3
+
+For Ashurst the wheel of slumber was wont to turn noiseless and slick
+and swift, but though he seemed sunk in sleep when his companion came
+up, he was really wide awake; and long after Carton, smothered in the
+other bed of that low-roofed room, was worshipping darkness with his
+upturned nose, he heard the owls. Barring the discomfort of his knee,
+it was not unpleasant--the cares of life did not loom large in night
+watches for this young man. In fact he had none; just enrolled a
+barrister, with literary aspirations, the world before him, no father or
+mother, and four hundred a year of his own. Did it matter where he
+went, what he did, or when he did it? His bed, too, was hard, and this
+preserved him from fever. He lay, sniffing the scent of the night which
+drifted into the low room through the open casement close to his head.
+Except for a definite irritation with his friend, natural when you have
+tramped with a man for three days, Ashurst's memories and visions
+that sleepless night were kindly and wistful and exciting. One vision,
+specially clear and unreasonable, for he had not even been conscious
+of noting it, was the face of the youth cleaning the gun; its intent,
+stolid, yet startled uplook at the kitchen doorway, quickly shifted
+to the girl carrying the cider jug. This red, blue-eyed, light-lashed,
+tow-haired face stuck as firmly in his memory as the girl's own face,
+so dewy and simple. But at last, in the square of darkness through the
+uncurtained casement, he saw day coming, and heard one hoarse and sleepy
+caw. Then followed silence, dead as ever, till the song of a blackbird,
+not properly awake, adventured into the hush. And, from staring at the
+framed brightening light, Ashurst fell asleep.
+
+Next day his knee was badly swollen; the walking tour was obviously
+over. Garton, due back in London on the morrow, departed at midday with
+an ironical smile which left a scar of irritation--healed the moment
+his loping figure vanished round the corner of the steep lane. All day
+Ashurst rested his knee, in a green-painted wooden chair on the patch of
+grass by the yew-tree porch, where the sunlight distilled the scent of
+stocks and gillyflowers, and a ghost of scent from the flowering-currant
+bushes. Beatifically he smoked, dreamed, watched.
+
+A farm in spring is all birth-young things coming out of bud and shell,
+and human beings watching over the process with faint excitement feeding
+and tending what has been born. So still the young man sat, that
+a mother-goose, with stately cross-footed waddle, brought her six
+yellow-necked grey-backed goslings to strop their little beaks against
+the grass blades at his feet. Now and again Mrs. Narracombe or the girl
+Megan would come and ask if he wanted anything, and he would smile and
+say: “Nothing, thanks. It's splendid here.” Towards tea-time they came
+out together, bearing a long poultice of some dark stuff in a bowl, and
+after a long and solemn scrutiny of his swollen knee, bound it on. When
+they were gone, he thought of the girl's soft “Oh!”--of her pitying
+eyes, and the little wrinkle in her brow. And again he felt that
+unreasoning irritation against his departed friend, who had talked such
+rot about her. When she brought out his tea, he said:
+
+“How did you like my friend, Megan?”
+
+She forced down her upper lip, as if afraid that to smile was not
+polite. “He was a funny gentleman; he made us laugh. I think he is very
+clever.”
+
+“What did he say to make you laugh?”
+
+“He said I was a daughter of the bards. What are they?”
+
+“Welsh poets, who lived hundreds of years ago.”
+
+“Why am I their daughter, please?”
+
+“He meant that you were the sort of girl they sang about.”
+
+She wrinkled her brows. “I think he likes to joke. Am I?”
+
+“Would you believe me, if I told you?”
+
+“Oh, yes.”
+
+“Well, I think he was right.”
+
+She smiled.
+
+And Ashurst thought: 'You are a pretty thing!'
+
+“He said, too, that Joe was a Saxon type. What would that be?”
+
+“Which is Joe? With the blue eyes and red face?”
+
+“Yes. My uncle's nephew.”
+
+“Not your cousin, then?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Well, he meant that Joe was like the men who came over to England about
+fourteen hundred years ago, and conquered it.”
+
+“Oh! I know about them; but is he?”
+
+“Garton's crazy about that sort of thing; but I must say Joe does look a
+bit Early Saxon.”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+That “Yes” tickled Ashurst. It was so crisp and graceful, so conclusive,
+and politely acquiescent in what was evidently. Greek to her.
+
+“He said that all the other boys were regular gipsies. He should not
+have said that. My aunt laughed, but she didn't like it, of course, and
+my cousins were angry. Uncle was a farmer--farmers are not gipsies. It
+is wrong to hurt people.”
+
+Ashurst wanted to take her hand and give it a squeeze, but he only
+answered:
+
+“Quite right, Megan. By the way, I heard you putting the little ones to
+bed last night.”
+
+She flushed a little. “Please to drink your tea--it is getting cold.
+Shall I get you some fresh?”
+
+“Do you ever have time to do anything for yourself?”
+
+“Oh! Yes.”
+
+“I've been watching, but I haven't seen it yet.”
+
+She wrinkled her brows in a puzzled frown, and her colour deepened.
+
+When she was gone, Ashurst thought: 'Did she think I was chaffing her? I
+wouldn't for the world!' He was at that age when to some men “Beauty's
+a flower,” as the poet says, and inspires in them the thoughts of
+chivalry. Never very conscious of his surroundings, it was some time
+before he was aware that the youth whom Garton had called “a Saxon type”
+ was standing outside the stable door; and a fine bit of colour he
+made in his soiled brown velvet-cords, muddy gaiters, and blue shirt;
+red-armed, red-faced, the sun turning his hair from tow to flax;
+immovably stolid, persistent, unsmiling he stood. Then, seeing Ashurst
+looking at him, he crossed the yard at that gait of the young countryman
+always ashamed not to be slow and heavy-dwelling on each leg, and
+disappeared round the end of the house towards the kitchen entrance.
+A chill came over Ashurst's mood. Clods? With all the good will in the
+world, how impossible to get on terms with them! And yet--see that girl!
+Her shoes were split, her hands rough; but--what was it? Was it really
+her Celtic blood, as Garton had said?--she was a lady born, a jewel,
+though probably she could do no more than just read and write!
+
+The elderly, clean-shaven man he had seen last night in the kitchen
+had come into the yard with a dog, driving the cows to their milking.
+Ashurst saw that he was lame.
+
+“You've got some good ones there!”
+
+The lame man's face brightened. He had the upward look in his eyes which
+prolonged suffering often brings.
+
+“Yeas; they'm praaper buties; gude milkers tu.”
+
+“I bet they are.”
+
+“'Ope as yure leg's better, zurr.”
+
+“Thank you, it's getting on.”
+
+The lame man touched his own: “I know what 'tes, meself; 'tes a main
+worritin' thing, the knee. I've a-'.d mine bad this ten year.”
+
+Ashurst made the sound of sympathy which comes so readily from those who
+have an independent income, and the lame man smiled again.
+
+“Mustn't complain, though--they mighty near 'ad it off.”
+
+“Ho!”
+
+“Yeas; an' compared with what 'twas, 'tes almost so gude as nu.”
+
+“They've put a bandage of splendid stuff on mine.”
+
+“The maid she picks et. She'm a gude maid wi' the flowers. There's folks
+zeem to know the healin' in things. My mother was a rare one for that.
+'.pe as yu'll zune be better, zurr. Goo ahn, therr!”
+
+Ashurst smiled. “Wi' the flowers!” A flower herself!
+
+That evening, after his supper of cold duck, junket, and cider, the girl
+came in.
+
+“Please, auntie says--will you try a piece of our Mayday cake?”
+
+“If I may come to the kitchen for it.”
+
+“Oh, yes! You'll be missing your friend.”
+
+“Not I. But are you sure no one minds?”
+
+“Who would mind? We shall be very pleased.”
+
+Ashurst rose too suddenly for his stiff knee, staggered, and subsided.
+The girl gave a little gasp, and held out her hands. Ashurst took them,
+small, rough, brown; checked his impulse to put them to his lips, and
+let her pull him up. She came close beside him, offering her shoulder.
+And leaning on her he walked across the room. That shoulder seemed quite
+the pleasantest thing he had ever touched. But, he had presence of mind
+enough to catch his stick out of the rack, and withdraw his hand before
+arriving at the kitchen.
+
+That night he slept like a top, and woke with his knee of almost normal
+size. He again spent the morning in his chair on the grass patch,
+scribbling down verses; but in the afternoon he wandered about with the
+two little boys Nick and Rick. It was Saturday, so they were early home
+from school; quick, shy, dark little rascals of seven and six, soon
+talkative, for Ashurst had a way with children. By four o'clock they had
+shown him all their methods of destroying life, except the tickling of
+trout; and with breeches tucked up, lay on their stomachs over the
+trout stream, pretending they had this accomplishment also. They tickled
+nothing, of course, for their giggling and shouting scared every spotted
+thing away. Ashurst, on a rock at the edge of the beech clump, watched
+them, and listened to the cuckoos, till Nick, the elder and less
+persevering, came up and stood beside him.
+
+“The gipsy bogle zets on that stone,” he said.
+
+“What gipsy bogie?”
+
+“Dunno; never zeen 'e. Megan zays 'e zets there; an' old Jim zeed 'e
+once. 'E was zettin' there naight afore our pony kicked--in father's
+'.ad. 'E plays the viddle.”
+
+“What tune does he play?”
+
+“Dunno.”
+
+“What's he like?”
+
+“'E's black. Old Jim zays 'e's all over 'air. 'E's a praaper bogle.
+'. don' come only at naight.” The little boy's oblique dark eyes slid
+round. “D'yu think 'e might want to take me away? Megan's feared of 'e.”
+
+“Has she seen him?”
+
+“No. She's not afeared o' yu.”
+
+“I should think not. Why should she be?”
+
+“She zays a prayer for yu.”
+
+“How do you know that, you little rascal?”
+
+“When I was asleep, she said: 'God bless us all, an' Mr. Ashes.' I yeard
+'.r whisperin'.”
+
+“You're a little ruffian to tell what you hear when you're not meant to
+hear it!”
+
+The little boy was silent. Then he said aggressively:
+
+“I can skin rabbets. Megan, she can't bear skinnin' 'em. I like blood.”
+
+“Oh! you do; you little monster!”
+
+“What's that?”
+
+“A creature that likes hurting others.”
+
+The little boy scowled. “They'm only dead rabbets, what us eats.”
+
+“Quite right, Nick. I beg your pardon.”
+
+“I can skin frogs, tu.”
+
+But Ashurst had become absent. “God bless us all, and Mr. Ashes!” And
+puzzled by that sudden inaccessibility, Nick ran back to the stream
+where the giggling and shouts again uprose at once.
+
+When Megan brought his tea, he said:
+
+“What's the gipsy bogle, Megan?”
+
+She looked up, startled.
+
+“He brings bad things.”
+
+“Surely you don't believe in ghosts?”
+
+“I hope I will never see him.”
+
+“Of course you won't. There aren't such things. What old Jim saw was a
+pony.”
+
+“No! There are bogies in the rocks; they are the men who lived long
+ago.”
+
+“They aren't gipsies, anyway; those old men were dead long before
+gipsies came.”
+
+She said simply: “They are all bad.”
+
+“Why? If there are any, they're only wild, like the rabbits. The flowers
+aren't bad for being wild; the thorn trees were never planted--and you
+don't mind them. I shall go down at night and look for your bogie, and
+have a talk with him.”
+
+“Oh, no! Oh, no!”
+
+“Oh, yes! I shall go and sit on his rock.”
+
+She clasped her hands together: “Oh, please!”
+
+“Why! What 'does it matter if anything happens to me?”
+
+She did not answer; and in a sort of pet he added:
+
+“Well, I daresay I shan't see him, because I suppose I must be off
+soon.”
+
+“Soon?”
+
+“Your aunt won't want to keep me here.”
+
+“Oh, yes! We always let lodgings in summer.”
+
+Fixing his eyes on her face, he asked:
+
+“Would you like me to stay?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“I'm going to say a prayer for you to-night!”
+
+She flushed crimson, frowned, and went out of the room. He sat, cursing
+himself, till his tea was stewed. It was as if he had hacked with his
+thick boots at a clump of bluebells. Why had he said such a silly
+thing? Was he just a towny college ass like Robert Garton, as far from
+understanding this girl?
+
+Ashurst spent the next week confirming the restoration of his leg, by
+exploration of the country within easy reach. Spring was a revelation to
+him this year. In a kind of intoxication he would watch the pink-white
+buds of some backward beech tree sprayed up in the sunlight against the
+deep blue sky, or the trunks and limbs of the few Scotch firs, tawny in
+violent light, or again, on the moor, the gale-bent larches which had
+such a look of life when the wind streamed in their young green, above
+the rusty black underboughs. Or he would lie on the banks, gazing at the
+clusters of dog-violets, or up in the dead bracken, fingering the pink,
+transparent buds of the dewberry, while the cuckoos called and yafes
+laughed, or a lark, from very high, dripped its beads of song. It was
+certainly different from any spring he had ever known, for spring was
+within him, not without. In the daytime he hardly saw the family; and
+when Megan brought in his meals she always seemed too busy in the house
+or among the young things in the yard to stay talking long. But in the
+evenings he installed himself in the window seat in the kitchen, smoking
+and chatting with the lame man Jim, or Mrs. Narracombe, while the girl
+sewed, or moved about, clearing the supper things away. And sometimes,
+with the sensation a cat must feel when it purrs, he would become
+conscious that Megan's eyes--those dew-grey eyes--were fixed on him with
+a sort of lingering soft look which was strangely flattering.
+
+It was on Sunday week in the evening, when he was lying in the orchard
+listening to a blackbird and composing a love poem, that he heard the
+gate swing to, and saw the girl come running among the trees, with the
+red-cheeked, stolid Joe in swift pursuit. About twenty yards away the
+chase ended, and the two stood fronting each other, not noticing the
+stranger in the grass--the boy pressing on, the girl fending him off.
+Ashurst could see her face, angry, disturbed; and the youth's--who
+would have thought that red-faced yokel could look so distraught! And
+painfully affected by that sight, he jumped up. They saw him then. Megan
+dropped her hands, and shrank behind a tree trunk; the boy gave an angry
+grunt, rushed at the bank, scrambled over and vanished. Ashurst went
+slowly up to her. She was standing quite still, biting her lip-very
+pretty, with her fine, dark hair blown loose about her face, and her
+eyes cast down.
+
+“I beg your pardon,” he said.
+
+She gave him one upward look, from eyes much dilated; then, catching her
+breath, turned away. Ashurst followed.
+
+“Megan!”
+
+But she went on; and taking hold of her arm, he turned her gently round
+to him.
+
+“Stop and speak to me.”
+
+“Why do you beg my pardon? It is not to me you should do that.”
+
+“Well, then, to Joe.”
+
+“How dare he come after me?”
+
+“In love with you, I suppose.”
+
+She stamped her foot.
+
+Ashurst uttered a short laugh. “Would you like me to punch his head?”
+
+She cried with sudden passion:
+
+“You laugh at me-you laugh at us!”
+
+He caught hold of her hands, but she shrank back, till her passionate
+little face and loose dark hair were caught among the pink clusters of
+the apple blossom. Ashurst raised one of her imprisoned hands and put
+his lips to it. He felt how chivalrous he was, and superior to that clod
+Joe--just brushing that small, rough hand with his mouth I Her shrinking
+ceased suddenly; she seemed to tremble towards him. A sweet warmth
+overtook Ashurst from top to toe. This slim maiden, so simple and fine
+and pretty, was pleased, then, at the touch of his lips! And, yielding
+to a swift impulse, he put his arms round her, pressed her to him, and
+kissed her forehead. Then he was frightened--she went so pale, closing
+her eyes, so that the long, dark lashes lay on her pale cheeks; her
+hands, too, lay inert at her sides. The touch of her breast sent a
+shiver through him. “Megan!” he sighed out, and let her go. In the utter
+silence a blackbird shouted. Then the girl seized his hand, put it to
+her cheek, her heart, her lips, kissed it passionately, and fled away
+among the mossy trunks of the apple trees, till they hid her from him.
+
+Ashurst sat down on a twisted old tree growing almost along the ground,
+and, all throbbing and bewildered, gazed vacantly at the blossom which
+had crowned her hair--those pink buds with one white open apple
+star. What had he done? How had he let himself be thus stampeded by
+beauty--pity--or--just the spring! He felt curiously happy, all the
+same; happy and triumphant, with shivers running through his limbs, and
+a vague alarm. This was the beginning of--what? The midges bit him, the
+dancing gnats tried to fly into his mouth, and all the spring around him
+seemed to grow more lovely and alive; the songs of the cuckoos and the
+blackbirds, the laughter of the yaflies, the level-slanting sunlight,
+the apple blossom which had crowned her head! He got up from the old
+trunk and strode out of the orchard, wanting space, an open sky, to get
+on terms with these new sensations. He made for the moor, and from an
+ash tree in the hedge a magpie flew out to herald him.
+
+Of man--at any age from five years on--who can say he has never been
+in love? Ashurst had loved his partners at his dancing class; loved his
+nursery governess; girls in school-holidays; perhaps never been quite
+out of love, cherishing always some more or less remote admiration. But
+this was different, not remote at all. Quite a new sensation; terribly
+delightful, bringing a sense of completed manhood. To be holding in his
+fingers such a wild flower, to be able to put it to his lips, and
+feel it tremble with delight against them! What intoxication,
+and--embarrassment! What to do with it--how meet her next time? His
+first caress had been cool, pitiful; but the next could not be, now
+that, by her burning little kiss on his hand, by her pressure of it to
+her heart, he knew that she loved him. Some natures are coarsened by
+love bestowed on them; others, like Ashurst's, are swayed and drawn,
+warmed and softened, almost exalted, by what they feel to be a sort of
+miracle.
+
+And up there among the tors he was racked between the passionate desire
+to revel in this new sensation of spring fulfilled within him, and
+a vague but very real uneasiness. At one moment he gave himself up
+completely to his pride at having captured this pretty, trustful,
+dewy-eyed thing! At the next he thought with factitious solemnity: 'Yes,
+my boy! But look out what you're doing! You know what comes of it!'
+
+Dusk dropped down without his noticing--dusk on the carved,
+Assyrian-looking masses of the rocks. And the voice of Nature said:
+“This is a new world for you!” As when a man gets up at four o'clock and
+goes out into a summer morning, and beasts, birds, trees stare at him
+and he feels as if all had been made new.
+
+He stayed up there for hours, till it grew cold, then groped his way
+down the stones and heather roots to the road, back into the lane, and
+came again past the wild meadow to the orchard. There he struck a match
+and looked at his watch. Nearly twelve! It was black and unstirring in
+there now, very different from the lingering, bird-befriended brightness
+of six hours ago! And suddenly he saw this idyll of his with the eyes of
+the outer world--had mental vision of Mrs. Narracombe's snake-like
+neck turned, her quick dark glance taking it all in, her shrewd face
+hardening; saw the gipsy-like cousins coarsely mocking and distrustful;
+Joe stolid and furious; only the lame man, Jim, with the suffering
+eyes, seemed tolerable to his mind. And the village pub!--the gossiping
+matrons he passed on his walks; and then--his own friends--Robert
+Carton's smile when he went off that morning ten days ago; so ironical
+and knowing! Disgusting! For a minute he literally hated this earthy,
+cynical world to which one belonged, willy-nilly. The gate where he was
+leaning grew grey, a sort of shimmer passed be fore him and spread into
+the bluish darkness. The moon! He could just see it over the bank be
+hind; red, nearly round-a strange moon! And turning away, he went up
+the lane which smelled of the night and cowdung and young leaves. In the
+straw-yard he could see the dark shapes of cattle, broken by the pale
+sickles of their horns, like so many thin moons, fallen ends-up. He
+unlatched the farm gate stealthily. All was dark in the house. Muffling
+his footsteps, he gained the porch, and, blotted against one of the yew
+trees, looked up at Megan's window. It was open. Was she sleeping, or
+lying awake perhaps, disturbed--unhappy at his absence? An owl hooted
+while he stood there peering up, and the sound seemed to fill the whole
+night, so quiet was all else, save for the never-ending murmur of
+the stream running below the orchard. The cuckoos by day, and now the
+owls--how wonderfully they voiced this troubled ecstasy within him! And
+suddenly he saw her at her window, looking out. He moved a little
+from the yew tree, and whispered: “Megan!” She drew back, vanished,
+reappeared, leaning far down. He stole forward on the grass patch, hit
+his shin against the green-painted chair, and held his breath at the
+sound. The pale blur of her stretched-down arm and face did not stir; he
+moved the chair, and noiselessly mounted it. By stretching up his arm he
+could just reach. Her hand held the huge key of the front door, and he
+clasped that burning hand with the cold key in it. He could just see
+her face, the glint of teeth between her lips, her tumbled hair. She was
+still dressed--poor child, sitting up for him, no doubt! “Pretty Megan!”
+ Her hot, roughened fingers clung to his; her face had a strange, lost
+look. To have been able to reach it--even with his hand! The owl hooted,
+a scent of sweetbriar crept into his nostrils. Then one of the farm dogs
+barked; her grasp relaxed, she shrank back.
+
+“Good-night, Megan!”
+
+“Good-night, sir!” She was gone! With a sigh he dropped back to earth,
+and sitting on that chair, took off his boots. Nothing for it but to
+creep in and go to bed; yet for a long while he sat unmoving, his feet
+chilly in the dew, drunk on the memory of her lost, half-smiling face,
+and the clinging grip of her burning fingers, pressing the cold key into
+his hand.
+
+
+
+
+5
+
+He awoke feeling as if he had eaten heavily overnight, instead of having
+eaten nothing. And far off, unreal, seemed yesterday's romance! Yet it
+was a golden morning. Full spring had burst at last--in one night the
+“goldie-cups,” as the little boys called them, seemed to have made
+the field their own, and from his window he could see apple blossoms
+covering the orchard as with a rose and white quilt. He went down almost
+dreading to see Megan; and yet, when not she but Mrs. Narracombe brought
+in his breakfast, he felt vexed and disappointed. The woman's quick
+eye and snaky neck seemed to have a new alacrity this morning. Had she
+noticed?
+
+“So you an' the moon went walkin' last night, Mr. Ashurst! Did ye have
+your supper anywheres?”
+
+Ashurst shook his head.
+
+“We kept it for you, but I suppose you was too busy in your brain to
+think o' such a thing as that?”
+
+Was she mocking him, in that voice of hers, which still kept some Welsh
+crispness against the invading burr of the West Country? If she knew!
+And at that moment he thought: 'No, no; I'll clear out. I won't put
+myself in such a beastly false position.'
+
+But, after breakfast, the longing to see Megan began and increased with
+every minute, together with fear lest something should have been said
+to her which had spoiled everything. Sinister that she had not
+appeared, not given him even a glimpse of her! And the love poem, whose
+manufacture had been so important and absorbing yesterday afternoon
+under the apple trees, now seemed so paltry that he tore it up and
+rolled it into pipe spills. What had he known of love, till she seized
+his hand and kissed it! And now--what did he not know? But to write of
+it seemed mere insipidity! He went up to his bedroom to get a book, and
+his heart began to beat violently, for she was in there making the bed.
+He stood in the doorway watching; and suddenly, with turbulent joy, he
+saw her stoop and kiss his pillow, just at the hollow made by his head
+last night.
+
+How let her know he had seen that pretty act of devotion? And yet, if
+she heard him stealing away, it would be even worse. She took the pillow
+up, holding it as if reluctant to shake out the impress of his cheek,
+dropped it, and turned round.
+
+“Megan!”
+
+She put her hands up to her cheeks, but her eyes seemed to look right
+into him. He had never before realised the depth and purity and touching
+faithfulness in those dew-bright eyes, and he stammered:
+
+“It was sweet of you to wait up for me last night.”
+
+She still said nothing, and he stammered on:
+
+“I was wandering about on the moor; it was such a jolly night. I--I've
+just come up for a book.”
+
+Then, the kiss he had seen her give the pillow afflicted him with sudden
+headiness, and he went up to her. Touching her eyes with his lips,
+he thought with queer excitement: 'I've done it! Yesterday all was
+sudden--anyhow; but now--I've done it!' The girl let her forehead rest
+against his lips, which moved downwards till they reached hers. That
+first real lover's kiss-strange, wonderful, still almost innocent--in
+which heart did it make the most disturbance?
+
+“Come to the big apple tree to-night, after they've gone to bed.
+Megan-promise!”
+
+She whispered back: “I promise.”
+
+Then, scared at her white face, scared at everything, he let her go,
+and went downstairs again. Yes! He had done it now! Accepted her love,
+declared his own! He went out to the green chair as devoid of a book
+as ever; and there he sat staring vacantly before him, triumphant and
+remorseful, while under his nose and behind his back the work of the
+farm went on. How long he had been sitting in that curious state of
+vacancy he had no notion when he saw Joe standing a little behind him
+to the right. The youth had evidently come from hard work in the fields,
+and stood shifting his feet, breathing loudly, his face coloured like
+a setting sun, and his arms, below the rolled-up sleeves of his blue
+shirt, showing the hue and furry sheen of ripe peaches. His red lips
+were open, his blue eyes with their flaxen lashes stared fixedly at
+Ashurst, who said ironically:
+
+“Well, Joe, anything I can do for you?”
+
+“Yeas.”
+
+“What, then?”
+
+“Yu can goo away from yere. Us don' want yu.”
+
+Ashurst's face, never too humble, assumed its most lordly look.
+
+“Very good of you, but, do you know, I prefer the others should speak
+for themselves.”
+
+The youth moved a pace or two nearer, and the scent of his honest heat
+afflicted Ashurst's nostrils.
+
+“What d'yu stay yere for?”
+
+“Because it pleases me.”
+
+“Twon't please yu when I've bashed yure head in!”
+
+“Indeed! When would you like to begin that?”
+
+Joe answered only with the loudness of his breathing, but his eyes
+looked like those of a young and angry bull. Then a sort of spasm seemed
+to convulse his face.
+
+“Megan don' want yu.”
+
+A rush of jealousy, of contempt, and anger with this thick,
+loud-breathing rustic got the better of Ashurst's self-possession; he
+jumped up, and pushed back his chair.
+
+“You can go to the devil!”
+
+And as he said those simple words, he saw Megan in the doorway with a
+tiny brown spaniel puppy in her arms. She came up to him quickly:
+
+“Its eyes are blue!” she said.
+
+Joe turned away; the back of his neck was literally crimson.
+
+Ashurst put his finger to the mouth of the little brown bullfrog of a
+creature in her arms. How cosy it looked against her!
+
+“It's fond of you already. Ah I Megan, everything is fond of you.”
+
+“What was Joe saying to you, please?”
+
+“Telling me to go away, because you didn't want me here.”
+
+She stamped her foot; then looked up at Ashurst. At that adoring look
+he felt his nerves quiver, just as if he had seen a moth scorching its
+wings.
+
+“To-night!” he said. “Don't forget!”
+
+“No.” And smothering her face against the puppy's little fat, brown
+body, she slipped back into the house.
+
+Ashurst wandered down the lane. At the gate of the wild meadow he came
+on the lame man and his cows.
+
+“Beautiful day, Jim!”
+
+“Ah! 'Tes brave weather for the grass. The ashes be later than th' oaks
+this year. 'When th' oak before th' ash---'”
+
+Ashurst said idly: “Where were you standing when you saw the gipsy
+bogie, Jim?”
+
+“It might be under that big apple tree, as you might say.”
+
+“And you really do think it was there?”
+
+The lame man answered cautiously:
+
+“I shouldn't like to say rightly that 't was there. 'Twas in my mind as
+'.was there.”
+
+“What do you make of it?”
+
+The lame man lowered his voice.
+
+“They du zay old master, Mist' Narracombe come o' gipsy stock. But
+that's tellin'. They'm a wonderful people, yu know, for claimin'
+their own. Maybe they knu 'e was goin', and sent this feller along for
+company. That's what I've a-thought about it.”
+
+“What was he like?”
+
+“'E 'ad 'air all over 'is face, an' goin' like this, he was, zame as
+if 'e 'ad a viddle. They zay there's no such thing as bogies, but I've
+a-zeen the 'air on this dog standin' up of a dark naight, when I couldn'
+zee nothin', meself.”
+
+“Was there a moon?”
+
+“Yeas, very near full, but 'twas on'y just risen, gold-like be'ind them
+trees.”
+
+“And you think a ghost means trouble, do you?”
+
+The lame man pushed his hat up; his aspiring eyes looked at Ashurst more
+earnestly than ever.
+
+“'Tes not for me to zay that but 'tes they bein' so unrestin'like.
+There's things us don' understand, that's zartin, for zure. There's
+people that zee things, tu, an' others that don't never zee nothin'.
+Now, our Joe--yu might putt anything under'is eyes an e'd never zee it;
+and them other boys, tu, they'm rattlin' fellers. But yu take an' putt
+our Megan where there's suthin', she'll zee it, an' more tu, or I'm
+mistaken.”
+
+“She's sensitive, that's why.”
+
+“What's that?”
+
+“I mean, she feels everything.”
+
+“Ah! She'm very lovin'-'.arted.”
+
+Ashurst, who felt colour coming into his cheeks, held out his tobacco
+pouch.
+
+“Have a fill, Jim?”
+
+“Thank 'ee, sir. She'm one in an 'underd, I think.”
+
+“I expect so,” said Ashurst shortly, and folding up his pouch, walked
+on.
+
+“Lovin'-hearted!” Yes! And what was he doing? What were his
+intentions--as they say towards this loving-hearted girl? The thought
+dogged him, wandering through fields bright with buttercups, where the
+little red calves were feeding, and the swallows flying high. Yes, the
+oaks were before the ashes, brown-gold already; every tree in different
+stage and hue. The cuckoos and a thousand birds were singing; the little
+streams were very bright. The ancients believed in a golden age, in the
+garden of the Hesperides!... A queen wasp settled on his sleeve. Each
+queen wasp killed meant two thousand fewer wasps to thieve the apples
+which would grow from that blossom in the orchard; but who, with love
+in his heart, could kill anything on a day like this? He entered a field
+where a young red bull was feeding. It seemed to Ashurst that he looked
+like Joe. But the young bull took no notice of this visitor, a little
+drunk himself, perhaps, on the singing and the glamour of the golden
+pasture, under his short legs. Ashurst crossed out unchallenged to the
+hillside above the stream. From that slope a for mounted to its crown of
+rocks. The ground there was covered with a mist of bluebells, and nearly
+a score of crab-apple trees were in full bloom. He threw himself down on
+the grass. The change from the buttercup glory and oak-goldened glamour
+of the fields to this ethereal beauty under the grey for filled him with
+a sort of wonder; nothing the same, save the sound of running water
+and the songs of the cuckoos. He lay there a long time, watching the
+sunlight wheel till the crab-trees threw shadows over the bluebells, his
+only companions a few wild bees. He was not quite sane, thinking of that
+morning's kiss, and of to-night under the apple tree. In such a spot
+as this, fauns and dryads surely lived; nymphs, white as the crab-apple
+blossom, retired within those trees; fauns, brown as the dead bracken,
+with pointed ears, lay in wait for them. The cuckoos were still calling
+when he woke, there was the sound of running water; but the sun had
+couched behind the tor, the hillside was cool, and some rabbits had
+come out. 'Tonight!' he thought. Just as from the earth everything was
+pushing up, unfolding under the soft insistent fingers of an unseen
+hand, so were his heart and senses being pushed, unfolded. He got up
+and broke off a spray from a crab-apple tree. The buds were like
+Megan--shell-like, rose-pink, wild, and fresh; and so, too, the opening
+flowers, white, and wild; and touching. He put the spray into his coat.
+And all the rush of the spring within him escaped in a triumphant sigh.
+But the rabbits scurried away.
+
+
+
+
+6
+
+It was nearly eleven that night when Ashurst put down the pocket
+“Odyssey” which for half an hour he had held in his hands without
+reading, and slipped through the yard down to the orchard. The moon had
+just risen, very golden, over the hill, and like a bright, powerful,
+watching spirit peered through the bars of an ash tree's half-naked
+boughs. In among the apple trees it was still dark, and he stood making
+sure of his direction, feeling the rough grass with his feet. A black
+mass close behind him stirred with a heavy grunting sound, and three
+large pigs settled down again close to each other, under the wall.
+He listened. There was no wind, but the stream's burbling whispering
+chuckle had gained twice its daytime strength. One bird, he could not
+tell what, cried “Pippip,” “Pip-pip,” with perfect monotony; he could
+hear a night-Jar spinning very far off; an owl hooting. Ashurst moved a
+step or two, and again halted, aware of a dim living whiteness all round
+his head. On the dark unstirring trees innumerable flowers and buds all
+soft and blurred were being bewitched to life by the creeping moonlight.
+He had the oddest feeling of actual companionship, as if a million white
+moths or spirits had floated in and settled between dark sky and darker
+ground, and were opening and shutting their wings on a level with his
+eyes. In the bewildering, still, scentless beauty of that moment he
+almost lost memory of why he had come to the orchard. The flying glamour
+which had clothed the earth all day had not gone now that night had
+fallen, but only changed into this new form. He moved on through the
+thicket of stems and boughs covered with that live powdering whiteness,
+till he reached the big apple tree. No mistaking that, even in the dark,
+nearly twice the height and size of any other, and leaning out towards
+the open meadows and the stream. Under the thick branches he stood still
+again, to listen. The same sounds exactly, and a faint grunting from the
+sleepy pigs. He put his hands on the dry, almost warm tree trunk, whose
+rough mossy surface gave forth a peaty scent at his touch. Would she
+come--would she? And among these quivering, haunted, moon-witched trees
+he was seized with doubts of everything! All was unearthly here, fit for
+no earthly lovers; fit only for god and goddess, faun and nymph not for
+him and this little country girl. Would it not be almost a relief if she
+did not come? But all the time he was listening. And still that unknown
+bird went “Pip-pip,” “Pip-pip,” and there rose the busy chatter of the
+little trout stream, whereon the moon was flinging glances through the
+bars of her tree-prison. The blossom on a level with his eyes seemed to
+grow more living every moment, seemed with its mysterious white beauty
+more and more a part of his suspense. He plucked a fragment and held
+it close--three blossoms. Sacrilege to pluck fruit-tree blossom--soft,
+sacred, young blossom--and throw it away! Then suddenly he heard the
+gate close, the pigs stirring again and grunting; and leaning against
+the trunk, he pressed his hands to its mossy sides behind him, and held
+his breath. She might have been a spirit threading the trees, for all
+the noise she made! Then he saw her quite close--her dark form part of
+a little tree, her white face part of its blossom; so still, and peering
+towards him. He whispered: “Megan!” and held out his hands. She ran
+forward, straight to his breast. When he felt her heart beating against
+him, Ashurst knew to the full the sensations of chivalry and passion.
+Because she was not of his world, because she was so simple and young
+and headlong, adoring and defenceless, how could he be other than her
+protector, in the dark! Because she was all simple Nature and beauty, as
+much a part of this spring night as was the living blossom, how should
+he not take all that she would give him how not fulfil the spring in her
+heart and his! And torn between these two emotions he clasped her close,
+and kissed her hair. How long they stood there without speaking he knew
+not. The stream went on chattering, the owls hooting, the moon kept
+stealing up and growing whiter; the blossom all round them and above
+brightened in suspense of living beauty. Their lips had sought each
+other's, and they did not speak. The moment speech began all would
+be unreal! Spring has no speech, nothing but rustling and whispering.
+Spring has so much more than speech in its unfolding flowers and leaves,
+and the coursing of its streams, and in its sweet restless seeking! And
+sometimes spring will come alive, and, like a mysterious Presence
+stand, encircling lovers with its arms, laying on them the fingers of
+enchantment, so that, standing lips to lips, they forget everything but
+just a kiss. While her heart beat against him, and her lips quivered on
+his, Ashurst felt nothing but simple rapture--Destiny meant her for his
+arms, Love could not be flouted! But when their lips parted for
+breath, division began again at once. Only, passion now was so much the
+stronger, and he sighed:
+
+“Oh! Megan! Why did you come?” She looked up, hurt, amazed.
+
+“Sir, you asked me to.”
+
+“Don't call me 'sir,' my pretty sweet.”
+
+“What should I be callin' you?”
+
+“Frank.”
+
+“I could not. Oh, no!”
+
+“But you love me--don't you?”
+
+“I could not help lovin' you. I want to be with you--that's all.”
+
+“All!”
+
+So faint that he hardly heard, she whispered: “I shall die if I can't be
+with you.”
+
+Ashurst took a mighty breath.
+
+“Come and be with me, then!”
+
+“Oh!”
+
+Intoxicated by the awe and rapture in that “Oh!” he went on, whispering:
+
+“We'll go to London. I'll show you the world.
+
+“And I will take care of you, I promise, Megan. I'll never be a brute to
+you!”
+
+“If I can be with you--that is all.”
+
+He stroked her hair, and whispered on:
+
+“To-morrow I'll go to Torquay and get some money, and get you some
+clothes that won't be noticed, and then we'll steal away. And when
+we get to London, soon perhaps, if you love me well enough, we'll be
+married.”
+
+He could feel her hair shiver with the shake of her head.
+
+“Oh, no! I could not. I only want to be with you!”
+
+Drunk on his own chivalry, Ashurst went on murmuring, “It's I who am not
+good enough for you. Oh! Megan, when did you begin to love me?”
+
+“When I saw you in the road, and you looked at me. The first night I
+loved you; but I never thought you would want me.”
+
+She slipped down suddenly to her knees, trying to kiss his feet.
+
+A shiver of horror went through Ashurst; he lifted her up bodily and
+held her fast--too upset to speak.
+
+She whispered: “Why won't you let me?”
+
+“It's I who will kiss your feet!”
+
+Her smile brought tears into his eyes. The whiteness of her moonlit
+face so close to his, the faint pink of her opened lips, had the living
+unearthly beauty of the apple blossom.
+
+And then, suddenly, her eyes widened and stared past him painfully; she
+writhed out of his arms, and whispered: “Look!”
+
+Ashurst saw nothing but the brightened stream, the furze faintly gilded,
+the beech trees glistening, and behind them all the wide loom of the
+moonlit hill. Behind him came her frozen whisper: “The gipsy bogie!”
+
+“Where?”
+
+“There--by the stone--under the trees!”
+
+Exasperated, he leaped the stream, and strode towards the beech clump.
+Prank of the moonlight! Nothing! In and out of the boulders and thorn
+trees, muttering and cursing, yet with a kind of terror, he rushed and
+stumbled. Absurd! Silly! Then he went back to the apple tree. But she
+was gone; he could hear a rustle, the grunting of the pigs, the sound of
+a gate closing. Instead of her, only this old apple tree! He flung his
+arms round the trunk. What a substitute for her soft body; the rough
+moss against his face--what a substitute for her soft cheek; only the
+scent, as of the woods, a little the same! And above him, and around,
+the blossoms, more living, more moonlit than ever, seemed to glow and
+breathe.
+
+
+
+
+7
+
+Descending from the train at Torquay station, Ashurst wandered
+uncertainly along the front, for he did not know this particular queen
+of English watering places. Having little sense of what he had on, he
+was quite unconscious of being remarkable among its inhabitants, and
+strode along in his rough Norfolk jacket, dusty boots, and battered
+hat, without observing that people gazed at him rather blankly. He was
+seeking a branch of his London bank, and having found one, found also
+the first obstacle to his mood. Did he know anyone in Torquay? No. In
+that case, if he would wire to his bank in London, they would be happy
+to oblige him on receipt of the reply. That suspicious breath from the
+matter-of-fact world somewhat tarnished the brightness of his visions.
+But he sent the telegram.
+
+Nearly opposite to the post office he saw a shop full of ladies'
+garments, and examined the window with strange sensations. To have
+to undertake the clothing of his rustic love was more than a little
+disturbing. He went in. A young woman came forward; she had blue eyes
+and a faintly puzzled forehead. Ashurst stared at her in silence.
+
+“Yes, sir?”
+
+“I want a dress for a young lady.”
+
+The young woman smiled. Ashurst frowned the peculiarity of his request
+struck him with sudden force.
+
+The young woman added hastily:
+
+“What style would you like--something modish?”
+
+“No. Simple.”
+
+“What figure would the young lady be?”
+
+“I don't know; about two inches shorter than you, I should say.”
+
+“Could you give me her waist measurement?”
+
+Megan's waist!
+
+“Oh! anything usual!”
+
+“Quite!”
+
+While she was gone he stood disconsolately eyeing the models in the
+window, and suddenly it seemed to him incredible that Megan--his Megan
+could ever be dressed save in the rough tweed skirt, coarse blouse, and
+tam-o'-shanter cap he was wont to see her in. The young woman had come
+back with several dresses in her arms, and Ashurst eyed her laying them
+against her own modish figure. There was one whose colour he liked, a
+dove-grey, but to imagine Megan clothed in it was beyond him. The young
+woman went away, and brought some more. But on Ashurst there had now
+come a feeling of paralysis. How choose? She would want a hat too,
+and shoes, and gloves; and, suppose, when he had got them all, they
+commonised her, as Sunday clothes always commonised village folk! Why
+should she not travel as she was? Ah! But conspicuousness would matter;
+this was a serious elopement. And, staring at the young woman, he
+thought: 'I wonder if she guesses, and thinks me a blackguard?'
+
+“Do you mind putting aside that grey one for me?” he said desperately at
+last. “I can't decide now; I'll come in again this afternoon.”
+
+The young woman sighed.
+
+“Oh! certainly. It's a very tasteful costume. I don't think you'll get
+anything that will suit your purpose better.”
+
+“I expect not,” Ashurst murmured, and went out.
+
+Freed again from the suspicious matter-of-factness of the world, he took
+a long breath, and went back to visions. In fancy he saw the trustful,
+pretty creature who was going to join her life to his; saw himself and
+her stealing forth at night, walking over the moor under the moon, he
+with his arm round her, and carrying her new garments, till, in some
+far-off wood, when dawn was coming, she would slip off her old things
+and put on these, and an early train at a distant station would bear
+them away on their honeymoon journey, till London swallowed them up, and
+the dreams of love came true.
+
+“Frank Ashurst! Haven't seen you since Rugby, old chap!”
+
+Ashurst's frown dissolved; the face, close to his own, was blue-eyed,
+suffused with sun--one of those faces where sun from within and without
+join in a sort of lustre. And he answered:
+
+“Phil Halliday, by Jove!”
+
+“What are you doing here?”
+
+“Oh! nothing. Just looking round, and getting some money. I'm staying on
+the moor.”
+
+“Are you lunching anywhere? Come and lunch with us; I'm here with my
+young sisters. They've had measles.”
+
+Hooked in by that friendly arm Ashurst went along, up a hill, down a
+hill, away out of the town, while the voice of Halliday, redolent of
+optimism as his face was of sun, explained how “in this mouldy place
+the only decent things were the bathing and boating,” and so on, till
+presently they came to a crescent of houses a little above and back from
+the sea, and into the centre one an hotel--made their way.
+
+“Come up to my room and have a wash. Lunch'll be ready in a jiffy.”
+
+Ashurst contemplated his visage in a looking-glass. After his farmhouse
+bedroom, the comb and one spare shirt regime of the last fortnight,
+this room littered with clothes and brushes was a sort of Capua; and he
+thought: 'Queer--one doesn't realise But what--he did not quite know.
+
+When he followed Halliday into the sitting room for lunch, three faces,
+very fair and blue-eyed, were turned suddenly at the words: “This is
+Frank Ashurst my young sisters.”
+
+Two were indeed young, about eleven and ten. The third was perhaps
+seventeen, tall and fair-haired too, with pink-and-white cheeks just
+touched by the sun, and eyebrows, rather darker than the hair, running
+a little upwards from her nose to their outer points. The voices of all
+three were like Halliday's, high and cheerful; they stood up straight,
+shook hands with a quick movement, looked at Ashurst critically, away
+again at once, and began to talk of what they were going to do in the
+afternoon. A regular Diana and attendant nymphs! After the farm this
+crisp, slangy, eager talk, this cool, clean, off-hand refinement, was
+queer at first, and then so natural that what he had come from became
+suddenly remote. The names of the two little ones seemed to be Sabina
+and Freda; of the eldest, Stella.
+
+Presently the one called Sabina turned to him and said:
+
+“I say, will you come shrimping with us?--it's awful fun!”
+
+Surprised by this unexpected friendliness, Ashurst murmured:
+
+“I'm afraid I've got to get back this afternoon.”
+
+“Oh!”
+
+“Can't you put it off?”
+
+Ashurst turned to the new speaker, Stella, shook his head, and smiled.
+She was very pretty! Sabina said regretfully: “You might!” Then the talk
+switched off to caves and swimming.
+
+“Can you swim far?”
+
+“About two miles.”
+
+“Oh!”
+
+“I say!”
+
+“How jolly!”
+
+The three pairs of blue eyes, fixed on him, made him conscious of his
+new importance--The sensation was agreeable. Halliday said:
+
+“I say, you simply must stop and have a bathe. You'd better stay the
+night.”
+
+“Yes, do!”'
+
+But again Ashurst smiled and shook his head. Then suddenly he found
+himself being catechised about his physical achievements. He had
+rowed--it seemed--in his college boat, played in his college football
+team, won his college mile; and he rose from table a sort of hero. The
+two little girls insisted that he must see “their” cave, and they set
+forth chattering like magpies, Ashurst between them, Stella and her
+brother a little behind. In the cave, damp and darkish like any other
+cave, the great feature was a pool with possibility of creatures which
+might be caught and put into bottles. Sabina and Freda, who wore no
+stockings on their shapely brown legs, exhorted Ashurst to join them in
+the middle of it, and help sieve the water. He too was soon bootless and
+sockless. Time goes fast for one who has a sense of beauty, when there
+are pretty children in a pool and a young Diana on the edge, to receive
+with wonder anything you can catch! Ashurst never had much sense of
+time. It was a shock when, pulling out his watch, he saw it was well
+past three. No cashing his cheque to-day-the bank would be closed before
+he could get there. Watching his expression, the little girls cried out
+at once:
+
+“Hurrah! Now you'll have to stay!”
+
+Ashurst did not answer. He was seeing again Megan's face, when at
+breakfast time he had whispered: “I'm going to Torquay, darling, to
+get everything; I shall be back this evening. If it's fine we can go
+to-night. Be ready.” He was seeing again how she quivered and hung
+on his words. What would she think? Then he pulled himself together,
+conscious suddenly of the calm scrutiny of this other young girl, so
+tall and fair and Diana-like, at the edge of the pool, of her wondering
+blue eyes under those brows which slanted up a little. If they knew what
+was in his mind--if they knew that this very night he had meant! Well,
+there would be a little sound of disgust, and he would be alone in the
+cave. And with a curious mixture of anger, chagrin, and shame, he put
+his watch back into his pocket and said abruptly:
+
+“Yes; I'm dished for to-day.”
+
+“Hurrah! Now you can bathe with us.”
+
+It was impossible not to succumb a little to the contentment of these
+pretty children, to the smile on Stella's lips, to Halliday's “Ripping,
+old chap! I can lend you things for the night!” But again a spasm of
+longing and remorse throbbed through Ashurst, and he said moodily:
+
+“I must send a wire!”
+
+The attractions of the pool palling, they went back to the hotel.
+Ashurst sent his wire, addressing it to Mrs. Narracombe: “Sorry,
+detained for the night, back to-morrow.” Surely Megan would understand
+that he had too much to do; and his heart grew lighter. It was a lovely
+afternoon, warm, the sea calm and blue, and swimming his great passion;
+the favour of these pretty children flattered him, the pleasure of
+looking at them, at Stella, at Halliday's sunny face; the slight
+unreality, yet extreme naturalness of it all--as of a last peep at
+normality before he took this plunge with Megan! He got his borrowed
+bathing dress, and they all set forth. Halliday and he undressed behind
+one rock, the three girls behind another. He was first into the sea,
+and at once swam out with the bravado of justifying his self-given
+reputation. When he turned he could see Halliday swimming along shore,
+and the girls flopping and dipping, and riding the little waves, in the
+way he was accustomed to despise, but now thought pretty and sensible,
+since it gave him the distinction of the only deep-water fish. But
+drawing near, he wondered if they would like him, a stranger, to come
+into their splashing group; he felt shy, approaching that slim nymph.
+Then Sabina summoned him to teach her to float, and between them the
+little girls kept him so busy that he had no time even to notice whether
+Stella was accustomed to his presence, till suddenly he heard a startled
+sound from her: She was standing submerged to the waist, leaning a
+little forward, her slim white arms stretched out and pointing, her wet
+face puckered by the sun and an expression of fear.
+
+“Look at Phil! Is he all right? Oh, look!”
+
+Ashurst saw at once that Phil was not all right. He was splashing and
+struggling out of his depth, perhaps a hundred yards away; suddenly
+he gave a cry, threw up his arms, and went down. Ashurst saw the girl
+launch herself towards him, and crying out: “Go back, Stella! Go back!”
+ he dashed out. He had never swum so fast, and reached Halliday just as
+he was coming up a second time. It was a case of cramp, but to get him
+in was not difficult, for he did not struggle. The girl, who had stopped
+where Ashurst told her to, helped as soon as he was in his depth, and
+once on the beach they sat down one on each side of him to rub his
+limbs, while the little ones stood by with scared faces. Halliday was
+soon smiling. It was--he said--rotten of him, absolutely rotten! If
+Frank would give him an arm, he could get to his clothes all right now.
+Ashurst gave him the arm, and as he did so caught sight of Stella's
+face, wet and flushed and tearful, all broken up out of its calm; and he
+thought: 'I called her Stella! Wonder if she minded?'
+
+While they were dressing, Halliday said quietly, “You saved my life, old
+chap!”
+
+“Rot!”
+
+Clothed, but not quite in their right minds, they went up all together
+to the hotel and sat down to tea, except Halliday, who was lying down in
+his room. After some slices of bread and jam, Sabina said:
+
+“I say, you know, you are a brick!” And Freda chimed in:
+
+“Rather!”
+
+Ashurst saw Stella looking down; he got up in confusion, and went to
+the window. From there he heard Sabina mutter: “I say, let's swear blood
+bond. Where's your knife, Freda?” and out of the corner of his eye could
+see each of them solemnly prick herself, squeeze out a drop of blood and
+dabble on a bit of paper. He turned and made for the door.
+
+“Don't be a stoat! Come back!” His arms were seized; imprisoned between
+the little girls he was brought back to the table. On it lay a piece
+of paper with an effigy drawn in blood, and the three names Stella
+Halliday, Sabina Halliday, Freda Halliday--also in blood, running
+towards it like the rays of a star. Sabina said:
+
+“That's you. We shall have to kiss you, you know.”
+
+And Freda echoed:
+
+“Oh! Blow--Yes!”
+
+Before Ashurst could escape, some wettish hair dangled against his
+face, something like a bite descended on his nose, he felt his left
+arm pinched, and other teeth softly searching his cheek. Then he was
+released, and Freda said:
+
+“Now, Stella.”
+
+Ashurst, red and rigid, looked across the table at a red and rigid
+Stella. Sabina giggled; Freda cried:
+
+“Buck up--it spoils everything!”
+
+A queer, ashamed eagerness shot through Ashurst: then he said quietly:
+
+“Shut up, you little demons!”
+
+Again Sabina giggled.
+
+“Well, then, she can kiss her hand, and you can put it against your
+nose. It is on one side!”
+
+To his amazement the girl did kiss her hand and stretch it out. Solemnly
+he took that cool, slim hand and laid it to his cheek. The two little
+girls broke into clapping, and Freda said:
+
+“Now, then, we shall have to save your life at any time; that's settled.
+Can I have another cup, Stella, not so beastly weak?” Tea was resumed,
+and Ashurst, folding up the paper, put it in his pocket. The talk turned
+on the advantages of measles, tangerine oranges, honey in a spoon, no
+lessons, and so forth. Ashurst listened, silent, exchanging friendly
+looks with Stella, whose face was again of its normal sun-touched pink
+and white. It was soothing to be so taken to the heart of this jolly
+family, fascinating to watch their faces. And after tea, while the two
+little girls pressed seaweed, he talked to Stella in the window seat
+and looked at her water-colour sketches. The whole thing was like a
+pleasurable dream; time and incident hung up, importance and reality
+suspended. Tomorrow he would go back to Megan, with nothing of all this
+left save the paper with the blood of these children, in his pocket.
+Children! Stella was not quite that--as old as Megan! Her talk--quick,
+rather hard and shy, yet friendly--seemed to flourish on his silences,
+and about her there was something cool and virginal--a maiden in
+a bower. At dinner, to which Halliday, who had swallowed too much
+sea-water, did not come, Sabina said:
+
+“I'm going to call you Frank.”
+
+Freda echoed:
+
+“Frank, Frank, Franky.”
+
+Ashurst grinned and bowed.
+
+“Every time Stella calls you Mr. Ashurst, she's got to pay a forfeit.
+It's ridiculous.”
+
+Ashurst looked at Stella, who grew slowly red. Sabina giggled; Freda
+cried:
+
+“She's 'smoking'--'smoking!'--Yah!”
+
+Ashurst reached out to right and left, and grasped some fair hair in
+each hand.
+
+“Look here,” he said, “you two! Leave Stella alone, or I'll tie you
+together!”
+
+Freda gurgled:
+
+“Ouch! You are a beast!”
+
+Sabina murmured cautiously:
+
+“You call her Stella, you see!”
+
+“Why shouldn't I? It's a jolly name!”
+
+“All right; we give you leave to!”
+
+Ashurst released the hair. Stella! What would she call him--after this?
+But she called him nothing; till at bedtime he said, deliberately:
+
+“Good-night, Stella!”
+
+“Good-night, Mr.----Good-night, Frank! It was jolly of you, you know!”
+
+“Oh-that! Bosh!”
+
+Her quick, straight handshake tightened suddenly, and as suddenly became
+slack.
+
+Ashurst stood motionless in the empty sitting-room. Only last night,
+under the apple tree and the living blossom, he had held Megan to
+him, kissing her eyes and lips. And he gasped, swept by that rush of
+remembrance. To-night it should have begun-his life with her who only
+wanted to be with him! And now, twenty-four hours and more must pass,
+because-of not looking at his watch! Why had he made friends with this
+family of innocents just when he was saying good-bye to innocence, and
+all the rest of it? 'But I mean to marry her,' he thought; 'I told her
+so!'
+
+He took a candle, lighted it, and went to his bedroom, which was next to
+Halliday's. His friend's voice called, as he was passing:
+
+“Is that you, old chap? I say, come in.”
+
+He was sitting up in bed, smoking a pipe and reading.
+
+“Sit down a bit.”
+
+Ashurst sat down by the open window.
+
+“I've been thinking about this afternoon, you know,” said Halliday
+rather suddenly. “They say you go through all your past. I didn't. I
+suppose I wasn't far enough gone.”
+
+“What did you think of?”
+
+Halliday was silent for a little, then said quietly
+
+“Well, I did think of one thing--rather odd--of a girl at Cambridge that
+I might have--you know; I was glad I hadn't got her on my mind. Anyhow,
+old chap, I owe it to you that I'm here; I should have been in the big
+dark by now. No more bed, or baccy; no more anything. I say, what d'you
+suppose happens to us?”
+
+Ashurst murmured:
+
+“Go out like flames, I expect.”
+
+“Phew!”
+
+“We may flicker, and cling about a bit, perhaps.”
+
+“H'm! I think that's rather gloomy. I say, I hope my young sisters have
+been decent to you?”
+
+“Awfully decent.”
+
+Halliday put his pipe down, crossed his hands behind his neck, and
+turned his face towards the window.
+
+“They're not bad kids!” he said.
+
+Watching his friend, lying there, with that smile, and the candle-light
+on his face, Ashurst shuddered. Quite true! He might have been lying
+there with no smile, with all that sunny look gone out for ever! He
+might not have been lying there at all, but “sanded” at the bottom of
+the sea, waiting for resurrection on the ninth day, was it? And that
+smile of Halliday's seemed to him suddenly something wonderful, as if in
+it were all the difference between life and death--the little flame--the
+all! He got up, and said softly:
+
+“Well, you ought to sleep, I expect. Shall I blow out?”
+
+Halliday caught his hand.
+
+“I can't say it, you know; but it must be rotten to be dead. Good-night,
+old boy!”
+
+Stirred and moved, Ashurst squeezed the hand, and went downstairs. The
+hall door was still open, and he passed out on to the lawn before the
+Crescent. The stars were bright in a very dark blue sky, and by their
+light some lilacs had that mysterious colour of flowers by night which
+no one can describe. Ashurst pressed his face against a spray; and
+before his closed eyes Megan started up, with the tiny brown spaniel pup
+against her breast. “I thought of a girl that I might have you know. I
+was glad I hadn't got her on my mind!” He jerked his head away from
+the lilac, and began pacing up and down over the grass, a grey phantom
+coming to substance for a moment in the light from the lamp at either
+end. He was with her again under the living, breathing white ness of the
+blossom, the stream chattering by, the moon glinting steel-blue on the
+bathing-pool; back in the rapture of his kisses on her upturned face of
+innocence and humble passion, back in the suspense and beauty of that
+pagan night. He stood still once more in the shadow of the lilacs. Here
+the sea, not the stream, was Night's voice; the sea with its sigh and
+rustle; no little bird, no owl, no night-Jar called or spun; but a piano
+tinkled, and the white houses cut the sky with solid curve, and the
+scent from the lilacs filled the air. A window of the hotel, high up,
+was lighted; he saw a shadow move across the blind. And most queer
+sensations stirred within him, a sort of churning, and twining, and
+turning of a single emotion on itself, as though spring and love,
+bewildered and confused, seeking the way, were baffled. This girl,
+who had called him Frank, whose hand had given his that sudden little
+clutch, this girl so cool and pure--what would she think of such wild,
+unlawful loving? He sank down on the grass, sitting there cross-legged,
+with his back to the house, motionless as some carved Buddha. Was he
+really going to break through innocence, and steal? Sniff the scent out
+of a wild flower, and--perhaps--throw it away? “Of a girl at Cambridge
+that I might have--you know!” He put his hands to the grass, one on each
+side, palms downwards, and pressed; it was just warm still--the grass,
+barely moist, soft and firm and friendly. 'What am I going to do?' he
+thought. Perhaps Megan was at her window, looking out at the blossom,
+thinking of him! Poor little Megan! 'Why not?' he thought. 'I love
+her! But do I really love her? or do I only want her because she is so
+pretty, and loves me? What am I going to do?' The piano tinkled on, the
+stars winked; and Ashurst gazed out before him at the dark sea, as if
+spell-bound. He got up at last, cramped and rather chilly. There was no
+longer light in any window. And he went in to bed.
+
+Out of a deep and dreamless sleep he was awakened by the sound of
+thumping on the door. A shrill voice called:
+
+“Hi! Breakfast's ready.”
+
+He jumped up. Where was he--? Ah!
+
+He found them already eating marmalade, and sat down in the empty place
+between Stella and Sabina, who, after watching him a little, said:
+
+“I say, do buck up; we're going to start at half-past nine.”
+
+“We're going to Berry Head, old chap; you must come!”
+
+Ashurst thought: 'Come! Impossible. I shall be getting things and going
+back.' He looked at Stella. She said quickly:
+
+“Do come!”
+
+Sabina chimed in:
+
+“It'll be no fun without you.”
+
+Freda got up and stood behind his chair.
+
+“You've got to come, or else I'll pull your hair!”
+
+Ashurst thought: 'Well--one day more--to think it over! One day more!'
+And he said:
+
+“All right! You needn't tweak my mane!”
+
+“Hurrah!”
+
+At the station he wrote a second telegram to the farm, and then tore it
+up; he could not have explained why. From Brixham they drove in a very
+little wagonette. There, squeezed between Sabina and Freda, with his
+knees touching Stella's, they played “Up, Jenkins “; and the gloom he
+was feeling gave way to frolic. In this one day more to think it over,
+he did not want to think! They ran races, wrestled, paddled--for to-day
+nobody wanted to bathe--they sang catches, played games, and ate all
+they had brought. The little girls fell asleep against him on the way
+back, and his knees still touched Stella's in the narrow wagonette. It
+seemed incredible that thirty hours ago he had never set eyes on any of
+those three flaxen heads. In the train he talked to Stella of poetry,
+discovering her favourites, and telling her his own with a pleasing
+sense of superiority; till suddenly she said, rather low:
+
+“Phil says you don't believe in a future life, Frank. I think that's
+dreadful.”
+
+Disconcerted, Ashurst muttered:
+
+“I don't either believe or not believe--I simply don't know.”
+
+She said quickly:
+
+“I couldn't bear that. What would be the use of living?”
+
+Watching the frown of those pretty oblique brows, Ashurst answered:
+
+“I don't believe in believing things because a one wants to.”
+
+“But why should one wish to live again, if one isn't going to?”
+
+And she looked full at him.
+
+He did not want to hurt her, but an itch to dominate pushed him on to
+say:
+
+“While one's alive one naturally wants to go on living for ever; that's
+part of being alive. But it probably isn't anything more.”
+
+“Don't you believe in the Bible at all, then?”
+
+Ashurst thought: 'Now I shall really hurt her!'
+
+“I believe in the Sermon on the Mount, because it's beautiful and good
+for all time.”
+
+“But don't you believe Christ was divine?”
+
+He shook his head.
+
+She turned her face quickly to the window, and there sprang into his
+mind Megan's prayer, repeated by little Nick: “God bless us all, and Mr.
+Ashes!” Who else would ever say a prayer for him, like her who at this
+moment must be waiting--waiting to see him come down the lane? And he
+thought suddenly: 'What a scoundrel I am!'
+
+All that evening this thought kept coming back; but, as is not unusual,
+each time with less poignancy, till it seemed almost a matter of course
+to be a scoundrel. And--strange!--he did not know whether he was a
+scoundrel if he meant to go back to Megan, or if he did not mean to go
+back to her.
+
+They played cards till the children were sent off to bed; then Stella
+went to the piano. From over on the window seat, where it was nearly
+dark, Ashurst watched her between the candles--that fair head on the
+long, white neck bending to the movement of her hands. She played
+fluently, without much expression; but what a Picture she made, the
+faint golden radiance, a sort of angelic atmosphere hovering about her!
+Who could have passionate thoughts or wild desires in the presence of
+that swaying, white-clothed girl with the seraphic head? She played a
+thing of Schumann's called “Warum?” Then Halliday brought out a flute,
+and the spell was broken. After this they made Ashurst sing, Stella
+playing him accompaniments from a book of Schumann songs, till, in
+the middle of “Ich grolle nicht,” two small figures clad in blue
+dressing-gowns crept in and tried to conceal themselves beneath the
+piano. The evening broke up in confusion, and what Sabina called “a
+splendid rag.”
+
+That night Ashurst hardly slept at all. He was thinking, tossing and
+turning. The intense domestic intimacy of these last two days, the
+strength of this Halliday atmosphere, seemed to ring him round, and make
+the farm and Megan--even Megan--seem unreal. Had he really made love
+to her--really promised to take her away to live with him? He must have
+been bewitched by the spring, the night, the apple blossom! This May
+madness could but destroy them both! The notion that he was going to
+make her his mistress--that simple child not yet eighteen--now filled
+him with a sort of horror, even while it still stung and whipped his
+blood. He muttered to himself: “It's awful, what I've done--awful!”
+ And the sound of Schumann's music throbbed and mingled with his fevered
+thoughts, and he saw again Stella's cool, white, fair-haired figure
+and bending neck, the queer, angelic radiance about her. 'I must have
+been--I must be-mad!' he thought. 'What came into me? Poor little
+Megan!' “God bless us all, and Mr. Ashes! I want to be with you--only
+to be with you!” And burying his face in his pillow, he smothered down a
+fit of sobbing. Not to go back was awful! To go back--more awful still!
+
+Emotion, when you are young, and give real vent to it, loses its
+power of torture. And he fell asleep, thinking: 'What was it--a few
+kisses--all forgotten in a month!'
+
+Next morning he got his cheque cashed, but avoided the shop of the
+dove-grey dress like the plague; and, instead, bought himself some
+necessaries. He spent the whole day in a queer mood, cherishing a kind
+of sullenness against himself. Instead of the hankering of the last two
+days, he felt nothing but a blank--all passionate longing gone, as if
+quenched in that outburst of tears. After tea Stella put a book down
+beside him, and said shyly:
+
+“Have you read that, Frank?”
+
+It was Farrar's “Life of Christ.” Ashurst smiled. Her anxiety about his
+beliefs seemed to him comic, but touching. Infectious too, perhaps, for
+he began to have an itch to justify himself, if not to convert her.
+And in the evening, when the children and Halliday were mending their
+shrimping nets, he said:
+
+“At the back of orthodox religion, so far as I can see, there's always
+the idea of reward--what you can get for being good; a kind of begging
+for favours. I think it all starts in fear.”
+
+She was sitting on the sofa making reefer knots with a bit of string.
+She looked up quickly:
+
+“I think it's much deeper than that.”
+
+Ashurst felt again that wish to dominate.
+
+“You think so,” he said; “but wanting the 'quid pro quo' is about the
+deepest thing in all of us! It's jolly hard to get to the bottom of it!”
+
+She wrinkled her brows in a puzzled frown.
+
+“I don't think I understand.”
+
+He went on obstinately:
+
+“Well, think, and see if the most religious people aren't those who feel
+that this life doesn't give them all they want. I believe in being good
+because to be good is good in itself.”
+
+“Then you do believe in being good?”
+
+How pretty she looked now--it was easy to be good with her! And he
+nodded and said:
+
+“I say, show me how to make that knot!”
+
+With her fingers touching his, in manoeuvring the bit of string, he felt
+soothed and happy. And when he went to bed he wilfully kept his thoughts
+on her, wrapping himself in her fair, cool sisterly radiance, as in some
+garment of protection.
+
+Next day he found they had arranged to go by train to Totnes, and picnic
+at Berry Pomeroy Castle. Still in that resolute oblivion of the past,
+he took his place with them in the landau beside Halliday, back to the
+horses. And, then, along the sea front, nearly at the turning to the
+railway station, his heart almost leaped into his mouth. Megan--Megan
+herself!--was walking on the far pathway, in her old skirt and jacket
+and her tam-o'-shanter, looking up into the faces of the passers-by.
+Instinctively he threw his hand up for cover, then made a feint of
+clearing dust out of his eyes; but between his fingers he could see
+her still, moving, not with her free country step, but wavering,
+lost-looking, pitiful-like some little dog which has missed its master
+and does not know whether to run on, to run back--where to run. How had
+she come like this?--what excuse had she found to get away?--what did
+she hope for? But with every turn of the wheels bearing him away from
+her, his heart revolted and cried to him to stop them, to get out, and
+go to her! When the landau turned the corner to the station he could
+stand it no more, and opening the carriage door, muttered: “I've
+forgotten something! Go on--don't wait for me! I'll join you at the
+castle by the next train!” He jumped, stumbled, spun round, recovered
+his balance, and walked forward, while the carriage with the astonished
+Hallidays rolled on.
+
+From the corner he could only just see Megan, a long way ahead now. He
+ran a few steps, checked himself, and dropped into a walk. With each
+step nearer to her, further from the Hallidays, he walked more and more
+slowly. How did it alter anything--this sight of her? How make the going
+to her, and that which must come of it, less ugly? For there was no
+hiding it--since he had met the Hallidays he had become gradually sure
+that he would not marry Megan. It would only be a wild love-time, a
+troubled, remorseful, difficult time--and then--well, then he would
+get tired, just because she gave him everything, was so simple, and so
+trustful, so dewy. And dew--wears off! The little spot of faded colour,
+her tam-o'-shanter cap, wavered on far in front of him; she was looking
+up into every face, and at the house windows. Had any man ever such
+a cruel moment to go through? Whatever he did, he felt he would be a
+beast. And he uttered a groan which made a nursemaid turn and stare. He
+saw Megan stop and lean against the sea-wall, looking at the sea; and he
+too stopped. Quite likely she had never seen the sea before, and even in
+her distress could not resist that sight. 'Yes-she's seen nothing,' he
+thought; 'everything's before her. And just for a few weeks' passion,
+I shall be cutting her life to ribbons. I'd better go and hang myself
+rather than do it!' And suddenly he seemed to see Stella's calm eyes
+looking into his, the wave of fluffy hair on her forehead stirred by
+the wind. Ah! it would be madness, would mean giving up all that he
+respected, and his own self-respect. He turned and walked quickly back
+towards the station. But memory of that poor, bewildered little figure,
+those anxious eyes searching the passers-by, smote him too hard again,
+and once more he turned towards the sea.
+
+The cap was no longer visible; that little spot of colour had vanished
+in the stream of the noon promenaders. And impelled by the passion of
+longing, the dearth which comes on one when life seems to be whirling
+something out of reach, he hurried forward. She was nowhere to be seen;
+for half an hour he looked for her; then on the beach flung himself face
+downward in the sand. To find her again he knew he had only to go to the
+station and wait till she returned from her fruitless quest, to take her
+train home; or to take train himself and go back to the farm, so that
+she found him there when she returned. But he lay inert in the sand,
+among the indifferent groups of children with their spades and buckets.
+Pity at her little figure wandering, seeking, was well-nigh merged in
+the spring-running of his blood; for it was all wild feeling now--the
+chivalrous part, what there had been of it, was gone. He wanted her
+again, wanted her kisses, her soft, little body, her abandonment, all
+her quick, warm, pagan emotion; wanted the wonderful feeling of that
+night under the moonlit apple boughs; wanted it all with a horrible
+intensity, as the faun wants the nymph. The quick chatter of the little
+bright trout-stream, the dazzle of the buttercups, the rocks of the old
+“wild men”; the calling of the cuckoos and yaffles, the hooting of the
+owls; and the red moon peeping out of the velvet dark at the living
+whiteness of the blossom; and her face just out of reach at the window,
+lost in its love-look; and her heart against his, her lips answering
+his, under the apple tree--all this besieged him. Yet he lay inert. What
+was it which struggled against pity and this feverish longing, and kept
+him there paralysed in the warm sand? Three flaxen heads--a fair face
+with friendly blue--grey eyes, a slim hand pressing his, a quick voice
+speaking his name--“So you do believe in being good?” Yes, and a sort
+of atmosphere as of some old walled-in English garden, with pinks, and
+cornflowers, and roses, and scents of lavender and lilaccool and fair,
+untouched, almost holy--all that he had been brought up to feel was
+clean and good. And suddenly he thought: 'She might come along the front
+again and see me!' and he got up and made his way to the rock at the far
+end of the beach. There, with the spray biting into his face, he could
+think more coolly. To go back to the farm and love Megan out in the
+woods, among the rocks, with everything around wild and fitting--that,
+he knew, was impossible, utterly. To transplant her to a great town,
+to keep, in some little flat or rooms, one who belonged so wholly to
+Nature--the poet in him shrank from it. His passion would be a mere
+sensuous revel, soon gone; in London, her very simplicity, her lack of
+all intellectual quality, would make her his secret plaything--nothing
+else. The longer he sat on the rock, with his feet dangling over a
+greenish pool from which the sea was ebbing, the more clearly he saw
+this; but it was as if her arms and all of her were slipping slowly,
+slowly down from him, into the pool, to be carried away out to sea; and
+her face looking up, her lost face with beseeching eyes, and dark, wet
+hair-possessed, haunted, tortured him! He got up at last, scaled the low
+rock-cliff, and made his way down into a sheltered cove. Perhaps in the
+sea he could get back his control--lose this fever! And stripping off
+his clothes, he swam out. He wanted to tire himself so that nothing
+mattered and swam recklessly, fast and far; then suddenly, for no
+reason, felt afraid. Suppose he could not reach shore again--suppose the
+current set him out--or he got cramp, like Halliday! He turned to swim
+in. The red cliffs looked a long way off. If he were drowned they
+would find his clothes. The Hallidays would know; but Megan perhaps
+never--they took no newspaper at the farm. And Phil Halliday's words
+came back to him again: “A girl at Cambridge I might have Glad I haven't
+got her on my mind!” And in that moment of unreasoning fear he vowed
+he would not have her on his mind. Then his fear left him; he swam in
+easily enough, dried himself in the sun, and put on his clothes. His
+heart felt sore, but no longer ached; his body cool and refreshed.
+
+When one is as young as Ashurst, pity is not a violent emotion. And,
+back in the Hallidays' sitting-room, eating a ravenous tea, he felt much
+like a man recovered from fever. Everything seemed new and clear; the
+tea, the buttered toast and jam tasted absurdly good; tobacco had never
+smelt so nice. And walking up and down the empty room, he stopped here
+and there to touch or look. He took up Stella's work-basket, fingered
+the cotton reels and a gaily-coloured plait of sewing silks, smelt at
+the little bag filled with woodroffe she kept among them. He sat down
+at the piano, playing tunes with one finger, thinking: 'To-night she'll
+play; I shall watch her while she's playing; it does me good to watch
+her.' He took up the book, which still lay where she had placed it
+beside him, and tried to read. But Megan's little, sad figure began to
+come back at once, and he got up and leaned in the window, listening to
+the thrushes in the Crescent gardens, gazing at the sea, dreamy and
+blue below the trees. A servant came in and cleared the tea away, and he
+still stood, inhaling the evening air, trying not to think. Then he saw
+the Hallidays coming through the gate of the Crescent, Stella a little
+in front of Phil and the children, with their baskets, and instinctively
+he drew back. His heart, too sore and discomfited, shrank from this
+encounter, yet wanted its friendly solace--bore a grudge against this
+influence, yet craved its cool innocence, and the pleasure of watching
+Stella's face. From against the wall behind the piano he saw her come
+in and stand looking a little blank as though disappointed; then she
+saw him and smiled, a swift, brilliant smile which warmed yet irritated
+Ashurst.
+
+“You never came after us, Frank.”
+
+“No; I found I couldn't.”
+
+“Look! We picked such lovely late violets!” She held out a bunch.
+Ashurst put his nose to them, and there stirred within him vague
+longings, chilled instantly by a vision of Megan's anxious face lifted
+to the faces of the passers-by.
+
+He said shortly: “How jolly!” and turned away. He went up to his room,
+and, avoiding the children, who were coming up the stairs, threw himself
+on his bed, and lay there with his arms crossed over his face. Now that
+he felt the die really cast, and Megan given up, he hated himself,
+and almost hated the Hallidays and their atmosphere of healthy, happy
+English homes.
+
+Why should they have chanced here, to drive away first love--to show him
+that he was going to be no better than a common seducer? What right had
+Stella, with her fair, shy beauty, to make him know for certain that
+he would never marry Megan; and, tarnishing it all, bring him such
+bitterness of regretful longing and such pity? Megan would be back by
+now, worn out by her miserable seeking--poor little thing!--expecting,
+perhaps, to find him there when she reached home. Ashurst bit at his
+sleeve, to stifle a groan of remorseful longing. He went to dinner glum
+and silent, and his mood threw a dinge even over the children. It was
+a melancholy, rather ill tempered evening, for they were all tired;
+several times he caught Stella looking at him with a hurt, puzzled
+expression, and this pleased his evil mood. He slept miserably; got up
+quite early, and wandered out. He went down to the beach. Alone there
+with the serene, the blue, the sunlit sea, his heart relaxed a little.
+Conceited fool--to think that Megan would take it so hard! In a week
+or two she would almost have forgotten! And he well, he would have the
+reward of virtue! A good young man! If Stella knew, she would give him
+her blessing for resisting that devil she believed in; and he uttered a
+hard laugh. But slowly the peace and beauty of sea and sky, the flight
+of the lonely seagulls, made him feel ashamed. He bathed, and turned
+homewards.
+
+In the Crescent gardens Stella herself was sitting on a camp stool,
+sketching. He stole up close behind. How fair and pretty she was, bent
+diligently, holding up her brush, measuring, wrinkling her brows.
+
+He said gently:
+
+“Sorry I was such a beast last night, Stella.”
+
+She turned round, startled, flushed very pink, and said in her quick
+way:
+
+“It's all right. I knew there was something. Between friends it doesn't
+matter, does it?”
+
+Ashurst answered:
+
+“Between friends--and we are, aren't we?”
+
+She looked up at him, nodded vehemently, and her upper teeth gleamed
+again in that swift, brilliant smile.
+
+Three days later he went back to London, travelling with the Hallidays.
+He had not written to the farm. What was there he could say?
+
+On the last day of April in the following year he and Stella were
+married....
+
+Such were Ashurst's memories, sitting against the wall among the gorse,
+on his silver-wedding day. At this very spot, where he had laid out the
+lunch, Megan must have stood outlined against the sky when he had first
+caught sight of her. Of all queer coincidences! And there moved in him
+a longing to go down and see again the farm and the orchard, and the
+meadow of the gipsy bogle. It would not take long; Stella would be an
+hour yet, perhaps.
+
+How well he remembered it all--the little crowning group of pine trees,
+the steep-up grass hill behind! He paused at the farm gate. The low
+stone house, the yew-tree porch, the flowering currants--not changed
+a bit; even the old green chair was out there on the grass under the
+window, where he had reached up to her that night to take the key. Then
+he turned down the lane, and stood leaning on the orchard gate-grey
+skeleton of a gate, as then. A black pig even was wandering in there
+among the trees. Was it true that twenty-six years had passed, or had
+he dreamed and awakened to find Megan waiting for him by the big apple
+tree? Unconsciously he put up his hand to his grizzled beard and brought
+himself back to reality. Opening the gate, he made his way down through
+the docks and nettles till he came to the edge, and the old apple tree
+itself. Unchanged! A little more of the greygreen lichen, a dead branch
+or two, and for the rest it might have been only last night that he had
+embraced that mossy trunk after Megan's flight and inhaled its woody
+savour, while above his head the moonlit blossom had seemed to breathe
+and live. In that early spring a few buds were showing already; the
+blackbirds shouting their songs, a cuckoo calling, the sunlight bright
+and warm. Incredibly the same-the chattering trout-stream, the narrow
+pool he had lain in every morning, splashing the water over his flanks
+and chest; and out there in the wild meadow the beech clump and the
+stone where the gipsy bogie was supposed to sit. And an ache for lost
+youth, a hankering, a sense of wasted love and sweetness, gripped
+Ashurst by the throat. Surely, on this earth of such wild beauty, one
+was meant to hold rapture to one's heart, as this earth and sky held it!
+And yet, one could not!
+
+He went to the edge of the stream, and looking down at the little pool,
+thought: 'Youth and spring! What has become of them all, I wonder?'
+
+And then, in sudden fear of having this memory jarred by human
+encounter, he went back to the lane, and pensively retraced his steps to
+the crossroads.
+
+Beside the car an old, grey-bearded labourer was leaning on a stick,
+talking to the chauffeur. He broke off at once, as though guilty of
+disrespect, and touching his hat, prepared to limp on down the lane.
+
+Ashurst pointed to the narrow green mound. “Can you tell me what this
+is?”
+
+The old fellow stopped; on his face had come a look as though he were
+thinking: 'You've come to the right shop, mister!'
+
+“'Tes a grave,” he said.
+
+“But why out here?”
+
+The old man smiled. “That's a tale, as yu may say. An' not the first
+time as I've a-told et--there's plenty folks asks 'bout that bit o'
+turf. 'Maid's Grave' us calls et, 'ereabouts.”
+
+Ashurst held out his pouch. “Have a fill?”
+
+The old man touched his hat again, and slowly filled an old clay pipe.
+His eyes, looking upward out of a mass of wrinkles and hair, were still
+quite bright.
+
+“If yu don' mind, zurr, I'll zet down my leg's 'urtin' a bit today.” And
+he sat down on the mound of turf.
+
+“There's always a flower on this grave. An' 'tain't so very lonesome,
+neither; brave lot o' folks goes by now, in they new motor cars an'
+things--not as 'twas in th' old days. She've a got company up 'ere.
+'.was a poor soul killed 'erself.”
+
+“I see!” said Ashurst. “Cross-roads burial. I didn't know that custom
+was kept up.”
+
+“Ah! but 'twas a main long time ago. Us 'ad a parson as was very
+God-fearin' then. Let me see, I've a 'ad my pension six year come
+Michaelmas, an' I were just on fifty when t'appened. There's none livin'
+knows more about et than what I du. She belonged close 'ere; same farm
+as where I used to work along o' Mrs. Narracombe 'tes Nick Narracombe's
+now; I dus a bit for 'im still, odd times.”
+
+Ashurst, who was leaning against the gate, lighting his pipe, left his
+curved hands before his face for long after the flame of the match had
+gone out.
+
+“Yes?” he said, and to himself his voice sounded hoarse and queer.
+
+“She was one in an 'underd, poor maid! I putts a flower 'ere every time
+I passes. Pretty maid an' gude maid she was, though they wouldn't burry
+'.r up to th' church, nor where she wanted to be burried neither.” The
+old labourer paused, and put his hairy, twisted hand flat down on the
+turf beside the bluebells.
+
+“Yes?” said Ashurst.
+
+“In a manner of speakin',” the old man went on, “I think as 'twas a
+love-story--though there's no one never knu for zartin. Yu can't tell
+what's in a maid's 'ead but that's wot I think about it.” He drew his
+hand along the turf. “I was fond o' that maid--don' know as there was
+anyone as wasn' fond of 'er. But she was to lovin'-'.arted--that's where
+'.was, I think.” He looked up. And Ashurst, whose lips were trembling in
+the cover of his beard, murmured again: “Yes?”
+
+“'Twas in the spring, 'bout now as 't might be, or a little
+later--blossom time--an' we 'ad one o' they young college gentlemen
+stayin' at the farm-nice feller tu, with 'is 'ead in the air. I liked
+'. very well, an' I never see nothin' between 'em, but to my thinkin'
+'. turned the maid's fancy.” The old man took the pipe out of his mouth,
+spat, and went on:
+
+“Yu see, 'e went away sudden one day, an' never come back. They got 'is
+knapsack and bits o' things down there still. That's what stuck in my
+mind--'is never sendin' for 'em. 'Is name was Ashes, or somethen' like
+that.”
+
+“Yes?” said Ashurst once more.
+
+The old man licked his lips.
+
+“'Er never said nothin', but from that day 'er went kind of dazed
+lukin'. didn'seem rightly therr at all. I never knu a'uman creature
+so changed in me life--never. There was another young feller at the
+farm--Joe Biddaford 'is name wer', that was praaperly sweet on 'er, tu;
+I guess 'e used to plague 'er wi 'is attentions. She got to luke quite
+wild. I'd zee her sometimes of an avenin' when I was bringin' up the
+calves; ther' she'd stand in th' orchard, under the big apple tree,
+lukin' straight before 'er. 'Well,' I used t'think, 'I dunno what 'tes
+that's the matter wi' yu, but yu'm lukin' pittiful, that yu be!'.
+
+The old man refit his pipe, and sucked at it reflectively.
+
+“Yes?” said Ashurst.
+
+“I remembers one day I said to 'er: 'What's the matter, Megan?'--'er
+name was Megan David, she come from Wales same as 'er aunt, ol' Missis
+Narracombe. 'Yu'm frettin' about somethin'. I says. 'No, Jim,' she says,
+'.'m not frettin'.' 'Yes, yu be!' I says. 'No,' she says, and to tears
+cam' rollin' out. 'Yu'm cryin'--what's that, then?' I says. She putts
+'.r 'and over 'er 'eart: 'It 'urts me,' she says; 'but 'twill sune be
+better,' she says. 'But if anything shude 'appen to me, Jim, I wants
+to be burried under this 'ere apple tree.' I laughed. 'What's goin' to
+'.ppen to yu?' I says; 'don't 'ee be fulish.' 'No,' she says, 'I won't
+be fulish.' Well, I know what maids are, an' I never thought no more
+about et, till two days arter that, 'bout six in the avenin' I was
+comin' up wi' the calves, when I see somethin' dark lyin' in the strame,
+close to that big apple tree. I says to meself: 'Is that a pig-funny
+place for a pig to get to!' an' I goes up to et, an' I see what 'twas.”
+
+The old man stopped; his eyes, turned upward, had a bright, suffering
+look.
+
+“'Twas the maid, in a little narrer pool ther' that's made by the
+stoppin' of a rock--where I see the young gentleman bathin' once or
+twice. 'Er was lyin' on 'er face in the watter. There was a plant o'
+goldie-cups growin' out o' the stone just above 'er'ead. An' when I come
+to luke at 'er face, 'twas luvly, butiful, so calm's a baby's--wonderful
+butiful et was. When the doctor saw 'er, 'e said: 'Er culdn' never
+a-done it in that little bit o' watter ef' er 'adn't a-been in an
+extarsy.' Ah! an' judgin' from 'er face, that was just 'ow she was. Et
+made me cry praaper-butiful et was! 'Twas June then, but she'd afound
+a little bit of apple-blossom left over somewheres, and stuck et in 'er
+'.ir. That's why I thinks 'er must abeen in an extarsy, to go to et gay,
+like that. Why! there wasn't more than a fute and 'arf o' watter. But
+I tell 'ee one thing--that meadder's 'arnted; I knu et, an' she knu et;
+an' no one'll persuade me as 'tesn't. I told 'em what she said to
+me 'bout bein' burried under th' apple tree. But I think that turned
+'.m--made et luke to much 's ef she'd 'ad it in 'er mind deliberate; an'
+so they burried 'er up 'ere. Parson we 'ad then was very particular, 'e
+was.”
+
+Again the old man drew his hand over the turf.
+
+“'Tes wonderful, et seems,” he added slowly, “what maids 'll du for
+love. She 'ad a lovin-'.art; I guess 'twas broken. But us never knu
+nothin'.”
+
+He looked up as if for approval of his story, but Ashurst had walked
+past him as if he were not there.
+
+Up on the top of the hill, beyond where he had spread the lunch, over,
+out of sight, he lay down on his face. So had his virtue been rewarded,
+and “the Cyprian,” goddess of love, taken her revenge! And before his
+eyes, dim with tears, came Megan's face with the sprig of apple blossom
+in her dark, wet hair. 'What did I do that was wrong?' he thought. 'What
+did I do?' But he could not answer. Spring, with its rush of passion,
+its flowers and song-the spring in his heart and Megan's! Was it just
+Love seeking a victim! The Greek was right, then--the words of the
+“Hippolytus” as true to-day!
+
+    “For mad is the heart of Love,
+     And gold the gleam of his wing;
+     And all to the spell thereof
+     Bend when he makes his spring.
+     All life that is wild and young
+     In mountain and wave and stream
+     All that of earth is sprung,
+     Or breathes in the red sunbeam;
+     Yea, and Mankind.  O'er all a royal throne,
+     Cyprian, Cyprian, is thine alone!”
+
+The Greek was right! Megan! Poor little Megan--coming over the hill!
+Megan under the old apple tree waiting and looking! Megan dead, with
+beauty printed on her!
+
+A voice said:
+
+“Oh, there you are! Look!”
+
+Ashurst rose, took his wife's sketch, and stared at it in silence.
+
+“Is the foreground right, Frank?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“But there's something wanting, isn't there?”
+
+Ashurst nodded. Wanting? The apple tree, the singing, and the gold!
+
+And solemnly he put his lips to her forehead. It was his silver-wedding
+day. 1916
+
+
+
+
+THE JURYMAN
+
+     “Don't you see, brother, I was reading yesterday the Gospel
+     about Christ, the little Father; how He suffered, how He walked
+     on the earth.  I suppose you have heard about it?”
+
+     “Indeed, I have,” replied Stepanuitch; “but we are people in
+     darkness; we can't read.”--TOLSTOI.
+
+Mr. Henry Bosengate, of the London Stock Exchange, seated himself in his
+car that morning during the great war with a sense of injury. Major in
+a Volunteer Corps; member of all the local committees; lending this very
+car to the neighbouring hospital, at times even driving it himself for
+their benefit; subscribing to funds, so far as his diminished income
+permitted--he was conscious of being an asset to the country, and one
+whose time could not be wasted with impunity. To be summoned to sit on
+a jury at the local assizes, and not even the grand jury at that! It was
+in the nature of an outrage.
+
+Strong and upright, with hazel eyes and dark eyebrows, pinkish-brown
+cheeks, a forehead white, well-shaped, and getting high, with greyish
+hair glossy and well-brushed, and a trim moustache, he might have been
+taken for that colonel of Volunteers which indeed he was in a fair way
+of becoming.
+
+His wife had followed him out under the porch, and stood bracing her
+supple body clothed in lilac linen. Red rambler roses formed a sort
+of crown to her dark head; her ivory-coloured face had in it just a
+suggestion of the Japanese.
+
+Mr. Bosengate spoke through the whirr of the engine:
+
+“I don't expect to be late, dear. This business is ridiculous. There
+oughtn't to be any crime in these days.”
+
+His wife--her name was Kathleen--smiled. She looked very pretty and
+cool, Mr. Bosengate thought. To him bound on this dull and stuffy
+business everything he owned seemed pleasant--the geranium beds beside
+the gravel drive, his long, red-brick house mellowing decorously in its
+creepers and ivy, the little clock-tower over stables now converted to
+a garage, the dovecote, masking at the other end the conservatory
+which adjoined the billiard-room. Close to the red-brick lodge his two
+children, Kate and Harry, ran out from under the acacia trees, and waved
+to him, scrambling bare-legged on to the low, red, ivy-covered wall
+which guarded his domain of eleven acres. Mr. Bosengate waved back,
+thinking: 'Jolly couple--by Jove, they are!' Above their heads, through
+the trees, he could see right away to some Downs, faint in the July heat
+haze. And he thought: 'Pretty a spot as one could have got, so close to
+Town!'
+
+Despite the war he had enjoyed these last two years more than any of
+the ten since he built “Charmleigh” and settled down to semi-rural
+domesticity with his young wife. There had been a certain piquancy, a
+savour added to existence, by the country's peril, and all the public
+service and sacrifice it demanded. His chauffeur was gone, and one
+gardener did the work of three. He enjoyed-positively enjoyed, his
+committee work; even the serious decline of business and increase of
+taxation had not much worried one continually conscious of the national
+crisis and his own part therein. The country had wanted waking up,
+wanted a lesson in effort and economy; and the feeling that he had not
+spared himself in these strenuous times, had given a zest to those quiet
+pleasures of bed and board which, at his age, even the most patriotic
+could retain with a good conscience. He had denied himself many
+things--new clothes, presents for Kathleen and the children, travel, and
+that pine-apple house which he had been on the point of building when
+the war broke out; new wine, too, and cigars, and membership of the
+two Clubs which he had never used in the old days. The hours had seemed
+fuller and longer, sleep better earned--wonderful, the things one could
+do without when put to it! He turned the car into the high road, driving
+dreamily for he was in plenty of time. The war was going pretty well
+now; he was no fool optimist, but now that conscription was in force,
+one might reasonably hope for its end within a year. Then there would be
+a boom, and one might let oneself go a little. Visions of theatres and
+supper with his wife at the Savoy afterwards, and cosy night drives
+back into the sweet-smelling country behind your own chauffeur once
+more teased a fancy which even now did not soar beyond the confines of
+domestic pleasures. He pictured his wife in new dresses by Jay--she
+was fifteen years younger than himself, and “paid for dressing” as they
+said. He had always delighted--as men older than their wives will--in
+the admiration she excited from others not privileged to enjoy her
+charms. Her rather queer and ironical beauty, her cool irreproachable
+wifeliness, was a constant balm to him. They would give dinner parties
+again, have their friends down from town, and he would once more enjoy
+sitting at the foot of the dinner table while Kathleen sat at the head,
+with the light soft on her ivory shoulders, behind flowers she had
+arranged in that original way of hers, and fruit which he had grown in
+his hot-houses; once more he would take legitimate interest in the wine
+he offered to his guests--once more stock that Chinese cabinet wherein
+he kept cigars. Yes--there was a certain satisfaction in these days of
+privation, if only from the anticipation they created.
+
+The sprinkling of villas had become continuous on either side of the
+high road; and women going out to shop, tradesmen's boys delivering
+victuals, young men in khaki, began to abound. Now and then a limping or
+bandaged form would pass--some bit of human wreckage; and Mr. Bosengate
+would think mechanically: 'Another of those poor devils! Wonder if we've
+had his case before us!'
+
+Running his car into the best hotel garage of the little town, he
+made his way leisurely over to the court. It stood back from the
+market-place, and was already lapped by a sea of persons having, as in
+the outer ring at race meetings, an air of business at which one must
+not be caught out, together with a soaked or flushed appearance. Mr.
+Bosengate could not resist putting his handkerchief to his nose. He
+had carefully drenched it with lavender water, and to this fact owed,
+perhaps, his immunity from the post of foreman on the jury--for, say
+what you will about the English, they have a deep instinct for affairs.
+
+He found himself second in the front row of the jury box, and through
+the odour of “Sanitas” gazed at the judge's face expressionless up
+there, for all the world like a bewigged bust. His fellows in the box
+had that appearance of falling between two classes characteristic of
+jurymen. Mr. Bosengate was not impressed. On one side of him the foreman
+sat, a prominent upholsterer, known in the town as “Gentleman Fox.” His
+dark and beautifully brushed and oiled hair and moustache, his radiant
+linen, gold watch and chain, the white piping to his waistcoat, and a
+habit of never saying “Sir” had long marked him out from commoner
+men; he undertook to bury people too, to save them trouble; and was
+altogether superior. On the other side Mr. Bosengate had one of those
+men, who, except when they sit on juries, are never seen without a
+little brown bag, and the appearance of having been interrupted in a
+drink. Pale and shiny, with large loose eyes shifting from side to
+side, he had an underdone voice and uneasy flabby hands. Mr. Bosengate
+disliked sitting next to him. Beyond this commercial traveller sat a
+dark pale young man with spectacles; beyond him again, a short old man
+with grey moustache, mutton chops, and innumerable wrinkles; and the
+front row was completed by a chemist. The three immediately behind, Mr.
+Bosengate did not thoroughly master; but the three at the end of the
+second row he learned in their order of an oldish man in a grey suit,
+given to winking; an inanimate person with the mouth of a moustachioed
+codfish, over whose long bald crown three wisps of damp hair were
+carefully arranged; and a dried, dapperish, clean-shorn man, whose mouth
+seemed terrified lest it should be surprised without a smile. Their
+first and second verdicts were recorded without the necessity for
+withdrawal, and Mr. Bosengate was already sleepy when the third case was
+called. The sight of khaki revived his drooping attention. But what a
+weedy-looking specimen! This prisoner had a truly nerveless pitiable
+dejected air. If he had ever had a military bearing it had shrunk into
+him during his confinement. His ill-shaped brown tunic, whose little
+brass buttons seemed trying to keep smiling, struck Mr. Bosengate as
+ridiculously short, used though he was to such things. 'Absurd,' he
+thought--'Lumbago! Just where they ought to be covered!' Then the
+officer and gentleman stirred in him, and he added to himself: 'Still,
+there must be some distinction made!' The little soldier's visage had
+once perhaps been tanned, but was now the colour of dark dough; his
+large brown eyes with white showing below the iris, as so often in
+the eyes of very nervous people--wandered from face to face, of judge,
+counsel, jury, and public. There were hollows in his cheeks, his dark
+hair looked damp; around his neck he wore a bandage. The commercial
+traveller on Mr. Bosengate's left turned, and whispered: “Felo de se! My
+hat! what a guy!” Mr. Bosengate pretended not to hear--he could not bear
+that fellow!--and slowly wrote on a bit of paper: “Owen Lewis.” Welsh!
+Well, he looked it--not at all an English face. Attempted suicide--not
+at all an English crime! Suicide implied surrender, a putting-up of
+hands to Fate--to say nothing of the religious aspect of the matter. And
+suicide in khaki seemed to Mr. Bosengate particularly abhorrent;
+like turning tail in face of the enemy; almost meriting the fate of
+a deserter. He looked at the prisoner, trying not to give way to this
+prejudice. And the prisoner seemed to look at him, though this, perhaps,
+was fancy.
+
+The Counsel for the prosecution, a little, alert, grey, decided man,
+above military age, began detailing the circumstances of the crime.
+Mr. Bosengate, though not particularly sensitive to atmosphere, could
+perceive a sort of current running through the Court. It was as if
+jury and public were thinking rhythmically in obedience to the same
+unexpressed prejudice of which he himself was conscious. Even the
+Caesar-like pale face up there, presiding, seemed in its ironic serenity
+responding to that current.
+
+“Gentlemen of the jury, before I call my evidence, I direct your
+attention to the bandage the accused is still wearing. He gave himself
+this wound with his Army razor, adding, if I may say so, insult to
+the injury he was inflicting on his country. He pleads not guilty; and
+before the magistrates he said that absence from his wife was preying on
+his mind”--the advocate's close lips widened--“Well, gentlemen, if
+such an excuse is to weigh with us in these days, I'm sure I don't know
+what's to happen to the Empire.”
+
+'.o, by George!' thought Mr. Bosengate.
+
+The evidence of the first witness, a room-mate who had caught the
+prisoner's hand, and of the sergeant, who had at once been summoned, was
+conclusive and he began to cherish a hope that they would get through
+without withdrawing, and he would be home before five. But then a hitch
+occurred. The regimental doctor failed to respond when his name was
+called; and the judge having for the first time that day showed himself
+capable of human emotion, intimated that he would adjourn until the
+morrow.
+
+Mr. Bosengate received the announcement with equanimity. He would be
+home even earlier! And gathering up the sheets of paper he had scribbled
+on, he put them in his pocket and got up. The would-be suicide was being
+taken out of the court--a shambling drab figure with shoulders hunched.
+What good were men like that in these days! What good! The prisoner
+looked up. Mr. Bosengate encountered in full the gaze of those large
+brown eyes, with the white showing underneath. What a suffering,
+wretched, pitiful face! A man had no business to give you a look
+like that! The prisoner passed on down the stairs, and vanished. Mr.
+Bosengate went out and across the market place to the garage of the
+hotel where he had left his car. The sun shone fiercely and he thought:
+'. must do some watering in the garden.' He brought the car out, and
+was about to start the engine, when someone passing said: “Good evenin'.
+Seedy-lookin' beggar that last prisoner, ain't he? We don't want men of
+that stamp.” It was his neighbour on the jury, the commercial traveller,
+in a straw hat, with a little brown bag already in his hand and the
+froth of an interrupted drink on his moustache. Answering curtly: “Good
+evening!” and thinking: 'Nor of yours, my friend!' Mr. Bosengate started
+the car with unnecessary clamour. But as if brought back to life by the
+commercial traveller's remark, the prisoner's figure seemed to speed
+along too, turning up at Mr. Bosengate his pitifully unhappy eyes. Want
+of his wife!--queer excuse that for trying to put it out of his power
+ever to see her again! Why! Half a loaf, even a slice, was better than
+no bread. Not many of that neurotic type in the Army--thank Heaven! The
+lugubrious figure vanished, and Mr. Bosengate pictured instead the form
+of his own wife bending over her “Gloire de Dijon roses” in the rosery,
+where she generally worked a little before tea now that they were short
+of gardeners. He saw her, as often he had seen her, raise herself and
+stand, head to one side, a gloved hand on her slender hip, gazing as it
+were ironically from under drooped lids at buds which did not come out
+fast enough. And the word 'Caline,' for he was something of a French
+scholar, shot through his mind: 'Kathleen--Caline!' If he found her
+there when he got in, he would steal up on the grass and--ah! but with
+great care not to crease her dress or disturb her hair! 'If only she
+weren't quite so self-contained,' he thought; 'It's like a cat you can't
+get near, not really near!'
+
+The car, returning faster than it had come down that morning, had
+already passed the outskirt villas, and was breasting the hill to where,
+among fields and the old trees, Charmleigh lay apart from commoner life.
+Turning into his drive, Mr. Bosengate thought with a certain surprise:
+'. wonder what she does think of! I wonder!' He put his gloves and hat
+down in the outer hall and went into the lavatory, to dip his face in
+cool water and wash it with sweet-smelling soap--delicious revenge on
+the unclean atmosphere in which he had been stewing so many hours. He
+came out again into the hall dazed by soap and the mellowed light, and
+a voice from half-way up the stairs said: “Daddy! Look!” His little
+daughter was standing up there with one hand on the banisters. She
+scrambled on to them and came sliding down, her frock up to her eyes,
+and her holland knickers to her middle. Mr. Bosengate said mildly:
+
+“Well, that's elegant!”
+
+“Tea's in the summer-house. Mummy's waiting. Come on!”
+
+With her hand in his, Mr. Bosengate went on, through the drawing-room,
+long and cool, with sun-blinds down, through the billiard-room, high and
+cool, through the conservatory, green and sweet-smelling, out on to the
+terrace and the upper lawn. He had never felt such sheer exhilarated joy
+in his home surroundings, so cool, glistening and green under the July
+sun; and he said:
+
+“Well, Kit, what have you all been doing?”
+
+“I've fed my rabbits and Harry's; and we've been in the attic; Harry got
+his leg through the skylight.”
+
+Mr. Bosengate drew in his breath with a hiss.
+
+“It's all right, Daddy; we got it out again, it's only grazed the skin.
+And we've been making swabs--I made seventeen, Mummy made thirty-three,
+and then she went to the hospital. Did you put many men in prison?”
+
+Mr. Bosengate cleared his throat. The question seemed to him untimely.
+
+“Only two.”
+
+“What's it like in prison, Daddy?”
+
+Mr. Bosengate, who had no more knowledge than his little daughter,
+replied in an absent voice:
+
+“Not very nice.”
+
+They were passing under a young oak tree, where the path wound round
+to the rosery and summer-house. Something shot down and clawed Mr.
+Bosengate's neck. His little daughter began to hop and suffocate with
+laughter.
+
+“Oh, Daddy! Aren't you caught! I led you on purpose!”
+
+Looking up, Mr. Bosengate saw his small son lying along a low branch
+above him--like the leopard he was declaring himself to be (for fear of
+error), and thought blithely: 'What an active little chap it is!' “Let
+me drop on your shoulders, Daddy--like they do on the deer.”
+
+“Oh, yes! Do be a deer, Daddy!”
+
+Mr. Bosengate did not see being a deer; his hair had just been brushed.
+But he entered the rosery buoyantly between his offspring. His wife was
+standing precisely as he had imagined her, in a pale blue frock open at
+the neck, with a narrow black band round the waist, and little accordion
+pleats below. She looked her coolest. Her smile, when she turned her
+head, hardly seemed to take Mr. Bosengate seriously enough. He placed
+his lips below one of her half-drooped eyelids. She even smelled
+of roses. His children began to dance round their mother, and Mr.
+Bosengate,--firmly held between them, was also compelled to do this,
+until she said:
+
+“When you've quite done, let's have tea!”
+
+It was not the greeting he had imagined coming along in the car. Earwigs
+were plentiful in the summer-house--used perhaps twice a year, but
+indispensable to every country residence--and Mr. Bosengate was not
+sorry for the excuse to get out again. Though all was so pleasant, he
+felt oddly restless, rather suffocated; and lighting his pipe, began to
+move about among the roses, blowing tobacco at the greenfly; in war-time
+one was never quite idle! And suddenly he said:
+
+“We're trying a wretched Tommy at the assizes.”
+
+His wife looked up from a rose.
+
+“What for?”
+
+“Attempted suicide.”
+
+“Why did he?”
+
+“Can't stand the separation from his wife.”
+
+She looked at him, gave a low laugh, and said:
+
+“Oh dear!”
+
+Mr. Bosengate was puzzled. Why did she laugh? He looked round, saw that
+the children were gone, took his pipe from his mouth, and approached
+her.
+
+“You look very pretty,” he said. “Give me a kiss!”
+
+His wife bent her body forward from the waist, and pushed her lips out
+till they touched his moustache. Mr. Bosengate felt a sensation as if he
+had arisen from breakfast, without having eaten marmalade. He mastered
+it, and said:
+
+“That jury are a rum lot.”
+
+His wife's eyelids flickered. “I wish women sat on juries.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“It would be an experience.”
+
+Not the first time she had used that curious expression! Yet her life
+was far from dull, so far as he could see; with the new interests
+created by the war, and the constant calls on her time made by the
+perfection of their home life, she had a useful and busy existence.
+Again the random thought passed through him: 'But she never tells me
+anything!' And suddenly that lugubrious khaki-clad figure started up
+among the rose bushes. “We've got a lot to be thankful for!” he said
+abruptly. “I must go to work!” His wife, raising one eyebrow, smiled.
+“And I to weep!” Mr. Bosengate laughed--she had a pretty wit! And
+stroking his comely moustache where it had been kissed, he moved
+out into the sunshine. All the evening, throughout his labours, not
+inconsiderable, for this jury business had put him behind time, he was
+afflicted by that restless pleasure in his surroundings; would break off
+in mowing the lower lawn to look at the house through the trees; would
+leave his study and committee papers, to cross into the drawing-room
+and sniff its dainty fragrance; paid a special good-night visit to the
+children having supper in the schoolroom; pottered in and out from his
+dressing room to admire his wife while she was changing for dinner;
+dined with his mind perpetually on the next course; talked volubly of
+the war; and in the billiard room afterwards, smoking the pipe which had
+taken the place of his cigar, could not keep still, but roamed about,
+now in conservatory, now in the drawing-room, where his wife and the
+governess were still making swabs. It seemed to him that he could not
+have enough of anything. About eleven o'clock he strolled out beautiful
+night, only just dark enough--under the new arrangement with Time--and
+went down to the little round fountain below the terrace. His wife was
+playing the piano. Mr. Bosengate looked at the water and the flat dark
+water lily leaves which floated there; looked up at the house, where
+only narrow chinks of light showed, because of the Lighting Order. The
+dreamy music drifted out; there was a scent of heliotrope. He moved a
+few steps back, and sat in the children's swing under an old lime tree.
+Jolly--blissful--in the warm, bloomy dark! Of all hours of the day, this
+before going to bed was perhaps the pleasantest. He saw the light go up
+in his wife's bed room, unscreened for a full minute, and thought: 'Aha!
+If I did my duty as a special, I should “strafe” her for that.' She came
+to the window, her figure lighted, hands up to the back of her head, so
+that her bare arms gleamed. Mr. Bosengate wafted her a kiss, knowing he
+could not be seen. 'Lucky chap!' he mused; 'she's a great joy!' Up went
+her arm, down came the blind the house was dark again. He drew a long
+breath. 'Another ten minutes,' he thought, 'then I'll go in and shut up.
+By Jove! The limes are beginning to smell already!' And, the better to
+take in that acme of his well-being, he tilted the swing, lifted his
+feet from the ground, and swung himself toward the scented blossoms. He
+wanted to whelm his senses in their perfume, and closed his eyes. But
+instead of the domestic vision he expected, the face of the little Welsh
+soldier, hare-eyed, shadowy, pinched and dark and pitiful, started up
+with such disturbing vividness that he opened his eyes again at once.
+Curse! The fellow almost haunted one! Where would he be now poor little
+devil!--lying in his cell, thinking--thinking of his wife! Feeling
+suddenly morbid, Mr. Bosengate arrested the swing and stood up.
+Absurd!--all his well-being and mood of warm anticipation had deserted
+him! 'A d---d world!' he thought. 'Such a lot of misery! Why should I
+have to sit in judgment on that poor beggar, and condemn him?' He
+moved up on to the terrace and walked briskly, to rid himself of this
+disturbance before going in. 'That commercial traveller chap,' he
+thought, 'the rest of those fellows--they see nothing!' And, abruptly
+turning up the three stone steps, he entered the conservatory, locked
+it, passed into the billiard room, and drank his barley water. One of
+the pictures was hanging crooked; he went up to put it straight. Still
+life. Grapes and apples, and--lobsters! They struck him as odd for the
+first time. Why lobsters? The whole picture seemed dead and oily. He
+turned off the light, and went upstairs, passed his wife's door, into
+his own room, and undressed. Clothed in his pyjamas he opened the door
+between the rooms. By the light coming from his own he could see her
+dark head on the pillow. Was she asleep? No--not asleep, certainly. The
+moment of fruition had come; the crowning of his pride and pleasure in
+his home. But he continued to stand there. He had suddenly no pride,
+no pleasure, no desire; nothing but a sort of dull resentment against
+everything. He turned back; shut the door, and slipping between the
+heavy curtains and his open window, stood looking out at the night.
+'.ull of misery!' he thought. 'Full of d---d misery!'
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+Filing into the jury box next morning, Mr. Bosengate collided slightly
+with a short juryman, whose square figure and square head of stiff
+yellow-red hair he had only vaguely noticed the day before. The man
+looked angry, and Mr. Bosengate thought: 'An ill-bred dog, that!'
+
+He sat down quickly, and, to avoid further recognition of his fellows,
+gazed in front of him. His appearance on Saturdays was always military,
+by reason of the route march of his Volunteer Corps in the afternoon.
+Gentleman Fox, who belonged to the corps too, was also looking square;
+but that commercial traveller on his other side seemed more louche,
+and as if surprised in immorality, than ever; only the proximity of
+Gentleman Fox on the other side kept Mr. Bosengate from shrinking.
+Then he saw the prisoner being brought in, shadowy and dark behind the
+brightness of his buttons, and he experienced a sort of shock, this
+figure was so exactly that which had several times started up in his
+mind. Somehow he had expected a fresh sight of the fellow to dispel and
+disprove what had been haunting him, had expected to find him just an
+outside phenomenon, not, as it were, a part of his own life. And he
+gazed at the carven immobility of the judge's face, trying to steady
+himself, as a drunken man will, by looking at a light. The regimental
+doctor, unabashed by the judge's comment on his absence the day before,
+gave his evidence like a man who had better things to do, and the case
+for the prosecution was forthwith rounded in by a little speech from
+counsel. The matter--he said--was clear as daylight. Those who wore
+His Majesty's uniform, charged with the responsibility and privilege of
+defending their country, were no more entitled to desert their regiments
+by taking their own lives than they were entitled to desert in any other
+way. He asked for a conviction. Mr. Bosengate felt a sympathetic shuffle
+passing through all feet; the judge was speaking:
+
+“Prisoner, you can either go into the witness box and make your
+statement on oath, in which case you may be cross-examined on it; or you
+can make your statement there from the dock, in which case you will not
+be cross-examined. Which do you elect to do?”
+
+“From here, my lord.”
+
+Seeing him now full face, and, as it might be, come to life in the
+effort to convey his feelings, Mr. Bosengate had suddenly a quite
+different impression of the fellow. It was as if his khaki had fallen
+off, and he had stepped out of his own shadow, a live and quivering
+creature. His pinched clean-shaven face seemed to have an irregular,
+wilder, hairier look, his large nervous brown eyes darkened and glowed;
+he jerked his shoulders, his arms, his whole body, like a man suddenly
+freed from cramp or a suit of armour.
+
+He spoke, too, in a quick, crisp, rather high voice, pinching his
+consonants a little, sharpening his vowels, like a true Welshman.
+
+“My lord and misters the jury,” he said: “I was a hairdresser when the
+call came on me to join the army. I had a little home and a wife. I
+never thought what it would be like to be away from them, I surely never
+did; and I'm ashamed to be speaking it out like this--how it can squeeze
+and squeeze a man, how it can prey on your mind, when you're nervous
+like I am. 'Tis not everyone that cares for his home--there's lots o'
+them never wants to see their wives again. But for me 'tis like being
+shut up in a cage, it is!” Mr. Bosengate saw daylight between the skinny
+fingers of the man's hand thrown out with a jerk. “I cannot bear it shut
+up away from wife and home like what you are in the army. So when I took
+my razor that morning I was wild--an' I wouldn't be here now but for
+that man catching my hand. There was no reason in it, I'm willing to
+confess. It was foolish; but wait till you get feeling like what I
+was, and see how it draws you. Misters the jury, don't send me back to
+prison; it is worse still there. If you have wives you will know what it
+is like for lots of us; only some is more nervous than others. I swear
+to you, sirs, I could not help it---?” Again the little man flung out
+his hand, his whole thin body shook and Mr. Bosengate felt the same
+sensation as when he drove his car over a dog--“Misters the jury, I hope
+you may never in your lives feel as I've been feeling.”
+
+The little man ceased, his eyes shrank back into their sockets, his
+figure back into its mask of shadowy brown and gleaming buttons, and Mr.
+Bosengate was conscious that the judge was making a series of remarks;
+and, very soon, of being seated at a mahogany table in the jury's
+withdrawing room, hearing the voice of the man with hair like an
+Irish terrier's saying: “Didn't he talk through his hat, that little
+blighter!” Conscious, too, of the commercial traveller, still on his
+left--always on his left!--mopping his brow, and muttering: “Phew! It's
+hot in there to-day!” while an effluvium, as of an inside accustomed
+to whisky came from him. Then the man with the underlip and the three
+plastered wisps of hair said:
+
+“Don't know why we withdrew, Mr. Foreman!”
+
+Mr. Bosengate looked round to where, at the head of the table, Gentleman
+Fox sat, in defensive gentility and the little white piping to his
+waistcoat saying blandly:
+
+“I shall be happy to take the sense of the jury.”
+
+There was a short silence, then the chemist murmured:
+
+“I should say he must have what they call claustrophobia.”
+
+“Clauster fiddlesticks! The feller's a shirker, that's all. Missed his
+wife--pretty excuse! Indecent, I call it!”
+
+The speaker was the little wire-haired man; and emotion, deep and angry,
+stirred in Mr. Bosengate. That ill-bred little cur! He gripped the edge
+of the table with both hands.
+
+“I think it's d-----d natural!” he muttered. But almost before the words
+had left his lips he felt dismay. What had he said--he, nearly a colonel
+of volunteers--endorsing such a want of patriotism! And hearing the
+commercial traveller murmuring: “'Ear, 'ear!” he reddened violently.
+
+The wire-headed man said roughly:
+
+“There's too many of these blighted shirkers, and too much pampering of
+them.”
+
+The turmoil in Mr. Bosengate increased; he remarked in an icy voice:
+
+“I agree to no verdict that'll send the man back to prison.”
+
+At this a real tremor seemed to go round the table, as if they all saw
+themselves sitting there through lunch time. Then the large grey-haired
+man given to winking, said:
+
+“Oh! Come, sir--after what the judge said! Come, sir! What do you say,
+Mr. Foreman?”
+
+Gentleman Fox--as who should say 'This is excellent value, but I don't
+wish to press it on you!'--answered:
+
+“We are only concerned with the facts. Did he or did he not try to
+shorten his life?”
+
+“Of course he did--said so himself,” Mr. Bosengate heard the wire-haired
+man snap out, and from the following murmur of assent he alone
+abstained. Guilty! Well--yes! There was no way out of admitting that,
+but his feelings revolted against handing “that poor little beggar” over
+to the tender mercy of his country's law. His whole soul rose in arms
+against agreeing with that ill-bred little cur, and the rest of this
+job-lot. He had an impulse to get up and walk out, saying: “Settle it
+your own way. Good morning.”
+
+“It seems, sir,” Gentleman Fox was saying, “that we're all agreed to
+guilty, except yourself. If you will allow me, I don't see how you can
+go behind what the prisoner himself admitted.”
+
+Thus brought up to the very guns, Mr. Bosengate, red in the face, thrust
+his hands deep into the side pockets of his tunic, and, staring straight
+before him, said:
+
+“Very well; on condition we recommend him to mercy.”
+
+“What do you say, gentlemen; shall we recommend him to mercy?”
+
+“'Ear, 'ear!” burst from the commercial traveller, and from the chemist
+came the murmur:
+
+“No harm in that.”
+
+“Well, I think there is. They shoot deserters at the front, and we let
+this fellow off. I'd hang the cur.”
+
+Mr. Bosengate stared at that little wire-haired brute. “Haven't you any
+feeling for others?” he wanted to say. “Can't you see that this poor
+devil suffers tortures?” But the sheer impossibility of doing this
+before ten other men brought a slight sweat out on his face and hands;
+and in agitation he smote the table a blow with his fist. The effect was
+instantaneous. Everybody looked at the wire-haired man, as if saying:
+“Yes, you've gone a bit too far there!” The “little brute” stood it for
+a moment, then muttered surlily:
+
+“Well, commend 'im to mercy if you like; I don't care.”
+
+“That's right; they never pay any attention to it,” said the grey-haired
+man, winking heartily. And Mr. Bosengate filed back with the others into
+court.
+
+But when from the jury box his eyes fell once more on the hare-eyed
+figure in the dock, he had his worst moment yet. Why should this poor
+wretch suffer so--for no fault, no fault; while he, and these others,
+and that snapping counsel, and the Caesar-like judge up there, went
+off to their women and their homes, blithe as bees, and probably never
+thought of him again? And suddenly he was conscious of the judge's
+voice:
+
+“You will go back to your regiment, and endeavour to serve your country
+with better spirit. You may thank the jury that you are not sent to
+prison, and your good fortune that you were not at the front when you
+tried to commit this cowardly act. You are lucky to be alive.”
+
+A policeman pulled the little soldier by the arm; his drab figure with
+eyes fixed and lustreless, passed down and away. From his very soul
+Mr. Bosengate wanted to lean out and say: “Cheer up, cheer up! I
+understand.”
+
+It was nearly ten o'clock that evening before he reached home, motoring
+back from the route march. His physical tiredness was abated, for he had
+partaken of a snack and a whisky and soda at the hotel; but mentally
+he was in a curious mood. His body felt appeased, his spirit hungry.
+Tonight he had a yearning, not for his wife's kisses, but for her
+understanding. He wanted to go to her and say: “I've learnt a lot
+to-day-found out things I never thought of. Life's a wonderful thing,
+Kate, a thing one can't live all to oneself; a thing one shares with
+everybody, so that when another suffers, one suffers too. It's come to
+me that what one has doesn't matter a bit--it's what one does, and
+how one sympathises with other people. It came to me in the most
+extraordinary vivid way, when I was on that jury, watching that poor
+little rat of a soldier in his trap; it's the first time I've ever
+felt--the--the spirit of Christ, you know. It's a wonderful thing,
+Kate--wonderful! We haven't been close--really close, you and I, so
+that we each understand what the other is feeling. It's all in that,
+you know; understanding--sympathy--it's priceless. When I saw that
+poor little devil taken down and sent back to his regiment to begin his
+sorrows all over again--wanting his wife, thinking and thinking of her
+just as you know I would be thinking and wanting you, I felt what an
+awful outside sort of life we lead, never telling each other what we
+really think and feel, never being really close. I daresay that little
+chap and his wife keep nothing from each other--live each other's
+lives. That's what we ought to do. Let's get to feeling that what really
+matters is--understanding and loving, and not only just saying it as
+we all do, those fellows on the jury, and even that poor devil of a
+judge--what an awful life judging one's fellow-creatures.
+
+“When I left that poor little Tommy this morning, and ever since, I've
+longed to get back here quietly to you and tell you about it, and make
+a beginning. There's something wonderful in this, and I want you to feel
+it as I do, because you mean such a lot to me.”
+
+This was what he wanted to say to his wife, not touching, or kissing
+her, just looking into her eyes, watching them soften and glow as they
+surely must, catching the infection of his new ardour. And he felt
+unsteady, fearfully unsteady with the desire to say it all as it should
+be said: swiftly, quietly, with the truth and fervour of his feeling.
+
+The hall was not lit up, for daylight still lingered under the new
+arrangement. He went towards the drawing-room, but from the very door
+shied off to his study and stood irresolute under the picture of a “Man
+catching a flea” (Dutch school), which had come down to him from his
+father. The governess would be in there with his wife! He must wait.
+Essential to go straight to Kathleen and pour it all out, or he would
+never do it. He felt as nervous as an undergraduate going up for his
+viva' voce. This thing was so big, so astoundingly and unexpectedly
+important. He was suddenly afraid of his wife, afraid of her coolness
+and her grace, and that something Japanese about her--of all those
+attributes he had been accustomed to admire most; afraid, as it were,
+of her attraction. He felt young to-night, almost boyish; would she see
+that he was not really fifteen years older than herself, and she not
+really a part of his collection, of all the admirable appointments of
+his home; but a companion spirit to one who wanted a companion badly.
+In this agitation of his soul he could keep still no more than he could
+last night in the agitation of his senses; and he wandered into the
+dining-room. A dainty supper was set out there, sandwiches, and cake,
+whisky and the cigarettes--even an early peach. Mr. Bosengate looked at
+this peach with sorrow rather than disgust. The perfection of it was of
+a piece with all that had gone before this new and sudden feeling. Its
+delicious bloom seemed to heighten his perception of the hedge around
+him, that hedge of the things he so enjoyed, carefully planted and
+tended these many years. He passed it by uneaten, and went to the
+window. Out there all was darkening, the fountain, the lime tree, the
+flower-beds, and the fields below, with the Jersey cows who would
+come to your call; darkening slowly, losing form, blurring into soft
+blackness, vanishing, but there none the less--all there--the hedge of
+his possessions. He heard the door of the drawing-room open, the voices
+of his wife and the governess in the hall, going up to bed. If only they
+didn't look in here! If only! The voices ceased. He was safe now--had
+but to follow in a few minutes, to make sure of Kathleen alone. He
+turned round and stared down the length of the dark dining-room, over
+the rosewood table, to where in the mirror above the sideboard at the
+far end, his figure bathed, a stain, a mere blurred shadow; he made his
+way down to it along the table edge, and stood before himself as close
+as he could get. His throat and the roof of his mouth felt dry with
+nervousness; he put out his finger and touched his face in the glass.
+'.ou're an ass!' he thought. 'Pull yourself together, and get it over.
+She will see; of course she will!' He swallowed, smoothed his moustache,
+and walked out. Going up the stairs, his heart beat painfully; but he
+was in for it now, and marched straight into her room. Dressed only in a
+loose blue wrapper, she was brushing her dark hair before the glass. Mr.
+Bosengate went up to her and stood there silent, looking down. The words
+he had thought of were like a swarm of bees buzzing in his head, yet not
+one would fly from between his lips. His wife went on brushing her hair
+under the light which shone on her polished elbows. She looked up at him
+from beneath one lifted eyebrow.
+
+“Well, dear--tired?”
+
+With a sort of vehemence the single word “No” passed out. A faint, a
+quizzical smile flitted over her face; she shrugged her shoulders ever
+so gently. That gesture--he had seen it before! And in desperate desire
+to make her understand, he put his hand on her lifted arm.
+
+“Kathleen, stop--listen to me!” His fingers tightened in his agitation
+and eagerness to make his great discovery known. But before he could get
+out a word he became conscious of that cool round arm, conscious of her
+eyes half-closed, sliding round at him, of her half-smiling lips, of her
+neck under the wrapper. And he stammered:
+
+“I want--I must--Kathleen, I---”
+
+She lifted her shoulders again in that little shrug. “Yes--I know; all
+right!”
+
+A wave of heat and shame, and of God knows what came over Mr. Bosengate;
+he fell on his knees and pressed his forehead to her arm; and he was
+silent, more silent than the grave. Nothing--nothing came from him
+but two long sighs. Suddenly he felt her hand stroke his
+cheek--compassionately, it seemed to him. She made a little movement
+towards him; her lips met his, and he remembered nothing but that....
+
+In his own room Mr. Bosengate sat at his wide open window, smoking a
+cigarette; there was no light. Moths went past, the moon was creeping
+up. He sat very calm, puffing the smoke out in to the night air. Curious
+thing-life! Curious world! Curious forces in it--making one do the
+opposite of what one wished; always--always making one do the opposite,
+it seemed! The furtive light from that creeping moon was getting hold of
+things down there, stealing in among the boughs of the trees. 'There's
+something ironical,' he thought, 'which walks about. Things don't come
+off as you think they will. I meant, I tried but one doesn't change like
+that all of a sudden, it seems. Fact is, life's too big a thing for one!
+All the same, I'm not the man I was yesterday--not quite!' He closed his
+eyes, and in one of those flashes of vision which come when the senses
+are at rest, he saw himself as it were far down below--down on the floor
+of a street narrow as a grave, high as a mountain, a deep dark slit of a
+street walking down there, a black midget of a fellow, among other black
+midgets--his wife, and the little soldier, the judge, and those jury
+chaps--fantoches straight up on their tiny feet, wandering down there
+in that dark, infinitely tall, and narrow street. 'Too much for one!'
+he thought; 'Too high for one--no getting on top of it. We've got to be
+kind, and help one another, and not expect too much, and not think too
+much. That's--all!' And, squeezing out his cigarette, he took six deep
+breaths of the night air, and got into bed.
+
+
+
+
+INDIAN SUMMER OF A FORSYTE
+
+      “And Summer's lease hath all
+                too short a date.”
+                 --Shakespeare
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+In the last day of May in the early 'nineties, about six o'clock of the
+evening, old Jolyon Forsyte sat under the oak tree below the terrace
+of his house at Robin Hill. He was waiting for the midges to bite him,
+before abandoning the glory of the afternoon. His thin brown hand,
+where blue veins stood out, held the end of a cigar in its tapering,
+long-nailed fingers--a pointed polished nail had survived with him from
+those earlier Victorian days when to touch nothing, even with the tips
+of the fingers, had been so distinguished. His domed forehead, great
+white moustache, lean cheeks, and long lean jaw were covered from the
+westering sunshine by an old brown Panama hat. His legs were crossed; in
+all his attitude was serenity and a kind of elegance, as of an old man
+who every morning put eau de Cologne upon his silk handkerchief. At his
+feet lay a woolly brown-and-white dog trying to be a Pomeranian--the dog
+Balthasar between whom and old Jolyon primal aversion had changed into
+attachment with the years. Close to his chair was a swing, and on the
+swing was seated one of Holly's dolls--called 'Duffer Alice'--with
+her body fallen over her legs and her doleful nose buried in a black
+petticoat. She was never out of disgrace, so it did not matter to her
+how she sat. Below the oak tree the lawn dipped down a bank, stretched
+to the fernery, and, beyond that refinement, became fields, dropping to
+the pond, the coppice, and the prospect--'Fine, remarkable'--at which
+Swithin Forsyte, from under this very tree, had stared five years ago
+when he drove down with Irene to look at the house. Old Jolyon had heard
+of his brother's exploit--that drive which had become quite celebrated
+on Forsyte 'Change. Swithin! And the fellow had gone and died, last
+November, at the age of only seventy-nine, renewing the doubt whether
+Forsytes could live for ever, which had first arisen when Aunt Ann
+passed away. Died! and left only Jolyon and James, Roger and Nicholas
+and Timothy, Julia, Hester, Susan! And old Jolyon thought: 'Eighty-five!
+I don't feel it--except when I get that pain.'
+
+His memory went searching. He had not felt his age since he had bought
+his nephew Soames' ill-starred house and settled into it here at Robin
+Hill over three years ago. It was as if he had been getting
+younger every spring, living in the country with his son and his
+grandchildren--June, and the little ones of the second marriage, Jolly
+and Holly; living down here out of the racket of London and the cackle
+of Forsyte 'Change,' free of his boards, in a delicious atmosphere of
+no work and all play, with plenty of occupation in the perfecting and
+mellowing of the house and its twenty acres, and in ministering to
+the whims of Holly and Jolly. All the knots and crankiness, which had
+gathered in his heart during that long and tragic business of June,
+Soames, Irene his wife, and poor young Bosinney, had been smoothed out.
+Even June had thrown off her melancholy at last--witness this travel in
+Spain she was taking now with her father and her stepmother. Curiously
+perfect peace was left by their departure; blissful, yet blank, because
+his son was not there. Jo was never anything but a comfort and a
+pleasure to him nowadays--an amiable chap; but women, somehow--even the
+best--got a little on one's nerves, unless of course one admired them.
+
+Far-off a cuckoo called; a wood-pigeon was cooing from the first
+elm-tree in the field, and how the daisies and buttercups had sprung
+up after the last mowing! The wind had got into the sou' west, too--a
+delicious air, sappy! He pushed his hat back and let the sun fall on his
+chin and cheek. Somehow, to-day, he wanted company--wanted a pretty face
+to look at. People treated the old as if they wanted nothing. And with
+the un-Forsytean philosophy which ever intruded on his soul, he thought:
+'.ne's never had enough. With a foot in the grave one'll want something,
+I shouldn't be surprised!' Down here--away from the exigencies of
+affairs--his grandchildren, and the flowers, trees, birds of his little
+domain, to say nothing of sun and moon and stars above them, said,
+'.pen, sesame,' to him day and night. And sesame had opened--how much,
+perhaps, he did not know. He had always been responsive to what they had
+begun to call 'Nature,' genuinely, almost religiously responsive, though
+he had never lost his habit of calling a sunset a sunset and a view a
+view, however deeply they might move him. But nowadays Nature actually
+made him ache, he appreciated it so. Every one of these calm, bright,
+lengthening days, with Holly's hand in his, and the dog Balthasar in
+front looking studiously for what he never found, he would stroll,
+watching the roses open, fruit budding on the walls, sunlight
+brightening the oak leaves and saplings in the coppice, watching the
+water-lily leaves unfold and glisten, and the silvery young corn of
+the one wheat field; listening to the starlings and skylarks, and the
+Alderney cows chewing the cud, flicking slow their tufted tails; and
+every one of these fine days he ached a little from sheer love of it
+all, feeling perhaps, deep down, that he had not very much longer
+to enjoy it. The thought that some day--perhaps not ten years hence,
+perhaps not five--all this world would be taken away from him, before he
+had exhausted his powers of loving it, seemed to him in the nature of an
+injustice brooding over his horizon. If anything came after this life,
+it wouldn't be what he wanted; not Robin Hill, and flowers and birds and
+pretty faces--too few, even now, of those about him! With the years
+his dislike of humbug had increased; the orthodoxy he had worn in the
+'.ixties, as he had worn side-whiskers out of sheer exuberance, had long
+dropped off, leaving him reverent before three things alone--beauty,
+upright conduct, and the sense of property; and the greatest of these
+now was beauty. He had always had wide interests, and, indeed could
+still read The Times, but he was liable at any moment to put it down if
+he heard a blackbird sing. Upright conduct, property--somehow, they were
+tiring; the blackbirds and the sunsets never tired him, only gave him
+an uneasy feeling that he could not get enough of them. Staring into the
+stilly radiance of the early evening and at the little gold and white
+flowers on the lawn, a thought came to him: This weather was like
+the music of 'Orfeo,' which he had recently heard at Covent Garden. A
+beautiful opera, not like Meyerbeer, nor even quite Mozart, but, in its
+way, perhaps even more lovely; something classical and of the Golden Age
+about it, chaste and mellow, and the Ravogli 'almost worthy of the old
+days'--highest praise he could bestow. The yearning of Orpheus for the
+beauty he was losing, for his love going down to Hades, as in life love
+and beauty did go--the yearning which sang and throbbed through the
+golden music, stirred also in the lingering beauty of the world that
+evening. And with the tip of his cork-soled, elastic-sided boot he
+involuntarily stirred the ribs of the dog Balthasar, causing the animal
+to wake and attack his fleas; for though he was supposed to have none,
+nothing could persuade him of the fact. When he had finished he rubbed
+the place he had been scratching against his master's calf, and settled
+down again with his chin over the instep of the disturbing boot. And
+into old Jolyon's mind came a sudden recollection--a face he had seen
+at that opera three weeks ago--Irene, the wife of his precious nephew
+Soames, that man of property! Though he had not met her since the day
+of the 'At Home' in his old house at Stanhope Gate, which celebrated his
+granddaughter June's ill-starred engagement to young Bosinney, he had
+remembered her at once, for he had always admired her--a very pretty
+creature. After the death of young Bosinney, whose mistress she had so
+reprehensibly become, he had heard that she had left Soames at once.
+Goodness only knew what she had been doing since. That sight of her
+face--a side view--in the row in front, had been literally the only
+reminder these three years that she was still alive. No one ever spoke
+of her. And yet Jo had told him something once--something which had
+upset him completely. The boy had got it from George Forsyte,
+he believed, who had seen Bosinney in the fog the day he was run
+over--something which explained the young fellow's distress--an act
+of Soames towards his wife--a shocking act. Jo had seen her, too,
+that afternoon, after the news was out, seen her for a moment, and his
+description had always lingered in old Jolyon's mind--'wild and lost'
+he had called her. And next day June had gone there--bottled up her
+feelings and gone there, and the maid had cried and told her how her
+mistress had slipped out in the night and vanished. A tragic business
+altogether! One thing was certain--Soames had never been able to lay
+hands on her again. And he was living at Brighton, and journeying up
+and down--a fitting fate, the man of property! For when he once took a
+dislike to anyone--as he had to his nephew--old Jolyon never got over
+it. He remembered still the sense of relief with which he had heard the
+news of Irene's disappearance. It had been shocking to think of her a
+prisoner in that house to which she must have wandered back, when Jo saw
+her, wandered back for a moment--like a wounded animal to its hole after
+seeing that news, 'Tragic death of an Architect,' in the street. Her
+face had struck him very much the other night--more beautiful than he
+had remembered, but like a mask, with something going on beneath it. A
+young woman still--twenty-eight perhaps. Ah, well! Very likely she had
+another lover by now. But at this subversive thought--for married women
+should never love: once, even, had been too much--his instep rose, and
+with it the dog Balthasar's head. The sagacious animal stood up and
+looked into old Jolyon's face. 'Walk?' he seemed to say; and old Jolyon
+answered: “Come on, old chap!”
+
+Slowly, as was their wont, they crossed among the constellations of
+buttercups and daisies, and entered the fernery. This feature, where
+very little grew as yet, had been judiciously dropped below the level of
+the lawn so that it might come up again on the level of the other lawn
+and give the impression of irregularity, so important in horticulture.
+Its rocks and earth were beloved of the dog Balthasar, who sometimes
+found a mole there. Old Jolyon made a point of passing through it
+because, though it was not beautiful, he intended that it should be,
+some day, and he would think: 'I must get Varr to come down and look
+at it; he's better than Beech.' For plants, like houses and human
+complaints, required the best expert consideration. It was inhabited by
+snails, and if accompanied by his grandchildren, he would point to one
+and tell them the story of the little boy who said: 'Have plummers
+got leggers, Mother? 'No, sonny.' 'Then darned if I haven't been and
+swallowed a snileybob.' And when they skipped and clutched his hand,
+thinking of the snileybob going down the little boy's 'red lane,' his
+eyes would twinkle. Emerging from the fernery, he opened the wicket
+gate, which just there led into the first field, a large and park-like
+area, out of which, within brick walls, the vegetable garden had been
+carved. Old Jolyon avoided this, which did not suit his mood, and made
+down the hill towards the pond. Balthasar, who knew a water-rat or two,
+gambolled in front, at the gait which marks an oldish dog who takes
+the same walk every day. Arrived at the edge, old Jolyon stood, noting
+another water-lily opened since yesterday; he would show it to Holly
+to-morrow, when 'his little sweet' had got over the upset which had
+followed on her eating a tomato at lunch--her little arrangements were
+very delicate. Now that Jolly had gone to school--his first term--Holly
+was with him nearly all day long, and he missed her badly. He felt that
+pain too, which often bothered him now, a little dragging at his left
+side. He looked back up the hill. Really, poor young Bosinney had made
+an uncommonly good job of the house; he would have done very well for
+himself if he had lived! And where was he now? Perhaps, still haunting
+this, the site of his last work, of his tragic love affair. Or was
+Philip Bosinney's spirit diffused in the general? Who could say? That
+dog was getting his legs muddy! And he moved towards the coppice. There
+had been the most delightful lot of bluebells, and he knew where some
+still lingered like little patches of sky fallen in between the trees,
+away out of the sun. He passed the cow-houses and the hen-houses there
+installed, and pursued a path into the thick of the saplings, making for
+one of the bluebell plots. Balthasar, preceding him once more, uttered
+a low growl. Old Jolyon stirred him with his foot, but the dog remained
+motionless, just where there was no room to pass, and the hair rose
+slowly along the centre of his woolly back. Whether from the growl and
+the look of the dog's stivered hair, or from the sensation which a man
+feels in a wood, old Jolyon also felt something move along his spine.
+And then the path turned, and there was an old mossy log, and on it a
+woman sitting. Her face was turned away, and he had just time to think:
+'.he's trespassing--I must have a board put up!' before she turned.
+Powers above! The face he had seen at the opera--the very woman he had
+just been thinking of! In that confused moment he saw things blurred,
+as if a spirit--queer effect--the slant of sunlight perhaps on her
+violet-grey frock! And then she rose and stood smiling, her head a
+little to one side. Old Jolyon thought: 'How pretty she is!' She did not
+speak, neither did he; and he realized why with a certain admiration.
+She was here no doubt because of some memory, and did not mean to try
+and get out of it by vulgar explanation.
+
+“Don't let that dog touch your frock,” he said; “he's got wet feet. Come
+here, you!”
+
+But the dog Balthasar went on towards the visitor, who put her hand down
+and stroked his head. Old Jolyon said quickly:
+
+“I saw you at the opera the other night; you didn't notice me.”
+
+“Oh, yes! I did.”
+
+He felt a subtle flattery in that, as though she had added: 'Do you
+think one could miss seeing you?'
+
+“They're all in Spain,” he remarked abruptly. “I'm alone; I drove up for
+the opera. The Ravogli's good. Have you seen the cow-houses?”
+
+In a situation so charged with mystery and something very like emotion
+he moved instinctively towards that bit of property, and she moved
+beside him. Her figure swayed faintly, like the best kind of French
+figures; her dress, too, was a sort of French grey. He noticed two or
+three silver threads in her amber-coloured hair, strange hair with those
+dark eyes of hers, and that creamy-pale face. A sudden sidelong look
+from the velvety brown eyes disturbed him. It seemed to come from deep
+and far, from another world almost, or at all events from some one not
+living very much in this. And he said mechanically:
+
+“Where are you living now?”
+
+“I have a little flat in Chelsea.”
+
+He did not want to hear what she was doing, did not want to hear
+anything; but the perverse word came out:
+
+“Alone?”
+
+She nodded. It was a relief to know that. And it came into his mind
+that, but for a twist of fate, she would have been mistress of this
+coppice, showing these cow-houses to him, a visitor.
+
+“All Alderneys,” he muttered; “they give the best milk. This one's a
+pretty creature. Woa, Myrtle!”
+
+The fawn-coloured cow, with eyes as soft and brown as Irene's own, was
+standing absolutely still, not having long been milked. She looked round
+at them out of the corner of those lustrous, mild, cynical eyes, and
+from her grey lips a little dribble of saliva threaded its way towards
+the straw. The scent of hay and vanilla and ammonia rose in the dim
+light of the cool cow-house; and old Jolyon said:
+
+“You must come up and have some dinner with me. I'll send you home in
+the carriage.”
+
+He perceived a struggle going on within her; natural, no doubt, with her
+memories. But he wanted her company; a pretty face, a charming figure,
+beauty! He had been alone all the afternoon. Perhaps his eyes were
+wistful, for she answered: “Thank you, Uncle Jolyon. I should like to.”
+
+He rubbed his hands, and said:
+
+“Capital! Let's go up, then!” And, preceded by the dog Balthasar, they
+ascended through the field. The sun was almost level in their faces now,
+and he could see, not only those silver threads, but little lines, just
+deep enough to stamp her beauty with a coin-like fineness--the special
+look of life unshared with others. “I'll take her in by the terrace,” he
+thought: “I won't make a common visitor of her.”
+
+“What do you do all day?” he said.
+
+“Teach music; I have another interest, too.”
+
+“Work!” said old Jolyon, picking up the doll from off the swing, and
+smoothing its black petticoat. “Nothing like it, is there? I don't do
+any now. I'm getting on. What interest is that?”
+
+“Trying to help women who've come to grief.” Old Jolyon did not quite
+understand. “To grief?” he repeated; then realised with a shock that
+she meant exactly what he would have meant himself if he had used
+that expression. Assisting the Magdalenes of London! What a weird and
+terrifying interest! And, curiosity overcoming his natural shrinking, he
+asked:
+
+“Why? What do you do for them?”
+
+“Not much. I've no money to spare. I can only give sympathy and food
+sometimes.”
+
+Involuntarily old Jolyon's hand sought his purse. He said hastily: “How
+d'you get hold of them?”
+
+“I go to a hospital.”
+
+“A hospital! Phew!”
+
+“What hurts me most is that once they nearly all had some sort of
+beauty.”
+
+Old Jolyon straightened the doll. “Beauty!” he ejaculated: “Ha! Yes! A
+sad business!” and he moved towards the house. Through a French window,
+under sun-blinds not yet drawn up, he preceded her into the room
+where he was wont to study The Times and the sheets of an agricultural
+magazine, with huge illustrations of mangold wurzels, and the like,
+which provided Holly with material for her paint brush.
+
+“Dinner's in half an hour. You'd like to wash your hands! I'll take you
+to June's room.”
+
+He saw her looking round eagerly; what changes since she had last
+visited this house with her husband, or her lover, or both perhaps--he
+did not know, could not say! All that was dark, and he wished to leave
+it so. But what changes! And in the hall he said:
+
+“My boy Jo's a painter, you know. He's got a lot of taste. It isn't
+mine, of course, but I've let him have his way.”
+
+She was standing very still, her eyes roaming through the hall and music
+room, as it now was--all thrown into one, under the great skylight. Old
+Jolyon had an odd impression of her. Was she trying to conjure somebody
+from the shades of that space where the colouring was all pearl-grey and
+silver? He would have had gold himself; more lively and solid. But Jo
+had French tastes, and it had come out shadowy like that, with an effect
+as of the fume of cigarettes the chap was always smoking, broken here
+and there by a little blaze of blue or crimson colour. It was not
+his dream! Mentally he had hung this space with those gold-framed
+masterpieces of still and stiller life which he had bought in days when
+quantity was precious. And now where were they? Sold for a song! That
+something which made him, alone among Forsytes, move with the times
+had warned him against the struggle to retain them. But in his study he
+still had 'Dutch Fishing Boats at Sunset.'
+
+He began to mount the stairs with her, slowly, for he felt his side.
+
+“These are the bathrooms,” he said, “and other arrangements. I've had
+them tiled. The nurseries are along there. And this is Jo's and his
+wife's. They all communicate. But you remember, I expect.”
+
+Irene nodded. They passed on, up the gallery and entered a large room
+with a small bed, and several windows.
+
+“This is mine,” he said. The walls were covered with the photographs of
+children and watercolour sketches, and he added doubtfully:
+
+“These are Jo's. The view's first-rate. You can see the Grand Stand at
+Epsom in clear weather.”
+
+The sun was down now, behind the house, and over the 'prospect' a
+luminous haze had settled, emanation of the long and prosperous day. Few
+houses showed, but fields and trees faintly glistened, away to a loom of
+downs.
+
+“The country's changing,” he said abruptly, “but there it'll be when
+we're all gone. Look at those thrushes--the birds are sweet here in the
+mornings. I'm glad to have washed my hands of London.”
+
+Her face was close to the window pane, and he was struck by its mournful
+look. 'Wish I could make her look happy!' he thought. 'A pretty face,
+but sad!' And taking up his can of hot water he went out into the
+gallery.
+
+“This is June's room,” he said, opening the next door and putting the
+can down; “I think you'll find everything.” And closing the door behind
+her he went back to his own room. Brushing his hair with his great ebony
+brushes, and dabbing his forehead with eau de Cologne, he mused. She had
+come so strangely--a sort of visitation; mysterious, even romantic, as
+if his desire for company, for beauty, had been fulfilled by whatever
+it was which fulfilled that sort of thing. And before the mirror he
+straightened his still upright figure, passed the brushes over his great
+white moustache, touched up his eyebrows with eau de Cologne, and rang
+the bell.
+
+“I forgot to let them know that I have a lady to dinner with me. Let
+cook do something extra, and tell Beacon to have the landau and pair at
+half-past ten to drive her back to Town to-night. Is Miss Holly asleep?”
+
+The maid thought not. And old Jolyon, passing down the gallery, stole
+on tiptoe towards the nursery, and opened the door whose hinges he kept
+specially oiled that he might slip in and out in the evenings without
+being heard.
+
+But Holly was asleep, and lay like a miniature Madonna, of that
+type which the old painters could not tell from Venus, when they had
+completed her. Her long dark lashes clung to her cheeks; on her face was
+perfect peace--her little arrangements were evidently all right again.
+And old Jolyon, in the twilight of the room, stood adoring her! It was
+so charming, solemn, and loving--that little face. He had more than his
+share of the blessed capacity of living again in the young. They were
+to him his future life--all of a future life that his fundamental pagan
+sanity perhaps admitted. There she was with everything before her, and
+his blood--some of it--in her tiny veins. There she was, his little
+companion, to be made as happy as ever he could make her, so that she
+knew nothing but love. His heart swelled, and he went out, stilling the
+sound of his patent-leather boots. In the corridor an eccentric notion
+attacked him: To think that children should come to that which Irene had
+told him she was helping! Women who were all, once, little things like
+this one sleeping there! 'I must give her a cheque!' he mused; 'Can't
+bear to think of them!' They had never borne reflecting on, those poor
+outcasts; wounding too deeply the core of true refinement hidden under
+layers of conformity to the sense of property--wounding too grievously
+the deepest thing in him--a love of beauty which could give him, even
+now, a flutter of the heart, thinking of his evening in the society of a
+pretty woman. And he went downstairs, through the swinging doors, to the
+back regions. There, in the wine-cellar, was a hock worth at least two
+pounds a bottle, a Steinberg Cabinet, better than any Johannisberg
+that ever went down throat; a wine of perfect bouquet, sweet as a
+nectarine--nectar indeed! He got a bottle out, handling it like a baby,
+and holding it level to the light, to look. Enshrined in its coat
+of dust, that mellow coloured, slender-necked bottle gave him deep
+pleasure. Three years to settle down again since the move from
+Town--ought to be in prime condition! Thirty-five years ago he had
+bought it--thank God he had kept his palate, and earned the right to
+drink it. She would appreciate this; not a spice of acidity in a dozen.
+He wiped the bottle, drew the cork with his own hands, put his nose
+down, inhaled its perfume, and went back to the music room.
+
+Irene was standing by the piano; she had taken off her hat and a lace
+scarf she had been wearing, so that her gold-coloured hair was visible,
+and the pallor of her neck. In her grey frock she made a pretty picture
+for old Jolyon, against the rosewood of the piano.
+
+He gave her his arm, and solemnly they went. The room, which had been
+designed to enable twenty-four people to dine in comfort, held now but
+a little round table. In his present solitude the big dining-table
+oppressed old Jolyon; he had caused it to be removed till his son came
+back. Here in the company of two really good copies of Raphael Madonnas
+he was wont to dine alone. It was the only disconsolate hour of his day,
+this summer weather. He had never been a large eater, like that great
+chap Swithin, or Sylvanus Heythorp, or Anthony Thornworthy, those
+cronies of past times; and to dine alone, overlooked by the Madonnas,
+was to him but a sorrowful occupation, which he got through quickly,
+that he might come to the more spiritual enjoyment of his coffee and
+cigar. But this evening was a different matter! His eyes twinkled at her
+across the little table and he spoke of Italy and Switzerland, telling
+her stories of his travels there, and other experiences which he could
+no longer recount to his son and grand-daughter because they knew them.
+This fresh audience was precious to him; he had never become one of
+those old men who ramble round and round the fields of reminiscence.
+Himself quickly fatigued by the insensitive, he instinctively avoided
+fatiguing others, and his natural flirtatiousness towards beauty guarded
+him specially in his relations with a woman. He would have liked to draw
+her out, but though she murmured and smiled and seemed to be enjoying
+what he told her, he remained conscious of that mysterious remoteness
+which constituted half her fascination. He could not bear women
+who threw their shoulders and eyes at you, and chattered away; or
+hard-mouthed women who laid down the law and knew more than you did.
+There was only one quality in a woman that appealed to him--charm;
+and the quieter it was, the more he liked it. And this one had charm,
+shadowy as afternoon sunlight on those Italian hills and valleys he had
+loved. The feeling, too, that she was, as it were, apart, cloistered,
+made her seem nearer to himself, a strangely desirable companion. When
+a man is very old and quite out of the running, he loves to feel secure
+from the rivalries of youth, for he would still be first in the heart
+of beauty. And he drank his hock, and watched her lips, and felt nearly
+young. But the dog Balthasar lay watching her lips too, and despising
+in his heart the interruptions of their talk, and the tilting of those
+greenish glasses full of a golden fluid which was distasteful to him.
+
+The light was just failing when they went back into the music-room. And,
+cigar in mouth, old Jolyon said:
+
+“Play me some Chopin.”
+
+By the cigars they smoke, and the composers they love, ye shall know
+the texture of men's souls. Old Jolyon could not bear a strong cigar
+or Wagner's music. He loved Beethoven and Mozart, Handel and Gluck, and
+Schumann, and, for some occult reason, the operas of Meyerbeer; but of
+late years he had been seduced by Chopin, just as in painting he
+had succumbed to Botticelli. In yielding to these tastes he had been
+conscious of divergence from the standard of the Golden Age. Their
+poetry was not that of Milton and Byron and Tennyson; of Raphael and
+Titian; Mozart and Beethoven. It was, as it were, behind a veil; their
+poetry hit no one in the face, but slipped its fingers under the ribs
+and turned and twisted, and melted up the heart. And, never certain
+that this was healthy, he did not care a rap so long as he could see the
+pictures of the one or hear the music of the other.
+
+Irene sat down at the piano under the electric lamp festooned with
+pearl-grey, and old Jolyon, in an armchair, whence he could see her,
+crossed his legs and drew slowly at his cigar. She sat a few moments
+with her hands on the keys, evidently searching her mind for what to
+give him. Then she began and within old Jolyon there arose a sorrowful
+pleasure, not quite like anything else in the world. He fell slowly into
+a trance, interrupted only by the movements of taking the cigar out of
+his mouth at long intervals, and replacing it. She was there, and the
+hock within him, and the scent of tobacco; but there, too, was a world
+of sunshine lingering into moonlight, and pools with storks upon them,
+and bluish trees above, glowing with blurs of wine-red roses, and fields
+of lavender where milk-white cows were grazing, and a woman all shadowy,
+with dark eyes and a white neck, smiled, holding out her arms; and
+through air which was like music a star dropped and was caught on a
+cow's horn. He opened his eyes. Beautiful piece; she played well--the
+touch of an angel! And he closed them again. He felt miraculously sad
+and happy, as one does, standing under a lime-tree in full honey flower.
+Not live one's own life again, but just stand there and bask in the
+smile of a woman's eyes, and enjoy the bouquet! And he jerked his hand;
+the dog Balthasar had reached up and licked it.
+
+“Beautiful!” He said: “Go on--more Chopin!”
+
+She began to play again. This time the resemblance between her and
+'.hopin' struck him. The swaying he had noticed in her walk was in her
+playing too, and the Nocturne she had chosen and the soft darkness of
+her eyes, the light on her hair, as of moonlight from a golden moon.
+Seductive, yes; but nothing of Delilah in her or in that music. A long
+blue spiral from his cigar ascended and dispersed. 'So we go out!' he
+thought. 'No more beauty! Nothing?'
+
+Again Irene stopped.
+
+“Would you like some Gluck? He used to write his music in a sunlit
+garden, with a bottle of Rhine wine beside him.”
+
+“Ah! yes. Let's have 'Orfeo.'. Round about him now were fields of gold
+and silver flowers, white forms swaying in the sunlight, bright birds
+flying to and fro. All was summer. Lingering waves of sweetness and
+regret flooded his soul. Some cigar ash dropped, and taking out a silk
+handkerchief to brush it off, he inhaled a mingled scent as of snuff and
+eau de Cologne. 'Ah!' he thought, 'Indian summer--that's all!' and he
+said: “You haven't played me 'Che faro.'.
+
+She did not answer; did not move. He was conscious of something--some
+strange upset. Suddenly he saw her rise and turn away, and a pang of
+remorse shot through him. What a clumsy chap! Like Orpheus, she of
+course--she too was looking for her lost one in the hall of memory! And
+disturbed to the heart, he got up from his chair. She had gone to the
+great window at the far end. Gingerly he followed. Her hands were folded
+over her breast; he could just see her cheek, very white. And, quite
+emotionalized, he said:
+
+“There, there, my love!” The words had escaped him mechanically, for
+they were those he used to Holly when she had a pain, but their effect
+was instantaneously distressing. She raised her arms, covered her face
+with them, and wept.
+
+Old Jolyon stood gazing at her with eyes very deep from age. The
+passionate shame she seemed feeling at her abandonment, so unlike the
+control and quietude of her whole presence was as if she had never
+before broken down in the presence of another being.
+
+“There, there--there, there!” he murmured, and putting his hand out
+reverently, touched her. She turned, and leaned the arms which covered
+her face against him. Old Jolyon stood very still, keeping one thin hand
+on her shoulder. Let her cry her heart out--it would do her good.
+
+And the dog Balthasar, puzzled, sat down on his stern to examine them.
+
+The window was still open, the curtains had not been drawn, the last of
+daylight from without mingled with faint intrusion from the lamp within;
+there was a scent of new-mown grass. With the wisdom of a long life old
+Jolyon did not speak. Even grief sobbed itself out in time; only Time
+was good for sorrow--Time who saw the passing of each mood, each emotion
+in turn; Time the layer-to-rest. There came into his mind the words: 'As
+panteth the hart after cooling streams'--but they were of no use to him.
+Then, conscious of a scent of violets, he knew she was drying her eyes.
+He put his chin forward, pressed his moustache against her forehead, and
+felt her shake with a quivering of her whole body, as of a tree which
+shakes itself free of raindrops. She put his hand to her lips, as if
+saying: “All over now! Forgive me!”
+
+The kiss filled him with a strange comfort; he led her back to where she
+had been so upset. And the dog Balthasar, following, laid the bone of
+one of the cutlets they had eaten at their feet.
+
+Anxious to obliterate the memory of that emotion, he could think of
+nothing better than china; and moving with her slowly from cabinet to
+cabinet, he kept taking up bits of Dresden and Lowestoft and Chelsea,
+turning them round and round with his thin, veined hands, whose skin,
+faintly freckled, had such an aged look.
+
+“I bought this at Jobson's,” he would say; “cost me thirty pounds.
+It's very old. That dog leaves his bones all over the place. This old
+'.hip-bowl' I picked up at the sale when that precious rip, the Marquis,
+came to grief. But you don't remember. Here's a nice piece of Chelsea.
+Now, what would you say this was?” And he was comforted, feeling that,
+with her taste, she was taking a real interest in these things; for,
+after all, nothing better composes the nerves than a doubtful piece of
+china.
+
+When the crunch of the carriage wheels was heard at last, he said:
+
+“You must come again; you must come to lunch, then I can show you these
+by daylight, and my little sweet--she's a dear little thing. This dog
+seems to have taken a fancy to you.”
+
+For Balthasar, feeling that she was about to leave, was rubbing his side
+against her leg. Going out under the porch with her, he said:
+
+“He'll get you up in an hour and a quarter. Take this for your
+protegees,” and he slipped a cheque for fifty pounds into her hand. He
+saw her brightened eyes, and heard her murmur: “Oh! Uncle Jolyon!” and
+a real throb of pleasure went through him. That meant one or two poor
+creatures helped a little, and it meant that she would come again. He
+put his hand in at the window and grasped hers once more. The carriage
+rolled away. He stood looking at the moon and the shadows of the trees,
+and thought: 'A sweet night! She...!'
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+Two days of rain, and summer set in bland and sunny. Old Jolyon walked
+and talked with Holly. At first he felt taller and full of a new vigour;
+then he felt restless. Almost every afternoon they would enter the
+coppice, and walk as far as the log. 'Well, she's not there!' he would
+think, 'of course not!' And he would feel a little shorter, and drag his
+feet walking up the hill home, with his hand clapped to his left side.
+Now and then the thought would move in him: 'Did she come--or did I
+dream it?' and he would stare at space, while the dog Balthasar stared
+at him. Of course she would not come again! He opened the letters from
+Spain with less excitement. They were not returning till July; he felt,
+oddly, that he could bear it. Every day at dinner he screwed up his eyes
+and looked at where she had sat. She was not there, so he unscrewed his
+eyes again.
+
+On the seventh afternoon he thought: 'I must go up and get some boots.'
+He ordered Beacon, and set out. Passing from Putney towards Hyde Park
+he reflected: 'I might as well go to Chelsea and see her.' And he called
+out: “Just drive me to where you took that lady the other night.” The
+coachman turned his broad red face, and his juicy lips answered: “The
+lady in grey, sir?”
+
+“Yes, the lady in grey.” What other ladies were there! Stodgy chap!
+
+The carriage stopped before a small three-storied block of flats,
+standing a little back from the river. With a practised eye old Jolyon
+saw that they were cheap. 'I should think about sixty pound a year,' he
+mused; and entering, he looked at the name-board. The name 'Forsyte' was
+not on it, but against 'First Floor, Flat C' were the words: 'Mrs.
+Irene Heron.' Ah! She had taken her maiden name again! And somehow this
+pleased him. He went upstairs slowly, feeling his side a little.
+He stood a moment, before ringing, to lose the feeling of drag and
+fluttering there. She would not be in! And then--Boots! The thought was
+black. What did he want with boots at his age? He could not wear out all
+those he had.
+
+“Your mistress at home?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Say Mr. Jolyon Forsyte.”
+
+“Yes, sir, will you come this way?”
+
+Old Jolyon followed a very little maid--not more than sixteen one would
+say--into a very small drawing-room where the sun-blinds were drawn.
+It held a cottage piano and little else save a vague fragrance and
+good taste. He stood in the middle, with his top hat in his hand, and
+thought: 'I expect she's very badly off!' There was a mirror above the
+fireplace, and he saw himself reflected. An old-looking chap! He heard
+a rustle, and turned round. She was so close that his moustache almost
+brushed her forehead, just under her hair.
+
+“I was driving up,” he said. “Thought I'd look in on you, and ask you
+how you got up the other night.”
+
+And, seeing her smile, he felt suddenly relieved. She was really glad to
+see him, perhaps.
+
+“Would you like to put on your hat and come for a drive in the Park?”
+
+But while she was gone to put her hat on, he frowned. The Park! James
+and Emily! Mrs. Nicholas, or some other member of his precious family
+would be there very likely, prancing up and down. And they would go and
+wag their tongues about having seen him with her, afterwards. Better
+not! He did not wish to revive the echoes of the past on
+Forsyte 'Change. He removed a white hair from the lapel of his
+closely-buttoned-up frock coat, and passed his hand over his cheeks,
+moustache, and square chin. It felt very hollow there under the
+cheekbones. He had not been eating much lately--he had better get that
+little whippersnapper who attended Holly to give him a tonic. But she
+had come back and when they were in the carriage, he said:
+
+“Suppose we go and sit in Kensington Gardens instead?” and added with
+a twinkle: “No prancing up and down there,” as if she had been in the
+secret of his thoughts.
+
+Leaving the carriage, they entered those select precincts, and strolled
+towards the water.
+
+“You've gone back to your maiden name, I see,” he said: “I'm not sorry.”
+
+She slipped her hand under his arm: “Has June forgiven me, Uncle
+Jolyon?”
+
+He answered gently: “Yes--yes; of course, why not?”
+
+“And have you?”
+
+“I? I forgave you as soon as I saw how the land really lay.” And perhaps
+he had; his instinct had always been to forgive the beautiful.
+
+She drew a deep breath. “I never regretted--I couldn't. Did you ever
+love very deeply, Uncle Jolyon?”
+
+At that strange question old Jolyon stared before him. Had he? He did
+not seem to remember that he ever had. But he did not like to say this
+to the young woman whose hand was touching his arm, whose life was
+suspended, as it were, by memory of a tragic love. And he thought: 'If
+I had met you when I was young I--I might have made a fool of myself,
+perhaps.' And a longing to escape in generalities beset him.
+
+“Love's a queer thing,” he said, “fatal thing often. It was the
+Greeks--wasn't it?--made love into a goddess; they were right, I dare
+say, but then they lived in the Golden Age.”
+
+“Phil adored them.”
+
+Phil! The word jarred him, for suddenly--with his power to see all round
+a thing, he perceived why she was putting up with him like this. She
+wanted to talk about her lover! Well! If it was any pleasure to her! And
+he said: “Ah! There was a bit of the sculptor in him, I fancy.”
+
+“Yes. He loved balance and symmetry; he loved the whole-hearted way the
+Greeks gave themselves to art.”
+
+Balance! The chap had no balance at all, if he remembered; as for
+symmetry--clean-built enough he was, no doubt; but those queer eyes of
+his, and high cheek-bones--Symmetry?
+
+“You're of the Golden Age, too, Uncle Jolyon.”
+
+Old Jolyon looked round at her. Was she chaffing him? No, her eyes
+were soft as velvet. Was she flattering him? But if so, why? There was
+nothing to be had out of an old chap like him.
+
+“Phil thought so. He used to say: 'But I can never tell him that I
+admire him.'.
+
+Ah! There it was again. Her dead lover; her desire to talk of him! And
+he pressed her arm, half resentful of those memories, half grateful, as
+if he recognised what a link they were between herself and him.
+
+“He was a very talented young fellow,” he murmured. “It's hot; I feel
+the heat nowadays. Let's sit down.”
+
+They took two chairs beneath a chestnut tree whose broad leaves covered
+them from the peaceful glory of the afternoon. A pleasure to sit there
+and watch her, and feel that she liked to be with him. And the wish to
+increase that liking, if he could, made him go on:
+
+“I expect he showed you a side of him I never saw. He'd be at his best
+with you. His ideas of art were a little new--to me “--he had stiffed
+the word 'fangled.'
+
+“Yes: but he used to say you had a real sense of beauty.” Old Jolyon
+thought: 'The devil he did!' but answered with a twinkle: “Well, I have,
+or I shouldn't be sitting here with you.” She was fascinating when she
+smiled with her eyes, like that!
+
+“He thought you had one of those hearts that never grow old. Phil had
+real insight.”
+
+He was not taken in by this flattery spoken out of the past, out of a
+longing to talk of her dead lover--not a bit; and yet it was precious
+to hear, because she pleased his eyes and heart which--quite true!--had
+never grown old. Was that because--unlike her and her dead lover, he had
+never loved to desperation, had always kept his balance, his sense of
+symmetry. Well! It had left him power, at eighty-four, to admire beauty.
+And he thought, 'If I were a painter or a sculptor! But I'm an old chap.
+Make hay while the sun shines.'
+
+A couple with arms entwined crossed on the grass before them, at the
+edge of the shadow from their tree. The sunlight fell cruelly on their
+pale, squashed, unkempt young faces. “We're an ugly lot!” said old
+Jolyon suddenly. “It amazes me to see how--love triumphs over that.”
+
+“Love triumphs over everything!”
+
+“The young think so,” he muttered.
+
+“Love has no age, no limit, and no death.”
+
+With that glow in her pale face, her breast heaving, her eyes so
+large and dark and soft, she looked like Venus come to life! But this
+extravagance brought instant reaction, and, twinkling, he said: “Well,
+if it had limits, we shouldn't be born; for by George! it's got a lot to
+put up with.”
+
+Then, removing his top hat, he brushed it round with a cuff. The great
+clumsy thing heated his forehead; in these days he often got a rush of
+blood to the head--his circulation was not what it had been.
+
+She still sat gazing straight before her, and suddenly she murmured:
+
+“It's strange enough that I'm alive.”
+
+Those words of Jo's 'Wild and lost' came back to him.
+
+“Ah!” he said: “my son saw you for a moment--that day.”
+
+“Was it your son? I heard a voice in the hall; I thought for a second it
+was--Phil.”
+
+Old Jolyon saw her lips tremble. She put her hand over them, took it
+away again, and went on calmly: “That night I went to the Embankment; a
+woman caught me by the dress. She told me about herself. When one knows
+that others suffer, one's ashamed.”
+
+“One of those?”
+
+She nodded, and horror stirred within old Jolyon, the horror of one who
+has never known a struggle with desperation. Almost against his will he
+muttered: “Tell me, won't you?”
+
+“I didn't care whether I lived or died. When you're like that, Fate
+ceases to want to kill you. She took care of me three days--she never
+left me. I had no money. That's why I do what I can for them, now.”
+
+But old Jolyon was thinking: 'No money!' What fate could compare with
+that? Every other was involved in it.
+
+“I wish you had come to me,” he said. “Why didn't you?” But Irene did
+not answer.
+
+“Because my name was Forsyte, I suppose? Or was it June who kept you
+away? How are you getting on now?” His eyes involuntarily swept her
+body. Perhaps even now she was--! And yet she wasn't thin--not really!
+
+“Oh! with my fifty pounds a year, I make just enough.” The answer did
+not reassure him; he had lost confidence. And that fellow Soames! But
+his sense of justice stifled condemnation. No, she would certainly have
+died rather than take another penny from him. Soft as she looked, there
+must be strength in her somewhere--strength and fidelity. But what
+business had young Bosinney to have got run over and left her stranded
+like this!
+
+“Well, you must come to me now,” he said, “for anything you want, or I
+shall be quite cut up.” And putting on his hat, he rose. “Let's go and
+get some tea. I told that lazy chap to put the horses up for an hour,
+and come for me at your place. We'll take a cab presently; I can't walk
+as I used to.”
+
+He enjoyed that stroll to the Kensington end of the gardens--the sound
+of her voice, the glancing of her eyes, the subtle beauty of a charming
+form moving beside him. He enjoyed their tea at Ruffel's in the High
+Street, and came out thence with a great box of chocolates swung on his
+little finger. He enjoyed the drive back to Chelsea in a hansom, smoking
+his cigar. She had promised to come down next Sunday and play to him
+again, and already in thought he was plucking carnations and early roses
+for her to carry back to town. It was a pleasure to give her a little
+pleasure, if it WERE pleasure from an old chap like him! The carriage
+was already there when they arrived. Just like that fellow, who was
+always late when he was wanted! Old Jolyon went in for a minute to
+say good-bye. The little dark hall of the flat was impregnated with a
+disagreeable odour of patchouli, and on a bench against the wall--its
+only furniture--he saw a figure sitting. He heard Irene say softly:
+“Just one minute.” In the little drawing-room when the door was shut, he
+asked gravely: “One of your protegees?”
+
+“Yes. Now thanks to you, I can do something for her.”
+
+He stood, staring, and stroking that chin whose strength had frightened
+so many in its time. The idea of her thus actually in contact with this
+outcast grieved and frightened him. What could she do for them? Nothing.
+Only soil and make trouble for herself, perhaps. And he said: “Take
+care, my dear! The world puts the worst construction on everything.”
+
+“I know that.”
+
+He was abashed by her quiet smile. “Well then--Sunday,” he murmured:
+“Good-bye.”
+
+She put her cheek forward for him to kiss.
+
+“Good-bye,” he said again; “take care of yourself.” And he went out,
+not looking towards the figure on the bench. He drove home by way of
+Hammersmith; that he might stop at a place he knew of and tell them to
+send her in two dozen of their best Burgundy. She must want picking-up
+sometimes! Only in Richmond Park did he remember that he had gone up to
+order himself some boots, and was surprised that he could have had so
+paltry an idea.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+The little spirits of the past which throng an old man's days had never
+pushed their faces up to his so seldom as in the seventy hours elapsing
+before Sunday came. The spirit of the future, with the charm of the
+unknown, put up her lips instead. Old Jolyon was not restless now, and
+paid no visits to the log, because she was coming to lunch. There is
+wonderful finality about a meal; it removes a world of doubts, for no
+one misses meals except for reasons beyond control. He played many games
+with Holly on the lawn, pitching them up to her who was batting so as
+to be ready to bowl to Jolly in the holidays. For she was not a Forsyte,
+but Jolly was--and Forsytes always bat, until they have resigned and
+reached the age of eighty-five. The dog Balthasar, in attendance, lay on
+the ball as often as he could, and the page-boy fielded, till his face
+was like the harvest moon. And because the time was getting shorter,
+each day was longer and more golden than the last. On Friday night he
+took a liver pill, his side hurt him rather, and though it was not the
+liver side, there is no remedy like that. Anyone telling him that he had
+found a new excitement in life and that excitement was not good for him,
+would have been met by one of those steady and rather defiant looks
+of his deep-set iron-grey eyes, which seemed to say: 'I know my own
+business best.' He always had and always would.
+
+On Sunday morning, when Holly had gone with her governess to church, he
+visited the strawberry beds. There, accompanied by the dog Balthasar, he
+examined the plants narrowly and succeeded in finding at least two dozen
+berries which were really ripe. Stooping was not good for him, and
+he became very dizzy and red in the forehead. Having placed the
+strawberries in a dish on the dining-table, he washed his hands and
+bathed his forehead with eau de Cologne. There, before the mirror, it
+occurred to him that he was thinner. What a 'threadpaper' he had been
+when he was young! It was nice to be slim--he could not bear a fat chap;
+and yet perhaps his cheeks were too thin! She was to arrive by train at
+half-past twelve and walk up, entering from the road past Drage's farm
+at the far end of the coppice. And, having looked into June's room to
+see that there was hot water ready, he set forth to meet her, leisurely,
+for his heart was beating. The air smelled sweet, larks sang, and the
+Grand Stand at Epsom was visible. A perfect day! On just such a one, no
+doubt, six years ago, Soames had brought young Bosinney down with him
+to look at the site before they began to build. It was Bosinney who had
+pitched on the exact spot for the house--as June had often told him.
+In these days he was thinking much about that young fellow, as if his
+spirit were really haunting the field of his last work, on the chance of
+seeing--her. Bosinney--the one man who had possessed her heart, to whom
+she had given her whole self with rapture! At his age one could not,
+of course, imagine such things, but there stirred in him a queer vague
+aching--as it were the ghost of an impersonal jealousy; and a feeling,
+too, more generous, of pity for that love so early lost. All over in a
+few poor months! Well, well! He looked at his watch before entering the
+coppice--only a quarter past, twenty-five minutes to wait! And then,
+turning the corner of the path, he saw her exactly where he had seen her
+the first time, on the log; and realised that she must have come by the
+earlier train to sit there alone for a couple of hours at least. Two
+hours of her society missed! What memory could make that log so dear to
+her? His face showed what he was thinking, for she said at once:
+
+“Forgive me, Uncle Jolyon; it was here that I first knew.”
+
+“Yes, yes; there it is for you whenever you like. You're looking a
+little Londony; you're giving too many lessons.”
+
+That she should have to give lessons worried him. Lessons to a parcel of
+young girls thumping out scales with their thick fingers.
+
+“Where do you go to give them?” he asked.
+
+“They're mostly Jewish families, luckily.”
+
+Old Jolyon stared; to all Forsytes Jews seem strange and doubtful.
+
+“They love music, and they're very kind.”
+
+“They had better be, by George!” He took her arm--his side always hurt
+him a little going uphill--and said:
+
+“Did you ever see anything like those buttercups? They came like that in
+a night.”
+
+Her eyes seemed really to fly over the field, like bees after the
+flowers and the honey. “I wanted you to see them--wouldn't let them
+turn the cows in yet.” Then, remembering that she had come to talk about
+Bosinney, he pointed to the clock-tower over the stables:
+
+“I expect he wouldn't have let me put that there--had no notion of time,
+if I remember.”
+
+But, pressing his arm to her, she talked of flowers instead, and he knew
+it was done that he might not feel she came because of her dead lover.
+
+“The best flower I can show you,” he said, with a sort of triumph, “is
+my little sweet. She'll be back from Church directly. There's something
+about her which reminds me a little of you,” and it did not seem to him
+peculiar that he had put it thus, instead of saying: “There's something
+about you which reminds me a little of her.” Ah! And here she was!
+
+Holly, followed closely by her elderly French governess, whose digestion
+had been ruined twenty-two years ago in the siege of Strasbourg, came
+rushing towards them from under the oak tree. She stopped about a dozen
+yards away, to pat Balthasar and pretend that this was all she had in
+her mind. Old Jolyon, who knew better, said:
+
+“Well, my darling, here's the lady in grey I promised you.”
+
+Holly raised herself and looked up. He watched the two of them with a
+twinkle, Irene smiling, Holly beginning with grave inquiry, passing
+into a shy smile too, and then to something deeper. She had a sense of
+beauty, that child--knew what was what! He enjoyed the sight of the kiss
+between them.
+
+“Mrs. Heron, Mam'zelle Beauce. Well, Mam'zelle--good sermon?”
+
+For, now that he had not much more time before him, the only part of
+the service connected with this world absorbed what interest in church
+remained to him. Mam'zelle Beauce stretched out a spidery hand clad in
+a black kid glove--she had been in the best families--and the rather sad
+eyes of her lean yellowish face seemed to ask: “Are you well-brrred?”
+ Whenever Holly or Jolly did anything unpleasing to her--a not uncommon
+occurrence--she would say to them: “The little Tayleurs never did
+that--they were such well-brrred little children.” Jolly hated the
+little Tayleurs; Holly wondered dreadfully how it was she fell so short
+of them. 'A thin rum little soul,' old Jolyon thought her--Mam'zelle
+Beauce.
+
+Luncheon was a successful meal, the mushrooms which he himself had
+picked in the mushroom house, his chosen strawberries, and another
+bottle of the Steinberg cabinet filled him with a certain aromatic
+spirituality, and a conviction that he would have a touch of eczema
+to-morrow.
+
+After lunch they sat under the oak tree drinking Turkish coffee. It was
+no matter of grief to him when Mademoiselle Beauce withdrew to write
+her Sunday letter to her sister, whose future had been endangered in
+the past by swallowing a pin--an event held up daily in warning to the
+children to eat slowly and digest what they had eaten. At the foot of
+the bank, on a carriage rug, Holly and the dog Balthasar teased and
+loved each other, and in the shade old Jolyon with his legs crossed and
+his cigar luxuriously savoured, gazed at Irene sitting in the swing. A
+light, vaguely swaying, grey figure with a fleck of sunlight here and
+there upon it, lips just opened, eyes dark and soft under lids a little
+drooped. She looked content; surely it did her good to come and see him!
+The selfishness of age had not set its proper grip on him, for he could
+still feel pleasure in the pleasure of others, realising that what he
+wanted, though much, was not quite all that mattered.
+
+“It's quiet here,” he said; “you mustn't come down if you find it dull.
+But it's a pleasure to see you. My little sweet is the only face which
+gives me any pleasure, except yours.”
+
+From her smile he knew that she was not beyond liking to be appreciated,
+and this reassured him. “That's not humbug,” he said. “I never told a
+woman I admired her when I didn't. In fact I don't know when I've told
+a woman I admired her, except my wife in the old days; and wives are
+funny.” He was silent, but resumed abruptly:
+
+“She used to expect me to say it more often than I felt it, and there
+we were.” Her face looked mysteriously troubled, and, afraid that he had
+said something painful, he hurried on: “When my little sweet marries, I
+hope she'll find someone who knows what women feel. I shan't be here to
+see it, but there's too much topsy-turvydom in marriage; I don't want
+her to pitch up against that.” And, aware that he had made bad worse, he
+added: “That dog will scratch.”
+
+A silence followed. Of what was she thinking, this pretty creature whose
+life was spoiled; who had done with love, and yet was made for love?
+Some day when he was gone, perhaps, she would find another mate--not so
+disorderly as that young fellow who had got himself run over. Ah! but
+her husband?
+
+“Does Soames never trouble you?” he asked.
+
+She shook her head. Her face had closed up suddenly. For all her
+softness there was something irreconcilable about her. And a glimpse of
+light on the inexorable nature of sex antipathies strayed into a brain
+which, belonging to early Victorian civilisation--so much older than
+this of his old age--had never thought about such primitive things.
+
+“That's a comfort,” he said. “You can see the Grand Stand to-day. Shall
+we take a turn round?”
+
+Through the flower and fruit garden, against whose high outer walls
+peach trees and nectarines were trained to the sun, through the stables,
+the vinery, the mushroom house, the asparagus beds, the rosery, the
+summer-house, he conducted her--even into the kitchen garden to see the
+tiny green peas which Holly loved to scoop out of their pods with
+her finger, and lick up from the palm of her little brown hand. Many
+delightful things he showed her, while Holly and the dog Balthasar
+danced ahead, or came to them at intervals for attention. It was one of
+the happiest afternoons he had ever spent, but it tired him and he was
+glad to sit down in the music room and let her give him tea. A special
+little friend of Holly's had come in--a fair child with short hair like
+a boy's. And the two sported in the distance, under the stairs, on the
+stairs, and up in the gallery. Old Jolyon begged for Chopin. She played
+studies, mazurkas, waltzes, till the two children, creeping near, stood
+at the foot of the piano their dark and golden heads bent forward,
+listening. Old Jolyon watched.
+
+“Let's see you dance, you two!”
+
+Shyly, with a false start, they began. Bobbing and circling, earnest,
+not very adroit, they went past and past his chair to the strains of
+that waltz. He watched them and the face of her who was playing turned
+smiling towards those little dancers thinking:
+
+'.weetest picture I've seen for ages.'
+
+A voice said:
+
+“Hollee! Mais enfin--qu'est-ce que tu fais la--danser, le dimanche!
+Viens, donc!”
+
+But the children came close to old Jolyon, knowing that he would save
+them, and gazed into a face which was decidedly 'caught out.'
+
+“Better the day, better the deed, Mam'zelle. It's all my doing. Trot
+along, chicks, and have your tea.”
+
+And, when they were gone, followed by the dog Balthasar, who took every
+meal, he looked at Irene with a twinkle and said:
+
+“Well, there we are! Aren't they sweet? Have you any little ones among
+your pupils?”
+
+“Yes, three--two of them darlings.”
+
+“Pretty?”
+
+“Lovely!”
+
+Old Jolyon sighed; he had an insatiable appetite for the very young. “My
+little sweet,” he said, “is devoted to music; she'll be a musician some
+day. You wouldn't give me your opinion of her playing, I suppose?”
+
+“Of course I will.”
+
+“You wouldn't like--” but he stifled the words “to give her lessons.”
+ The idea that she gave lessons was unpleasant to him; yet it would mean
+that he would see her regularly. She left the piano and came over to his
+chair.
+
+“I would like, very much; but there is--June. When are they coming
+back?”
+
+Old Jolyon frowned. “Not till the middle of next month. What does that
+matter?”
+
+“You said June had forgiven me; but she could never forget, Uncle
+Jolyon.”
+
+Forget! She must forget, if he wanted her to.
+
+But as if answering, Irene shook her head. “You know she couldn't; one
+doesn't forget.”
+
+Always that wretched past! And he said with a sort of vexed finality:
+
+“Well, we shall see.”
+
+He talked to her an hour or more, of the children, and a hundred little
+things, till the carriage came round to take her home. And when she had
+gone he went back to his chair, and sat there smoothing his face and
+chin, dreaming over the day.
+
+That evening after dinner he went to his study and took a sheet of
+paper. He stayed for some minutes without writing, then rose and stood
+under the masterpiece 'Dutch Fishing Boats at Sunset.' He was not
+thinking of that picture, but of his life. He was going to leave her
+something in his Will; nothing could so have stirred the stilly deeps of
+thought and memory. He was going to leave her a portion of his wealth,
+of his aspirations, deeds, qualities, work--all that had made that
+wealth; going to leave her, too, a part of all he had missed in life, by
+his sane and steady pursuit of wealth. All! What had he missed? 'Dutch
+Fishing Boats' responded blankly; he crossed to the French window, and
+drawing the curtain aside, opened it. A wind had got up, and one of last
+year's oak leaves which had somehow survived the gardener's brooms, was
+dragging itself with a tiny clicking rustle along the stone terrace in
+the twilight. Except for that it was very quiet out there, and he could
+smell the heliotrope watered not long since. A bat went by. A bird
+uttered its last 'cheep.' And right above the oak tree the first star
+shone. Faust in the opera had bartered his soul for some fresh years
+of youth. Morbid notion! No such bargain was possible, that was real
+tragedy! No making oneself new again for love or life or anything.
+Nothing left to do but enjoy beauty from afar off while you could, and
+leave it something in your Will. But how much? And, as if he could not
+make that calculation looking out into the mild freedom of the country
+night, he turned back and went up to the chimney-piece. There were
+his pet bronzes--a Cleopatra with the asp at her breast; a Socrates; a
+greyhound playing with her puppy; a strong man reining in some horses.
+'.hey last!' he thought, and a pang went through his heart. They had a
+thousand years of life before them!
+
+'.ow much?' Well! enough at all events to save her getting old before
+her time, to keep the lines out of her face as long as possible, and
+grey from soiling that bright hair. He might live another five years.
+She would be well over thirty by then. 'How much?' She had none of his
+blood in her! In loyalty to the tenor of his life for forty years and
+more, ever since he married and founded that mysterious thing, a family,
+came this warning thought--None of his blood, no right to anything! It
+was a luxury then, this notion. An extravagance, a petting of an old
+man's whim, one of those things done in dotage. His real future was
+vested in those who had his blood, in whom he would live on when he
+was gone. He turned away from the bronzes and stood looking at the old
+leather chair in which he had sat and smoked so many hundreds of cigars.
+And suddenly he seemed to see her sitting there in her grey dress,
+fragrant, soft, dark-eyed, graceful, looking up at him. Why! She cared
+nothing for him, really; all she cared for was that lost lover of hers.
+But she was there, whether she would or no, giving him pleasure with her
+beauty and grace. One had no right to inflict an old man's company, no
+right to ask her down to play to him and let him look at her--for no
+reward! Pleasure must be paid for in this world. 'How much?' After all,
+there was plenty; his son and his three grandchildren would never miss
+that little lump. He had made it himself, nearly every penny; he could
+leave it where he liked, allow himself this little pleasure. He went
+back to the bureau. 'Well, I'm going to,' he thought, 'let them think
+what they like. I'm going to!' And he sat down.
+
+'.ow much?' Ten thousand, twenty thousand--how much? If only with his
+money he could buy one year, one month of youth. And startled by that
+thought, he wrote quickly:
+
+'.EAR HERRING,--Draw me a codicil to this effect: “I leave to my niece
+Irene Forsyte, born Irene Heron, by which name she now goes, fifteen
+thousand pounds free of legacy duty.” 'Yours faithfully, 'JOLYON
+FORSYTE.'
+
+When he had sealed and stamped the envelope, he went back to the window
+and drew in a long breath. It was dark, but many stars shone now.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+He woke at half-past two, an hour which long experience had taught him
+brings panic intensity to all awkward thoughts. Experience had also
+taught him that a further waking at the proper hour of eight showed
+the folly of such panic. On this particular morning the thought which
+gathered rapid momentum was that if he became ill, at his age not
+improbable, he would not see her. From this it was but a step to
+realisation that he would be cut off, too, when his son and June
+returned from Spain. How could he justify desire for the company of one
+who had stolen--early morning does not mince words--June's lover? That
+lover was dead; but June was a stubborn little thing; warm-hearted, but
+stubborn as wood, and--quite true--not one who forgot! By the middle of
+next month they would be back. He had barely five weeks left to enjoy
+the new interest which had come into what remained of his life. Darkness
+showed up to him absurdly clear the nature of his feeling. Admiration
+for beauty--a craving to see that which delighted his eyes.
+
+Preposterous, at his age! And yet--what other reason was there for
+asking June to undergo such painful reminder, and how prevent his son
+and his son's wife from thinking him very queer? He would be reduced
+to sneaking up to London, which tired him; and the least indisposition
+would cut him off even from that. He lay with eyes open, setting his jaw
+against the prospect, and calling himself an old fool, while his heart
+beat loudly, and then seemed to stop beating altogether. He had seen the
+dawn lighting the window chinks, heard the birds chirp and twitter, and
+the cocks crow, before he fell asleep again, and awoke tired but sane.
+Five weeks before he need bother, at his age an eternity! But that early
+morning panic had left its mark, had slightly fevered the will of one
+who had always had his own way. He would see her as often as he wished!
+Why not go up to town and make that codicil at his solicitor's instead
+of writing about it; she might like to go to the opera! But, by train,
+for he would not have that fat chap Beacon grinning behind his back.
+Servants were such fools; and, as likely as not, they had known all the
+past history of Irene and young Bosinney--servants knew everything, and
+suspected the rest. He wrote to her that morning:
+
+“MY DEAR IRENE,--I have to be up in town to-morrow. If you would like to
+have a look in at the opera, come and dine with me quietly ....”
+
+But where? It was decades since he had dined anywhere in London save
+at his Club or at a private house. Ah! that new-fangled place close to
+Covent Garden....
+
+
+“Let me have a line to-morrow morning to the Piedmont Hotel whether to
+expect you there at 7 o'clock.”
+
+“Yours affectionately,
+
+“JOLYON FORSYTE.”
+
+
+She would understand that he just wanted to give her a little pleasure;
+for the idea that she should guess he had this itch to see her was
+instinctively unpleasant to him; it was not seemly that one so old
+should go out of his way to see beauty, especially in a woman.
+
+The journey next day, short though it was, and the visit to his
+lawyer's, tired him. It was hot too, and after dressing for dinner he
+lay down on the sofa in his bedroom to rest a little. He must have had
+a sort of fainting fit, for he came to himself feeling very queer; and
+with some difficulty rose and rang the bell. Why! it was past seven! And
+there he was and she would be waiting. But suddenly the dizziness came
+on again, and he was obliged to relapse on the sofa. He heard the maid's
+voice say:
+
+“Did you ring, sir?”
+
+“Yes, come here”; he could not see her clearly, for the cloud in front
+of his eyes. “I'm not well, I want some sal volatile.”
+
+“Yes, sir.” Her voice sounded frightened.
+
+Old Jolyon made an effort.
+
+“Don't go. Take this message to my niece--a lady waiting in the hall--a
+lady in grey. Say Mr. Forsyte is not well--the heat. He is very sorry;
+if he is not down directly, she is not to wait dinner.”
+
+When she was gone, he thought feebly: 'Why did I say a lady in grey--she
+may be in anything. Sal volatile!' He did not go off again, yet was not
+conscious of how Irene came to be standing beside him, holding smelling
+salts to his nose, and pushing a pillow up behind his head. He heard her
+say anxiously: “Dear Uncle Jolyon, what is it?” was dimly conscious of
+the soft pressure of her lips on his hand; then drew a long breath of
+smelling salts, suddenly discovered strength in them, and sneezed.
+
+“Ha!” he said, “it's nothing. How did you get here? Go down and
+dine--the tickets are on the dressing-table. I shall be all right in a
+minute.”
+
+He felt her cool hand on his forehead, smelled violets, and sat divided
+between a sort of pleasure and a determination to be all right.
+
+“Why! You are in grey!” he said. “Help me up.” Once on his feet he gave
+himself a shake.
+
+“What business had I to go off like that!” And he moved very slowly to
+the glass. What a cadaverous chap! Her voice, behind him, murmured:
+
+“You mustn't come down, Uncle; you must rest.”
+
+“Fiddlesticks! A glass of champagne'll soon set me to rights. I can't
+have you missing the opera.”
+
+But the journey down the corridor was troublesome. What carpets they
+had in these newfangled places, so thick that you tripped up in them at
+every step! In the lift he noticed how concerned she looked, and said
+with the ghost of a twinkle:
+
+“I'm a pretty host.”
+
+When the lift stopped he had to hold firmly to the seat to prevent its
+slipping under him; but after soup and a glass of champagne he felt
+much better, and began to enjoy an infirmity which had brought such
+solicitude into her manner towards him.
+
+“I should have liked you for a daughter,” he said suddenly; and watching
+the smile in her eyes, went on:
+
+“You mustn't get wrapped up in the past at your time of life; plenty of
+that when you get to my age. That's a nice dress--I like the style.”
+
+“I made it myself.”
+
+Ah! A woman who could make herself a pretty frock had not lost her
+interest in life.
+
+“Make hay while the sun shines,” he said; “and drink that up. I want to
+see some colour in your cheeks. We mustn't waste life; it doesn't do.
+There's a new Marguerite to-night; let's hope she won't be fat. And
+Mephisto--anything more dreadful than a fat chap playing the Devil I
+can't imagine.”
+
+But they did not go to the opera after all, for in getting up from
+dinner the dizziness came over him again, and she insisted on his
+staying quiet and going to bed early. When he parted from her at the
+door of the hotel, having paid the cabman to drive her to Chelsea, he
+sat down again for a moment to enjoy the memory of her words: “You are
+such a darling to me, Uncle Jolyon!” Why! Who wouldn't be! He would
+have liked to stay up another day and take her to the Zoo, but two
+days running of him would bore her to death. No, he must wait till next
+Sunday; she had promised to come then. They would settle those lessons
+for Holly, if only for a month. It would be something. That little
+Mam'zelle Beauce wouldn't like it, but she would have to lump it. And
+crushing his old opera hat against his chest he sought the lift.
+
+He drove to Waterloo next morning, struggling with a desire to say:
+'.rive me to Chelsea.' But his sense of proportion was too strong.
+Besides, he still felt shaky, and did not want to risk another
+aberration like that of last night, away from home. Holly, too, was
+expecting him, and what he had in his bag for her. Not that there was
+any cupboard love in his little sweet--she was a bundle of affection.
+Then, with the rather bitter cynicism of the old, he wondered for a
+second whether it was not cupboard love which made Irene put up with
+him. No, she was not that sort either. She had, if anything, too little
+notion of how to butter her bread, no sense of property, poor thing!
+Besides, he had not breathed a word about that codicil, nor should
+he--sufficient unto the day was the good thereof.
+
+In the victoria which met him at the station Holly was restraining the
+dog Balthasar, and their caresses made 'jubey' his drive home. All
+the rest of that fine hot day and most of the next he was content and
+peaceful, reposing in the shade, while the long lingering sunshine
+showered gold on the lawns and the flowers. But on Thursday evening at
+his lonely dinner he began to count the hours; sixty-five till he would
+go down to meet her again in the little coppice, and walk up through
+the fields at her side. He had intended to consult the doctor about
+his fainting fit, but the fellow would be sure to insist on quiet, no
+excitement and all that; and he did not mean to be tied by the leg, did
+not want to be told of an infirmity--if there were one, could not afford
+to hear of it at his time of life, now that this new interest had come.
+And he carefully avoided making any mention of it in a letter to his
+son. It would only bring them back with a run! How far this silence was
+due to consideration for their pleasure, how far to regard for his own,
+he did not pause to consider.
+
+That night in his study he had just finished his cigar and was dozing
+off, when he heard the rustle of a gown, and was conscious of a scent of
+violets. Opening his eyes he saw her, dressed in grey, standing by the
+fireplace, holding out her arms. The odd thing was that, though those
+arms seemed to hold nothing, they were curved as if round someone's
+neck, and her own neck was bent back, her lips open, her eyes closed.
+She vanished at once, and there were the mantelpiece and his bronzes.
+But those bronzes and the mantelpiece had not been there when she was,
+only the fireplace and the wall! Shaken and troubled, he got up. 'I must
+take medicine,' he thought; 'I can't be well.' His heart beat too fast,
+he had an asthmatic feeling in the chest; and going to the window, he
+opened it to get some air. A dog was barking far away, one of the dogs
+at Gage's farm no doubt, beyond the coppice. A beautiful still night,
+but dark. 'I dropped off,' he mused, 'that's it! And yet I'll swear my
+eyes were open!' A sound like a sigh seemed to answer.
+
+“What's that?” he said sharply, “who's there?”
+
+Putting his hand to his side to still the beating of his heart, he
+stepped out on the terrace. Something soft scurried by in the dark.
+“Shoo!” It was that great grey cat. 'Young Bosinney was like a great
+cat!' he thought. 'It was him in there, that she--that she was--He's got
+her still!' He walked to the edge of the terrace, and looked down into
+the darkness; he could just see the powdering of the daisies on the
+unmown lawn. Here to-day and gone to-morrow! And there came the moon,
+who saw all, young and old, alive and dead, and didn't care a dump! His
+own turn soon. For a single day of youth he would give what was left!
+And he turned again towards the house. He could see the windows of the
+night nursery up there. His little sweet would be asleep. 'Hope that
+dog won't wake her!' he thought. 'What is it makes us love, and makes us
+die! I must go to bed.'
+
+And across the terrace stones, growing grey in the moonlight, he passed
+back within.
+
+How should an old man live his days if not in dreaming of his well-spent
+past? In that, at all events, there is no agitating warmth, only pale
+winter sunshine. The shell can withstand the gentle beating of the
+dynamos of memory. The present he should distrust; the future shun. From
+beneath thick shade he should watch the sunlight creeping at his toes.
+If there be sun of summer, let him not go out into it, mistaking it
+for the Indian-summer sun! Thus peradventure he shall decline softly,
+slowly, imperceptibly, until impatient Nature clutches his wind-pipe and
+he gasps away to death some early morning before the world is aired,
+and they put on his tombstone: 'In the fulness of years!' yea! If he
+preserve his principles in perfect order, a Forsyte may live on long
+after he is dead.
+
+Old Jolyon was conscious of all this, and yet there was in him that
+which transcended Forsyteism. For it is written that a Forsyte shall not
+love beauty more than reason; nor his own way more than his own health.
+And something beat within him in these days that with each throb fretted
+at the thinning shell. His sagacity knew this, but it knew too that he
+could not stop that beating, nor would if he could. And yet, if you had
+told him he was living on his capital, he would have stared you
+down. No, no; a man did not live on his capital; it was not done! The
+shibboleths of the past are ever more real than the actualities of
+the present. And he, to whom living on one's capital had always been
+anathema, could not have borne to have applied so gross a phrase to his
+own case. Pleasure is healthful; beauty good to see; to live again in
+the youth of the young--and what else on earth was he doing!
+
+Methodically, as had been the way of his whole life, he now arranged his
+time. On Tuesdays he journeyed up to town by train; Irene came and dined
+with him. And they went to the opera. On Thursdays he drove to town,
+and, putting that fat chap and his horses up, met her in Kensington
+Gardens, picking up the carriage after he had left her, and driving home
+again in time for dinner. He threw out the casual formula that he had
+business in London on those two days. On Wednesdays and Saturdays she
+came down to give Holly music lessons. The greater the pleasure he
+took in her society, the more scrupulously fastidious he became, just a
+matter-of-fact and friendly uncle. Not even in feeling, really, was he
+more--for, after all, there was his age. And yet, if she were late he
+fidgeted himself to death. If she missed coming, which happened twice,
+his eyes grew sad as an old dog's, and he failed to sleep.
+
+And so a month went by--a month of summer in the fields, and in his
+heart, with summer's heat and the fatigue thereof. Who could have
+believed a few weeks back that he would have looked forward to his son's
+and his grand-daughter's return with something like dread! There was
+such a delicious freedom, such recovery of that independence a man
+enjoys before he founds a family, about these weeks of lovely weather,
+and this new companionship with one who demanded nothing, and remained
+always a little unknown, retaining the fascination of mystery. It was
+like a draught of wine to him who has been drinking water for so long
+that he has almost forgotten the stir wine brings to his blood, the
+narcotic to his brain. The flowers were coloured brighter, scents and
+music and the sunlight had a living value--were no longer mere reminders
+of past enjoyment. There was something now to live for which stirred him
+continually to anticipation. He lived in that, not in retrospection;
+the difference is considerable to any so old as he. The pleasures of the
+table, never of much consequence to one naturally abstemious, had lost
+all value. He ate little, without knowing what he ate; and every day
+grew thinner and more worn to look at. He was again a 'threadpaper'. and
+to this thinned form his massive forehead, with hollows at the temples,
+gave more dignity than ever. He was very well aware that he ought to see
+the doctor, but liberty was too sweet. He could not afford to pet his
+frequent shortness of breath and the pain in his side at the expense
+of liberty. Return to the vegetable existence he had led among the
+agricultural journals with the life-size mangold wurzels, before this
+new attraction came into his life--no! He exceeded his allowance of
+cigars. Two a day had always been his rule. Now he smoked three and
+sometimes four--a man will when he is filled with the creative spirit.
+But very often he thought: 'I must give up smoking, and coffee; I must
+give up rattling up to town.' But he did not; there was no one in any
+sort of authority to notice him, and this was a priceless boon.
+
+The servants perhaps wondered, but they were, naturally, dumb. Mam'zelle
+Beauce was too concerned with her own digestion, and too 'wellbrrred'
+to make personal allusions. Holly had not as yet an eye for the relative
+appearance of him who was her plaything and her god. It was left for
+Irene herself to beg him to eat more, to rest in the hot part of the
+day, to take a tonic, and so forth. But she did not tell him that she
+was the a cause of his thinness--for one cannot see the havoc oneself
+is working. A man of eighty-five has no passions, but the Beauty which
+produces passion works on in the old way, till death closes the eyes
+which crave the sight of Her.
+
+On the first day of the second week in July he received a letter from
+his son in Paris to say that they would all be back on Friday. This had
+always been more sure than Fate; but, with the pathetic improvidence
+given to the old, that they may endure to the end, he had never quite
+admitted it. Now he did, and something would have to be done. He had
+ceased to be able to imagine life without this new interest, but that
+which is not imagined sometimes exists, as Forsytes are perpetually
+finding to their cost. He sat in his old leather chair, doubling up the
+letter, and mumbling with his lips the end of an unlighted cigar. After
+to-morrow his Tuesday expeditions to town would have to be abandoned. He
+could still drive up, perhaps, once a week, on the pretext of seeing his
+man of business. But even that would be dependent on his health, for now
+they would begin to fuss about him. The lessons! The lessons must go on!
+She must swallow down her scruples, and June must put her feelings
+in her pocket. She had done so once, on the day after the news of
+Bosinney's death; what she had done then, she could surely do again now.
+Four years since that injury was inflicted on her--not Christian to
+keep the memory of old sores alive. June's will was strong, but his was
+stronger, for his sands were running out. Irene was soft, surely she
+would do this for him, subdue her natural shrinking, sooner than give
+him pain! The lessons must continue; for if they did, he was secure. And
+lighting his cigar at last, he began trying to shape out how to put it
+to them all, and explain this strange intimacy; how to veil and wrap it
+away from the naked truth--that he could not bear to be deprived of
+the sight of beauty. Ah! Holly! Holly was fond of her, Holly liked
+her lessons. She would save him--his little sweet! And with that happy
+thought he became serene, and wondered what he had been worrying about
+so fearfully. He must not worry, it left him always curiously weak, and
+as if but half present in his own body.
+
+That evening after dinner he had a return of the dizziness, though he
+did not faint. He would not ring the bell, because he knew it would mean
+a fuss, and make his going up on the morrow more conspicuous. When one
+grew old, the whole world was in conspiracy to limit freedom, and for
+what reason?--just to keep the breath in him a little longer. He did
+not want it at such cost. Only the dog Balthasar saw his lonely recovery
+from that weakness; anxiously watched his master go to the sideboard
+and drink some brandy, instead of giving him a biscuit. When at last
+old Jolyon felt able to tackle the stairs he went up to bed. And, though
+still shaky next morning, the thought of the evening sustained and
+strengthened him. It was always such a pleasure to give her a good
+dinner--he suspected her of undereating when she was alone; and, at the
+opera to watch her eyes glow and brighten, the unconscious smiling of
+her lips. She hadn't much pleasure, and this was the last time he would
+be able to give her that treat. But when he was packing his bag he
+caught himself wishing that he had not the fatigue of dressing for
+dinner before him, and the exertion, too, of telling her about June's
+return.
+
+The opera that evening was 'Carmen,' and he chose the last entr'acte to
+break the news, instinctively putting it off till the latest moment.
+
+She took it quietly, queerly; in fact, he did not know how she had
+taken it before the wayward music lifted up again and silence became
+necessary. The mask was down over her face, that mask behind which so
+much went on that he could not see. She wanted time to think it over,
+no doubt! He would not press her, for she would be coming to give her
+lesson to-morrow afternoon, and he should see her then when she had got
+used to the idea. In the cab he talked only of the Carmen; he had seen
+better in the old days, but this one was not bad at all. When he took
+her hand to say good-night, she bent quickly forward and kissed his
+forehead.
+
+“Good-bye, dear Uncle Jolyon, you have been so sweet to me.”
+
+“To-morrow then,” he said. “Good-night. Sleep well.” She echoed softly:
+“Sleep well” and from the cab window, already moving away, he saw her
+face screwed round towards him, and her hand put out in a gesture which
+seemed to linger.
+
+He sought his room slowly. They never gave him the same, and he could
+not get used to these 'spick-and-spandy' bedrooms with new furniture and
+grey-green carpets sprinkled all over with pink roses. He was wakeful
+and that wretched Habanera kept throbbing in his head.
+
+His French had never been equal to its words, but its sense he knew, if
+it had any sense, a gipsy thing--wild and unaccountable. Well, there was
+in life something which upset all your care and plans--something which
+made men and women dance to its pipes. And he lay staring from deep-sunk
+eyes into the darkness where the unaccountable held sway. You thought
+you had hold of life, but it slipped away behind you, took you by the
+scruff of the neck, forced you here and forced you there, and then,
+likely as not, squeezed life out of you! It took the very stars like
+that, he shouldn't wonder, rubbed their noses together and flung them
+apart; it had never done playing its pranks. Five million people in
+this great blunderbuss of a town, and all of them at the mercy of that
+Life-Force, like a lot of little dried peas hopping about on a board
+when you struck your fist on it. Ah, well! Himself would not hop much
+longer--a good long sleep would do him good!
+
+How hot it was up here!--how noisy! His forehead burned; she had kissed
+it just where he always worried; just there--as if she had known the
+very place and wanted to kiss it all away for him. But, instead, her
+lips left a patch of grievous uneasiness. She had never spoken in quite
+that voice, had never before made that lingering gesture or looked back
+at him as she drove away.
+
+He got out of bed and pulled the curtains aside; his room faced down
+over the river. There was little air, but the sight of that breadth
+of water flowing by, calm, eternal, soothed him. 'The great thing,'
+he thought 'is not to make myself a nuisance. I'll think of my little
+sweet, and go to sleep.' But it was long before the heat and throbbing
+of the London night died out into the short slumber of the summer
+morning. And old Jolyon had but forty winks.
+
+When he reached home next day he went out to the flower garden, and with
+the help of Holly, who was very delicate with flowers, gathered a great
+bunch of carnations. They were, he told her, for 'the lady in grey'--a
+name still bandied between them; and he put them in a bowl in his study
+where he meant to tackle Irene the moment she came, on the subject of
+June and future lessons. Their fragrance and colour would help. After
+lunch he lay down, for he felt very tired, and the carriage would not
+bring her from the station till four o'clock. But as the hour approached
+he grew restless, and sought the schoolroom, which overlooked the drive.
+The sun-blinds were down, and Holly was there with Mademoiselle Beauce,
+sheltered from the heat of a stifling July day, attending to their
+silkworms. Old Jolyon had a natural antipathy to these methodical
+creatures, whose heads and colour reminded him of elephants; who nibbled
+such quantities of holes in nice green leaves; and smelled, as he
+thought, horrid. He sat down on a chintz-covered windowseat whence he
+could see the drive, and get what air there was; and the dog Balthasar
+who appreciated chintz on hot days, jumped up beside him. Over the
+cottage piano a violet dust-sheet, faded almost to grey, was spread, and
+on it the first lavender, whose scent filled the room. In spite of
+the coolness here, perhaps because of that coolness the beat of life
+vehemently impressed his ebbed-down senses. Each sunbeam which came
+through the chinks had annoying brilliance; that dog smelled very
+strong; the lavender perfume was overpowering; those silkworms heaving
+up their grey-green backs seemed horribly alive; and Holly's dark head
+bent over them had a wonderfully silky sheen. A marvellous cruelly
+strong thing was life when you were old and weak; it seemed to mock you
+with its multitude of forms and its beating vitality. He had never, till
+those last few weeks, had this curious feeling of being with one half of
+him eagerly borne along in the stream of life, and with the other half
+left on the bank, watching that helpless progress. Only when Irene was
+with him did he lose this double consciousness.
+
+Holly turned her head, pointed with her little brown fist to the
+piano--for to point with a finger was not 'well-brrred'--and said slyly:
+
+“Look at the 'lady in grey,' Gran; isn't she pretty to-day?”
+
+Old Jolyon's heart gave a flutter, and for a second the room was
+clouded; then it cleared, and he said with a twinkle:
+
+“Who's been dressing her up?”
+
+“Mam'zelle.”
+
+“Hollee! Don't be foolish!”
+
+That prim little Frenchwoman! She hadn't yet got over the music lessons
+being taken away from her. That wouldn't help. His little sweet was
+the only friend they had. Well, they were her lessons. And he shouldn't
+budge shouldn't budge for anything. He stroked the warm wool on
+Balthasar's head, and heard Holly say: “When mother's home, there won't
+be any changes, will there? She doesn't like strangers, you know.”
+
+The child's words seemed to bring the chilly atmosphere of opposition
+about old Jolyon, and disclose all the menace to his new-found freedom.
+Ah! He would have to resign himself to being an old man at the mercy of
+care and love, or fight to keep this new and prized companionship;
+and to fight tired him to death. But his thin, worn face hardened into
+resolution till it appeared all Jaw. This was his house, and his affair;
+he should not budge! He looked at his watch, old and thin like himself;
+he had owned it fifty years. Past four already! And kissing the top of
+Holly's head in passing, he went down to the hall. He wanted to get
+hold of her before she went up to give her lesson. At the first sound of
+wheels he stepped out into the porch, and saw at once that the victoria
+was empty.
+
+“The train's in, sir; but the lady 'asn't come.”
+
+Old Jolyon gave him a sharp upward look, his eyes seemed to push away
+that fat chap's curiosity, and defy him to see the bitter disappointment
+he was feeling.
+
+“Very well,” he said, and turned back into the house. He went to his
+study and sat down, quivering like a leaf. What did this mean? She might
+have lost her train, but he knew well enough she hadn't. 'Good-bye, dear
+Uncle Jolyon.' Why 'Good-bye' and not 'Good-night'. And that hand of
+hers lingering in the air. And her kiss. What did it mean? Vehement
+alarm and irritation took possession of him. He got up and began to pace
+the Turkey carpet, between window and wall. She was going to give him
+up! He felt it for certain--and he defenceless. An old man wanting to
+look on beauty! It was ridiculous! Age closed his mouth, paralysed his
+power to fight. He had no right to what was warm and living, no right to
+anything but memories and sorrow. He could not plead with her; even
+an old man has his dignity. Defenceless! For an hour, lost to bodily
+fatigue, he paced up and down, past the bowl of carnations he had
+plucked, which mocked him with its scent. Of all things hard to bear,
+the prostration of will-power is hardest, for one who has always had his
+way. Nature had got him in its net, and like an unhappy fish he turned
+and swam at the meshes, here and there, found no hole, no breaking
+point. They brought him tea at five o'clock, and a letter. For a moment
+hope beat up in him. He cut the envelope with the butter knife, and
+read:
+
+“DEAREST UNCLE JOLYON,--I can't bear to write anything that may
+disappoint you, but I was too cowardly to tell you last night. I feel I
+can't come down and give Holly any more lessons, now that June is coming
+back. Some things go too deep to be forgotten. It has been such a joy to
+see you and Holly. Perhaps I shall still see you sometimes when you
+come up, though I'm sure it's not good for you; I can see you are tiring
+yourself too much. I believe you ought to rest quite quietly all this
+hot weather, and now you have your son and June coming back you will be
+so happy. Thank you a million times for all your sweetness to me.
+
+“Lovingly your IRENE.”
+
+So, there it was! Not good for him to have pleasure and what he chiefly
+cared about; to try and put off feeling the inevitable end of all
+things, the approach of death with its stealthy, rustling footsteps.
+Not good for him! Not even she could see how she was his new lease of
+interest in life, the incarnation of all the beauty he felt slipping
+from him.
+
+His tea grew cold, his cigar remained unlit; and up and down he paced,
+torn between his dignity and his hold on life. Intolerable to be
+squeezed out slowly, without a say of your own, to live on when your
+will was in the hands of others bent on weighing you to the ground with
+care and love. Intolerable! He would see what telling her the truth
+would do--the truth that he wanted the sight of her more than just a
+lingering on. He sat down at his old bureau and took a pen. But he could
+not write. There was something revolting in having to plead like this;
+plead that she should warm his eyes with her beauty. It was tantamount
+to confessing dotage. He simply could not. And instead, he wrote:
+
+
+“I had hoped that the memory of old sores would not be allowed to
+stand in the way of what is a pleasure and a profit to me and my little
+grand-daughter. But old men learn to forego their whims; they are
+obliged to, even the whim to live must be foregone sooner or later; and
+perhaps the sooner the better.
+
+“My love to you,
+
+“JOLYON FORSYTE.”
+
+
+'.itter,' he thought, 'but I can't help it. I'm tired.' He sealed and
+dropped it into the box for the evening post, and hearing it fall to the
+bottom, thought: 'There goes all I've looked forward to!'
+
+That evening after dinner which he scarcely touched, after his cigar
+which he left half-smoked for it made him feel faint, he went very
+slowly upstairs and stole into the night-nursery. He sat down on the
+window-seat. A night-light was burning, and he could just see Holly's
+face, with one hand underneath the cheek. An early cockchafer buzzed in
+the Japanese paper with which they had filled the grate, and one of the
+horses in the stable stamped restlessly. To sleep like that child! He
+pressed apart two rungs of the venetian blind and looked out. The moon
+was rising, blood-red. He had never seen so red a moon. The woods and
+fields out there were dropping to sleep too, in the last glimmer of the
+summer light. And beauty, like a spirit, walked. 'I've had a long life,'
+he thought, 'the best of nearly everything. I'm an ungrateful chap; I've
+seen a lot of beauty in my time. Poor young Bosinney said I had a sense
+of beauty. There's a man in the moon to-night!' A moth went by, another,
+another. 'Ladies in grey!' He closed his eyes. A feeling that he would
+never open them again beset him; he let it grow, let himself sink; then,
+with a shiver, dragged the lids up. There was something wrong with him,
+no doubt, deeply wrong; he would have to have the doctor after all.
+It didn't much matter now! Into that coppice the moon-light would have
+crept; there would be shadows, and those shadows would be the
+only things awake. No birds, beasts, flowers, insects; Just the
+shadows--moving; 'Ladies in grey!' Over that log they would climb; would
+whisper together. She and Bosinney! Funny thought! And the frogs and
+little things would whisper too! How the clock ticked, in here! It was
+all eerie--out there in the light of that red moon; in here with
+the little steady night-light and, the ticking clock and the nurse's
+dressing-gown hanging from the edge of the screen, tall, like a woman's
+figure. 'Lady in grey!' And a very odd thought beset him: Did she exist?
+Had she ever come at all? Or was she but the emanation of all the beauty
+he had loved and must leave so soon? The violet-grey spirit with the
+dark eyes and the crown of amber hair, who walks the dawn and the
+moonlight, and at blue-bell time? What was she, who was she, did she
+exist? He rose and stood a moment clutching the window-sill, to give
+him a sense of reality again; then began tiptoeing towards the door. He
+stopped at the foot of the bed; and Holly, as if conscious of his eyes
+fixed on her, stirred, sighed, and curled up closer in defence. He
+tiptoed on and passed out into the dark passage; reached his room,
+undressed at once, and stood before a mirror in his night-shirt. What a
+scarecrow--with temples fallen in, and thin legs! His eyes resisted his
+own image, and a look of pride came on his face. All was in league
+to pull him down, even his reflection in the glass, but he was not
+down--yet! He got into bed, and lay a long time without sleeping,
+trying to reach resignation, only too well aware that fretting and
+disappointment were very bad for him.
+
+He woke in the morning so unrefreshed and strengthless that he sent for
+the doctor. After sounding him, the fellow pulled a face as long as your
+arm, and ordered him to stay in bed and give up smoking. That was no
+hardship; there was nothing to get up for, and when he felt ill,
+tobacco always lost its savour. He spent the morning languidly with the
+sun-blinds down, turning and re-turning The Times, not reading much, the
+dog Balthasar lying beside his bed. With his lunch they brought him a
+telegram, running thus:
+
+'.our letter received coming down this afternoon will be with you at
+four-thirty. Irene.'
+
+Coming down! After all! Then she did exist--and he was not deserted.
+Coming down! A glow ran through his limbs; his cheeks and forehead felt
+hot. He drank his soup, and pushed the tray-table away, lying very quiet
+until they had removed lunch and left him alone; but every now and then
+his eyes twinkled. Coming down! His heart beat fast, and then did
+not seem to beat at all. At three o'clock he got up and dressed
+deliberately, noiselessly. Holly and Mam'zelle would be in the
+schoolroom, and the servants asleep after their dinner, he shouldn't
+wonder. He opened his door cautiously, and went downstairs. In the hall
+the dog Balthasar lay solitary, and, followed by him, old Jolyon passed
+into his study and out into the burning afternoon. He meant to go down
+and meet her in the coppice, but felt at once he could not manage that
+in this heat. He sat down instead under the oak tree by the swing, and
+the dog Balthasar, who also felt the heat, lay down beside him. He sat
+there smiling. What a revel of bright minutes! What a hum of insects,
+and cooing of pigeons! It was the quintessence of a summer day. Lovely!
+And he was happy--happy as a sand-boy, whatever that might be. She
+was coming; she had not given him up! He had everything in life he
+wanted--except a little more breath, and less weight--just here! He
+would see her when she emerged from the fernery, come swaying just a
+little, a violet-grey figure passing over the daisies and dandelions and
+'.oldiers' on the lawn--the soldiers with their flowery crowns. He would
+not move, but she would come up to him and say: 'Dear Uncle Jolyon, I am
+sorry!' and sit in the swing and let him look at her and tell her that
+he had not been very well but was all right now; and that dog would lick
+her hand. That dog knew his master was fond of her; that dog was a good
+dog.
+
+It was quite shady under the tree; the sun could not get at him, only
+make the rest of the world bright so that he could see the Grand Stand
+at Epsom away out there, very far, and the cows cropping the clover in
+the field and swishing at the flies with their tails. He smelled the
+scent of limes, and lavender. Ah! that was why there was such a racket
+of bees. They were excited--busy, as his heart was busy and excited.
+Drowsy, too, drowsy and drugged on honey and happiness; as his heart was
+drugged and drowsy. Summer--summer--they seemed saying; great bees and
+little bees, and the flies too!
+
+The stable clock struck four; in half an hour she would be here. He
+would have just one tiny nap, because he had had so little sleep of
+late; and then he would be fresh for her, fresh for youth and beauty,
+coming towards him across the sunlit lawn--lady in grey! And settling
+back in his chair he closed his eyes. Some thistle-down came on what
+little air there was, and pitched on his moustache more white than
+itself. He did not know; but his breathing stirred it, caught there.
+A ray of sunlight struck through and lodged on his boot. A bumble-bee
+alighted and strolled on the crown of his Panama hat. And the delicious
+surge of slumber reached the brain beneath that hat, and the head swayed
+forward and rested on his breast. Summer--summer! So went the hum.
+
+The stable clock struck the quarter past. The dog Balthasar stretched
+and looked up at his master. The thistledown no longer moved. The dog
+placed his chin over the sunlit foot. It did not stir. The dog withdrew
+his chin quickly, rose, and leaped on old Jolyon's lap, looked in his
+face, whined; then, leaping down, sat on his haunches, gazing up. And
+suddenly he uttered a long, long howl.
+
+But the thistledown was still as death, and the face of his old master.
+
+Summer--summer--summer! The soundless footsteps on the grass!
+
+1917
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Five Tales, by John Galsworthy
+
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diff --git a/2684-0.zip b/2684-0.zip
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+<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?>
+
+<!DOCTYPE html
+   PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
+   "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" >
+
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en">
+  <head>
+    <title>
+      Five Tales, by John Galsworthy
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve">
+
+    body { margin:5%; background:#faebd7; text-align:justify}
+    P { text-indent: 2em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; }
+    H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; }
+    hr  { width: 50%; text-align: center;}
+    .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; }
+    blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;}
+    .mynote    {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;}
+    .toc       { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;}
+    .toc2      { margin-left: 20%;}
+    div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; }
+    .figleft   {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;}
+    .figright  {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;}
+    pre     { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;}
+
+</style>
+  </head>
+  <body>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Five Tales, by John Galsworthy
+
+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: Five Tales
+
+Author: John Galsworthy
+
+Release Date: June 14, 2006 [EBook #2684]
+Last Updated: February 18, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIVE TALES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <h1>
+      FIVE TALES
+    </h1>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      By John Galsworthy
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+<i>&ldquo;Life calls the tune, we dance.&rdquo;</i>
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <blockquote>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big>
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        <br />
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>THE FIRST AND LAST</b> </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> <b>A STOIC</b> </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> <b>THE APPLE TREE</b> </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> <b>THE JURYMAN</b> </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> <b>INDIAN SUMMER OF A FORSYTE</b> </a>
+      </p>
+    </blockquote>
+    <blockquote>
+      <p>
+        <i>INDIAN SUMMER OF A FORSYTE is also posted as Etext #2594 <br /> [In
+        the present 1919 edition of &ldquo;Five Tales&rdquo; the fifth tale was &ldquo;Indian
+        <br /> Summer of a Forsyte;&rdquo; in later collections, &ldquo;Indian Summer...&rdquo;
+         became <br /> the first section of the second volume of The Forsyte Saga]</i>
+        <br />
+      </p>
+    </blockquote>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      THE FIRST AND LAST
+    </h2>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+&ldquo;So the last shall be first, and the first last.&rdquo;&mdash;HOLY WRIT.
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      It was a dark room at that hour of six in the evening, when just the
+      single oil reading-lamp under its green shade let fall a dapple of light
+      over the Turkey carpet; over the covers of books taken out of the
+      bookshelves, and the open pages of the one selected; over the deep blue
+      and gold of the coffee service on the little old stool with its Oriental
+      embroidery. Very dark in the winter, with drawn curtains, many rows of
+      leather-bound volumes, oak-panelled walls and ceiling. So large, too, that
+      the lighted spot before the fire where he sat was just an oasis. But that
+      was what Keith Darrant liked, after his day's work&mdash;the hard early
+      morning study of his &ldquo;cases,&rdquo; the fret and strain of the day in court; it
+      was his rest, these two hours before dinner, with books, coffee, a pipe,
+      and sometimes a nap. In red Turkish slippers and his old brown velvet
+      coat, he was well suited to that framing of glow and darkness. A painter
+      would have seized avidly on his clear-cut, yellowish face, with its black
+      eyebrows twisting up over eyes&mdash;grey or brown, one could hardly tell,
+      and its dark grizzling hair still plentiful, in spite of those daily hours
+      of wig. He seldom thought of his work while he sat there, throwing off
+      with practised ease the strain of that long attention to the multiple
+      threads of argument and evidence to be disentangled&mdash;work profoundly
+      interesting, as a rule, to his clear intellect, trained to almost
+      instinctive rejection of all but the essential, to selection of what was
+      legally vital out of the mass of confused tactical and human detail
+      presented to his scrutiny; yet sometimes tedious and wearing. As for
+      instance to-day, when he had suspected his client of perjury, and was
+      almost convinced that he must throw up his brief. He had disliked the
+      weak-looking, white-faced fellow from the first, and his nervous, shifty
+      answers, his prominent startled eyes&mdash;a type too common in these days
+      of canting tolerations and weak humanitarianism; no good, no good!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of the three books he had taken down, a Volume of Voltaire&mdash;curious
+      fascination that Frenchman had, for all his destructive irony!&mdash;a
+      volume of Burton's travels, and Stevenson's &ldquo;New Arabian Nights,&rdquo; he had
+      pitched upon the last. He felt, that evening, the want of something
+      sedative, a desire to rest from thought of any kind. The court had been
+      crowded, stuffy; the air, as he walked home, soft, sou'-westerly, charged
+      with coming moisture, no quality of vigour in it; he felt relaxed, tired,
+      even nervy, and for once the loneliness of his house seemed strange and
+      comfortless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lowering the lamp, he turned his face towards the fire. Perhaps he would
+      get a sleep before that boring dinner at the Tellasson's. He wished it
+      were vacation, and Maisie back from school. A widower for many years, he
+      had lost the habit of a woman about him; yet to-night he had a positive
+      yearning for the society of his young daughter, with her quick ways, and
+      bright, dark eyes. Curious what perpetual need of a woman some men had!
+      His brother Laurence&mdash;wasted&mdash;all through women&mdash;atrophy of
+      willpower! A man on the edge of things; living from hand to mouth; his
+      gifts all down at heel! One would have thought the Scottish strain might
+      have saved him; and yet, when a Scotsman did begin to go downhill, who
+      could go faster? Curious that their mother's blood should have worked so
+      differently in her two sons. He himself had always felt he owed all his
+      success to it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His thoughts went off at a tangent to a certain issue troubling his legal
+      conscience. He had not wavered in the usual assumption of omniscience, but
+      he was by no means sure that he had given right advice. Well! Without that
+      power to decide and hold to decision in spite of misgiving, one would
+      never have been fit for one's position at the Bar, never have been fit for
+      anything. The longer he lived, the more certain he became of the prime
+      necessity of virile and decisive action in all the affairs of life. A word
+      and a blow&mdash;and the blow first! Doubts, hesitations, sentiment the
+      muling and puking of this twilight age&mdash;! And there welled up on his
+      handsome face a smile that was almost devilish&mdash;the tricks of
+      firelight are so many! It faded again in sheer drowsiness; he slept....
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He woke with a start, having a feeling of something out beyond the light,
+      and without turning his head said: &ldquo;What's that?&rdquo; There came a sound as if
+      somebody had caught his breath. He turned up the lamp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who's there?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A voice over by the door answered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Only I&mdash;Larry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Something in the tone, or perhaps just being startled out of sleep like
+      this, made him shiver. He said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was asleep. Come in!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was noticeable that he did not get up, or even turn his head, now that
+      he knew who it was, but waited, his half-closed eyes fixed on the fire,
+      for his brother to come forward. A visit from Laurence was not an unmixed
+      blessing. He could hear him breathing, and became conscious of a scent of
+      whisky. Why could not the fellow at least abstain when he was coming here!
+      It was so childish, so lacking in any sense of proportion or of decency!
+      And he said sharply:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Larry, what is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was always something. He often wondered at the strength of that sense
+      of trusteeship, which kept him still tolerant of the troubles, amenable to
+      the petitions of this brother of his; or was it just &ldquo;blood&rdquo; feeling, a
+      Highland sense of loyalty to kith and kin; an old-time quality which
+      judgment and half his instincts told him was weakness but which, in spite
+      of all, bound him to the distressful fellow? Was he drunk now, that he
+      kept lurking out there by the door? And he said less sharply:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why don't you come and sit down?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was coming now, avoiding the light, skirting along the walls just
+      beyond the radiance of the lamp, his feet and legs to the waist brightly
+      lighted, but his face disintegrated in shadow, like the face of a dark
+      ghost.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you ill, man?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Still no answer, save a shake of that head, and the passing up of a hand,
+      out of the light, to the ghostly forehead under the dishevelled hair. The
+      scent of whisky was stronger now; and Keith thought:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      'He really is drunk. Nice thing for the new butler to see! If he can't
+      behave&mdash;'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The figure against the wall heaved a sigh&mdash;so truly from an
+      overburdened heart that Keith was conscious with a certain dismay of not
+      having yet fathomed the cause of this uncanny silence. He got up, and,
+      back to the fire, said with a brutality born of nerves rather than design:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it, man? Have you committed a murder, that you stand there dumb
+      as a fish?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For a second no answer at all, not even of breathing; then, just the
+      whisper:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The sense of unreality which so helps one at moments of disaster enabled
+      Keith to say vigorously:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By Jove! You have been drinking!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But it passed at once into deadly apprehension.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean? Come here, where I can see you. What's the matter with
+      you, Larry?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With a sudden lurch and dive, his brother left the shelter of the shadow,
+      and sank into a chair in the circle of light. And another long, broken
+      sigh escaped him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's nothing the matter with me, Keith! It's true!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Keith stepped quickly forward, and stared down into his brother's face;
+      and instantly he saw that it was true. No one could have simulated the
+      look in those eyes&mdash;of horrified wonder, as if they would never again
+      get on terms with the face to which they belonged. To see them squeezed
+      the heart-only real misery could look like that. Then that sudden pity
+      became angry bewilderment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What in God's name is this nonsense?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But it was significant that he lowered his voice; went over to the door,
+      too, to see if it were shut. Laurence had drawn his chair forward,
+      huddling over the fire&mdash;a thin figure, a worn, high-cheekboned face
+      with deep-sunk blue eyes, and wavy hair all ruffled, a face that still had
+      a certain beauty. Putting a hand on that lean shoulder, Keith said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, Larry! Pull yourself together, and drop exaggeration.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's true; I tell you; I've killed a man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The noisy violence of that outburst acted like a douche. What was the
+      fellow about&mdash;shouting out such words! But suddenly Laurence lifted
+      his hands and wrung them. The gesture was so utterly painful that it drew
+      a quiver from Keith's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why did you come here,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and tell me this?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Larry's face was really unearthly sometimes, such strange gleams passed up
+      on to it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whom else should I tell? I came to know what I'm to do, Keith? Give
+      myself up, or what?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At that sudden introduction of the practical Keith felt his heart twitch.
+      Was it then as real as all that? But he said, very quietly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just tell me&mdash;How did it come about, this&mdash;affair?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That question linked the dark, gruesome, fantastic nightmare on to
+      actuality.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When did it happen?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Last night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In Larry's face there was&mdash;there had always been&mdash;something
+      childishly truthful. He would never stand a chance in court! And Keith
+      said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How? Where? You'd better tell me quietly from the beginning. Drink this
+      coffee; it'll clear your head.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Laurence took the little blue cup and drained it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It's like this, Keith. There's a girl I've known for some
+      months now&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Women! And Keith said between his teeth: &ldquo;Well?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Her father was a Pole who died over here when she was sixteen, and left
+      her all alone. A man called Walenn, a mongrel American, living in the same
+      house, married her, or pretended to&mdash;she's very pretty, Keith&mdash;he
+      left her with a baby six months old, and another coming. That one died,
+      and she did nearly. Then she starved till another fellow took her on. She
+      lived with him two years; then Walenn turned up again, and made her go
+      back to him. The brute used to beat her black and blue, all for nothing.
+      Then he left her again. When I met her she'd lost her elder child, too,
+      and was taking anybody who came along.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He suddenly looked up into Keith's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I've never met a sweeter woman, nor a truer, that I swear. Woman!
+      She's only twenty now! When I went to her last night, that brute&mdash;that
+      Walenn&mdash;had found her out again; and when he came for me, swaggering
+      and bullying&mdash;Look!&rdquo;&mdash;he touched a dark mark on his forehead&mdash;&ldquo;I
+      took his throat in my hands, and when I let go&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dead. I never knew till afterwards that she was hanging on to him
+      behind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again he made that gesture-wringing his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In a hard voice Keith said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did you do then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We sat by it a long time. Then I carried it on my back down the street,
+      round a corner to an archway.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How far?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About fifty yards.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Was anyone&mdash;did anyone see?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What time?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Three.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Went back to her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why&mdash;in Heaven's name?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She was lonely and afraid; so was I, Keith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where is this place?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Forty-two, Borrow Street, Soho.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And the archway?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Corner of Glove Lane.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good God! Why&mdash;I saw it in the paper!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And seizing the journal that lay on his bureau, Keith read again that
+      paragraph: &ldquo;The body of a man was found this morning under an archway in
+      Glove Lane, Soho. From marks about the throat grave suspicions of foul
+      play are entertained. The body had apparently been robbed, and nothing was
+      discovered leading to identification.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was real earnest, then. Murder! His own brother! He faced round and
+      said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You saw this in the paper, and dreamed it. Understand&mdash;you dreamed
+      it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The wistful answer came:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If only I had, Keith&mdash;if only I had!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In his turn, Keith very nearly wrung his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you take anything from the&mdash;body?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This dropped while we were struggling.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was an empty envelope with a South American post-mark addressed:
+      &ldquo;Patrick Walenn, Simon's Hotel, Farrier Street, London.&rdquo; Again with that
+      twitching in his heart, Keith said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Put it in the fire.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then suddenly he stooped to pluck it out. By that command&mdash;he had&mdash;identified
+      himself with this&mdash;this&mdash;But he did not pluck it out. It
+      blackened, writhed, and vanished. And once more he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What in God's name made you come here and tell me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know about these things. I didn't mean to kill him. I love the girl.
+      What shall I do, Keith?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Simple! How simple! To ask what he was to do! It was like Larry! And he
+      said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You were not seen, you think?&rdquo; &ldquo;It's a dark street. There was no one
+      about.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When did you leave this girl the second time?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About seven o'clock.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where did you go?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To my rooms.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In Fitzroy Street?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did anyone see you come in?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What have you done since?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sat there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not been out?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not seen the girl?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't know, then, what she's done since?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would she give you away?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would she give herself away&mdash;hysteria?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who knows of your relations with her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No one?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know who should, Keith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did anyone see you going in last night, when you first went to her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. She lives on the ground floor. I've got keys.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give them to me. What else have you that connects you with her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In your rooms?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No photographs. No letters?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Be careful.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No one saw you going back to her the second time?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No one saw you leave her in the morning?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You were fortunate. Sit down again, man. I must think.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Think! Think out this accursed thing&mdash;so beyond all thought, and all
+      belief. But he could not think. Not a coherent thought would come. And he
+      began again:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Was it his first reappearance with her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She told you so?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How did he find out where she was?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How drunk were you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was not drunk.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How much had you drunk?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About two bottles of claret&mdash;nothing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You say you didn't mean to kill him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No-God knows!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's something.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What made you choose the arch?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was the first dark place.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did his face look as if he had been strangled?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very disfigured?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you look to see if his clothes were marked?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not? My God! If you had done it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You say he was disfigured. Would he be recognisable?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When she lived with him last&mdash;where was that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know for certain. Pimlico, I think.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not Soho?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How long has she been at the Soho place?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nearly a year.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Always the same rooms?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is there anyone living in that house or street who would be likely to
+      know her as his wife?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't think so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What was he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should think he was a professional 'bully.'.rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see. Spending most of his time abroad, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know if he was known to the police?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I haven't heard of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, listen, Larry. When you leave here go straight home, and don't go
+      out till I come to you, to-morrow morning. Promise that!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I promise.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've got a dinner engagement. I'll think this out. Don't drink. Don't
+      talk! Pull yourself together.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't keep me longer than you can help, Keith!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That white face, those eyes, that shaking hand! With a twinge of pity in
+      the midst of all the turbulence of his revolt, and fear, and disgust Keith
+      put his hand on his brother's shoulder, and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Courage!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And suddenly he thought: 'My God! Courage! I shall want it all myself!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      II
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Laurence Darrant, leaving his brother's house in the Adelphi, walked
+      northwards, rapidly, slowly, rapidly again. For, if there are men who by
+      force of will do one thing only at a time, there are men who from lack of
+      will do now one thing, now another; with equal intensity. To such natures,
+      to be gripped by the Nemesis which attends the lack of self-control is no
+      reason for being more self-controlled. Rather does it foster their pet
+      feeling: &ldquo;What matter? To-morrow we die!&rdquo; The effort of will required to
+      go to Keith had relieved, exhausted and exasperated him. In accordance
+      with those three feelings was the progress of his walk. He started from
+      the door with the fixed resolve to go home and stay there quietly till
+      Keith came. He was in Keith's hands, Keith would know what was to be done.
+      But he had not gone three hundred yards before he felt so utterly weary,
+      body and soul, that if he had but had a pistol in his pocket he would have
+      shot himself in the street. Not even the thought of the girl&mdash;this
+      young unfortunate with her strange devotion, who had kept him straight
+      these last five months, who had roused in him a depth of feeling he had
+      never known before&mdash;would have availed against that sudden black
+      defection. Why go on&mdash;a waif at the mercy of his own nature, a straw
+      blown here and there by every gust which rose in him? Why not have done
+      with it for ever, and take it out in sleep?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was approaching the fatal street, where he and the girl, that early
+      morning, had spent the hours clutched together, trying in the refuge of
+      love to forget for a moment their horror and fear. Should he go in? He had
+      promised Keith not to. Why had he promised? He caught sight of himself in
+      a chemist's lighted window. Miserable, shadowy brute! And he remembered
+      suddenly a dog he had picked up once in the streets of Pera, a
+      black-and-white creature&mdash;different from the other dogs, not one of
+      their breed, a pariah of pariahs, who had strayed there somehow. He had
+      taken it home to the house where he was staying, contrary to all custom of
+      the country; had got fond of it; had shot it himself, sooner than leave it
+      behind again to the mercies of its own kind in the streets. Twelve years
+      ago! And those sleevelinks made of little Turkish coins he had brought
+      back for the girl at the hairdresser's in Chancery Lane where he used to
+      get shaved&mdash;pretty creature, like a wild rose. He had asked of her a
+      kiss for payment. What queer emotion when she put her face forward to his
+      lips&mdash;a sort of passionate tenderness and shame, at the softness and
+      warmth of that flushed cheek, at her beauty and trustful gratitude. She
+      would soon have given herself to him&mdash;that one! He had never gone
+      there again! And to this day he did not know why he had abstained; to this
+      day he did not know whether he were glad or sorry not to have plucked that
+      rose. He must surely have been very different then! Queer business, life&mdash;queer,
+      queer business!&mdash;to go through it never knowing what you would do
+      next. Ah! to be like Keith, steady, buttoned-up in success; a brass pot, a
+      pillar of society! Once, as a boy, he had been within an ace of killing
+      Keith, for sneering at him. Once in Southern Italy he had been near
+      killing a driver who was flogging his horse. And now, that dark-faced,
+      swinish bully who had ruined the girl he had grown to love&mdash;he had
+      done it! Killed him! Killed a man!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He who did not want to hurt a fly. The chemist's window comforted him with
+      the sudden thought that he had at home that which made him safe, in case
+      they should arrest him. He would never again go out without some of those
+      little white tablets sewn into the lining of his coat. Restful, even
+      exhilarating thought! They said a man should not take his own life. Let
+      them taste horror&mdash;those glib citizens! Let them live as that girl
+      had lived, as millions lived all the world over, under their canting
+      dogmas! A man might rather even take his life than watch their cursed
+      inhumanities.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He went into the chemist's for a bromide; and, while the man was mixing
+      it, stood resting one foot like a tired horse. The &ldquo;life&rdquo; he had squeezed
+      out of that fellow! After all, a billion living creatures gave up life
+      each day, had it squeezed out of them, mostly. And perhaps not one a day
+      deserved death so much as that loathly fellow. Life! a breath&mdash;aflame!
+      Nothing! Why, then, this icy clutching at his heart?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The chemist brought the draught.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not sleeping, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The man's eyes seemed to say: 'Yes! Burning the candle at both ends&mdash;I
+      know!' Odd life, a chemist's; pills and powders all day long, to hold the
+      machinery of men together! Devilish odd trade!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In going out he caught the reflection of his face in a mirror; it seemed
+      too good altogether for a man who had committed murder. There was a sort
+      of brightness underneath, an amiability lurking about its shadows; how&mdash;how
+      could it be the face of a man who had done what he had done? His head felt
+      lighter now, his feet lighter; he walked rapidly again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Curious feeling of relief and oppression all at once! Frightful&mdash;to
+      long for company, for talk, for distraction; and&mdash;to be afraid of it!
+      The girl&mdash;the girl and Keith were now the only persons who would not
+      give him that feeling of dread. And, of those two&mdash;Keith was not...!
+      Who could consort with one who was never wrong, a successful, righteous
+      fellow; a chap built so that he knew nothing about himself, wanted to know
+      nothing, a chap all solid actions? To be a quicksand swallowing up one's
+      own resolutions was bad enough! But to be like Keith&mdash;all willpower,
+      marching along, treading down his own feelings and weaknesses! No! One
+      could not make a comrade of a man like Keith, even if he were one's
+      brother? The only creature in all the world was the girl. She alone knew
+      and felt what he was feeling; would put up with him and love him whatever
+      he did, or was done to him. He stopped and took shelter in a doorway, to
+      light a cigarette. He had suddenly a fearful wish to pass the archway
+      where he had placed the body; a fearful wish that had no sense, no end in
+      view, no anything; just an insensate craving to see the dark place again.
+      He crossed Borrow Street to the little lane. There was only one person
+      visible, a man on the far side with his shoulders hunched against the
+      wind; a short, dark figure which crossed and came towards him in the
+      flickering lamplight. What a face! Yellow, ravaged, clothed almost to the
+      eyes in a stubbly greyish growth of beard, with blackish teeth, and
+      haunting bloodshot eyes. And what a figure of rags&mdash;one shoulder
+      higher than the other, one leg a little lame, and thin! A surge of feeling
+      came up in Laurence for this creature, more unfortunate than himself.
+      There were lower depths than his!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, brother,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you don't look too prosperous!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The smile which gleamed out on the man's face seemed as unlikely as a
+      smile on a scarecrow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Prosperity doesn't come my way,&rdquo; he said in a rusty voice. &ldquo;I'm a failure&mdash;always
+      been a failure. And yet you wouldn't think it, would you?&mdash;I was a
+      minister of religion once.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Laurence held out a shilling. But the man shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Keep your money,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I've got more than you to-day, I daresay. But
+      thank you for taking a little interest. That's worth more than money to a
+      man that's down.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; the rusty voice went on; &ldquo;I'd as soon die as go on living as I do.
+      And now I've lost my self-respect. Often wondered how long a starving man
+      could go without losing his self-respect. Not so very long. You take my
+      word for that.&rdquo; And without the slightest change in the monotony of that
+      creaking voice he added:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you read of the murder? Just here. I've been looking at the place.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The words: 'So have I!' leaped up to Laurence's lips; he choked them down
+      with a sort of terror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish you better luck,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Goodnight!&rdquo; and hurried away. A sort
+      of ghastly laughter was forcing its way up in his throat. Was everyone
+      talking of the murder he had committed? Even the very scarecrows?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      III
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      There are some natures so constituted that, due to be hung at ten o'clock,
+      they will play chess at eight. Such men invariably rise. They make
+      especially good bishops, editors, judges, impresarios, Prime ministers,
+      money-lenders, and generals; in fact, fill with exceptional credit any
+      position of power over their fellow-men. They have spiritual cold storage,
+      in which are preserved their nervous systems. In such men there is little
+      or none of that fluid sense and continuity of feeling known under those
+      vague terms, speculation, poetry, philosophy. Men of facts and of decision
+      switching imagination on and off at will, subordinating sentiment to
+      reason... one does not think of them when watching wind ripple over
+      cornfields, or swallows flying.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Keith Darrant had need for being of that breed during his dinner at the
+      Tellassons. It was just eleven when he issued from the big house in
+      Portland Place and refrained from taking a cab. He wanted to walk that he
+      might better think. What crude and wanton irony there was in his
+      situation! To have been made father-confessor to a murderer, he&mdash;well
+      on towards a judgeship! With his contempt for the kind of weakness which
+      landed men in such abysses, he felt it all so sordid, so &ldquo;impossible,&rdquo;
+       that he could hardly bring his mind to bear on it at all. And yet he must,
+      because of two powerful instincts&mdash;self-preservation and
+      blood-loyalty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The wind had still the sapping softness of the afternoon, but rain had
+      held off so far. It was warm, and he unbuttoned his fur overcoat. The
+      nature of his thoughts deepened the dark austerity of his face, whose
+      thin, well-cut lips were always pressing together, as if, by meeting, to
+      dispose of each thought as it came up. He moved along the crowded
+      pavements glumly. That air of festive conspiracy which drops with the
+      darkness on to lighted streets, galled him. He turned off on a darker
+      route.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This ghastly business! Convinced of its reality, he yet could not see it.
+      The thing existed in his mind, not as a picture, but as a piece of
+      irrefutable evidence. Larry had not meant to do it, of course. But it was
+      murder, all the same. Men like Larry&mdash;weak, impulsive, sentimental,
+      introspective creatures&mdash;did they ever mean what they did? This man,
+      this Walenn, was, by all accounts, better dead than alive; no need to
+      waste a thought on him! But, crime&mdash;the ugliness&mdash;Justice
+      unsatisfied! Crime concealed&mdash;and his own share in the concealment!
+      And yet&mdash;brother to brother! Surely no one could demand action from
+      him! It was only a question of what he was going to advise Larry to do. To
+      keep silent, and disappear? Had that a chance of success? Perhaps if the
+      answers to his questions had been correct. But this girl! Suppose the dead
+      man's relationship to her were ferreted out, could she be relied on not to
+      endanger Larry? These women were all the same, unstable as water,
+      emotional, shiftless pests of society. Then, too, a crime untracked,
+      dogging all his brother's after life; a secret following him wherever he
+      might vanish to; hanging over him, watching for some drunken moment, to
+      slip out of his lips. It was bad to think of. A clean breast of it? But
+      his heart twitched within him. &ldquo;Brother of Mr. Keith Darrant, the
+      well-known King's Counsel&rdquo;&mdash;visiting a woman of the town, strangling
+      with his bare hands the woman's husband! No intention to murder, but&mdash;a
+      dead man! A dead man carried out of the house, laid under a dark archway!
+      Provocation! Recommended to mercy&mdash;penal servitude for life! Was that
+      the advice he was going to give Larry to-morrow morning?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And he had a sudden vision of shaven men with clay-coloured features, run,
+      as it were, to seed, as he had seen them once in Pentonville, when he had
+      gone there to visit a prisoner. Larry! Whom, as a baby creature, he had
+      watched straddling; whom, as a little fellow, he had fagged; whom he had
+      seen through scrapes at college; to whom he had lent money time and again,
+      and time and again admonished in his courses. Larry! Five years younger
+      than himself; and committed to his charge by their mother when she died.
+      To become for life one of those men with faces like diseased plants; with
+      no hair but a bushy stubble; with arrows marked on their yellow clothes!
+      Larry! One of those men herded like sheep; at the beck and call of common
+      men! A gentleman, his own brother, to live that slave's life, to be
+      ordered here and there, year after year, day in, day out. Something
+      snapped within him. He could not give that advice. Impossible! But if not,
+      he must make sure of his ground, must verify, must know. This Glove Lane&mdash;this
+      arch way? It would not be far from where he was that very moment. He
+      looked for someone of whom to make enquiry. A policeman was standing at
+      the corner, his stolid face illumined by a lamp; capable and watchful&mdash;an
+      excellent officer, no doubt; but, turning his head away, Keith passed him
+      without a word. Strange to feel that cold, uneasy feeling in presence of
+      the law! A grim little driving home of what it all meant! Then, suddenly,
+      he saw that the turning to his left was Borrow Street itself. He walked up
+      one side, crossed over, and returned. He passed Number Forty-two, a small
+      house with business names printed on the lifeless windows of the first and
+      second floors; with dark curtained windows on the ground floor, or was
+      there just a slink of light in one corner? Which way had Larry turned?
+      Which way under that grisly burden? Fifty paces of this squalid
+      street-narrow, and dark, and empty, thank heaven! Glove Lane! Here it was!
+      A tiny runlet of a street. And here&mdash;! He had run right on to the
+      arch, a brick bridge connecting two portions of a warehouse, and dark
+      indeed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's right, gov'nor! That's the place!&rdquo; He needed all his self-control
+      to turn leisurely to the speaker. &ldquo;'Ere's where they found the body&mdash;very
+      spot leanin' up 'ere. They ain't got 'im yet. Lytest&mdash;me lord!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a ragged boy holding out a tattered yellowish journal. His lynx
+      eyes peered up from under lanky wisps of hair, and his voice had the
+      proprietary note of one making &ldquo;a corner&rdquo; in his news. Keith took the
+      paper and gave him twopence. He even found a sort of comfort in the young
+      ghoul's hanging about there; it meant that others besides himself had come
+      morbidly to look. By the dim lamplight he read: &ldquo;Glove Lane garrotting
+      mystery. Nothing has yet been discovered of the murdered man's identity;
+      from the cut of his clothes he is supposed to be a foreigner.&rdquo; The boy had
+      vanished, and Keith saw the figure of a policeman coming slowly down this
+      gutter of a street. A second's hesitation, and he stood firm. Nothing
+      obviously could have brought him here save this &ldquo;mystery,&rdquo; and he stayed
+      quietly staring at the arch. The policeman moved up abreast. Keith saw
+      that he was the one whom he had passed just now. He noted the cold
+      offensive question die out of the man's eyes when they caught the gleam of
+      white shirt-front under the opened fur collar. And holding up the paper,
+      he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is this where the man was found?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Still a mystery, I see?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, we can't always go by the papers. But I don't fancy they do know
+      much about it, yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dark spot. Do fellows sleep under here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The policeman nodded. &ldquo;There's not an arch in London where we don't get
+      'em sometimes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing found on him&mdash;I think I read?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not a copper. Pockets inside out. There's some funny characters about
+      this quarter. Greeks, Hitalians&mdash;all sorts.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Queer sensation this, of being glad of a policeman's confidential tone!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, good-night!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-night, sir. Good-night!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked back from Borrow Street. The policeman was still standing there
+      holding up his lantern, so that its light fell into the archway, as if
+      trying to read its secret.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now that he had seen this dark, deserted spot, the chances seemed to him
+      much better. &ldquo;Pockets inside out!&rdquo; Either Larry had had presence of mind
+      to do a very clever thing, or someone had been at the body before the
+      police found it. That was the more likely. A dead backwater of a place. At
+      three o'clock&mdash;loneliest of all hours&mdash;Larry's five minutes'
+      grim excursion to and fro might well have passed unseen! Now, it all
+      depended on the girl; on whether Laurence had been seen coming to her or
+      going away; on whether, if the man's relationship to her were discovered,
+      she could be relied on to say nothing. There was not a soul in Borrow
+      Street now; hardly even a lighted window; and he took one of those rather
+      desperate decisions only possible to men daily accustomed to the instant
+      taking of responsibility. He would go to her, and see for himself. He came
+      to the door of Forty-two, obviously one of those which are only shut at
+      night, and tried the larger key. It fitted, and he was in a gas-lighted
+      passage, with an oil-clothed floor, and a single door to his left. He
+      stood there undecided. She must be made to understand that he knew
+      everything. She must not be told more than that he was a friend of
+      Larry's. She must not be frightened, yet must be forced to give her very
+      soul away. A hostile witness&mdash;not to be treated as hostile&mdash;a
+      matter for delicate handling! But his knock was not answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Should he give up this nerve-racking, bizarre effort to come at a basis of
+      judgment; go away, and just tell Laurence that he could not advise him?
+      And then&mdash;what? Something must be done. He knocked again. Still no
+      answer. And with that impatience of being thwarted, natural to him, and
+      fostered to the full by the conditions of his life, he tried the other
+      key. It worked, and he opened the door. Inside all was dark, but a voice
+      from some way off, with a sort of breathless relief in its foreign tones,
+      said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! then it's you, Larry! Why did you knock? I was so frightened. Turn up
+      the light, dear. Come in!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Feeling by the door for a switch in the pitch blackness he was conscious
+      of arms round his neck, a warm thinly clad body pressed to his own; then
+      withdrawn as quickly, with a gasp, and the most awful terror-stricken
+      whisper:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Who is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With a glacial shiver down his own spine, Keith answered
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A friend of Laurence. Don't be frightened!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was such silence that he could hear a clock ticking, and the sound
+      of his own hand passing over the surface of the wall, trying to find the
+      switch. He found it, and in the light which leaped up he saw, stiffened
+      against a dark curtain evidently screening off a bedroom, a girl standing,
+      holding a long black coat together at her throat, so that her face with
+      its pale brown hair, short and square-cut and curling up underneath, had
+      an uncanny look of being detached from any body. Her face was so alabaster
+      pale that the staring, startled eyes, dark blue or brown, and the faint
+      rose of the parted lips, were like colour stainings on a white mask; and
+      it had a strange delicacy, truth, and pathos, such as only suffering
+      brings. Though not susceptible to aesthetic emotion, Keith was curiously
+      affected. He said gently:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You needn't be afraid. I haven't come to do you harm&mdash;quite the
+      contrary. May I sit down and talk?&rdquo; And, holding up the keys, he added:
+      &ldquo;Laurence wouldn't have given me these, would he, if he hadn't trusted
+      me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Still she did not move, and he had the impression that he was looking at a
+      spirit&mdash;a spirit startled out of its flesh. Nor at the moment did it
+      seem in the least strange that he should conceive such an odd thought. He
+      stared round the room&mdash;clean and tawdry, with its tarnished gilt
+      mirror, marble-topped side-table, and plush-covered sofa. Twenty years and
+      more since he had been in such a place. And he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Won't you sit down? I'm sorry to have startled you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But still she did not move, whispering:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who are you, please?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And, moved suddenly beyond the realm of caution by the terror in that
+      whisper, he answered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Larry's brother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She uttered a little sigh of relief which went to Keith's heart, and,
+      still holding the dark coat together at her throat, came forward and sat
+      down on the sofa. He could see that her feet, thrust into slippers, were
+      bare; with her short hair, and those candid startled eyes, she looked like
+      a tall child. He drew up a chair and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must forgive me coming at such an hour; he's told me, you see.&rdquo; He
+      expected her to flinch and gasp; but she only clasped her hands together
+      on her knees, and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then horror and discomfort rose up in him, afresh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An awful business!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her whisper echoed him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, oh! yes! Awful&mdash;it is awful!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And suddenly realising that the man must have fallen dead just where he
+      was sitting, Keith became stock silent, staring at the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she whispered; &ldquo;Just there. I see him now always falling!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      How she said that! With what a strange gentle despair! In this girl of
+      evil life, who had brought on them this tragedy, what was it which moved
+      him to a sort of unwilling compassion?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You look very young,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am twenty.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you are fond of&mdash;my brother?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I would die for him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Impossible to mistake the tone of her voice, or the look in her eyes, true
+      deep Slav eyes; dark brown, not blue as he had thought at first. It was a
+      very pretty face&mdash;either her life had not eaten into it yet, or the
+      suffering of these last hours had purged away those marks; or perhaps this
+      devotion of hers to Larry. He felt strangely at sea, sitting there with
+      this child of twenty; he, over forty, a man of the world, professionally
+      used to every side of human nature. But he said, stammering a little:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;I have come to see how far you can save him. Listen, and just
+      answer the questions I put to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She raised her hands, squeezed them together, and murmured:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! I will answer anything.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This man, then&mdash;your&mdash;your husband&mdash;was he a bad man?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A dreadful man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Before he came here last night, how long since you saw him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eighteen months.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where did you live when you saw him last?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In Pimlico.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does anybody about here know you as Mrs. Walenn?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. When I came here, after my little girl died, I came to live a bad
+      life. Nobody knows me at all. I am quite alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If they discover who he was, they will look for his wife?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not know. He did not let people think I was married to him. I was
+      very young; he treated many, I think, like me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you think he was known to the police?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She shook her head. &ldquo;He was very clever.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is your name now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wanda Livinska.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Were you known by that name before you were married?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wanda is my Christian name. Livinska&mdash;I just call myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see; since you came here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did my brother ever see this man before last night?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You had told him about his treatment of you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. And that man first went for him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I saw the mark. Do you think anyone saw my brother come to you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not know. He says not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can you tell if anyone saw him carrying the&mdash;the thing away?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No one in this street&mdash;I was looking.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor coming back?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor going out in the morning?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not think it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you a servant?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Only a woman who comes at nine in the morning for an hour.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does she know Larry?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Friends, acquaintances?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; I am very quiet. And since I knew your brother, I see no one. Nobody
+      comes here but him for a long time now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How long?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Five months.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you been out to-day?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What have you been doing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Crying.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was said with a certain dreadful simplicity, and pressing her hands
+      together, she went on:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is in danger, because of me. I am so afraid for him.&rdquo; Holding up his
+      hand to check that emotion, he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look at me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She fixed those dark eyes on him, and in her bare throat, from which the
+      coat had fallen back, he could see her resolutely swallowing down her
+      agitation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If the worst comes to the worst, and this man is traced to you, can you
+      trust yourself not to give my brother away?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her eyes shone. She got up and went to the fireplace:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look! I have burned all the things he has given me&mdash;even his
+      picture. Now I have nothing from him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Keith, too, got up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good! One more question: Do the police know you, because&mdash;because of
+      your life?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She shook her head, looking at him intently, with those mournfully true
+      eyes. And he felt a sort of shame.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was obliged to ask. Do you know where he lives?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must not go there. And he must not come to you, here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her lips quivered; but she bowed her head. Suddenly he found her quite
+      close to him, speaking almost in a whisper:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please do not take him from me altogether. I will be so careful. I will
+      not do anything to hurt him; but if I cannot see him sometimes, I shall
+      die. Please do not take him from me.&rdquo; And catching his hand between her
+      own, she pressed it desperately. It was several seconds before Keith said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Leave that to me. I will see him. I shall arrange. You must leave that to
+      me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you will be kind?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He felt her lips kissing his hand. And the soft moist touch sent a queer
+      feeling through him, protective, yet just a little brutal, having in it a
+      shiver of sensuality. He withdrew his hand. And as if warned that she had
+      been too pressing, she recoiled humbly. But suddenly she turned, and stood
+      absolutely rigid; then almost inaudibly whispered: &ldquo;Listen! Someone out&mdash;out
+      there!&rdquo; And darting past him she turned out the light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Almost at once came a knock on the door. He could feel&mdash;actually feel
+      the terror of this girl beside him in the dark. And he, too, felt terror.
+      Who could it be? No one came but Larry, she had said. Who else then could
+      it be? Again came the knock, louder! He felt the breath of her whisper on
+      his cheek: &ldquo;If it is Larry! I must open.&rdquo; He shrank back against the wall;
+      heard her open the door and say faintly: &ldquo;Yes. Please! Who?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Light painted a thin moving line on the wall opposite, and a voice which
+      Keith recognised answered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, miss. Your outer door's open here. You ought to keep it shut
+      after dark.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      God! That policeman! And it had been his own doing, not shutting the outer
+      door behind him when he came in. He heard her say timidly in her foreign
+      voice: &ldquo;Thank you, sir!&rdquo; the policeman's retreating steps, the outer door
+      being shut, and felt her close to him again. That something in her youth
+      and strange prettiness which had touched and kept him gentle, no longer
+      blunted the edge of his exasperation, now that he could not see her. They
+      were all the same, these women; could not speak the truth! And he said
+      brusquely:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You told me they didn't know you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her voice answered like a sigh:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did not think they did, sir. It is so long I was not out in the town,
+      not since I had Larry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The repulsion which all the time seethed deep in Keith welled up at those
+      words. His brother&mdash;son of his mother, a gentleman&mdash;the property
+      of this girl, bound to her, body and soul, by this unspeakable event! But
+      she had turned up the light. Had she some intuition that darkness was
+      against her? Yes, she was pretty with that soft face, colourless save for
+      its lips and dark eyes, with that face somehow so touchingly, so
+      unaccountably good, and like a child's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am going now,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Remember! He mustn't come here; you mustn't go
+      to him. I shall see him to-morrow. If you are as fond of him as you say&mdash;take
+      care, take care!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She sighed out, &ldquo;Yes! oh, yes!&rdquo; and Keith went to the door. She was
+      standing with her back to the wall, and to follow him she only moved her
+      head&mdash;that dove-like face with all its life in eyes which seemed
+      saying: 'Look into us; nothing we hide; all&mdash;all is there!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And he went out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the passage he paused before opening the outer door. He did not want to
+      meet that policeman again; the fellow's round should have taken him well
+      out of the street by now, and turning the handle cautiously, he looked
+      out. No one in sight. He stood a moment, wondering if he should turn to
+      right or left, then briskly crossed the street. A voice to his right hand
+      said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-night, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There in the shadow of a doorway the policeman was standing. The fellow
+      must have seen him coming out! Utterly unable to restrain a start, and
+      muttering &ldquo;Goodnight!&rdquo; Keith walked on rapidly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He went full quarter of a mile before he lost that startled and uneasy
+      feeling in sardonic exasperation that he, Keith Darrant, had been taken
+      for a frequenter of a lady of the town. The whole thing&mdash;the whole
+      thing!&mdash;a vile and disgusting business! His very mind felt dirty and
+      breathless; his spirit, drawn out of sheath, had slowly to slide back
+      before he could at all focus and readjust his reasoning faculty.
+      Certainly, he had got the knowledge he wanted. There was less danger than
+      he thought. That girl's eyes! No mistaking her devotion. She would not
+      give Larry away. Yes! Larry must clear out&mdash;South America&mdash;the
+      East&mdash;it did not matter. But he felt no relief. The cheap, tawdry
+      room had wrapped itself round his fancy with its atmosphere of murky love,
+      with the feeling it inspired, of emotion caged within those yellowish
+      walls and the red stuff of its furniture. That girl's face! Devotion;
+      truth, too, and beauty, rare and moving, in its setting of darkness and
+      horror, in that nest of vice and of disorder!... The dark archway; the
+      street arab, with his gleeful: &ldquo;They 'ain't got 'im yet!&rdquo;; the feel of
+      those bare arms round his neck; that whisper of horror in the darkness;
+      above all, again, her child face looking into his, so truthful! And
+      suddenly he stood quite still in the street. What in God's name was he
+      about? What grotesque juggling amongst shadows, what strange and ghastly
+      eccentricity was all this? The forces of order and routine, all the
+      actualities of his daily life, marched on him at that moment, and swept
+      everything before them. It was a dream, a nightmare not real! It was
+      ridiculous! That he&mdash;he should thus be bound up with things so black
+      and bizarre!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had come by now to the Strand, that street down which every day he
+      moved to the Law Courts, to his daily work; his work so dignified and
+      regular, so irreproachable, and solid. No! The thing was all a monstrous
+      nightmare! It would go, if he fixed his mind on the familiar objects
+      around, read the names on the shops, looked at the faces passing. Far down
+      the thoroughfare he caught the outline of the old church, and beyond, the
+      loom of the Law Courts themselves. The bell of a fire-engine sounded, and
+      the horses came galloping by, with the shining metal, rattle of hoofs and
+      hoarse shouting. Here was a sensation, real and harmless, dignified and
+      customary! A woman flaunting round the corner looked up at him, and leered
+      out: &ldquo;Good-night!&rdquo; Even that was customary, tolerable. Two policemen
+      passed, supporting between them a man the worse for liquor, full of fight
+      and expletives; the sight was soothing, an ordinary thing which brought
+      passing annoyance, interest, disgust. It had begun to rain; he felt it on
+      his face with pleasure&mdash;an actual thing, not eccentric, a thing which
+      happened every day!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He began to cross the street. Cabs were going at furious speed now that
+      the last omnibus had ceased to run; it distracted him to take this actual,
+      ordinary risk run so often every day. During that crossing of the Strand,
+      with the rain in his face and the cabs shooting past, he regained for the
+      first time his assurance, shook off this unreal sense of being in the grip
+      of something, and walked resolutely to the corner of his home turning. But
+      passing into that darker stretch, he again stood still. A policeman had
+      also turned into that street on the other side. Not&mdash;surely not!
+      Absurd! They were all alike to look at&mdash;those fellows! Absurd! He
+      walked on sharply, and let himself into his house. But on his way upstairs
+      he could not for the life of him help raising a corner of a curtain and
+      looking from the staircase window. The policeman was marching solemnly,
+      about twenty-five yards away, paying apparently no attention to anything
+      whatever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      IV
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Keith woke at five o'clock, his usual hour, without remembrance. But the
+      grisly shadow started up when he entered his study, where the lamp burned,
+      and the fire shone, and the coffee was set ready, just as when yesterday
+      afternoon Larry had stood out there against the wall. For a moment he
+      fought against realisation; then, drinking off his coffee, sat down
+      sullenly at the bureau to his customary three hours' study of the day's
+      cases.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not one word of his brief could he take in. It was all jumbled with murky
+      images and apprehensions, and for full half an hour he suffered mental
+      paralysis. Then the sheer necessity of knowing something of the case which
+      he had to open at half-past ten that morning forced him to a concentration
+      which never quite subdued the malaise at the bottom of his heart.
+      Nevertheless, when he rose at half-past eight and went into the bathroom,
+      he had earned his grim satisfaction in this victory of will-power. By
+      half-past nine he must be at Larry's. A boat left London for the Argentine
+      to-morrow. If Larry was to get away at once, money must be arranged for.
+      And then at breakfast he came on this paragraph in the paper:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+           &ldquo;SOHO MURDER.
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Enquiry late last night established the fact that the Police have
+      discovered the identity of the man found strangled yesterday morning under
+      an archway in Glove Lane. An arrest has been made.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      By good fortune he had finished eating, for the words made him feel
+      physically sick. At this very minute Larry might be locked up, waiting to
+      be charged-might even have been arrested before his own visit to the girl
+      last night. If Larry were arrested, she must be implicated. What, then,
+      would be his own position? Idiot to go and look at that archway, to go and
+      see the girl! Had that policeman really followed him home? Accessory after
+      the fact! Keith Darrant, King's Counsel, man of mark! He forced himself by
+      an effort, which had something of the heroic, to drop this panicky
+      feeling. Panic never did good. He must face it, and see. He refused even
+      to hurry, calmly collected the papers wanted for the day, and attended to
+      a letter or two, before he set out in a taxi-cab to Fitzroy Street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Waiting outside there in the grey morning for his ring to be answered, he
+      looked the very picture of a man who knew his mind, a man of resolution.
+      But it needed all his will-power to ask without tremor: &ldquo;Mr. Darrant in?&rdquo;
+       to hear without sign of any kind the answer: &ldquo;He's not up yet, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind; I'll go in and see him. Mr. Keith Darrant.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On his way to Laurence's bedroom, in the midst of utter relief, he had the
+      self-possession to think: 'This arrest is the best thing that could have
+      happened. It'll keep their noses on a wrong scent till Larry's got away.
+      The girl must be sent off too, but not with him.' Panic had ended in quite
+      hardening his resolution. He entered the bedroom with a feeling of
+      disgust. The fellow was lying there, his bare arms crossed behind his
+      tousled head, staring at the ceiling, and smoking one of many cigarettes
+      whose ends littered a chair beside him, whose sickly reek tainted the air.
+      That pale face, with its jutting cheek-bones and chin, its hollow cheeks
+      and blue eyes far sunk back&mdash;what a wreck of goodness!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked up at Keith through the haze of smoke and said quietly: &ldquo;Well,
+      brother, what's the sentence? 'Transportation for life, and then to be
+      fined forty pounds?'.rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The flippancy revolted Keith. It was Larry all over! Last night horrified
+      and humble, this morning, &ldquo;Don't care&rdquo; and feather-headed. He said sourly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! You can joke about it now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Laurence turned his face to the wall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Must.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Fatalism! How detestable were natures like that!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've been to see her,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Last night. She can be trusted.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Laurence laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That I told you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I had to see for myself. You must clear out at once, Larry. She can come
+      out to you by the next boat; but you can't go together. Have you any
+      money?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can foot your expenses, and lend you a year's income in advance. But it
+      must be a clean cut; after you get out there your whereabouts must only be
+      known to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A long sigh answered him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're very good to me, Keith; you've always been very good. I don't know
+      why.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Keith answered drily
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor I. There's a boat to the Argentine tomorrow. You're in luck; they've
+      made an arrest. It's in the paper.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The cigarette end dropped, the thin pyjama'd figure writhed up and stood
+      clutching at the bedrail.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The disturbing thought flitted through Keith's brain: 'I was a fool. He
+      takes it queerly; what now?'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Laurence passed his hand over his forehead, and sat down on the bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hadn't thought of that,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;It does me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Keith stared. In his relief that the arrested man was not Laurence, this
+      had not occurred to him. What folly!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo; he said quickly; &ldquo;an innocent man's in no danger. They always get
+      the wrong man first. It's a piece of luck, that's all. It gives us time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      How often had he not seen that expression on Larry's face, wistful,
+      questioning, as if trying to see the thing with his&mdash;Keith's-eyes,
+      trying to submit to better judgment? And he said, almost gently&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, look here, Larry; this is too serious to trifle with. Don't worry
+      about that. Leave it to me. Just get ready to be off'. I'll take your
+      berth and make arrangements. Here's some money for kit. I can come round
+      between five and six, and let you know. Pull yourself together, man. As
+      soon as the girl's joined you out there, you'd better get across to Chile,
+      the further the better. You must simply lose yourself: I must go now, if
+      I'm to get to the Bank before I go down to the courts.&rdquo; And looking very
+      steadily at his brother, he added:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come! You've got to think of me in this matter as well as of yourself. No
+      playing fast and loose with the arrangements. Understand?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But still Larry gazed up at him with that wistful questioning, and not
+      till he had repeated, &ldquo;Understand?&rdquo; did he receive &ldquo;Yes&rdquo; for answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Driving away, he thought: 'Queer fellow! I don't know him, shall never
+      know him!' and at once began to concentrate on the practical arrangements.
+      At his bank he drew out L400; but waiting for the notes to be counted he
+      suffered qualms. A clumsy way of doing things! If there had been more
+      time! The thought: 'Accessory after the fact!' now infected everything.
+      Notes were traceable. No other way of getting him away at once, though.
+      One must take lesser risks to avoid greater. From the bank he drove to the
+      office of the steamship line. He had told Larry he would book his passage.
+      But that would not do! He must only ask anonymously if there were
+      accommodation. Having discovered that there were vacant berths, he drove
+      on to the Law Courts. If he could have taken a morning off, he would have
+      gone down to the police court and seen them charge this man. But even that
+      was not too safe, with a face so well known as his. What would come of
+      this arrest? Nothing, surely! The police always took somebody up, to keep
+      the public quiet. Then, suddenly, he had again the feeling that it was all
+      a nightmare; Larry had never done it; the police had got the right man!
+      But instantly the memory of the girl's awe-stricken face, her figure
+      huddling on the sofa, her words &ldquo;I see him always falling!&rdquo; came back.
+      God! What a business!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He felt he had never been more clear-headed and forcible than that morning
+      in court. When he came out for lunch he bought the most sensational of the
+      evening papers. But it was yet too early for news, and he had to go back
+      into court no whit wiser concerning the arrest. When at last he threw off
+      wig and gown, and had got through a conference and other necessary work,
+      he went out to Chancery Lane, buying a paper on the way. Then he hailed a
+      cab, and drove once more to Fitzroy Street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      V
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Laurence had remained sitting on his bed for many minutes. An innocent man
+      in no danger! Keith had said it&mdash;the celebrated lawyer! Could he rely
+      on that? Go out 8,000 miles, he and the girl, and leave a fellow-creature
+      perhaps in mortal peril for an act committed by himself?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the past night he had touched bottom, as he thought: become ready to
+      face anything. When Keith came in he would without murmur have accepted
+      the advice: &ldquo;Give yourself up!&rdquo; He was prepared to pitch away the end of
+      his life as he pitched from him the fag-ends of his cigarettes. And the
+      long sigh he had heaved, hearing of reprieve, had been only half relief.
+      Then, with incredible swiftness there had rushed through him a feeling of
+      unutterable joy and hope. Clean away&mdash;into a new country, a new life!
+      The girl and he! Out there he wouldn't care, would rejoice even to have
+      squashed the life out of such a noisome beetle of a man. Out there! Under
+      a new sun, where blood ran quicker than in this foggy land, and people
+      took justice into their own hands. For it had been justice on that brute
+      even though he had not meant to kill him. And then to hear of this arrest!
+      They would be charging the man to-day. He could go and see the poor
+      creature accused of the murder he himself had committed! And he laughed.
+      Go and see how likely it was that they might hang a fellow-man in place of
+      himself? He dressed, but too shaky to shave himself, went out to a
+      barber's shop. While there he read the news which Keith had seen. In this
+      paper the name of the arrested man was given: &ldquo;John Evan, no address.&rdquo; To
+      be brought up on the charge at Bow Street. Yes! He must go. Once, twice,
+      three times he walked past the entrance of the court before at last he
+      entered and screwed himself away among the tag and bobtail.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The court was crowded; and from the murmurs round he could tell that it
+      was his particular case which had brought so many there. In a dazed way he
+      watched charge after charge disposed of with lightning quickness. But were
+      they never going to reach his business? And then suddenly he saw the
+      little scarecrow man of last night advancing to the dock between two
+      policemen, more ragged and miserable than ever by light of day, like some
+      shaggy, wan, grey animal, surrounded by sleek hounds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A sort of satisfied purr was rising all round; and with horror Laurence
+      perceived that this&mdash;this was the man accused of what he himself had
+      done&mdash;this queer, battered unfortunate to whom he had shown a passing
+      friendliness. Then all feeling merged in the appalling interest of
+      listening. The evidence was very short. Testimony of the hotel-keeper
+      where Walenn had been staying, the identification of his body, and of a
+      snake-shaped ring he had been wearing at dinner that evening. Testimony of
+      a pawnbroker, that this same ring was pawned with him the first thing
+      yesterday morning by the prisoner. Testimony of a policeman that he had
+      noticed the man Evan several times in Glove Lane, and twice moved him on
+      from sleeping under that arch. Testimony of another policeman that, when
+      arrested at midnight, Evan had said: &ldquo;Yes; I took the ring off his finger.
+      I found him there dead .... I know I oughtn't to have done it.... I'm an
+      educated man; it was stupid to pawn the ring. I found him with his pockets
+      turned inside out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Fascinating and terrible to sit staring at the man in whose place he
+      should have been; to wonder when those small bright-grey bloodshot eyes
+      would spy him out, and how he would meet that glance. Like a baited
+      raccoon the little man stood, screwed back into a corner, mournful,
+      cynical, fierce, with his ridged, obtuse yellow face, and his stubbly grey
+      beard and hair, and his eyes wandering now and again amongst the crowd.
+      But with all his might Laurence kept his face unmoved. Then came the word
+      &ldquo;Remanded&rdquo;; and, more like a baited beast than ever, the man was led away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Laurence sat on, a cold perspiration thick on his forehead. Someone else,
+      then, had come on the body and turned the pockets inside out before John
+      Evan took the ring. A man such as Walenn would not be out at night without
+      money. Besides, if Evan had found money on the body he would never have
+      run the risk of taking that ring. Yes, someone else had come on the body
+      first. It was for that one to come forward, and prove that the ring was
+      still on the dead man's finger when he left him, and thus clear Evan. He
+      clung to that thought; it seemed to make him less responsible for the
+      little man's position; to remove him and his own deed one step further
+      back. If they found the person who had taken the money, it would prove
+      Evan's innocence. He came out of the court in a sort of trance. And a
+      craving to get drunk attacked him. One could not go on like this without
+      the relief of some oblivion. If he could only get drunk, keep drunk till
+      this business was decided and he knew whether he must give himself up or
+      no. He had now no fear at all of people suspecting him; only fear of
+      himself&mdash;fear that he might go and give himself up. Now he could see
+      the girl; the danger from that was as nothing compared with the danger
+      from his own conscience. He had promised Keith not to see her. Keith had
+      been decent and loyal to him&mdash;good old Keith! But he would never
+      understand that this girl was now all he cared about in life; that he
+      would rather be cut off from life itself than be cut off from her. Instead
+      of becoming less and less, she was becoming more and more to him&mdash;experience
+      strange and thrilling! Out of deep misery she had grown happy&mdash;through
+      him; out of a sordid, shifting life recovered coherence and bloom, through
+      devotion to him him, of all people in the world! It was a miracle. She
+      demanded nothing of him, adored him, as no other woman ever had&mdash;it
+      was this which had anchored his drifting barque; this&mdash;and her
+      truthful mild intelligence, and that burning warmth of a woman, who, long
+      treated by men as but a sack of sex, now loves at last.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And suddenly, mastering his craving to get drunk, he made towards Soho. He
+      had been a fool to give those keys to Keith. She must have been frightened
+      by his visit; and, perhaps, doubly miserable since, knowing nothing,
+      imagining everything! Keith was sure to have terrified her. Poor little
+      thing!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Down the street where he had stolen in the dark with the dead body on his
+      back, he almost ran for the cover of her house. The door was opened to him
+      before he knocked, her arms were round his neck, her lips pressed to his.
+      The fire was out, as if she had been unable to remember to keep warm. A
+      stool had been drawn to the window, and there she had evidently been
+      sitting, like a bird in a cage, looking out into the grey street. Though
+      she had been told that he was not to come, instinct had kept her there; or
+      the pathetic, aching hope against hope which lovers never part with.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now that he was there, her first thoughts were for his comfort. The fire
+      was lighted. He must eat, drink, smoke. There was never in her doings any
+      of the &ldquo;I am doing this for you, but you ought to be doing that for me&rdquo;
+       which belongs to so many marriages, and liaisons. She was like a devoted
+      slave, so in love with the chains that she never knew she wore them. And
+      to Laurence, who had so little sense of property, this only served to
+      deepen tenderness, and the hold she had on him. He had resolved not to
+      tell her of the new danger he ran from his own conscience. But resolutions
+      with him were but the opposites of what was sure to come; and at last the
+      words:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They've arrested someone,&rdquo; escaped him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From her face he knew she had grasped the danger at once; had divined it,
+      perhaps, before he spoke. But she only twined her arms round him and
+      kissed his lips. And he knew that she was begging him to put his love for
+      her above his conscience. Who would ever have thought that he could feel
+      as he did to this girl who had been in the arms of many! The stained and
+      suffering past of a loved woman awakens in some men only chivalry; in
+      others, more respectable, it rouses a tigerish itch, a rancorous jealousy
+      of what in the past was given to others. Sometimes it will do both. When
+      he had her in his arms he felt no remorse for killing the coarse, handsome
+      brute who had ruined her. He savagely rejoiced in it. But when she laid
+      her head in the hollow of his shoulder, turning to him her white face with
+      the faint colour-staining on the parted lips, the cheeks, the eyelids;
+      when her dark, wide-apart, brown eyes gazed up in the happiness of her
+      abandonment&mdash;he felt only tenderness and protection.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He left her at five o'clock, and had not gone two streets' length before
+      the memory of the little grey vagabond, screwed back in the far corner of
+      the dock like a baited raccoon, of his dreary, creaking voice, took
+      possession of him again; and a kind of savagery mounted in his brain
+      against a world where one could be so tortured without having meant harm
+      to anyone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the door of his lodgings Keith was getting out of a cab. They went in
+      together, but neither of them sat down; Keith standing with his back to
+      the carefully shut door, Laurence with his back to the table, as if they
+      knew there was a tug coming. And Keith said: &ldquo;There's room on that boat.
+      Go down and book your berth before they shut. Here's the money!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm going to stick it, Keith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Keith stepped forward, and put a roll of notes on the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now look here, Larry. I've read the police court proceedings. There's
+      nothing in that. Out of prison, or in prison for a few weeks, it's all the
+      same to a night-bird of that sort. Dismiss it from your mind&mdash;there's
+      not nearly enough evidence to convict. This gives you your chance. Take it
+      like a man, and make a new life for yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Laurence smiled; but the smile had a touch of madness and a touch of
+      malice. He took up the notes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Clear out, and save the honour of brother Keith. Put them back in your
+      pocket, Keith, or I'll put them in the fire. Come, take them!&rdquo; And,
+      crossing to the fire, he held them to the bars. &ldquo;Take them, or in they
+      go!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Keith took back the notes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've still got some kind of honour, Keith; if I clear out I shall have
+      none, not the rag of any, left. It may be worth more to me than that&mdash;I
+      can't tell yet&mdash;I can't tell.&rdquo; There was a long silence before Keith
+      answered. &ldquo;I tell you you're mistaken; no jury will convict. If they did,
+      a judge would never hang on it. A ghoul who can rob a dead body ought to
+      be in prison. What he did is worse than what you did, if you come to
+      that!&rdquo; Laurence lifted his face. &ldquo;Judge not, brother,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;the heart
+      is a dark well.&rdquo; Keith's yellowish face grew red and swollen, as though he
+      were mastering the tickle of a bronchial cough. &ldquo;What are you going to do,
+      then? I suppose I may ask you not to be entirely oblivious of our name; or
+      is such a consideration unworthy of your honour?&rdquo; Laurence bent his head.
+      The gesture said more clearly than words: 'Don't kick a man when he's
+      down!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know what I'm going to do&mdash;nothing at present. I'm awfully
+      sorry, Keith; awfully sorry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Keith looked at him, and without another word went out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      VI
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      To any, save philosophers, reputation may be threatened almost as much by
+      disgrace to name and family as by the disgrace of self. Keith's instinct
+      was always to deal actively with danger. But this blow, whether it fell on
+      him by discovery or by confession, could not be countered. As blight falls
+      on a rose from who knows where, the scandalous murk would light on him. No
+      repulse possible! Not even a wriggling from under! Brother of a murderer
+      hung or sent to penal servitude! His daughter niece to a murderer! His
+      dead mother-a murderer's mother! And to wait day after day, week after
+      week, not knowing whether the blow would fall, was an extraordinarily
+      atrocious penance, the injustice of which, to a man of rectitude, seemed
+      daily the more monstrous.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The remand had produced evidence that the murdered man had been drinking
+      heavily on the night of his death, and further evidence of the accused's
+      professional vagabondage and destitution; it was shown, too, that for some
+      time the archway in Glove Lane had been his favourite night haunt. He had
+      been committed for trial in January. This time, despite misgivings, Keith
+      had attended the police court. To his great relief Larry was not there.
+      But the policeman who had come up while he was looking at the archway, and
+      given him afterwards that scare in the girl's rooms, was chief witness to
+      the way the accused man haunted Glove Lane. Though Keith held his silk hat
+      high, he still had the uncomfortable feeling that the man had recognised
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His conscience suffered few, if any, twinges for letting this man rest
+      under the shadow of the murder. He genuinely believed that there was not
+      evidence enough to convict; nor was it in him to appreciate the tortures
+      of a vagabond shut up. The scamp deserved what he had got, for robbing a
+      dead body; and in any case such a scarecrow was better off in prison than
+      sleeping out under archways in December. Sentiment was foreign to Keith's
+      character, and his justice that of those who subordinate the fates of the
+      weak and shiftless to the needful paramountcy of the strong and well
+      established.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His daughter came back from school for the Christmas holidays. It was hard
+      to look up from her bright eyes and rosy cheeks and see this shadow
+      hanging above his calm and ordered life, as in a glowing room one's eye
+      may catch an impending patch of darkness drawn like a spider's web across
+      a corner of the ceiling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the afternoon of Christmas Eve they went, by her desire, to a church in
+      Soho, where the Christmas Oratorio was being given; and coming away
+      passed, by chance of a wrong turning, down Borrow Street. Ugh! How that
+      startled moment, when the girl had pressed herself against him in the
+      dark, and her terror-stricken whisper: &ldquo;Oh! Who is it?&rdquo; leaped out before
+      him! Always that business&mdash;that ghastly business! After the trial he
+      would have another try to get them both away. And he thrust his arm within
+      his young daughter's, hurrying her on, out of this street where shadows
+      filled all the winter air.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But that evening when she had gone to bed he felt uncontrollably restless.
+      He had not seen Larry for weeks. What was he about? What desperations were
+      hatching in his disorderly brain? Was he very miserable; had he perhaps
+      sunk into a stupor of debauchery? And the old feeling of protectiveness
+      rose up in him; a warmth born of long ago Christmas Eves, when they had
+      stockings hung out in the night stuffed by a Santa Claus, whose hand never
+      failed to tuck them up, whose kiss was their nightly waft into sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Stars were sparkling out there over the river; the sky frosty-clear, and
+      black. Bells had not begun to ring as yet. And obeying an obscure, deep
+      impulse, Keith wrapped himself once more into his fur coat, pulled a
+      motoring cap over his eyes, and sallied forth. In the Strand he took a cab
+      to Fitzroy Street. There was no light in Larry's windows, and on a card he
+      saw the words &ldquo;To Let.&rdquo; Gone! Had he after all cleared out for good? But
+      how-without money? And the girl? Bells were ringing now in the silent
+      frostiness. Christmas Eve! And Keith thought: 'If only this wretched
+      business were off my mind! Monstrous that one should suffer for the faults
+      of others!' He took a route which led him past Borrow Street. Solitude
+      brooded there, and he walked resolutely down on the far side, looking hard
+      at the girl's window. There was a light. The curtains just failed to meet,
+      so that a thin gleam shone through. He crossed; and after glancing swiftly
+      up and down, deliberately peered in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He only stood there perhaps twenty seconds, but visual records gleaned in
+      a moment sometimes outlast the visions of hours and days. The electric
+      light was not burning; but, in the centre of the room the girl was
+      kneeling in her nightgown before a little table on which were four lighted
+      candles. Her arms were crossed on her breast; the candle-light shone on
+      her fair cropped hair, on the profile of cheek and chin, on her bowed
+      white neck. For a moment he thought her alone; then behind her saw his
+      brother in a sleeping suit, leaning against the wall, with arms crossed,
+      watching. It was the expression on his face which burned the whole thing
+      in, so that always afterwards he was able to see that little scene&mdash;such
+      an expression as could never have been on the face of one even faintly
+      conscious that he was watched by any living thing on earth. The whole of
+      Larry's heart and feeling seemed to have come up out of him. Yearning,
+      mockery, love, despair! The depth of his feeling for this girl, his stress
+      of mind, fears, hopes; the flotsam good and evil of his soul, all
+      transfigured there, exposed and unforgettable. The candle-light shone
+      upward on to his face, twisted by the strangest smile; his eyes, darker
+      and more wistful than mortal eyes should be, seemed to beseech and mock
+      the white-clad girl, who, all unconscious, knelt without movement, like a
+      carved figure of devotion. The words seemed coming from his lips: &ldquo;Pray
+      for us! Bravo! Yes! Pray for us!&rdquo; And suddenly Keith saw her stretch out
+      her arms, and lift her face with a look of ecstasy, and Laurence starting
+      forward. What had she seen beyond the candle flames? It is the unexpected
+      which invests visions with poignancy. Nothing more strange could Keith
+      have seen in this nest of the murky and illicit. But in sheer panic lest
+      he might be caught thus spying he drew back and hurried on. So Larry was
+      living there with her! When the moment came he could still find him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before going in, he stood full five minutes leaning on the terrace parapet
+      before his house, gazing at the star-frosted sky, and the river cut by the
+      trees into black pools, oiled over by gleams from the Embankment lamps.
+      And, deep down, behind his mere thoughts, he ached-somehow, somewhere
+      ached. Beyond the cage of all that he saw and heard and thought, he had
+      perceived something he could not reach. But the night was cold, the bells
+      silent, for it had struck twelve. Entering his house, he stole upstairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      VII
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      If for Keith those six weeks before the Glove Lane murder trial came on
+      were fraught with uneasiness and gloom, they were for Laurence almost the
+      happiest since his youth. From the moment when he left his rooms and went
+      to the girl's to live, a kind of peace and exaltation took possession of
+      him. Not by any effort of will did he throw off the nightmare hanging over
+      him. Nor was he drugged by love. He was in a sort of spiritual catalepsy.
+      In face of fate too powerful for his will, his turmoil, anxiety, and even
+      restlessness had ceased; his life floated in the ether of &ldquo;what must come,
+      will.&rdquo; Out of this catalepsy, his spirit sometimes fell headlong into
+      black waters. In one such whirlpool he was struggling on the night of
+      Christmas Eve. When the girl rose from her knees he asked her:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did you see?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Pressing close to him, she drew him down on to the floor before the fire;
+      and they sat, knees drawn up, hands clasped, like two children trying to
+      see over the edge of the world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was the Virgin I saw. She stood against the wall and smiled. We shall
+      be happy soon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When we die, Wanda,&rdquo; he said, suddenly, &ldquo;let it be together. We shall
+      keep each other warm, out there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Huddling to him she whispered: &ldquo;Yes, oh, yes! If you die, I could not go
+      on living.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was this utter dependence on him, the feeling that he had rescued
+      something, which gave him sense of anchorage. That, and his buried life in
+      the retreat of these two rooms. Just for an hour in the morning, from nine
+      to ten, the charwoman would come, but not another soul all day. They never
+      went out together. He would stay in bed late, while Wanda bought what they
+      needed for the day's meals; lying on his back, hands clasped behind his
+      head, recalling her face, the movements of her slim, rounded, supple
+      figure, robing itself before his gaze; feeling again the kiss she had left
+      on his lips, the gleam of her soft eyes, so strangely dark in so fair a
+      face. In a sort of trance he would lie till she came back. Then get up to
+      breakfast about noon off things which she had cooked, drinking coffee. In
+      the afternoon he would go out alone and walk for hours, any where, so long
+      as it was East. To the East there was always suffering to be seen, always
+      that which soothed him with the feeling that he and his troubles were only
+      a tiny part of trouble; that while so many other sorrowing and shadowy
+      creatures lived he was not cut off. To go West was to encourage dejection.
+      In the West all was like Keith, successful, immaculate, ordered, resolute.
+      He would come back tired out, and sit watching her cook their little
+      dinner. The evenings were given up to love. Queer trance of an existence,
+      which both were afraid to break. No sign from her of wanting those
+      excitements which girls who have lived her life, even for a few months,
+      are supposed to need. She never asked him to take her anywhere; never, in
+      word, deed, look, seemed anything but almost rapturously content. And yet
+      he knew, and she knew, that they were only waiting to see whether Fate
+      would turn her thumb down on them. In these days he did not drink. Out of
+      his quarter's money, when it came in, he had paid his debts&mdash;their
+      expenses were very small. He never went to see Keith, never wrote to him,
+      hardly thought of him. And from those dread apparitions&mdash;Walenn lying
+      with the breath choked out of him, and the little grey, driven animal in
+      the dock&mdash;he hid, as only a man can who must hide or be destroyed.
+      But daily he bought a newspaper, and feverishly, furtively scanned its
+      columns.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      VIII
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Coming out of the Law Courts on the afternoon of January 28th, at the
+      triumphant end of a desperately fought will case, Keith saw on a poster
+      the words: &ldquo;Glove Lane Murder: Trial and Verdict&rdquo;; and with a rush of
+      dismay he thought: 'Good God! I never looked at the paper this morning!'
+      The elation which had filled him a second before, the absorption he had
+      felt for two days now in the case so hardly won, seemed suddenly quite
+      sickeningly trivial. What on earth had he been doing to forget that
+      horrible business even for an instant? He stood quite still on the crowded
+      pavement, unable, really unable, to buy a paper. But his face was like a
+      piece of iron when he did step forward and hold his penny out. There it
+      was in the Stop Press! &ldquo;Glove Lane Murder. The jury returned a verdict of
+      Guilty. Sentence of death was passed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His first sensation was simple irritation. How had they come to commit
+      such an imbecility? Monstrous! The evidence&mdash;! Then the futility of
+      even reading the report, of even considering how they had come to record
+      such a verdict struck him with savage suddenness. There it was, and
+      nothing he could do or say would alter it; no condemnation of this idiotic
+      verdict would help reverse it. The situation was desperate, indeed! That
+      five minutes' walk from the Law Courts to his chambers was the longest he
+      had ever taken.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Men of decided character little know beforehand what they will do in
+      certain contingencies. For the imaginations of decided people do not endow
+      mere contingencies with sufficient actuality. Keith had never really
+      settled what he was going to do if this man were condemned. Often in those
+      past weeks he had said to himself: &ldquo;Of course, if they bring him in
+      guilty, that's another thing!&rdquo; But, now that they had, he was beset by
+      exactly the same old arguments and feelings, the same instincts of loyalty
+      and protection towards Laurence and himself, intensified by the fearful
+      imminence of the danger. And yet, here was this man about to be hung for a
+      thing he had not done! Nothing could get over that! But then he was such a
+      worthless vagabond, a ghoul who had robbed a dead body. If Larry were
+      condemned in his stead, would there be any less miscarriage of justice? To
+      strangle a brute who had struck you, by the accident of keeping your hands
+      on his throat a few seconds too long, was there any more guilt in that&mdash;was
+      there even as much, as in deliberate theft from a dead man? Reverence for
+      order, for justice, and established fact, will, often march shoulder to
+      shoulder with Jesuitry in natures to whom success is vital.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the narrow stone passage leading to his staircase, a friend had called
+      out: &ldquo;Bravo, Darrant! That was a squeak! Congratulations!&rdquo; And with a
+      bitter little smile Keith thought: 'Congratulations! I!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the first possible moment the hurried back to the Strand, and hailing a
+      cab, he told the man to put him down at a turning near to Borrow Street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the girl who opened to his knock. Startled, clasping her hands, she
+      looked strange to Keith in her black skirt and blouse of some soft velvety
+      stuff the colour of faded roses. Her round, rather long throat was bare;
+      and Keith noticed fretfully that she wore gold earrings. Her eyes, so
+      pitch dark against her white face, and the short fair hair, which curled
+      into her neck, seemed both to search and to plead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My brother?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is not in, sir, yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know where he is?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is living with you here now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you still as fond of him as ever, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With a movement, as though she despaired of words, she clasped her hands
+      over her heart. And he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He had the same strange feeling as on his first visit to her, and when
+      through the chink in the curtains he had watched her kneeling&mdash;of
+      pity mingled with some faint sexual emotion. And crossing to the fire he
+      asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May I wait for him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Please! Will you sit down?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Keith shook his head. And with a catch in her breath, she said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will not take him from me. I should die.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned round on her sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't want him taken from you. I want to help you keep him. Are you
+      ready to go away, at any time?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Oh, yes!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She answered almost in a whisper:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; but there is that poor man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That poor man is a graveyard thief; a hyena; a ghoul&mdash;not worth
+      consideration.&rdquo; And the rasp in his own voice surprised him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; she sighed. &ldquo;But I am sorry for him. Perhaps he was hungry. I have
+      been hungry&mdash;you do things then that you would not. And perhaps he
+      has no one to love; if you have no one to love you can be very bad. I
+      think of him often&mdash;in prison.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Between his teeth Keith muttered: &ldquo;And Laurence?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We do never speak of it, we are afraid.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's not told you, then, about the trial?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her eyes dilated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The trial! Oh! He was strange last night. This morning, too, he got up
+      early. Is it-is it over?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What has come?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Guilty.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment Keith thought she was going to faint. She had closed her
+      eyes, and swayed so that he took a step, and put his hands on her arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Help me; don't let Laurence out of your sight. We must
+      have time. I must see what they intend to do. They can't be going to hang
+      this man. I must have time, I tell you. You must prevent his giving
+      himself up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She stood, staring in his face, while he still held her arms, gripping
+      into her soft flesh through the velvety sleeves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you understand?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes-but if he has already!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Keith felt the shiver which ran through her. And the thought rushed into
+      his mind: 'My God! Suppose the police come round while I'm here!' If Larry
+      had indeed gone to them! If that Policeman who had seen him here the night
+      after the murder should find him here again just after the verdict! He
+      said almost fiercely:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can I trust you not to let Larry out of your sight? Quick! Answer!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Clasping her hands to her breast, she answered humbly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will try.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If he hasn't already done this, watch him like a lynx! Don't let him go
+      out without you. I'll come to-morrow morning early. You're a Catholic,
+      aren't you? Swear to me that you won't let him do anything till he's seen
+      me again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She did not answer, looking past him at the door; and Keith heard a key in
+      the latch. There was Laurence himself, holding in his hand a great bunch
+      of pink lilies and white narcissi. His face was pale and haggard. He said
+      quietly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hallo, Keith!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl's eyes were fastened on Larry's face; and Keith, looking from one
+      to the other, knew that he had never had more need for wariness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you seen?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Laurence nodded. His expression, as a rule so tell-tale of his emotions,
+      baffled Keith utterly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've been expecting it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The thing can't stand&mdash;that's certain. But I must have time to look
+      into the report. I must have time to see what I can do. D'you understand
+      me, Larry&mdash;I must have time.&rdquo; He knew he was talking at random. The
+      only thing was to get them away at once out of reach of confession; but he
+      dared not say so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Promise me that you'll do nothing, that you won't go out even till I've
+      seen you to-morrow morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again Laurence nodded. And Keith looked at the girl. Would she see that he
+      did not break that promise? Her eyes were still fixed immovably on Larry's
+      face. And with the feeling that he could get no further, Keith turned to
+      go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Promise me,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Laurence answered: &ldquo;I promise.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was smiling. Keith could make nothing of that smile, nor of the
+      expression in the girl's eyes. And saying: &ldquo;I have your promise, I rely on
+      it!&rdquo; he went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      IX
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      To keep from any woman who loves, knowledge of her lover's mood, is as
+      hard as to keep music from moving the heart. But when that woman has lived
+      in suffering, and for the first time knows the comfort of love, then let
+      the lover try as he may to disguise his heart&mdash;no use! Yet by virtue
+      of subtler abnegation she will often succeed in keeping it from him that
+      she knows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Keith was gone the girl made no outcry, asked no questions, managed
+      that Larry should not suspect her intuition; all that evening she acted as
+      if she knew of nothing preparing within him, and through him, within
+      herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His words, caresses, the very zest with which he helped her to prepare the
+      feast, the flowers he had brought, the wine he made her drink, the
+      avoidance of any word which could spoil their happiness, all&mdash;all
+      told her. He was too inexorably gay and loving. Not for her&mdash;to whom
+      every word and every kiss had uncannily the desperate value of a last word
+      and kiss&mdash;not for her to deprive herself of these by any sign or
+      gesture which might betray her prescience. Poor soul&mdash;she took all,
+      and would have taken more, a hundredfold. She did not want to drink the
+      wine he kept tilting into her glass, but, with the acceptance learned by
+      women who have lived her life, she did not refuse. She had never refused
+      him anything. So much had been required of her by the detestable, that
+      anything required by a loved one was but an honour.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Laurence drank deeply; but he had never felt clearer, never seen things
+      more clearly. The wine gave him what he wanted, an edge to these few hours
+      of pleasure, an exaltation of energy. It dulled his sense of pity, too. It
+      was pity he was afraid of&mdash;for himself, and for this girl. To make
+      even this tawdry room look beautiful, with firelight and candlelight, dark
+      amber wine in the glasses, tall pink lilies spilling their saffron,
+      exuding their hot perfume he and even himself must look their best. And
+      with a weight as of lead on her heart, she managed that for him, letting
+      him strew her with flowers and crush them together with herself. Not even
+      music was lacking to their feast. Someone was playing a pianola across the
+      street, and the sound, very faint, came stealing when they were silent&mdash;swelling,
+      sinking, festive, mournful; having a far-off life of its own, like the
+      flickering fire-flames before which they lay embraced, or the lilies
+      delicate between the candles. Listening to that music, tracing with his
+      finger the tiny veins on her breast, he lay like one recovering from a
+      swoon. No parting. None! But sleep, as the firelight sleeps when flames
+      die; as music sleeps on its deserted strings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And the girl watched him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was nearly ten when he bade her go to bed. And after she had gone
+      obedient into the bedroom, he brought ink and paper down by the fire. The
+      drifter, the unstable, the good-for-nothing&mdash;did not falter. He had
+      thought, when it came to the point, he would fail himself; but a sort of
+      rage bore him forward. If he lived on, and confessed, they would shut him
+      up, take from him the one thing he loved, cut him off from her; sand up
+      his only well in the desert. Curse them! And he wrote by firelight which
+      mellowed the white sheets of paper; while, against the dark curtain, the
+      girl, in her nightgown, unconscious of the cold, stood watching.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Men, when they drown, remember their pasts. Like the lost poet he had
+      &ldquo;gone with the wind.&rdquo; Now it was for him to be true in his fashion. A man
+      may falter for weeks and weeks, consciously, subconsciously, even in his
+      dreams, till there comes that moment when the only thing impossible is to
+      go on faltering. The black cap, the little driven grey man looking up at
+      it with a sort of wonder&mdash;faltering had ceased!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had finished now, and was but staring into the fire.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+         &ldquo;No more, no more, the moon is dead,
+          And all the people in it;
+          The poppy maidens strew the bed,
+          We'll come in half a minute.&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      Why did doggerel start up in the mind like that? Wanda! The weed-flower
+      become so rare he would not be parted from her! The fire, the candles, and
+      the fire&mdash;no more the flame and flicker!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And, by the dark curtain, the girl watched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      X
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Keith went, not home, but to his club; and in the room devoted to the
+      reception of guests, empty at this hour, he sat down and read the report
+      of the trial. The fools had made out a case that looked black enough. And
+      for a long time, on the thick soft carpet which let out no sound of
+      footfall, he paced up and down, thinking. He might see the defending
+      counsel, might surely do that as an expert who thought there had been
+      miscarriage of justice. They must appeal; a petition too might be started
+      in the last event. The thing could&mdash;must be put right yet, if only
+      Larry and that girl did nothing!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had no appetite, but the custom of dining is too strong. And while he
+      ate, he glanced with irritation at his fellow-members. They looked so at
+      their ease. Unjust&mdash;that this black cloud should hang over one
+      blameless as any of them! Friends, connoisseurs of such things&mdash;a
+      judge among them&mdash;came specially to his table to express their
+      admiration of his conduct of that will case. Tonight he had real excuse
+      for pride, but he felt none. Yet, in this well-warmed quietly glowing
+      room, filled with decorously eating, decorously talking men, he gained
+      insensibly some comfort. This surely was reality; that shadowy business
+      out there only the drear sound of a wind one must and did keep out&mdash;like
+      the poverty and grime which had no real existence for the secure and
+      prosperous. He drank champagne. It helped to fortify reality, to make
+      shadows seem more shadowy. And down in the smoking-room he sat before the
+      fire, in one of those chairs which embalm after-dinner dreams. He grew
+      sleepy there, and at eleven o'clock rose to go home. But when he had once
+      passed down the shallow marble steps, out through the revolving door which
+      let in no draughts, he was visited by fear, as if he had drawn it in with
+      the breath of the January wind. Larry's face; and the girl watching it!
+      Why had she watched like that? Larry's smile; and the flowers in his hand?
+      Buying flowers at such a moment! The girl was his slave-whatever he told
+      her, she would do. But she would never be able to stop him. At this very
+      moment he might be rushing to give himself up!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His hand, thrust deep into the pocket of his fur coat, came in contact
+      suddenly with something cold. The keys Larry had given him all that time
+      ago. There they had lain forgotten ever since. The chance touch decided
+      him. He turned off towards Borrow Street, walking at full speed. He could
+      but go again and see. He would sleep better if he knew that he had left no
+      stone unturned. At the corner of that dismal street he had to wait for
+      solitude before he made for the house which he now loathed with a deadly
+      loathing. He opened the outer door and shut it to behind him. He knocked,
+      but no one came. Perhaps they had gone to bed. Again and again he knocked,
+      then opened the door, stepped in, and closed it carefully. Candles
+      lighted, the fire burning; cushions thrown on the floor in front of it and
+      strewn with flowers! The table, too, covered with flowers and with the
+      remnants of a meal. Through the half-drawn curtain he could see that the
+      inner room was also lighted. Had they gone out, leaving everything like
+      this? Gone out! His heart beat. Bottles! Larry had been drinking!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Had it really come? Must he go back home with this murk on him; knowing
+      that his brother was a confessed and branded murderer? He went quickly, to
+      the half-drawn curtains and looked in. Against the wall he saw a bed, and
+      those two in it. He recoiled in sheer amazement and relief. Asleep with
+      curtains undrawn, lights left on? Asleep through all his knocking! They
+      must both be drunk. The blood rushed up in his neck. Asleep! And rushing
+      forward again, he called out: &ldquo;Larry!&rdquo; Then, with a gasp he went towards
+      the bed. &ldquo;Larry!&rdquo; No answer! No movement! Seizing his brother's shoulder,
+      he shook it violently. It felt cold. They were lying in each other's arms,
+      breast to breast, lips to lips, their faces white in the light shining
+      above the dressing-table. And such a shudder shook Keith that he had to
+      grasp the brass rail above their heads. Then he bent down, and wetting his
+      finger, placed it close to their joined lips. No two could ever swoon so
+      utterly as that; not even a drunken sleep could be so fast. His wet finger
+      felt not the faintest stir of air, nor was there any movement in the
+      pulses of their hands. No breath! No life! The eyes of the girl were
+      closed. How strangely innocent she looked! Larry's open eyes seemed to be
+      gazing at her shut eyes; but Keith saw that they were sightless. With a
+      sort of sob he drew down the lids. Then, by an impulse that he could never
+      have explained, he laid a hand on his brother's head, and a hand on the
+      girl's fair hair. The clothes had fallen down a little from her bare
+      shoulder; he pulled them up, as if to keep her warm, and caught the glint
+      of metal; a tiny gilt crucifix no longer than a thumbnail, on a thread of
+      steel chain, had slipped down from her breast into the hollow of the arm
+      which lay round Larry's neck. Keith buried it beneath the clothes and
+      noticed an envelope pinned to the coverlet; bending down, he read: &ldquo;Please
+      give this at once to the police.&mdash;LAURENCE DARRANT.&rdquo; He thrust it
+      into his pocket. Like elastic stretched beyond its uttermost, his reason,
+      will, faculties of calculation and resolve snapped to within him. He
+      thought with incredible swiftness: 'I must know nothing of this. I must
+      go!' And, almost before he knew that he had moved, he was out again in the
+      street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He could never have told of what he thought while he was walking home. He
+      did not really come to himself till he was in his study. There, with a
+      trembling hand, he poured himself out whisky and drank it off. If he had
+      not chanced to go there, the charwoman would have found them when she came
+      in the morning, and given that envelope to the police! He took it out. He
+      had a right&mdash;a right to know what was in it! He broke it open.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I, Laurence Darrant, about to die by my own hand, declare that this is a
+      solemn and true confession. I committed what is known as the Glove Lane
+      Murder on the night of November the 27th last in the following way&rdquo;&mdash;on
+      and on to the last words&mdash;&ldquo;We didn't want to die; but we could not
+      bear separation, and I couldn't face letting an innocent man be hung for
+      me. I do not see any other way. I beg that there may be no postmortem on
+      our bodies. The stuff we have taken is some of that which will be found on
+      the dressing-table. Please bury us together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;LAURENCE DARRANT.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;January the 28th, about ten o'clock p.m.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Full five minutes Keith stood with those sheets of paper in his hand,
+      while the clock ticked, the wind moaned a little in the trees outside, the
+      flames licked the logs with the quiet click and ruffle of their intense
+      far-away life down there on the hearth. Then he roused himself, and sat
+      down to read the whole again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There it was, just as Larry had told it to him-nothing left out, very
+      clear; even to the addresses of people who could identify the girl as
+      having once been Walenn's wife or mistress. It would convince. Yes! It
+      would convince.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sheets dropped from his hand. Very slowly he was grasping the
+      appalling fact that on the floor beside his chair lay the life or death of
+      yet another man; that by taking this confession he had taken into his own
+      hands the fate of the vagabond lying under sentence of death; that he
+      could not give him back his life without incurring the smirch of this
+      disgrace, without even endangering himself. If he let this confession
+      reach the authorities, he could never escape the gravest suspicion that he
+      had known of the whole affair during these two months. He would have to
+      attend the inquest, be recognised by that policeman as having come to the
+      archway to see where the body had lain, as having visited the girl the
+      very evening after the murder. Who would believe in the mere coincidence
+      of such visits on the part of the murderer's brother. But apart from that
+      suspicion, the fearful scandal which so sensational an affair must make
+      would mar his career, his life, his young daughter's life! Larry's suicide
+      with this girl would make sensation enough as it was; but nothing to that
+      other. Such a death had its romance; involved him in no way save as a
+      mourner, could perhaps even be hushed up! The other&mdash;nothing could
+      hush that up, nothing prevent its ringing to the house-tops. He got up
+      from his chair, and for many minutes roamed the room unable to get his
+      mind to bear on the issue. Images kept starting up before him. The face of
+      the man who handed him wig and gown each morning, puffy and curious, with
+      a leer on it he had never noticed before; his young daughter's lifted
+      eyebrows, mouth drooping, eyes troubled; the tiny gilt crucifix glinting
+      in the hollow of the dead girl's arm; the sightless look in Larry's
+      unclosed eyes; even his own thumb and finger pulling the lids down. And
+      then he saw a street and endless people passing, turning to stare at him.
+      And, stopping in his tramp, he said aloud: &ldquo;Let them go to hell! Seven
+      days' wonder!&rdquo; Was he not trustee to that confession! Trustee! After all
+      he had done nothing to be ashamed of, even if he had kept knowledge dark.
+      A brother! Who could blame him? And he picked up those sheets of paper.
+      But, like a great murky hand, the scandal spread itself about him; its
+      coarse malignant voice seemed shouting: &ldquo;Paiper!... Paiper!... Glove Lane
+      Murder!... Suicide and confession of brother of well-known K.C.....
+      Well-known K.C.'. brother.... Murder and suicide.... Paiper!&rdquo; Was he to
+      let loose that flood of foulness? Was he, who had done nothing, to smirch
+      his own little daughter's life; to smirch his dead brother, their dead
+      mother&mdash;himself, his own valuable, important future? And all for a
+      sewer rat! Let him hang, let the fellow hang if he must! And that was not
+      certain. Appeal! Petition! He might&mdash;he should be saved! To have got
+      thus far, and then, by his own action, topple himself down!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a sudden darting movement he thrust the confession in among the
+      burning coals. And a smile licked at the folds in his dark face, like
+      those flames licking the sheets of paper, till they writhed and blackened.
+      With the toe of his boot he dispersed their scorched and crumbling wafer.
+      Stamp them in! Stamp in that man's life! Burnt! No more doubts, no more of
+      this gnawing fear! Burnt? A man&mdash;an innocent-sewer rat! Recoiling
+      from the fire he grasped his forehead. It was burning hot and seemed to be
+      going round.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Well, it was done! Only fools without will or purpose regretted. And
+      suddenly he laughed. So Larry had died for nothing! He had no will, no
+      purpose, and was dead! He and that girl might now have been living, loving
+      each other in the warm night, away at the other end of the world, instead
+      of lying dead in the cold night here! Fools and weaklings regretted,
+      suffered from conscience and remorse. A man trod firmly, held to his
+      purpose, no matter what!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He went to the window and drew back the curtain. What was that? A gibbet
+      in the air, a body hanging? Ah! Only the trees&mdash;the dark trees&mdash;the
+      winter skeleton trees! Recoiling, he returned to his armchair and sat down
+      before the fire. It had been shining like that, the lamp turned low, his
+      chair drawn up, when Larry came in that afternoon two months ago. Bah! He
+      had never come at all! It was a nightmare. He had been asleep. How his
+      head burned! And leaping up, he looked at the calendar on his bureau.
+      &ldquo;January the 28th!&rdquo; No dream! His face hardened and darkened. On! Not like
+      Larry! On! 1914.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      A STOIC
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      I
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      1
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+         &ldquo;Aequam memento rebus in arduis
+          Servare mentem:&rdquo;&mdash;Horace.
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      In the City of Liverpool, on a January day of 1905, the Board-room of &ldquo;The
+      Island Navigation Company&rdquo; rested, as it were, after the labours of the
+      afternoon. The long table was still littered with the ink, pens,
+      blotting-paper, and abandoned documents of six persons&mdash;a deserted
+      battlefield of the brain. And, lonely, in his chairman's seat at the top
+      end old Sylvanus Heythorp sat, with closed eyes, still and heavy as an
+      image. One puffy, feeble hand, whose fingers quivered, rested on the arm
+      of his chair; the thick white hair on his massive head glistened in the
+      light from a green-shaded lamp. He was not asleep, for every now and then
+      his sanguine cheeks filled, and a sound, half sigh, half grunt, escaped
+      his thick lips between a white moustache and the tiny tuft of white hairs
+      above his cleft chin. Sunk in the chair, that square thick trunk of a body
+      in short black-braided coat seemed divested of all neck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Young Gilbert Farney, secretary of &ldquo;The Island Navigation Company,&rdquo;
+       entering his hushed Board-room, stepped briskly to the table, gathered
+      some papers, and stood looking at his chairman. Not more than thirty-five,
+      with the bright hues of the optimist in his hair, beard, cheeks, and eyes,
+      he had a nose and lips which curled ironically. For, in his view, he was
+      the Company; and its Board did but exist to chequer his importance. Five
+      days in the week for seven hours a day he wrote, and thought, and wove the
+      threads of its business, and this lot came down once a week for two or
+      three hours, and taught their grandmother to suck eggs. But watching that
+      red-cheeked, white-haired, somnolent figure, his smile was not so
+      contemptuous as might have been expected. For after all, the chairman was
+      a wonderful old boy. A man of go and insight could not but respect him.
+      Eighty! Half paralysed, over head and ears in debt, having gone the pace
+      all his life&mdash;or so they said!&mdash;till at last that mine in
+      Ecuador had done for him&mdash;before the secretary's day, of course, but
+      he had heard of it. The old chap had bought it up on spec'&mdash;&ldquo;de
+      l'audace, toujours de l'audace,&rdquo; as he was so fond of saying&mdash;paid
+      for it half in cash and half in promises, and then&mdash;the thing had
+      turned out empty, and left him with L20,000 worth of the old shares
+      unredeemed. The old boy had weathered it out without a bankruptcy so far.
+      Indomitable old buffer; and never fussy like the rest of them! Young
+      Farney, though a secretary, was capable of attachment; and his eyes
+      expressed a pitying affection. The Board meeting had been long and
+      &ldquo;snadgy&rdquo;&mdash;a final settling of that Pillin business. Rum go the
+      chairman forcing it on them like this! And with quiet satisfaction the
+      secretary thought 'And he never would have got it through if I hadn't made
+      up my mind that it really is good business!' For to expand the company was
+      to expand himself. Still, to buy four ships with the freight market so
+      depressed was a bit startling, and there would be opposition at the
+      general meeting. Never mind! He and the chairman could put it through&mdash;put
+      it through. And suddenly he saw the old man looking at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Only from those eyes could one appreciate the strength of life yet flowing
+      underground in that well-nigh helpless carcase&mdash;deep-coloured little
+      blue wells, tiny, jovial, round windows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A sigh travelled up through layers of flesh, and he said almost inaudibly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have they come, Mr. Farney?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir. I've put them in the transfer office; said you'd be with them
+      in a minute; but I wasn't going to wake you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Haven't been asleep. Help me up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Grasping the edge of the table with his trembling hands, the old man
+      pulled, and, with Farney heaving him behind, attained his feet. He stood
+      about five feet ten, and weighed fully fourteen stone; not corpulent, but
+      very thick all through; his round and massive head alone would have
+      outweighed a baby. With eyes shut, he seemed to be trying to get the
+      better of his own weight, then he moved with the slowness of a barnacle
+      towards the door. The secretary, watching him, thought: 'Marvellous old
+      chap! How he gets about by himself is a miracle! And he can't retire, they
+      say-lives on his fees!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the chairman was through the green baize door. At his tortoise gait he
+      traversed the inner office, where the youthful clerks suspended their
+      figuring&mdash;to grin behind his back&mdash;and entered the transfer
+      office, where eight gentlemen were sitting. Seven rose, and one did not.
+      Old Heythorp raised a saluting hand to the level of his chest and moving
+      to an arm-chair, lowered himself into it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, gentlemen?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      One of the eight gentlemen got up again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Heythorp, we've appointed Mr. Brownbee to voice our views. Mr.
+      Brownbee!&rdquo; And down he sat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Brownbee rose a stoutish man some seventy years of age, with little
+      grey side whiskers, and one of those utterly steady faces only to be seen
+      in England, faces which convey the sense of business from father to son
+      for generations; faces which make wars, and passion, and free thought seem
+      equally incredible; faces which inspire confidence, and awaken in one a
+      desire to get up and leave the room. Mr. Brownbee rose, and said in a
+      suave voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Heythorp, we here represent about L14,000. When we had the pleasure
+      of meeting you last July, you will recollect that you held out a prospect
+      of some more satisfactory arrangement by Christmas. We are now in January,
+      and I am bound to say we none of us get younger.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      From the depths of old Heythorp a preliminary rumble came travelling,
+      reached the surface, and materialised&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't know about you&mdash;feel a boy, myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The eight gentlemen looked at him. Was he going to try and put them off
+      again? Mr. Brownbee said with unruffled calm:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm sure we're very glad to hear it. But to come to the point. We have
+      felt, Mr. Heythorp, and I'm sure you won't think it unreasonable, that&mdash;er&mdash;bankruptcy
+      would be the most satisfactory solution. We have waited a long time, and
+      we want to know definitely where we stand; for, to be quite frank, we
+      don't see any prospect of improvement; indeed, we fear the opposite.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You think I'm going to join the majority.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This plumping out of what was at the back of their minds produced in Mr.
+      Brownbee and his colleagues a sort of chemical disturbance. They coughed,
+      moved their feet, and turned away their eyes, till the one who had not
+      risen, a solicitor named Ventnor, said bluffly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, put it that way if you like.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp's little deep eyes twinkled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My grandfather lived to be a hundred; my father ninety-six&mdash;both of
+      them rips. I'm only eighty, gentlemen; blameless life compared with
+      theirs.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed,&rdquo; Mr. Brownbee said, &ldquo;we hope you have many years of this life
+      before you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;More of this than of another.&rdquo; And a silence fell, till old Heythorp
+      added: &ldquo;You're getting a thousand a year out of my fees. Mistake to kill
+      the goose that lays the golden eggs. I'll make it twelve hundred. If you
+      force me to resign my directorships by bankruptcy, you won't get a rap,
+      you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Brownbee cleared his throat:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We think, Mr. Heythorp, you should make it at least fifteen hundred. In
+      that case we might perhaps consider&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We can hardly accept your assertion that we should get nothing in the
+      event of bankruptcy. We fancy you greatly underrate the possibilities.
+      Fifteen hundred a year is the least you can do for us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See you d&mdash;-d first.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Another silence followed, then Ventnor, the solicitor, said irascibly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We know where we are, then.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Brownbee added almost nervously:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are we to understand that twelve hundred a year is your&mdash;your last
+      word?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp nodded. &ldquo;Come again this day month, and I'll see what I can
+      do for you;&rdquo; and he shut his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Round Mr. Brownbee six of the gentlemen gathered, speaking in low voices;
+      Mr. Ventnor nursed a leg and glowered at old Heythorp, who sat with his
+      eyes closed. Mr. Brownbee went over and conferred with Mr. Ventnor, then
+      clearing his throat, he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, sir, we have considered your proposal; we agree to accept it for
+      the moment. We will come again, as you suggest, in a month's time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We hope that you will by then have seen your way to something more
+      substantial, with a view to avoiding what we should all regret, but which
+      I fear will otherwise become inevitable.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp nodded. The eight gentlemen took their hats, and went out one
+      by one, Mr. Brownbee courteously bringing up the rear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man, who could not get up without assistance, stayed musing in his
+      chair. He had diddled 'em for the moment into giving him another month,
+      and when that month was up-he would diddle 'em again! A month ought to
+      make the Pillin business safe, with all that hung on it. That poor funkey
+      chap Joe Pillin! A gurgling chuckle escaped his red lips. What a shadow
+      the fellow had looked, trotting in that evening just a month ago, behind
+      his valet's announcement: &ldquo;Mr. Pillin, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      What a parchmenty, precise, thread-paper of a chap, with his bird's claw
+      of a hand, and his muffled-up throat, and his quavery:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you do, Sylvanus? I'm afraid you're not&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;First rate. Sit down. Have some port.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Port! I never drink it. Poison to me! Poison!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you good!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! I know, that's what you always say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've a monstrous constitution, Sylvanus. If I drank port and smoked
+      cigars and sat up till one o'clock, I should be in my grave to-morrow. I'm
+      not the man I was. The fact is, I've come to see if you can help me. I'm
+      getting old; I'm growing nervous....&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You always were as chickeny as an old hen, Joe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, my nature's not like yours. To come to the point, I want to sell my
+      ships and retire. I need rest. Freights are very depressed. I've got my
+      family to think of.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Crack on, and go broke; buck you up like anything!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm quite serious, Sylvanus.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never knew you anything else, Joe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A quavering cough, and out it had come:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now&mdash;in a word&mdash;won't your 'Island Navigation Company' buy my
+      ships?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A pause, a twinkle, a puff of smoke. &ldquo;Make it worth my while!&rdquo; He had said
+      it in jest; and then, in a flash, the idea had come to him. Rosamund and
+      her youngsters! What a chance to put something between them and
+      destitution when he had joined the majority! And so he said: &ldquo;We don't
+      want your silly ships.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That claw of a hand waved in deprecation. &ldquo;They're very good ships&mdash;doing
+      quite well. It's only my wretched health. If I were a strong man I
+      shouldn't dream....&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What d'you want for 'em?&rdquo; Good Lord! how he jumped if you asked him a
+      plain question. The chap was as nervous as a guinea-fowl!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here are the figures&mdash;for the last four years. I think you'll agree
+      that I couldn't ask less than seventy thousand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Through the smoke of his cigar old Heythorp had digested those figures
+      slowly, Joe Pillin feeling his teeth and sucking lozenges the while; then
+      he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sixty thousand! And out of that you pay me ten per cent., if I get it
+      through for you. Take it or leave it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear Sylvanus, that's almost-cynical.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Too good a price&mdash;you'll never get it without me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But a&mdash;but a commission! You could never disclose it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Arrange that all right. Think it over. Freights'll go lower yet. Have
+      some port.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no! Thank you. No! So you think freights will go lower?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I'll be going. I'm sure I don't know. It's&mdash;it's&mdash;I must
+      think.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Think your hardest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes. Good-bye. I can't imagine how you still go on smoking those
+      things and drinking port.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See you in your grave yet, Joe.&rdquo; What a feeble smile the poor fellow had!
+      Laugh-he couldn't! And, alone again, he had browsed, developing the idea
+      which had come to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Though, to dwell in the heart of shipping, Sylvanus Heythorp had lived at
+      Liverpool twenty years, he was from the Eastern Counties, of a family so
+      old that it professed to despise the Conquest. Each of its generations
+      occupied nearly twice as long as those of less tenacious men.
+      Traditionally of Danish origin, its men folk had as a rule bright
+      reddish-brown hair, red cheeks, large round heads, excellent teeth and
+      poor morals. They had done their best for the population of any county in
+      which they had settled; their offshoots swarmed. Born in the early
+      twenties of the nineteenth century, Sylvanus Heythorp, after an education
+      broken by escapades both at school and college, had fetched up in that
+      simple London of the late forties, where claret, opera, and eight per
+      cent. for your money ruled a cheery roost. Made partner in his shipping
+      firm well before he was thirty, he had sailed with a wet sheet and a
+      flowing tide; dancers, claret, Cliquot, and piquet; a cab with a tiger;
+      some travel&mdash;all that delicious early-Victorian consciousness of
+      nothing save a golden time. It was all so full and mellow that he was
+      forty before he had his only love affair of any depth&mdash;with the
+      daughter of one of his own clerks, a liaison so awkward as to necessitate
+      a sedulous concealment. The death of that girl, after three years, leaving
+      him a natural son, had been the chief, perhaps the only real, sorrow of
+      his life. Five years later he married. What for? God only knew! as he was
+      in the habit of remarking. His wife had been a hard, worldly,
+      well-connected woman, who presented him with two unnatural children, a
+      girl and a boy, and grew harder, more worldly, less handsome, in the
+      process. The migration to Liverpool, which took place when he was sixty
+      and she forty-two, broke what she still had of heart, but she lingered on
+      twelve years, finding solace in bridge, and being haughty towards
+      Liverpool. Old Heythorp saw her to her rest without regret. He had felt no
+      love for her whatever, and practically none for her two children&mdash;they
+      were in his view colourless, pragmatical, very unexpected characters. His
+      son Ernest&mdash;in the Admiralty&mdash;he thought a poor, careful stick.
+      His daughter Adela, an excellent manager, delighting in spiritual
+      conversation and the society of tame men, rarely failed to show him that
+      she considered him a hopeless heathen. They saw as little as need be of
+      each other. She was provided for under that settlement he had made on her
+      mother fifteen years ago, well before the not altogether unexpected crisis
+      in his affairs. Very different was the feeling he had bestowed on that son
+      of his &ldquo;under the rose.&rdquo; The boy, who had always gone by his mother's name
+      of Larne, had on her death been sent to some relations of hers in Ireland,
+      and there brought up. He had been called to the Dublin bar, and married,
+      young, a girl half Cornish and half Irish; presently, having cost old
+      Heythorp in all a pretty penny, he had died impecunious, leaving his fair
+      Rosamund at thirty with a girl of eight and a boy of five. She had not
+      spent six months of widowhood before coming over from Dublin to claim the
+      old man's guardianship. A remarkably pretty woman, like a full-blown rose,
+      with greenish hazel eyes, she had turned up one morning at the offices of
+      &ldquo;The Island Navigation Company,&rdquo; accompanied by her two children&mdash;for
+      he had never divulged to them his private address. And since then they had
+      always been more or less on his hands, occupying a small house in a suburb
+      of Liverpool. He visited them there, but never asked them to the house in
+      Sefton Park, which was in fact his daughter's; so that his proper family
+      and friends were unaware of their existence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Rosamund Larne was one of those precarious ladies who make uncertain
+      incomes by writing full-bodied storyettes. In the most dismal
+      circumstances she enjoyed a buoyancy bordering on the indecent; which
+      always amused old Heythorp's cynicism. But of his grandchildren Phyllis
+      and Jock (wild as colts) he had become fond. And this chance of getting
+      six thousand pounds settled on them at a stroke had seemed to him nothing
+      but heaven-sent. As things were, if he &ldquo;went off&rdquo;&mdash;and, of course, he
+      might at any moment, there wouldn't be a penny for them; for he would &ldquo;cut
+      up&rdquo; a good fifteen thousand to the bad. He was now giving them some three
+      hundred a year out of his fees; and dead directors unfortunately earned no
+      fees! Six thousand pounds at four and a half per cent., settled so that
+      their mother couldn't &ldquo;blue it,&rdquo; would give them a certain two hundred and
+      fifty pounds a year-better than beggary. And the more he thought the
+      better he liked it, if only that shaky chap, Joe Pillin, didn't shy off
+      when he'd bitten his nails short over it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Four evenings later, the &ldquo;shaky chap&rdquo; had again appeared at his house in
+      Sefton Park.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've thought it over, Sylvanus. I don't like it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; but you'll do it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a sacrifice. Fifty-four thousand for four ships&mdash;it means a
+      considerable reduction in my income.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It means security, my boy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, there is that; but you know, I really can't be party to a secret
+      commission. If it came out, think of my name and goodness knows what.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It won't come out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes, so you say, but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All you've got to do's to execute a settlement on some third parties that
+      I'll name. I'm not going to take a penny of it myself. Get your own lawyer
+      to draw it up and make him trustee. You can sign it when the purchase has
+      gone through. I'll trust you, Joe. What stock have you got that gives four
+      and a half per cent.?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Midland&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That'll do. You needn't sell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, but who are these people?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Woman and her children I want to do a good turn to.&rdquo; What a face the
+      fellow had made! &ldquo;Afraid of being connected with a woman, Joe?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, you may laugh&mdash;I am afraid of being connected with someone
+      else's woman. I don't like it&mdash;I don't like it at all. I've not led
+      your life, Sylvanus.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lucky for you; you'd have been dead long ago. Tell your lawyer it's an
+      old flame of yours&mdash;you old dog!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, there it is at once, you see. I might be subject to blackmail.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell him to keep it dark, and just pay over the income, quarterly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't like it, Sylvanus&mdash;I don't like it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then leave it, and be hanged to you. Have a cigar?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know I never smoke. Is there no other way?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Sell stock in London, bank the proceeds there, and bring me six
+      thousand pounds in notes. I'll hold 'em till after the general meeting. If
+      the thing doesn't go through, I'll hand 'em back to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; I like that even less.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rather I trusted you, eh!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, not at all, Sylvanus, not at all. But it's all playing round the
+      law.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's no law to prevent you doing what you like with your money. What I
+      do's nothing to you. And mind you, I'm taking nothing from it&mdash;not a
+      mag. You assist the widowed and the fatherless&mdash;just your line, Joe!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a fellow you are, Sylvanus; you don't seem capable of taking
+      anything seriously.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Care killed the cat!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Left alone after this second interview he had thought: 'The beggar'll
+      jump.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And the beggar had. That settlement was drawn and only awaited signature.
+      The Board to-day had decided on the purchase; and all that remained was to
+      get it ratified at the general meeting. Let him but get that over, and
+      this provision for his grandchildren made, and he would snap his fingers
+      at Brownbee and his crew-the canting humbugs! &ldquo;Hope you have many years of
+      this life before you!&rdquo; As if they cared for anything but his money&mdash;their
+      money rather! And becoming conscious of the length of his reverie, he
+      grasped the arms of his chair, heaved at his own bulk, in an effort to
+      rise, growing redder and redder in face and neck. It was one of the
+      hundred things his doctor had told him not to do for fear of apoplexy, the
+      humbug! Why didn't Farney or one of those young fellows come and help him
+      up? To call out was undignified. But was he to sit there all night? Three
+      times he failed, and after each failure sat motionless again, crimson and
+      exhausted; the fourth time he succeeded, and slowly made for the office.
+      Passing through, he stopped and said in his extinct voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You young gentlemen had forgotten me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Farney said you didn't wish to be disturbed, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very good of him. Give me my hat and coat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you. What time is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Six o'clock, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell Mr. Farney to come and see me tomorrow at noon, about my speech for
+      the general meeting.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-night to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-night, Sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At his tortoise gait he passed between the office stools to the door,
+      opened it feebly, and slowly vanished.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Shutting the door behind him, a clerk said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poor old chairman! He's on his last!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Another answered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gosh! He's a tough old hulk. He'll go down fightin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      2
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Issuing from the offices of &ldquo;The Island Navigation Company,&rdquo; Sylvanus
+      Heythorp moved towards the corner whence he always took tram to Sefton
+      Park. The crowded street had all that prosperous air of catching or
+      missing something which characterises the town where London and New York
+      and Dublin meet. Old Heythorp had to cross to the far side, and he sallied
+      forth without regard to traffic. That snail-like passage had in it a touch
+      of the sublime; the old man seemed saying: &ldquo;Knock me down and be d&mdash;-d
+      to you&mdash;I'm not going to hurry.&rdquo; His life was saved perhaps ten times
+      a day by the British character at large, compounded of phlegm and a liking
+      to take something under its protection. The tram conductors on that line
+      were especially used to him, never failing to catch him under the arms and
+      heave him like a sack of coals, while with trembling hands he pulled hard
+      at the rail and strap.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He moved into the body of the tram, where somebody would always get up
+      from kindness and the fear that he might sit down on them; and there he
+      stayed motionless, his little eyes tight closed. With his red face, tuft
+      of white hairs above his square cleft block of shaven chin, and his big
+      high-crowned bowler hat, which yet seemed too petty for his head with its
+      thick hair&mdash;he looked like some kind of an idol dug up and decked out
+      in gear a size too small.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One of those voices of young men from public schools and exchanges where
+      things are bought and sold, said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How de do, Mr. Heythorp?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp opened his eyes. That sleek cub, Joe Pillin's son! What a
+      young pup-with his round eyes, and his round cheeks, and his little
+      moustache, his fur coat, his spats, his diamond pin!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How's your father?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks, rather below par, worryin' about his ships. Suppose you haven't
+      any news for him, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp nodded. The young man was one of his pet abominations,
+      embodying all the complacent, little-headed mediocrity of this new
+      generation; natty fellows all turned out of the same mould, sippers and
+      tasters, chaps without drive or capacity, without even vices; and he did
+      not intend to gratify the cub's curiosity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come to my house,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I'll give you a note for him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tha-anks; I'd like to cheer the old man up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man! Cheeky brat! And closing his eyes he relapsed into
+      immobility. The tram wound and ground its upward way, and he mused. When
+      he was that cub's age&mdash;twenty-eight or whatever it might be&mdash;he
+      had done most things; been up Vesuvius, driven four-in-hand, lost his last
+      penny on the Derby and won it back on the Oaks, known all the dancers and
+      operatic stars of the day, fought a duel with a Yankee at Dieppe and
+      winged him for saying through his confounded nose that Old England was
+      played out; been a controlling voice already in his shipping firm; drunk
+      five other of the best men in London under the table; broken his neck
+      steeple-chasing; shot a burglar in the legs; been nearly drowned, for a
+      bet; killed snipe in Chelsea; been to Court for his sins; stared a ghost
+      out of countenance; and travelled with a lady of Spain. If this young pup
+      had done the last, it would be all he had; and yet, no doubt, he would
+      call himself a &ldquo;spark.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The conductor touched his arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Ere you are, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He lowered himself to the ground, and moved in the bluish darkness towards
+      the gate of his daughter's house. Bob Pillin walked beside him, thinking:
+      'Poor old josser, he is gettin' a back number!' And he said: &ldquo;I should
+      have thought you ought to drive, sir. My old guv'nor would knock up at
+      once if he went about at night like this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The answer rumbled out into the misty air:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your father's got no chest; never had.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bob Pillin gave vent to one of those fat cackles which come so readily
+      from a certain type of man; and old Heythorp thought:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      'Laughing at his father! Parrot!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They had reached the porch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A woman with dark hair and a thin, straight face and figure was arranging
+      some flowers in the hall. She turned and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You really ought not to be so late, Father! It's wicked at this time of
+      year. Who is it&mdash;oh! Mr. Pillin, how do you do? Have you had tea?
+      Won't you come to the drawing-room; or do you want to see my father?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tha-anks! I believe your father&mdash;&rdquo; And he thought: 'By Jove! the old
+      chap is a caution!' For old Heythorp was crossing the hall without having
+      paid the faintest attention to his daughter. Murmuring again:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tha-anks awfully; he wants to give me something,&rdquo; he followed. Miss
+      Heythorp was not his style at all; he had a kind of dread of that thin
+      woman who looked as if she could never be unbuttoned. They said she was a
+      great churchgoer and all that sort of thing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In his sanctum old Heythorp had moved to his writing-table, and was
+      evidently anxious to sit down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shall I give you a hand, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Receiving a shake of the head, Bob Pillin stood by the fire and watched.
+      The old &ldquo;sport&rdquo; liked to paddle his own canoe. Fancy having to lower
+      yourself into a chair like that! When an old Johnny got to such a state it
+      was really a mercy when he snuffed out, and made way for younger men. How
+      his Companies could go on putting up with such a fossil for chairman was a
+      marvel! The fossil rumbled and said in that almost inaudible voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose you're beginning to look forward to your father's shoes?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bob Pillin's mouth opened. The voice went on:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dibs and no responsibility. Tell him from me to drink port&mdash;add five
+      years to his life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To this unwarranted attack Bob Pillin made no answer save a laugh; he
+      perceived that a manservant had entered the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A Mrs. Larne, sir. Will you see her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At this announcement the old man seemed to try and start; then he nodded,
+      and held out the note he had written. Bob Pillin received it together with
+      the impression of a murmur which sounded like: &ldquo;Scratch a poll, Poll!&rdquo; and
+      passing the fine figure of a woman in a fur coat, who seemed to warm the
+      air as she went by, he was in the hall again before he perceived that he
+      had left his hat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A young and pretty girl was standing on the bearskin before the fire,
+      looking at him with round-eyed innocence. He thought: 'This is better; I
+      mustn't disturb them for my hat'. and approaching the fire, said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jolly cold, isn't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl smiled: &ldquo;Yes-jolly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He noticed that she had a large bunch of violets at her breast, a lot of
+      fair hair, a short straight nose, and round blue-grey eyes very frank and
+      open. &ldquo;Er&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I've left my hat in there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What larks!&rdquo; And at her little clear laugh something moved within Bob
+      Pillin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know this house well?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She shook her head. &ldquo;But it's rather scrummy, isn't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bob Pillin, who had never yet thought so answered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite O.K.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl threw up her head to laugh again. &ldquo;O.K.? What's that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bob Pillin saw her white round throat, and thought: 'She is a ripper!' And
+      he said with a certain desperation:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My name's Pillin. Yours is Larne, isn't it? Are you a relation here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's our Guardy. Isn't he a chook?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That rumbling whisper like &ldquo;Scratch a Poll, Poll!&rdquo; recurring to Bob
+      Pillin, he said with reservation:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know him better than I do.&rdquo; &ldquo;Oh! Aren't you his grandson, or
+      something?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bob Pillin did not cross himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lord! No! My dad's an old friend of his; that's all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is your dad like him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a pity! It would have been lovely if they'd been Tweedles.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bob Pillin thought: 'This bit is something new. I wonder what her
+      Christian name is.' And he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did your godfather and godmothers in your baptism&mdash;-?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl laughed; she seemed to laugh at everything.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Phyllis.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Could he say: &ldquo;Is my only joy&rdquo;? Better keep it! But-for what? He wouldn't
+      see her again if he didn't look out! And he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I live at the last house in the park-the red one. D'you know it? Where do
+      you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! a long way&mdash;23, Millicent Villas. It's a poky little house. I
+      hate it. We have awful larks, though.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who are we?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mother, and myself, and Jock&mdash;he's an awful boy. You can't conceive
+      what an awful boy he is. He's got nearly red hair; I think he'll be just
+      like Guardy when he gets old. He's awful!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bob Pillin murmured:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should like to see him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you? I'll ask mother if you can. You won't want to again; he goes
+      off all the time like a squib.&rdquo; She threw back her head, and again Bob
+      Pillin felt a little giddy. He collected himself, and drawled:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you going in to see your Guardy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. Mother's got something special to say. We've never been here before,
+      you see. Isn't he fun, though?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fun!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think he's the greatest lark; but he's awfully nice to me. Jock calls
+      him the last of the Stoic'uns.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A voice called from old Heythorp's den:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Phyllis!&rdquo; It had a particular ring, that voice, as if coming from
+      beautifully formed red lips, of which the lower one must curve the least
+      bit over; it had, too, a caressing vitality, and a kind of warm falsity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl threw a laughing look back over her shoulder, and vanished
+      through the door into the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bob Pillin remained with his back to the fire and his puppy round eyes
+      fixed on the air that her figure had last occupied. He was experiencing a
+      sensation never felt before. Those travels with a lady of Spain,
+      charitably conceded him by old Heythorp, had so far satisfied the
+      emotional side of this young man; they had stopped short at Brighton and
+      Scarborough, and been preserved from even the slightest intrusion of love.
+      A calculated and hygienic career had caused no anxiety either to himself
+      or his father; and this sudden swoop of something more than admiration
+      gave him an uncomfortable choky feeling just above his high round collar,
+      and in the temples a sort of buzzing&mdash;those first symptoms of
+      chivalry. A man of the world does not, however, succumb without a
+      struggle; and if his hat had not been out of reach, who knows whether he
+      would not have left the house hurriedly, saying to himself: &ldquo;No, no, my
+      boy; Millicent Villas is hardly your form, when your intentions are
+      honourable&rdquo;? For somehow that round and laughing face, bob of glistening
+      hair, those wide-opened grey eyes refused to awaken the beginnings of
+      other intentions&mdash;such is the effect of youth and innocence on even
+      the steadiest young men. With a kind of moral stammer, he was thinking:
+      'Can I&mdash;dare I offer to see them to their tram? Couldn't I even nip
+      out and get the car round and send them home in it? No, I might miss them&mdash;better
+      stick it out here! What a jolly laugh! What a tipping face&mdash;strawberries
+      and cream, hay, and all that! Millicent Villas!' And he wrote it on his
+      cuff.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The door was opening; he heard that warm vibrating voice: &ldquo;Come along,
+      Phyllis!&rdquo;&mdash;the girl's laugh so high and fresh: &ldquo;Right-o! Coming!&rdquo; And
+      with, perhaps, the first real tremor he had ever known, he crossed to the
+      front door. All the more chivalrous to escort them to the tram without a
+      hat! And suddenly he heard: &ldquo;I've got your hat, young man!&rdquo; And her
+      mother's voice, warm, and simulating shock: &ldquo;Phyllis, you awful gairl! Did
+      you ever see such an awful gairl; Mr.&mdash;-&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pillin, Mother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And then&mdash;he did not quite know how&mdash;insulated from the January
+      air by laughter and the scent of fur and violets, he was between them
+      walking to their tram. It was like an experience out of the &ldquo;Arabian
+      Nights,&rdquo; or something of that sort, an intoxication which made one say one
+      was going their way, though one would have to come all the way back in the
+      same beastly tram. Nothing so warming had ever happened to him as sitting
+      between them on that drive, so that he forgot the note in his pocket, and
+      his desire to relieve the anxiety of the &ldquo;old man,&rdquo; his father. At the
+      tram's terminus they all got out. There issued a purr of invitation to
+      come and see them some time; a clear: &ldquo;Jock'll love to see you!&rdquo; A low
+      laugh: &ldquo;You awful gairl!&rdquo; And a flash of cunning zigzagged across his
+      brain. Taking off his hat, he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks awfully; rather!&rdquo; and put his foot back on the step of the tram.
+      Thus did he delicately expose the depths of his chivalry!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! you said you were going our way! What one-ers you do tell! Oh!&rdquo; The
+      words were as music; the sight of those eyes growing rounder, the most
+      perfect he had ever seen; and Mrs. Larne's low laugh, so warm yet so
+      preoccupied, and the tips of the girl's fingers waving back above her
+      head. He heaved a sigh, and knew no more till he was seated at his club
+      before a bottle of champagne. Home! Not he! He wished to drink and dream.
+      &ldquo;The old man&rdquo; would get his news all right to-morrow!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      3
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The words: &ldquo;A Mrs. Larne to see you, sir,&rdquo; had been of a nature to
+      astonish weaker nerves. What had brought her here? She knew she mustn't
+      come! Old Heythorp had watched her entrance with cynical amusement. The
+      way she whiffed herself at that young pup in passing, the way her eyes
+      slid round! He had a very just appreciation of his son's widow; and a
+      smile settled deep between his chin tuft and his moustache. She lifted his
+      hand, kissed it, pressed it to her splendid bust, and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So here I am at last, you see. Aren't you surprised?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp, shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I really had to come and see you, Guardy; we haven't had a sight of you
+      for such an age. And in this awful weather! How are you, dear old Guardy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never better.&rdquo; And, watching her green-grey eyes, he added:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Haven't a penny for you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her face did not fall; she gave her feather-laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How dreadful of you to think I came for that! But I am in an awful fix,
+      Guardy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never knew you not to be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just let me tell you, dear; it'll be some relief. I'm having the most
+      terrible time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She sank into a low chair, disengaging an overpowering scent of violets,
+      while melancholy struggled to subdue her face and body.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The most awful fix. I expect to be sold up any moment. We may be on the
+      streets to-morrow. I daren't tell the children; they're so happy, poor
+      darlings. I shall be obliged to take Jock away from school. And Phyllis
+      will have to stop her piano and dancing; it's an absolute crisis. And all
+      due to those Midland Syndicate people. I've been counting on at least two
+      hundred for my new story, and the wretches have refused it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With a tiny handkerchief she removed one tear from the corner of one eye.
+      &ldquo;It is hard, Guardy; I worked my brain silly over that story.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      From old Heythorp came a mutter which sounded suspiciously like:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rats!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Heaving a sigh, which conveyed nothing but the generosity of her breathing
+      apparatus, Mrs. Larne went on:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You couldn't, I suppose, let me have just one hundred?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not a bob.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She sighed again, her eyes slid round the room; then in her warm voice she
+      murmured:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Guardy, you were my dear Philip's father, weren't you? I've never said
+      anything; but of course you were. He was so like you, and so is Jock.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Nothing moved in old Heythorp's face. No pagan image consulted with
+      flowers and song and sacrifice could have returned less answer. Her dear
+      Philip! She had led him the devil of a life, or he was a Dutchman! And
+      what the deuce made her suddenly trot out the skeleton like this? But Mrs.
+      Larne's eyes were still wandering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a lovely house! You know, I think you ought to help me, Guardy. Just
+      imagine if your grandchildren were thrown out into the street!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man grinned. He was not going to deny his relationship&mdash;it
+      was her look-out, not his. But neither was he going to let her rush him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And they will be; you couldn't look on and see it. Do come to my rescue
+      this once. You really might do something for them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With a rumbling sigh he answered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait. Can't give you a penny now. Poor as a church mouse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Guardy
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fact.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Larne heaved one of her most buoyant sighs. She certainly did not
+      believe him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well!&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;you'll be sorry when we come round one night and sing
+      for pennies under your window. Wouldn't you like to see Phyllis? I left
+      her in the hall. She's growing such a sweet gairl. Guardy just fifty!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not a rap.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Larne threw up her hands. &ldquo;Well! You'll repent it. I'm at my last
+      gasp.&rdquo; She sighed profoundly, and the perfume of violets escaped in a
+      cloud; Then, getting up, she went to the door and called: &ldquo;Phyllis!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When the girl entered old Heythorp felt the nearest approach to a flutter
+      of the heart for many years. She had put her hair up! She was like a
+      spring day in January; such a relief from that scented humbug, her mother.
+      Pleasant the touch of her lips on his forehead, the sound of her clear
+      voice, the sight of her slim movements, the feeling that she did him
+      credit&mdash;clean-run stock, she and that young scamp Jock&mdash;better
+      than the holy woman, his daughter Adela, would produce if anyone were ever
+      fool enough to marry her, or that pragmatical fellow, his son Ernest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And when they were gone he reflected with added zest on the six thousand
+      pounds he was getting for them out of Joe Pillin and his ships. He would
+      have to pitch it strong in his speech at the general meeting. With
+      freights so low, there was bound to be opposition. No dash nowadays;
+      nothing but gabby caution! They were a scrim-shanking lot on the Board&mdash;he
+      had had to pull them round one by one&mdash;the deuce of a tug getting
+      this thing through! And yet, the business was sound enough. Those ships
+      would earn money, properly handled-good money.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His valet, coming in to prepare him for dinner, found him asleep. He had
+      for the old man as much admiration as may be felt for one who cannot put
+      his own trousers on. He would say to the housemaid Molly: &ldquo;He's a game old
+      blighter&mdash;must have been a rare one in his day. Cocks his hat at you,
+      even now, I see!&rdquo; To which the girl, Irish and pretty, would reply: &ldquo;Well,
+      an' sure I don't mind, if it gives um a pleasure. 'Tis better anyway than
+      the sad eye I get from herself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At dinner, old Heythorp always sat at one end of the rosewood table and
+      his daughter at the other. It was the eminent moment of the day. With
+      napkin tucked high into his waistcoat, he gave himself to the meal with
+      passion. His palate was undimmed, his digestion unimpaired. He could still
+      eat as much as two men, and drink more than one. And while he savoured
+      each mouthful he never spoke if he could help it. The holy woman had
+      nothing to say that he cared to hear, and he nothing to say that she cared
+      to listen to. She had a horror, too, of what she called &ldquo;the pleasures of
+      the table&rdquo;&mdash;those lusts of the flesh! She was always longing to dock
+      his grub, he knew. Would see her further first! What other pleasures were
+      there at his age? Let her wait till she was eighty. But she never would
+      be; too thin and holy!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This evening, however, with the advent of the partridge she did speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who were your visitors, Father?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Trust her for nosing anything out! Fixing his little blue eyes on her, he
+      mumbled with a very full mouth: &ldquo;Ladies.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So I saw; what ladies?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He had a longing to say: 'Part of one of my families under the rose.' As a
+      fact it was the best part of the only one, but the temptation to multiply
+      exceedingly was almost overpowering. He checked himself, however, and went
+      on eating partridge, his secret irritation crimsoning his cheeks; and he
+      watched her eyes, those cold precise and round grey eyes, noting it, and
+      knew she was thinking: 'He eats too much.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She said: &ldquo;Sorry I'm not considered fit to be told. You ought not to be
+      drinking hock.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp took up the long green glass, drained it, and repressing
+      fumes and emotion went on with his partridge. His daughter pursed her
+      lips, took a sip of water, and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know their name is Larne, but it conveyed nothing to me; perhaps it's
+      just as well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man, mastering a spasm, said with a grin:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My daughter-in-law and my granddaughter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What! Ernest married&mdash;Oh! nonsense!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He chuckled, and shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then do you mean to say, Father, that you were married before you married
+      my mother?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The expression on her face was as good as a play!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She said with a sort of disgust: &ldquo;Not married! I see. I suppose those
+      people are hanging round your neck, then; no wonder you're always in
+      difficulties. Are there any more of them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again the old man suppressed that spasm, and the veins in his neck and
+      forehead swelled alarmingly. If he had spoken he would infallibly have
+      choked. He ceased eating, and putting his hands on the table tried to
+      raise himself. He could not and subsiding in his chair sat glaring at the
+      stiff, quiet figure of his daughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't be silly, Father, and make a scene before Meller. Finish your
+      dinner.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He did not answer. He was not going to sit there to be dragooned and
+      insulted! His helplessness had never so weighed on him before. It was like
+      a revelation. A log&mdash;that had to put up with anything! A log! And,
+      waiting for his valet to return, he cunningly took up his fork.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In that saintly voice of hers she said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose you don't realise that it's a shock to me. I don't know what
+      Ernest will think&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ernest be d&mdash;-d.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do wish, Father, you wouldn't swear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp's rage found vent in a sort of rumble. How the devil had he
+      gone on all these years in the same house with that woman, dining with her
+      day after day! But the servant had come back now, and putting down his
+      fork he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Help me up!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The man paused, thunderstruck, with the souffle balanced. To leave dinner
+      unfinished&mdash;it was a portent!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Help me up!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Heythorp's not very well, Meller; take his other arm.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man shook off her hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm very well. Help me up. Dine in my own room in future.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Raised to his feet, he walked slowly out; but in his sanctum he did not
+      sit down, obsessed by this first overwhelming realisation of his
+      helplessness. He stood swaying a little, holding on to the table, till the
+      servant, having finished serving dinner, brought in his port.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you waiting to sit down, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He shook his head. Hang it, he could do that for himself, anyway. He must
+      think of something to fortify his position against that woman. And he
+      said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Send me Molly!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo; The man put down the port and went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp filled his glass, drank, and filled again. He took a cigar
+      from the box and lighted it. The girl came in, a grey-eyed, dark-haired
+      damsel, and stood with her hands folded, her head a little to one side,
+      her lips a little parted. The old man said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're a human being.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I would hope so, sirr.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm going to ask you something as a human being&mdash;not a servant&mdash;see?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, sirr; but I will be glad to do anything you like.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then put your nose in here every now and then, to see if I want anything.
+      Meller goes out sometimes. Don't say anything; Just put your nose in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! an' I will; 'tis a pleasure 'twill be to do ut.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He nodded, and when she had gone lowered himself into his chair with a
+      sense of appeasement. Pretty girl! Comfort to see a pretty face&mdash;not
+      a pale, peeky thing like Adela's. His anger burned up anew. So she counted
+      on his helplessness, had begun to count on that, had she? She should see
+      that there was life in the old dog yet! And his sacrifice of the uneaten
+      souffle, the still less eaten mushrooms, the peppermint sweet with which
+      he usually concluded dinner, seemed to consecrate that purpose. They all
+      thought he was a hulk, without a shot left in the locker! He had seen a
+      couple of them at the Board that afternoon shrugging at each other, as
+      though saying: 'Look at him!' And young Farney pitying him. Pity,
+      forsooth! And that coarse-grained solicitor chap at the creditors' meeting
+      curling his lip as much as to say: 'One foot in the grave!' He had seen
+      the clerks dowsing the glim of their grins; and that young pup Bob Pillin
+      screwing up his supercilious mug over his dog-collar. He knew that scented
+      humbug Rosamund was getting scared that he'd drop off before she'd
+      squeezed him dry. And his valet was always looking him up and down
+      queerly. As to that holy woman&mdash;! Not quite so fast! Not quite so
+      fast! And filling his glass for the fourth time, he slowly sucked down the
+      dark red fluid, with the &ldquo;old boots&rdquo; flavour which his soul loved, and,
+      drawing deep at his cigar, closed his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      II
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      1
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      The room in the hotel where the general meetings of &ldquo;The Island Navigation
+      Company&rdquo; were held was nearly full when the secretary came through the
+      door which as yet divided the shareholders from their directors. Having
+      surveyed their empty chairs, their ink and papers, and nodded to a
+      shareholder or two, he stood, watch in hand, contemplating the
+      congregation. A thicker attendance than he had ever seen! Due, no doubt,
+      to the lower dividend, and this Pillin business. And his tongue curled.
+      For if he had a natural contempt for his Board, with the exception of the
+      chairman, he had a still more natural contempt for his shareholders.
+      Amusing spectacle when you came to think of it, a general meeting! Unique!
+      Eighty or a hundred men, and five women, assembled through sheer devotion
+      to their money. Was any other function in the world so single-hearted.
+      Church was nothing to it&mdash;so many motives were mingled there with
+      devotion to one's soul. A well-educated young man&mdash;reader of Anatole
+      France, and other writers&mdash;he enjoyed ironic speculation. What
+      earthly good did they think they got by coming here? Half-past two! He put
+      his watch back into his pocket, and passed into the Board-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There, the fumes of lunch and of a short preliminary meeting made cosy the
+      February atmosphere. By the fire four directors were conversing rather
+      restlessly; the fifth was combing his beard; the chairman sat with eyes
+      closed and red lips moving rhythmically in the sucking of a lozenge, the
+      slips of his speech ready in his hand. The secretary said in his cheerful
+      voice: &ldquo;Time, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp swallowed, lifted his arms, rose with help, and walked
+      through to his place at the centre of the table. The five directors
+      followed. And, standing at the chairman's right, the secretary read the
+      minutes, forming the words precisely with his curling tongue. Then,
+      assisting the chairman to his feet, he watched those rows of faces, and
+      thought: 'Mistake to let them see he can't get up without help. He ought
+      to have let me read his speech&mdash;I wrote it.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The chairman began to speak:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is my duty and my pleasure,' ladies and gentlemen, for the nineteenth
+      consecutive year to present to you the directors' report and the accounts
+      for the past twelve months. You will all have had special notice of a
+      measure of policy on which your Board has decided, and to which you will
+      be asked to-day to give your adherence&mdash;to that I shall come at the
+      end of my remarks....&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Excuse me, sir; we can't hear a word down here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      'Ah!' thought the secretary, 'I was expecting that.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The chairman went on, undisturbed. But several shareholders now rose, and
+      the same speaker said testily: &ldquo;We might as well go home. If the
+      chairman's got no voice, can't somebody read for him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The chairman took a sip of water, and resumed. Almost all in the last six
+      rows were now on their feet, and amid a hubbub of murmurs the chairman
+      held out to the secretary the slips of his speech, and fell heavily back
+      into his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The secretary re-read from the beginning; and as each sentence fell from
+      his tongue, he thought: 'How good that is!' 'That's very clear!' 'A neat
+      touch!' 'This is getting them.' It seemed to him a pity they could not
+      know it was all his composition. When at last he came to the Pillin sale
+      he paused for a second.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I come now to the measure of policy to which I made allusion at the
+      beginning of my speech. Your Board has decided to expand your enterprise
+      by purchasing the entire fleet of Pillin &amp; Co., Ltd. By this
+      transaction we become the owners of the four steamships Smyrna, Damascus,
+      Tyre, and Sidon, vessels in prime condition with a total freight-carrying
+      capacity of fifteen thousand tons, at the low inclusive price of sixty
+      thousand pounds. Gentlemen, de l'audace, toujours de l'audace!&rdquo;&mdash;it
+      was the chairman's phrase, his bit of the speech, and the secretary did it
+      more than justice. &ldquo;Times are bad, but your Board is emphatically of the
+      opinion that they are touching bottom; and this, in their view, is the
+      psychological moment for a forward stroke. They confidently recommend your
+      adoption of their policy and the ratification of this purchase, which they
+      believe will, in the not far distant future, substantially increase the
+      profits of the Company.&rdquo; The secretary sat down with reluctance. The
+      speech should have continued with a number of appealing sentences which he
+      had carefully prepared, but the chairman had cut them out with the simple
+      comment: &ldquo;They ought to be glad of the chance.&rdquo; It was, in his view, an
+      error.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The director who had combed his beard now rose&mdash;a man of presence,
+      who might be trusted to say nothing long and suavely. While he was
+      speaking the secretary was busy noting whence opposition was likely to
+      come. The majority were sitting owl-like-a good sign; but some dozen were
+      studying their copies of the report, and three at least were making notes&mdash;Westgate,
+      for, instance, who wanted to get on the Board, and was sure to make
+      himself unpleasant&mdash;the time-honoured method of vinegar; and
+      Batterson, who also desired to come on, and might be trusted to support
+      the Board&mdash;the time-honoured method of oil; while, if one knew
+      anything of human nature, the fellow who had complained that he might as
+      well go home would have something uncomfortable to say. The director
+      finished his remarks, combed his beard with his fingers, and sat down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A momentary pause ensued. Then Messieurs Westgate and Batterson rose
+      together. Seeing the chairman nod towards the latter, the secretary
+      thought: 'Mistake! He should have humoured Westgate by giving him
+      precedence.' But that was the worst of the old man, he had no notion of
+      the suaviter in modo! Mr. Batterson thus unchained&mdash;would like, if he
+      might be so allowed, to congratulate the Board on having piloted their
+      ship so smoothly through the troublous waters of the past year. With their
+      worthy chairman still at the helm, he had no doubt that in spite of the
+      still low&mdash;he would not say falling&mdash;barometer, and
+      the-er-unseasonable climacteric, they might rely on weathering the&mdash;er&mdash;he
+      would not say storm. He would confess that the present dividend of four
+      per cent. was not one which satisfied every aspiration (Hear, hear!), but
+      speaking for himself, and he hoped for others&mdash;and here Mr. Batterson
+      looked round&mdash;he recognised that in all the circumstances it was as
+      much as they had the right&mdash;er&mdash;to expect. But following the
+      bold but to his mind prudent development which the Board proposed to make,
+      he thought that they might reasonably, if not sanguinely, anticipate a
+      more golden future. (&ldquo;No, no!&rdquo;) A shareholder said, 'No, no!' That might
+      seem to indicate a certain lack of confidence in the special proposal
+      before the meeting. (&ldquo;Yes!&rdquo;) From that lack of confidence he would like at
+      once to dissociate himself. Their chairman, a man of foresight and acumen,
+      and valour proved on many a field and&mdash;er&mdash;sea, would not have
+      committed himself to this policy without good reason. In his opinion they
+      were in safe hands, and he was glad to register his support of the measure
+      proposed. The chairman had well said in his speech: 'de l'audace, toujours
+      de l'audace!' Shareholders would agree with him that there could be no
+      better motto for Englishmen. Ahem!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Batterson sat down. And Mr. Westgate rose: He wanted&mdash;he said&mdash;to
+      know more, much more, about this proposition, which to his mind was of a
+      very dubious wisdom.... 'Ah!' thought the secretary, 'I told the old boy
+      he must tell them more'.... To whom, for instance, had the proposal first
+      been made? To him!&mdash;the chairman said. Good! But why were Pillins
+      selling, if freights were to go up, as they were told?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Matter of opinion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite so; and in my opinion they are going lower, and Pillins were right
+      to sell. It follows that we are wrong to buy.&rdquo; (&ldquo;Hear, hear!&rdquo; &ldquo;No, no!&rdquo;)
+      &ldquo;Pillins are shrewd people. What does the chairman say? Nerves! Does he
+      mean to tell us that this sale was the result of nerves?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The chairman nodded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That appears to me a somewhat fantastic theory; but I will leave that and
+      confine myself to asking the grounds on which the chairman bases his
+      confidence; in fact, what it is which is actuating the Board in pressing
+      on us at such a time what I have no hesitation in stigmatising as a rash
+      proposal. In a word, I want light as well as leading in this matter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Westgate sat down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What would the chairman do now? The situation was distinctly awkward&mdash;seeing
+      his helplessness and the lukewarmness of the Board behind him. And the
+      secretary felt more strongly than ever the absurdity of his being an
+      underling, he who in a few well-chosen words could so easily have twisted
+      the meeting round his thumb. Suddenly he heard the long, rumbling sigh
+      which preluded the chairman's speeches.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Has any other gentleman anything to say before I move the adoption of the
+      report?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Phew! That would put their backs up. Yes, sure enough it had brought that
+      fellow, who had said he might as well go home, to his feet! Now for
+      something nasty!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Westgate requires answering. I don't like this business. I don't
+      impute anything to anybody; but it looks to me as if there were something
+      behind it which the shareholders ought to be told. Not only that; but, to
+      speak frankly, I'm not satisfied to be ridden over roughshod in this
+      fashion by one who, whatever he may have been in the past, is obviously
+      not now in the prime of his faculties.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With a gasp the secretary thought: 'I knew that was a plain-spoken man!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He heard again the rumbling beside him. The chairman had gone crimson, his
+      mouth was pursed, his little eyes were very blue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Help me up,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The secretary helped him, and waited, rather breathless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The chairman took a sip of water, and his voice, unexpectedly loud, broke
+      an ominous hush:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never been so insulted in my life. My best services have been at your
+      disposal for nineteen years; you know what measure of success this Company
+      has attained. I am the oldest man here, and my experience of shipping is,
+      I hope, a little greater than that of the two gentlemen who spoke last. I
+      have done my best for you, ladies and gentlemen, and we shall see whether
+      you are going to endorse an indictment of my judgment and of my honour, if
+      I am to take the last speaker seriously. This purchase is for your good.
+      'There is a tide in the affairs of men'&mdash;and I for one am not
+      content, never have been, to stagnate. If that is what you want, however,
+      by all means give your support to these gentlemen and have done with it. I
+      tell you freights will go up before the end of the year; the purchase is a
+      sound one, more than a sound one&mdash;I, at any rate, stand or fall by
+      it. Refuse to ratify it, if you like; if you do, I shall resign.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He sank back into his seat. The secretary, stealing a glance, thought with
+      a sort of enthusiasm: 'Bravo! Who'd have thought he could rally his voice
+      like that? A good touch, too, that about his honour! I believe he's
+      knocked them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It's still dicky, though, if that fellow at the back gets up again; the
+      old chap can't work that stop a second time. 'Ah! here was 'old Apple-pie'
+      on his hind legs. That was all right!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not hesitate to say that I am an old friend of the chairman; we are,
+      many of us, old friends of the chairman, and it has been painful to me,
+      and I doubt not to others, to hear an attack made on him. If he is old in
+      body, he is young in mental vigour and courage. I wish we were all as
+      young. We ought to stand by him; I say, we ought to stand by him.&rdquo; (&ldquo;Hear,
+      hear! Hear, hear!&rdquo;) And the secretary thought: 'That's done it!' And he
+      felt a sudden odd emotion, watching the chairman bobbing his body, like a
+      wooden toy, at old Appleby; and old Appleby bobbing back. Then, seeing a
+      shareholder close to the door get up, thought: 'Who's that? I know his
+      face&mdash;Ah! yes; Ventnor, the solicitor&mdash;he's one of the
+      chairman's creditors that are coming again this afternoon. What now?'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't agree that we ought to let sentiment interfere with our judgment
+      in this matter. The question is simply: How are our pockets going to be
+      affected? I came here with some misgivings, but the attitude of the
+      chairman has been such as to remove them; and I shall support the
+      proposition.&rdquo; The secretary thought: 'That's all right&mdash;only, he said
+      it rather queerly&mdash;rather queerly.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, after a long silence, the chairman, without rising, said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I move the adoption of the report and accounts.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I second that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Those in favour signify the same in the usual way. Contrary? Carried.&rdquo;
+       The secretary noted the dissentients, six in number, and that Mr. Westgate
+      did not vote.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A quarter of an hour later he stood in the body of the emptying room
+      supplying names to one of the gentlemen of the Press. The passionless
+      fellow said: &ldquo;Haythorp, with an 'a'. oh! an 'e'. he seems an old man.
+      Thank you. I may have the slips? Would you like to see a proof? With an
+      'a' you said&mdash;oh! an 'e.' Good afternoon!&rdquo; And the secretary thought:
+      'Those fellows, what does go on inside them? Fancy not knowing the old
+      chairman by now!'...
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      2
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Back in the proper office of &ldquo;The Island Navigation Company&rdquo; old Heythorp
+      sat smoking a cigar and smiling like a purring cat. He was dreaming a
+      little of his triumph, sifting with his old brain, still subtle, the wheat
+      from the chaff of the demurrers: Westgate&mdash;nothing in that&mdash;professional
+      discontent till they silenced him with a place on the board&mdash;but not
+      while he held the reins! That chap at the back&mdash;an ill-conditioned
+      fellow! &ldquo;Something behind!&rdquo; Suspicious brute! There was something&mdash;but&mdash;hang
+      it! they might think themselves lucky to get four ships at that price, and
+      all due to him! It was on the last speaker that his mind dwelt with a
+      doubt. That fellow Ventnor, to whom he owed money&mdash;there had been
+      something just a little queer about his tone&mdash;as much as to say, &ldquo;I
+      smell a rat.&rdquo; Well! one would see that at the creditors' meeting in half
+      an hour.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Pillin, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Show him in!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In a fur coat which seemed to extinguish his thin form, Joe Pillin
+      entered. It was snowing, and the cold had nipped and yellowed his meagre
+      face between its slight grey whiskering. He said thinly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How are you, Sylvanus? Aren't you perished in this cold?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Warm as a toast. Sit down. Take off your coat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! I should be lost without it. You must have a fire inside you. So-so
+      it's gone through?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp nodded; and Joe Pillin, wandering like a spirit, scrutinised
+      the shut door. He came back to the table, and said in a low voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a great sacrifice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you signed the deed poll?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Producing a parchment from his pocket Joe Pillin unfolded it with caution
+      to disclose his signature, and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't like it&mdash;it's irrevocable.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A chuckle escaped old Heythorp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As death.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Joe Pillin's voice passed up into the treble clef.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't bear irrevocable things. I consider you stampeded me, playing on
+      my nerves.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Examining the signatures old Heythorp murmured:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell your lawyer to lock it up. He must think you a sad dog, Joe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! Suppose on my death it comes to the knowledge of my wife!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She won't be able to make it hotter for you than you'll be already.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Joe Pillin replaced the deed within his coat, emitting a queer thin noise.
+      He simply could not bear joking on such subjects.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you've got your way; you always do. Who is this Mrs.
+      Larne? You oughtn't to keep me in the dark. It seems my boy met her at
+      your house. You told me she didn't come there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp said with relish:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Her husband was my son by a woman I was fond of before I married; her
+      children are my grandchildren. You've provided for them. Best thing you
+      ever did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know&mdash;I don't know. I'm sorry you told me. It makes it all
+      the more doubtful. As soon as the transfer's complete, I shall get away
+      abroad. This cold's killing me. I wish you'd give me your recipe for
+      keeping warm.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Get a new inside.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Joe Pillin regarded his old friend with a sort of yearning. &ldquo;And yet,&rdquo; he
+      said, &ldquo;I suppose, with your full-blooded habit, your life hangs by a
+      thread, doesn't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A stout one, my boy&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, good-bye, Sylvanus. You're a Job's comforter; I must be getting
+      home.&rdquo; He put on his hat, and, lost in his fur coat, passed out into the
+      corridor. On the stairs he met a man who said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you do, Mr. Pillin? I know your son. Been' seeing the chairman? I
+      see your sale's gone through all right. I hope that'll do us some good,
+      but I suppose you think the other way?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Peering at him from under his hat, Joe Pillin said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Ventnor, I think? Thank you! It's very cold, isn't it?&rdquo; And, with
+      that cautious remark, he passed on down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alone again, old Heythorp thought: 'By George! What a wavering, quavering,
+      thread paper of a fellow! What misery life must be to a chap like that! He
+      walks in fear&mdash;he wallows in it. Poor devil!' And a curious feeling
+      swelled his heart, of elation, of lightness such as he had not known for
+      years. Those two young things were safe now from penury-safe! After
+      dealing with those infernal creditors of his he would go round and have a
+      look at the children. With a hundred and twenty a year the boy could go
+      into the Army&mdash;best place for a young scamp like that. The girl would
+      go off like hot cakes, of course, but she needn't take the first calf that
+      came along. As for their mother, she must look after herself; nothing
+      under two thousand a year would keep her out of debt. But trust her for
+      wheedling and bluffing her way out of any scrape! Watching his cigar-smoke
+      curl and disperse he was conscious of the strain he had been under these
+      last six weeks, aware suddenly of how greatly he had baulked at thought of
+      to-day's general meeting. Yes! It might have turned out nasty. He knew
+      well enough the forces on the Board, and off, who would be only too glad
+      to shelve him. If he were shelved here his other two Companies would be
+      sure to follow suit, and bang would go every penny of his income&mdash;he
+      would be a pauper dependant on that holy woman. Well! Safe now for another
+      year if he could stave off these sharks once more. It might be a harder
+      job this time, but he was in luck&mdash;in luck, and it must hold. And
+      taking a luxurious pull at his cigar, he rang the handbell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bring 'em in here, Mr. Farney. And let me have a cup of China tea as
+      strong as you can make it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir. Will you see the proof of the press report, or will you leave
+      it to me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir. It was a good meeting, wasn't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp nodded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wonderful how your voice came back just at the right moment. I was afraid
+      things were going to be difficult. The insult did it, I think. It was a
+      monstrous thing to say. I could have punched his head.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again old Heythorp nodded; and, looking into the secretary's fine blue
+      eyes, he repeated: &ldquo;Bring 'em in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The lonely minute before the entrance of his creditors passed in the
+      thought: 'So that's how it struck him! Short shrift I should get if it
+      came out.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The gentlemen, who numbered ten this time, bowed to their debtor,
+      evidently wondering why the deuce they troubled to be polite to an old man
+      who kept them out of their money. Then, the secretary reappearing with a
+      cup of China tea, they watched while their debtor drank it. The feat was
+      tremulous. Would he get through without spilling it all down his front, or
+      choking? To those unaccustomed to his private life it was slightly
+      miraculous. He put the cup down empty, tremblingly removed some yellow
+      drops from the little white tuft below his lip, refit his cigar, and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No use beating about the bush, gentlemen; I can offer you fourteen
+      hundred a year so long as I live and hold my directorships, and not a
+      penny more. If you can't accept that, you must make me bankrupt and get
+      about sixpence in the pound. My qualifying shares will fetch a couple of
+      thousand at market price. I own nothing else. The house I live in, and
+      everything in it, barring my clothes, my wine, and my cigars, belong to my
+      daughter under a settlement fifteen years old. My solicitors and bankers
+      will give you every information. That's the position in a nutshell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In spite of business habits the surprise of the ten gentlemen was only
+      partially concealed. A man who owed them so much would naturally say he
+      owned nothing, but would he refer them to his solicitors and bankers
+      unless he were telling the truth? Then Mr. Ventnor said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you submit your pass books?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, but I'll authorise my bankers to give you a full statement of my
+      receipts for the last five years&mdash;longer, if you like.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The strategic stroke of placing the ten gentlemen round the Board table
+      had made it impossible for them to consult freely without being overheard,
+      but the low-voiced transference of thought travelling round was summed up
+      at last by Mr. Brownbee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We think, Mr. Heythorp, that your fees and dividends should enable you to
+      set aside for us a larger sum. Sixteen hundred, in fact, is what we think
+      you should give us yearly. Representing, as we do, sixteen thousand
+      pounds, the prospect is not cheering, but we hope you have some good years
+      before you yet. We understand your income to be two thousand pounds.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp shook his head. &ldquo;Nineteen hundred and thirty pounds in a good
+      year. Must eat and drink; must have a man to look after me not as active
+      as I was. Can't do on less than five hundred pounds. Fourteen hundred's
+      all I can give you, gentlemen; it's an advance of two hundred pounds.
+      That's my last word.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The silence was broken by Mr. Ventnor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And it's my last word that I'm not satisfied. If these other gentlemen
+      accept your proposition I shall be forced to consider what I can do on my
+      own account.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man stared at him, and answered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! you will, sir; we shall see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The others had risen and were gathered in a knot at the end of the table;
+      old Heythorp and Mr. Ventnor alone remained seated. The old man's lower
+      lip projected till the white hairs below stood out like bristles. 'You
+      ugly dog,' he was thinking, 'you think you've got something up your
+      sleeve. Well, do your worst!' The &ldquo;ugly dog&rdquo; rose abruptly and joined the
+      others. And old Heythorp closed his eyes, sitting perfectly still, with
+      his cigar, which had gone out, sticking up between his teeth. Mr. Brownbee
+      turning to voice the decision come to, cleared his throat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Heythorp,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;if your bankers and solicitors bear out your
+      statements, we shall accept your offer faute de mieux, in consideration of
+      your&mdash;&rdquo; but meeting the old man's eyes, which said so very plainly:
+      &ldquo;Blow your consideration!&rdquo; he ended with a stammer: &ldquo;Perhaps you will
+      kindly furnish us with the authorisation you spoke of?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp nodded, and Mr. Brownbee, with a little bow, clasped his hat
+      to his breast and moved towards the door. The nine gentlemen followed. Mr.
+      Ventnor, bringing up the rear, turned and looked back. But the old man's
+      eyes were already closed again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The moment his creditors were gone, old Heythorp sounded the hand-bell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Help me up, Mr. Farney. That Ventnor&mdash;what's his holding?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite small. Only ten shares, I think.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! What time is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quarter to four, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Get me a taxi.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      After visiting his bank and his solicitors he struggled once more into his
+      cab and caused it to be driven towards Millicent Villas. A kind of sleepy
+      triumph permeated his whole being, bumped and shaken by the cab's rapid
+      progress. So! He was free of those sharks now so long as he could hold on
+      to his Companies; and he would still have a hundred a year or more to
+      spare for Rosamund and her youngsters. He could live on four hundred, or
+      even three-fifty, without losing his independence, for there would be no
+      standing life in that holy woman's house unless he could pay his own scot!
+      A good day's work! The best for many a long month!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The cab stopped before the villa.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      3
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      There are rooms which refuse to give away their owners, and rooms which
+      seem to say: 'They really are like this.' Of such was Rosamund Larne's&mdash;a
+      sort of permanent confession, seeming to remark to anyone who entered:
+      'Her taste? Well, you can see&mdash;cheerful and exuberant; her habits&mdash;yes,
+      she sits here all the morning in a dressing-gown, smoking cigarettes and
+      dropping ink; kindly observe my carpet. Notice the piano&mdash;it has a
+      look of coming and going, according to the exchequer. This very
+      deep-cushioned sofa is permanent, however; the water-colours on the walls
+      are safe, too&mdash;they're by herself. Mark the scent of mimosa&mdash;she
+      likes flowers, and likes them strong. No clock, of course. Examine the
+      bureau&mdash;she is obviously always ringing for &ldquo;the drumstick,&rdquo; and
+      saying: &ldquo;Where's this, Ellen, and where's that? You naughty gairl, you've
+      been tidying.&rdquo; Cast an eye on that pile of manuscript&mdash;she has
+      evidently a genius for composition; it flows off her pen&mdash;like
+      Shakespeare, she never blots a line. See how she's had the electric light
+      put in, instead of that horrid gas; but try and turn either of them on&mdash;you
+      can't; last quarter isn't paid, of course; and she uses an oil lamp, you
+      can tell that by the ceiling: The dog over there, who will not answer to
+      the name of 'Carmen,' a Pekinese spaniel like a little Djin, all prominent
+      eyes rolling their blacks, and no nose between&mdash;yes, Carmen looks as
+      if she didn't know what was coming next; she's right&mdash;it's a
+      pet-and-slap-again life! Consider, too, the fittings of the tea-tray,
+      rather soiled, though not quite tin, but I say unto you that no
+      millionaire's in all its glory ever had a liqueur bottle on it.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When old Heythorp entered this room, which extended from back to front of
+      the little house, preceded by the announcement &ldquo;Mr. Aesop,&rdquo; it was
+      resonant with a very clatter-bodandigo of noises, from Phyllis playing the
+      Machiche; from the boy Jock on the hearthrug, emitting at short intervals
+      the most piercing notes from an ocarina; from Mrs. Larne on the sofa,
+      talking with her trailing volubility to Bob Pillin; from Bob Pillin
+      muttering: &ldquo;Ye-es! Qui-ite! Ye-es!&rdquo; and gazing at Phyllis over his collar.
+      And, on the window-sill, as far as she could get from all this noise, the
+      little dog Carmen was rolling her eyes. At sight of their visitor Jock
+      blew one rending screech, and bolting behind the sofa, placed his chin on
+      its top, so that nothing but his round pink unmoving face was visible; and
+      the dog Carmen tried to climb the blind cord.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Encircled from behind by the arms of Phyllis, and preceded by the gracious
+      perfumed bulk of Mrs. Larne, old Heythorp was escorted to the sofa. It was
+      low, and when he had plumped down into it, the boy Jock emitted a hollow
+      groan. Bob Pillin was the first to break the silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How are you, sir? I hope it's gone through.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp nodded. His eyes were fixed on the liqueur, and Mrs. Larne
+      murmured:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Guardy, you must try our new liqueur. Jock, you awful boy, get up and
+      bring Guardy a glass.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy Jock approached the tea-table, took up a glass, put it to his eye
+      and filled it rapidly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You horrible boy, you could see that glass has been used.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In a high round voice rather like an angel's, Jock answered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, Mother; I'll get rid of it,&rdquo; and rapidly swallowing the yellow
+      liquor, took up another glass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Larne laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What am I to do with him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A loud shriek prevented a response. Phyllis, who had taken her brother by
+      the ear to lead him to the door, let him go to clasp her injured self.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bob Pillin went hastening towards her; and following the young man with
+      her chin, Mrs. Larne said, smiling:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aren't those children awful? He's such a nice fellow. We like him so
+      much, Guardy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man grinned. So she was making up to that young pup! Rosamund
+      Larne, watching him, murmured:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Guardy, you're as bad as Jock. He takes after you terribly. Look at
+      the shape of his head. Jock, come here!&rdquo; The innocent boy approached; with
+      his girlish complexion, his flowery blue eyes, his perfect mouth, he stood
+      before his mother like a large cherub. And suddenly he blew his ocarina in
+      a dreadful manner. Mrs. Larne launched a box at his ears, and receiving
+      the wind of it he fell prone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's the way he behaves. Be off with you, you awful boy. I want to talk
+      to Guardy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy withdrew on his stomach, and sat against the wall cross-legged,
+      fixing his innocent round eyes on old Heythorp. Mrs. Larne sighed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Things are worse and worse, Guardy. I'm at my wits' end to tide over this
+      quarter. You wouldn't advance me a hundred on my new story? I'm sure to
+      get two for it in the end.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've done something for you and the children,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You'll get
+      notice of it in a day or two; ask no questions.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Guardy! Oh! you dear!&rdquo; And her gaze rested on Bob Pillin, leaning
+      over the piano, where Phyllis again sat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp snorted. &ldquo;What are you cultivating that young gaby for? She
+      mustn't be grabbed up by any fool who comes along.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Larne murmured at once:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course, the dear gairl is much too young. Phyllis, come and talk to
+      Guardy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When the girl was installed beside him on the sofa, and he had felt that
+      little thrill of warmth the proximity of youth can bring, he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Been a good girl?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can't, when Jock's not at school. Mother can't pay for him this term.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Hearing his name, the boy Jock blew his ocarina till Mrs. Larne drove him
+      from the room, and Phyllis went on:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's more awful than anything you can think of. Was my dad at all like
+      him, Guardy? Mother's always so mysterious about him. I suppose you knew
+      him well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp, incapable of confusion, answered stolidly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not very.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who was his father? I don't believe even mother knows.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Man about town in my day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! your day must have been jolly. Did you wear peg-top trousers, and
+      dundreary's?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp nodded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What larks! And I suppose you had lots of adventures with opera dancers
+      and gambling. The young men are all so good now.&rdquo; Her eyes rested on Bob
+      Pillin. &ldquo;That young man's a perfect stick of goodness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp grunted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You wouldn't know how good he was,&rdquo; Phyllis went on musingly, &ldquo;unless
+      you'd sat next him in a tunnel. The other day he had his waist squeezed
+      and he simply sat still and did nothing. And then when the tunnel ended,
+      it was Jock after all, not me. His face was&mdash;Oh! ah! ha! ha! Ah! ha!&rdquo;
+       She threw back her head, displaying all her white, round throat. Then
+      edging near, she whispered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He likes to pretend, of course, that he's fearfully lively. He's promised
+      to take mother and me to the theatre and supper afterwards. Won't it be
+      scrummy! Only, I haven't anything to go in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp said: &ldquo;What do you want? Irish poplin?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her mouth opened wide: &ldquo;Oh! Guardy! Soft white satin!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How many yards'll go round you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should think about twelve. We could make it ourselves. You are a
+      chook!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A scent of hair, like hay, enveloped him, her lips bobbed against his
+      nose,&mdash;and there came a feeling in his heart as when he rolled the
+      first sip of a special wine against his palate. This little house was a
+      rumty-too affair, her mother was a humbug, the boy a cheeky young rascal,
+      but there was a warmth here he never felt in that big house which had been
+      his wife's and was now his holy daughter's. And once more he rejoiced at
+      his day's work, and the success of his breach of trust, which put some
+      little ground beneath these young feet, in a hard and unscrupulous world.
+      Phyllis whispered in his ear:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Guardy, do look; he will stare at me like that. Isn't it awful&mdash;like
+      a boiled rabbit?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bob Pillin, attentive to Mrs. Larne, was gazing with all his might over
+      her shoulder at the girl. The young man was moonstruck, that was clear!
+      There was something almost touching in the stare of those puppy dog's
+      eyes. And he thought 'Young beggar&mdash;wish I were his age!' The utter
+      injustice of having an old and helpless body, when your desire for
+      enjoyment was as great as ever! They said a man was as old as he felt!
+      Fools! A man was as old as his legs and arms, and not a day younger. He
+      heard the girl beside him utter a discomfortable sound, and saw her face
+      cloud as if tears were not far off; she jumped up, and going to the
+      window, lifted the little dog and buried her face in its brown and white
+      fur. Old Heythorp thought: 'She sees that her humbugging mother is using
+      her as a decoy.' But she had come back, and the little dog, rolling its
+      eyes horribly at the strange figure on the sofa, in a desperate effort to
+      escape succeeded in reaching her shoulder, where it stayed perched like a
+      cat, held by one paw and trying to back away into space. Old Heythorp said
+      abruptly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you very fond of your mother?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course I am, Guardy. I adore her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;H'm! Listen to me. When you come of age or marry, you'll have a hundred
+      and twenty a year of your own that you can't get rid of. Don't ever be
+      persuaded into doing what you don't want. And remember: Your mother's a
+      sieve, no good giving her money; keep what you'll get for yourself&mdash;it's
+      only a pittance, and you'll want it all&mdash;every penny.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Phyllis's eyes had opened very wide; so that he wondered if she had taken
+      in his words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Isn't money horrible, Guardy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The want of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, it's beastly altogether. If only we were like birds. Or if one could
+      put out a plate overnight, and have just enough in the morning to use
+      during the day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp sighed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's only one thing in life that matters&mdash;independence. Lose
+      that, and you lose everything. That's the value of money. Help me up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Phyllis stretched out her hands, and the little dog, running down her
+      back, resumed its perch on the window-sill, close to the blind cord.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once on his feet, old Heythorp said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give me a kiss. You'll have your satin tomorrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then looking at Bob Pillin, he remarked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Going my way? I'll give you a lift.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The young man, giving Phyllis one appealing look, answered dully:
+      &ldquo;Tha-anks!&rdquo; and they went out together to the taxi. In that draughtless
+      vehicle they sat, full of who knows what contempt of age for youth; and
+      youth for age; the old man resenting this young pup's aspiration to his
+      granddaughter; the young man annoyed that this old image had dragged him
+      away before he wished to go. Old Heythorp said at last:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus expected to say something, Bob Pillin muttered
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Glad your meetin' went off well, sir. You scored a triumph I should
+      think.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! I don't know. I thought you had a good bit of opposition to contend
+      with.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp looked at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your grandmother!&rdquo; he said; then, with his habitual instinct of attack,
+      added: &ldquo;You make the most of your opportunities, I see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At this rude assault Bob Pillin's red-cheeked face assumed a certain
+      dignity. &ldquo;I don't know what you mean, sir. Mrs. Larne is very kind to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No doubt. But don't try to pick the flowers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thoroughly upset, Bob Pillin preserved a dogged silence. This fortnight,
+      since he had first met Phyllis in old Heythorp's hall, had been the most
+      singular of his existence up to now. He would never have believed that a
+      fellow could be so quickly and completely bowled, could succumb without a
+      kick, without even wanting to kick. To one with his philosophy of having a
+      good time and never committing himself too far, it was in the nature of &ldquo;a
+      fair knock-out,&rdquo; and yet so pleasurable, except for the wear and tear
+      about one's chances. If only he knew how far the old boy really counted in
+      the matter! To say: &ldquo;My intentions are strictly honourable&rdquo; would be
+      old-fashioned; besides&mdash;the old fellow might have no right to hear
+      it. They called him Guardy, but without knowing more he did not want to
+      admit the old curmudgeon's right to interfere.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you a relation of theirs, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp nodded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bob Pillin went on with desperation:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should like to know what your objection to me is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man turned his head so far as he was able; a grim smile bristled
+      the hairs about his lips, and twinkled in his eyes. What did he object to?
+      Why&mdash;everything! Object to! That sleek head, those puppy-dog eyes,
+      fattish red cheeks, high collars, pearl pin, spats, and drawl-pah! the
+      imbecility, the smugness of his mug; no go, no devil in any of his sort,
+      in any of these fish-veined, coddled-up young bloods, nothing but playing
+      for safety! And he wheezed out:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Milk and water masquerading as port wine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bob Pillin frowned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was almost too much for the composure even of a man of the world. That
+      this paralytic old fellow should express contempt for his virility was
+      really the last thing in jests. Luckily he could not take it seriously.
+      But suddenly he thought: 'What if he really has the power to stop my going
+      there, and means to turn them against me!' And his heart quailed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Awfully sorry, sir,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;if you don't think I'm wild enough.
+      Anything I can do for you in that line&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man grunted; and realising that he had been quite witty, Bob
+      Pillin went on:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know I'm not in debt, no entanglements, got a decent income, pretty
+      good expectations and all that; but I can soon put that all right if I'm
+      not fit without.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was perhaps his first attempt at irony, and he could not help thinking
+      how good it was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But old Heythorp preserved a deadly silence. He looked like a stuffed man,
+      a regular Aunt Sally sitting there, with the fixed red in his cheeks, his
+      stivered hair, square block of a body, and no neck that you could see-only
+      wanting the pipe in his mouth! Could there really be danger from such an
+      old idol? The idol spoke:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll give you a word of advice. Don't hang round there, or you'll burn
+      your fingers. Remember me to your father. Good-night!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The taxi had stopped before the house in Sefton Park. An insensate impulse
+      to remain seated and argue the point fought in Bob Pillin with an impulse
+      to leap out, shake his fist in at the window, and walk off. He merely
+      said, however:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks for the lift. Good-night!&rdquo; And, getting out deliberately, he
+      walked off.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp, waiting for the driver to help him up, thought 'Fatter, but
+      no more guts than his father!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In his sanctum he sank at once into his chair. It was wonderfully still
+      there every day at this hour; just the click of the coals, just the
+      faintest ruffle from the wind in the trees of the park. And it was cosily
+      warm, only the fire lightening the darkness. A drowsy beatitude pervaded
+      the old man. A good day's work! A triumph&mdash;that young pup had said.
+      Yes! Something of a triumph! He had held on, and won. And dinner to look
+      forward to, yet. A nap&mdash;a nap! And soon, rhythmic, soft, sonorous,
+      his breathing rose, with now and then that pathetic twitching of the old
+      who dream.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      III
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      1
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      When Bob Pillin emerged from the little front garden of 23, Millicent
+      Villas ten days later, his sentiments were ravelled, and he could not get
+      hold of an end to pull straight the stuff of his mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had found Mrs. Larne and Phyllis in the sitting-room, and Phyllis had
+      been crying; he was sure she had been crying; and that memory still
+      infected the sentiments evoked by later happenings. Old Heythorp had said:
+      &ldquo;You'll burn your fingers.&rdquo; The process had begun. Having sent her
+      daughter away on a pretext really a bit too thin, Mrs. Larne had installed
+      him beside her scented bulk on the sofa, and poured into his ear such a
+      tale of monetary woe and entanglement, such a mass of present difficulties
+      and rosy prospects, that his brain still whirled, and only one thing
+      emerged clearly-that she wanted fifty pounds, which she would repay him on
+      quarter-day; for their Guardy had made a settlement by which, until the
+      dear children came of age, she would have sixty pounds every quarter. It
+      was only a question of a few weeks; he might ask Messrs. Scriven and
+      Coles; they would tell him the security was quite safe. He certainly might
+      ask Messrs. Scriven and Coles&mdash;they happened to be his father's
+      solicitors; but it hardly seemed to touch the point. Bob Pillin had a
+      certain shrewd caution, and the point was whether he was going to begin to
+      lend money to a woman who, he could see, might borrow up to seventy times
+      seven on the strength of his infatuation for her daughter. That was rather
+      too strong! Yet, if he didn't she might take a sudden dislike to him, and
+      where would he be then? Besides, would not a loan make his position
+      stronger? And then&mdash;such is the effect of love even on the younger
+      generation&mdash;that thought seemed to him unworthy. If he lent at all,
+      it should be from chivalry&mdash;ulterior motives might go hang! And the
+      memory of the tear-marks on Phyllis's pretty pale-pink cheeks; and her
+      petulantly mournful: &ldquo;Oh! young man, isn't money beastly!&rdquo; scraped his
+      heart, and ravished his judgment. All the same, fifty pounds was fifty
+      pounds, and goodness knew how much more; and what did he know of Mrs.
+      Larne, after all, except that she was a relative of old Heythorp's and
+      wrote stories&mdash;told them too, if he was not mistaken? Perhaps it
+      would be better to see Scrivens'. But again that absurd nobility assaulted
+      him. Phyllis! Phyllis! Besides, were not settlements always drawn so that
+      they refused to form security for anything? Thus, hampered and troubled,
+      he hailed a cab. He was dining with the Ventnors on the Cheshire side, and
+      would be late if he didn't get home sharp to dress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Driving, white-tied&mdash;and waist-coated, in his father's car, he
+      thought with a certain contumely of the younger Ventnor girl, whom he had
+      been wont to consider pretty before he knew Phyllis. And seated next her
+      at dinner, he quite enjoyed his new sense of superiority to her charms,
+      and the ease with which he could chaff and be agreeable. And all the time
+      he suffered from the suppressed longing which scarcely ever left him now,
+      to think and talk of Phyllis. Ventnor's fizz was good and plentiful, his
+      old Madeira absolutely first chop, and the only other man present a
+      teetotal curate, who withdrew with the ladies to talk his parish shop.
+      Favoured by these circumstances, and the perception that Ventnor was an
+      agreeable fellow, Bob Pillin yielded to his secret itch to get near the
+      subject of his affections.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you happen,&rdquo; he said airily, &ldquo;to know a Mrs. Larne&mdash;relative of
+      old Heythorp's&mdash;rather a handsome woman-she writes stories.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Ventnor shook his head. A closer scrutiny than Bob Pillin's would have
+      seen that he also moved his ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of old Heythorp's? Didn't know he had any, except his daughter, and that
+      son of his in the Admiralty.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bob Pillin felt the glow of his secret hobby spreading within him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is, though&mdash;lives rather out of town; got a son and daughter. I
+      thought you might know her stories&mdash;clever woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Ventnor smiled. &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; he said enigmatically, &ldquo;these lady novelists!
+      Does she make any money by them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bob Pillin knew that to make money by writing meant success, but that not
+      to make money by writing was artistic, and implied that you had private
+      means, which perhaps was even more distinguished. And he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! she has private means, I know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Ventnor reached for the Madeira.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So she's a relative of old Heythorp's,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;He's a very old friend
+      of your father's. He ought to go bankrupt, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To Bob Pillin, glowing with passion and Madeira, the idea of bankruptcy
+      seemed discreditable in connection with a relative of Phyllis. Besides,
+      the old boy was far from that! Had he not just made this settlement on
+      Mrs. Larne? And he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think you're mistaken. That's of the past.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Ventnor smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you bet?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bob Pillin also smiled. &ldquo;I should be bettin' on a certainty.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Ventnor passed his hand over his whiskered face. &ldquo;Don't you believe
+      it; he hasn't a mag to his name. Fill your glass.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bob Pillin said, with a certain resentment:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I happen to know he's just made a settlement of five or six
+      thousand pounds. Don't know if you call that being bankrupt.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What! On this Mrs. Larne?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Confused, uncertain whether he had said something derogatory or
+      indiscreet, or something which added distinction to Phyllis, Bob Pillin
+      hesitated, then gave a nod.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Ventnor rose and extended his short legs before the fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, my boy,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;No!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Unaccustomed to flat contradiction, Bob Pillin reddened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll bet you a tenner. Ask Scrivens.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Ventnor ejaculated:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Scrivens&mdash;-but they're not&mdash;&rdquo; then, staring rather hard, he
+      added: &ldquo;I won't bet. You may be right. Scrivens are your father's
+      solicitors too, aren't they? Always been sorry he didn't come to me. Shall
+      we join the ladies?&rdquo; And to the drawing-room he preceded a young man more
+      uncertain in his mind than on his feet....
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Charles Ventnor was not one to let you see that more was going on within
+      than met the eye. But there was a good deal going on that evening, and
+      after his conversation with young Bob he had occasion more than once to
+      turn away and rub his hands together. When, after that second creditors'
+      meeting, he had walked down the stairway which led to the offices of &ldquo;The
+      Island Navigation Company,&rdquo; he had been deep in thought. Short, squarely
+      built, rather stout, with moustache and large mutton-chop whiskers of a
+      red brown, and a faint floridity in face and dress, he impressed at first
+      sight only by a certain truly British vulgarity. One felt that here was a
+      hail-fellow&mdash;well-met man who liked lunch and dinner, went to
+      Scarborough for his summer holidays, sat on his wife, took his daughters
+      out in a boat and was never sick. One felt that he went to church every
+      Sunday morning, looked upwards as he moved through life, disliked the
+      unsuccessful, and expanded with his second glass of wine. But then a clear
+      look into his well-clothed face and red-brown eyes would give the feeling:
+      'There's something fulvous here; he might be a bit too foxy.' A third look
+      brought the thought: 'He's certainly a bully.' He was not a large creditor
+      of old Heythorp. With interest on the original, he calculated his claim at
+      three hundred pounds&mdash;unredeemed shares in that old Ecuador mine. But
+      he had waited for his money eight years, and could never imagine how it
+      came about that he had been induced to wait so long. There had been, of
+      course, for one who liked &ldquo;big pots,&rdquo; a certain glamour about the
+      personality of old Heythorp, still a bit of a swell in shipping circles,
+      and a bit of an aristocrat in Liverpool. But during the last year Charles
+      Ventnor had realised that the old chap's star had definitely set&mdash;when
+      that happens, of course, there is no more glamour, and the time has come
+      to get your money. Weakness in oneself and others is despicable! Besides,
+      he had food for thought, and descending the stairs he chewed it: He smelt
+      a rat&mdash;creatures for which both by nature and profession he had a
+      nose. Through Bob Pillin, on whom he sometimes dwelt in connection with
+      his younger daughter, he knew that old Pillin and old Heythorp had been
+      friends for thirty years and more. That, to an astute mind, suggested
+      something behind this sale. The thought had already occurred to him when
+      he read his copy of the report. A commission would be a breach of trust,
+      of course, but there were ways of doing things; the old chap was devilish
+      hard pressed, and human nature was human nature! His lawyerish mind
+      habitually put two and two together. The old fellow had deliberately
+      appointed to meet his creditors again just after the general meeting which
+      would decide the purchase&mdash;had said he might do something for them
+      then. Had that no significance?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In these circumstances Charles Ventnor had come to the meeting with eyes
+      wide open and mouth tight closed. And he had watched. It was certainly
+      remarkable that such an old and feeble man, with no neck at all, who
+      looked indeed as if he might go off with apoplexy any moment, should
+      actually say that he &ldquo;stood or fell&rdquo; by this purchase, knowing that if he
+      fell he would be a beggar. Why should the old chap be so keen on getting
+      it through? It would do him personally no good, unless&mdash;Exactly! He
+      had left the meeting, therefore, secretly confident that old Heythorp had
+      got something out of this transaction which would enable him to make a
+      substantial proposal to his creditors. So that when the old man had
+      declared that he was going to make none, something had turned sour in his
+      heart, and he had said to himself: &ldquo;All right, you old rascal! You don't
+      know C. V.&rdquo; The cavalier manner of that beggarly old rip, the defiant look
+      of his deep little eyes, had put a polish on the rancour of one who prided
+      himself on letting no man get the better of him. All that evening, seated
+      on one side of the fire, while Mrs. Ventnor sat on the other, and the
+      younger daughter played Gounod's Serenade on the violin&mdash;he
+      cogitated. And now and again he smiled, but not too much. He did not see
+      his way as yet, but had little doubt that before long he would. It would
+      not be hard to knock that chipped old idol off his perch. There was
+      already a healthy feeling among the shareholders that he was past work and
+      should be scrapped. The old chap should find that Charles V. was not to be
+      defied; that when he got his teeth into a thing, he did not let it go. By
+      hook or crook he would have the old man off his Boards, or his debt out of
+      him as the price of leaving him alone. His life or his money&mdash;and the
+      old fellow should determine which. With the memory of that defiance fresh
+      within him, he almost hoped it might come to be the first, and turning to
+      Mrs. Ventnor, he said abruptly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have a little dinner Friday week, and ask young Pillin and the curate.&rdquo;
+       He specified the curate, a tee-totaller, because he had two daughters, and
+      males and females must be paired, but he intended to pack him off after
+      dinner to the drawing-room to discuss parish matters while he and Bob
+      Pillin sat over their wine. What he expected to get out of the young man
+      he did not as yet know.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the day of the dinner, before departing for the office, he had gone to
+      his cellar. Would three bottles of Perrier Jouet do the trick, or must he
+      add one of the old Madeira? He decided to be on the safe side. A bottle or
+      so of champagne went very little way with him personally, and young Pillin
+      might be another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Madeira having done its work by turning the conversation into such an
+      admirable channel, he had cut it short for fear young Pillin might drink
+      the lot or get wind of the rat. And when his guests were gone, and his
+      family had retired, he stood staring into the fire, putting together the
+      pieces of the puzzle. Five or six thousand pounds&mdash;six would be ten
+      per cent. on sixty! Exactly! Scrivens&mdash;young Pillin had said! But
+      Crow &amp; Donkin, not Scriven &amp; Coles, were old Heythorp's
+      solicitors. What could that mean, save that the old man wanted to cover
+      the tracks of a secret commission, and had handled the matter through
+      solicitors who did not know the state of his affairs! But why Pillin's
+      solicitors? With this sale just going through, it must look deuced fishy
+      to them too. Was it all a mare's nest, after all? In such circumstances he
+      himself would have taken the matter to a London firm who knew nothing of
+      anybody. Puzzled, therefore, and rather disheartened, feeling too that
+      touch of liver which was wont to follow his old Madeira, he went up to bed
+      and woke his wife to ask her why the dickens they couldn't always have
+      soup like that!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Next day he continued to brood over his puzzle, and no fresh light came;
+      but having a matter on which his firm and Scrivens' were in touch, he
+      decided to go over in person, and see if he could surprise something out
+      of them. Feeling, from experience, that any really delicate matter would
+      only be entrusted to the most responsible member of the firm, he had asked
+      to see Scriven himself, and just as he had taken his hat to go, he said
+      casually:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By the way, you do some business for old Mr. Heythorp, don't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Scriven, raising his eyebrows a little, murmured: &ldquo;Er&mdash;no,&rdquo; in
+      exactly the tone Mr. Ventnor himself used when he wished to imply that
+      though he didn't as a fact do business, he probably soon would. He knew
+      therefore that the answer was a true one. And non-plussed, he hazarded:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! I thought you did, in regard to a Mrs. Larne.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This time he had certainly drawn blood of sorts, for down came Scriven's
+      eyebrows, and he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Larne&mdash;we know a Mrs. Larne, but not in that connection. Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Young Pillin told me&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Young Pillin? Why, it's his&mdash;-!&rdquo; A little pause, and then: &ldquo;Old Mr.
+      Heythorp's solicitors are Crow &amp; Donkin, I believe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Ventnor held out his hand. &ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;goodbye. Glad to have
+      got that matter settled up,&rdquo; and out he went, and down the street,
+      important, smiling. By George! He had got it! &ldquo;It's his father&rdquo;&mdash;Scriven
+      had been going to say. What a plant! Exactly! Oh! neat! Old Pillin had
+      made the settlement direct; and the solicitors were in the dark; that
+      disposed of his difficulty about them. No money had passed between old
+      Pillin and old Heythorp not a penny. Oh! neat! But not neat enough for
+      Charles Ventnor, who had that nose for rats. Then his smile died, and with
+      a little chill he perceived that it was all based on supposition&mdash;not
+      quite good enough to go on! What then? Somehow he must see this Mrs.
+      Larne, or better&mdash;old Pillin himself. The point to ascertain was
+      whether she had any connection of her own with Pillin. Clearly young
+      Pillin didn't know of it; for, according to him, old Heythorp had made the
+      settlement. By Jove! That old rascal was deep&mdash;all the more
+      satisfaction in proving that he was not as deep as C. V. To unmask the old
+      cheat was already beginning to seem in the nature of a public service. But
+      on what pretext could he visit Pillin? A subscription to the Windeatt
+      almshouses! That would make him talk in self-defence and he would take
+      care not to press the request to the actual point of getting a
+      subscription. He caused himself to be driven to the Pillin residence in
+      Sefton Park. Ushered into a room on the ground floor, heated in American
+      fashion, Mr. Ventnor unbuttoned his coat. A man of sanguine constitution,
+      he found this hot-house atmosphere a little trying. And having
+      sympathetically obtained Joe Pillin's reluctant refusal&mdash;Quite so!
+      One could not indefinitely extend one's subscriptions even for the best of
+      causes!&mdash;he said gently:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By the way, you know Mrs. Larne, don't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The effect of that simple shot surpassed his highest hopes. Joe Pillin's
+      face, never highly coloured, turned a sort of grey; he opened his thin
+      lips, shut them quickly, as birds do, and something seemed to pass with
+      difficulty down his scraggy throat. The hollows, which nerve exhaustion
+      delves in the cheeks of men whose cheekbones are not high, increased
+      alarmingly. For a moment he looked deathly; then, moistening his lips, he
+      said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Larne&mdash;Larne? No, I don't seem&mdash;-&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Ventnor, who had taken care to be drawing on his gloves, murmured:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! I thought&mdash;your son knows her; a relation of old Heythorp's,&rdquo;
+       and he looked up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Joe Pillin had his handkerchief to his mouth; he coughed feebly, then with
+      more and more vigour:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm in very poor health,&rdquo; he said, at last. &ldquo;I'm getting abroad at once.
+      This cold's killing me. What name did you say?&rdquo; And he remained with his
+      handkerchief against his teeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Ventnor repeated:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Larne. Writes stories.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Joe Pillin muttered into his handkerchief
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ali! H'm! No&mdash;I&mdash;no! My son knows all sorts of people. I shall
+      have to try Mentone. Are you going? Good-bye! Good-bye! I'm sorry; ah! ha!
+      My cough&mdash;ah! ha h'h'.! Very distressing. Ye-hes! My cough-ah! ha
+      h'h'.! Most distressing. Ye-hes!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Out in the drive Mr. Ventnor took a deep breath of the frosty air. Not
+      much doubt now! The two names had worked like charms. This weakly old
+      fellow would make a pretty witness, would simply crumple under
+      cross-examination. What a contrast to that hoary old sinner Heythorp,
+      whose brazenness nothing could affect. The rat was as large as life! And
+      the only point was how to make the best use of it. Then&mdash;for his
+      experience was wide&mdash;the possibility dawned on him, that after all,
+      this Mrs. Larne might only have been old Pillin's mistress&mdash;or be his
+      natural daughter, or have some other blackmailing hold on him. Any such
+      connection would account for his agitation, for his denying her, for his
+      son's ignorance. Only it wouldn't account for young Pillin's saying that
+      old Heythorp had made the settlement. He could only have got that from the
+      woman herself. Still, to make absolutely sure, he had better try and see
+      her. But how? It would never do to ask Bob Pillin for an introduction,
+      after this interview with his father. He would have to go on his own and
+      chance it. Wrote stories did she? Perhaps a newspaper would know her
+      address; or the Directory would give it&mdash;not a common name! And, hot
+      on the scent, he drove to a post office. Yes, there it was, right enough!
+      &ldquo;Larne, Mrs. R., 23, Millicent Villas.&rdquo; And thinking to himself: 'No time
+      like the present,' he turned in that direction. The job was delicate. He
+      must be careful not to do anything which might compromise his power of
+      making public use of his knowledge. Yes-ticklish! What he did now must
+      have a proper legal bottom. Still, anyway you looked at it, he had a right
+      to investigate a fraud on himself as a shareholder of &ldquo;The Island
+      Navigation Company,&rdquo; and a fraud on himself as a creditor of old Heythorp.
+      Quite! But suppose this Mrs. Larne was really entangled with old Pillin,
+      and the settlement a mere reward of virtue, easy or otherwise. Well! in
+      that case there'd be no secret commission to make public, and he needn't
+      go further. So that, in either event, he would be all right. Only&mdash;how
+      to introduce himself? He might pretend he was a newspaper man wanting a
+      story. No, that wouldn't do! He must not represent that he was what he was
+      not, in case he had afterwards to justify his actions publicly, always a
+      difficult thing, if you were not careful! At that moment there came into
+      his mind a question Bob Pillin had asked the other night. &ldquo;By the way, you
+      can't borrow on a settlement, can you? Isn't there generally some clause
+      against it?&rdquo; Had this woman been trying to borrow from him on that
+      settlement? But at this moment he reached the house, and got out of his
+      cab still undecided as to how he was going to work the oracle. Impudence,
+      constitutional and professional, sustained him in saying to the little
+      maid:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Larne at home? Say Mr. Charles Ventnor, will you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His quick brown eyes took in the apparel of the passage which served for
+      hall&mdash;the deep blue paper on the walls, lilac-patterned curtains over
+      the doors, the well-known print of a nude young woman looking over her
+      shoulder, and he thought: 'H'm! Distinctly tasty!' They noted, too, a
+      small brown-and-white dog cowering in terror at the very end of the
+      passage, and he murmured affably: &ldquo;Fluffy! Come here, Fluffy!&rdquo; till
+      Carmen's teeth chattered in her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you come in, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Ventnor ran his hand over his whiskers, and, entering a room, was
+      impressed at once by its air of domesticity. On a sofa a handsome woman
+      and a pretty young girl were surrounded by sewing apparatus and some white
+      material. The girl looked up, but the elder lady rose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Ventnor said easily
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know my young friend, Mr. Robert Pillin, I think.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The lady, whose bulk and bloom struck him to the point of admiration,
+      murmured in a full, sweet drawl:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Ye-es. Are you from Messrs. Scrivens?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With the swift reflection: 'As I thought!' Mr. Ventnor answered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Er&mdash;not exactly. I am a solicitor though; came just to ask about a
+      certain settlement that Mr. Pillin tells me you're entitled under.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Phyllis dear!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Seeing the girl about to rise from underneath the white stuff, Mr. Ventnor
+      said quickly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray don't disturb yourself&mdash;just a formality!&rdquo; It had struck him at
+      once that the lady would have to speak the truth in the presence of this
+      third party, and he went on: &ldquo;Quite recent, I think. This'll be your first
+      interest-on six thousand pounds? Is that right?&rdquo; And at the limpid assent
+      of that rich, sweet voice, he thought: 'Fine woman; what eyes!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you; that's quite enough. I can go to Scrivens for any detail. Nice
+      young fellow, Bob Pillin, isn't he?&rdquo; He saw the girl's chin tilt, and Mrs.
+      Larne's full mouth curling in a smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Delightful young man; we're very fond of him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And he proceeded:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm quite an old friend of his; have you known him long?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! no. How long, Phyllis, since we met him at Guardy's? About a month.
+      But he's so unaffected&mdash;quite at home with us. A nice fellow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Ventnor murmured:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very different from his father, isn't he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is he? We don't know his father; he's a shipowner, I think.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Ventnor rubbed his hands: &ldquo;Ye-es,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;just giving up&mdash;a
+      warm man. Young Pillin's a lucky fellow&mdash;only son. So you met him at
+      old Mr. Heythorp's. I know him too&mdash;relation of yours, I believe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Our dear Guardy such a wonderful man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Ventnor echoed: &ldquo;Wonderful&mdash;regular old Roman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! but he's so kind!&rdquo; Mrs. Larne lifted the white stuff: &ldquo;Look what he's
+      given this naughty gairl!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Ventnor murmured: &ldquo;Charming! Charming! Bob Pillin said, I think, that
+      Mr. Heythorp was your settlor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      One of those little clouds which visit the brows of women who have owed
+      money in their time passed swiftly athwart Mrs. Larne's eyes. For a moment
+      they seemed saying: 'Don't you want to know too much?' Then they slid from
+      under it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Won't you sit down?&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You must forgive our being at work.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Ventnor, who had need of sorting his impressions, shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you; I must be getting on. Then Messrs. Scriven can&mdash;a mere
+      formality! Goodbye! Good-bye, Miss Larne. I'm sure the dress will be most
+      becoming.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And with memories of a too clear look from the girl's eyes, of a warm firm
+      pressure from the woman's hand, Mr. Ventnor backed towards the door and
+      passed away just in time to avoid hearing in two voices:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a nice lawyer!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a horrid man!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Back in his cab, he continued to rub his hands. No, she didn't know old
+      Pillin! That was certain; not from her words, but from her face. She
+      wanted to know him, or about him, anyway. She was trying to hook young Bob
+      for that sprig of a girl&mdash;it was clear as mud. H'm! it would astonish
+      his young friend to hear that he had called. Well, let it! And a curious
+      mixture of emotions beset Mr. Ventnor. He saw the whole thing now so
+      plainly, and really could not refrain from a certain admiration. The law
+      had been properly diddled! There was nothing to prevent a man from
+      settling money on a woman he had never seen; and so old Pillin's
+      settlement could probably not be upset. But old Heythorp could. It was
+      neat, though, oh! neat! And that was a fine woman&mdash;remarkably! He had
+      a sort of feeling that if only the settlement had been in danger, it might
+      have been worth while to have made a bargain&mdash;a woman like that could
+      have made it worth while! And he believed her quite capable of
+      entertaining the proposition! Her eye! Pity&mdash;quite a pity! Mrs.
+      Ventnor was not a wife who satisfied every aspiration. But alas! the
+      settlement was safe. This baulking of the sentiment of love, whipped up,
+      if anything, the longing for justice in Mr. Ventnor. That old chap should
+      feel his teeth now. As a piece of investigation it was not so bad&mdash;not
+      so bad at all! He had had a bit of luck, of course,&mdash;no, not luck&mdash;just
+      that knack of doing the right thing at the right moment which marks a real
+      genius for affairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But getting into his train to return to Mrs. Ventnor, he thought: 'A woman
+      like that would have been&mdash;!' And he sighed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      2
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      With a neatly written cheque for fifty pounds in his pocket Bob Pillin
+      turned in at 23, Millicent Villas on the afternoon after Mr. Ventnor's
+      visit. Chivalry had won the day. And he rang the bell with an elation
+      which astonished him, for he knew he was doing a soft thing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Larne is out, sir; Miss Phyllis is at home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His heart leaped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh-h! I'm sorry. I wonder if she'd see me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little maid answered
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think she's been washin' 'er'air, sir, but it may be dry be now. I'll
+      see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bob Pillin stood stock still beneath the young woman on the wall. He could
+      scarcely breathe. If her hair were not dry&mdash;how awful! Suddenly he
+      heard floating down a clear but smothered &ldquo;Oh! Gefoozleme!&rdquo; and other
+      words which he could not catch. The little maid came running down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Phyllis says, sir, she'll be with you in a jiffy. And I was to tell
+      you that Master Jock is loose, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bob Pillin answered &ldquo;Tha-anks,&rdquo; and passed into the drawing-room. He went
+      to the bureau, took an envelope, enclosed the cheque, and addressing it:
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Larne,&rdquo; replaced it in his pocket. Then he crossed over to the
+      mirror. Never till this last month had he really doubted his own face; but
+      now he wanted for it things he had never wanted. It had too much flesh and
+      colour. It did not reflect his passion. This was a handicap. With a narrow
+      white piping round his waistcoat opening, and a buttonhole of tuberoses,
+      he had tried to repair its deficiencies. But do what he would, he was
+      never easy about himself nowadays, never up to that pitch which could make
+      him confident in her presence. And until this month to lack confidence had
+      never been his wont. A clear, high, mocking voice said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh-h! Conceited young man!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And spinning round he saw Phyllis in the doorway. Her light brown hair was
+      fluffed out on her shoulders, so that he felt a kind of fainting-sweet
+      sensation, and murmured inarticulately:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! I say&mdash;how jolly!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lawks! It's awful! Have you come to see mother?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Balanced between fear and daring, conscious of a scent of hay and verbena
+      and camomile, Bob Pillin stammered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye-es. I&mdash;I'm glad she's not in, though.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her laugh seemed to him terribly unfeeling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! oh! Don't be foolish. Sit down. Isn't washing one's head awful?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bob Pillin answered feebly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course, I haven't much experience.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her mouth opened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! You are&mdash;aren't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And he thought desperately: 'Dare I&mdash;oughtn't I&mdash;couldn't I
+      somehow take her hand or put my arm round her, or something?' Instead, he
+      sat very rigid at his end of the sofa, while she sat lax and lissom at the
+      other, and one of those crises of paralysis which beset would-be lovers
+      fixed him to the soul.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sometimes during this last month memories of a past existence, when chaff
+      and even kisses came readily to the lips, and girls were fair game, would
+      make him think: 'Is she really such an innocent? Doesn't she really want
+      me to kiss her?' Alas! such intrusions lasted but a moment before a blast
+      of awe and chivalry withered them, and a strange and tragic delicacy&mdash;like
+      nothing he had ever known&mdash;resumed its sway. And suddenly he heard
+      her say:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why do you know such awful men?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What? I don't know any awful men.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh yes, you do; one came here yesterday; he had whiskers, and he was
+      awful.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whiskers?&rdquo; His soul revolted in disclaimer. &ldquo;I believe I only know one
+      man with whiskers&mdash;a lawyer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;that was him; a perfectly horrid man. Mother didn't mind him,
+      but I thought he was a beast.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ventnor! Came here? How d'you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He did; about some business of yours, too.&rdquo; Her face had clouded over.
+      Bob Pillin had of late been harassed by the still-born beginning of a
+      poem:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+         &ldquo;I rode upon my way and saw
+          A maid who watched me from the door.&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      It never grew longer, and was prompted by the feeling that her face was
+      like an April day. The cloud which came on it now was like an April cloud,
+      as if a bright shower of rain must follow. Brushing aside the two
+      distressful lines, he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look here, Miss Larne&mdash;Phyllis&mdash;look here!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, I'm looking!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What does it mean&mdash;how did he come? What did he say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She shook her head, and her hair quivered; the scent of camomile, verbena,
+      hay was wafted; then looking at her lap, she muttered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish you wouldn't&mdash;I wish mother wouldn't&mdash;I hate it. Oh!
+      Money! Beastly&mdash;beastly!&rdquo; and a tearful sigh shivered itself into Bob
+      Pillin's reddening ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I say&mdash;don't! And do tell me, because&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't&mdash;I don't know anything at all. I never&mdash;-&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Phyllis looked up at him. &ldquo;Don't tell fibs; you know mother's borrowing
+      money from you, and it's hateful!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A desire to lie roundly, a sense of the cheque in his pocket, a feeling of
+      injustice, the emotion of pity, and a confused and black astonishment
+      about Ventnor, caused Bob Pillin to stammer:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I'm d&mdash;-d!&rdquo; and to miss the look which Phyllis gave him
+      through her lashes&mdash;a look saying:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! that's better!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am d&mdash;-d! Look here! D'you mean to say that Ventnor came here
+      about my lending money? I never said a word to him&mdash;-&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There you see&mdash;you are lending!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He clutched his hair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We've got to have this out,&rdquo; he added.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not by the roots! Oh! you do look funny. I've never seen you with your
+      hair untidy. Oh! oh!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bob Pillin rose and paced the room. In the midst of his emotion he could
+      not help seeing himself sidelong in the mirror; and on pretext of holding
+      his head in both his hands, tried earnestly to restore his hair. Then
+      coming to a halt he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose I am lending money to your mother, what does it matter? It's only
+      till quarter-day. Anybody might want money.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Phyllis did not raise her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why are you lending it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because&mdash;because&mdash;why shouldn't I?&rdquo; and diving suddenly, he
+      seized her hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She wrenched them free; and with the emotion of despair, Bob Pillin took
+      out the envelope.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you like,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I'll tear this up. I don't want to lend it, if
+      you don't want me to; but I thought&mdash;I thought&mdash;&rdquo; It was for her
+      alone he had been going to lend this money!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Phyllis murmured through her hair:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes! You thought that I&mdash;that's what's so hateful!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Apprehension pierced his mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! I never&mdash;I swear I never&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, you did; you thought I wanted you to lend it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She jumped up, and brushed past him into the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So she thought she was being used as a decoy! That was awful&mdash;especially
+      since it was true. He knew well enough that Mrs. Larne was working his
+      admiration for her daughter for all that it was worth. And he said with
+      simple fervour:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What rot!&rdquo; It produced no effect, and at his wits' end, he almost
+      shouted: &ldquo;Look, Phyllis! If you don't want me to&mdash;here goes!&rdquo; Phyllis
+      turned. Tearing the envelope across he threw the bits into the fire.
+      &ldquo;There it is,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her eyes grew round; she said in an awed voice: &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In a sort of agony of honesty he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was only a cheque. Now you've got your way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Staring at the fire she answered slowly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I expect you'd better go before mother comes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bob Pillin's mouth fell afar; he secretly agreed, but the idea of
+      sacrificing a moment alone with her was intolerable, and he said hardily:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I shall stick it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Phyllis sneezed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My hair isn't a bit dry,&rdquo; and she sat down on the fender with her back to
+      the fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A certain spirituality had come into Bob Pillin's face. If only he could
+      get that wheeze off: &ldquo;Phyllis is my only joy!&rdquo; or even: &ldquo;Phyllis&mdash;do
+      you&mdash;won't you&mdash;mayn't I?&rdquo; But nothing came&mdash;nothing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And suddenly she said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! don't breathe so loud; it's awful!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Breathe? I wasn't!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You were; just like Carmen when she's dreaming.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He had walked three steps towards the door, before he thought: 'What does
+      it matter? I can stand anything from her; and walked the three steps back
+      again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She said softly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poor young man!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He answered gloomily:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose you realise that this may be the last time you'll see me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why? I thought you were going to take us to the theatre.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know whether your mother will&mdash;after&mdash;-&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Phyllis gave a little clear laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't know mother. Nothing makes any difference to her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And Bob Pillin muttered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see.&rdquo; He did not, but it was of no consequence. Then the thought of
+      Ventnor again ousted all others. What on earth-how on earth! He searched
+      his mind for what he could possibly have said the other night. Surely he
+      had not asked him to do anything; certainly not given him their address.
+      There was something very odd about it that had jolly well got to be
+      cleared up! And he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you sure the name of that Johnny who came here yesterday was
+      Ventnor?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Phyllis nodded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And he was short, and had whiskers?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; red, and red eyes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He murmured reluctantly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It must be him. Jolly good cheek; I simply can't understand. I shall go
+      and see him. How on earth did he know your address?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I expect you gave it him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did not. I won't have you thinking me a squirt.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Phyllis jumped up. &ldquo;Oh! Lawks! Here's mother!&rdquo; Mrs. Larne was coming up
+      the garden. Bob Pillin made for the door. &ldquo;Good-bye,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I'm
+      going.&rdquo; But Mrs. Larne was already in the hall. Enveloping him in fur and
+      her rich personality, she drew him with her into the drawing-room, where
+      the back window was open and Phyllis gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;those naughty children have been making you
+      comfortable. That nice lawyer of yours came yesterday. He seemed quite
+      satisfied.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Very red above his collar, Bob Pillin stammered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I never told him to; he isn't my lawyer. I don't know what it means.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Larne smiled. &ldquo;My dear boy, it's all right. You needn't be so
+      squeamish. I want it to be quite on a business footing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Restraining a fearful inclination to blurt out: &ldquo;It's not going to be on
+      any footing!&rdquo; Bob Pillin mumbled: &ldquo;I must go; I'm late.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And when will you be able&mdash;-?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! I'll&mdash;I'll send&mdash;I'll write. Good-bye!&rdquo; And suddenly he
+      found that Mrs. Larne had him by the lapel of his coat. The scent of
+      violets and fur was overpowering, and the thought flashed through him: 'I
+      believe she only wanted to take money off old Joseph in the Bible. I can't
+      leave my coat in her hands! What shall I do?'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Larne was murmuring:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It would be so sweet of you if you could manage it today&rdquo;; and her hand
+      slid over his chest. &ldquo;Oh! You have brought your cheque-book&mdash;what a
+      nice boy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bob Pillin took it out in desperation, and, sitting down at the bureau,
+      wrote a cheque similar to that which he had torn and burned. A warm kiss
+      lighted on his eyebrow, his head was pressed for a moment to a furry
+      bosom; a hand took the cheque; a voice said: &ldquo;How delightful!&rdquo; and a sigh
+      immersed him in a bath of perfume. Backing to the door, he gasped:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't mention it; and&mdash;and don't tell Phyllis, please. Good-bye!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Once through the garden gate, he thought: 'By gum! I've done it now. That
+      Phyllis should know about it at all! That beast Ventnor!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His face grew almost grim. He would go and see what that meant anyway!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      3
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Ventnor had not left his office when his young friend's card was
+      brought to him. Tempted for a moment to deny his own presence, he thought:
+      'No! What's the good? Bound to see him some time!' If he had not exactly
+      courage, he had that peculiar blend of self-confidence and insensibility
+      which must needs distinguish those who follow the law; nor did he ever
+      forget that he was in the right.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Show him in!&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He would be quite bland, but young Pillin might whistle for an
+      explanation; he was still tormented, too, by the memory of rich curves and
+      moving lips, and the possibilities of better acquaintanceship.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While shaking the young man's hand his quick and fulvous eye detected at
+      once the discomposure behind that mask of cheek and collar, and relapsing
+      into one of those swivel chairs which give one an advantage over men more
+      statically seated, he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You look pretty bobbish. Anything I can do for you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bob Pillin, in the fixed chair of the consultor, nursed his bowler on his
+      knee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, yes, there is. I've just been to see Mrs. Larne.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Ventnor did not flinch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! Nice woman; pretty daughter, too!&rdquo; And into those words he put a
+      certain meaning. He never waited to be bullied. Bob Pillin felt the
+      pressure of his blood increasing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look here, Ventnor,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I want an explanation.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What of?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, of your going there, and using my name, and God knows what.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Ventnor gave his chair two little twiddles before he said
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you won't get it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bob Pillin remained for a moment taken aback; then he muttered resolutely:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's not the conduct of a gentleman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Every man has his illusions, and no man likes them disturbed. The gingery
+      tint underlying Mr. Ventnor's colouring overlaid it; even the whites of
+      his eyes grew red.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;indeed! You mind your own business, will you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is my business&mdash;very much so. You made use of my name, and I
+      don't choose&mdash;-&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The devil you don't! Now, I tell you what&mdash;-&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Ventnor leaned forward&mdash;&ldquo;you'd better hold your tongue, and not
+      exasperate me. I'm a good-tempered man, but I won't stand your impudence.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Clenching his bowler hat, and only kept in his seat by that sense of
+      something behind, Bob Pillin ejaculated:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Impudence! That's good&mdash;after what you did! Look here, why did you?
+      It's so extraordinary!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Ventnor answered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! is it? You wait a bit, my friend!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Still more moved by the mystery of this affair, Bob Pillin could only
+      mutter:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I never gave you their address; we were only talking about old Heythorp.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And at the smile which spread between Mr. Ventnor's whiskers, he jumped
+      up, crying:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's not the thing, and you're not going to put me off. I insist on an
+      explanation.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Ventnor leaned back, crossing his stout legs, joining the tips of his
+      thick fingers. In this attitude he was always self-possessed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You do&mdash;do you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. You must have had some reason.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Ventnor gazed up at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll give you a piece of advice, young cock, and charge you nothing for
+      it, too: Ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies. And here's another:
+      Go away before you forget yourself again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The natural stolidity of Bob Pilings face was only just proof against this
+      speech. He said thickly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you go there again and use my name, I'll Well, it's lucky for you
+      you're not my age. Anyway I'll relieve you of my acquaintanceship in
+      future. Good-evening!&rdquo; and he went to the door. Mr. Ventnor had risen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; he said loudly. &ldquo;Good riddance! You wait and see which boot
+      the leg is on!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Bob Pillin was gone, leaving the lawyer with a very red face, a very
+      angry heart, and a vague sense of disorder in his speech. Not only Bob
+      Pillin, but his tender aspirations had all left him; he no longer dallied
+      with the memory of Mrs. Larne, but like a man and a Briton thought only of
+      how to get his own back, and punish evildoers. The atrocious words of his
+      young friend, &ldquo;It's not the conduct of a gentleman,&rdquo; festered in the heart
+      of one who was made gentle not merely by nature but by Act of Parliament,
+      and he registered a solemn vow to wipe the insult out, if not with blood,
+      with verjuice. It was his duty, and they should d&mdash;-d well see him do
+      it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      IV
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Sylvanus Heythorp seldom went to bed before one or rose before eleven. The
+      latter habit alone kept his valet from handing in the resignation which
+      the former habit prompted almost every night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Propped on his pillows in a crimson dressing-gown, and freshly shaved, he
+      looked more Roman than he ever did, except in his bath. Having disposed of
+      coffee, he was wont to read his letters, and The Morning Post, for he had
+      always been a Tory, and could not stomach paying a halfpenny for his news.
+      Not that there were many letters&mdash;when a man has reached the age of
+      eighty, who should write to him, except to ask for money?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was Valentine's Day. Through his bedroom window he could see the trees
+      of the park, where the birds were in song, though he could not hear them.
+      He had never been interested in Nature&mdash;full-blooded men with short
+      necks seldom are.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This morning indeed there were two letters, and he opened that which smelt
+      of something. Inside was a thing like a Christmas card, save that the
+      naked babe had in his hands a bow and arrow, and words coming out of his
+      mouth: &ldquo;To be your Valentine.&rdquo; There was also a little pink note with one
+      blue forget-me-not printed at the top. It ran:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;DEAREST GUARDY,&mdash;I'm sorry this is such a mangy little valentine; I
+      couldn't go out to get it because I've got a beastly cold, so I asked
+      Jock, and the pig bought this. The satin is simply scrumptious. If you
+      don't come and see me in it some time soon, I shall come and show it to
+      you. I wish I had a moustache, because my top lip feels just like a
+      matchbox, but it's rather ripping having breakfast in bed. Mr. Pillin's
+      taking us to the theatre the day after to-morrow evening. Isn't it nummy!
+      I'm going to have rum and honey for my cold.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-bye,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your PHYLLIS.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So this that quivered in his thick fingers, too insensitive to feel it,
+      was a valentine for him!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Forty years ago that young thing's grandmother had given him his last. It
+      made him out a very old chap! Forty years ago! Had that been himself
+      living then? And himself, who, as a youth came on the town in 'forty-five?
+      Not a thought, not a feeling the same! They said you changed your body
+      every seven years. The mind with it, too, perhaps! Well, he had come to
+      the last of his bodies, now! And that holy woman had been urging him to
+      take it to Bath, with her face as long as a tea-tray, and some gammon from
+      that doctor of his. Too full a habit&mdash;dock his port&mdash;no alcohol&mdash;might
+      go off in a coma any night! Knock off not he! Rather die any day than turn
+      tee-totaller! When a man had nothing left in life except his dinner, his
+      bottle, his cigar, and the dreams they gave him&mdash;these doctors
+      forsooth must want to cut them off! No, no! Carpe diem! while you lived,
+      get something out of it. And now that he had made all the provision he
+      could for those youngsters, his life was no good to any one but himself;
+      and the sooner he went off the better, if he ceased to enjoy what there
+      was left, or lost the power to say: &ldquo;I'll do this and that, and you be
+      jiggered!&rdquo; Keep a stiff lip until you crashed, and then go clean! He
+      sounded the bell beside him twice-for Molly, not his man. And when the
+      girl came in, and stood, pretty in her print frock, her fluffy over-fine
+      dark hair escaping from under her cap, he gazed at her in silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sirr?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Want to look at you, that's all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh I an' I'm not tidy, sirr.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind. Had your valentine?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, sirr; who would send me one, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Haven't you a young man?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I might. But he's over in my country.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What d'you think of this?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He held out the little boy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl took the card and scrutinised it reverently; she said in a
+      detached voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed, an' ut's pretty, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you like it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh I if 'tis not taking ut from you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp shook his head, and pointed to the dressing-table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Over there&mdash;you'll find a sovereign. Little present for a good
+      girl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She uttered a deep sigh. &ldquo;Oh! sirr, 'tis too much; 'tis kingly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She took it, and came back, her hands clasping the sovereign and the
+      valentine, in an attitude as of prayer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man's gaze rested on her with satisfaction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I like pretty faces&mdash;can't bear sour ones. Tell Meller to get my
+      bath ready.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When she had gone he took up the other letter&mdash;some lawyer's writing,
+      and opening it with the usual difficulty, read:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;February 13, 1905.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;SIR,&mdash;Certain facts having come to my knowledge, I deem it my duty
+      to call a special meeting of the shareholders of 'The Island Navigation
+      Coy.,' to consider circumstances in connection with the purchase of Mr.
+      Joseph Pillin's fleet. And I give you notice that at this meeting your
+      conduct will be called in question.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am, Sir,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yours faithfully,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;CHARLES VENTNOR. &ldquo;SYLVANUS HEYTHORP,ESQ.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Having read this missive, old Heythorp remained some minutes without
+      stirring. Ventnor! That solicitor chap who had made himself unpleasant at
+      the creditors' meetings!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There are men whom a really bad bit of news at once stampedes out of all
+      power of coherent thought and action, and men who at first simply do not
+      take it in. Old Heythorp took it in fast enough; coming from a lawyer it
+      was about as nasty as it could be. But, at once, with stoic wariness his
+      old brain began casting round. What did this fellow really know? And what
+      exactly could he do? One thing was certain; even if he knew everything, he
+      couldn't upset that settlement. The youngsters were all right. The old man
+      grasped the fact that only his own position was at stake. But this was
+      enough in all conscience; a name which had been before the public fifty
+      odd years&mdash;income, independence, more perhaps. It would take little,
+      seeing his age and feebleness, to make his Companies throw him over. But
+      what had the fellow got hold of? How decide whether or no to take notice;
+      to let him do his worst, or try and get into touch with him? And what was
+      the fellow's motive? He held ten shares! That would never make a man take
+      all this trouble, and over a purchase which was really first-rate business
+      for the Company. Yes! His conscience was quite clean. He had not betrayed
+      his Company&mdash;on the contrary, had done it a good turn, got them four
+      sound ships at a low price&mdash;against much opposition. That he might
+      have done the Company a better turn, and got the ships at fifty-four
+      thousand, did not trouble him&mdash;the six thousand was a deuced sight
+      better employed; and he had not pocketed a penny piece himself! But the
+      fellow's motive? Spite? Looked like it. Spite, because he had been
+      disappointed of his money, and defied into the bargain! H'm! If that were
+      so, he might still be got to blow cold again. His eyes lighted on the pink
+      note with the blue forget-me-not. It marked as it were the high water mark
+      of what was left to him of life; and this other letter in his hand-by
+      Jove! Low water mark! And with a deep and rumbling sigh he thought: 'No,
+      I'm not going to be beaten by this fellow.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your bath is ready, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Crumpling the two letters into the pocket of his dressing-gown, he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Help me up; and telephone to Mr. Farney to be good enough to come round.&rdquo;
+       ....
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An hour later, when the secretary entered, his chairman was sitting by the
+      fire perusing the articles of association. And, waiting for him to look
+      up, watching the articles shaking in that thick, feeble hand, the
+      secretary had one of those moments of philosophy not too frequent with his
+      kind. Some said the only happy time of life was when you had no passions,
+      nothing to hope and live for. But did you really ever reach such a stage?
+      The old chairman, for instance, still had his passion for getting his own
+      way, still had his prestige, and set a lot of store by it! And he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good morning, sir; I hope you're all right in this east wind. The
+      purchase is completed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Best thing the company ever did. Have you heard from a shareholder called
+      Ventnor. You know the man I mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, sir. I haven't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well! You may get a letter that'll make you open your eyes. An impudent
+      scoundrel! Just write at my dictation.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;February 14th, 1905.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;CHARLES VENTNOR, Esq.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;SIR,&mdash;I have your letter of yesterday's date, the contents of which
+      I am at a loss to understand. My solicitors will be instructed to take the
+      necessary measures.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      'Phew What's all this about?' the secretary thought.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yours truly....&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll sign.&rdquo; And the shaky letters closed the page: &ldquo;SYLVANUS HEYTHORP.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Post that as you go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Anything else I can do for you, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing, except to let me know if you hear from this fellow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When the secretary had gone the old man thought: 'So! The ruffian hasn't
+      called the meeting yet. That'll bring him round here fast enough if it's
+      his money he wants-blackmailing scoundrel!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Pillin, sir; and will you wait lunch, or will you have it in the
+      dining-room?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In the dining-room.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At sight of that death's-head of a fellow, old Heythorp felt a sort of
+      pity. He looked bad enough already&mdash;and this news would make him look
+      worse. Joe Pillin glanced round at the two closed doors.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How are you, Sylvanus? I'm very poorly.&rdquo; He came closer, and lowered his
+      voice: &ldquo;Why did you get me to make that settlement? I must have been mad.
+      I've had a man called Ventnor&mdash;I didn't like his manner. He asked me
+      if I knew a Mrs. Larne.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ha! What did you say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What could I say? I don't know her. But why did he ask?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Smells a rat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Joe Pillin grasped the edge of the table with both hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; he murmured. &ldquo;Oh! don't say that!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp held out to him the crumpled letter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he had read it Joe Pillin sat down abruptly before the fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pull yourself together, Joe; they can't touch you, and they can't upset
+      either the purchase or the settlement. They can upset me, that's all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Joe Pillin answered, with trembling lips:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How you can sit there, and look the same as ever! Are you sure they can't
+      touch me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heyworth nodded grimly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They talk of an Act, but they haven't passed it yet. They might prove a
+      breach of trust against me. But I'll diddle them. Keep your pecker up, and
+      get off abroad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes. I must. I'm very bad. I was going to-morrow. But I don't know,
+      I'm sure, with this hanging over me. My son knowing her makes it worse. He
+      picks up with everybody. He knows this man Ventnor too. And I daren't say
+      anything to Bob. What are you thinking of, Sylvanus? You look very funny!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp seemed to rouse himself from a sort of coma.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want my lunch,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Will you stop and have some?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Joe Pillin stammered out:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lunch! I don't know when I shall eat again. What are you going to do,
+      Sylvanus?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bluff the beggar out of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But suppose you can't?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buy him off. He's one&mdash;of my creditors.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Joe Pillin stared at him afresh. &ldquo;You always had such nerve,&rdquo; he said
+      yearningly. &ldquo;Do you ever wake up between two and four? I do&mdash;and
+      everything's black.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Put a good stiff nightcap on, my boy, before going to bed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; I sometimes wish I was less temperate. But I couldn't stand it. I'm
+      told your doctor forbids you alcohol.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He does. That's why I drink it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Joe Pillin, brooding over the fire, said: &ldquo;This meeting&mdash;d'you think
+      they mean to have it? D'you think this man really knows? If my name gets
+      into the newspapers&mdash;&rdquo; but encountering his old friend's deep little
+      eyes, he stopped. &ldquo;So you advise me to get off to-morrow, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp nodded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your lunch is served, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Joe Pillin started violently, and rose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, good-bye, Sylvanus-good-bye! I don't suppose I shall be back till
+      the summer, if I ever come back!&rdquo; He sank his voice: &ldquo;I shall rely on you.
+      You won't let them, will you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp lifted his hand, and Joe Pillin put into that swollen shaking
+      paw his pale and spindly fingers. &ldquo;I wish I had your pluck,&rdquo; he said
+      sadly. &ldquo;Good-bye, Sylvanus,&rdquo; and turning, he passed out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp thought: 'Poor shaky chap. All to pieces at the first shot!'
+      And, going to his lunch, ate more heavily than usual.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      2
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Ventnor, on reaching his office and opening his letters, found, as he
+      had anticipated, one from &ldquo;that old rascal.&rdquo; Its contents excited in him
+      the need to know his own mind. Fortunately this was not complicated by a
+      sense of dignity&mdash;he only had to consider the position with an eye on
+      not being made to look a fool. The point was simply whether he set more
+      store by his money than by his desire for&mdash;er&mdash;Justice. If not,
+      he had merely to convene the special meeting, and lay before it the plain
+      fact that Mr. Joseph Pillin, selling his ships for sixty thousand pounds,
+      had just made a settlement of six thousand pounds on a lady whom he did
+      not know, a daughter, ward, or what-not&mdash;of the purchasing company's
+      chairman, who had said, moreover, at the general meeting, that he stood or
+      fell by the transaction; he had merely to do this, and demand that an
+      explanation be required from the old man of such a startling coincidence.
+      Convinced that no explanation would hold water, he felt sure that his
+      action would be at once followed by the collapse, if nothing more, of that
+      old image, and the infliction of a nasty slur on old Pillin and his
+      hopeful son. On the other hand, three hundred pounds was money; and, if
+      old Heythorp were to say to him: &ldquo;What do you want to make this fuss for&mdash;here's
+      what I owe you!&rdquo; could a man of business and the world let his sense of
+      justice&mdash;however he might itch to have it satisfied&mdash;stand in
+      the way of what was after all also his sense of Justice?&mdash;for this
+      money had been owing to him for the deuce of along time. In this dilemma,
+      the words:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My solicitors will be instructed&rdquo; were of notable service in helping him
+      to form a decision, for he had a certain dislike of other solicitors, and
+      an intimate knowledge of the law of libel and slander; if by any remote
+      chance there should be a slip between the cup and the lip, Charles Ventnor
+      might be in the soup&mdash;a position which he deprecated both by nature
+      and profession. High thinking, therefore, decided him at last to answer
+      thus:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;February 19th, 1905.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;SIR,&mdash;I have received your note. I think it may be fair, before
+      taking further steps in this matter, to ask you for a personal explanation
+      of the circumstances to which I alluded. I therefore propose with your
+      permission to call on you at your private residence at five o'clock
+      to-morrow afternoon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yours faithfully, &ldquo;CHARLES VENTNOR.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;SYLVANUS HEYTHORP, Esq.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Having sent this missive, and arranged in his mind the damning, if
+      circumstantial, evidence he had accumulated, he awaited the hour with
+      confidence, for his nature was not lacking in the cock-surety of a Briton.
+      All the same, he dressed himself particularly well that morning, putting
+      on a blue and white striped waistcoat which, with a cream-coloured tie,
+      set off his fulvous whiskers and full blue eyes; and he lunched, if
+      anything, more fully than his wont, eating a stronger cheese and taking a
+      glass of special Club ale. He took care to be late, too, to show the old
+      fellow that his coming at all was in the nature of an act of grace. A
+      strong scent of hyacinths greeted him in the hall; and Mr. Ventnor, who
+      was an amateur of flowers, stopped to put his nose into a fine bloom and
+      think uncontrollably of Mrs. Larne. Pity! The things one had to give up in
+      life&mdash;fine women&mdash;one thing and another. Pity! The thought
+      inspired in him a timely anger; and he followed the servant, intending to
+      stand no nonsense from this paralytic old rascal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The room he entered was lighted by a bright fire, and a single electric
+      lamp with an orange shade on a table covered by a black satin cloth. There
+      were heavily gleaming oil paintings on the walls, a heavy old brass
+      chandelier without candles, heavy dark red curtains, and an indefinable
+      scent of burnt acorns, coffee, cigars, and old man. He became conscious of
+      a candescent spot on the far side of the hearth, where the light fell on
+      old Heythorp's thick white hair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Ventnor, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The candescent spot moved. A voice said: &ldquo;Sit down.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Ventnor sat in an armchair on the opposite side of the fire; and,
+      finding a kind of somnolence creeping over him, pinched himself. He wanted
+      all his wits about him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man was speaking in that extinct voice of his, and Mr. Ventnor
+      said rather pettishly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Beg pardon, I don't get you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp's voice swelled with sudden force:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your letters are Greek to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! indeed, I think we can soon make them into plain English!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sooner the better.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Ventnor passed through a moment of indecision. Should he lay his cards
+      on the table? It was not his habit, and the proceeding was sometimes
+      attended with risk. The knowledge, however, that he could always take them
+      up again, seeing there was no third person here to testify that he had
+      laid them down, decided him, and he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Mr. Heythorp, the long and short of the matter is this: Our friend
+      Mr. Pillin paid you a commission of ten per cent. on the sale of his
+      ships. Oh! yes. He settled the money, not on you, but on your relative
+      Mrs. Larne and her children. This, as you know, is a breach of trust on
+      your part.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man's voice: &ldquo;Where did you get hold of that cock-and-bull story?&rdquo;
+       brought him to his feet before the fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It won't do, Mr. Heythorp. My witnesses are Mr. Pillin, Mrs. Larne, and
+      Mr. Scriven.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What have you come here for, then&mdash;blackmail?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Ventnor straightened his waistcoat; a rush of conscious virtue had
+      dyed his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! you take that tone,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;do you? You think you can ride
+      roughshod over everything? Well, you're very much mistaken. I advise you
+      to keep a civil tongue and consider your position, or I'll make a beggar
+      of you. I'm not sure this isn't a case for a prosecution!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gammon!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The choler in Charles Ventnor kept him silent for a moment; then he burst
+      out:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Neither gammon nor spinach. You owe me three hundred pounds, you've owed
+      it me for years, and you have the impudence to take this attitude with me,
+      have you? Now, I never bluster; I say what I mean. You just listen to me.
+      Either you pay me what you owe me at once, or I call this meeting and make
+      what I know public. You'll very soon find out where you are. And a good
+      thing, too, for a more unscrupulous&mdash;unscrupulous&mdash;-&rdquo; he paused
+      for breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Occupied with his own emotion, he had not observed the change in old
+      Heythorp's face. The imperial on that lower lip was bristling, the crimson
+      of those cheeks had spread to the roots of his white hair. He grasped the
+      arms of his chair, trying to rise; his swollen hands trembled; a little
+      saliva escaped one corner of his lips. And the words came out as if shaken
+      by his teeth:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So-so-you-you bully me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Conscious that the interview had suddenly passed from the phase of
+      negotiation, Mr. Ventnor looked hard at his opponent. He saw nothing but a
+      decrepit, passionate, crimson-faced old man at bay, and all the instincts
+      of one with everything on his side boiled up in him. The miserable old
+      turkey-cock&mdash;the apoplectic image! And he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you'll do no good for yourself by getting into a passion. At your
+      age, and in your condition, I recommend a little prudence. Now just take
+      my terms quietly, or you know what'll happen. I'm not to be intimidated by
+      any of your airs.&rdquo; And seeing that the old man's rage was such that he
+      simply could not speak, he took the opportunity of going on: &ldquo;I don't care
+      two straws which you do&mdash;I'm out to show you who's master. If you
+      think in your dotage you can domineer any longer&mdash;well, you'll find
+      two can play at that game. Come, now, which are you going to do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man had sunk back in his chair, and only his little deep-blue eyes
+      seemed living. Then he moved one hand, and Mr. Ventnor saw that he was
+      fumbling to reach the button of an electric bell at the end of a cord.
+      'I'll show him,' he thought, and stepping forward, he put it out of reach.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus frustrated, the old man remained-motionless, staring up. The word
+      &ldquo;blackmail&rdquo; resumed its buzzing in Mr. Ventnor's ears. The impudence the
+      consummate impudence of it from this fraudulent old ruffian with one foot
+      in bankruptcy and one foot in the grave, if not in the dock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;it's never too late to learn; and for once you've come up
+      against someone a leetle bit too much for you. Haven't you now? You'd
+      better cry 'Peccavi.'.rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, in the deathly silence of the room, the moral force of his position,
+      and the collapse as it seemed of his opponent, awakening a faint
+      compunction, he took a turn over the Turkey carpet to readjust his mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're an old man, and I don't want to be too hard on you. I'm only
+      showing you that you can't play fast and loose as if you were God Almighty
+      any longer. You've had your own way too many years. And now you can't have
+      it, see!&rdquo; Then, as the old man again moved forward in his chair, he added:
+      &ldquo;Now, don't get into a passion again; calm yourself, because I warn you&mdash;this
+      is your last chance. I'm a man of my word; and what I say, I do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      By a violent and unsuspected effort the old man jerked himself up and
+      reached the bell. Mr. Ventnor heard it ring, and said sharply:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mind you, it's nothing to me which you do. I came for your own good.
+      Please yourself. Well?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was answered by the click of the door and the old man's husky voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Show this hound out! And then come back!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Ventnor had presence of mind enough not to shake his fist. Muttering:
+      &ldquo;Very well, Mr. Heythorp! Ah! Very well!&rdquo; he moved with dignity to the
+      door. The careful shepherding of the servant renewed the fire of his
+      anger. Hound! He had been called a hound!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      3
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      After seeing Mr. Ventnor off the premises the man Meller returned to his
+      master, whose face looked very odd&mdash;&ldquo;all patchy-like,&rdquo; as he put it
+      in the servants' hall, as though the blood driven to his head had mottled
+      for good the snowy whiteness of the forehead. He received the unexpected
+      order:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Get me a hot bath ready, and put some pine stuff in it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When the old man was seated there, the valet asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How long shall I give you, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Twenty minutes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very good, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lying in that steaming brown fragrant liquid, old Heythorp heaved a
+      stertorous sigh. By losing his temper with that ill-conditioned cur he had
+      cooked his goose. It was done to a turn; and he was a ruined man. If only&mdash;oh!
+      if only he could have seized the fellow by the neck and pitched him out of
+      the room! To have lived to be so spoken to; to have been unable to lift
+      hand or foot, hardly even his voice&mdash;he would sooner have been dead!
+      Yes&mdash;sooner have been dead! A dumb and measureless commotion was
+      still at work in the recesses of that thick old body, silver-brown in the
+      dark water, whose steam he drew deep into his wheezing lungs, as though
+      for spiritual relief. To be beaten by a cur like that! To have that common
+      cad of a pettifogging lawyer drag him down and kick him about; tumble a
+      name which had stood high, in the dust! The fellow had the power to make
+      him a byword and a beggar! It was incredible! But it was a fact. And
+      to-morrow he would begin to do it&mdash;perhaps had begun already. His
+      tree had come down with a crash! Eighty years-eighty good years! He
+      regretted none of them-regretted nothing; least of all this breach of
+      trust which had provided for his grandchildren&mdash;one of the best
+      things he had ever done. The fellow was a cowardly hound, too! The way he
+      had snatched the bell-pull out of his reach-despicable cur! And a chap
+      like that was to put &ldquo;paid&rdquo; to the account of Sylvanus Heythorp, to
+      &ldquo;scratch&rdquo; him out of life&mdash;so near the end of everything, the very
+      end! His hand raised above the surface fell back on his stomach through
+      the dark water, and a bubble or two rose. Not so fast&mdash;not so fast!
+      He had but to slip down a foot, let the water close over his head, and
+      &ldquo;Good-bye&rdquo; to Master Ventnor's triumph Dead men could not be kicked off
+      the Boards of Companies. Dead men could not be beggared, deprived of their
+      independence. He smiled and stirred a little in the bath till the water
+      reached the white hairs on his lower lip. It smelt nice! And he took a
+      long sniff: He had had a good life, a good life! And with the thought that
+      he had it in his power at any moment to put Master Ventnor's nose out of
+      joint&mdash;to beat the beggar after all, a sense of assuagement and
+      well-being crept over him. His blood ran more evenly again. He closed his
+      eyes. They talked about an after-life&mdash;people like that holy woman.
+      Gammon! You went to sleep&mdash;a long sleep; no dreams. A nap after
+      dinner! Dinner! His tongue sought his palate! Yes! he could eat a good
+      dinner! That dog hadn't put him off his stroke! The best dinner he had
+      ever eaten was the one he gave to Jack Herring, Chichester, Thornworthy,
+      Nick Treffry and Jolyon Forsyte at Pole's. Good Lord! In 'sixty&mdash;yes&mdash;'sixty-five?
+      Just before he fell in love with Alice Larne&mdash;ten years before he
+      came to Liverpool. That was a dinner! Cost twenty-four pounds for the six
+      of them&mdash;and Forsyte an absurdly moderate fellow. Only Nick Treff'ry
+      and himself had been three-bottle men! Dead! Every jack man of them. And
+      suddenly he thought: 'My name's a good one&mdash;I was never down before&mdash;never
+      beaten!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A voice above the steam said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The twenty minutes is up, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right; I'll get out. Evening clothes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And Meller, taking out dress suit and shirt, thought: 'Now, what does the
+      old bloomer want dressin' up again for; why can't he go to bed and have
+      his dinner there? When a man's like a baby, the cradle's the place for
+      him.'....
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An hour later, at the scene of his encounter with Mr. Ventnor, where the
+      table was already laid for dinner, old Heythorp stood and gazed. The
+      curtains had been drawn back, the window thrown open to air the room, and
+      he could see out there the shapes of the dark trees and a sky
+      grape-coloured, in the mild, moist night. It smelt good. A sensuous
+      feeling stirred in him, warm from his bath, clothed from head to foot in
+      fresh garments. Deuce of a time since he had dined in full fig! He would
+      have liked a woman dining opposite&mdash;but not the holy woman; no, by
+      George!&mdash;would have liked to see light falling on a woman's shoulders
+      once again, and a pair of bright eyes! He crossed, snail-like, towards the
+      fire. There that bullying fellow had stood with his back to it&mdash;confound
+      his impudence!&mdash;as if the place belonged to him. And suddenly he had
+      a vision of his three secretaries' faces&mdash;especially young Farney's
+      as they would look, when the pack got him by the throat and pulled him
+      down. His co-directors, too! Old Heythorp! How are the mighty fallen! And
+      that hound jubilant!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His valet passed across the room to shut the window and draw the curtains.
+      This chap too! The day he could no longer pay his wages, and had lost the
+      power to say &ldquo;Shan't want your services any more&rdquo;&mdash;when he could no
+      longer even pay his doctor for doing his best to kill him off! Power,
+      interest, independence, all&mdash;gone! To be dressed and undressed, given
+      pap, like a baby in arms, served as they chose to serve him, and wished
+      out of the way&mdash;broken, dishonoured!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By money alone an old man had his being! Meat, drink, movement, breath!
+      When all his money was gone the holy woman would let him know it fast
+      enough. They would all let him know it; or if they didn't, it would be out
+      of pity! He had never been pitied yet&mdash;thank God! And he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Get me up a bottle of Perrier Jouet. What's the menu?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Germane soup, sir; filly de sole; sweetbread; cutlet soubees, rum
+      souffly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell her to give me a hors d'oeuvre, and put on a savoury.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When the man had gone, he thought: 'I should have liked an oyster&mdash;too
+      late now!' and going over to his bureau, he fumblingly pulled out the top
+      drawer. There was little in it&mdash;Just a few papers, business papers on
+      his Companies, and a schedule of his debts; not even a copy of his will&mdash;he
+      had not made one, nothing to leave! Letters he had never kept. Half a
+      dozen bills, a few receipts, and the little pink note with the blue
+      forget-me-not. That was the lot! An old tree gives up bearing leaves, and
+      its roots dry up, before it comes down in a wind; an old man's world
+      slowly falls away from him till he stands alone in the night. Looking at
+      the pink note, he thought: 'Suppose I'd married Alice&mdash;a man never
+      had a better mistress!' He fumbled the drawer to; but still he strayed
+      feebly about the room, with a curious shrinking from sitting down, legacy
+      from the quarter of an hour he had been compelled to sit while that hound
+      worried at his throat. He was opposite one of the pictures now. It
+      gleamed, dark and oily, limning a Scots Grey who had mounted a wounded
+      Russian on his horse, and was bringing him back prisoner from the
+      Balaclava charge. A very old friend&mdash;bought in 'fifty-nine. It had
+      hung in his chambers in the Albany&mdash;hung with him ever since. With
+      whom would it hang when he was gone? For that holy woman would scrap it,
+      to a certainty, and stick up some Crucifixion or other, some new-fangled
+      high art thing! She could even do that now if she liked&mdash;for she
+      owned it, owned every mortal stick in the room, to the very glass he would
+      drink his champagne from; all made over under the settlement fifteen years
+      ago, before his last big gamble went wrong. &ldquo;De l'audace, toujours de
+      l'audace!&rdquo; The gamble which had brought him down till his throat at last
+      was at the mercy of a bullying hound. The pitcher and the well! At the
+      mercy&mdash;-! The sound of a popping cork dragged him from reverie. He
+      moved to his seat, back to the window, and sat down to his dinner. By
+      George! They had got him an oyster! And he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've forgotten my teeth!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      While the man was gone for them, he swallowed the oysters, methodically
+      touching them one by one with cayenne, Chili vinegar, and lemon. Ummm! Not
+      quite what they used to be at Pimm's in the best days, but not bad&mdash;not
+      bad! Then seeing the little blue bowl lying before him, he looked up and
+      said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My compliments to cook on the oysters. Give me the champagne.&rdquo; And he
+      lifted his trembling teeth. Thank God, he could still put 'em in for
+      himself! The creaming goldenish fluid from the napkined bottle slowly
+      reached the brim of his glass, which had a hollow stem; raising it to his
+      lips, very red between the white hairs above and below, he drank with a
+      gurgling noise, and put the glass down-empty. Nectar! And just cold
+      enough!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I frapped it the least bit, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite right. What's that smell of flowers?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's from those 'yacinths on the sideboard, sir. They come from Mrs.
+      Larne, this afternoon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Put 'em on the table. Where's my daughter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She's had dinner, sir; goin' to a ball, I think.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A ball!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Charity ball, I fancy, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ummm! Give me a touch of the old sherry with the soup.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir. I shall have to open a bottle:&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well, then, do!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On his way to the cellar the man confided to Molly, who was carrying the
+      soup:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Gov'nor's going it to-night! What he'll be like tomorrow I dunno.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl answered softly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poor old man, let um have his pleasure.&rdquo; And, in the hall, with the soup
+      tureen against her bosom, she hummed above the steam, and thought of the
+      ribbons on her new chemises, bought out of the sovereign he had given her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And old Heythorp, digesting his osyters, snuffed the scent of the
+      hyacinths, and thought of the St. Germain, his favourite soup. It would
+      n't be first-rate, at this time of year&mdash;should be made with little
+      young home-grown peas. Paris was the place for it. Ah! The French were the
+      fellows for eating, and&mdash;looking things in the face! Not hypocrites&mdash;not
+      ashamed of their reason or their senses!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The soup came in. He sipped it, bending forward as far as he could, his
+      napkin tucked in over his shirt-front like a bib. He got the bouquet of
+      that sherry to a T&mdash;his sense of smell was very keen to-night; rare
+      old stuff it was&mdash;more than a year since he had tasted it&mdash;but
+      no one drank sherry nowadays, hadn't the constitution for it! The fish
+      came up, and went down; and with the sweetbread he took his second glass
+      of champagne. Always the best, that second glass&mdash;the stomach well
+      warmed, and the palate not yet dulled. Umm! So that fellow thought he had
+      him beaten, did he? And he said suddenly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The fur coat in the wardrobe, I've no use for it. You can take it away
+      to-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With tempered gratitude the valet answered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, sir; much obliged, I'm sure.&rdquo; So the old buffer had found out
+      there was moth in it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have I worried you much?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, sir; not at all, sir&mdash;that is, no more than reason.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Afraid I have. Very sorry&mdash;can't help it. You'll find that, when you
+      get like me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir; I've always admired your pluck, sir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um! Very good of you to say so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Always think of you keepin' the flag flying', sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp bent his body from the waist.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Much obliged to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not at all, sir. Cook's done a little spinach in cream with the soubees.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! Tell her from me it's a capital dinner, so far.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Alone again, old Heythorp sat unmoving, his brain just narcotically
+      touched. &ldquo;The flag flyin'&mdash;the flag flyin'.&rdquo; He raised his glass and
+      sucked. He had an appetite now, and finished the three cutlets, and all
+      the sauce and spinach. Pity! he could have managed a snipe fresh shot! A
+      desire to delay, to lengthen dinner, was strong upon him; there were but
+      the souffle' and the savoury to come. He would have enjoyed, too, someone
+      to talk to. He had always been fond of good company&mdash;been good
+      company himself, or so they said&mdash;not that he had had a chance of
+      late. Even at the Boards they avoided talking to him, he had noticed for a
+      long time. Well! that wouldn't trouble him again&mdash;he had sat through
+      his last Board, no doubt. They shouldn't kick him off, though; he wouldn't
+      give them that pleasure&mdash;had seen the beggars hankering after his
+      chairman's shoes too long. The souffle was before him now, and lifting his
+      glass, he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fill up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;These are the special glasses, sir; only four to the bottle.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fill up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The servant filled, screwing up his mouth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Heythorp drank, and put the glass down empty with a sigh. He had been
+      faithful to his principles, finished the bottle before touching the sweet&mdash;a
+      good bottle&mdash;of a good brand! And now for the souffle! Delicious,
+      flipped down with the old sherry! So that holy woman was going to a ball,
+      was she! How deuced funny! Who would dance with a dry stick like that, all
+      eaten up with a piety which was just sexual disappointment? Ah! yes, lots
+      of women like that&mdash;had often noticed 'em&mdash;pitied 'em too, until
+      you had to do with them and they made you as unhappy as themselves, and
+      were tyrants into the bargain. And he asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's the savoury?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cheese remmykin, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His favourite.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll have my port with it&mdash;the 'sixty-eight.&rdquo; The man stood gazing
+      with evident stupefaction. He had not expected this. The old man's face
+      was very flushed, but that might be the bath. He said feebly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you sure you ought, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, but I'm going to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you mind if I spoke to Miss Heythorp, Sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you do, you can leave my service.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Sir, I don't accept the responsibility.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who asked you to?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, Sir....&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, get it, then; and don't be an ass.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Sir.&rdquo; If the old man were not humoured he would have a fit, perhaps!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And the old man sat quietly staring at the hyacinths. He felt happy, his
+      whole being lined and warmed and drowsed&mdash;and there was more to come!
+      What had the holy folk to give you compared with the comfort of a good
+      dinner? Could they make you dream, and see life rosy for a little? No,
+      they could only give you promissory notes which never would be cashed. A
+      man had nothing but his pluck&mdash;they only tried to undermine it, and
+      make him squeal for help. He could see his precious doctor throwing up his
+      hands: &ldquo;Port after a bottle of champagne&mdash;you'll die of it!&rdquo; And a
+      very good death too&mdash;none better. A sound broke the silence of the
+      closed-up room. Music? His daughter playing the piano overhead. Singing
+      too! What a trickle of a voice! Jenny Lind! The Swedish nightingale&mdash;he
+      had never missed the nights when she was singing&mdash;Jenny Lind!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's very hot, sir. Shall I take it out of the case?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah! The ramequin!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Touch of butter, and the cayenne!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He ate it slowly, savouring each mouthful; had never tasted a better. With
+      cheese&mdash;port! He drank one glass, and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Help me to my chair.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And settled there before the fire with decanter and glass and hand-bell on
+      the little low table by his side, he murmured:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bring coffee, and my cigar, in twenty minutes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To-night he would do justice to his wine, not smoking till he had
+      finished. As old Horace said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aequam memento rebus in arduis Servare mentem.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And, raising his glass, he sipped slowly, spilling a drop or two, shutting
+      his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The faint silvery squealing of the holy woman in the room above, the scent
+      of hyacinths, the drowse of the fire, on which a cedar log had just been
+      laid, the feeling of the port soaking down into the crannies of his being,
+      made up a momentary Paradise. Then the music stopped; and no sound rose
+      but the tiny groans of the log trying to resist the fire. Dreamily he
+      thought: 'Life wears you out&mdash;wears you out. Logs on a fire!' And he
+      filled his glass again. That fellow had been careless; there were dregs at
+      the bottom of the decanter and he had got down to them! Then, as the last
+      drop from his tilted glass trickled into the white hairs on his chin, he
+      heard the coffee tray put down, and taking his cigar he put it to his ear,
+      rolling it in his thick fingers. In prime condition! And drawing a first
+      whiff, he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Open that bottle of the old brandy in the sideboard.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Brandy, sir? I really daren't, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you my servant or not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir, but&mdash;-&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A minute of silence, then the man went hastily to the sideboard, took out
+      the bottle, and drew the cork. The tide of crimson in the old man's face
+      had frightened him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Leave it there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The unfortunate valet placed the bottle on the little table. 'I'll have to
+      tell her,' he thought; 'but if I take away the port decanter and the
+      glass, it won't look so bad.' And, carrying them, he left the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Slowly the old man drank his coffee, and the liqueur of brandy. The whole
+      gamut! And watching his cigar-smoke wreathing blue in the orange glow, he
+      smiled. The last night to call his soul his own, the last night of his
+      independence. Send in his resignations to-morrow&mdash;not wait to be
+      kicked off! Not give that fellow a chance!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A voice which seemed to come from far off, said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Father! You're drinking brandy! How can you&mdash;you know it's simple
+      poison to you!&rdquo; A figure in white, scarcely actual, loomed up close. He
+      took the bottle to fill up his liqueur glass, in defiance; but a hand in a
+      long white glove, with another dangling from its wrist, pulled it away,
+      shook it at him, and replaced it in the sideboard. And, just as when Mr.
+      Ventnor stood there accusing him, a swelling and churning in his throat
+      prevented him from speech; his lips moved, but only a little froth came
+      forth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His daughter had approached again. She stood quite close, in white satin,
+      thin-faced, sallow, with eyebrows raised, and her dark hair frizzed&mdash;yes!
+      frizzed&mdash;the holy woman! With all his might he tried to say: 'So you
+      bully me, do you&mdash;you bully me to-night!' but only the word &ldquo;so&rdquo; and
+      a sort of whispering came forth. He heard her speaking. &ldquo;It's no good your
+      getting angry, Father. After champagne&mdash;it's wicked!&rdquo; Then her form
+      receded in a sort of rustling white mist; she was gone; and he heard the
+      sputtering and growling of her taxi, bearing her to the ball. So! She
+      tyrannised and bullied, even before she had him at her mercy, did she? She
+      should see! Anger had brightened his eyes; the room came clear again. And
+      slowly raising himself he sounded the bell twice, for the girl, not for
+      that fellow Meller, who was in the plot. As soon as her pretty black and
+      white-aproned figure stood before him, he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Help me up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Twice her soft pulling was not enough, and he sank back. The third time he
+      struggled to his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you; that'll do.&rdquo; Then, waiting till she was gone, he crossed the
+      room, fumbled open the sideboard door, and took out the bottle. Reaching
+      over the polished oak, he grasped a sherry glass; and holding the bottle
+      with both hands, tipped the liquor into it, put it to his lips and sucked.
+      Drop by drop it passed over his palate mild, very old, old as himself,
+      coloured like sunlight, fragrant. To the last drop he drank it, then
+      hugging the bottle to his shirt-front, he moved snail-like to his chair,
+      and fell back into its depths. For some minutes he remained there
+      motionless, the bottle clasped to his chest, thinking: 'This is not the
+      attitude of a gentleman. I must put it down on the table-on the table;'
+      but a thick cloud was between him and everything. It was with his hands he
+      would have to put the bottle on the table! But he could not find his
+      hands, could not feel them. His mind see-sawed in strophe and antistrophe:
+      &ldquo;You can't move!&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;I will move!&rdquo; &ldquo;You're beaten&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;I'm not
+      beat.&rdquo; &ldquo;Give up&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;I won't.&rdquo; That struggle to find his hands seemed
+      to last for ever&mdash;he must find them! After that&mdash;go down&mdash;all
+      standing&mdash;after that! Everything round him was red. Then the red
+      cloud cleared just a little, and he could hear the clock&mdash;&ldquo;tick-tick-tick&rdquo;;
+      a faint sensation spread from his shoulders down to his wrists, down his
+      palms; and yes&mdash;he could feel the bottle! He redoubled his struggle
+      to get forward in his chair; to get forward and put the bottle down. It
+      was not dignified like this! One arm he could move now; but he could not
+      grip the bottle nearly tight enough to put it down. Working his whole body
+      forward, inch by inch, he shifted himself up in the chair till he could
+      lean sideways, and the bottle, slipping down his chest, dropped slanting
+      to the edge of the low stool-table. Then with all his might he screwed his
+      trunk and arms an inch further, and the bottle stood. He had done it&mdash;done
+      it! His lips twitched into a smile; his body sagged back to its old
+      position. He had done it! And he closed his eyes ....
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At half-past eleven the girl Molly, opening the door, looked at him and
+      said softly: &ldquo;Sirr! there's some ladies, and a gentleman!&rdquo; But he did not
+      answer. And, still holding the door, she whispered out into the hall:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's asleep, miss.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A voice whispered back:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Just let me go in, I won't wake him unless he does. But I do want to
+      show him my dress.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl moved aside; and on tiptoe Phyllis passed in. She walked to
+      where, between the lamp-glow and the fire-glow, she was lighted up. White
+      satin&mdash;her first low-cut dress&mdash;the flush of her first supper
+      party&mdash;a gardenia at her breast, another in her fingers! Oh! what a
+      pity he was asleep! How red he looked! How funnily old men breathed! And
+      mysteriously, as a child might, she whispered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Guardy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      No answer! And pouting, she stood twiddling the gardenia. Then suddenly
+      she thought: 'I'll put it in his buttonhole! When he wakes up and sees it,
+      how he'll jump!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And stealing close, she bent and slipped it in. Two faces looked at her
+      from round the door; she heard Bob Pillin's smothered chuckle; her
+      mother's rich and feathery laugh. Oh! How red his forehead was! She
+      touched it with her lips; skipped back, twirled round, danced silently a
+      second, blew a kiss, and like quicksilver was gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And the whispering, the chuckling, and one little out-pealing laugh rose
+      in the hall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the old man slept. Nor until Meller came at his usual hour of
+      half-past twelve, was it known that he would never wake.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      THE APPLE TREE
+    </h2>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+              &ldquo;The Apple-tree, the singing and the gold.&rdquo;
+                MURRAY'S &ldquo;HIPPOLYTUS of EURIPIDES.&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      In their silver-wedding day Ashurst and his wife were motoring along the
+      outskirts of the moor, intending to crown the festival by stopping the
+      night at Torquay, where they had first met. This was the idea of Stella
+      Ashurst, whose character contained a streak of sentiment. If she had long
+      lost the blue-eyed, flower-like charm, the cool slim purity of face and
+      form, the apple-blossom colouring, which had so swiftly and so oddly
+      affected Ashurst twenty-six years ago, she was still at forty-three a
+      comely and faithful companion, whose cheeks were faintly mottled, and
+      whose grey-blue eyes had acquired a certain fullness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was she who had stopped the car where the common rose steeply to the
+      left, and a narrow strip of larch and beech, with here and there a pine,
+      stretched out towards the valley between the road and the first long high
+      hill of the full moor. She was looking for a place where they might lunch,
+      for Ashurst never looked for anything; and this, between the golden furze
+      and the feathery green larches smelling of lemons in the last sun of April&mdash;this,
+      with a view into the deep valley and up to the long moor heights, seemed
+      fitting to the decisive nature of one who sketched in water-colours, and
+      loved romantic spots. Grasping her paint box, she got out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Won't this do, Frank?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst, rather like a bearded Schiller, grey in the wings, tall,
+      long-legged, with large remote grey eyes which sometimes filled with
+      meaning and became almost beautiful, with nose a little to one side, and
+      bearded lips just open&mdash;Ashurst, forty-eight, and silent, grasped the
+      luncheon basket, and got out too.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Look, Frank! A grave!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      By the side of the road, where the track from the top of the common
+      crossed it at right angles and ran through a gate past the narrow wood,
+      was a thin mound of turf, six feet by one, with a moorstone to the west,
+      and on it someone had thrown a blackthorn spray and a handful of
+      bluebells. Ashurst looked, and the poet in him moved. At cross-roads&mdash;a
+      suicide's grave! Poor mortals with their superstitions! Whoever lay there,
+      though, had the best of it, no clammy sepulchre among other hideous graves
+      carved with futilities&mdash;just a rough stone, the wide sky, and wayside
+      blessings! And, without comment, for he had learned not to be a
+      philosopher in the bosom of his family, he strode away up on to the
+      common, dropped the luncheon basket under a wall, spread a rug for his
+      wife to sit on&mdash;she would turn up from her sketching when she was
+      hungry&mdash;and took from his pocket Murray's translation of the
+      &ldquo;Hippolytus.&rdquo; He had soon finished reading of &ldquo;The Cyprian&rdquo; and her
+      revenge, and looked at the sky instead. And watching the white clouds so
+      bright against the intense blue, Ashurst, on his silver-wedding day,
+      longed for&mdash;he knew not what. Maladjusted to life&mdash;man's
+      organism! One's mode of life might be high and scrupulous, but there was
+      always an undercurrent of greediness, a hankering, and sense of waste. Did
+      women have it too? Who could tell? And yet, men who gave vent to their
+      appetites for novelty, their riotous longings for new adventures, new
+      risks, new pleasures, these suffered, no doubt, from the reverse side of
+      starvation, from surfeit. No getting out of it&mdash;a maladjusted animal,
+      civilised man! There could be no garden of his choosing, of &ldquo;the
+      Apple-tree, the singing, and the gold,&rdquo; in the words of that lovely Greek
+      chorus, no achievable elysium in life, or lasting haven of happiness for
+      any man with a sense of beauty&mdash;nothing which could compare with the
+      captured loveliness in a work of art, set down for ever, so that to look
+      on it or read was always to have the same precious sense of exaltation and
+      restful inebriety. Life no doubt had moments with that quality of beauty,
+      of unbidden flying rapture, but the trouble was, they lasted no longer
+      than the span of a cloud's flight over the sun; impossible to keep them
+      with you, as Art caught beauty and held it fast. They were fleeting as one
+      of the glimmering or golden visions one had of the soul in nature,
+      glimpses of its remote and brooding spirit. Here, with the sun hot on his
+      face, a cuckoo calling from a thorn tree, and in the air the honey savour
+      of gorse&mdash;here among the little fronds of the young fern, the starry
+      blackthorn, while the bright clouds drifted by high above the hills and
+      dreamy valleys here and now was such a glimpse. But in a moment it would
+      pass&mdash;as the face of Pan, which looks round the corner of a rock,
+      vanishes at your stare. And suddenly he sat up. Surely there was something
+      familiar about this view, this bit of common, that ribbon of road, the old
+      wall behind him. While they were driving he had not been taking notice&mdash;never
+      did; thinking of far things or of nothing&mdash;but now he saw! Twenty-six
+      years ago, just at this time of year, from the farmhouse within half a
+      mile of this very spot he had started for that day in Torquay whence it
+      might be said he had never returned. And a sudden ache beset his heart; he
+      had stumbled on just one of those past moments in his life, whose beauty
+      and rapture he had failed to arrest, whose wings had fluttered away into
+      the unknown; he had stumbled on a buried memory, a wild sweet time,
+      swiftly choked and ended. And, turning on his face, he rested his chin on
+      his hands, and stared at the short grass where the little blue milkwort
+      was growing....
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      I
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      And this is what he remembered.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      On the first of May, after their last year together at college, Frank
+      Ashurst and his friend Robert Garton were on a tramp. They had walked that
+      day from Brent, intending to make Chagford, but Ashurst's football knee
+      had given out, and according to their map they had still some seven miles
+      to go. They were sitting on a bank beside the-road, where a track crossed
+      alongside a wood, resting the knee and talking of the universe, as young
+      men will. Both were over six feet, and thin as rails; Ashurst pale,
+      idealistic, full of absence; Garton queer, round-the-corner, knotted,
+      curly, like some primeval beast. Both had a literary bent; neither wore a
+      hat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst's hair was smooth, pale, wavy, and had a way of rising on either
+      side of his brow, as if always being flung back; Carton's was a kind of
+      dark unfathomed mop. They had not met a soul for miles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear fellow,&rdquo; Garton was saying, &ldquo;pity's only an effect of
+      self-consciousness; it's a disease of the last five thousand years. The
+      world was happier without.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst, following the clouds with his eyes, answered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's the pearl in the oyster, anyway.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear chap, all our modern unhappiness comes from pity. Look at
+      animals, and Red Indians, limited to feeling their own occasional
+      misfortunes; then look at ourselves&mdash;never free from feeling the
+      toothaches of others. Let's get back to feeling for nobody, and have a
+      better time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll never practise that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Garton pensively stirred the hotch-potch of his hair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To attain full growth, one mustn't be squeamish. To starve oneself
+      emotionally's a mistake. All emotion is to the good&mdash;enriches life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, and when it runs up against chivalry?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! That's so English! If you speak of emotion the English always think
+      you want something physical, and are shocked. They're afraid of passion,
+      but not of lust&mdash;oh, no!&mdash;so long as they can keep it secret.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst did not answer; he had plucked a blue floweret, and was twiddling
+      it against the sky. A cuckoo began calling from a thorn tree. The sky, the
+      flowers, the songs of birds! Robert was talking through his hat! And he
+      said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, let's go on, and find some farm where we can put up.&rdquo; In uttering
+      those words, he was conscious of a girl coming down from the common just
+      above them. She was outlined against the sky, carrying a basket, and you
+      could see that sky through the crook of her arm. And Ashurst, who saw
+      beauty without wondering how it could advantage him, thought: 'How
+      pretty!' The wind, blowing her dark frieze skirt against her legs, lifted
+      her battered peacock tam-o'-shanter; her greyish blouse was worn and old,
+      her shoes were split, her little hands rough and red, her neck browned.
+      Her dark hair waved untidy across her broad forehead, her face was short,
+      her upper lip short, showing a glint of teeth, her brows were straight and
+      dark, her lashes long and dark, her nose straight; but her grey eyes were
+      the wonder-dewy as if opened for the first time that day. She looked at
+      Ashurst&mdash;perhaps he struck her as strange, limping along without a
+      hat, with his large eyes on her, and his hair falling back. He could not
+      take off what was not on his head, but put up his hand in a salute, and
+      said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can you tell us if there's a farm near here where we could stay the
+      night? I've gone lame.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's only our farm near, sir.&rdquo; She spoke without shyness, in a pretty
+      soft crisp voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And where is that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Down here, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you put us up?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! I think we would.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you show us the way?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He limped on, silent, and Garton took up the catechism.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you a Devonshire girl?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, Sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;From Wales.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! I thought you were a Celt; so it's not your farm?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My aunt's, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And your uncle's?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is dead.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who farms it, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My aunt, and my three cousins.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But your uncle was a Devonshire man?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you lived here long?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Seven years.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And how d'you like it after Wales?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose you don't remember?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes! But it is different.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I believe you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst broke in suddenly: &ldquo;How old are you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Seventeen, Sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what's your name?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Megan David.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This is Robert Garton, and I am Frank Ashurst. We wanted to get on to
+      Chagford.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is a pity your leg is hurting you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst smiled, and when he smiled his face was rather beautiful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Descending past the narrow wood, they came on the farm suddenly-a long,
+      low, stone-built dwelling with casement windows, in a farmyard where pigs
+      and fowls and an old mare were straying. A short steep-up grass hill
+      behind was crowned with a few Scotch firs, and in front, an old orchard of
+      apple trees, just breaking into flower, stretched down to a stream and a
+      long wild meadow. A little boy with oblique dark eyes was shepherding a
+      pig, and by the house door stood a woman, who came towards them. The girl
+      said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is Mrs. Narracombe, my aunt.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Narracombe, my aunt,&rdquo; had a quick, dark eye, like a mother
+      wild-duck's, and something of the same snaky turn about her neck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We met your niece on the road,&rdquo; said Ashurst; &ldquo;she thought you might
+      perhaps put us up for the night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Narracombe, taking them in from head to heel, answered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I can, if you don't mind one room. Megan, get the spare room ready,
+      and a bowl of cream. You'll be wanting tea, I suppose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Passing through a sort of porch made by two yew trees and some
+      flowering-currant bushes, the girl disappeared into the house, her peacock
+      tam-o'-shanter bright athwart that rosy-pink and the dark green of the
+      yews.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you come into the parlour and rest your leg? You'll be from college,
+      perhaps?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We were, but we've gone down now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Narracombe nodded sagely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The parlour, brick-floored, with bare table and shiny chairs and sofa
+      stuffed with horsehair, seemed never to have been used, it was so terribly
+      clean. Ashurst sat down at once on the sofa, holding his lame knee between
+      his hands, and Mrs. Narracombe gazed at him. He was the only son of a late
+      professor of chemistry, but people found a certain lordliness in one who
+      was often so sublimely unconscious of them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is there a stream where we could bathe?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's the strame at the bottom of the orchard, but sittin' down you'll
+      not be covered!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How deep?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, 'tis about a foot and a half, maybe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! That'll do fine. Which way?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Down the lane, through the second gate on the right, an' the pool's by
+      the big apple tree that stands by itself. There's trout there, if you can
+      tickle them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They're more likely to tickle us!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Narracombe smiled. &ldquo;There'll be the tea ready when you come back.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The pool, formed by the damming of a rock, had a sandy bottom; and the big
+      apple tree, lowest in the orchard, grew so close that its boughs almost
+      overhung the water; it was in leaf, and all but in flower-its crimson buds
+      just bursting. There was not room for more than one at a time in that
+      narrow bath, and Ashurst waited his turn, rubbing his knee and gazing at
+      the wild meadow, all rocks and thorn trees and feld flowers, with a grove
+      of beeches beyond, raised up on a flat mound. Every bough was swinging in
+      the wind, every spring bird calling, and a slanting sunlight dappled the
+      grass. He thought of Theocritus, and the river Cherwell, of the moon, and
+      the maiden with the dewy eyes; of so many things that he seemed to think
+      of nothing; and he felt absurdly happy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      2
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      During a late and sumptuous tea with eggs to it, cream and jam, and thin,
+      fresh cakes touched with saffron, Garton descanted on the Celts. It was
+      about the period of the Celtic awakening, and the discovery that there was
+      Celtic blood about this family had excited one who believed that he was a
+      Celt himself. Sprawling on a horse hair chair, with a hand-made cigarette
+      dribbling from the corner of his curly lips, he had been plunging his cold
+      pin-points of eyes into Ashurst's and praising the refinement of the
+      Welsh. To come out of Wales into England was like the change from china to
+      earthenware! Frank, as a d&mdash;-d Englishman, had not of course
+      perceived the exquisite refinement and emotional capacity of that Welsh
+      girl! And, delicately stirring in the dark mat of his still wet hair, he
+      explained how exactly she illustrated the writings of the Welsh bard
+      Morgan-ap-Something in the twelfth century.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst, full length on the horsehair sofa, and jutting far beyond its
+      end, smoked a deeply-coloured pipe, and did not listen, thinking of the
+      girl's face when she brought in a relay of cakes. It had been exactly like
+      looking at a flower, or some other pretty sight in Nature-till, with a
+      funny little shiver, she had lowered her glance and gone out, quiet as a
+      mouse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let's go to the kitchen,&rdquo; said Garton, &ldquo;and see some more of her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The kitchen was a white-washed room with rafters, to which were attached
+      smoked hams; there were flower-pots on the window-sill, and guns hanging
+      on nails, queer mugs, china and pewter, and portraits of Queen Victoria. A
+      long, narrow table of plain wood was set with bowls and spoons, under a
+      string of high-hung onions; two sheep-dogs and three cats lay here and
+      there. On one side of the recessed fireplace sat two small boys, idle, and
+      good as gold; on the other sat a stout, light-eyed, red-faced youth with
+      hair and lashes the colour of the tow he was running through the barrel of
+      a gun; between them Mrs. Narracombe dreamily stirred some savoury-scented
+      stew in a large pot. Two other youths, oblique-eyed, dark-haired, rather
+      sly-faced, like the two little boys, were talking together and lolling
+      against the wall; and a short, elderly, clean-shaven man in corduroys,
+      seated in the window, was conning a battered journal. The girl Megan
+      seemed the only active creature-drawing cider and passing with the jugs
+      from cask to table. Seeing them thus about to eat, Garton said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! If you'll let us, we'll come back when supper's over,&rdquo; and without
+      waiting for an answer they withdrew again to the parlour. But the colour
+      in the kitchen, the warmth, the scents, and all those faces, heightened
+      the bleakness of their shiny room, and they resumed their seats moodily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Regular gipsy type, those boys. There was only one Saxon&mdash;the fellow
+      cleaning the gun. That girl is a very subtle study psychologically.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst's lips twitched. Garton seemed to him an ass just then. Subtle
+      study! She was a wild flower. A creature it did you good to look at.
+      Study!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Garton went on:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Emotionally she would be wonderful. She wants awakening.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you going to awaken her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Garton looked at him and smiled. 'How coarse and English you are!' that
+      curly smile seemed saying.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Ashurst puffed his pipe. Awaken her! That fool had the best opinion of
+      himself! He threw up the window and leaned out. Dusk had gathered thick.
+      The farm buildings and the wheel-house were all dim and bluish, the apple
+      trees but a blurred wilderness; the air smelled of woodsmoke from the
+      kitchen fire. One bird going to bed later than the others was uttering a
+      half-hearted twitter, as though surprised at the darkness. From the stable
+      came the snuffle and stamp of a feeding horse. And away over there was the
+      loom of the moor, and away and away the shy stars which had not as yet
+      full light, pricking white through the deep blue heavens. A quavering owl
+      hooted. Ashurst drew a deep breath. What a night to wander out in! A
+      padding of unshod hoofs came up the lane, and three dim, dark shapes
+      passed&mdash;ponies on an evening march. Their heads, black and fuzzy,
+      showed above the gate. At the tap of his pipe, and a shower of little
+      sparks, they shied round and scampered. A bat went fluttering past,
+      uttering its almost inaudible &ldquo;chip, chip.&rdquo; Ashurst held out his hand; on
+      the upturned palm he could feel the dew. Suddenly from overhead he heard
+      little burring boys' voices, little thumps of boots thrown down, and
+      another voice, crisp and soft&mdash;the girl's putting them to bed, no
+      doubt; and nine clear words &ldquo;No, Rick, you can't have the cat in bed&rdquo;;
+      then came a skirmish of giggles and gurgles, a soft slap, a laugh so low
+      and pretty that it made him shiver a little. A blowing sound, and the glim
+      of the candle which was fingering the dusk above, went out; silence
+      reigned. Ashurst withdrew into the room and sat down; his knee pained him,
+      and his soul felt gloomy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You go to the kitchen,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I'm going to bed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      3
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      For Ashurst the wheel of slumber was wont to turn noiseless and slick and
+      swift, but though he seemed sunk in sleep when his companion came up, he
+      was really wide awake; and long after Carton, smothered in the other bed
+      of that low-roofed room, was worshipping darkness with his upturned nose,
+      he heard the owls. Barring the discomfort of his knee, it was not
+      unpleasant&mdash;the cares of life did not loom large in night watches for
+      this young man. In fact he had none; just enrolled a barrister, with
+      literary aspirations, the world before him, no father or mother, and four
+      hundred a year of his own. Did it matter where he went, what he did, or
+      when he did it? His bed, too, was hard, and this preserved him from fever.
+      He lay, sniffing the scent of the night which drifted into the low room
+      through the open casement close to his head. Except for a definite
+      irritation with his friend, natural when you have tramped with a man for
+      three days, Ashurst's memories and visions that sleepless night were
+      kindly and wistful and exciting. One vision, specially clear and
+      unreasonable, for he had not even been conscious of noting it, was the
+      face of the youth cleaning the gun; its intent, stolid, yet startled
+      uplook at the kitchen doorway, quickly shifted to the girl carrying the
+      cider jug. This red, blue-eyed, light-lashed, tow-haired face stuck as
+      firmly in his memory as the girl's own face, so dewy and simple. But at
+      last, in the square of darkness through the uncurtained casement, he saw
+      day coming, and heard one hoarse and sleepy caw. Then followed silence,
+      dead as ever, till the song of a blackbird, not properly awake, adventured
+      into the hush. And, from staring at the framed brightening light, Ashurst
+      fell asleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Next day his knee was badly swollen; the walking tour was obviously over.
+      Garton, due back in London on the morrow, departed at midday with an
+      ironical smile which left a scar of irritation&mdash;healed the moment his
+      loping figure vanished round the corner of the steep lane. All day Ashurst
+      rested his knee, in a green-painted wooden chair on the patch of grass by
+      the yew-tree porch, where the sunlight distilled the scent of stocks and
+      gillyflowers, and a ghost of scent from the flowering-currant bushes.
+      Beatifically he smoked, dreamed, watched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A farm in spring is all birth-young things coming out of bud and shell,
+      and human beings watching over the process with faint excitement feeding
+      and tending what has been born. So still the young man sat, that a
+      mother-goose, with stately cross-footed waddle, brought her six
+      yellow-necked grey-backed goslings to strop their little beaks against the
+      grass blades at his feet. Now and again Mrs. Narracombe or the girl Megan
+      would come and ask if he wanted anything, and he would smile and say:
+      &ldquo;Nothing, thanks. It's splendid here.&rdquo; Towards tea-time they came out
+      together, bearing a long poultice of some dark stuff in a bowl, and after
+      a long and solemn scrutiny of his swollen knee, bound it on. When they
+      were gone, he thought of the girl's soft &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo;&mdash;of her pitying eyes,
+      and the little wrinkle in her brow. And again he felt that unreasoning
+      irritation against his departed friend, who had talked such rot about her.
+      When she brought out his tea, he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How did you like my friend, Megan?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She forced down her upper lip, as if afraid that to smile was not polite.
+      &ldquo;He was a funny gentleman; he made us laugh. I think he is very clever.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did he say to make you laugh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He said I was a daughter of the bards. What are they?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Welsh poets, who lived hundreds of years ago.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why am I their daughter, please?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He meant that you were the sort of girl they sang about.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She wrinkled her brows. &ldquo;I think he likes to joke. Am I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you believe me, if I told you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I think he was right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Ashurst thought: 'You are a pretty thing!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He said, too, that Joe was a Saxon type. What would that be?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Which is Joe? With the blue eyes and red face?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. My uncle's nephew.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not your cousin, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, he meant that Joe was like the men who came over to England about
+      fourteen hundred years ago, and conquered it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! I know about them; but is he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Garton's crazy about that sort of thing; but I must say Joe does look a
+      bit Early Saxon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That &ldquo;Yes&rdquo; tickled Ashurst. It was so crisp and graceful, so conclusive,
+      and politely acquiescent in what was evidently. Greek to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He said that all the other boys were regular gipsies. He should not have
+      said that. My aunt laughed, but she didn't like it, of course, and my
+      cousins were angry. Uncle was a farmer&mdash;farmers are not gipsies. It
+      is wrong to hurt people.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst wanted to take her hand and give it a squeeze, but he only
+      answered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite right, Megan. By the way, I heard you putting the little ones to
+      bed last night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She flushed a little. &ldquo;Please to drink your tea&mdash;it is getting cold.
+      Shall I get you some fresh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you ever have time to do anything for yourself?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've been watching, but I haven't seen it yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She wrinkled her brows in a puzzled frown, and her colour deepened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When she was gone, Ashurst thought: 'Did she think I was chaffing her? I
+      wouldn't for the world!' He was at that age when to some men &ldquo;Beauty's a
+      flower,&rdquo; as the poet says, and inspires in them the thoughts of chivalry.
+      Never very conscious of his surroundings, it was some time before he was
+      aware that the youth whom Garton had called &ldquo;a Saxon type&rdquo; was standing
+      outside the stable door; and a fine bit of colour he made in his soiled
+      brown velvet-cords, muddy gaiters, and blue shirt; red-armed, red-faced,
+      the sun turning his hair from tow to flax; immovably stolid, persistent,
+      unsmiling he stood. Then, seeing Ashurst looking at him, he crossed the
+      yard at that gait of the young countryman always ashamed not to be slow
+      and heavy-dwelling on each leg, and disappeared round the end of the house
+      towards the kitchen entrance. A chill came over Ashurst's mood. Clods?
+      With all the good will in the world, how impossible to get on terms with
+      them! And yet&mdash;see that girl! Her shoes were split, her hands rough;
+      but&mdash;what was it? Was it really her Celtic blood, as Garton had said?&mdash;she
+      was a lady born, a jewel, though probably she could do no more than just
+      read and write!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The elderly, clean-shaven man he had seen last night in the kitchen had
+      come into the yard with a dog, driving the cows to their milking. Ashurst
+      saw that he was lame.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've got some good ones there!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The lame man's face brightened. He had the upward look in his eyes which
+      prolonged suffering often brings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yeas; they'm praaper buties; gude milkers tu.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I bet they are.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Ope as yure leg's better, zurr.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, it's getting on.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The lame man touched his own: &ldquo;I know what 'tes, meself; 'tes a main
+      worritin' thing, the knee. I've a-'.d mine bad this ten year.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst made the sound of sympathy which comes so readily from those who
+      have an independent income, and the lame man smiled again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mustn't complain, though&mdash;they mighty near 'ad it off.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ho!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yeas; an' compared with what 'twas, 'tes almost so gude as nu.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They've put a bandage of splendid stuff on mine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The maid she picks et. She'm a gude maid wi' the flowers. There's folks
+      zeem to know the healin' in things. My mother was a rare one for that.
+      'Ope as yu'll zune be better, zurr. Goo ahn, therr!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst smiled. &ldquo;Wi' the flowers!&rdquo; A flower herself!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That evening, after his supper of cold duck, junket, and cider, the girl
+      came in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please, auntie says&mdash;will you try a piece of our Mayday cake?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I may come to the kitchen for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes! You'll be missing your friend.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not I. But are you sure no one minds?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who would mind? We shall be very pleased.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst rose too suddenly for his stiff knee, staggered, and subsided. The
+      girl gave a little gasp, and held out her hands. Ashurst took them, small,
+      rough, brown; checked his impulse to put them to his lips, and let her
+      pull him up. She came close beside him, offering her shoulder. And leaning
+      on her he walked across the room. That shoulder seemed quite the
+      pleasantest thing he had ever touched. But, he had presence of mind enough
+      to catch his stick out of the rack, and withdraw his hand before arriving
+      at the kitchen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That night he slept like a top, and woke with his knee of almost normal
+      size. He again spent the morning in his chair on the grass patch,
+      scribbling down verses; but in the afternoon he wandered about with the
+      two little boys Nick and Rick. It was Saturday, so they were early home
+      from school; quick, shy, dark little rascals of seven and six, soon
+      talkative, for Ashurst had a way with children. By four o'clock they had
+      shown him all their methods of destroying life, except the tickling of
+      trout; and with breeches tucked up, lay on their stomachs over the trout
+      stream, pretending they had this accomplishment also. They tickled
+      nothing, of course, for their giggling and shouting scared every spotted
+      thing away. Ashurst, on a rock at the edge of the beech clump, watched
+      them, and listened to the cuckoos, till Nick, the elder and less
+      persevering, came up and stood beside him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The gipsy bogle zets on that stone,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What gipsy bogie?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dunno; never zeen 'e. Megan zays 'e zets there; an' old Jim zeed 'e once.
+      'E was zettin' there naight afore our pony kicked&mdash;in father's 'ead.
+      'E plays the viddle.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What tune does he play?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dunno.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's he like?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'E's black. Old Jim zays 'e's all over 'air. 'E's a praaper bogle. 'E
+      don' come only at naight.&rdquo; The little boy's oblique dark eyes slid round.
+      &ldquo;D'yu think 'e might want to take me away? Megan's feared of 'e.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Has she seen him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. She's not afeared o' yu.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should think not. Why should she be?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She zays a prayer for yu.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you know that, you little rascal?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When I was asleep, she said: 'God bless us all, an' Mr. Ashes.' I yeard
+      'er whisperin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're a little ruffian to tell what you hear when you're not meant to
+      hear it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little boy was silent. Then he said aggressively:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can skin rabbets. Megan, she can't bear skinnin' 'em. I like blood.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! you do; you little monster!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A creature that likes hurting others.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little boy scowled. &ldquo;They'm only dead rabbets, what us eats.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite right, Nick. I beg your pardon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can skin frogs, tu.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Ashurst had become absent. &ldquo;God bless us all, and Mr. Ashes!&rdquo; And
+      puzzled by that sudden inaccessibility, Nick ran back to the stream where
+      the giggling and shouts again uprose at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Megan brought his tea, he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's the gipsy bogle, Megan?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked up, startled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He brings bad things.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Surely you don't believe in ghosts?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope I will never see him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course you won't. There aren't such things. What old Jim saw was a
+      pony.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No! There are bogies in the rocks; they are the men who lived long ago.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They aren't gipsies, anyway; those old men were dead long before gipsies
+      came.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She said simply: &ldquo;They are all bad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why? If there are any, they're only wild, like the rabbits. The flowers
+      aren't bad for being wild; the thorn trees were never planted&mdash;and
+      you don't mind them. I shall go down at night and look for your bogie, and
+      have a talk with him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no! Oh, no!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes! I shall go and sit on his rock.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She clasped her hands together: &ldquo;Oh, please!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why! What 'does it matter if anything happens to me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She did not answer; and in a sort of pet he added:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I daresay I shan't see him, because I suppose I must be off soon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Soon?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your aunt won't want to keep me here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes! We always let lodgings in summer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Fixing his eyes on her face, he asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you like me to stay?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm going to say a prayer for you to-night!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She flushed crimson, frowned, and went out of the room. He sat, cursing
+      himself, till his tea was stewed. It was as if he had hacked with his
+      thick boots at a clump of bluebells. Why had he said such a silly thing?
+      Was he just a towny college ass like Robert Garton, as far from
+      understanding this girl?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst spent the next week confirming the restoration of his leg, by
+      exploration of the country within easy reach. Spring was a revelation to
+      him this year. In a kind of intoxication he would watch the pink-white
+      buds of some backward beech tree sprayed up in the sunlight against the
+      deep blue sky, or the trunks and limbs of the few Scotch firs, tawny in
+      violent light, or again, on the moor, the gale-bent larches which had such
+      a look of life when the wind streamed in their young green, above the
+      rusty black underboughs. Or he would lie on the banks, gazing at the
+      clusters of dog-violets, or up in the dead bracken, fingering the pink,
+      transparent buds of the dewberry, while the cuckoos called and yafes
+      laughed, or a lark, from very high, dripped its beads of song. It was
+      certainly different from any spring he had ever known, for spring was
+      within him, not without. In the daytime he hardly saw the family; and when
+      Megan brought in his meals she always seemed too busy in the house or
+      among the young things in the yard to stay talking long. But in the
+      evenings he installed himself in the window seat in the kitchen, smoking
+      and chatting with the lame man Jim, or Mrs. Narracombe, while the girl
+      sewed, or moved about, clearing the supper things away. And sometimes,
+      with the sensation a cat must feel when it purrs, he would become
+      conscious that Megan's eyes&mdash;those dew-grey eyes&mdash;were fixed on
+      him with a sort of lingering soft look which was strangely flattering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was on Sunday week in the evening, when he was lying in the orchard
+      listening to a blackbird and composing a love poem, that he heard the gate
+      swing to, and saw the girl come running among the trees, with the
+      red-cheeked, stolid Joe in swift pursuit. About twenty yards away the
+      chase ended, and the two stood fronting each other, not noticing the
+      stranger in the grass&mdash;the boy pressing on, the girl fending him off.
+      Ashurst could see her face, angry, disturbed; and the youth's&mdash;who
+      would have thought that red-faced yokel could look so distraught! And
+      painfully affected by that sight, he jumped up. They saw him then. Megan
+      dropped her hands, and shrank behind a tree trunk; the boy gave an angry
+      grunt, rushed at the bank, scrambled over and vanished. Ashurst went
+      slowly up to her. She was standing quite still, biting her lip-very
+      pretty, with her fine, dark hair blown loose about her face, and her eyes
+      cast down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I beg your pardon,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She gave him one upward look, from eyes much dilated; then, catching her
+      breath, turned away. Ashurst followed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Megan!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But she went on; and taking hold of her arm, he turned her gently round to
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop and speak to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why do you beg my pardon? It is not to me you should do that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then, to Joe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How dare he come after me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In love with you, I suppose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She stamped her foot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst uttered a short laugh. &ldquo;Would you like me to punch his head?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She cried with sudden passion:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You laugh at me-you laugh at us!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He caught hold of her hands, but she shrank back, till her passionate
+      little face and loose dark hair were caught among the pink clusters of the
+      apple blossom. Ashurst raised one of her imprisoned hands and put his lips
+      to it. He felt how chivalrous he was, and superior to that clod Joe&mdash;just
+      brushing that small, rough hand with his mouth I Her shrinking ceased
+      suddenly; she seemed to tremble towards him. A sweet warmth overtook
+      Ashurst from top to toe. This slim maiden, so simple and fine and pretty,
+      was pleased, then, at the touch of his lips! And, yielding to a swift
+      impulse, he put his arms round her, pressed her to him, and kissed her
+      forehead. Then he was frightened&mdash;she went so pale, closing her eyes,
+      so that the long, dark lashes lay on her pale cheeks; her hands, too, lay
+      inert at her sides. The touch of her breast sent a shiver through him.
+      &ldquo;Megan!&rdquo; he sighed out, and let her go. In the utter silence a blackbird
+      shouted. Then the girl seized his hand, put it to her cheek, her heart,
+      her lips, kissed it passionately, and fled away among the mossy trunks of
+      the apple trees, till they hid her from him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst sat down on a twisted old tree growing almost along the ground,
+      and, all throbbing and bewildered, gazed vacantly at the blossom which had
+      crowned her hair&mdash;those pink buds with one white open apple star.
+      What had he done? How had he let himself be thus stampeded by beauty&mdash;pity&mdash;or&mdash;just
+      the spring! He felt curiously happy, all the same; happy and triumphant,
+      with shivers running through his limbs, and a vague alarm. This was the
+      beginning of&mdash;what? The midges bit him, the dancing gnats tried to
+      fly into his mouth, and all the spring around him seemed to grow more
+      lovely and alive; the songs of the cuckoos and the blackbirds, the
+      laughter of the yaflies, the level-slanting sunlight, the apple blossom
+      which had crowned her head! He got up from the old trunk and strode out of
+      the orchard, wanting space, an open sky, to get on terms with these new
+      sensations. He made for the moor, and from an ash tree in the hedge a
+      magpie flew out to herald him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of man&mdash;at any age from five years on&mdash;who can say he has never
+      been in love? Ashurst had loved his partners at his dancing class; loved
+      his nursery governess; girls in school-holidays; perhaps never been quite
+      out of love, cherishing always some more or less remote admiration. But
+      this was different, not remote at all. Quite a new sensation; terribly
+      delightful, bringing a sense of completed manhood. To be holding in his
+      fingers such a wild flower, to be able to put it to his lips, and feel it
+      tremble with delight against them! What intoxication, and&mdash;embarrassment!
+      What to do with it&mdash;how meet her next time? His first caress had been
+      cool, pitiful; but the next could not be, now that, by her burning little
+      kiss on his hand, by her pressure of it to her heart, he knew that she
+      loved him. Some natures are coarsened by love bestowed on them; others,
+      like Ashurst's, are swayed and drawn, warmed and softened, almost exalted,
+      by what they feel to be a sort of miracle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And up there among the tors he was racked between the passionate desire to
+      revel in this new sensation of spring fulfilled within him, and a vague
+      but very real uneasiness. At one moment he gave himself up completely to
+      his pride at having captured this pretty, trustful, dewy-eyed thing! At
+      the next he thought with factitious solemnity: 'Yes, my boy! But look out
+      what you're doing! You know what comes of it!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dusk dropped down without his noticing&mdash;dusk on the carved,
+      Assyrian-looking masses of the rocks. And the voice of Nature said: &ldquo;This
+      is a new world for you!&rdquo; As when a man gets up at four o'clock and goes
+      out into a summer morning, and beasts, birds, trees stare at him and he
+      feels as if all had been made new.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stayed up there for hours, till it grew cold, then groped his way down
+      the stones and heather roots to the road, back into the lane, and came
+      again past the wild meadow to the orchard. There he struck a match and
+      looked at his watch. Nearly twelve! It was black and unstirring in there
+      now, very different from the lingering, bird-befriended brightness of six
+      hours ago! And suddenly he saw this idyll of his with the eyes of the
+      outer world&mdash;had mental vision of Mrs. Narracombe's snake-like neck
+      turned, her quick dark glance taking it all in, her shrewd face hardening;
+      saw the gipsy-like cousins coarsely mocking and distrustful; Joe stolid
+      and furious; only the lame man, Jim, with the suffering eyes, seemed
+      tolerable to his mind. And the village pub!&mdash;the gossiping matrons he
+      passed on his walks; and then&mdash;his own friends&mdash;Robert Carton's
+      smile when he went off that morning ten days ago; so ironical and knowing!
+      Disgusting! For a minute he literally hated this earthy, cynical world to
+      which one belonged, willy-nilly. The gate where he was leaning grew grey,
+      a sort of shimmer passed be fore him and spread into the bluish darkness.
+      The moon! He could just see it over the bank be hind; red, nearly round-a
+      strange moon! And turning away, he went up the lane which smelled of the
+      night and cowdung and young leaves. In the straw-yard he could see the
+      dark shapes of cattle, broken by the pale sickles of their horns, like so
+      many thin moons, fallen ends-up. He unlatched the farm gate stealthily.
+      All was dark in the house. Muffling his footsteps, he gained the porch,
+      and, blotted against one of the yew trees, looked up at Megan's window. It
+      was open. Was she sleeping, or lying awake perhaps, disturbed&mdash;unhappy
+      at his absence? An owl hooted while he stood there peering up, and the
+      sound seemed to fill the whole night, so quiet was all else, save for the
+      never-ending murmur of the stream running below the orchard. The cuckoos
+      by day, and now the owls&mdash;how wonderfully they voiced this troubled
+      ecstasy within him! And suddenly he saw her at her window, looking out. He
+      moved a little from the yew tree, and whispered: &ldquo;Megan!&rdquo; She drew back,
+      vanished, reappeared, leaning far down. He stole forward on the grass
+      patch, hit his shin against the green-painted chair, and held his breath
+      at the sound. The pale blur of her stretched-down arm and face did not
+      stir; he moved the chair, and noiselessly mounted it. By stretching up his
+      arm he could just reach. Her hand held the huge key of the front door, and
+      he clasped that burning hand with the cold key in it. He could just see
+      her face, the glint of teeth between her lips, her tumbled hair. She was
+      still dressed&mdash;poor child, sitting up for him, no doubt! &ldquo;Pretty
+      Megan!&rdquo; Her hot, roughened fingers clung to his; her face had a strange,
+      lost look. To have been able to reach it&mdash;even with his hand! The owl
+      hooted, a scent of sweetbriar crept into his nostrils. Then one of the
+      farm dogs barked; her grasp relaxed, she shrank back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-night, Megan!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-night, sir!&rdquo; She was gone! With a sigh he dropped back to earth, and
+      sitting on that chair, took off his boots. Nothing for it but to creep in
+      and go to bed; yet for a long while he sat unmoving, his feet chilly in
+      the dew, drunk on the memory of her lost, half-smiling face, and the
+      clinging grip of her burning fingers, pressing the cold key into his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      5
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      He awoke feeling as if he had eaten heavily overnight, instead of having
+      eaten nothing. And far off, unreal, seemed yesterday's romance! Yet it was
+      a golden morning. Full spring had burst at last&mdash;in one night the
+      &ldquo;goldie-cups,&rdquo; as the little boys called them, seemed to have made the
+      field their own, and from his window he could see apple blossoms covering
+      the orchard as with a rose and white quilt. He went down almost dreading
+      to see Megan; and yet, when not she but Mrs. Narracombe brought in his
+      breakfast, he felt vexed and disappointed. The woman's quick eye and snaky
+      neck seemed to have a new alacrity this morning. Had she noticed?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So you an' the moon went walkin' last night, Mr. Ashurst! Did ye have
+      your supper anywheres?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We kept it for you, but I suppose you was too busy in your brain to think
+      o' such a thing as that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Was she mocking him, in that voice of hers, which still kept some Welsh
+      crispness against the invading burr of the West Country? If she knew! And
+      at that moment he thought: 'No, no; I'll clear out. I won't put myself in
+      such a beastly false position.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But, after breakfast, the longing to see Megan began and increased with
+      every minute, together with fear lest something should have been said to
+      her which had spoiled everything. Sinister that she had not appeared, not
+      given him even a glimpse of her! And the love poem, whose manufacture had
+      been so important and absorbing yesterday afternoon under the apple trees,
+      now seemed so paltry that he tore it up and rolled it into pipe spills.
+      What had he known of love, till she seized his hand and kissed it! And now&mdash;what
+      did he not know? But to write of it seemed mere insipidity! He went up to
+      his bedroom to get a book, and his heart began to beat violently, for she
+      was in there making the bed. He stood in the doorway watching; and
+      suddenly, with turbulent joy, he saw her stoop and kiss his pillow, just
+      at the hollow made by his head last night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How let her know he had seen that pretty act of devotion? And yet, if she
+      heard him stealing away, it would be even worse. She took the pillow up,
+      holding it as if reluctant to shake out the impress of his cheek, dropped
+      it, and turned round.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Megan!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She put her hands up to her cheeks, but her eyes seemed to look right into
+      him. He had never before realised the depth and purity and touching
+      faithfulness in those dew-bright eyes, and he stammered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was sweet of you to wait up for me last night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She still said nothing, and he stammered on:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was wandering about on the moor; it was such a jolly night. I&mdash;I've
+      just come up for a book.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, the kiss he had seen her give the pillow afflicted him with sudden
+      headiness, and he went up to her. Touching her eyes with his lips, he
+      thought with queer excitement: 'I've done it! Yesterday all was sudden&mdash;anyhow;
+      but now&mdash;I've done it!' The girl let her forehead rest against his
+      lips, which moved downwards till they reached hers. That first real
+      lover's kiss-strange, wonderful, still almost innocent&mdash;in which
+      heart did it make the most disturbance?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come to the big apple tree to-night, after they've gone to bed.
+      Megan-promise!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She whispered back: &ldquo;I promise.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, scared at her white face, scared at everything, he let her go, and
+      went downstairs again. Yes! He had done it now! Accepted her love,
+      declared his own! He went out to the green chair as devoid of a book as
+      ever; and there he sat staring vacantly before him, triumphant and
+      remorseful, while under his nose and behind his back the work of the farm
+      went on. How long he had been sitting in that curious state of vacancy he
+      had no notion when he saw Joe standing a little behind him to the right.
+      The youth had evidently come from hard work in the fields, and stood
+      shifting his feet, breathing loudly, his face coloured like a setting sun,
+      and his arms, below the rolled-up sleeves of his blue shirt, showing the
+      hue and furry sheen of ripe peaches. His red lips were open, his blue eyes
+      with their flaxen lashes stared fixedly at Ashurst, who said ironically:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Joe, anything I can do for you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yeas.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yu can goo away from yere. Us don' want yu.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst's face, never too humble, assumed its most lordly look.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very good of you, but, do you know, I prefer the others should speak for
+      themselves.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The youth moved a pace or two nearer, and the scent of his honest heat
+      afflicted Ashurst's nostrils.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What d'yu stay yere for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because it pleases me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Twon't please yu when I've bashed yure head in!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed! When would you like to begin that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Joe answered only with the loudness of his breathing, but his eyes looked
+      like those of a young and angry bull. Then a sort of spasm seemed to
+      convulse his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Megan don' want yu.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A rush of jealousy, of contempt, and anger with this thick, loud-breathing
+      rustic got the better of Ashurst's self-possession; he jumped up, and
+      pushed back his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can go to the devil!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And as he said those simple words, he saw Megan in the doorway with a tiny
+      brown spaniel puppy in her arms. She came up to him quickly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Its eyes are blue!&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Joe turned away; the back of his neck was literally crimson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst put his finger to the mouth of the little brown bullfrog of a
+      creature in her arms. How cosy it looked against her!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's fond of you already. Ah I Megan, everything is fond of you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What was Joe saying to you, please?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Telling me to go away, because you didn't want me here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She stamped her foot; then looked up at Ashurst. At that adoring look he
+      felt his nerves quiver, just as if he had seen a moth scorching its wings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To-night!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Don't forget!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo; And smothering her face against the puppy's little fat, brown body,
+      she slipped back into the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst wandered down the lane. At the gate of the wild meadow he came on
+      the lame man and his cows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Beautiful day, Jim!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! 'Tes brave weather for the grass. The ashes be later than th' oaks
+      this year. 'When th' oak before th' ash&mdash;-'.rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst said idly: &ldquo;Where were you standing when you saw the gipsy bogie,
+      Jim?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It might be under that big apple tree, as you might say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you really do think it was there?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The lame man answered cautiously:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shouldn't like to say rightly that 't was there. 'Twas in my mind as
+      'twas there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you make of it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The lame man lowered his voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They du zay old master, Mist' Narracombe come o' gipsy stock. But that's
+      tellin'. They'm a wonderful people, yu know, for claimin' their own. Maybe
+      they knu 'e was goin', and sent this feller along for company. That's what
+      I've a-thought about it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What was he like?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'E 'ad 'air all over 'is face, an' goin' like this, he was, zame as if 'e
+      'ad a viddle. They zay there's no such thing as bogies, but I've a-zeen
+      the 'air on this dog standin' up of a dark naight, when I couldn' zee
+      nothin', meself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Was there a moon?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yeas, very near full, but 'twas on'y just risen, gold-like be'ind them
+      trees.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you think a ghost means trouble, do you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The lame man pushed his hat up; his aspiring eyes looked at Ashurst more
+      earnestly than ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Tes not for me to zay that but 'tes they bein' so unrestin'like. There's
+      things us don' understand, that's zartin, for zure. There's people that
+      zee things, tu, an' others that don't never zee nothin'. Now, our Joe&mdash;yu
+      might putt anything under'is eyes an e'd never zee it; and them other
+      boys, tu, they'm rattlin' fellers. But yu take an' putt our Megan where
+      there's suthin', she'll zee it, an' more tu, or I'm mistaken.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She's sensitive, that's why.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean, she feels everything.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! She'm very lovin'-'.arted.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst, who felt colour coming into his cheeks, held out his tobacco
+      pouch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have a fill, Jim?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank 'ee, sir. She'm one in an 'underd, I think.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I expect so,&rdquo; said Ashurst shortly, and folding up his pouch, walked on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lovin'-hearted!&rdquo; Yes! And what was he doing? What were his intentions&mdash;as
+      they say towards this loving-hearted girl? The thought dogged him,
+      wandering through fields bright with buttercups, where the little red
+      calves were feeding, and the swallows flying high. Yes, the oaks were
+      before the ashes, brown-gold already; every tree in different stage and
+      hue. The cuckoos and a thousand birds were singing; the little streams
+      were very bright. The ancients believed in a golden age, in the garden of
+      the Hesperides!... A queen wasp settled on his sleeve. Each queen wasp
+      killed meant two thousand fewer wasps to thieve the apples which would
+      grow from that blossom in the orchard; but who, with love in his heart,
+      could kill anything on a day like this? He entered a field where a young
+      red bull was feeding. It seemed to Ashurst that he looked like Joe. But
+      the young bull took no notice of this visitor, a little drunk himself,
+      perhaps, on the singing and the glamour of the golden pasture, under his
+      short legs. Ashurst crossed out unchallenged to the hillside above the
+      stream. From that slope a for mounted to its crown of rocks. The ground
+      there was covered with a mist of bluebells, and nearly a score of
+      crab-apple trees were in full bloom. He threw himself down on the grass.
+      The change from the buttercup glory and oak-goldened glamour of the fields
+      to this ethereal beauty under the grey for filled him with a sort of
+      wonder; nothing the same, save the sound of running water and the songs of
+      the cuckoos. He lay there a long time, watching the sunlight wheel till
+      the crab-trees threw shadows over the bluebells, his only companions a few
+      wild bees. He was not quite sane, thinking of that morning's kiss, and of
+      to-night under the apple tree. In such a spot as this, fauns and dryads
+      surely lived; nymphs, white as the crab-apple blossom, retired within
+      those trees; fauns, brown as the dead bracken, with pointed ears, lay in
+      wait for them. The cuckoos were still calling when he woke, there was the
+      sound of running water; but the sun had couched behind the tor, the
+      hillside was cool, and some rabbits had come out. 'Tonight!' he thought.
+      Just as from the earth everything was pushing up, unfolding under the soft
+      insistent fingers of an unseen hand, so were his heart and senses being
+      pushed, unfolded. He got up and broke off a spray from a crab-apple tree.
+      The buds were like Megan&mdash;shell-like, rose-pink, wild, and fresh; and
+      so, too, the opening flowers, white, and wild; and touching. He put the
+      spray into his coat. And all the rush of the spring within him escaped in
+      a triumphant sigh. But the rabbits scurried away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      6
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      It was nearly eleven that night when Ashurst put down the pocket &ldquo;Odyssey&rdquo;
+       which for half an hour he had held in his hands without reading, and
+      slipped through the yard down to the orchard. The moon had just risen,
+      very golden, over the hill, and like a bright, powerful, watching spirit
+      peered through the bars of an ash tree's half-naked boughs. In among the
+      apple trees it was still dark, and he stood making sure of his direction,
+      feeling the rough grass with his feet. A black mass close behind him
+      stirred with a heavy grunting sound, and three large pigs settled down
+      again close to each other, under the wall. He listened. There was no wind,
+      but the stream's burbling whispering chuckle had gained twice its daytime
+      strength. One bird, he could not tell what, cried &ldquo;Pippip,&rdquo; &ldquo;Pip-pip,&rdquo;
+       with perfect monotony; he could hear a night-Jar spinning very far off; an
+      owl hooting. Ashurst moved a step or two, and again halted, aware of a dim
+      living whiteness all round his head. On the dark unstirring trees
+      innumerable flowers and buds all soft and blurred were being bewitched to
+      life by the creeping moonlight. He had the oddest feeling of actual
+      companionship, as if a million white moths or spirits had floated in and
+      settled between dark sky and darker ground, and were opening and shutting
+      their wings on a level with his eyes. In the bewildering, still, scentless
+      beauty of that moment he almost lost memory of why he had come to the
+      orchard. The flying glamour which had clothed the earth all day had not
+      gone now that night had fallen, but only changed into this new form. He
+      moved on through the thicket of stems and boughs covered with that live
+      powdering whiteness, till he reached the big apple tree. No mistaking
+      that, even in the dark, nearly twice the height and size of any other, and
+      leaning out towards the open meadows and the stream. Under the thick
+      branches he stood still again, to listen. The same sounds exactly, and a
+      faint grunting from the sleepy pigs. He put his hands on the dry, almost
+      warm tree trunk, whose rough mossy surface gave forth a peaty scent at his
+      touch. Would she come&mdash;would she? And among these quivering, haunted,
+      moon-witched trees he was seized with doubts of everything! All was
+      unearthly here, fit for no earthly lovers; fit only for god and goddess,
+      faun and nymph not for him and this little country girl. Would it not be
+      almost a relief if she did not come? But all the time he was listening.
+      And still that unknown bird went &ldquo;Pip-pip,&rdquo; &ldquo;Pip-pip,&rdquo; and there rose the
+      busy chatter of the little trout stream, whereon the moon was flinging
+      glances through the bars of her tree-prison. The blossom on a level with
+      his eyes seemed to grow more living every moment, seemed with its
+      mysterious white beauty more and more a part of his suspense. He plucked a
+      fragment and held it close&mdash;three blossoms. Sacrilege to pluck
+      fruit-tree blossom&mdash;soft, sacred, young blossom&mdash;and throw it
+      away! Then suddenly he heard the gate close, the pigs stirring again and
+      grunting; and leaning against the trunk, he pressed his hands to its mossy
+      sides behind him, and held his breath. She might have been a spirit
+      threading the trees, for all the noise she made! Then he saw her quite
+      close&mdash;her dark form part of a little tree, her white face part of
+      its blossom; so still, and peering towards him. He whispered: &ldquo;Megan!&rdquo; and
+      held out his hands. She ran forward, straight to his breast. When he felt
+      her heart beating against him, Ashurst knew to the full the sensations of
+      chivalry and passion. Because she was not of his world, because she was so
+      simple and young and headlong, adoring and defenceless, how could he be
+      other than her protector, in the dark! Because she was all simple Nature
+      and beauty, as much a part of this spring night as was the living blossom,
+      how should he not take all that she would give him how not fulfil the
+      spring in her heart and his! And torn between these two emotions he
+      clasped her close, and kissed her hair. How long they stood there without
+      speaking he knew not. The stream went on chattering, the owls hooting, the
+      moon kept stealing up and growing whiter; the blossom all round them and
+      above brightened in suspense of living beauty. Their lips had sought each
+      other's, and they did not speak. The moment speech began all would be
+      unreal! Spring has no speech, nothing but rustling and whispering. Spring
+      has so much more than speech in its unfolding flowers and leaves, and the
+      coursing of its streams, and in its sweet restless seeking! And sometimes
+      spring will come alive, and, like a mysterious Presence stand, encircling
+      lovers with its arms, laying on them the fingers of enchantment, so that,
+      standing lips to lips, they forget everything but just a kiss. While her
+      heart beat against him, and her lips quivered on his, Ashurst felt nothing
+      but simple rapture&mdash;Destiny meant her for his arms, Love could not be
+      flouted! But when their lips parted for breath, division began again at
+      once. Only, passion now was so much the stronger, and he sighed:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Megan! Why did you come?&rdquo; She looked up, hurt, amazed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir, you asked me to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't call me 'sir,' my pretty sweet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What should I be callin' you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Frank.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I could not. Oh, no!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you love me&mdash;don't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I could not help lovin' you. I want to be with you&mdash;that's all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So faint that he hardly heard, she whispered: &ldquo;I shall die if I can't be
+      with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst took a mighty breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come and be with me, then!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Intoxicated by the awe and rapture in that &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; he went on, whispering:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'll go to London. I'll show you the world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I will take care of you, I promise, Megan. I'll never be a brute to
+      you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I can be with you&mdash;that is all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He stroked her hair, and whispered on:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To-morrow I'll go to Torquay and get some money, and get you some clothes
+      that won't be noticed, and then we'll steal away. And when we get to
+      London, soon perhaps, if you love me well enough, we'll be married.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He could feel her hair shiver with the shake of her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no! I could not. I only want to be with you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Drunk on his own chivalry, Ashurst went on murmuring, &ldquo;It's I who am not
+      good enough for you. Oh! Megan, when did you begin to love me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When I saw you in the road, and you looked at me. The first night I loved
+      you; but I never thought you would want me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She slipped down suddenly to her knees, trying to kiss his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A shiver of horror went through Ashurst; he lifted her up bodily and held
+      her fast&mdash;too upset to speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She whispered: &ldquo;Why won't you let me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's I who will kiss your feet!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her smile brought tears into his eyes. The whiteness of her moonlit face
+      so close to his, the faint pink of her opened lips, had the living
+      unearthly beauty of the apple blossom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then, suddenly, her eyes widened and stared past him painfully; she
+      writhed out of his arms, and whispered: &ldquo;Look!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst saw nothing but the brightened stream, the furze faintly gilded,
+      the beech trees glistening, and behind them all the wide loom of the
+      moonlit hill. Behind him came her frozen whisper: &ldquo;The gipsy bogie!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There&mdash;by the stone&mdash;under the trees!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Exasperated, he leaped the stream, and strode towards the beech clump.
+      Prank of the moonlight! Nothing! In and out of the boulders and thorn
+      trees, muttering and cursing, yet with a kind of terror, he rushed and
+      stumbled. Absurd! Silly! Then he went back to the apple tree. But she was
+      gone; he could hear a rustle, the grunting of the pigs, the sound of a
+      gate closing. Instead of her, only this old apple tree! He flung his arms
+      round the trunk. What a substitute for her soft body; the rough moss
+      against his face&mdash;what a substitute for her soft cheek; only the
+      scent, as of the woods, a little the same! And above him, and around, the
+      blossoms, more living, more moonlit than ever, seemed to glow and breathe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      7
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Descending from the train at Torquay station, Ashurst wandered uncertainly
+      along the front, for he did not know this particular queen of English
+      watering places. Having little sense of what he had on, he was quite
+      unconscious of being remarkable among its inhabitants, and strode along in
+      his rough Norfolk jacket, dusty boots, and battered hat, without observing
+      that people gazed at him rather blankly. He was seeking a branch of his
+      London bank, and having found one, found also the first obstacle to his
+      mood. Did he know anyone in Torquay? No. In that case, if he would wire to
+      his bank in London, they would be happy to oblige him on receipt of the
+      reply. That suspicious breath from the matter-of-fact world somewhat
+      tarnished the brightness of his visions. But he sent the telegram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nearly opposite to the post office he saw a shop full of ladies' garments,
+      and examined the window with strange sensations. To have to undertake the
+      clothing of his rustic love was more than a little disturbing. He went in.
+      A young woman came forward; she had blue eyes and a faintly puzzled
+      forehead. Ashurst stared at her in silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want a dress for a young lady.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The young woman smiled. Ashurst frowned the peculiarity of his request
+      struck him with sudden force.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The young woman added hastily:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What style would you like&mdash;something modish?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. Simple.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What figure would the young lady be?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know; about two inches shorter than you, I should say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Could you give me her waist measurement?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Megan's waist!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! anything usual!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      While she was gone he stood disconsolately eyeing the models in the
+      window, and suddenly it seemed to him incredible that Megan&mdash;his
+      Megan could ever be dressed save in the rough tweed skirt, coarse blouse,
+      and tam-o'-shanter cap he was wont to see her in. The young woman had come
+      back with several dresses in her arms, and Ashurst eyed her laying them
+      against her own modish figure. There was one whose colour he liked, a
+      dove-grey, but to imagine Megan clothed in it was beyond him. The young
+      woman went away, and brought some more. But on Ashurst there had now come
+      a feeling of paralysis. How choose? She would want a hat too, and shoes,
+      and gloves; and, suppose, when he had got them all, they commonised her,
+      as Sunday clothes always commonised village folk! Why should she not
+      travel as she was? Ah! But conspicuousness would matter; this was a
+      serious elopement. And, staring at the young woman, he thought: 'I wonder
+      if she guesses, and thinks me a blackguard?'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you mind putting aside that grey one for me?&rdquo; he said desperately at
+      last. &ldquo;I can't decide now; I'll come in again this afternoon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The young woman sighed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! certainly. It's a very tasteful costume. I don't think you'll get
+      anything that will suit your purpose better.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I expect not,&rdquo; Ashurst murmured, and went out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Freed again from the suspicious matter-of-factness of the world, he took a
+      long breath, and went back to visions. In fancy he saw the trustful,
+      pretty creature who was going to join her life to his; saw himself and her
+      stealing forth at night, walking over the moor under the moon, he with his
+      arm round her, and carrying her new garments, till, in some far-off wood,
+      when dawn was coming, she would slip off her old things and put on these,
+      and an early train at a distant station would bear them away on their
+      honeymoon journey, till London swallowed them up, and the dreams of love
+      came true.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Frank Ashurst! Haven't seen you since Rugby, old chap!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst's frown dissolved; the face, close to his own, was blue-eyed,
+      suffused with sun&mdash;one of those faces where sun from within and
+      without join in a sort of lustre. And he answered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Phil Halliday, by Jove!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are you doing here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! nothing. Just looking round, and getting some money. I'm staying on
+      the moor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you lunching anywhere? Come and lunch with us; I'm here with my young
+      sisters. They've had measles.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Hooked in by that friendly arm Ashurst went along, up a hill, down a hill,
+      away out of the town, while the voice of Halliday, redolent of optimism as
+      his face was of sun, explained how &ldquo;in this mouldy place the only decent
+      things were the bathing and boating,&rdquo; and so on, till presently they came
+      to a crescent of houses a little above and back from the sea, and into the
+      centre one an hotel&mdash;made their way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come up to my room and have a wash. Lunch'll be ready in a jiffy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst contemplated his visage in a looking-glass. After his farmhouse
+      bedroom, the comb and one spare shirt regime of the last fortnight, this
+      room littered with clothes and brushes was a sort of Capua; and he
+      thought: 'Queer&mdash;one doesn't realise But what&mdash;he did not quite
+      know.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he followed Halliday into the sitting room for lunch, three faces,
+      very fair and blue-eyed, were turned suddenly at the words: &ldquo;This is Frank
+      Ashurst my young sisters.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Two were indeed young, about eleven and ten. The third was perhaps
+      seventeen, tall and fair-haired too, with pink-and-white cheeks just
+      touched by the sun, and eyebrows, rather darker than the hair, running a
+      little upwards from her nose to their outer points. The voices of all
+      three were like Halliday's, high and cheerful; they stood up straight,
+      shook hands with a quick movement, looked at Ashurst critically, away
+      again at once, and began to talk of what they were going to do in the
+      afternoon. A regular Diana and attendant nymphs! After the farm this
+      crisp, slangy, eager talk, this cool, clean, off-hand refinement, was
+      queer at first, and then so natural that what he had come from became
+      suddenly remote. The names of the two little ones seemed to be Sabina and
+      Freda; of the eldest, Stella.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently the one called Sabina turned to him and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I say, will you come shrimping with us?&mdash;it's awful fun!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Surprised by this unexpected friendliness, Ashurst murmured:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid I've got to get back this afternoon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can't you put it off?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst turned to the new speaker, Stella, shook his head, and smiled. She
+      was very pretty! Sabina said regretfully: &ldquo;You might!&rdquo; Then the talk
+      switched off to caves and swimming.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can you swim far?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About two miles.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I say!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How jolly!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The three pairs of blue eyes, fixed on him, made him conscious of his new
+      importance&mdash;The sensation was agreeable. Halliday said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I say, you simply must stop and have a bathe. You'd better stay the
+      night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, do!&rdquo;'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But again Ashurst smiled and shook his head. Then suddenly he found
+      himself being catechised about his physical achievements. He had rowed&mdash;it
+      seemed&mdash;in his college boat, played in his college football team, won
+      his college mile; and he rose from table a sort of hero. The two little
+      girls insisted that he must see &ldquo;their&rdquo; cave, and they set forth
+      chattering like magpies, Ashurst between them, Stella and her brother a
+      little behind. In the cave, damp and darkish like any other cave, the
+      great feature was a pool with possibility of creatures which might be
+      caught and put into bottles. Sabina and Freda, who wore no stockings on
+      their shapely brown legs, exhorted Ashurst to join them in the middle of
+      it, and help sieve the water. He too was soon bootless and sockless. Time
+      goes fast for one who has a sense of beauty, when there are pretty
+      children in a pool and a young Diana on the edge, to receive with wonder
+      anything you can catch! Ashurst never had much sense of time. It was a
+      shock when, pulling out his watch, he saw it was well past three. No
+      cashing his cheque to-day-the bank would be closed before he could get
+      there. Watching his expression, the little girls cried out at once:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hurrah! Now you'll have to stay!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst did not answer. He was seeing again Megan's face, when at
+      breakfast time he had whispered: &ldquo;I'm going to Torquay, darling, to get
+      everything; I shall be back this evening. If it's fine we can go to-night.
+      Be ready.&rdquo; He was seeing again how she quivered and hung on his words.
+      What would she think? Then he pulled himself together, conscious suddenly
+      of the calm scrutiny of this other young girl, so tall and fair and
+      Diana-like, at the edge of the pool, of her wondering blue eyes under
+      those brows which slanted up a little. If they knew what was in his mind&mdash;if
+      they knew that this very night he had meant! Well, there would be a little
+      sound of disgust, and he would be alone in the cave. And with a curious
+      mixture of anger, chagrin, and shame, he put his watch back into his
+      pocket and said abruptly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; I'm dished for to-day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hurrah! Now you can bathe with us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was impossible not to succumb a little to the contentment of these
+      pretty children, to the smile on Stella's lips, to Halliday's &ldquo;Ripping,
+      old chap! I can lend you things for the night!&rdquo; But again a spasm of
+      longing and remorse throbbed through Ashurst, and he said moodily:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must send a wire!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The attractions of the pool palling, they went back to the hotel. Ashurst
+      sent his wire, addressing it to Mrs. Narracombe: &ldquo;Sorry, detained for the
+      night, back to-morrow.&rdquo; Surely Megan would understand that he had too much
+      to do; and his heart grew lighter. It was a lovely afternoon, warm, the
+      sea calm and blue, and swimming his great passion; the favour of these
+      pretty children flattered him, the pleasure of looking at them, at Stella,
+      at Halliday's sunny face; the slight unreality, yet extreme naturalness of
+      it all&mdash;as of a last peep at normality before he took this plunge
+      with Megan! He got his borrowed bathing dress, and they all set forth.
+      Halliday and he undressed behind one rock, the three girls behind another.
+      He was first into the sea, and at once swam out with the bravado of
+      justifying his self-given reputation. When he turned he could see Halliday
+      swimming along shore, and the girls flopping and dipping, and riding the
+      little waves, in the way he was accustomed to despise, but now thought
+      pretty and sensible, since it gave him the distinction of the only
+      deep-water fish. But drawing near, he wondered if they would like him, a
+      stranger, to come into their splashing group; he felt shy, approaching
+      that slim nymph. Then Sabina summoned him to teach her to float, and
+      between them the little girls kept him so busy that he had no time even to
+      notice whether Stella was accustomed to his presence, till suddenly he
+      heard a startled sound from her: She was standing submerged to the waist,
+      leaning a little forward, her slim white arms stretched out and pointing,
+      her wet face puckered by the sun and an expression of fear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look at Phil! Is he all right? Oh, look!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst saw at once that Phil was not all right. He was splashing and
+      struggling out of his depth, perhaps a hundred yards away; suddenly he
+      gave a cry, threw up his arms, and went down. Ashurst saw the girl launch
+      herself towards him, and crying out: &ldquo;Go back, Stella! Go back!&rdquo; he dashed
+      out. He had never swum so fast, and reached Halliday just as he was coming
+      up a second time. It was a case of cramp, but to get him in was not
+      difficult, for he did not struggle. The girl, who had stopped where
+      Ashurst told her to, helped as soon as he was in his depth, and once on
+      the beach they sat down one on each side of him to rub his limbs, while
+      the little ones stood by with scared faces. Halliday was soon smiling. It
+      was&mdash;he said&mdash;rotten of him, absolutely rotten! If Frank would
+      give him an arm, he could get to his clothes all right now. Ashurst gave
+      him the arm, and as he did so caught sight of Stella's face, wet and
+      flushed and tearful, all broken up out of its calm; and he thought: 'I
+      called her Stella! Wonder if she minded?'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While they were dressing, Halliday said quietly, &ldquo;You saved my life, old
+      chap!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rot!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Clothed, but not quite in their right minds, they went up all together to
+      the hotel and sat down to tea, except Halliday, who was lying down in his
+      room. After some slices of bread and jam, Sabina said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I say, you know, you are a brick!&rdquo; And Freda chimed in:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rather!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst saw Stella looking down; he got up in confusion, and went to the
+      window. From there he heard Sabina mutter: &ldquo;I say, let's swear blood bond.
+      Where's your knife, Freda?&rdquo; and out of the corner of his eye could see
+      each of them solemnly prick herself, squeeze out a drop of blood and
+      dabble on a bit of paper. He turned and made for the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't be a stoat! Come back!&rdquo; His arms were seized; imprisoned between
+      the little girls he was brought back to the table. On it lay a piece of
+      paper with an effigy drawn in blood, and the three names Stella Halliday,
+      Sabina Halliday, Freda Halliday&mdash;also in blood, running towards it
+      like the rays of a star. Sabina said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's you. We shall have to kiss you, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And Freda echoed:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Blow&mdash;Yes!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Before Ashurst could escape, some wettish hair dangled against his face,
+      something like a bite descended on his nose, he felt his left arm pinched,
+      and other teeth softly searching his cheek. Then he was released, and
+      Freda said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, Stella.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst, red and rigid, looked across the table at a red and rigid Stella.
+      Sabina giggled; Freda cried:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Buck up&mdash;it spoils everything!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A queer, ashamed eagerness shot through Ashurst: then he said quietly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shut up, you little demons!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again Sabina giggled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then, she can kiss her hand, and you can put it against your nose.
+      It is on one side!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To his amazement the girl did kiss her hand and stretch it out. Solemnly
+      he took that cool, slim hand and laid it to his cheek. The two little
+      girls broke into clapping, and Freda said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, then, we shall have to save your life at any time; that's settled.
+      Can I have another cup, Stella, not so beastly weak?&rdquo; Tea was resumed, and
+      Ashurst, folding up the paper, put it in his pocket. The talk turned on
+      the advantages of measles, tangerine oranges, honey in a spoon, no
+      lessons, and so forth. Ashurst listened, silent, exchanging friendly looks
+      with Stella, whose face was again of its normal sun-touched pink and
+      white. It was soothing to be so taken to the heart of this jolly family,
+      fascinating to watch their faces. And after tea, while the two little
+      girls pressed seaweed, he talked to Stella in the window seat and looked
+      at her water-colour sketches. The whole thing was like a pleasurable
+      dream; time and incident hung up, importance and reality suspended.
+      Tomorrow he would go back to Megan, with nothing of all this left save the
+      paper with the blood of these children, in his pocket. Children! Stella
+      was not quite that&mdash;as old as Megan! Her talk&mdash;quick, rather
+      hard and shy, yet friendly&mdash;seemed to flourish on his silences, and
+      about her there was something cool and virginal&mdash;a maiden in a bower.
+      At dinner, to which Halliday, who had swallowed too much sea-water, did
+      not come, Sabina said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm going to call you Frank.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Freda echoed:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Frank, Frank, Franky.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst grinned and bowed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Every time Stella calls you Mr. Ashurst, she's got to pay a forfeit. It's
+      ridiculous.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst looked at Stella, who grew slowly red. Sabina giggled; Freda
+      cried:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She's 'smoking'&mdash;'smoking!'&mdash;Yah!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst reached out to right and left, and grasped some fair hair in each
+      hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look here,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you two! Leave Stella alone, or I'll tie you
+      together!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Freda gurgled:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ouch! You are a beast!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sabina murmured cautiously:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You call her Stella, you see!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why shouldn't I? It's a jolly name!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right; we give you leave to!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst released the hair. Stella! What would she call him&mdash;after
+      this? But she called him nothing; till at bedtime he said, deliberately:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-night, Stella!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-night, Mr.&mdash;&mdash;Good-night, Frank! It was jolly of you, you
+      know!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh-that! Bosh!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her quick, straight handshake tightened suddenly, and as suddenly became
+      slack.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst stood motionless in the empty sitting-room. Only last night, under
+      the apple tree and the living blossom, he had held Megan to him, kissing
+      her eyes and lips. And he gasped, swept by that rush of remembrance.
+      To-night it should have begun-his life with her who only wanted to be with
+      him! And now, twenty-four hours and more must pass, because-of not looking
+      at his watch! Why had he made friends with this family of innocents just
+      when he was saying good-bye to innocence, and all the rest of it? 'But I
+      mean to marry her,' he thought; 'I told her so!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He took a candle, lighted it, and went to his bedroom, which was next to
+      Halliday's. His friend's voice called, as he was passing:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that you, old chap? I say, come in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was sitting up in bed, smoking a pipe and reading.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sit down a bit.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst sat down by the open window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've been thinking about this afternoon, you know,&rdquo; said Halliday rather
+      suddenly. &ldquo;They say you go through all your past. I didn't. I suppose I
+      wasn't far enough gone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did you think of?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Halliday was silent for a little, then said quietly
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I did think of one thing&mdash;rather odd&mdash;of a girl at
+      Cambridge that I might have&mdash;you know; I was glad I hadn't got her on
+      my mind. Anyhow, old chap, I owe it to you that I'm here; I should have
+      been in the big dark by now. No more bed, or baccy; no more anything. I
+      say, what d'you suppose happens to us?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst murmured:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go out like flames, I expect.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Phew!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We may flicker, and cling about a bit, perhaps.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;H'm! I think that's rather gloomy. I say, I hope my young sisters have
+      been decent to you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Awfully decent.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Halliday put his pipe down, crossed his hands behind his neck, and turned
+      his face towards the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They're not bad kids!&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Watching his friend, lying there, with that smile, and the candle-light on
+      his face, Ashurst shuddered. Quite true! He might have been lying there
+      with no smile, with all that sunny look gone out for ever! He might not
+      have been lying there at all, but &ldquo;sanded&rdquo; at the bottom of the sea,
+      waiting for resurrection on the ninth day, was it? And that smile of
+      Halliday's seemed to him suddenly something wonderful, as if in it were
+      all the difference between life and death&mdash;the little flame&mdash;the
+      all! He got up, and said softly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you ought to sleep, I expect. Shall I blow out?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Halliday caught his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't say it, you know; but it must be rotten to be dead. Good-night,
+      old boy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Stirred and moved, Ashurst squeezed the hand, and went downstairs. The
+      hall door was still open, and he passed out on to the lawn before the
+      Crescent. The stars were bright in a very dark blue sky, and by their
+      light some lilacs had that mysterious colour of flowers by night which no
+      one can describe. Ashurst pressed his face against a spray; and before his
+      closed eyes Megan started up, with the tiny brown spaniel pup against her
+      breast. &ldquo;I thought of a girl that I might have you know. I was glad I
+      hadn't got her on my mind!&rdquo; He jerked his head away from the lilac, and
+      began pacing up and down over the grass, a grey phantom coming to
+      substance for a moment in the light from the lamp at either end. He was
+      with her again under the living, breathing white ness of the blossom, the
+      stream chattering by, the moon glinting steel-blue on the bathing-pool;
+      back in the rapture of his kisses on her upturned face of innocence and
+      humble passion, back in the suspense and beauty of that pagan night. He
+      stood still once more in the shadow of the lilacs. Here the sea, not the
+      stream, was Night's voice; the sea with its sigh and rustle; no little
+      bird, no owl, no night-Jar called or spun; but a piano tinkled, and the
+      white houses cut the sky with solid curve, and the scent from the lilacs
+      filled the air. A window of the hotel, high up, was lighted; he saw a
+      shadow move across the blind. And most queer sensations stirred within
+      him, a sort of churning, and twining, and turning of a single emotion on
+      itself, as though spring and love, bewildered and confused, seeking the
+      way, were baffled. This girl, who had called him Frank, whose hand had
+      given his that sudden little clutch, this girl so cool and pure&mdash;what
+      would she think of such wild, unlawful loving? He sank down on the grass,
+      sitting there cross-legged, with his back to the house, motionless as some
+      carved Buddha. Was he really going to break through innocence, and steal?
+      Sniff the scent out of a wild flower, and&mdash;perhaps&mdash;throw it
+      away? &ldquo;Of a girl at Cambridge that I might have&mdash;you know!&rdquo; He put
+      his hands to the grass, one on each side, palms downwards, and pressed; it
+      was just warm still&mdash;the grass, barely moist, soft and firm and
+      friendly. 'What am I going to do?' he thought. Perhaps Megan was at her
+      window, looking out at the blossom, thinking of him! Poor little Megan!
+      'Why not?' he thought. 'I love her! But do I really love her? or do I only
+      want her because she is so pretty, and loves me? What am I going to do?'
+      The piano tinkled on, the stars winked; and Ashurst gazed out before him
+      at the dark sea, as if spell-bound. He got up at last, cramped and rather
+      chilly. There was no longer light in any window. And he went in to bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Out of a deep and dreamless sleep he was awakened by the sound of thumping
+      on the door. A shrill voice called:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hi! Breakfast's ready.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He jumped up. Where was he&mdash;? Ah!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He found them already eating marmalade, and sat down in the empty place
+      between Stella and Sabina, who, after watching him a little, said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I say, do buck up; we're going to start at half-past nine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We're going to Berry Head, old chap; you must come!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst thought: 'Come! Impossible. I shall be getting things and going
+      back.' He looked at Stella. She said quickly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do come!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sabina chimed in:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It'll be no fun without you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Freda got up and stood behind his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've got to come, or else I'll pull your hair!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst thought: 'Well&mdash;one day more&mdash;to think it over! One day
+      more!' And he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right! You needn't tweak my mane!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hurrah!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the station he wrote a second telegram to the farm, and then tore it
+      up; he could not have explained why. From Brixham they drove in a very
+      little wagonette. There, squeezed between Sabina and Freda, with his knees
+      touching Stella's, they played &ldquo;Up, Jenkins &ldquo;; and the gloom he was
+      feeling gave way to frolic. In this one day more to think it over, he did
+      not want to think! They ran races, wrestled, paddled&mdash;for to-day
+      nobody wanted to bathe&mdash;they sang catches, played games, and ate all
+      they had brought. The little girls fell asleep against him on the way
+      back, and his knees still touched Stella's in the narrow wagonette. It
+      seemed incredible that thirty hours ago he had never set eyes on any of
+      those three flaxen heads. In the train he talked to Stella of poetry,
+      discovering her favourites, and telling her his own with a pleasing sense
+      of superiority; till suddenly she said, rather low:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Phil says you don't believe in a future life, Frank. I think that's
+      dreadful.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Disconcerted, Ashurst muttered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't either believe or not believe&mdash;I simply don't know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She said quickly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I couldn't bear that. What would be the use of living?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Watching the frown of those pretty oblique brows, Ashurst answered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't believe in believing things because a one wants to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why should one wish to live again, if one isn't going to?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And she looked full at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He did not want to hurt her, but an itch to dominate pushed him on to say:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;While one's alive one naturally wants to go on living for ever; that's
+      part of being alive. But it probably isn't anything more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't you believe in the Bible at all, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst thought: 'Now I shall really hurt her!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I believe in the Sermon on the Mount, because it's beautiful and good for
+      all time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But don't you believe Christ was divine?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned her face quickly to the window, and there sprang into his mind
+      Megan's prayer, repeated by little Nick: &ldquo;God bless us all, and Mr.
+      Ashes!&rdquo; Who else would ever say a prayer for him, like her who at this
+      moment must be waiting&mdash;waiting to see him come down the lane? And he
+      thought suddenly: 'What a scoundrel I am!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All that evening this thought kept coming back; but, as is not unusual,
+      each time with less poignancy, till it seemed almost a matter of course to
+      be a scoundrel. And&mdash;strange!&mdash;he did not know whether he was a
+      scoundrel if he meant to go back to Megan, or if he did not mean to go
+      back to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They played cards till the children were sent off to bed; then Stella went
+      to the piano. From over on the window seat, where it was nearly dark,
+      Ashurst watched her between the candles&mdash;that fair head on the long,
+      white neck bending to the movement of her hands. She played fluently,
+      without much expression; but what a Picture she made, the faint golden
+      radiance, a sort of angelic atmosphere hovering about her! Who could have
+      passionate thoughts or wild desires in the presence of that swaying,
+      white-clothed girl with the seraphic head? She played a thing of
+      Schumann's called &ldquo;Warum?&rdquo; Then Halliday brought out a flute, and the
+      spell was broken. After this they made Ashurst sing, Stella playing him
+      accompaniments from a book of Schumann songs, till, in the middle of &ldquo;Ich
+      grolle nicht,&rdquo; two small figures clad in blue dressing-gowns crept in and
+      tried to conceal themselves beneath the piano. The evening broke up in
+      confusion, and what Sabina called &ldquo;a splendid rag.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That night Ashurst hardly slept at all. He was thinking, tossing and
+      turning. The intense domestic intimacy of these last two days, the
+      strength of this Halliday atmosphere, seemed to ring him round, and make
+      the farm and Megan&mdash;even Megan&mdash;seem unreal. Had he really made
+      love to her&mdash;really promised to take her away to live with him? He
+      must have been bewitched by the spring, the night, the apple blossom! This
+      May madness could but destroy them both! The notion that he was going to
+      make her his mistress&mdash;that simple child not yet eighteen&mdash;now
+      filled him with a sort of horror, even while it still stung and whipped
+      his blood. He muttered to himself: &ldquo;It's awful, what I've done&mdash;awful!&rdquo;
+       And the sound of Schumann's music throbbed and mingled with his fevered
+      thoughts, and he saw again Stella's cool, white, fair-haired figure and
+      bending neck, the queer, angelic radiance about her. 'I must have been&mdash;I
+      must be-mad!' he thought. 'What came into me? Poor little Megan!' &ldquo;God
+      bless us all, and Mr. Ashes! I want to be with you&mdash;only to be with
+      you!&rdquo; And burying his face in his pillow, he smothered down a fit of
+      sobbing. Not to go back was awful! To go back&mdash;more awful still!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Emotion, when you are young, and give real vent to it, loses its power of
+      torture. And he fell asleep, thinking: 'What was it&mdash;a few kisses&mdash;all
+      forgotten in a month!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Next morning he got his cheque cashed, but avoided the shop of the
+      dove-grey dress like the plague; and, instead, bought himself some
+      necessaries. He spent the whole day in a queer mood, cherishing a kind of
+      sullenness against himself. Instead of the hankering of the last two days,
+      he felt nothing but a blank&mdash;all passionate longing gone, as if
+      quenched in that outburst of tears. After tea Stella put a book down
+      beside him, and said shyly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you read that, Frank?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was Farrar's &ldquo;Life of Christ.&rdquo; Ashurst smiled. Her anxiety about his
+      beliefs seemed to him comic, but touching. Infectious too, perhaps, for he
+      began to have an itch to justify himself, if not to convert her. And in
+      the evening, when the children and Halliday were mending their shrimping
+      nets, he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At the back of orthodox religion, so far as I can see, there's always the
+      idea of reward&mdash;what you can get for being good; a kind of begging
+      for favours. I think it all starts in fear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She was sitting on the sofa making reefer knots with a bit of string. She
+      looked up quickly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think it's much deeper than that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst felt again that wish to dominate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You think so,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;but wanting the 'quid pro quo' is about the
+      deepest thing in all of us! It's jolly hard to get to the bottom of it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She wrinkled her brows in a puzzled frown.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't think I understand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He went on obstinately:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, think, and see if the most religious people aren't those who feel
+      that this life doesn't give them all they want. I believe in being good
+      because to be good is good in itself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you do believe in being good?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      How pretty she looked now&mdash;it was easy to be good with her! And he
+      nodded and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I say, show me how to make that knot!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With her fingers touching his, in manoeuvring the bit of string, he felt
+      soothed and happy. And when he went to bed he wilfully kept his thoughts
+      on her, wrapping himself in her fair, cool sisterly radiance, as in some
+      garment of protection.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Next day he found they had arranged to go by train to Totnes, and picnic
+      at Berry Pomeroy Castle. Still in that resolute oblivion of the past, he
+      took his place with them in the landau beside Halliday, back to the
+      horses. And, then, along the sea front, nearly at the turning to the
+      railway station, his heart almost leaped into his mouth. Megan&mdash;Megan
+      herself!&mdash;was walking on the far pathway, in her old skirt and jacket
+      and her tam-o'-shanter, looking up into the faces of the passers-by.
+      Instinctively he threw his hand up for cover, then made a feint of
+      clearing dust out of his eyes; but between his fingers he could see her
+      still, moving, not with her free country step, but wavering, lost-looking,
+      pitiful-like some little dog which has missed its master and does not know
+      whether to run on, to run back&mdash;where to run. How had she come like
+      this?&mdash;what excuse had she found to get away?&mdash;what did she hope
+      for? But with every turn of the wheels bearing him away from her, his
+      heart revolted and cried to him to stop them, to get out, and go to her!
+      When the landau turned the corner to the station he could stand it no
+      more, and opening the carriage door, muttered: &ldquo;I've forgotten something!
+      Go on&mdash;don't wait for me! I'll join you at the castle by the next
+      train!&rdquo; He jumped, stumbled, spun round, recovered his balance, and walked
+      forward, while the carriage with the astonished Hallidays rolled on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From the corner he could only just see Megan, a long way ahead now. He ran
+      a few steps, checked himself, and dropped into a walk. With each step
+      nearer to her, further from the Hallidays, he walked more and more slowly.
+      How did it alter anything&mdash;this sight of her? How make the going to
+      her, and that which must come of it, less ugly? For there was no hiding it&mdash;since
+      he had met the Hallidays he had become gradually sure that he would not
+      marry Megan. It would only be a wild love-time, a troubled, remorseful,
+      difficult time&mdash;and then&mdash;well, then he would get tired, just
+      because she gave him everything, was so simple, and so trustful, so dewy.
+      And dew&mdash;wears off! The little spot of faded colour, her
+      tam-o'-shanter cap, wavered on far in front of him; she was looking up
+      into every face, and at the house windows. Had any man ever such a cruel
+      moment to go through? Whatever he did, he felt he would be a beast. And he
+      uttered a groan which made a nursemaid turn and stare. He saw Megan stop
+      and lean against the sea-wall, looking at the sea; and he too stopped.
+      Quite likely she had never seen the sea before, and even in her distress
+      could not resist that sight. 'Yes-she's seen nothing,' he thought;
+      'everything's before her. And just for a few weeks' passion, I shall be
+      cutting her life to ribbons. I'd better go and hang myself rather than do
+      it!' And suddenly he seemed to see Stella's calm eyes looking into his,
+      the wave of fluffy hair on her forehead stirred by the wind. Ah! it would
+      be madness, would mean giving up all that he respected, and his own
+      self-respect. He turned and walked quickly back towards the station. But
+      memory of that poor, bewildered little figure, those anxious eyes
+      searching the passers-by, smote him too hard again, and once more he
+      turned towards the sea.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The cap was no longer visible; that little spot of colour had vanished in
+      the stream of the noon promenaders. And impelled by the passion of
+      longing, the dearth which comes on one when life seems to be whirling
+      something out of reach, he hurried forward. She was nowhere to be seen;
+      for half an hour he looked for her; then on the beach flung himself face
+      downward in the sand. To find her again he knew he had only to go to the
+      station and wait till she returned from her fruitless quest, to take her
+      train home; or to take train himself and go back to the farm, so that she
+      found him there when she returned. But he lay inert in the sand, among the
+      indifferent groups of children with their spades and buckets. Pity at her
+      little figure wandering, seeking, was well-nigh merged in the
+      spring-running of his blood; for it was all wild feeling now&mdash;the
+      chivalrous part, what there had been of it, was gone. He wanted her again,
+      wanted her kisses, her soft, little body, her abandonment, all her quick,
+      warm, pagan emotion; wanted the wonderful feeling of that night under the
+      moonlit apple boughs; wanted it all with a horrible intensity, as the faun
+      wants the nymph. The quick chatter of the little bright trout-stream, the
+      dazzle of the buttercups, the rocks of the old &ldquo;wild men&rdquo;; the calling of
+      the cuckoos and yaffles, the hooting of the owls; and the red moon peeping
+      out of the velvet dark at the living whiteness of the blossom; and her
+      face just out of reach at the window, lost in its love-look; and her heart
+      against his, her lips answering his, under the apple tree&mdash;all this
+      besieged him. Yet he lay inert. What was it which struggled against pity
+      and this feverish longing, and kept him there paralysed in the warm sand?
+      Three flaxen heads&mdash;a fair face with friendly blue&mdash;grey eyes, a
+      slim hand pressing his, a quick voice speaking his name&mdash;&ldquo;So you do
+      believe in being good?&rdquo; Yes, and a sort of atmosphere as of some old
+      walled-in English garden, with pinks, and cornflowers, and roses, and
+      scents of lavender and lilaccool and fair, untouched, almost holy&mdash;all
+      that he had been brought up to feel was clean and good. And suddenly he
+      thought: 'She might come along the front again and see me!' and he got up
+      and made his way to the rock at the far end of the beach. There, with the
+      spray biting into his face, he could think more coolly. To go back to the
+      farm and love Megan out in the woods, among the rocks, with everything
+      around wild and fitting&mdash;that, he knew, was impossible, utterly. To
+      transplant her to a great town, to keep, in some little flat or rooms, one
+      who belonged so wholly to Nature&mdash;the poet in him shrank from it. His
+      passion would be a mere sensuous revel, soon gone; in London, her very
+      simplicity, her lack of all intellectual quality, would make her his
+      secret plaything&mdash;nothing else. The longer he sat on the rock, with
+      his feet dangling over a greenish pool from which the sea was ebbing, the
+      more clearly he saw this; but it was as if her arms and all of her were
+      slipping slowly, slowly down from him, into the pool, to be carried away
+      out to sea; and her face looking up, her lost face with beseeching eyes,
+      and dark, wet hair-possessed, haunted, tortured him! He got up at last,
+      scaled the low rock-cliff, and made his way down into a sheltered cove.
+      Perhaps in the sea he could get back his control&mdash;lose this fever!
+      And stripping off his clothes, he swam out. He wanted to tire himself so
+      that nothing mattered and swam recklessly, fast and far; then suddenly,
+      for no reason, felt afraid. Suppose he could not reach shore again&mdash;suppose
+      the current set him out&mdash;or he got cramp, like Halliday! He turned to
+      swim in. The red cliffs looked a long way off. If he were drowned they
+      would find his clothes. The Hallidays would know; but Megan perhaps never&mdash;they
+      took no newspaper at the farm. And Phil Halliday's words came back to him
+      again: &ldquo;A girl at Cambridge I might have Glad I haven't got her on my
+      mind!&rdquo; And in that moment of unreasoning fear he vowed he would not have
+      her on his mind. Then his fear left him; he swam in easily enough, dried
+      himself in the sun, and put on his clothes. His heart felt sore, but no
+      longer ached; his body cool and refreshed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When one is as young as Ashurst, pity is not a violent emotion. And, back
+      in the Hallidays' sitting-room, eating a ravenous tea, he felt much like a
+      man recovered from fever. Everything seemed new and clear; the tea, the
+      buttered toast and jam tasted absurdly good; tobacco had never smelt so
+      nice. And walking up and down the empty room, he stopped here and there to
+      touch or look. He took up Stella's work-basket, fingered the cotton reels
+      and a gaily-coloured plait of sewing silks, smelt at the little bag filled
+      with woodroffe she kept among them. He sat down at the piano, playing
+      tunes with one finger, thinking: 'To-night she'll play; I shall watch her
+      while she's playing; it does me good to watch her.' He took up the book,
+      which still lay where she had placed it beside him, and tried to read. But
+      Megan's little, sad figure began to come back at once, and he got up and
+      leaned in the window, listening to the thrushes in the Crescent gardens,
+      gazing at the sea, dreamy and blue below the trees. A servant came in and
+      cleared the tea away, and he still stood, inhaling the evening air, trying
+      not to think. Then he saw the Hallidays coming through the gate of the
+      Crescent, Stella a little in front of Phil and the children, with their
+      baskets, and instinctively he drew back. His heart, too sore and
+      discomfited, shrank from this encounter, yet wanted its friendly solace&mdash;bore
+      a grudge against this influence, yet craved its cool innocence, and the
+      pleasure of watching Stella's face. From against the wall behind the piano
+      he saw her come in and stand looking a little blank as though
+      disappointed; then she saw him and smiled, a swift, brilliant smile which
+      warmed yet irritated Ashurst.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You never came after us, Frank.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; I found I couldn't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look! We picked such lovely late violets!&rdquo; She held out a bunch. Ashurst
+      put his nose to them, and there stirred within him vague longings, chilled
+      instantly by a vision of Megan's anxious face lifted to the faces of the
+      passers-by.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He said shortly: &ldquo;How jolly!&rdquo; and turned away. He went up to his room,
+      and, avoiding the children, who were coming up the stairs, threw himself
+      on his bed, and lay there with his arms crossed over his face. Now that he
+      felt the die really cast, and Megan given up, he hated himself, and almost
+      hated the Hallidays and their atmosphere of healthy, happy English homes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Why should they have chanced here, to drive away first love&mdash;to show
+      him that he was going to be no better than a common seducer? What right
+      had Stella, with her fair, shy beauty, to make him know for certain that
+      he would never marry Megan; and, tarnishing it all, bring him such
+      bitterness of regretful longing and such pity? Megan would be back by now,
+      worn out by her miserable seeking&mdash;poor little thing!&mdash;expecting,
+      perhaps, to find him there when she reached home. Ashurst bit at his
+      sleeve, to stifle a groan of remorseful longing. He went to dinner glum
+      and silent, and his mood threw a dinge even over the children. It was a
+      melancholy, rather ill tempered evening, for they were all tired; several
+      times he caught Stella looking at him with a hurt, puzzled expression, and
+      this pleased his evil mood. He slept miserably; got up quite early, and
+      wandered out. He went down to the beach. Alone there with the serene, the
+      blue, the sunlit sea, his heart relaxed a little. Conceited fool&mdash;to
+      think that Megan would take it so hard! In a week or two she would almost
+      have forgotten! And he well, he would have the reward of virtue! A good
+      young man! If Stella knew, she would give him her blessing for resisting
+      that devil she believed in; and he uttered a hard laugh. But slowly the
+      peace and beauty of sea and sky, the flight of the lonely seagulls, made
+      him feel ashamed. He bathed, and turned homewards.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the Crescent gardens Stella herself was sitting on a camp stool,
+      sketching. He stole up close behind. How fair and pretty she was, bent
+      diligently, holding up her brush, measuring, wrinkling her brows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He said gently:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sorry I was such a beast last night, Stella.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned round, startled, flushed very pink, and said in her quick way:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's all right. I knew there was something. Between friends it doesn't
+      matter, does it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst answered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Between friends&mdash;and we are, aren't we?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked up at him, nodded vehemently, and her upper teeth gleamed again
+      in that swift, brilliant smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Three days later he went back to London, travelling with the Hallidays. He
+      had not written to the farm. What was there he could say?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the last day of April in the following year he and Stella were
+      married....
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Such were Ashurst's memories, sitting against the wall among the gorse, on
+      his silver-wedding day. At this very spot, where he had laid out the
+      lunch, Megan must have stood outlined against the sky when he had first
+      caught sight of her. Of all queer coincidences! And there moved in him a
+      longing to go down and see again the farm and the orchard, and the meadow
+      of the gipsy bogle. It would not take long; Stella would be an hour yet,
+      perhaps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How well he remembered it all&mdash;the little crowning group of pine
+      trees, the steep-up grass hill behind! He paused at the farm gate. The low
+      stone house, the yew-tree porch, the flowering currants&mdash;not changed
+      a bit; even the old green chair was out there on the grass under the
+      window, where he had reached up to her that night to take the key. Then he
+      turned down the lane, and stood leaning on the orchard gate-grey skeleton
+      of a gate, as then. A black pig even was wandering in there among the
+      trees. Was it true that twenty-six years had passed, or had he dreamed and
+      awakened to find Megan waiting for him by the big apple tree?
+      Unconsciously he put up his hand to his grizzled beard and brought himself
+      back to reality. Opening the gate, he made his way down through the docks
+      and nettles till he came to the edge, and the old apple tree itself.
+      Unchanged! A little more of the greygreen lichen, a dead branch or two,
+      and for the rest it might have been only last night that he had embraced
+      that mossy trunk after Megan's flight and inhaled its woody savour, while
+      above his head the moonlit blossom had seemed to breathe and live. In that
+      early spring a few buds were showing already; the blackbirds shouting
+      their songs, a cuckoo calling, the sunlight bright and warm. Incredibly
+      the same-the chattering trout-stream, the narrow pool he had lain in every
+      morning, splashing the water over his flanks and chest; and out there in
+      the wild meadow the beech clump and the stone where the gipsy bogie was
+      supposed to sit. And an ache for lost youth, a hankering, a sense of
+      wasted love and sweetness, gripped Ashurst by the throat. Surely, on this
+      earth of such wild beauty, one was meant to hold rapture to one's heart,
+      as this earth and sky held it! And yet, one could not!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He went to the edge of the stream, and looking down at the little pool,
+      thought: 'Youth and spring! What has become of them all, I wonder?'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then, in sudden fear of having this memory jarred by human encounter,
+      he went back to the lane, and pensively retraced his steps to the
+      crossroads.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beside the car an old, grey-bearded labourer was leaning on a stick,
+      talking to the chauffeur. He broke off at once, as though guilty of
+      disrespect, and touching his hat, prepared to limp on down the lane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst pointed to the narrow green mound. &ldquo;Can you tell me what this is?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old fellow stopped; on his face had come a look as though he were
+      thinking: 'You've come to the right shop, mister!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Tes a grave,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why out here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man smiled. &ldquo;That's a tale, as yu may say. An' not the first time
+      as I've a-told et&mdash;there's plenty folks asks 'bout that bit o' turf.
+      'Maid's Grave' us calls et, 'ereabouts.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst held out his pouch. &ldquo;Have a fill?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man touched his hat again, and slowly filled an old clay pipe. His
+      eyes, looking upward out of a mass of wrinkles and hair, were still quite
+      bright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If yu don' mind, zurr, I'll zet down my leg's 'urtin' a bit today.&rdquo; And
+      he sat down on the mound of turf.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's always a flower on this grave. An' 'tain't so very lonesome,
+      neither; brave lot o' folks goes by now, in they new motor cars an' things&mdash;not
+      as 'twas in th' old days. She've a got company up 'ere. 'Twas a poor soul
+      killed 'erself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see!&rdquo; said Ashurst. &ldquo;Cross-roads burial. I didn't know that custom was
+      kept up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! but 'twas a main long time ago. Us 'ad a parson as was very
+      God-fearin' then. Let me see, I've a 'ad my pension six year come
+      Michaelmas, an' I were just on fifty when t'appened. There's none livin'
+      knows more about et than what I du. She belonged close 'ere; same farm as
+      where I used to work along o' Mrs. Narracombe 'tes Nick Narracombe's now;
+      I dus a bit for 'im still, odd times.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst, who was leaning against the gate, lighting his pipe, left his
+      curved hands before his face for long after the flame of the match had
+      gone out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes?&rdquo; he said, and to himself his voice sounded hoarse and queer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She was one in an 'underd, poor maid! I putts a flower 'ere every time I
+      passes. Pretty maid an' gude maid she was, though they wouldn't burry 'er
+      up to th' church, nor where she wanted to be burried neither.&rdquo; The old
+      labourer paused, and put his hairy, twisted hand flat down on the turf
+      beside the bluebells.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes?&rdquo; said Ashurst.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In a manner of speakin',&rdquo; the old man went on, &ldquo;I think as 'twas a
+      love-story&mdash;though there's no one never knu for zartin. Yu can't tell
+      what's in a maid's 'ead but that's wot I think about it.&rdquo; He drew his hand
+      along the turf. &ldquo;I was fond o' that maid&mdash;don' know as there was
+      anyone as wasn' fond of 'er. But she was to lovin'-'.arted&mdash;that's
+      where 'twas, I think.&rdquo; He looked up. And Ashurst, whose lips were
+      trembling in the cover of his beard, murmured again: &ldquo;Yes?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Twas in the spring, 'bout now as 't might be, or a little later&mdash;blossom
+      time&mdash;an' we 'ad one o' they young college gentlemen stayin' at the
+      farm-nice feller tu, with 'is 'ead in the air. I liked 'e very well, an' I
+      never see nothin' between 'em, but to my thinkin' 'e turned the maid's
+      fancy.&rdquo; The old man took the pipe out of his mouth, spat, and went on:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yu see, 'e went away sudden one day, an' never come back. They got 'is
+      knapsack and bits o' things down there still. That's what stuck in my mind&mdash;'is
+      never sendin' for 'em. 'Is name was Ashes, or somethen' like that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes?&rdquo; said Ashurst once more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man licked his lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Er never said nothin', but from that day 'er went kind of dazed lukin'.
+      didn'seem rightly therr at all. I never knu a'uman creature so changed in
+      me life&mdash;never. There was another young feller at the farm&mdash;Joe
+      Biddaford 'is name wer', that was praaperly sweet on 'er, tu; I guess 'e
+      used to plague 'er wi 'is attentions. She got to luke quite wild. I'd zee
+      her sometimes of an avenin' when I was bringin' up the calves; ther' she'd
+      stand in th' orchard, under the big apple tree, lukin' straight before
+      'er. 'Well,' I used t'think, 'I dunno what 'tes that's the matter wi' yu,
+      but yu'm lukin' pittiful, that yu be!'.rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man refit his pipe, and sucked at it reflectively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes?&rdquo; said Ashurst.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I remembers one day I said to 'er: 'What's the matter, Megan?'&mdash;'er
+      name was Megan David, she come from Wales same as 'er aunt, ol' Missis
+      Narracombe. 'Yu'm frettin' about somethin'. I says. 'No, Jim,' she says,
+      'I'm not frettin'.' 'Yes, yu be!' I says. 'No,' she says, and to tears
+      cam' rollin' out. 'Yu'm cryin'&mdash;what's that, then?' I says. She putts
+      'er 'and over 'er 'eart: 'It 'urts me,' she says; 'but 'twill sune be
+      better,' she says. 'But if anything shude 'appen to me, Jim, I wants to be
+      burried under this 'ere apple tree.' I laughed. 'What's goin' to 'appen to
+      yu?' I says; 'don't 'ee be fulish.' 'No,' she says, 'I won't be fulish.'
+      Well, I know what maids are, an' I never thought no more about et, till
+      two days arter that, 'bout six in the avenin' I was comin' up wi' the
+      calves, when I see somethin' dark lyin' in the strame, close to that big
+      apple tree. I says to meself: 'Is that a pig-funny place for a pig to get
+      to!' an' I goes up to et, an' I see what 'twas.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man stopped; his eyes, turned upward, had a bright, suffering
+      look.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Twas the maid, in a little narrer pool ther' that's made by the stoppin'
+      of a rock&mdash;where I see the young gentleman bathin' once or twice. 'Er
+      was lyin' on 'er face in the watter. There was a plant o' goldie-cups
+      growin' out o' the stone just above 'er'ead. An' when I come to luke at
+      'er face, 'twas luvly, butiful, so calm's a baby's&mdash;wonderful butiful
+      et was. When the doctor saw 'er, 'e said: 'Er culdn' never a-done it in
+      that little bit o' watter ef' er 'adn't a-been in an extarsy.' Ah! an'
+      judgin' from 'er face, that was just 'ow she was. Et made me cry
+      praaper-butiful et was! 'Twas June then, but she'd afound a little bit of
+      apple-blossom left over somewheres, and stuck et in 'er 'air. That's why I
+      thinks 'er must abeen in an extarsy, to go to et gay, like that. Why!
+      there wasn't more than a fute and 'arf o' watter. But I tell 'ee one thing&mdash;that
+      meadder's 'arnted; I knu et, an' she knu et; an' no one'll persuade me as
+      'tesn't. I told 'em what she said to me 'bout bein' burried under th'
+      apple tree. But I think that turned 'em&mdash;made et luke to much 's ef
+      she'd 'ad it in 'er mind deliberate; an' so they burried 'er up 'ere.
+      Parson we 'ad then was very particular, 'e was.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again the old man drew his hand over the turf.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Tes wonderful, et seems,&rdquo; he added slowly, &ldquo;what maids 'll du for love.
+      She 'ad a lovin-'.art; I guess 'twas broken. But us never knu nothin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked up as if for approval of his story, but Ashurst had walked past
+      him as if he were not there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Up on the top of the hill, beyond where he had spread the lunch, over, out
+      of sight, he lay down on his face. So had his virtue been rewarded, and
+      &ldquo;the Cyprian,&rdquo; goddess of love, taken her revenge! And before his eyes,
+      dim with tears, came Megan's face with the sprig of apple blossom in her
+      dark, wet hair. 'What did I do that was wrong?' he thought. 'What did I
+      do?' But he could not answer. Spring, with its rush of passion, its
+      flowers and song-the spring in his heart and Megan's! Was it just Love
+      seeking a victim! The Greek was right, then&mdash;the words of the
+      &ldquo;Hippolytus&rdquo; as true to-day!
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+    &ldquo;For mad is the heart of Love,
+     And gold the gleam of his wing;
+     And all to the spell thereof
+     Bend when he makes his spring.
+     All life that is wild and young
+     In mountain and wave and stream
+     All that of earth is sprung,
+     Or breathes in the red sunbeam;
+     Yea, and Mankind.  O'er all a royal throne,
+     Cyprian, Cyprian, is thine alone!&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      The Greek was right! Megan! Poor little Megan&mdash;coming over the hill!
+      Megan under the old apple tree waiting and looking! Megan dead, with
+      beauty printed on her!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A voice said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, there you are! Look!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst rose, took his wife's sketch, and stared at it in silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is the foreground right, Frank?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But there's something wanting, isn't there?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ashurst nodded. Wanting? The apple tree, the singing, and the gold!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And solemnly he put his lips to her forehead. It was his silver-wedding
+      day. 1916
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      THE JURYMAN
+    </h2>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;Don't you see, brother, I was reading yesterday the Gospel
+     about Christ, the little Father; how He suffered, how He walked
+     on the earth.  I suppose you have heard about it?&rdquo;
+
+     &ldquo;Indeed, I have,&rdquo; replied Stepanuitch; &ldquo;but we are people in
+     darkness; we can't read.&rdquo;&mdash;TOLSTOI.
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Henry Bosengate, of the London Stock Exchange, seated himself in his
+      car that morning during the great war with a sense of injury. Major in a
+      Volunteer Corps; member of all the local committees; lending this very car
+      to the neighbouring hospital, at times even driving it himself for their
+      benefit; subscribing to funds, so far as his diminished income permitted&mdash;he
+      was conscious of being an asset to the country, and one whose time could
+      not be wasted with impunity. To be summoned to sit on a jury at the local
+      assizes, and not even the grand jury at that! It was in the nature of an
+      outrage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Strong and upright, with hazel eyes and dark eyebrows, pinkish-brown
+      cheeks, a forehead white, well-shaped, and getting high, with greyish hair
+      glossy and well-brushed, and a trim moustache, he might have been taken
+      for that colonel of Volunteers which indeed he was in a fair way of
+      becoming.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His wife had followed him out under the porch, and stood bracing her
+      supple body clothed in lilac linen. Red rambler roses formed a sort of
+      crown to her dark head; her ivory-coloured face had in it just a
+      suggestion of the Japanese.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Bosengate spoke through the whirr of the engine:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't expect to be late, dear. This business is ridiculous. There
+      oughtn't to be any crime in these days.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His wife&mdash;her name was Kathleen&mdash;smiled. She looked very pretty
+      and cool, Mr. Bosengate thought. To him bound on this dull and stuffy
+      business everything he owned seemed pleasant&mdash;the geranium beds
+      beside the gravel drive, his long, red-brick house mellowing decorously in
+      its creepers and ivy, the little clock-tower over stables now converted to
+      a garage, the dovecote, masking at the other end the conservatory which
+      adjoined the billiard-room. Close to the red-brick lodge his two children,
+      Kate and Harry, ran out from under the acacia trees, and waved to him,
+      scrambling bare-legged on to the low, red, ivy-covered wall which guarded
+      his domain of eleven acres. Mr. Bosengate waved back, thinking: 'Jolly
+      couple&mdash;by Jove, they are!' Above their heads, through the trees, he
+      could see right away to some Downs, faint in the July heat haze. And he
+      thought: 'Pretty a spot as one could have got, so close to Town!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Despite the war he had enjoyed these last two years more than any of the
+      ten since he built &ldquo;Charmleigh&rdquo; and settled down to semi-rural domesticity
+      with his young wife. There had been a certain piquancy, a savour added to
+      existence, by the country's peril, and all the public service and
+      sacrifice it demanded. His chauffeur was gone, and one gardener did the
+      work of three. He enjoyed-positively enjoyed, his committee work; even the
+      serious decline of business and increase of taxation had not much worried
+      one continually conscious of the national crisis and his own part therein.
+      The country had wanted waking up, wanted a lesson in effort and economy;
+      and the feeling that he had not spared himself in these strenuous times,
+      had given a zest to those quiet pleasures of bed and board which, at his
+      age, even the most patriotic could retain with a good conscience. He had
+      denied himself many things&mdash;new clothes, presents for Kathleen and
+      the children, travel, and that pine-apple house which he had been on the
+      point of building when the war broke out; new wine, too, and cigars, and
+      membership of the two Clubs which he had never used in the old days. The
+      hours had seemed fuller and longer, sleep better earned&mdash;wonderful,
+      the things one could do without when put to it! He turned the car into the
+      high road, driving dreamily for he was in plenty of time. The war was
+      going pretty well now; he was no fool optimist, but now that conscription
+      was in force, one might reasonably hope for its end within a year. Then
+      there would be a boom, and one might let oneself go a little. Visions of
+      theatres and supper with his wife at the Savoy afterwards, and cosy night
+      drives back into the sweet-smelling country behind your own chauffeur once
+      more teased a fancy which even now did not soar beyond the confines of
+      domestic pleasures. He pictured his wife in new dresses by Jay&mdash;she
+      was fifteen years younger than himself, and &ldquo;paid for dressing&rdquo; as they
+      said. He had always delighted&mdash;as men older than their wives will&mdash;in
+      the admiration she excited from others not privileged to enjoy her charms.
+      Her rather queer and ironical beauty, her cool irreproachable wifeliness,
+      was a constant balm to him. They would give dinner parties again, have
+      their friends down from town, and he would once more enjoy sitting at the
+      foot of the dinner table while Kathleen sat at the head, with the light
+      soft on her ivory shoulders, behind flowers she had arranged in that
+      original way of hers, and fruit which he had grown in his hot-houses; once
+      more he would take legitimate interest in the wine he offered to his
+      guests&mdash;once more stock that Chinese cabinet wherein he kept cigars.
+      Yes&mdash;there was a certain satisfaction in these days of privation, if
+      only from the anticipation they created.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sprinkling of villas had become continuous on either side of the high
+      road; and women going out to shop, tradesmen's boys delivering victuals,
+      young men in khaki, began to abound. Now and then a limping or bandaged
+      form would pass&mdash;some bit of human wreckage; and Mr. Bosengate would
+      think mechanically: 'Another of those poor devils! Wonder if we've had his
+      case before us!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Running his car into the best hotel garage of the little town, he made his
+      way leisurely over to the court. It stood back from the market-place, and
+      was already lapped by a sea of persons having, as in the outer ring at
+      race meetings, an air of business at which one must not be caught out,
+      together with a soaked or flushed appearance. Mr. Bosengate could not
+      resist putting his handkerchief to his nose. He had carefully drenched it
+      with lavender water, and to this fact owed, perhaps, his immunity from the
+      post of foreman on the jury&mdash;for, say what you will about the
+      English, they have a deep instinct for affairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He found himself second in the front row of the jury box, and through the
+      odour of &ldquo;Sanitas&rdquo; gazed at the judge's face expressionless up there, for
+      all the world like a bewigged bust. His fellows in the box had that
+      appearance of falling between two classes characteristic of jurymen. Mr.
+      Bosengate was not impressed. On one side of him the foreman sat, a
+      prominent upholsterer, known in the town as &ldquo;Gentleman Fox.&rdquo; His dark and
+      beautifully brushed and oiled hair and moustache, his radiant linen, gold
+      watch and chain, the white piping to his waistcoat, and a habit of never
+      saying &ldquo;Sir&rdquo; had long marked him out from commoner men; he undertook to
+      bury people too, to save them trouble; and was altogether superior. On the
+      other side Mr. Bosengate had one of those men, who, except when they sit
+      on juries, are never seen without a little brown bag, and the appearance
+      of having been interrupted in a drink. Pale and shiny, with large loose
+      eyes shifting from side to side, he had an underdone voice and uneasy
+      flabby hands. Mr. Bosengate disliked sitting next to him. Beyond this
+      commercial traveller sat a dark pale young man with spectacles; beyond him
+      again, a short old man with grey moustache, mutton chops, and innumerable
+      wrinkles; and the front row was completed by a chemist. The three
+      immediately behind, Mr. Bosengate did not thoroughly master; but the three
+      at the end of the second row he learned in their order of an oldish man in
+      a grey suit, given to winking; an inanimate person with the mouth of a
+      moustachioed codfish, over whose long bald crown three wisps of damp hair
+      were carefully arranged; and a dried, dapperish, clean-shorn man, whose
+      mouth seemed terrified lest it should be surprised without a smile. Their
+      first and second verdicts were recorded without the necessity for
+      withdrawal, and Mr. Bosengate was already sleepy when the third case was
+      called. The sight of khaki revived his drooping attention. But what a
+      weedy-looking specimen! This prisoner had a truly nerveless pitiable
+      dejected air. If he had ever had a military bearing it had shrunk into him
+      during his confinement. His ill-shaped brown tunic, whose little brass
+      buttons seemed trying to keep smiling, struck Mr. Bosengate as
+      ridiculously short, used though he was to such things. 'Absurd,' he
+      thought&mdash;'Lumbago! Just where they ought to be covered!' Then the
+      officer and gentleman stirred in him, and he added to himself: 'Still,
+      there must be some distinction made!' The little soldier's visage had once
+      perhaps been tanned, but was now the colour of dark dough; his large brown
+      eyes with white showing below the iris, as so often in the eyes of very
+      nervous people&mdash;wandered from face to face, of judge, counsel, jury,
+      and public. There were hollows in his cheeks, his dark hair looked damp;
+      around his neck he wore a bandage. The commercial traveller on Mr.
+      Bosengate's left turned, and whispered: &ldquo;Felo de se! My hat! what a guy!&rdquo;
+       Mr. Bosengate pretended not to hear&mdash;he could not bear that fellow!&mdash;and
+      slowly wrote on a bit of paper: &ldquo;Owen Lewis.&rdquo; Welsh! Well, he looked it&mdash;not
+      at all an English face. Attempted suicide&mdash;not at all an English
+      crime! Suicide implied surrender, a putting-up of hands to Fate&mdash;to
+      say nothing of the religious aspect of the matter. And suicide in khaki
+      seemed to Mr. Bosengate particularly abhorrent; like turning tail in face
+      of the enemy; almost meriting the fate of a deserter. He looked at the
+      prisoner, trying not to give way to this prejudice. And the prisoner
+      seemed to look at him, though this, perhaps, was fancy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Counsel for the prosecution, a little, alert, grey, decided man, above
+      military age, began detailing the circumstances of the crime. Mr.
+      Bosengate, though not particularly sensitive to atmosphere, could perceive
+      a sort of current running through the Court. It was as if jury and public
+      were thinking rhythmically in obedience to the same unexpressed prejudice
+      of which he himself was conscious. Even the Caesar-like pale face up
+      there, presiding, seemed in its ironic serenity responding to that
+      current.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gentlemen of the jury, before I call my evidence, I direct your attention
+      to the bandage the accused is still wearing. He gave himself this wound
+      with his Army razor, adding, if I may say so, insult to the injury he was
+      inflicting on his country. He pleads not guilty; and before the
+      magistrates he said that absence from his wife was preying on his mind&rdquo;&mdash;the
+      advocate's close lips widened&mdash;&ldquo;Well, gentlemen, if such an excuse is
+      to weigh with us in these days, I'm sure I don't know what's to happen to
+      the Empire.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      'No, by George!' thought Mr. Bosengate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The evidence of the first witness, a room-mate who had caught the
+      prisoner's hand, and of the sergeant, who had at once been summoned, was
+      conclusive and he began to cherish a hope that they would get through
+      without withdrawing, and he would be home before five. But then a hitch
+      occurred. The regimental doctor failed to respond when his name was
+      called; and the judge having for the first time that day showed himself
+      capable of human emotion, intimated that he would adjourn until the
+      morrow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Bosengate received the announcement with equanimity. He would be home
+      even earlier! And gathering up the sheets of paper he had scribbled on, he
+      put them in his pocket and got up. The would-be suicide was being taken
+      out of the court&mdash;a shambling drab figure with shoulders hunched.
+      What good were men like that in these days! What good! The prisoner looked
+      up. Mr. Bosengate encountered in full the gaze of those large brown eyes,
+      with the white showing underneath. What a suffering, wretched, pitiful
+      face! A man had no business to give you a look like that! The prisoner
+      passed on down the stairs, and vanished. Mr. Bosengate went out and across
+      the market place to the garage of the hotel where he had left his car. The
+      sun shone fiercely and he thought: 'I must do some watering in the
+      garden.' He brought the car out, and was about to start the engine, when
+      someone passing said: &ldquo;Good evenin'. Seedy-lookin' beggar that last
+      prisoner, ain't he? We don't want men of that stamp.&rdquo; It was his neighbour
+      on the jury, the commercial traveller, in a straw hat, with a little brown
+      bag already in his hand and the froth of an interrupted drink on his
+      moustache. Answering curtly: &ldquo;Good evening!&rdquo; and thinking: 'Nor of yours,
+      my friend!' Mr. Bosengate started the car with unnecessary clamour. But as
+      if brought back to life by the commercial traveller's remark, the
+      prisoner's figure seemed to speed along too, turning up at Mr. Bosengate
+      his pitifully unhappy eyes. Want of his wife!&mdash;queer excuse that for
+      trying to put it out of his power ever to see her again! Why! Half a loaf,
+      even a slice, was better than no bread. Not many of that neurotic type in
+      the Army&mdash;thank Heaven! The lugubrious figure vanished, and Mr.
+      Bosengate pictured instead the form of his own wife bending over her
+      &ldquo;Gloire de Dijon roses&rdquo; in the rosery, where she generally worked a little
+      before tea now that they were short of gardeners. He saw her, as often he
+      had seen her, raise herself and stand, head to one side, a gloved hand on
+      her slender hip, gazing as it were ironically from under drooped lids at
+      buds which did not come out fast enough. And the word 'Caline,' for he was
+      something of a French scholar, shot through his mind: 'Kathleen&mdash;Caline!'
+      If he found her there when he got in, he would steal up on the grass and&mdash;ah!
+      but with great care not to crease her dress or disturb her hair! 'If only
+      she weren't quite so self-contained,' he thought; 'It's like a cat you
+      can't get near, not really near!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The car, returning faster than it had come down that morning, had already
+      passed the outskirt villas, and was breasting the hill to where, among
+      fields and the old trees, Charmleigh lay apart from commoner life. Turning
+      into his drive, Mr. Bosengate thought with a certain surprise: 'I wonder
+      what she does think of! I wonder!' He put his gloves and hat down in the
+      outer hall and went into the lavatory, to dip his face in cool water and
+      wash it with sweet-smelling soap&mdash;delicious revenge on the unclean
+      atmosphere in which he had been stewing so many hours. He came out again
+      into the hall dazed by soap and the mellowed light, and a voice from
+      half-way up the stairs said: &ldquo;Daddy! Look!&rdquo; His little daughter was
+      standing up there with one hand on the banisters. She scrambled on to them
+      and came sliding down, her frock up to her eyes, and her holland knickers
+      to her middle. Mr. Bosengate said mildly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, that's elegant!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tea's in the summer-house. Mummy's waiting. Come on!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With her hand in his, Mr. Bosengate went on, through the drawing-room,
+      long and cool, with sun-blinds down, through the billiard-room, high and
+      cool, through the conservatory, green and sweet-smelling, out on to the
+      terrace and the upper lawn. He had never felt such sheer exhilarated joy
+      in his home surroundings, so cool, glistening and green under the July
+      sun; and he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Kit, what have you all been doing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've fed my rabbits and Harry's; and we've been in the attic; Harry got
+      his leg through the skylight.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Bosengate drew in his breath with a hiss.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's all right, Daddy; we got it out again, it's only grazed the skin.
+      And we've been making swabs&mdash;I made seventeen, Mummy made
+      thirty-three, and then she went to the hospital. Did you put many men in
+      prison?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Bosengate cleared his throat. The question seemed to him untimely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Only two.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's it like in prison, Daddy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Bosengate, who had no more knowledge than his little daughter, replied
+      in an absent voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not very nice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They were passing under a young oak tree, where the path wound round to
+      the rosery and summer-house. Something shot down and clawed Mr.
+      Bosengate's neck. His little daughter began to hop and suffocate with
+      laughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Daddy! Aren't you caught! I led you on purpose!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Looking up, Mr. Bosengate saw his small son lying along a low branch above
+      him&mdash;like the leopard he was declaring himself to be (for fear of
+      error), and thought blithely: 'What an active little chap it is!' &ldquo;Let me
+      drop on your shoulders, Daddy&mdash;like they do on the deer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes! Do be a deer, Daddy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Bosengate did not see being a deer; his hair had just been brushed.
+      But he entered the rosery buoyantly between his offspring. His wife was
+      standing precisely as he had imagined her, in a pale blue frock open at
+      the neck, with a narrow black band round the waist, and little accordion
+      pleats below. She looked her coolest. Her smile, when she turned her head,
+      hardly seemed to take Mr. Bosengate seriously enough. He placed his lips
+      below one of her half-drooped eyelids. She even smelled of roses. His
+      children began to dance round their mother, and Mr. Bosengate,&mdash;firmly
+      held between them, was also compelled to do this, until she said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When you've quite done, let's have tea!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was not the greeting he had imagined coming along in the car. Earwigs
+      were plentiful in the summer-house&mdash;used perhaps twice a year, but
+      indispensable to every country residence&mdash;and Mr. Bosengate was not
+      sorry for the excuse to get out again. Though all was so pleasant, he felt
+      oddly restless, rather suffocated; and lighting his pipe, began to move
+      about among the roses, blowing tobacco at the greenfly; in war-time one
+      was never quite idle! And suddenly he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We're trying a wretched Tommy at the assizes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His wife looked up from a rose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Attempted suicide.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why did he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can't stand the separation from his wife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked at him, gave a low laugh, and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh dear!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Bosengate was puzzled. Why did she laugh? He looked round, saw that
+      the children were gone, took his pipe from his mouth, and approached her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You look very pretty,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Give me a kiss!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His wife bent her body forward from the waist, and pushed her lips out
+      till they touched his moustache. Mr. Bosengate felt a sensation as if he
+      had arisen from breakfast, without having eaten marmalade. He mastered it,
+      and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That jury are a rum lot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His wife's eyelids flickered. &ldquo;I wish women sat on juries.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It would be an experience.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Not the first time she had used that curious expression! Yet her life was
+      far from dull, so far as he could see; with the new interests created by
+      the war, and the constant calls on her time made by the perfection of
+      their home life, she had a useful and busy existence. Again the random
+      thought passed through him: 'But she never tells me anything!' And
+      suddenly that lugubrious khaki-clad figure started up among the rose
+      bushes. &ldquo;We've got a lot to be thankful for!&rdquo; he said abruptly. &ldquo;I must go
+      to work!&rdquo; His wife, raising one eyebrow, smiled. &ldquo;And I to weep!&rdquo; Mr.
+      Bosengate laughed&mdash;she had a pretty wit! And stroking his comely
+      moustache where it had been kissed, he moved out into the sunshine. All
+      the evening, throughout his labours, not inconsiderable, for this jury
+      business had put him behind time, he was afflicted by that restless
+      pleasure in his surroundings; would break off in mowing the lower lawn to
+      look at the house through the trees; would leave his study and committee
+      papers, to cross into the drawing-room and sniff its dainty fragrance;
+      paid a special good-night visit to the children having supper in the
+      schoolroom; pottered in and out from his dressing room to admire his wife
+      while she was changing for dinner; dined with his mind perpetually on the
+      next course; talked volubly of the war; and in the billiard room
+      afterwards, smoking the pipe which had taken the place of his cigar, could
+      not keep still, but roamed about, now in conservatory, now in the
+      drawing-room, where his wife and the governess were still making swabs. It
+      seemed to him that he could not have enough of anything. About eleven
+      o'clock he strolled out beautiful night, only just dark enough&mdash;under
+      the new arrangement with Time&mdash;and went down to the little round
+      fountain below the terrace. His wife was playing the piano. Mr. Bosengate
+      looked at the water and the flat dark water lily leaves which floated
+      there; looked up at the house, where only narrow chinks of light showed,
+      because of the Lighting Order. The dreamy music drifted out; there was a
+      scent of heliotrope. He moved a few steps back, and sat in the children's
+      swing under an old lime tree. Jolly&mdash;blissful&mdash;in the warm,
+      bloomy dark! Of all hours of the day, this before going to bed was perhaps
+      the pleasantest. He saw the light go up in his wife's bed room, unscreened
+      for a full minute, and thought: 'Aha! If I did my duty as a special, I
+      should &ldquo;strafe&rdquo; her for that.' She came to the window, her figure lighted,
+      hands up to the back of her head, so that her bare arms gleamed. Mr.
+      Bosengate wafted her a kiss, knowing he could not be seen. 'Lucky chap!'
+      he mused; 'she's a great joy!' Up went her arm, down came the blind the
+      house was dark again. He drew a long breath. 'Another ten minutes,' he
+      thought, 'then I'll go in and shut up. By Jove! The limes are beginning to
+      smell already!' And, the better to take in that acme of his well-being, he
+      tilted the swing, lifted his feet from the ground, and swung himself
+      toward the scented blossoms. He wanted to whelm his senses in their
+      perfume, and closed his eyes. But instead of the domestic vision he
+      expected, the face of the little Welsh soldier, hare-eyed, shadowy,
+      pinched and dark and pitiful, started up with such disturbing vividness
+      that he opened his eyes again at once. Curse! The fellow almost haunted
+      one! Where would he be now poor little devil!&mdash;lying in his cell,
+      thinking&mdash;thinking of his wife! Feeling suddenly morbid, Mr.
+      Bosengate arrested the swing and stood up. Absurd!&mdash;all his
+      well-being and mood of warm anticipation had deserted him! 'A d&mdash;-d
+      world!' he thought. 'Such a lot of misery! Why should I have to sit in
+      judgment on that poor beggar, and condemn him?' He moved up on to the
+      terrace and walked briskly, to rid himself of this disturbance before
+      going in. 'That commercial traveller chap,' he thought, 'the rest of those
+      fellows&mdash;they see nothing!' And, abruptly turning up the three stone
+      steps, he entered the conservatory, locked it, passed into the billiard
+      room, and drank his barley water. One of the pictures was hanging crooked;
+      he went up to put it straight. Still life. Grapes and apples, and&mdash;lobsters!
+      They struck him as odd for the first time. Why lobsters? The whole picture
+      seemed dead and oily. He turned off the light, and went upstairs, passed
+      his wife's door, into his own room, and undressed. Clothed in his pyjamas
+      he opened the door between the rooms. By the light coming from his own he
+      could see her dark head on the pillow. Was she asleep? No&mdash;not
+      asleep, certainly. The moment of fruition had come; the crowning of his
+      pride and pleasure in his home. But he continued to stand there. He had
+      suddenly no pride, no pleasure, no desire; nothing but a sort of dull
+      resentment against everything. He turned back; shut the door, and slipping
+      between the heavy curtains and his open window, stood looking out at the
+      night. 'Full of misery!' he thought. 'Full of d&mdash;-d misery!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      II
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Filing into the jury box next morning, Mr. Bosengate collided slightly
+      with a short juryman, whose square figure and square head of stiff
+      yellow-red hair he had only vaguely noticed the day before. The man looked
+      angry, and Mr. Bosengate thought: 'An ill-bred dog, that!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He sat down quickly, and, to avoid further recognition of his fellows,
+      gazed in front of him. His appearance on Saturdays was always military, by
+      reason of the route march of his Volunteer Corps in the afternoon.
+      Gentleman Fox, who belonged to the corps too, was also looking square; but
+      that commercial traveller on his other side seemed more louche, and as if
+      surprised in immorality, than ever; only the proximity of Gentleman Fox on
+      the other side kept Mr. Bosengate from shrinking. Then he saw the prisoner
+      being brought in, shadowy and dark behind the brightness of his buttons,
+      and he experienced a sort of shock, this figure was so exactly that which
+      had several times started up in his mind. Somehow he had expected a fresh
+      sight of the fellow to dispel and disprove what had been haunting him, had
+      expected to find him just an outside phenomenon, not, as it were, a part
+      of his own life. And he gazed at the carven immobility of the judge's
+      face, trying to steady himself, as a drunken man will, by looking at a
+      light. The regimental doctor, unabashed by the judge's comment on his
+      absence the day before, gave his evidence like a man who had better things
+      to do, and the case for the prosecution was forthwith rounded in by a
+      little speech from counsel. The matter&mdash;he said&mdash;was clear as
+      daylight. Those who wore His Majesty's uniform, charged with the
+      responsibility and privilege of defending their country, were no more
+      entitled to desert their regiments by taking their own lives than they
+      were entitled to desert in any other way. He asked for a conviction. Mr.
+      Bosengate felt a sympathetic shuffle passing through all feet; the judge
+      was speaking:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Prisoner, you can either go into the witness box and make your statement
+      on oath, in which case you may be cross-examined on it; or you can make
+      your statement there from the dock, in which case you will not be
+      cross-examined. Which do you elect to do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;From here, my lord.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Seeing him now full face, and, as it might be, come to life in the effort
+      to convey his feelings, Mr. Bosengate had suddenly a quite different
+      impression of the fellow. It was as if his khaki had fallen off, and he
+      had stepped out of his own shadow, a live and quivering creature. His
+      pinched clean-shaven face seemed to have an irregular, wilder, hairier
+      look, his large nervous brown eyes darkened and glowed; he jerked his
+      shoulders, his arms, his whole body, like a man suddenly freed from cramp
+      or a suit of armour.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He spoke, too, in a quick, crisp, rather high voice, pinching his
+      consonants a little, sharpening his vowels, like a true Welshman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My lord and misters the jury,&rdquo; he said: &ldquo;I was a hairdresser when the
+      call came on me to join the army. I had a little home and a wife. I never
+      thought what it would be like to be away from them, I surely never did;
+      and I'm ashamed to be speaking it out like this&mdash;how it can squeeze
+      and squeeze a man, how it can prey on your mind, when you're nervous like
+      I am. 'Tis not everyone that cares for his home&mdash;there's lots o' them
+      never wants to see their wives again. But for me 'tis like being shut up
+      in a cage, it is!&rdquo; Mr. Bosengate saw daylight between the skinny fingers
+      of the man's hand thrown out with a jerk. &ldquo;I cannot bear it shut up away
+      from wife and home like what you are in the army. So when I took my razor
+      that morning I was wild&mdash;an' I wouldn't be here now but for that man
+      catching my hand. There was no reason in it, I'm willing to confess. It
+      was foolish; but wait till you get feeling like what I was, and see how it
+      draws you. Misters the jury, don't send me back to prison; it is worse
+      still there. If you have wives you will know what it is like for lots of
+      us; only some is more nervous than others. I swear to you, sirs, I could
+      not help it&mdash;-?&rdquo; Again the little man flung out his hand, his whole
+      thin body shook and Mr. Bosengate felt the same sensation as when he drove
+      his car over a dog&mdash;&ldquo;Misters the jury, I hope you may never in your
+      lives feel as I've been feeling.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man ceased, his eyes shrank back into their sockets, his figure
+      back into its mask of shadowy brown and gleaming buttons, and Mr.
+      Bosengate was conscious that the judge was making a series of remarks;
+      and, very soon, of being seated at a mahogany table in the jury's
+      withdrawing room, hearing the voice of the man with hair like an Irish
+      terrier's saying: &ldquo;Didn't he talk through his hat, that little blighter!&rdquo;
+       Conscious, too, of the commercial traveller, still on his left&mdash;always
+      on his left!&mdash;mopping his brow, and muttering: &ldquo;Phew! It's hot in
+      there to-day!&rdquo; while an effluvium, as of an inside accustomed to whisky
+      came from him. Then the man with the underlip and the three plastered
+      wisps of hair said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't know why we withdrew, Mr. Foreman!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Bosengate looked round to where, at the head of the table, Gentleman
+      Fox sat, in defensive gentility and the little white piping to his
+      waistcoat saying blandly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall be happy to take the sense of the jury.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a short silence, then the chemist murmured:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should say he must have what they call claustrophobia.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Clauster fiddlesticks! The feller's a shirker, that's all. Missed his
+      wife&mdash;pretty excuse! Indecent, I call it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The speaker was the little wire-haired man; and emotion, deep and angry,
+      stirred in Mr. Bosengate. That ill-bred little cur! He gripped the edge of
+      the table with both hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think it's d&mdash;&mdash;-d natural!&rdquo; he muttered. But almost before
+      the words had left his lips he felt dismay. What had he said&mdash;he,
+      nearly a colonel of volunteers&mdash;endorsing such a want of patriotism!
+      And hearing the commercial traveller murmuring: &ldquo;'Ear, 'ear!&rdquo; he reddened
+      violently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The wire-headed man said roughly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's too many of these blighted shirkers, and too much pampering of
+      them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The turmoil in Mr. Bosengate increased; he remarked in an icy voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I agree to no verdict that'll send the man back to prison.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At this a real tremor seemed to go round the table, as if they all saw
+      themselves sitting there through lunch time. Then the large grey-haired
+      man given to winking, said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Come, sir&mdash;after what the judge said! Come, sir! What do you
+      say, Mr. Foreman?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Gentleman Fox&mdash;as who should say 'This is excellent value, but I
+      don't wish to press it on you!'&mdash;answered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We are only concerned with the facts. Did he or did he not try to shorten
+      his life?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course he did&mdash;said so himself,&rdquo; Mr. Bosengate heard the
+      wire-haired man snap out, and from the following murmur of assent he alone
+      abstained. Guilty! Well&mdash;yes! There was no way out of admitting that,
+      but his feelings revolted against handing &ldquo;that poor little beggar&rdquo; over
+      to the tender mercy of his country's law. His whole soul rose in arms
+      against agreeing with that ill-bred little cur, and the rest of this
+      job-lot. He had an impulse to get up and walk out, saying: &ldquo;Settle it your
+      own way. Good morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It seems, sir,&rdquo; Gentleman Fox was saying, &ldquo;that we're all agreed to
+      guilty, except yourself. If you will allow me, I don't see how you can go
+      behind what the prisoner himself admitted.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus brought up to the very guns, Mr. Bosengate, red in the face, thrust
+      his hands deep into the side pockets of his tunic, and, staring straight
+      before him, said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well; on condition we recommend him to mercy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you say, gentlemen; shall we recommend him to mercy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Ear, 'ear!&rdquo; burst from the commercial traveller, and from the chemist
+      came the murmur:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No harm in that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I think there is. They shoot deserters at the front, and we let
+      this fellow off. I'd hang the cur.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Bosengate stared at that little wire-haired brute. &ldquo;Haven't you any
+      feeling for others?&rdquo; he wanted to say. &ldquo;Can't you see that this poor devil
+      suffers tortures?&rdquo; But the sheer impossibility of doing this before ten
+      other men brought a slight sweat out on his face and hands; and in
+      agitation he smote the table a blow with his fist. The effect was
+      instantaneous. Everybody looked at the wire-haired man, as if saying:
+      &ldquo;Yes, you've gone a bit too far there!&rdquo; The &ldquo;little brute&rdquo; stood it for a
+      moment, then muttered surlily:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, commend 'im to mercy if you like; I don't care.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's right; they never pay any attention to it,&rdquo; said the grey-haired
+      man, winking heartily. And Mr. Bosengate filed back with the others into
+      court.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But when from the jury box his eyes fell once more on the hare-eyed figure
+      in the dock, he had his worst moment yet. Why should this poor wretch
+      suffer so&mdash;for no fault, no fault; while he, and these others, and
+      that snapping counsel, and the Caesar-like judge up there, went off to
+      their women and their homes, blithe as bees, and probably never thought of
+      him again? And suddenly he was conscious of the judge's voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will go back to your regiment, and endeavour to serve your country
+      with better spirit. You may thank the jury that you are not sent to
+      prison, and your good fortune that you were not at the front when you
+      tried to commit this cowardly act. You are lucky to be alive.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A policeman pulled the little soldier by the arm; his drab figure with
+      eyes fixed and lustreless, passed down and away. From his very soul Mr.
+      Bosengate wanted to lean out and say: &ldquo;Cheer up, cheer up! I understand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was nearly ten o'clock that evening before he reached home, motoring
+      back from the route march. His physical tiredness was abated, for he had
+      partaken of a snack and a whisky and soda at the hotel; but mentally he
+      was in a curious mood. His body felt appeased, his spirit hungry. Tonight
+      he had a yearning, not for his wife's kisses, but for her understanding.
+      He wanted to go to her and say: &ldquo;I've learnt a lot to-day-found out things
+      I never thought of. Life's a wonderful thing, Kate, a thing one can't live
+      all to oneself; a thing one shares with everybody, so that when another
+      suffers, one suffers too. It's come to me that what one has doesn't matter
+      a bit&mdash;it's what one does, and how one sympathises with other people.
+      It came to me in the most extraordinary vivid way, when I was on that
+      jury, watching that poor little rat of a soldier in his trap; it's the
+      first time I've ever felt&mdash;the&mdash;the spirit of Christ, you know.
+      It's a wonderful thing, Kate&mdash;wonderful! We haven't been close&mdash;really
+      close, you and I, so that we each understand what the other is feeling.
+      It's all in that, you know; understanding&mdash;sympathy&mdash;it's
+      priceless. When I saw that poor little devil taken down and sent back to
+      his regiment to begin his sorrows all over again&mdash;wanting his wife,
+      thinking and thinking of her just as you know I would be thinking and
+      wanting you, I felt what an awful outside sort of life we lead, never
+      telling each other what we really think and feel, never being really
+      close. I daresay that little chap and his wife keep nothing from each
+      other&mdash;live each other's lives. That's what we ought to do. Let's get
+      to feeling that what really matters is&mdash;understanding and loving, and
+      not only just saying it as we all do, those fellows on the jury, and even
+      that poor devil of a judge&mdash;what an awful life judging one's
+      fellow-creatures.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When I left that poor little Tommy this morning, and ever since, I've
+      longed to get back here quietly to you and tell you about it, and make a
+      beginning. There's something wonderful in this, and I want you to feel it
+      as I do, because you mean such a lot to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This was what he wanted to say to his wife, not touching, or kissing her,
+      just looking into her eyes, watching them soften and glow as they surely
+      must, catching the infection of his new ardour. And he felt unsteady,
+      fearfully unsteady with the desire to say it all as it should be said:
+      swiftly, quietly, with the truth and fervour of his feeling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The hall was not lit up, for daylight still lingered under the new
+      arrangement. He went towards the drawing-room, but from the very door
+      shied off to his study and stood irresolute under the picture of a &ldquo;Man
+      catching a flea&rdquo; (Dutch school), which had come down to him from his
+      father. The governess would be in there with his wife! He must wait.
+      Essential to go straight to Kathleen and pour it all out, or he would
+      never do it. He felt as nervous as an undergraduate going up for his viva'
+      voce. This thing was so big, so astoundingly and unexpectedly important.
+      He was suddenly afraid of his wife, afraid of her coolness and her grace,
+      and that something Japanese about her&mdash;of all those attributes he had
+      been accustomed to admire most; afraid, as it were, of her attraction. He
+      felt young to-night, almost boyish; would she see that he was not really
+      fifteen years older than herself, and she not really a part of his
+      collection, of all the admirable appointments of his home; but a companion
+      spirit to one who wanted a companion badly. In this agitation of his soul
+      he could keep still no more than he could last night in the agitation of
+      his senses; and he wandered into the dining-room. A dainty supper was set
+      out there, sandwiches, and cake, whisky and the cigarettes&mdash;even an
+      early peach. Mr. Bosengate looked at this peach with sorrow rather than
+      disgust. The perfection of it was of a piece with all that had gone before
+      this new and sudden feeling. Its delicious bloom seemed to heighten his
+      perception of the hedge around him, that hedge of the things he so
+      enjoyed, carefully planted and tended these many years. He passed it by
+      uneaten, and went to the window. Out there all was darkening, the
+      fountain, the lime tree, the flower-beds, and the fields below, with the
+      Jersey cows who would come to your call; darkening slowly, losing form,
+      blurring into soft blackness, vanishing, but there none the less&mdash;all
+      there&mdash;the hedge of his possessions. He heard the door of the
+      drawing-room open, the voices of his wife and the governess in the hall,
+      going up to bed. If only they didn't look in here! If only! The voices
+      ceased. He was safe now&mdash;had but to follow in a few minutes, to make
+      sure of Kathleen alone. He turned round and stared down the length of the
+      dark dining-room, over the rosewood table, to where in the mirror above
+      the sideboard at the far end, his figure bathed, a stain, a mere blurred
+      shadow; he made his way down to it along the table edge, and stood before
+      himself as close as he could get. His throat and the roof of his mouth
+      felt dry with nervousness; he put out his finger and touched his face in
+      the glass. 'You're an ass!' he thought. 'Pull yourself together, and get
+      it over. She will see; of course she will!' He swallowed, smoothed his
+      moustache, and walked out. Going up the stairs, his heart beat painfully;
+      but he was in for it now, and marched straight into her room. Dressed only
+      in a loose blue wrapper, she was brushing her dark hair before the glass.
+      Mr. Bosengate went up to her and stood there silent, looking down. The
+      words he had thought of were like a swarm of bees buzzing in his head, yet
+      not one would fly from between his lips. His wife went on brushing her
+      hair under the light which shone on her polished elbows. She looked up at
+      him from beneath one lifted eyebrow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, dear&mdash;tired?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With a sort of vehemence the single word &ldquo;No&rdquo; passed out. A faint, a
+      quizzical smile flitted over her face; she shrugged her shoulders ever so
+      gently. That gesture&mdash;he had seen it before! And in desperate desire
+      to make her understand, he put his hand on her lifted arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kathleen, stop&mdash;listen to me!&rdquo; His fingers tightened in his
+      agitation and eagerness to make his great discovery known. But before he
+      could get out a word he became conscious of that cool round arm, conscious
+      of her eyes half-closed, sliding round at him, of her half-smiling lips,
+      of her neck under the wrapper. And he stammered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want&mdash;I must&mdash;Kathleen, I&mdash;-&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She lifted her shoulders again in that little shrug. &ldquo;Yes&mdash;I know;
+      all right!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A wave of heat and shame, and of God knows what came over Mr. Bosengate;
+      he fell on his knees and pressed his forehead to her arm; and he was
+      silent, more silent than the grave. Nothing&mdash;nothing came from him
+      but two long sighs. Suddenly he felt her hand stroke his cheek&mdash;compassionately,
+      it seemed to him. She made a little movement towards him; her lips met
+      his, and he remembered nothing but that....
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In his own room Mr. Bosengate sat at his wide open window, smoking a
+      cigarette; there was no light. Moths went past, the moon was creeping up.
+      He sat very calm, puffing the smoke out in to the night air. Curious
+      thing-life! Curious world! Curious forces in it&mdash;making one do the
+      opposite of what one wished; always&mdash;always making one do the
+      opposite, it seemed! The furtive light from that creeping moon was getting
+      hold of things down there, stealing in among the boughs of the trees.
+      'There's something ironical,' he thought, 'which walks about. Things don't
+      come off as you think they will. I meant, I tried but one doesn't change
+      like that all of a sudden, it seems. Fact is, life's too big a thing for
+      one! All the same, I'm not the man I was yesterday&mdash;not quite!' He
+      closed his eyes, and in one of those flashes of vision which come when the
+      senses are at rest, he saw himself as it were far down below&mdash;down on
+      the floor of a street narrow as a grave, high as a mountain, a deep dark
+      slit of a street walking down there, a black midget of a fellow, among
+      other black midgets&mdash;his wife, and the little soldier, the judge, and
+      those jury chaps&mdash;fantoches straight up on their tiny feet, wandering
+      down there in that dark, infinitely tall, and narrow street. 'Too much for
+      one!' he thought; 'Too high for one&mdash;no getting on top of it. We've
+      got to be kind, and help one another, and not expect too much, and not
+      think too much. That's&mdash;all!' And, squeezing out his cigarette, he
+      took six deep breaths of the night air, and got into bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      INDIAN SUMMER OF A FORSYTE
+    </h2>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+      &ldquo;And Summer's lease hath all
+                too short a date.&rdquo;
+                 &mdash;Shakespeare
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      I
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      In the last day of May in the early 'nineties, about six o'clock of the
+      evening, old Jolyon Forsyte sat under the oak tree below the terrace of
+      his house at Robin Hill. He was waiting for the midges to bite him, before
+      abandoning the glory of the afternoon. His thin brown hand, where blue
+      veins stood out, held the end of a cigar in its tapering, long-nailed
+      fingers&mdash;a pointed polished nail had survived with him from those
+      earlier Victorian days when to touch nothing, even with the tips of the
+      fingers, had been so distinguished. His domed forehead, great white
+      moustache, lean cheeks, and long lean jaw were covered from the westering
+      sunshine by an old brown Panama hat. His legs were crossed; in all his
+      attitude was serenity and a kind of elegance, as of an old man who every
+      morning put eau de Cologne upon his silk handkerchief. At his feet lay a
+      woolly brown-and-white dog trying to be a Pomeranian&mdash;the dog
+      Balthasar between whom and old Jolyon primal aversion had changed into
+      attachment with the years. Close to his chair was a swing, and on the
+      swing was seated one of Holly's dolls&mdash;called 'Duffer Alice'&mdash;with
+      her body fallen over her legs and her doleful nose buried in a black
+      petticoat. She was never out of disgrace, so it did not matter to her how
+      she sat. Below the oak tree the lawn dipped down a bank, stretched to the
+      fernery, and, beyond that refinement, became fields, dropping to the pond,
+      the coppice, and the prospect&mdash;'Fine, remarkable'&mdash;at which
+      Swithin Forsyte, from under this very tree, had stared five years ago when
+      he drove down with Irene to look at the house. Old Jolyon had heard of his
+      brother's exploit&mdash;that drive which had become quite celebrated on
+      Forsyte 'Change. Swithin! And the fellow had gone and died, last November,
+      at the age of only seventy-nine, renewing the doubt whether Forsytes could
+      live for ever, which had first arisen when Aunt Ann passed away. Died! and
+      left only Jolyon and James, Roger and Nicholas and Timothy, Julia, Hester,
+      Susan! And old Jolyon thought: 'Eighty-five! I don't feel it&mdash;except
+      when I get that pain.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His memory went searching. He had not felt his age since he had bought his
+      nephew Soames' ill-starred house and settled into it here at Robin Hill
+      over three years ago. It was as if he had been getting younger every
+      spring, living in the country with his son and his grandchildren&mdash;June,
+      and the little ones of the second marriage, Jolly and Holly; living down
+      here out of the racket of London and the cackle of Forsyte 'Change,' free
+      of his boards, in a delicious atmosphere of no work and all play, with
+      plenty of occupation in the perfecting and mellowing of the house and its
+      twenty acres, and in ministering to the whims of Holly and Jolly. All the
+      knots and crankiness, which had gathered in his heart during that long and
+      tragic business of June, Soames, Irene his wife, and poor young Bosinney,
+      had been smoothed out. Even June had thrown off her melancholy at last&mdash;witness
+      this travel in Spain she was taking now with her father and her
+      stepmother. Curiously perfect peace was left by their departure; blissful,
+      yet blank, because his son was not there. Jo was never anything but a
+      comfort and a pleasure to him nowadays&mdash;an amiable chap; but women,
+      somehow&mdash;even the best&mdash;got a little on one's nerves, unless of
+      course one admired them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Far-off a cuckoo called; a wood-pigeon was cooing from the first elm-tree
+      in the field, and how the daisies and buttercups had sprung up after the
+      last mowing! The wind had got into the sou' west, too&mdash;a delicious
+      air, sappy! He pushed his hat back and let the sun fall on his chin and
+      cheek. Somehow, to-day, he wanted company&mdash;wanted a pretty face to
+      look at. People treated the old as if they wanted nothing. And with the
+      un-Forsytean philosophy which ever intruded on his soul, he thought:
+      'One's never had enough. With a foot in the grave one'll want something, I
+      shouldn't be surprised!' Down here&mdash;away from the exigencies of
+      affairs&mdash;his grandchildren, and the flowers, trees, birds of his
+      little domain, to say nothing of sun and moon and stars above them, said,
+      'Open, sesame,' to him day and night. And sesame had opened&mdash;how
+      much, perhaps, he did not know. He had always been responsive to what they
+      had begun to call 'Nature,' genuinely, almost religiously responsive,
+      though he had never lost his habit of calling a sunset a sunset and a view
+      a view, however deeply they might move him. But nowadays Nature actually
+      made him ache, he appreciated it so. Every one of these calm, bright,
+      lengthening days, with Holly's hand in his, and the dog Balthasar in front
+      looking studiously for what he never found, he would stroll, watching the
+      roses open, fruit budding on the walls, sunlight brightening the oak
+      leaves and saplings in the coppice, watching the water-lily leaves unfold
+      and glisten, and the silvery young corn of the one wheat field; listening
+      to the starlings and skylarks, and the Alderney cows chewing the cud,
+      flicking slow their tufted tails; and every one of these fine days he
+      ached a little from sheer love of it all, feeling perhaps, deep down, that
+      he had not very much longer to enjoy it. The thought that some day&mdash;perhaps
+      not ten years hence, perhaps not five&mdash;all this world would be taken
+      away from him, before he had exhausted his powers of loving it, seemed to
+      him in the nature of an injustice brooding over his horizon. If anything
+      came after this life, it wouldn't be what he wanted; not Robin Hill, and
+      flowers and birds and pretty faces&mdash;too few, even now, of those about
+      him! With the years his dislike of humbug had increased; the orthodoxy he
+      had worn in the 'sixties, as he had worn side-whiskers out of sheer
+      exuberance, had long dropped off, leaving him reverent before three things
+      alone&mdash;beauty, upright conduct, and the sense of property; and the
+      greatest of these now was beauty. He had always had wide interests, and,
+      indeed could still read The Times, but he was liable at any moment to put
+      it down if he heard a blackbird sing. Upright conduct, property&mdash;somehow,
+      they were tiring; the blackbirds and the sunsets never tired him, only
+      gave him an uneasy feeling that he could not get enough of them. Staring
+      into the stilly radiance of the early evening and at the little gold and
+      white flowers on the lawn, a thought came to him: This weather was like
+      the music of 'Orfeo,' which he had recently heard at Covent Garden. A
+      beautiful opera, not like Meyerbeer, nor even quite Mozart, but, in its
+      way, perhaps even more lovely; something classical and of the Golden Age
+      about it, chaste and mellow, and the Ravogli 'almost worthy of the old
+      days'&mdash;highest praise he could bestow. The yearning of Orpheus for
+      the beauty he was losing, for his love going down to Hades, as in life
+      love and beauty did go&mdash;the yearning which sang and throbbed through
+      the golden music, stirred also in the lingering beauty of the world that
+      evening. And with the tip of his cork-soled, elastic-sided boot he
+      involuntarily stirred the ribs of the dog Balthasar, causing the animal to
+      wake and attack his fleas; for though he was supposed to have none,
+      nothing could persuade him of the fact. When he had finished he rubbed the
+      place he had been scratching against his master's calf, and settled down
+      again with his chin over the instep of the disturbing boot. And into old
+      Jolyon's mind came a sudden recollection&mdash;a face he had seen at that
+      opera three weeks ago&mdash;Irene, the wife of his precious nephew Soames,
+      that man of property! Though he had not met her since the day of the 'At
+      Home' in his old house at Stanhope Gate, which celebrated his
+      granddaughter June's ill-starred engagement to young Bosinney, he had
+      remembered her at once, for he had always admired her&mdash;a very pretty
+      creature. After the death of young Bosinney, whose mistress she had so
+      reprehensibly become, he had heard that she had left Soames at once.
+      Goodness only knew what she had been doing since. That sight of her face&mdash;a
+      side view&mdash;in the row in front, had been literally the only reminder
+      these three years that she was still alive. No one ever spoke of her. And
+      yet Jo had told him something once&mdash;something which had upset him
+      completely. The boy had got it from George Forsyte, he believed, who had
+      seen Bosinney in the fog the day he was run over&mdash;something which
+      explained the young fellow's distress&mdash;an act of Soames towards his
+      wife&mdash;a shocking act. Jo had seen her, too, that afternoon, after the
+      news was out, seen her for a moment, and his description had always
+      lingered in old Jolyon's mind&mdash;'wild and lost' he had called her. And
+      next day June had gone there&mdash;bottled up her feelings and gone there,
+      and the maid had cried and told her how her mistress had slipped out in
+      the night and vanished. A tragic business altogether! One thing was
+      certain&mdash;Soames had never been able to lay hands on her again. And he
+      was living at Brighton, and journeying up and down&mdash;a fitting fate,
+      the man of property! For when he once took a dislike to anyone&mdash;as he
+      had to his nephew&mdash;old Jolyon never got over it. He remembered still
+      the sense of relief with which he had heard the news of Irene's
+      disappearance. It had been shocking to think of her a prisoner in that
+      house to which she must have wandered back, when Jo saw her, wandered back
+      for a moment&mdash;like a wounded animal to its hole after seeing that
+      news, 'Tragic death of an Architect,' in the street. Her face had struck
+      him very much the other night&mdash;more beautiful than he had remembered,
+      but like a mask, with something going on beneath it. A young woman still&mdash;twenty-eight
+      perhaps. Ah, well! Very likely she had another lover by now. But at this
+      subversive thought&mdash;for married women should never love: once, even,
+      had been too much&mdash;his instep rose, and with it the dog Balthasar's
+      head. The sagacious animal stood up and looked into old Jolyon's face.
+      'Walk?' he seemed to say; and old Jolyon answered: &ldquo;Come on, old chap!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Slowly, as was their wont, they crossed among the constellations of
+      buttercups and daisies, and entered the fernery. This feature, where very
+      little grew as yet, had been judiciously dropped below the level of the
+      lawn so that it might come up again on the level of the other lawn and
+      give the impression of irregularity, so important in horticulture. Its
+      rocks and earth were beloved of the dog Balthasar, who sometimes found a
+      mole there. Old Jolyon made a point of passing through it because, though
+      it was not beautiful, he intended that it should be, some day, and he
+      would think: 'I must get Varr to come down and look at it; he's better
+      than Beech.' For plants, like houses and human complaints, required the
+      best expert consideration. It was inhabited by snails, and if accompanied
+      by his grandchildren, he would point to one and tell them the story of the
+      little boy who said: 'Have plummers got leggers, Mother? 'No, sonny.'
+      'Then darned if I haven't been and swallowed a snileybob.' And when they
+      skipped and clutched his hand, thinking of the snileybob going down the
+      little boy's 'red lane,' his eyes would twinkle. Emerging from the
+      fernery, he opened the wicket gate, which just there led into the first
+      field, a large and park-like area, out of which, within brick walls, the
+      vegetable garden had been carved. Old Jolyon avoided this, which did not
+      suit his mood, and made down the hill towards the pond. Balthasar, who
+      knew a water-rat or two, gambolled in front, at the gait which marks an
+      oldish dog who takes the same walk every day. Arrived at the edge, old
+      Jolyon stood, noting another water-lily opened since yesterday; he would
+      show it to Holly to-morrow, when 'his little sweet' had got over the upset
+      which had followed on her eating a tomato at lunch&mdash;her little
+      arrangements were very delicate. Now that Jolly had gone to school&mdash;his
+      first term&mdash;Holly was with him nearly all day long, and he missed her
+      badly. He felt that pain too, which often bothered him now, a little
+      dragging at his left side. He looked back up the hill. Really, poor young
+      Bosinney had made an uncommonly good job of the house; he would have done
+      very well for himself if he had lived! And where was he now? Perhaps,
+      still haunting this, the site of his last work, of his tragic love affair.
+      Or was Philip Bosinney's spirit diffused in the general? Who could say?
+      That dog was getting his legs muddy! And he moved towards the coppice.
+      There had been the most delightful lot of bluebells, and he knew where
+      some still lingered like little patches of sky fallen in between the
+      trees, away out of the sun. He passed the cow-houses and the hen-houses
+      there installed, and pursued a path into the thick of the saplings, making
+      for one of the bluebell plots. Balthasar, preceding him once more, uttered
+      a low growl. Old Jolyon stirred him with his foot, but the dog remained
+      motionless, just where there was no room to pass, and the hair rose slowly
+      along the centre of his woolly back. Whether from the growl and the look
+      of the dog's stivered hair, or from the sensation which a man feels in a
+      wood, old Jolyon also felt something move along his spine. And then the
+      path turned, and there was an old mossy log, and on it a woman sitting.
+      Her face was turned away, and he had just time to think: 'She's
+      trespassing&mdash;I must have a board put up!' before she turned. Powers
+      above! The face he had seen at the opera&mdash;the very woman he had just
+      been thinking of! In that confused moment he saw things blurred, as if a
+      spirit&mdash;queer effect&mdash;the slant of sunlight perhaps on her
+      violet-grey frock! And then she rose and stood smiling, her head a little
+      to one side. Old Jolyon thought: 'How pretty she is!' She did not speak,
+      neither did he; and he realized why with a certain admiration. She was
+      here no doubt because of some memory, and did not mean to try and get out
+      of it by vulgar explanation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't let that dog touch your frock,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;he's got wet feet. Come
+      here, you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But the dog Balthasar went on towards the visitor, who put her hand down
+      and stroked his head. Old Jolyon said quickly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I saw you at the opera the other night; you didn't notice me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes! I did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He felt a subtle flattery in that, as though she had added: 'Do you think
+      one could miss seeing you?'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They're all in Spain,&rdquo; he remarked abruptly. &ldquo;I'm alone; I drove up for
+      the opera. The Ravogli's good. Have you seen the cow-houses?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In a situation so charged with mystery and something very like emotion he
+      moved instinctively towards that bit of property, and she moved beside
+      him. Her figure swayed faintly, like the best kind of French figures; her
+      dress, too, was a sort of French grey. He noticed two or three silver
+      threads in her amber-coloured hair, strange hair with those dark eyes of
+      hers, and that creamy-pale face. A sudden sidelong look from the velvety
+      brown eyes disturbed him. It seemed to come from deep and far, from
+      another world almost, or at all events from some one not living very much
+      in this. And he said mechanically:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where are you living now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have a little flat in Chelsea.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He did not want to hear what she was doing, did not want to hear anything;
+      but the perverse word came out:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alone?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She nodded. It was a relief to know that. And it came into his mind that,
+      but for a twist of fate, she would have been mistress of this coppice,
+      showing these cow-houses to him, a visitor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All Alderneys,&rdquo; he muttered; &ldquo;they give the best milk. This one's a
+      pretty creature. Woa, Myrtle!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The fawn-coloured cow, with eyes as soft and brown as Irene's own, was
+      standing absolutely still, not having long been milked. She looked round
+      at them out of the corner of those lustrous, mild, cynical eyes, and from
+      her grey lips a little dribble of saliva threaded its way towards the
+      straw. The scent of hay and vanilla and ammonia rose in the dim light of
+      the cool cow-house; and old Jolyon said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must come up and have some dinner with me. I'll send you home in the
+      carriage.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He perceived a struggle going on within her; natural, no doubt, with her
+      memories. But he wanted her company; a pretty face, a charming figure,
+      beauty! He had been alone all the afternoon. Perhaps his eyes were
+      wistful, for she answered: &ldquo;Thank you, Uncle Jolyon. I should like to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He rubbed his hands, and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Capital! Let's go up, then!&rdquo; And, preceded by the dog Balthasar, they
+      ascended through the field. The sun was almost level in their faces now,
+      and he could see, not only those silver threads, but little lines, just
+      deep enough to stamp her beauty with a coin-like fineness&mdash;the
+      special look of life unshared with others. &ldquo;I'll take her in by the
+      terrace,&rdquo; he thought: &ldquo;I won't make a common visitor of her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you do all day?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Teach music; I have another interest, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Work!&rdquo; said old Jolyon, picking up the doll from off the swing, and
+      smoothing its black petticoat. &ldquo;Nothing like it, is there? I don't do any
+      now. I'm getting on. What interest is that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Trying to help women who've come to grief.&rdquo; Old Jolyon did not quite
+      understand. &ldquo;To grief?&rdquo; he repeated; then realised with a shock that she
+      meant exactly what he would have meant himself if he had used that
+      expression. Assisting the Magdalenes of London! What a weird and
+      terrifying interest! And, curiosity overcoming his natural shrinking, he
+      asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why? What do you do for them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not much. I've no money to spare. I can only give sympathy and food
+      sometimes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Involuntarily old Jolyon's hand sought his purse. He said hastily: &ldquo;How
+      d'you get hold of them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I go to a hospital.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A hospital! Phew!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What hurts me most is that once they nearly all had some sort of beauty.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Jolyon straightened the doll. &ldquo;Beauty!&rdquo; he ejaculated: &ldquo;Ha! Yes! A sad
+      business!&rdquo; and he moved towards the house. Through a French window, under
+      sun-blinds not yet drawn up, he preceded her into the room where he was
+      wont to study The Times and the sheets of an agricultural magazine, with
+      huge illustrations of mangold wurzels, and the like, which provided Holly
+      with material for her paint brush.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dinner's in half an hour. You'd like to wash your hands! I'll take you to
+      June's room.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He saw her looking round eagerly; what changes since she had last visited
+      this house with her husband, or her lover, or both perhaps&mdash;he did
+      not know, could not say! All that was dark, and he wished to leave it so.
+      But what changes! And in the hall he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My boy Jo's a painter, you know. He's got a lot of taste. It isn't mine,
+      of course, but I've let him have his way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She was standing very still, her eyes roaming through the hall and music
+      room, as it now was&mdash;all thrown into one, under the great skylight.
+      Old Jolyon had an odd impression of her. Was she trying to conjure
+      somebody from the shades of that space where the colouring was all
+      pearl-grey and silver? He would have had gold himself; more lively and
+      solid. But Jo had French tastes, and it had come out shadowy like that,
+      with an effect as of the fume of cigarettes the chap was always smoking,
+      broken here and there by a little blaze of blue or crimson colour. It was
+      not his dream! Mentally he had hung this space with those gold-framed
+      masterpieces of still and stiller life which he had bought in days when
+      quantity was precious. And now where were they? Sold for a song! That
+      something which made him, alone among Forsytes, move with the times had
+      warned him against the struggle to retain them. But in his study he still
+      had 'Dutch Fishing Boats at Sunset.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He began to mount the stairs with her, slowly, for he felt his side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;These are the bathrooms,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and other arrangements. I've had them
+      tiled. The nurseries are along there. And this is Jo's and his wife's.
+      They all communicate. But you remember, I expect.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Irene nodded. They passed on, up the gallery and entered a large room with
+      a small bed, and several windows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This is mine,&rdquo; he said. The walls were covered with the photographs of
+      children and watercolour sketches, and he added doubtfully:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;These are Jo's. The view's first-rate. You can see the Grand Stand at
+      Epsom in clear weather.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The sun was down now, behind the house, and over the 'prospect' a luminous
+      haze had settled, emanation of the long and prosperous day. Few houses
+      showed, but fields and trees faintly glistened, away to a loom of downs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The country's changing,&rdquo; he said abruptly, &ldquo;but there it'll be when we're
+      all gone. Look at those thrushes&mdash;the birds are sweet here in the
+      mornings. I'm glad to have washed my hands of London.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her face was close to the window pane, and he was struck by its mournful
+      look. 'Wish I could make her look happy!' he thought. 'A pretty face, but
+      sad!' And taking up his can of hot water he went out into the gallery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This is June's room,&rdquo; he said, opening the next door and putting the can
+      down; &ldquo;I think you'll find everything.&rdquo; And closing the door behind her he
+      went back to his own room. Brushing his hair with his great ebony brushes,
+      and dabbing his forehead with eau de Cologne, he mused. She had come so
+      strangely&mdash;a sort of visitation; mysterious, even romantic, as if his
+      desire for company, for beauty, had been fulfilled by whatever it was
+      which fulfilled that sort of thing. And before the mirror he straightened
+      his still upright figure, passed the brushes over his great white
+      moustache, touched up his eyebrows with eau de Cologne, and rang the bell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I forgot to let them know that I have a lady to dinner with me. Let cook
+      do something extra, and tell Beacon to have the landau and pair at
+      half-past ten to drive her back to Town to-night. Is Miss Holly asleep?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The maid thought not. And old Jolyon, passing down the gallery, stole on
+      tiptoe towards the nursery, and opened the door whose hinges he kept
+      specially oiled that he might slip in and out in the evenings without
+      being heard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Holly was asleep, and lay like a miniature Madonna, of that type which
+      the old painters could not tell from Venus, when they had completed her.
+      Her long dark lashes clung to her cheeks; on her face was perfect peace&mdash;her
+      little arrangements were evidently all right again. And old Jolyon, in the
+      twilight of the room, stood adoring her! It was so charming, solemn, and
+      loving&mdash;that little face. He had more than his share of the blessed
+      capacity of living again in the young. They were to him his future life&mdash;all
+      of a future life that his fundamental pagan sanity perhaps admitted. There
+      she was with everything before her, and his blood&mdash;some of it&mdash;in
+      her tiny veins. There she was, his little companion, to be made as happy
+      as ever he could make her, so that she knew nothing but love. His heart
+      swelled, and he went out, stilling the sound of his patent-leather boots.
+      In the corridor an eccentric notion attacked him: To think that children
+      should come to that which Irene had told him she was helping! Women who
+      were all, once, little things like this one sleeping there! 'I must give
+      her a cheque!' he mused; 'Can't bear to think of them!' They had never
+      borne reflecting on, those poor outcasts; wounding too deeply the core of
+      true refinement hidden under layers of conformity to the sense of property&mdash;wounding
+      too grievously the deepest thing in him&mdash;a love of beauty which could
+      give him, even now, a flutter of the heart, thinking of his evening in the
+      society of a pretty woman. And he went downstairs, through the swinging
+      doors, to the back regions. There, in the wine-cellar, was a hock worth at
+      least two pounds a bottle, a Steinberg Cabinet, better than any
+      Johannisberg that ever went down throat; a wine of perfect bouquet, sweet
+      as a nectarine&mdash;nectar indeed! He got a bottle out, handling it like
+      a baby, and holding it level to the light, to look. Enshrined in its coat
+      of dust, that mellow coloured, slender-necked bottle gave him deep
+      pleasure. Three years to settle down again since the move from Town&mdash;ought
+      to be in prime condition! Thirty-five years ago he had bought it&mdash;thank
+      God he had kept his palate, and earned the right to drink it. She would
+      appreciate this; not a spice of acidity in a dozen. He wiped the bottle,
+      drew the cork with his own hands, put his nose down, inhaled its perfume,
+      and went back to the music room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Irene was standing by the piano; she had taken off her hat and a lace
+      scarf she had been wearing, so that her gold-coloured hair was visible,
+      and the pallor of her neck. In her grey frock she made a pretty picture
+      for old Jolyon, against the rosewood of the piano.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He gave her his arm, and solemnly they went. The room, which had been
+      designed to enable twenty-four people to dine in comfort, held now but a
+      little round table. In his present solitude the big dining-table oppressed
+      old Jolyon; he had caused it to be removed till his son came back. Here in
+      the company of two really good copies of Raphael Madonnas he was wont to
+      dine alone. It was the only disconsolate hour of his day, this summer
+      weather. He had never been a large eater, like that great chap Swithin, or
+      Sylvanus Heythorp, or Anthony Thornworthy, those cronies of past times;
+      and to dine alone, overlooked by the Madonnas, was to him but a sorrowful
+      occupation, which he got through quickly, that he might come to the more
+      spiritual enjoyment of his coffee and cigar. But this evening was a
+      different matter! His eyes twinkled at her across the little table and he
+      spoke of Italy and Switzerland, telling her stories of his travels there,
+      and other experiences which he could no longer recount to his son and
+      grand-daughter because they knew them. This fresh audience was precious to
+      him; he had never become one of those old men who ramble round and round
+      the fields of reminiscence. Himself quickly fatigued by the insensitive,
+      he instinctively avoided fatiguing others, and his natural flirtatiousness
+      towards beauty guarded him specially in his relations with a woman. He
+      would have liked to draw her out, but though she murmured and smiled and
+      seemed to be enjoying what he told her, he remained conscious of that
+      mysterious remoteness which constituted half her fascination. He could not
+      bear women who threw their shoulders and eyes at you, and chattered away;
+      or hard-mouthed women who laid down the law and knew more than you did.
+      There was only one quality in a woman that appealed to him&mdash;charm;
+      and the quieter it was, the more he liked it. And this one had charm,
+      shadowy as afternoon sunlight on those Italian hills and valleys he had
+      loved. The feeling, too, that she was, as it were, apart, cloistered, made
+      her seem nearer to himself, a strangely desirable companion. When a man is
+      very old and quite out of the running, he loves to feel secure from the
+      rivalries of youth, for he would still be first in the heart of beauty.
+      And he drank his hock, and watched her lips, and felt nearly young. But
+      the dog Balthasar lay watching her lips too, and despising in his heart
+      the interruptions of their talk, and the tilting of those greenish glasses
+      full of a golden fluid which was distasteful to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The light was just failing when they went back into the music-room. And,
+      cigar in mouth, old Jolyon said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Play me some Chopin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      By the cigars they smoke, and the composers they love, ye shall know the
+      texture of men's souls. Old Jolyon could not bear a strong cigar or
+      Wagner's music. He loved Beethoven and Mozart, Handel and Gluck, and
+      Schumann, and, for some occult reason, the operas of Meyerbeer; but of
+      late years he had been seduced by Chopin, just as in painting he had
+      succumbed to Botticelli. In yielding to these tastes he had been conscious
+      of divergence from the standard of the Golden Age. Their poetry was not
+      that of Milton and Byron and Tennyson; of Raphael and Titian; Mozart and
+      Beethoven. It was, as it were, behind a veil; their poetry hit no one in
+      the face, but slipped its fingers under the ribs and turned and twisted,
+      and melted up the heart. And, never certain that this was healthy, he did
+      not care a rap so long as he could see the pictures of the one or hear the
+      music of the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Irene sat down at the piano under the electric lamp festooned with
+      pearl-grey, and old Jolyon, in an armchair, whence he could see her,
+      crossed his legs and drew slowly at his cigar. She sat a few moments with
+      her hands on the keys, evidently searching her mind for what to give him.
+      Then she began and within old Jolyon there arose a sorrowful pleasure, not
+      quite like anything else in the world. He fell slowly into a trance,
+      interrupted only by the movements of taking the cigar out of his mouth at
+      long intervals, and replacing it. She was there, and the hock within him,
+      and the scent of tobacco; but there, too, was a world of sunshine
+      lingering into moonlight, and pools with storks upon them, and bluish
+      trees above, glowing with blurs of wine-red roses, and fields of lavender
+      where milk-white cows were grazing, and a woman all shadowy, with dark
+      eyes and a white neck, smiled, holding out her arms; and through air which
+      was like music a star dropped and was caught on a cow's horn. He opened
+      his eyes. Beautiful piece; she played well&mdash;the touch of an angel!
+      And he closed them again. He felt miraculously sad and happy, as one does,
+      standing under a lime-tree in full honey flower. Not live one's own life
+      again, but just stand there and bask in the smile of a woman's eyes, and
+      enjoy the bouquet! And he jerked his hand; the dog Balthasar had reached
+      up and licked it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Beautiful!&rdquo; He said: &ldquo;Go on&mdash;more Chopin!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She began to play again. This time the resemblance between her and
+      'Chopin' struck him. The swaying he had noticed in her walk was in her
+      playing too, and the Nocturne she had chosen and the soft darkness of her
+      eyes, the light on her hair, as of moonlight from a golden moon.
+      Seductive, yes; but nothing of Delilah in her or in that music. A long
+      blue spiral from his cigar ascended and dispersed. 'So we go out!' he
+      thought. 'No more beauty! Nothing?'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again Irene stopped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you like some Gluck? He used to write his music in a sunlit garden,
+      with a bottle of Rhine wine beside him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! yes. Let's have 'Orfeo.'.rdquo; Round about him now were fields of gold and
+      silver flowers, white forms swaying in the sunlight, bright birds flying
+      to and fro. All was summer. Lingering waves of sweetness and regret
+      flooded his soul. Some cigar ash dropped, and taking out a silk
+      handkerchief to brush it off, he inhaled a mingled scent as of snuff and
+      eau de Cologne. 'Ah!' he thought, 'Indian summer&mdash;that's all!' and he
+      said: &ldquo;You haven't played me 'Che faro.'.rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She did not answer; did not move. He was conscious of something&mdash;some
+      strange upset. Suddenly he saw her rise and turn away, and a pang of
+      remorse shot through him. What a clumsy chap! Like Orpheus, she of course&mdash;she
+      too was looking for her lost one in the hall of memory! And disturbed to
+      the heart, he got up from his chair. She had gone to the great window at
+      the far end. Gingerly he followed. Her hands were folded over her breast;
+      he could just see her cheek, very white. And, quite emotionalized, he
+      said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, there, my love!&rdquo; The words had escaped him mechanically, for they
+      were those he used to Holly when she had a pain, but their effect was
+      instantaneously distressing. She raised her arms, covered her face with
+      them, and wept.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Jolyon stood gazing at her with eyes very deep from age. The
+      passionate shame she seemed feeling at her abandonment, so unlike the
+      control and quietude of her whole presence was as if she had never before
+      broken down in the presence of another being.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, there&mdash;there, there!&rdquo; he murmured, and putting his hand out
+      reverently, touched her. She turned, and leaned the arms which covered her
+      face against him. Old Jolyon stood very still, keeping one thin hand on
+      her shoulder. Let her cry her heart out&mdash;it would do her good.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And the dog Balthasar, puzzled, sat down on his stern to examine them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The window was still open, the curtains had not been drawn, the last of
+      daylight from without mingled with faint intrusion from the lamp within;
+      there was a scent of new-mown grass. With the wisdom of a long life old
+      Jolyon did not speak. Even grief sobbed itself out in time; only Time was
+      good for sorrow&mdash;Time who saw the passing of each mood, each emotion
+      in turn; Time the layer-to-rest. There came into his mind the words: 'As
+      panteth the hart after cooling streams'&mdash;but they were of no use to
+      him. Then, conscious of a scent of violets, he knew she was drying her
+      eyes. He put his chin forward, pressed his moustache against her forehead,
+      and felt her shake with a quivering of her whole body, as of a tree which
+      shakes itself free of raindrops. She put his hand to her lips, as if
+      saying: &ldquo;All over now! Forgive me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The kiss filled him with a strange comfort; he led her back to where she
+      had been so upset. And the dog Balthasar, following, laid the bone of one
+      of the cutlets they had eaten at their feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Anxious to obliterate the memory of that emotion, he could think of
+      nothing better than china; and moving with her slowly from cabinet to
+      cabinet, he kept taking up bits of Dresden and Lowestoft and Chelsea,
+      turning them round and round with his thin, veined hands, whose skin,
+      faintly freckled, had such an aged look.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I bought this at Jobson's,&rdquo; he would say; &ldquo;cost me thirty pounds. It's
+      very old. That dog leaves his bones all over the place. This old
+      'ship-bowl' I picked up at the sale when that precious rip, the Marquis,
+      came to grief. But you don't remember. Here's a nice piece of Chelsea.
+      Now, what would you say this was?&rdquo; And he was comforted, feeling that,
+      with her taste, she was taking a real interest in these things; for, after
+      all, nothing better composes the nerves than a doubtful piece of china.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the crunch of the carriage wheels was heard at last, he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must come again; you must come to lunch, then I can show you these by
+      daylight, and my little sweet&mdash;she's a dear little thing. This dog
+      seems to have taken a fancy to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For Balthasar, feeling that she was about to leave, was rubbing his side
+      against her leg. Going out under the porch with her, he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He'll get you up in an hour and a quarter. Take this for your protegees,&rdquo;
+       and he slipped a cheque for fifty pounds into her hand. He saw her
+      brightened eyes, and heard her murmur: &ldquo;Oh! Uncle Jolyon!&rdquo; and a real
+      throb of pleasure went through him. That meant one or two poor creatures
+      helped a little, and it meant that she would come again. He put his hand
+      in at the window and grasped hers once more. The carriage rolled away. He
+      stood looking at the moon and the shadows of the trees, and thought: 'A
+      sweet night! She...!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      II
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Two days of rain, and summer set in bland and sunny. Old Jolyon walked and
+      talked with Holly. At first he felt taller and full of a new vigour; then
+      he felt restless. Almost every afternoon they would enter the coppice, and
+      walk as far as the log. 'Well, she's not there!' he would think, 'of
+      course not!' And he would feel a little shorter, and drag his feet walking
+      up the hill home, with his hand clapped to his left side. Now and then the
+      thought would move in him: 'Did she come&mdash;or did I dream it?' and he
+      would stare at space, while the dog Balthasar stared at him. Of course she
+      would not come again! He opened the letters from Spain with less
+      excitement. They were not returning till July; he felt, oddly, that he
+      could bear it. Every day at dinner he screwed up his eyes and looked at
+      where she had sat. She was not there, so he unscrewed his eyes again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the seventh afternoon he thought: 'I must go up and get some boots.' He
+      ordered Beacon, and set out. Passing from Putney towards Hyde Park he
+      reflected: 'I might as well go to Chelsea and see her.' And he called out:
+      &ldquo;Just drive me to where you took that lady the other night.&rdquo; The coachman
+      turned his broad red face, and his juicy lips answered: &ldquo;The lady in grey,
+      sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, the lady in grey.&rdquo; What other ladies were there! Stodgy chap!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The carriage stopped before a small three-storied block of flats, standing
+      a little back from the river. With a practised eye old Jolyon saw that
+      they were cheap. 'I should think about sixty pound a year,' he mused; and
+      entering, he looked at the name-board. The name 'Forsyte' was not on it,
+      but against 'First Floor, Flat C' were the words: 'Mrs. Irene Heron.' Ah!
+      She had taken her maiden name again! And somehow this pleased him. He went
+      upstairs slowly, feeling his side a little. He stood a moment, before
+      ringing, to lose the feeling of drag and fluttering there. She would not
+      be in! And then&mdash;Boots! The thought was black. What did he want with
+      boots at his age? He could not wear out all those he had.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your mistress at home?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say Mr. Jolyon Forsyte.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir, will you come this way?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Jolyon followed a very little maid&mdash;not more than sixteen one
+      would say&mdash;into a very small drawing-room where the sun-blinds were
+      drawn. It held a cottage piano and little else save a vague fragrance and
+      good taste. He stood in the middle, with his top hat in his hand, and
+      thought: 'I expect she's very badly off!' There was a mirror above the
+      fireplace, and he saw himself reflected. An old-looking chap! He heard a
+      rustle, and turned round. She was so close that his moustache almost
+      brushed her forehead, just under her hair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was driving up,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Thought I'd look in on you, and ask you how
+      you got up the other night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And, seeing her smile, he felt suddenly relieved. She was really glad to
+      see him, perhaps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you like to put on your hat and come for a drive in the Park?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But while she was gone to put her hat on, he frowned. The Park! James and
+      Emily! Mrs. Nicholas, or some other member of his precious family would be
+      there very likely, prancing up and down. And they would go and wag their
+      tongues about having seen him with her, afterwards. Better not! He did not
+      wish to revive the echoes of the past on Forsyte 'Change. He removed a
+      white hair from the lapel of his closely-buttoned-up frock coat, and
+      passed his hand over his cheeks, moustache, and square chin. It felt very
+      hollow there under the cheekbones. He had not been eating much lately&mdash;he
+      had better get that little whippersnapper who attended Holly to give him a
+      tonic. But she had come back and when they were in the carriage, he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose we go and sit in Kensington Gardens instead?&rdquo; and added with a
+      twinkle: &ldquo;No prancing up and down there,&rdquo; as if she had been in the secret
+      of his thoughts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Leaving the carriage, they entered those select precincts, and strolled
+      towards the water.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've gone back to your maiden name, I see,&rdquo; he said: &ldquo;I'm not sorry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She slipped her hand under his arm: &ldquo;Has June forgiven me, Uncle Jolyon?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He answered gently: &ldquo;Yes&mdash;yes; of course, why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And have you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I? I forgave you as soon as I saw how the land really lay.&rdquo; And perhaps
+      he had; his instinct had always been to forgive the beautiful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She drew a deep breath. &ldquo;I never regretted&mdash;I couldn't. Did you ever
+      love very deeply, Uncle Jolyon?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At that strange question old Jolyon stared before him. Had he? He did not
+      seem to remember that he ever had. But he did not like to say this to the
+      young woman whose hand was touching his arm, whose life was suspended, as
+      it were, by memory of a tragic love. And he thought: 'If I had met you
+      when I was young I&mdash;I might have made a fool of myself, perhaps.' And
+      a longing to escape in generalities beset him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Love's a queer thing,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;fatal thing often. It was the Greeks&mdash;wasn't
+      it?&mdash;made love into a goddess; they were right, I dare say, but then
+      they lived in the Golden Age.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Phil adored them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Phil! The word jarred him, for suddenly&mdash;with his power to see all
+      round a thing, he perceived why she was putting up with him like this. She
+      wanted to talk about her lover! Well! If it was any pleasure to her! And
+      he said: &ldquo;Ah! There was a bit of the sculptor in him, I fancy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. He loved balance and symmetry; he loved the whole-hearted way the
+      Greeks gave themselves to art.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Balance! The chap had no balance at all, if he remembered; as for symmetry&mdash;clean-built
+      enough he was, no doubt; but those queer eyes of his, and high cheek-bones&mdash;Symmetry?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're of the Golden Age, too, Uncle Jolyon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Jolyon looked round at her. Was she chaffing him? No, her eyes were
+      soft as velvet. Was she flattering him? But if so, why? There was nothing
+      to be had out of an old chap like him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Phil thought so. He used to say: 'But I can never tell him that I admire
+      him.'.rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah! There it was again. Her dead lover; her desire to talk of him! And he
+      pressed her arm, half resentful of those memories, half grateful, as if he
+      recognised what a link they were between herself and him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He was a very talented young fellow,&rdquo; he murmured. &ldquo;It's hot; I feel the
+      heat nowadays. Let's sit down.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They took two chairs beneath a chestnut tree whose broad leaves covered
+      them from the peaceful glory of the afternoon. A pleasure to sit there and
+      watch her, and feel that she liked to be with him. And the wish to
+      increase that liking, if he could, made him go on:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I expect he showed you a side of him I never saw. He'd be at his best
+      with you. His ideas of art were a little new&mdash;to me &ldquo;&mdash;he had
+      stiffed the word 'fangled.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes: but he used to say you had a real sense of beauty.&rdquo; Old Jolyon
+      thought: 'The devil he did!' but answered with a twinkle: &ldquo;Well, I have,
+      or I shouldn't be sitting here with you.&rdquo; She was fascinating when she
+      smiled with her eyes, like that!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He thought you had one of those hearts that never grow old. Phil had real
+      insight.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was not taken in by this flattery spoken out of the past, out of a
+      longing to talk of her dead lover&mdash;not a bit; and yet it was precious
+      to hear, because she pleased his eyes and heart which&mdash;quite true!&mdash;had
+      never grown old. Was that because&mdash;unlike her and her dead lover, he
+      had never loved to desperation, had always kept his balance, his sense of
+      symmetry. Well! It had left him power, at eighty-four, to admire beauty.
+      And he thought, 'If I were a painter or a sculptor! But I'm an old chap.
+      Make hay while the sun shines.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A couple with arms entwined crossed on the grass before them, at the edge
+      of the shadow from their tree. The sunlight fell cruelly on their pale,
+      squashed, unkempt young faces. &ldquo;We're an ugly lot!&rdquo; said old Jolyon
+      suddenly. &ldquo;It amazes me to see how&mdash;love triumphs over that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Love triumphs over everything!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The young think so,&rdquo; he muttered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Love has no age, no limit, and no death.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With that glow in her pale face, her breast heaving, her eyes so large and
+      dark and soft, she looked like Venus come to life! But this extravagance
+      brought instant reaction, and, twinkling, he said: &ldquo;Well, if it had
+      limits, we shouldn't be born; for by George! it's got a lot to put up
+      with.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, removing his top hat, he brushed it round with a cuff. The great
+      clumsy thing heated his forehead; in these days he often got a rush of
+      blood to the head&mdash;his circulation was not what it had been.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She still sat gazing straight before her, and suddenly she murmured:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's strange enough that I'm alive.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Those words of Jo's 'Wild and lost' came back to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; he said: &ldquo;my son saw you for a moment&mdash;that day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Was it your son? I heard a voice in the hall; I thought for a second it
+      was&mdash;Phil.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Jolyon saw her lips tremble. She put her hand over them, took it away
+      again, and went on calmly: &ldquo;That night I went to the Embankment; a woman
+      caught me by the dress. She told me about herself. When one knows that
+      others suffer, one's ashamed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One of those?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She nodded, and horror stirred within old Jolyon, the horror of one who
+      has never known a struggle with desperation. Almost against his will he
+      muttered: &ldquo;Tell me, won't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn't care whether I lived or died. When you're like that, Fate ceases
+      to want to kill you. She took care of me three days&mdash;she never left
+      me. I had no money. That's why I do what I can for them, now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But old Jolyon was thinking: 'No money!' What fate could compare with
+      that? Every other was involved in it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish you had come to me,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Why didn't you?&rdquo; But Irene did not
+      answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because my name was Forsyte, I suppose? Or was it June who kept you away?
+      How are you getting on now?&rdquo; His eyes involuntarily swept her body.
+      Perhaps even now she was&mdash;! And yet she wasn't thin&mdash;not really!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! with my fifty pounds a year, I make just enough.&rdquo; The answer did not
+      reassure him; he had lost confidence. And that fellow Soames! But his
+      sense of justice stifled condemnation. No, she would certainly have died
+      rather than take another penny from him. Soft as she looked, there must be
+      strength in her somewhere&mdash;strength and fidelity. But what business
+      had young Bosinney to have got run over and left her stranded like this!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you must come to me now,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;for anything you want, or I
+      shall be quite cut up.&rdquo; And putting on his hat, he rose. &ldquo;Let's go and get
+      some tea. I told that lazy chap to put the horses up for an hour, and come
+      for me at your place. We'll take a cab presently; I can't walk as I used
+      to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He enjoyed that stroll to the Kensington end of the gardens&mdash;the
+      sound of her voice, the glancing of her eyes, the subtle beauty of a
+      charming form moving beside him. He enjoyed their tea at Ruffel's in the
+      High Street, and came out thence with a great box of chocolates swung on
+      his little finger. He enjoyed the drive back to Chelsea in a hansom,
+      smoking his cigar. She had promised to come down next Sunday and play to
+      him again, and already in thought he was plucking carnations and early
+      roses for her to carry back to town. It was a pleasure to give her a
+      little pleasure, if it WERE pleasure from an old chap like him! The
+      carriage was already there when they arrived. Just like that fellow, who
+      was always late when he was wanted! Old Jolyon went in for a minute to say
+      good-bye. The little dark hall of the flat was impregnated with a
+      disagreeable odour of patchouli, and on a bench against the wall&mdash;its
+      only furniture&mdash;he saw a figure sitting. He heard Irene say softly:
+      &ldquo;Just one minute.&rdquo; In the little drawing-room when the door was shut, he
+      asked gravely: &ldquo;One of your protegees?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Now thanks to you, I can do something for her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood, staring, and stroking that chin whose strength had frightened so
+      many in its time. The idea of her thus actually in contact with this
+      outcast grieved and frightened him. What could she do for them? Nothing.
+      Only soil and make trouble for herself, perhaps. And he said: &ldquo;Take care,
+      my dear! The world puts the worst construction on everything.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was abashed by her quiet smile. &ldquo;Well then&mdash;Sunday,&rdquo; he murmured:
+      &ldquo;Good-bye.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She put her cheek forward for him to kiss.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-bye,&rdquo; he said again; &ldquo;take care of yourself.&rdquo; And he went out, not
+      looking towards the figure on the bench. He drove home by way of
+      Hammersmith; that he might stop at a place he knew of and tell them to
+      send her in two dozen of their best Burgundy. She must want picking-up
+      sometimes! Only in Richmond Park did he remember that he had gone up to
+      order himself some boots, and was surprised that he could have had so
+      paltry an idea.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      III
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The little spirits of the past which throng an old man's days had never
+      pushed their faces up to his so seldom as in the seventy hours elapsing
+      before Sunday came. The spirit of the future, with the charm of the
+      unknown, put up her lips instead. Old Jolyon was not restless now, and
+      paid no visits to the log, because she was coming to lunch. There is
+      wonderful finality about a meal; it removes a world of doubts, for no one
+      misses meals except for reasons beyond control. He played many games with
+      Holly on the lawn, pitching them up to her who was batting so as to be
+      ready to bowl to Jolly in the holidays. For she was not a Forsyte, but
+      Jolly was&mdash;and Forsytes always bat, until they have resigned and
+      reached the age of eighty-five. The dog Balthasar, in attendance, lay on
+      the ball as often as he could, and the page-boy fielded, till his face was
+      like the harvest moon. And because the time was getting shorter, each day
+      was longer and more golden than the last. On Friday night he took a liver
+      pill, his side hurt him rather, and though it was not the liver side,
+      there is no remedy like that. Anyone telling him that he had found a new
+      excitement in life and that excitement was not good for him, would have
+      been met by one of those steady and rather defiant looks of his deep-set
+      iron-grey eyes, which seemed to say: 'I know my own business best.' He
+      always had and always would.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On Sunday morning, when Holly had gone with her governess to church, he
+      visited the strawberry beds. There, accompanied by the dog Balthasar, he
+      examined the plants narrowly and succeeded in finding at least two dozen
+      berries which were really ripe. Stooping was not good for him, and he
+      became very dizzy and red in the forehead. Having placed the strawberries
+      in a dish on the dining-table, he washed his hands and bathed his forehead
+      with eau de Cologne. There, before the mirror, it occurred to him that he
+      was thinner. What a 'threadpaper' he had been when he was young! It was
+      nice to be slim&mdash;he could not bear a fat chap; and yet perhaps his
+      cheeks were too thin! She was to arrive by train at half-past twelve and
+      walk up, entering from the road past Drage's farm at the far end of the
+      coppice. And, having looked into June's room to see that there was hot
+      water ready, he set forth to meet her, leisurely, for his heart was
+      beating. The air smelled sweet, larks sang, and the Grand Stand at Epsom
+      was visible. A perfect day! On just such a one, no doubt, six years ago,
+      Soames had brought young Bosinney down with him to look at the site before
+      they began to build. It was Bosinney who had pitched on the exact spot for
+      the house&mdash;as June had often told him. In these days he was thinking
+      much about that young fellow, as if his spirit were really haunting the
+      field of his last work, on the chance of seeing&mdash;her. Bosinney&mdash;the
+      one man who had possessed her heart, to whom she had given her whole self
+      with rapture! At his age one could not, of course, imagine such things,
+      but there stirred in him a queer vague aching&mdash;as it were the ghost
+      of an impersonal jealousy; and a feeling, too, more generous, of pity for
+      that love so early lost. All over in a few poor months! Well, well! He
+      looked at his watch before entering the coppice&mdash;only a quarter past,
+      twenty-five minutes to wait! And then, turning the corner of the path, he
+      saw her exactly where he had seen her the first time, on the log; and
+      realised that she must have come by the earlier train to sit there alone
+      for a couple of hours at least. Two hours of her society missed! What
+      memory could make that log so dear to her? His face showed what he was
+      thinking, for she said at once:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Forgive me, Uncle Jolyon; it was here that I first knew.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes; there it is for you whenever you like. You're looking a little
+      Londony; you're giving too many lessons.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That she should have to give lessons worried him. Lessons to a parcel of
+      young girls thumping out scales with their thick fingers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where do you go to give them?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They're mostly Jewish families, luckily.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Jolyon stared; to all Forsytes Jews seem strange and doubtful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They love music, and they're very kind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They had better be, by George!&rdquo; He took her arm&mdash;his side always
+      hurt him a little going uphill&mdash;and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you ever see anything like those buttercups? They came like that in a
+      night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her eyes seemed really to fly over the field, like bees after the flowers
+      and the honey. &ldquo;I wanted you to see them&mdash;wouldn't let them turn the
+      cows in yet.&rdquo; Then, remembering that she had come to talk about Bosinney,
+      he pointed to the clock-tower over the stables:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I expect he wouldn't have let me put that there&mdash;had no notion of
+      time, if I remember.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But, pressing his arm to her, she talked of flowers instead, and he knew
+      it was done that he might not feel she came because of her dead lover.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The best flower I can show you,&rdquo; he said, with a sort of triumph, &ldquo;is my
+      little sweet. She'll be back from Church directly. There's something about
+      her which reminds me a little of you,&rdquo; and it did not seem to him peculiar
+      that he had put it thus, instead of saying: &ldquo;There's something about you
+      which reminds me a little of her.&rdquo; Ah! And here she was!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Holly, followed closely by her elderly French governess, whose digestion
+      had been ruined twenty-two years ago in the siege of Strasbourg, came
+      rushing towards them from under the oak tree. She stopped about a dozen
+      yards away, to pat Balthasar and pretend that this was all she had in her
+      mind. Old Jolyon, who knew better, said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, my darling, here's the lady in grey I promised you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Holly raised herself and looked up. He watched the two of them with a
+      twinkle, Irene smiling, Holly beginning with grave inquiry, passing into a
+      shy smile too, and then to something deeper. She had a sense of beauty,
+      that child&mdash;knew what was what! He enjoyed the sight of the kiss
+      between them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Heron, Mam'zelle Beauce. Well, Mam'zelle&mdash;good sermon?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For, now that he had not much more time before him, the only part of the
+      service connected with this world absorbed what interest in church
+      remained to him. Mam'zelle Beauce stretched out a spidery hand clad in a
+      black kid glove&mdash;she had been in the best families&mdash;and the
+      rather sad eyes of her lean yellowish face seemed to ask: &ldquo;Are you
+      well-brrred?&rdquo; Whenever Holly or Jolly did anything unpleasing to her&mdash;a
+      not uncommon occurrence&mdash;she would say to them: &ldquo;The little Tayleurs
+      never did that&mdash;they were such well-brrred little children.&rdquo; Jolly
+      hated the little Tayleurs; Holly wondered dreadfully how it was she fell
+      so short of them. 'A thin rum little soul,' old Jolyon thought her&mdash;Mam'zelle
+      Beauce.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Luncheon was a successful meal, the mushrooms which he himself had picked
+      in the mushroom house, his chosen strawberries, and another bottle of the
+      Steinberg cabinet filled him with a certain aromatic spirituality, and a
+      conviction that he would have a touch of eczema to-morrow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After lunch they sat under the oak tree drinking Turkish coffee. It was no
+      matter of grief to him when Mademoiselle Beauce withdrew to write her
+      Sunday letter to her sister, whose future had been endangered in the past
+      by swallowing a pin&mdash;an event held up daily in warning to the
+      children to eat slowly and digest what they had eaten. At the foot of the
+      bank, on a carriage rug, Holly and the dog Balthasar teased and loved each
+      other, and in the shade old Jolyon with his legs crossed and his cigar
+      luxuriously savoured, gazed at Irene sitting in the swing. A light,
+      vaguely swaying, grey figure with a fleck of sunlight here and there upon
+      it, lips just opened, eyes dark and soft under lids a little drooped. She
+      looked content; surely it did her good to come and see him! The
+      selfishness of age had not set its proper grip on him, for he could still
+      feel pleasure in the pleasure of others, realising that what he wanted,
+      though much, was not quite all that mattered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's quiet here,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;you mustn't come down if you find it dull.
+      But it's a pleasure to see you. My little sweet is the only face which
+      gives me any pleasure, except yours.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      From her smile he knew that she was not beyond liking to be appreciated,
+      and this reassured him. &ldquo;That's not humbug,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I never told a
+      woman I admired her when I didn't. In fact I don't know when I've told a
+      woman I admired her, except my wife in the old days; and wives are funny.&rdquo;
+       He was silent, but resumed abruptly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She used to expect me to say it more often than I felt it, and there we
+      were.&rdquo; Her face looked mysteriously troubled, and, afraid that he had said
+      something painful, he hurried on: &ldquo;When my little sweet marries, I hope
+      she'll find someone who knows what women feel. I shan't be here to see it,
+      but there's too much topsy-turvydom in marriage; I don't want her to pitch
+      up against that.&rdquo; And, aware that he had made bad worse, he added: &ldquo;That
+      dog will scratch.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A silence followed. Of what was she thinking, this pretty creature whose
+      life was spoiled; who had done with love, and yet was made for love? Some
+      day when he was gone, perhaps, she would find another mate&mdash;not so
+      disorderly as that young fellow who had got himself run over. Ah! but her
+      husband?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does Soames never trouble you?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She shook her head. Her face had closed up suddenly. For all her softness
+      there was something irreconcilable about her. And a glimpse of light on
+      the inexorable nature of sex antipathies strayed into a brain which,
+      belonging to early Victorian civilisation&mdash;so much older than this of
+      his old age&mdash;had never thought about such primitive things.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's a comfort,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You can see the Grand Stand to-day. Shall we
+      take a turn round?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Through the flower and fruit garden, against whose high outer walls peach
+      trees and nectarines were trained to the sun, through the stables, the
+      vinery, the mushroom house, the asparagus beds, the rosery, the
+      summer-house, he conducted her&mdash;even into the kitchen garden to see
+      the tiny green peas which Holly loved to scoop out of their pods with her
+      finger, and lick up from the palm of her little brown hand. Many
+      delightful things he showed her, while Holly and the dog Balthasar danced
+      ahead, or came to them at intervals for attention. It was one of the
+      happiest afternoons he had ever spent, but it tired him and he was glad to
+      sit down in the music room and let her give him tea. A special little
+      friend of Holly's had come in&mdash;a fair child with short hair like a
+      boy's. And the two sported in the distance, under the stairs, on the
+      stairs, and up in the gallery. Old Jolyon begged for Chopin. She played
+      studies, mazurkas, waltzes, till the two children, creeping near, stood at
+      the foot of the piano their dark and golden heads bent forward, listening.
+      Old Jolyon watched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let's see you dance, you two!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Shyly, with a false start, they began. Bobbing and circling, earnest, not
+      very adroit, they went past and past his chair to the strains of that
+      waltz. He watched them and the face of her who was playing turned smiling
+      towards those little dancers thinking:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      'Sweetest picture I've seen for ages.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A voice said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hollee! Mais enfin&mdash;qu'est-ce que tu fais la&mdash;danser, le
+      dimanche! Viens, donc!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But the children came close to old Jolyon, knowing that he would save
+      them, and gazed into a face which was decidedly 'caught out.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Better the day, better the deed, Mam'zelle. It's all my doing. Trot
+      along, chicks, and have your tea.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And, when they were gone, followed by the dog Balthasar, who took every
+      meal, he looked at Irene with a twinkle and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, there we are! Aren't they sweet? Have you any little ones among
+      your pupils?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, three&mdash;two of them darlings.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pretty?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lovely!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Jolyon sighed; he had an insatiable appetite for the very young. &ldquo;My
+      little sweet,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;is devoted to music; she'll be a musician some
+      day. You wouldn't give me your opinion of her playing, I suppose?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course I will.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You wouldn't like&mdash;&rdquo; but he stifled the words &ldquo;to give her lessons.&rdquo;
+       The idea that she gave lessons was unpleasant to him; yet it would mean
+      that he would see her regularly. She left the piano and came over to his
+      chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I would like, very much; but there is&mdash;June. When are they coming
+      back?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Jolyon frowned. &ldquo;Not till the middle of next month. What does that
+      matter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You said June had forgiven me; but she could never forget, Uncle Jolyon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Forget! She must forget, if he wanted her to.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But as if answering, Irene shook her head. &ldquo;You know she couldn't; one
+      doesn't forget.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Always that wretched past! And he said with a sort of vexed finality:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, we shall see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He talked to her an hour or more, of the children, and a hundred little
+      things, till the carriage came round to take her home. And when she had
+      gone he went back to his chair, and sat there smoothing his face and chin,
+      dreaming over the day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That evening after dinner he went to his study and took a sheet of paper.
+      He stayed for some minutes without writing, then rose and stood under the
+      masterpiece 'Dutch Fishing Boats at Sunset.' He was not thinking of that
+      picture, but of his life. He was going to leave her something in his Will;
+      nothing could so have stirred the stilly deeps of thought and memory. He
+      was going to leave her a portion of his wealth, of his aspirations, deeds,
+      qualities, work&mdash;all that had made that wealth; going to leave her,
+      too, a part of all he had missed in life, by his sane and steady pursuit
+      of wealth. All! What had he missed? 'Dutch Fishing Boats' responded
+      blankly; he crossed to the French window, and drawing the curtain aside,
+      opened it. A wind had got up, and one of last year's oak leaves which had
+      somehow survived the gardener's brooms, was dragging itself with a tiny
+      clicking rustle along the stone terrace in the twilight. Except for that
+      it was very quiet out there, and he could smell the heliotrope watered not
+      long since. A bat went by. A bird uttered its last 'cheep.' And right
+      above the oak tree the first star shone. Faust in the opera had bartered
+      his soul for some fresh years of youth. Morbid notion! No such bargain was
+      possible, that was real tragedy! No making oneself new again for love or
+      life or anything. Nothing left to do but enjoy beauty from afar off while
+      you could, and leave it something in your Will. But how much? And, as if
+      he could not make that calculation looking out into the mild freedom of
+      the country night, he turned back and went up to the chimney-piece. There
+      were his pet bronzes&mdash;a Cleopatra with the asp at her breast; a
+      Socrates; a greyhound playing with her puppy; a strong man reining in some
+      horses. 'They last!' he thought, and a pang went through his heart. They
+      had a thousand years of life before them!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      'How much?' Well! enough at all events to save her getting old before her
+      time, to keep the lines out of her face as long as possible, and grey from
+      soiling that bright hair. He might live another five years. She would be
+      well over thirty by then. 'How much?' She had none of his blood in her! In
+      loyalty to the tenor of his life for forty years and more, ever since he
+      married and founded that mysterious thing, a family, came this warning
+      thought&mdash;None of his blood, no right to anything! It was a luxury
+      then, this notion. An extravagance, a petting of an old man's whim, one of
+      those things done in dotage. His real future was vested in those who had
+      his blood, in whom he would live on when he was gone. He turned away from
+      the bronzes and stood looking at the old leather chair in which he had sat
+      and smoked so many hundreds of cigars. And suddenly he seemed to see her
+      sitting there in her grey dress, fragrant, soft, dark-eyed, graceful,
+      looking up at him. Why! She cared nothing for him, really; all she cared
+      for was that lost lover of hers. But she was there, whether she would or
+      no, giving him pleasure with her beauty and grace. One had no right to
+      inflict an old man's company, no right to ask her down to play to him and
+      let him look at her&mdash;for no reward! Pleasure must be paid for in this
+      world. 'How much?' After all, there was plenty; his son and his three
+      grandchildren would never miss that little lump. He had made it himself,
+      nearly every penny; he could leave it where he liked, allow himself this
+      little pleasure. He went back to the bureau. 'Well, I'm going to,' he
+      thought, 'let them think what they like. I'm going to!' And he sat down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      'How much?' Ten thousand, twenty thousand&mdash;how much? If only with his
+      money he could buy one year, one month of youth. And startled by that
+      thought, he wrote quickly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      'DEAR HERRING,&mdash;Draw me a codicil to this effect: &ldquo;I leave to my
+      niece Irene Forsyte, born Irene Heron, by which name she now goes, fifteen
+      thousand pounds free of legacy duty.&rdquo; 'Yours faithfully, 'JOLYON FORSYTE.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he had sealed and stamped the envelope, he went back to the window
+      and drew in a long breath. It was dark, but many stars shone now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      IV
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      He woke at half-past two, an hour which long experience had taught him
+      brings panic intensity to all awkward thoughts. Experience had also taught
+      him that a further waking at the proper hour of eight showed the folly of
+      such panic. On this particular morning the thought which gathered rapid
+      momentum was that if he became ill, at his age not improbable, he would
+      not see her. From this it was but a step to realisation that he would be
+      cut off, too, when his son and June returned from Spain. How could he
+      justify desire for the company of one who had stolen&mdash;early morning
+      does not mince words&mdash;June's lover? That lover was dead; but June was
+      a stubborn little thing; warm-hearted, but stubborn as wood, and&mdash;quite
+      true&mdash;not one who forgot! By the middle of next month they would be
+      back. He had barely five weeks left to enjoy the new interest which had
+      come into what remained of his life. Darkness showed up to him absurdly
+      clear the nature of his feeling. Admiration for beauty&mdash;a craving to
+      see that which delighted his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Preposterous, at his age! And yet&mdash;what other reason was there for
+      asking June to undergo such painful reminder, and how prevent his son and
+      his son's wife from thinking him very queer? He would be reduced to
+      sneaking up to London, which tired him; and the least indisposition would
+      cut him off even from that. He lay with eyes open, setting his jaw against
+      the prospect, and calling himself an old fool, while his heart beat
+      loudly, and then seemed to stop beating altogether. He had seen the dawn
+      lighting the window chinks, heard the birds chirp and twitter, and the
+      cocks crow, before he fell asleep again, and awoke tired but sane. Five
+      weeks before he need bother, at his age an eternity! But that early
+      morning panic had left its mark, had slightly fevered the will of one who
+      had always had his own way. He would see her as often as he wished! Why
+      not go up to town and make that codicil at his solicitor's instead of
+      writing about it; she might like to go to the opera! But, by train, for he
+      would not have that fat chap Beacon grinning behind his back. Servants
+      were such fools; and, as likely as not, they had known all the past
+      history of Irene and young Bosinney&mdash;servants knew everything, and
+      suspected the rest. He wrote to her that morning:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;MY DEAR IRENE,&mdash;I have to be up in town to-morrow. If you would like
+      to have a look in at the opera, come and dine with me quietly ....&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But where? It was decades since he had dined anywhere in London save at
+      his Club or at a private house. Ah! that new-fangled place close to Covent
+      Garden....
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let me have a line to-morrow morning to the Piedmont Hotel whether to
+      expect you there at 7 o'clock.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yours affectionately,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;JOLYON FORSYTE.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She would understand that he just wanted to give her a little pleasure;
+      for the idea that she should guess he had this itch to see her was
+      instinctively unpleasant to him; it was not seemly that one so old should
+      go out of his way to see beauty, especially in a woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The journey next day, short though it was, and the visit to his lawyer's,
+      tired him. It was hot too, and after dressing for dinner he lay down on
+      the sofa in his bedroom to rest a little. He must have had a sort of
+      fainting fit, for he came to himself feeling very queer; and with some
+      difficulty rose and rang the bell. Why! it was past seven! And there he
+      was and she would be waiting. But suddenly the dizziness came on again,
+      and he was obliged to relapse on the sofa. He heard the maid's voice say:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you ring, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, come here&rdquo;; he could not see her clearly, for the cloud in front of
+      his eyes. &ldquo;I'm not well, I want some sal volatile.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo; Her voice sounded frightened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Jolyon made an effort.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't go. Take this message to my niece&mdash;a lady waiting in the hall&mdash;a
+      lady in grey. Say Mr. Forsyte is not well&mdash;the heat. He is very
+      sorry; if he is not down directly, she is not to wait dinner.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When she was gone, he thought feebly: 'Why did I say a lady in grey&mdash;she
+      may be in anything. Sal volatile!' He did not go off again, yet was not
+      conscious of how Irene came to be standing beside him, holding smelling
+      salts to his nose, and pushing a pillow up behind his head. He heard her
+      say anxiously: &ldquo;Dear Uncle Jolyon, what is it?&rdquo; was dimly conscious of the
+      soft pressure of her lips on his hand; then drew a long breath of smelling
+      salts, suddenly discovered strength in them, and sneezed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ha!&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;it's nothing. How did you get here? Go down and dine&mdash;the
+      tickets are on the dressing-table. I shall be all right in a minute.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He felt her cool hand on his forehead, smelled violets, and sat divided
+      between a sort of pleasure and a determination to be all right.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why! You are in grey!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Help me up.&rdquo; Once on his feet he gave
+      himself a shake.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What business had I to go off like that!&rdquo; And he moved very slowly to the
+      glass. What a cadaverous chap! Her voice, behind him, murmured:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mustn't come down, Uncle; you must rest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fiddlesticks! A glass of champagne'll soon set me to rights. I can't have
+      you missing the opera.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But the journey down the corridor was troublesome. What carpets they had
+      in these newfangled places, so thick that you tripped up in them at every
+      step! In the lift he noticed how concerned she looked, and said with the
+      ghost of a twinkle:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm a pretty host.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When the lift stopped he had to hold firmly to the seat to prevent its
+      slipping under him; but after soup and a glass of champagne he felt much
+      better, and began to enjoy an infirmity which had brought such solicitude
+      into her manner towards him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should have liked you for a daughter,&rdquo; he said suddenly; and watching
+      the smile in her eyes, went on:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mustn't get wrapped up in the past at your time of life; plenty of
+      that when you get to my age. That's a nice dress&mdash;I like the style.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I made it myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah! A woman who could make herself a pretty frock had not lost her
+      interest in life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Make hay while the sun shines,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;and drink that up. I want to
+      see some colour in your cheeks. We mustn't waste life; it doesn't do.
+      There's a new Marguerite to-night; let's hope she won't be fat. And
+      Mephisto&mdash;anything more dreadful than a fat chap playing the Devil I
+      can't imagine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But they did not go to the opera after all, for in getting up from dinner
+      the dizziness came over him again, and she insisted on his staying quiet
+      and going to bed early. When he parted from her at the door of the hotel,
+      having paid the cabman to drive her to Chelsea, he sat down again for a
+      moment to enjoy the memory of her words: &ldquo;You are such a darling to me,
+      Uncle Jolyon!&rdquo; Why! Who wouldn't be! He would have liked to stay up
+      another day and take her to the Zoo, but two days running of him would
+      bore her to death. No, he must wait till next Sunday; she had promised to
+      come then. They would settle those lessons for Holly, if only for a month.
+      It would be something. That little Mam'zelle Beauce wouldn't like it, but
+      she would have to lump it. And crushing his old opera hat against his
+      chest he sought the lift.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He drove to Waterloo next morning, struggling with a desire to say: 'Drive
+      me to Chelsea.' But his sense of proportion was too strong. Besides, he
+      still felt shaky, and did not want to risk another aberration like that of
+      last night, away from home. Holly, too, was expecting him, and what he had
+      in his bag for her. Not that there was any cupboard love in his little
+      sweet&mdash;she was a bundle of affection. Then, with the rather bitter
+      cynicism of the old, he wondered for a second whether it was not cupboard
+      love which made Irene put up with him. No, she was not that sort either.
+      She had, if anything, too little notion of how to butter her bread, no
+      sense of property, poor thing! Besides, he had not breathed a word about
+      that codicil, nor should he&mdash;sufficient unto the day was the good
+      thereof.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the victoria which met him at the station Holly was restraining the dog
+      Balthasar, and their caresses made 'jubey' his drive home. All the rest of
+      that fine hot day and most of the next he was content and peaceful,
+      reposing in the shade, while the long lingering sunshine showered gold on
+      the lawns and the flowers. But on Thursday evening at his lonely dinner he
+      began to count the hours; sixty-five till he would go down to meet her
+      again in the little coppice, and walk up through the fields at her side.
+      He had intended to consult the doctor about his fainting fit, but the
+      fellow would be sure to insist on quiet, no excitement and all that; and
+      he did not mean to be tied by the leg, did not want to be told of an
+      infirmity&mdash;if there were one, could not afford to hear of it at his
+      time of life, now that this new interest had come. And he carefully
+      avoided making any mention of it in a letter to his son. It would only
+      bring them back with a run! How far this silence was due to consideration
+      for their pleasure, how far to regard for his own, he did not pause to
+      consider.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That night in his study he had just finished his cigar and was dozing off,
+      when he heard the rustle of a gown, and was conscious of a scent of
+      violets. Opening his eyes he saw her, dressed in grey, standing by the
+      fireplace, holding out her arms. The odd thing was that, though those arms
+      seemed to hold nothing, they were curved as if round someone's neck, and
+      her own neck was bent back, her lips open, her eyes closed. She vanished
+      at once, and there were the mantelpiece and his bronzes. But those bronzes
+      and the mantelpiece had not been there when she was, only the fireplace
+      and the wall! Shaken and troubled, he got up. 'I must take medicine,' he
+      thought; 'I can't be well.' His heart beat too fast, he had an asthmatic
+      feeling in the chest; and going to the window, he opened it to get some
+      air. A dog was barking far away, one of the dogs at Gage's farm no doubt,
+      beyond the coppice. A beautiful still night, but dark. 'I dropped off,' he
+      mused, 'that's it! And yet I'll swear my eyes were open!' A sound like a
+      sigh seemed to answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's that?&rdquo; he said sharply, &ldquo;who's there?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Putting his hand to his side to still the beating of his heart, he stepped
+      out on the terrace. Something soft scurried by in the dark. &ldquo;Shoo!&rdquo; It was
+      that great grey cat. 'Young Bosinney was like a great cat!' he thought.
+      'It was him in there, that she&mdash;that she was&mdash;He's got her
+      still!' He walked to the edge of the terrace, and looked down into the
+      darkness; he could just see the powdering of the daisies on the unmown
+      lawn. Here to-day and gone to-morrow! And there came the moon, who saw
+      all, young and old, alive and dead, and didn't care a dump! His own turn
+      soon. For a single day of youth he would give what was left! And he turned
+      again towards the house. He could see the windows of the night nursery up
+      there. His little sweet would be asleep. 'Hope that dog won't wake her!'
+      he thought. 'What is it makes us love, and makes us die! I must go to
+      bed.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And across the terrace stones, growing grey in the moonlight, he passed
+      back within.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How should an old man live his days if not in dreaming of his well-spent
+      past? In that, at all events, there is no agitating warmth, only pale
+      winter sunshine. The shell can withstand the gentle beating of the dynamos
+      of memory. The present he should distrust; the future shun. From beneath
+      thick shade he should watch the sunlight creeping at his toes. If there be
+      sun of summer, let him not go out into it, mistaking it for the
+      Indian-summer sun! Thus peradventure he shall decline softly, slowly,
+      imperceptibly, until impatient Nature clutches his wind-pipe and he gasps
+      away to death some early morning before the world is aired, and they put
+      on his tombstone: 'In the fulness of years!' yea! If he preserve his
+      principles in perfect order, a Forsyte may live on long after he is dead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Jolyon was conscious of all this, and yet there was in him that which
+      transcended Forsyteism. For it is written that a Forsyte shall not love
+      beauty more than reason; nor his own way more than his own health. And
+      something beat within him in these days that with each throb fretted at
+      the thinning shell. His sagacity knew this, but it knew too that he could
+      not stop that beating, nor would if he could. And yet, if you had told him
+      he was living on his capital, he would have stared you down. No, no; a man
+      did not live on his capital; it was not done! The shibboleths of the past
+      are ever more real than the actualities of the present. And he, to whom
+      living on one's capital had always been anathema, could not have borne to
+      have applied so gross a phrase to his own case. Pleasure is healthful;
+      beauty good to see; to live again in the youth of the young&mdash;and what
+      else on earth was he doing!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Methodically, as had been the way of his whole life, he now arranged his
+      time. On Tuesdays he journeyed up to town by train; Irene came and dined
+      with him. And they went to the opera. On Thursdays he drove to town, and,
+      putting that fat chap and his horses up, met her in Kensington Gardens,
+      picking up the carriage after he had left her, and driving home again in
+      time for dinner. He threw out the casual formula that he had business in
+      London on those two days. On Wednesdays and Saturdays she came down to
+      give Holly music lessons. The greater the pleasure he took in her society,
+      the more scrupulously fastidious he became, just a matter-of-fact and
+      friendly uncle. Not even in feeling, really, was he more&mdash;for, after
+      all, there was his age. And yet, if she were late he fidgeted himself to
+      death. If she missed coming, which happened twice, his eyes grew sad as an
+      old dog's, and he failed to sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And so a month went by&mdash;a month of summer in the fields, and in his
+      heart, with summer's heat and the fatigue thereof. Who could have believed
+      a few weeks back that he would have looked forward to his son's and his
+      grand-daughter's return with something like dread! There was such a
+      delicious freedom, such recovery of that independence a man enjoys before
+      he founds a family, about these weeks of lovely weather, and this new
+      companionship with one who demanded nothing, and remained always a little
+      unknown, retaining the fascination of mystery. It was like a draught of
+      wine to him who has been drinking water for so long that he has almost
+      forgotten the stir wine brings to his blood, the narcotic to his brain.
+      The flowers were coloured brighter, scents and music and the sunlight had
+      a living value&mdash;were no longer mere reminders of past enjoyment.
+      There was something now to live for which stirred him continually to
+      anticipation. He lived in that, not in retrospection; the difference is
+      considerable to any so old as he. The pleasures of the table, never of
+      much consequence to one naturally abstemious, had lost all value. He ate
+      little, without knowing what he ate; and every day grew thinner and more
+      worn to look at. He was again a 'threadpaper'. and to this thinned form
+      his massive forehead, with hollows at the temples, gave more dignity than
+      ever. He was very well aware that he ought to see the doctor, but liberty
+      was too sweet. He could not afford to pet his frequent shortness of breath
+      and the pain in his side at the expense of liberty. Return to the
+      vegetable existence he had led among the agricultural journals with the
+      life-size mangold wurzels, before this new attraction came into his life&mdash;no!
+      He exceeded his allowance of cigars. Two a day had always been his rule.
+      Now he smoked three and sometimes four&mdash;a man will when he is filled
+      with the creative spirit. But very often he thought: 'I must give up
+      smoking, and coffee; I must give up rattling up to town.' But he did not;
+      there was no one in any sort of authority to notice him, and this was a
+      priceless boon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The servants perhaps wondered, but they were, naturally, dumb. Mam'zelle
+      Beauce was too concerned with her own digestion, and too 'wellbrrred' to
+      make personal allusions. Holly had not as yet an eye for the relative
+      appearance of him who was her plaything and her god. It was left for Irene
+      herself to beg him to eat more, to rest in the hot part of the day, to
+      take a tonic, and so forth. But she did not tell him that she was the a
+      cause of his thinness&mdash;for one cannot see the havoc oneself is
+      working. A man of eighty-five has no passions, but the Beauty which
+      produces passion works on in the old way, till death closes the eyes which
+      crave the sight of Her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the first day of the second week in July he received a letter from his
+      son in Paris to say that they would all be back on Friday. This had always
+      been more sure than Fate; but, with the pathetic improvidence given to the
+      old, that they may endure to the end, he had never quite admitted it. Now
+      he did, and something would have to be done. He had ceased to be able to
+      imagine life without this new interest, but that which is not imagined
+      sometimes exists, as Forsytes are perpetually finding to their cost. He
+      sat in his old leather chair, doubling up the letter, and mumbling with
+      his lips the end of an unlighted cigar. After to-morrow his Tuesday
+      expeditions to town would have to be abandoned. He could still drive up,
+      perhaps, once a week, on the pretext of seeing his man of business. But
+      even that would be dependent on his health, for now they would begin to
+      fuss about him. The lessons! The lessons must go on! She must swallow down
+      her scruples, and June must put her feelings in her pocket. She had done
+      so once, on the day after the news of Bosinney's death; what she had done
+      then, she could surely do again now. Four years since that injury was
+      inflicted on her&mdash;not Christian to keep the memory of old sores
+      alive. June's will was strong, but his was stronger, for his sands were
+      running out. Irene was soft, surely she would do this for him, subdue her
+      natural shrinking, sooner than give him pain! The lessons must continue;
+      for if they did, he was secure. And lighting his cigar at last, he began
+      trying to shape out how to put it to them all, and explain this strange
+      intimacy; how to veil and wrap it away from the naked truth&mdash;that he
+      could not bear to be deprived of the sight of beauty. Ah! Holly! Holly was
+      fond of her, Holly liked her lessons. She would save him&mdash;his little
+      sweet! And with that happy thought he became serene, and wondered what he
+      had been worrying about so fearfully. He must not worry, it left him
+      always curiously weak, and as if but half present in his own body.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That evening after dinner he had a return of the dizziness, though he did
+      not faint. He would not ring the bell, because he knew it would mean a
+      fuss, and make his going up on the morrow more conspicuous. When one grew
+      old, the whole world was in conspiracy to limit freedom, and for what
+      reason?&mdash;just to keep the breath in him a little longer. He did not
+      want it at such cost. Only the dog Balthasar saw his lonely recovery from
+      that weakness; anxiously watched his master go to the sideboard and drink
+      some brandy, instead of giving him a biscuit. When at last old Jolyon felt
+      able to tackle the stairs he went up to bed. And, though still shaky next
+      morning, the thought of the evening sustained and strengthened him. It was
+      always such a pleasure to give her a good dinner&mdash;he suspected her of
+      undereating when she was alone; and, at the opera to watch her eyes glow
+      and brighten, the unconscious smiling of her lips. She hadn't much
+      pleasure, and this was the last time he would be able to give her that
+      treat. But when he was packing his bag he caught himself wishing that he
+      had not the fatigue of dressing for dinner before him, and the exertion,
+      too, of telling her about June's return.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The opera that evening was 'Carmen,' and he chose the last entr'acte to
+      break the news, instinctively putting it off till the latest moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She took it quietly, queerly; in fact, he did not know how she had taken
+      it before the wayward music lifted up again and silence became necessary.
+      The mask was down over her face, that mask behind which so much went on
+      that he could not see. She wanted time to think it over, no doubt! He
+      would not press her, for she would be coming to give her lesson to-morrow
+      afternoon, and he should see her then when she had got used to the idea.
+      In the cab he talked only of the Carmen; he had seen better in the old
+      days, but this one was not bad at all. When he took her hand to say
+      good-night, she bent quickly forward and kissed his forehead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-bye, dear Uncle Jolyon, you have been so sweet to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To-morrow then,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Good-night. Sleep well.&rdquo; She echoed softly:
+      &ldquo;Sleep well&rdquo; and from the cab window, already moving away, he saw her face
+      screwed round towards him, and her hand put out in a gesture which seemed
+      to linger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He sought his room slowly. They never gave him the same, and he could not
+      get used to these 'spick-and-spandy' bedrooms with new furniture and
+      grey-green carpets sprinkled all over with pink roses. He was wakeful and
+      that wretched Habanera kept throbbing in his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His French had never been equal to its words, but its sense he knew, if it
+      had any sense, a gipsy thing&mdash;wild and unaccountable. Well, there was
+      in life something which upset all your care and plans&mdash;something
+      which made men and women dance to its pipes. And he lay staring from
+      deep-sunk eyes into the darkness where the unaccountable held sway. You
+      thought you had hold of life, but it slipped away behind you, took you by
+      the scruff of the neck, forced you here and forced you there, and then,
+      likely as not, squeezed life out of you! It took the very stars like that,
+      he shouldn't wonder, rubbed their noses together and flung them apart; it
+      had never done playing its pranks. Five million people in this great
+      blunderbuss of a town, and all of them at the mercy of that Life-Force,
+      like a lot of little dried peas hopping about on a board when you struck
+      your fist on it. Ah, well! Himself would not hop much longer&mdash;a good
+      long sleep would do him good!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How hot it was up here!&mdash;how noisy! His forehead burned; she had
+      kissed it just where he always worried; just there&mdash;as if she had
+      known the very place and wanted to kiss it all away for him. But, instead,
+      her lips left a patch of grievous uneasiness. She had never spoken in
+      quite that voice, had never before made that lingering gesture or looked
+      back at him as she drove away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He got out of bed and pulled the curtains aside; his room faced down over
+      the river. There was little air, but the sight of that breadth of water
+      flowing by, calm, eternal, soothed him. 'The great thing,' he thought 'is
+      not to make myself a nuisance. I'll think of my little sweet, and go to
+      sleep.' But it was long before the heat and throbbing of the London night
+      died out into the short slumber of the summer morning. And old Jolyon had
+      but forty winks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he reached home next day he went out to the flower garden, and with
+      the help of Holly, who was very delicate with flowers, gathered a great
+      bunch of carnations. They were, he told her, for 'the lady in grey'&mdash;a
+      name still bandied between them; and he put them in a bowl in his study
+      where he meant to tackle Irene the moment she came, on the subject of June
+      and future lessons. Their fragrance and colour would help. After lunch he
+      lay down, for he felt very tired, and the carriage would not bring her
+      from the station till four o'clock. But as the hour approached he grew
+      restless, and sought the schoolroom, which overlooked the drive. The
+      sun-blinds were down, and Holly was there with Mademoiselle Beauce,
+      sheltered from the heat of a stifling July day, attending to their
+      silkworms. Old Jolyon had a natural antipathy to these methodical
+      creatures, whose heads and colour reminded him of elephants; who nibbled
+      such quantities of holes in nice green leaves; and smelled, as he thought,
+      horrid. He sat down on a chintz-covered windowseat whence he could see the
+      drive, and get what air there was; and the dog Balthasar who appreciated
+      chintz on hot days, jumped up beside him. Over the cottage piano a violet
+      dust-sheet, faded almost to grey, was spread, and on it the first
+      lavender, whose scent filled the room. In spite of the coolness here,
+      perhaps because of that coolness the beat of life vehemently impressed his
+      ebbed-down senses. Each sunbeam which came through the chinks had annoying
+      brilliance; that dog smelled very strong; the lavender perfume was
+      overpowering; those silkworms heaving up their grey-green backs seemed
+      horribly alive; and Holly's dark head bent over them had a wonderfully
+      silky sheen. A marvellous cruelly strong thing was life when you were old
+      and weak; it seemed to mock you with its multitude of forms and its
+      beating vitality. He had never, till those last few weeks, had this
+      curious feeling of being with one half of him eagerly borne along in the
+      stream of life, and with the other half left on the bank, watching that
+      helpless progress. Only when Irene was with him did he lose this double
+      consciousness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Holly turned her head, pointed with her little brown fist to the piano&mdash;for
+      to point with a finger was not 'well-brrred'&mdash;and said slyly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look at the 'lady in grey,' Gran; isn't she pretty to-day?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Jolyon's heart gave a flutter, and for a second the room was clouded;
+      then it cleared, and he said with a twinkle:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who's been dressing her up?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mam'zelle.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hollee! Don't be foolish!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That prim little Frenchwoman! She hadn't yet got over the music lessons
+      being taken away from her. That wouldn't help. His little sweet was the
+      only friend they had. Well, they were her lessons. And he shouldn't budge
+      shouldn't budge for anything. He stroked the warm wool on Balthasar's
+      head, and heard Holly say: &ldquo;When mother's home, there won't be any
+      changes, will there? She doesn't like strangers, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The child's words seemed to bring the chilly atmosphere of opposition
+      about old Jolyon, and disclose all the menace to his new-found freedom.
+      Ah! He would have to resign himself to being an old man at the mercy of
+      care and love, or fight to keep this new and prized companionship; and to
+      fight tired him to death. But his thin, worn face hardened into resolution
+      till it appeared all Jaw. This was his house, and his affair; he should
+      not budge! He looked at his watch, old and thin like himself; he had owned
+      it fifty years. Past four already! And kissing the top of Holly's head in
+      passing, he went down to the hall. He wanted to get hold of her before she
+      went up to give her lesson. At the first sound of wheels he stepped out
+      into the porch, and saw at once that the victoria was empty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The train's in, sir; but the lady 'asn't come.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Jolyon gave him a sharp upward look, his eyes seemed to push away that
+      fat chap's curiosity, and defy him to see the bitter disappointment he was
+      feeling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; he said, and turned back into the house. He went to his study
+      and sat down, quivering like a leaf. What did this mean? She might have
+      lost her train, but he knew well enough she hadn't. 'Good-bye, dear Uncle
+      Jolyon.' Why 'Good-bye' and not 'Good-night'. And that hand of hers
+      lingering in the air. And her kiss. What did it mean? Vehement alarm and
+      irritation took possession of him. He got up and began to pace the Turkey
+      carpet, between window and wall. She was going to give him up! He felt it
+      for certain&mdash;and he defenceless. An old man wanting to look on
+      beauty! It was ridiculous! Age closed his mouth, paralysed his power to
+      fight. He had no right to what was warm and living, no right to anything
+      but memories and sorrow. He could not plead with her; even an old man has
+      his dignity. Defenceless! For an hour, lost to bodily fatigue, he paced up
+      and down, past the bowl of carnations he had plucked, which mocked him
+      with its scent. Of all things hard to bear, the prostration of will-power
+      is hardest, for one who has always had his way. Nature had got him in its
+      net, and like an unhappy fish he turned and swam at the meshes, here and
+      there, found no hole, no breaking point. They brought him tea at five
+      o'clock, and a letter. For a moment hope beat up in him. He cut the
+      envelope with the butter knife, and read:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;DEAREST UNCLE JOLYON,&mdash;I can't bear to write anything that may
+      disappoint you, but I was too cowardly to tell you last night. I feel I
+      can't come down and give Holly any more lessons, now that June is coming
+      back. Some things go too deep to be forgotten. It has been such a joy to
+      see you and Holly. Perhaps I shall still see you sometimes when you come
+      up, though I'm sure it's not good for you; I can see you are tiring
+      yourself too much. I believe you ought to rest quite quietly all this hot
+      weather, and now you have your son and June coming back you will be so
+      happy. Thank you a million times for all your sweetness to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lovingly your IRENE.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So, there it was! Not good for him to have pleasure and what he chiefly
+      cared about; to try and put off feeling the inevitable end of all things,
+      the approach of death with its stealthy, rustling footsteps. Not good for
+      him! Not even she could see how she was his new lease of interest in life,
+      the incarnation of all the beauty he felt slipping from him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His tea grew cold, his cigar remained unlit; and up and down he paced,
+      torn between his dignity and his hold on life. Intolerable to be squeezed
+      out slowly, without a say of your own, to live on when your will was in
+      the hands of others bent on weighing you to the ground with care and love.
+      Intolerable! He would see what telling her the truth would do&mdash;the
+      truth that he wanted the sight of her more than just a lingering on. He
+      sat down at his old bureau and took a pen. But he could not write. There
+      was something revolting in having to plead like this; plead that she
+      should warm his eyes with her beauty. It was tantamount to confessing
+      dotage. He simply could not. And instead, he wrote:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I had hoped that the memory of old sores would not be allowed to stand in
+      the way of what is a pleasure and a profit to me and my little
+      grand-daughter. But old men learn to forego their whims; they are obliged
+      to, even the whim to live must be foregone sooner or later; and perhaps
+      the sooner the better.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My love to you,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;JOLYON FORSYTE.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      'Bitter,' he thought, 'but I can't help it. I'm tired.' He sealed and
+      dropped it into the box for the evening post, and hearing it fall to the
+      bottom, thought: 'There goes all I've looked forward to!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That evening after dinner which he scarcely touched, after his cigar which
+      he left half-smoked for it made him feel faint, he went very slowly
+      upstairs and stole into the night-nursery. He sat down on the window-seat.
+      A night-light was burning, and he could just see Holly's face, with one
+      hand underneath the cheek. An early cockchafer buzzed in the Japanese
+      paper with which they had filled the grate, and one of the horses in the
+      stable stamped restlessly. To sleep like that child! He pressed apart two
+      rungs of the venetian blind and looked out. The moon was rising,
+      blood-red. He had never seen so red a moon. The woods and fields out there
+      were dropping to sleep too, in the last glimmer of the summer light. And
+      beauty, like a spirit, walked. 'I've had a long life,' he thought, 'the
+      best of nearly everything. I'm an ungrateful chap; I've seen a lot of
+      beauty in my time. Poor young Bosinney said I had a sense of beauty.
+      There's a man in the moon to-night!' A moth went by, another, another.
+      'Ladies in grey!' He closed his eyes. A feeling that he would never open
+      them again beset him; he let it grow, let himself sink; then, with a
+      shiver, dragged the lids up. There was something wrong with him, no doubt,
+      deeply wrong; he would have to have the doctor after all. It didn't much
+      matter now! Into that coppice the moon-light would have crept; there would
+      be shadows, and those shadows would be the only things awake. No birds,
+      beasts, flowers, insects; Just the shadows&mdash;moving; 'Ladies in grey!'
+      Over that log they would climb; would whisper together. She and Bosinney!
+      Funny thought! And the frogs and little things would whisper too! How the
+      clock ticked, in here! It was all eerie&mdash;out there in the light of
+      that red moon; in here with the little steady night-light and, the ticking
+      clock and the nurse's dressing-gown hanging from the edge of the screen,
+      tall, like a woman's figure. 'Lady in grey!' And a very odd thought beset
+      him: Did she exist? Had she ever come at all? Or was she but the emanation
+      of all the beauty he had loved and must leave so soon? The violet-grey
+      spirit with the dark eyes and the crown of amber hair, who walks the dawn
+      and the moonlight, and at blue-bell time? What was she, who was she, did
+      she exist? He rose and stood a moment clutching the window-sill, to give
+      him a sense of reality again; then began tiptoeing towards the door. He
+      stopped at the foot of the bed; and Holly, as if conscious of his eyes
+      fixed on her, stirred, sighed, and curled up closer in defence. He tiptoed
+      on and passed out into the dark passage; reached his room, undressed at
+      once, and stood before a mirror in his night-shirt. What a scarecrow&mdash;with
+      temples fallen in, and thin legs! His eyes resisted his own image, and a
+      look of pride came on his face. All was in league to pull him down, even
+      his reflection in the glass, but he was not down&mdash;yet! He got into
+      bed, and lay a long time without sleeping, trying to reach resignation,
+      only too well aware that fretting and disappointment were very bad for
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He woke in the morning so unrefreshed and strengthless that he sent for
+      the doctor. After sounding him, the fellow pulled a face as long as your
+      arm, and ordered him to stay in bed and give up smoking. That was no
+      hardship; there was nothing to get up for, and when he felt ill, tobacco
+      always lost its savour. He spent the morning languidly with the sun-blinds
+      down, turning and re-turning The Times, not reading much, the dog
+      Balthasar lying beside his bed. With his lunch they brought him a
+      telegram, running thus:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      'Your letter received coming down this afternoon will be with you at
+      four-thirty. Irene.'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Coming down! After all! Then she did exist&mdash;and he was not deserted.
+      Coming down! A glow ran through his limbs; his cheeks and forehead felt
+      hot. He drank his soup, and pushed the tray-table away, lying very quiet
+      until they had removed lunch and left him alone; but every now and then
+      his eyes twinkled. Coming down! His heart beat fast, and then did not seem
+      to beat at all. At three o'clock he got up and dressed deliberately,
+      noiselessly. Holly and Mam'zelle would be in the schoolroom, and the
+      servants asleep after their dinner, he shouldn't wonder. He opened his
+      door cautiously, and went downstairs. In the hall the dog Balthasar lay
+      solitary, and, followed by him, old Jolyon passed into his study and out
+      into the burning afternoon. He meant to go down and meet her in the
+      coppice, but felt at once he could not manage that in this heat. He sat
+      down instead under the oak tree by the swing, and the dog Balthasar, who
+      also felt the heat, lay down beside him. He sat there smiling. What a
+      revel of bright minutes! What a hum of insects, and cooing of pigeons! It
+      was the quintessence of a summer day. Lovely! And he was happy&mdash;happy
+      as a sand-boy, whatever that might be. She was coming; she had not given
+      him up! He had everything in life he wanted&mdash;except a little more
+      breath, and less weight&mdash;just here! He would see her when she emerged
+      from the fernery, come swaying just a little, a violet-grey figure passing
+      over the daisies and dandelions and 'soldiers' on the lawn&mdash;the
+      soldiers with their flowery crowns. He would not move, but she would come
+      up to him and say: 'Dear Uncle Jolyon, I am sorry!' and sit in the swing
+      and let him look at her and tell her that he had not been very well but
+      was all right now; and that dog would lick her hand. That dog knew his
+      master was fond of her; that dog was a good dog.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was quite shady under the tree; the sun could not get at him, only make
+      the rest of the world bright so that he could see the Grand Stand at Epsom
+      away out there, very far, and the cows cropping the clover in the field
+      and swishing at the flies with their tails. He smelled the scent of limes,
+      and lavender. Ah! that was why there was such a racket of bees. They were
+      excited&mdash;busy, as his heart was busy and excited. Drowsy, too, drowsy
+      and drugged on honey and happiness; as his heart was drugged and drowsy.
+      Summer&mdash;summer&mdash;they seemed saying; great bees and little bees,
+      and the flies too!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The stable clock struck four; in half an hour she would be here. He would
+      have just one tiny nap, because he had had so little sleep of late; and
+      then he would be fresh for her, fresh for youth and beauty, coming towards
+      him across the sunlit lawn&mdash;lady in grey! And settling back in his
+      chair he closed his eyes. Some thistle-down came on what little air there
+      was, and pitched on his moustache more white than itself. He did not know;
+      but his breathing stirred it, caught there. A ray of sunlight struck
+      through and lodged on his boot. A bumble-bee alighted and strolled on the
+      crown of his Panama hat. And the delicious surge of slumber reached the
+      brain beneath that hat, and the head swayed forward and rested on his
+      breast. Summer&mdash;summer! So went the hum.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The stable clock struck the quarter past. The dog Balthasar stretched and
+      looked up at his master. The thistledown no longer moved. The dog placed
+      his chin over the sunlit foot. It did not stir. The dog withdrew his chin
+      quickly, rose, and leaped on old Jolyon's lap, looked in his face, whined;
+      then, leaping down, sat on his haunches, gazing up. And suddenly he
+      uttered a long, long howl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the thistledown was still as death, and the face of his old master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Summer&mdash;summer&mdash;summer! The soundless footsteps on the grass!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      1917 <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Five Tales, by John Galsworthy
+
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+</pre>
+  </body>
+</html>
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Five Tales, by John Galsworthy
+
+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.net
+
+
+Title: Five Tales
+
+Author: John Galsworthy
+
+Release Date: September 25, 2004 [EBook #2684]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIVE TALES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+FIVE TALES
+
+
+by John Galsworthy
+
+
+"Life calls the tune, we dance."
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS:
+
+THE FIRST AND LAST THE FIRST AND LAST
+
+A STOIC A STOIC
+
+THE APPLE TREE THE APPLE TREE
+
+THE JURYMAN THE JURYMAN
+
+INDIAN SUMMER OF A FORSYTE  [Also posted as Etext #2594]
+
+[In this 1919 edition of "Five Tales" the fifth tale was "Indian
+Summer of a Forsyte;" in later collections, "Indian Summer..." became
+the first section of the second volume of The Forsyte Saga]
+
+
+
+
+
+THE FIRST AND LAST
+
+"So the last shall be first, and the first last."--HOLY WRIT.
+
+
+
+It was a dark room at that hour of six in the evening, when just the
+
+single oil reading-lamp under its green shade let fall a dapple of light
+over the Turkey carpet; over the covers of books taken out of the
+bookshelves, and the open pages of the one selected; over the deep blue
+and gold of the coffee service on the little old stool with its Oriental
+embroidery.  Very dark in the winter, with drawn curtains, many rows of
+leather-bound volumes, oak-panelled walls and ceiling.  So large, too,
+that the lighted spot before the fire where he sat was just an oasis.
+But that was what Keith Darrant liked, after his day's work--the hard
+early morning study of his "cases," the fret and strain of the day in
+court; it was his rest, these two hours before dinner, with books,
+coffee, a pipe, and sometimes a nap. In red Turkish slippers and his old
+brown velvet coat, he was well suited to that framing of glow and
+darkness.  A painter would have seized avidly on his clear-cut, yellowish
+face, with its black eyebrows twisting up over eyes--grey or brown, one
+could hardly tell, and its dark grizzling hair still plentiful, in spite
+of those daily hours of wig.  He seldom thought of his work while he sat
+there, throwing off with practised ease the strain of that long attention
+to the multiple threads of argument and evidence to be disentangled--work
+profoundly interesting, as a rule, to his clear intellect, trained to
+almost instinctive rejection of all but the essential, to selection of
+what was legally vital out of the mass of confused tactical and human
+detail presented to his scrutiny; yet sometimes tedious and wearing.  As
+for instance to-day, when he had suspected his client of perjury, and was
+almost convinced that he must throw up his brief.  He had disliked the
+weak-looking, white-faced fellow from the first, and his nervous, shifty
+answers, his prominent startled eyes--a type too common in these days of
+canting tolerations and weak humanitarianism; no good, no good!
+
+Of the three books he had taken down, a Volume of Voltaire--curious
+fascination that Frenchman had, for all his destructive irony!--a volume
+of Burton's travels, and Stevenson's "New Arabian Nights," he had pitched
+upon the last.  He felt, that evening, the want of something sedative, a
+desire to rest from thought of any kind.  The court had been crowded,
+stuffy; the air, as he walked home, soft, sou'-westerly, charged with
+coming moisture, no quality of vigour in it; he felt relaxed, tired, even
+nervy, and for once the loneliness of his house seemed strange and
+comfortless.
+
+Lowering the lamp, he turned his face towards the fire.  Perhaps he would
+get a sleep before that boring dinner at the Tellasson's.  He wished it
+were vacation, and Maisie back from school.  A widower for many years, he
+had lost the habit of a woman about him; yet to-night he had a positive
+yearning for the society of his young daughter, with her quick ways, and
+bright, dark eyes.  Curious what perpetual need of a woman some men had!
+His brother Laurence--wasted--all through women--atrophy of willpower!  A
+man on the edge of things; living from hand to mouth; his gifts all down
+at heel!  One would have thought the Scottish strain might have saved
+him; and yet, when a Scotsman did begin to go downhill, who could go
+faster?  Curious that their mother's blood should have worked so
+differently in her two sons.  He himself had always felt he owed all his
+success to it.
+
+His thoughts went off at a tangent to a certain issue troubling his legal
+conscience.  He had not wavered in the usual assumption of omniscience,
+but he was by no means sure that he had given right advice.  Well!
+Without that power to decide and hold to decision in spite of misgiving,
+one would never have been fit for one's position at the Bar, never have
+been fit for anything.  The longer he lived, the more certain he became
+of the prime necessity of virile and decisive action in all the affairs
+of life.  A word and a blow--and the blow first!  Doubts, hesitations,
+sentiment the muling and puking of this twilight age--!  And there welled
+up on his handsome face a smile that was almost devilish--the tricks of
+firelight are so many!  It faded again in sheer drowsiness; he slept....
+
+He woke with a start, having a feeling of something out beyond the light,
+and without turning his head said: "What's that?"  There came a sound as
+if somebody had caught his breath.  He turned up the lamp.
+
+"Who's there?"
+
+A voice over by the door answered:
+
+"Only I--Larry."
+
+Something in the tone, or perhaps just being startled out of sleep like
+this, made him shiver.  He said:
+
+"I was asleep.  Come in!"
+
+It was noticeable that he did not get up, or even turn his head, now that
+he knew who it was, but waited, his half-closed eyes fixed on the fire,
+for his brother to come forward.  A visit from Laurence was not an
+unmixed blessing.  He could hear him breathing, and became conscious of a
+scent of whisky.  Why could not the fellow at least abstain when he was
+coming here!  It was so childish, so lacking in any sense of proportion
+or of decency!  And he said sharply:
+
+"Well, Larry, what is it?"
+
+It was always something.  He often wondered at the strength of that sense
+of trusteeship, which kept him still tolerant of the troubles, amenable
+to the petitions of this brother of his; or was it just "blood" feeling,
+a Highland sense of loyalty to kith and kin; an old-time quality which
+judgment and half his instincts told him was weakness but which, in spite
+of all, bound him to the distressful fellow?  Was he drunk now, that he
+kept lurking out there by the door?  And he said less sharply:
+
+"Why don't you come and sit down?"
+
+He was coming now, avoiding the light, skirting along the walls just
+beyond the radiance of the lamp, his feet and legs to the waist brightly
+lighted, but his face disintegrated in shadow, like the face of a dark
+ghost.
+
+"Are you ill, man?"
+
+Still no answer, save a shake of that head, and the passing up of a hand,
+out of the light, to the ghostly forehead under the dishevelled hair.
+The scent of whisky was stronger now; and Keith thought:
+
+'He really is drunk.  Nice thing for the new butler to see!  If he can't
+behave--'
+
+The figure against the wall heaved a sigh--so truly from an overburdened
+heart that Keith was conscious with a certain dismay of not having yet
+fathomed the cause of this uncanny silence.  He got up, and, back to the
+fire, said with a brutality born of nerves rather than design:
+
+"What is it, man?  Have you committed a murder, that you stand there dumb
+as a fish?"
+
+For a second no answer at all, not even of breathing; then, just the
+whisper:
+
+"Yes."
+
+The sense of unreality which so helps one at moments of disaster enabled
+Keith to say vigorously:
+
+"By Jove!  You have been drinking!"
+
+But it passed at once into deadly apprehension.
+
+"What do you mean?  Come here, where I can see you.  What's the matter
+with you, Larry?"
+
+With a sudden lurch and dive, his brother left the shelter of the shadow,
+and sank into a chair in the circle of light.  And another long, broken
+sigh escaped him.
+
+"There's nothing the matter with me, Keith!  It's true!"
+
+Keith stepped quickly forward, and stared down into his brother's face;
+and instantly he saw that it was true.  No one could have simulated the
+look in those eyes--of horrified wonder, as if they would never again get
+on terms with the face to which they belonged. To see them squeezed the
+heart-only real misery could look like that. Then that sudden pity became
+angry bewilderment.
+
+"What in God's name is this nonsense?"
+
+But it was significant that he lowered his voice; went over to the door,
+too, to see if it were shut.  Laurence had drawn his chair forward,
+huddling over the fire--a thin figure, a worn, high-cheekboned face with
+deep-sunk blue eyes, and wavy hair all ruffled, a face that still had a
+certain beauty.  Putting a hand on that lean shoulder, Keith said:
+
+"Come, Larry!  Pull yourself together, and drop exaggeration."
+
+"It's true; I tell you; I've killed a man."
+
+The noisy violence of that outburst acted like a douche.  What was the
+fellow about--shouting out such words!  But suddenly Laurence lifted his
+hands and wrung them.  The gesture was so utterly painful that it drew a
+quiver from Keith's face.
+
+"Why did you come here," he said, "and tell me this?"
+
+Larry's face was really unearthly sometimes, such strange gleams passed
+up on to it!
+
+"Whom else should I tell?  I came to know what I'm to do, Keith?  Give
+myself up, or what?"
+
+At that sudden introduction of the practical Keith felt his heart twitch.
+Was it then as real as all that?  But he said, very quietly:
+
+"Just tell me--How did it come about, this--affair?"
+
+That question linked the dark, gruesome, fantastic nightmare on to
+actuality.
+
+"When did it happen?"
+
+"Last night."
+
+In Larry's face there was--there had always been--something childishly
+truthful.  He would never stand a chance in court!  And Keith said:
+
+"How?  Where?  You'd better tell me quietly from the beginning. Drink
+this coffee; it'll clear your head."
+
+Laurence took the little blue cup and drained it.
+
+"Yes," he said.  "It's like this, Keith.  There's a girl I've known for
+some months now--"
+
+Women!  And Keith said between his teeth: "Well?"
+
+"Her father was a Pole who died over here when she was sixteen, and left
+her all alone.  A man called Walenn, a mongrel American, living in the
+same house, married her, or pretended to--she's very pretty, Keith--he
+left her with a baby six months old, and another coming. That one died,
+and she did nearly.  Then she starved till another fellow took her on.
+She lived with him two years; then Walenn turned up again, and made her
+go back to him.  The brute used to beat her black and blue, all for
+nothing.  Then he left her again.  When I met her she'd lost her elder
+child, too, and was taking anybody who came along."
+
+He suddenly looked up into Keith's face.
+
+"But I've never met a sweeter woman, nor a truer, that I swear. Woman!
+She's only twenty now!  When I went to her last night, that brute--that
+Walenn--had found her out again; and when he came for me, swaggering and
+bullying--Look!"--he touched a dark mark on his forehead--"I took his
+throat in my hands, and when I let go--"
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"Dead.  I never knew till afterwards that she was hanging on to him
+behind."
+
+Again he made that gesture-wringing his hands.
+
+In a hard voice Keith said:
+
+"What did you do then?"
+
+"We sat by it a long time.  Then I carried it on my back down the street,
+round a corner to an archway."
+
+"How far?"
+
+"About fifty yards."
+
+"Was anyone--did anyone see?"
+
+"No."
+
+"What time?"
+
+"Three."
+
+"And then?"
+
+"Went back to her."
+
+"Why--in Heaven's name?"
+
+"She was lonely and afraid; so was I, Keith."
+
+"Where is this place?"
+
+"Forty-two, Borrow Street, Soho."
+
+"And the archway?"
+
+"Corner of Glove Lane."
+
+"Good God!  Why--I saw it in the paper!"
+
+And seizing the journal that lay on his bureau, Keith read again that
+paragraph: "The body of a man was found this morning under an archway in
+Glove Lane, Soho.  From marks about the throat grave suspicions of foul
+play are entertained.  The body had apparently been robbed, and nothing
+was discovered leading to identification."
+
+It was real earnest, then.  Murder!  His own brother!  He faced round and
+said:
+
+"You saw this in the paper, and dreamed it.  Understand--you dreamed it!"
+
+The wistful answer came:
+
+"If only I had, Keith--if only I had!"
+
+In his turn, Keith very nearly wrung his hands.
+
+"Did you take anything from the--body?"
+
+"This dropped while we were struggling.",
+
+It was an empty envelope with a South American post-mark addressed:
+"Patrick Walenn, Simon's Hotel, Farrier Street, London." Again with that
+twitching in his heart, Keith said:
+
+"Put it in the fire."
+
+Then suddenly he stooped to pluck it out.  By that command--he
+had--identified himself with this--this--But he did not pluck it out.  It
+blackened, writhed, and vanished.  And once more he said:
+
+"What in God's name made you come here and tell me?"
+
+"You know about these things.  I didn't mean to kill him.  I love the
+girl.  What shall I do, Keith?
+
+"Simple!  How simple!  To ask what he was to do!  It was like Larry!  And
+he said:
+
+"You were not seen, you think?"  "It's a dark street.  There was no one
+about."
+
+"When did you leave this girl the second time?"
+
+"About seven o'clock."
+
+"Where did you go?"
+
+"To my rooms."
+
+"In Fitzroy Street?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Did anyone see you come in?"
+
+"No."
+
+"What have you done since?"
+
+"Sat there."
+
+"Not been out?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Not seen the girl?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You don't know, then, what she's done since?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Would she give you away?"
+
+"Never."
+
+"Would she give herself away--hysteria?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Who knows of your relations with her?"
+
+"No one."
+
+"No one?"
+
+"I don't know who should, Keith."
+
+"Did anyone see you going in last night, when you first went to her?"
+
+"No.  She lives on the ground floor.  I've got keys."
+
+"Give them to me.  What else have you that connects you with her?"
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"In your rooms?"
+
+"No."
+
+"No photographs.  No letters?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Be careful."
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"No one saw you going back to her the second time?"
+
+"No."
+
+"No one saw you leave her in the morning?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You were fortunate.  Sit down again, man.  I must think."
+
+Think!  Think out this accursed thing--so beyond all thought, and all
+belief.  But he could not think.  Not a coherent thought would come. And
+he began again:
+
+"Was it his first reappearance with her?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"She told you so?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"How did he find out where she was?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"How drunk were you?"
+
+"I was not drunk."
+
+"How much had you drunk?"
+
+"About two bottles of claret--nothing."
+
+"You say you didn't mean to kill him?"
+
+"No-God knows!"
+
+"That's something."
+
+What made you choose the arch?"
+
+"It was the first dark place."
+
+"Did his face look as if he had been strangled?"
+
+"Don't!"
+
+"Did it?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Very disfigured?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Did you look to see if his clothes were marked?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Why not?  My God!  If you had done it!"
+
+"You say he was disfigured.  Would he be recognisable?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"When she lived with him last--where was that?"
+
+"I don't know for certain.  Pimlico, I think."
+
+"Not Soho?"
+
+"No."
+
+"How long has she been at the Soho place?"
+
+"Nearly a year."
+
+"Always the same rooms?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Is there anyone living in that house or street who would be likely to
+know her as his wife?"
+
+"I don't think so."
+
+"What was he?"
+
+"I should think he was a professional 'bully.'"
+
+"I see.  Spending most of his time abroad, then?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Do you know if he was known to the police?"
+
+"I haven't heard of it."
+
+"Now, listen, Larry.  When you leave here go straight home, and don't go
+out till I come to you, to-morrow morning.  Promise that!"
+
+"I promise."
+
+"I've got a dinner engagement.  I'll think this out.  Don't drink. Don't
+talk!  Pull yourself together."
+
+"Don't keep me longer than you can help, Keith!"
+
+That white face, those eyes, that shaking hand!  With a twinge of pity in
+the midst of all the turbulence of his revolt, and fear, and disgust
+Keith put his hand on his brother's shoulder, and said:
+
+"Courage!"
+
+And suddenly he thought: 'My God!  Courage!  I shall want it all myself!'
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+Laurence Darrant, leaving his brother's house in the Adelphi, walked
+northwards, rapidly, slowly, rapidly again.  For, if there are men who by
+force of will do one thing only at a time, there are men who from lack of
+will do now one thing, now another; with equal intensity.  To such
+natures, to be gripped by the Nemesis which attends the lack of
+self-control is no reason for being more self-controlled.  Rather does it
+foster their pet feeling: "What matter?  To-morrow we die!"  The effort of
+will required to go to Keith had relieved, exhausted and exasperated him.
+In accordance with those three feelings was the progress of his walk.  He
+started from the door with the fixed resolve to go home and stay there
+quietly till Keith came.  He was in Keith's hands, Keith would know what
+was to be done.  But he had not gone three hundred yards before he felt
+so utterly weary, body and soul, that if he had but had a pistol in his
+pocket he would have shot himself in the street.  Not even the thought of
+the girl--this young unfortunate with her strange devotion, who had kept
+him straight these last five months, who had roused in him a depth of
+feeling he had never known before--would have availed against that sudden
+black defection.  Why go on--a waif at the mercy of his own nature, a
+straw blown here and there by every gust which rose in him?  Why not have
+done with it for ever, and take it out in sleep?
+
+He was approaching the fatal street, where he and the girl, that early
+morning, had spent the hours clutched together, trying in the refuge of
+love to forget for a moment their horror and fear.  Should he go in?  He
+had promised Keith not to.  Why had he promised?  He caught sight of
+himself in a chemist's lighted window.  Miserable, shadowy brute!  And he
+remembered suddenly a dog he had picked up once in the streets of Pera, a
+black-and-white creature--different from the other dogs, not one of their
+breed, a pariah of pariahs, who had strayed there somehow.  He had taken
+it home to the house where he was staying, contrary to all custom of the
+country; had got fond of it; had shot it himself, sooner than leave it
+behind again to the mercies of its own kind in the streets.  Twelve years
+ago!  And those sleevelinks made of little Turkish coins he had brought
+back for the girl at the hairdresser's in Chancery Lane where he used to
+get shaved--pretty creature, like a wild rose.  He had asked of her a
+kiss for payment.  What queer emotion when she put her face forward to
+his lips--a sort of passionate tenderness and shame, at the softness and
+warmth of that flushed cheek, at her beauty and trustful gratitude.  She
+would soon have given herself to him--that one!  He had never gone there
+again!  And to this day he did not know why he had abstained; to this day
+he did not know whether he were glad or sorry not to have plucked that
+rose.  He must surely have been very different then!  Queer business,
+life--queer, queer business!--to go through it never knowing what you
+would do next.  Ah! to be like Keith, steady, buttoned-up in success; a
+brass pot, a pillar of society!  Once, as a boy, he had been within an
+ace of killing Keith, for sneering at him.  Once in Southern Italy he had
+been near killing a driver who was flogging his horse.  And now, that
+dark-faced, swinish bully who had ruined the girl he had grown to
+love--he had done it!  Killed him!  Killed a man!
+
+He who did not want to hurt a fly.  The chemist's window comforted him
+with the sudden thought that he had at home that which made him safe, in
+case they should arrest him.  He would never again go out without some of
+those little white tablets sewn into the lining of his coat.  Restful,
+even exhilarating thought!  They said a man should not take his own life.
+Let them taste horror--those glib citizens!  Let them live as that girl
+had lived, as millions lived all the world over, under their canting
+dogmas!  A man might rather even take his life than watch their cursed
+inhumanities.
+
+He went into the chemist's for a bromide; and, while the man was mixing
+it, stood resting one foot like a tired horse.  The "life" he had
+squeezed out of that fellow!  After all, a billion living creatures gave
+up life each day, had it squeezed out of them, mostly. And perhaps not
+one a day deserved death so much as that loathly fellow.  Life! a
+breath--aflame!  Nothing!  Why, then, this icy clutching at his heart?
+
+The chemist brought the draught.
+
+"Not sleeping, sir?"
+
+"No."
+
+The man's eyes seemed to say: 'Yes!  Burning the candle at both ends--I
+know!' Odd life, a chemist's; pills and powders all day long, to hold the
+machinery of men together!  Devilish odd trade!
+
+In going out he caught the reflection of his face in a mirror; it seemed
+too good altogether for a man who had committed murder.  There was a sort
+of brightness underneath, an amiability lurking about its shadows;
+how--how could it be the face of a man who had done what he had done?
+His head felt lighter now, his feet lighter; he walked rapidly again.
+
+Curious feeling of relief and oppression all at once!  Frightful--to long
+for company, for talk, for distraction; and--to be afraid of it!  The
+girl--the girl and Keith were now the only persons who would not give him
+that feeling of dread.  And, of those two--Keith was not...!  Who could
+consort with one who was never wrong, a successful, righteous fellow; a
+chap built so that he knew nothing about himself, wanted to know nothing,
+a chap all solid actions?  To be a quicksand swallowing up one's own
+resolutions was bad enough!  But to be like Keith--all willpower,
+marching along, treading down his own feelings and weaknesses!  No!  One
+could not make a comrade of a man like Keith, even if he were one's
+brother?  The only creature in all the world was the girl.  She alone
+knew and felt what he was feeling; would put up with him and love him
+whatever he did, or was done to him.  He stopped and took shelter in a
+doorway, to light a cigarette. He had suddenly a fearful wish to pass the
+archway where he had placed the body; a fearful wish that had no sense,
+no end in view, no anything; just an insensate craving to see the dark
+place again.  He crossed Borrow Street to the little lane.  There was
+only one person visible, a man on the far side with his shoulders hunched
+against the wind; a short, dark figure which crossed and came towards him
+in the flickering lamplight.  What a face!  Yellow, ravaged, clothed
+almost to the eyes in a stubbly greyish growth of beard, with blackish
+teeth, and haunting bloodshot eyes.  And what a figure of rags--one
+shoulder higher than the other, one leg a little lame, and thin!  A surge
+of feeling came up in Laurence for this creature, more unfortunate than
+himself.  There were lower depths than his!
+
+"Well, brother," he said, "you don't look too prosperous!"
+
+The smile which gleamed out on the man's face seemed as unlikely as a
+smile on a scarecrow.
+
+"Prosperity doesn't come my way," he said in a rusty voice.  "I'm a
+failure--always been a failure.  And yet you wouldn't think it, would
+you?--I was a minister of religion once."
+
+Laurence held out a shilling.  But the man shook his head.
+
+"Keep your money," he said.  "I've got more than you to-day, I daresay.
+But thank you for taking a little interest.  That's worth more than money
+to a man that's down."
+
+"You're right."
+
+"Yes," the rusty voice went on; "I'd as soon die as go on living as I do.
+And now I've lost my self-respect.  Often wondered how long a starving
+man could go without losing his self-respect.  Not so very long.  You
+take my word for that."  And without the slightest change in the monotony
+of that creaking voice he added:
+
+"Did you read of the murder?  Just here.  I've been looking at the
+place."
+
+The words: 'So have I!' leaped up to Laurence's lips; he choked them down
+with a sort of terror.
+
+"I wish you better luck," he said.  "Goodnight!" and hurried away.  A
+sort of ghastly laughter was forcing its way up in his throat.  Was
+everyone talking of the murder he had committed?  Even the very
+scarecrows?
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+There are some natures so constituted that, due to be hung at ten
+o'clock, they will play chess at eight.  Such men invariably rise. They
+make especially good bishops, editors, judges, impresarios, Prime
+ministers, money-lenders, and generals; in fact, fill with exceptional
+credit any position of power over their fellow-men.  They have spiritual
+cold storage, in which are preserved their nervous systems.  In such men
+there is little or none of that fluid sense and continuity of feeling
+known under those vague terms, speculation, poetry, philosophy.  Men of
+facts and of decision switching imagination on and off at will,
+subordinating sentiment to reason... one does not think of them when
+watching wind ripple over cornfields, or swallows flying.
+
+Keith Darrant had need for being of that breed during his dinner at the
+Tellassons.  It was just eleven when he issued from the big house in
+Portland Place and refrained from taking a cab.  He wanted to walk that
+he might better think.  What crude and wanton irony there was in his
+situation!  To have been made father-confessor to a murderer, he--well on
+towards a judgeship!  With his contempt for the kind of weakness which
+landed men in such abysses, he felt it all so sordid, so "impossible,"
+that he could hardly bring his mind to bear on it at all.  And yet he
+must, because of two powerful instincts--self-preservation and
+blood-loyalty.
+
+The wind had still the sapping softness of the afternoon, but rain had
+held off so far.  It was warm, and he unbuttoned his fur overcoat.  The
+nature of his thoughts deepened the dark austerity of his face, whose
+thin, well-cut lips were always pressing together, as if, by meeting, to
+dispose of each thought as it came up.  He moved along the crowded
+pavements glumly.  That air of festive conspiracy which drops with the
+darkness on to lighted streets, galled him.  He turned off on a darker
+route.
+
+This ghastly business!  Convinced of its reality, he yet could not see
+it.  The thing existed in his mind, not as a picture, but as a piece of
+irrefutable evidence.  Larry had not meant to do it, of course.  But it
+was murder, all the same.  Men like Larry--weak, impulsive, sentimental,
+introspective creatures--did they ever mean what they did?  This man,
+this Walenn, was, by all accounts, better dead than alive; no need to
+waste a thought on him!  But, crime--the ugliness--Justice unsatisfied!
+Crime concealed--and his own share in the concealment!  And yet--brother
+to brother!  Surely no one could demand action from him!  It was only a
+question of what he was going to advise Larry to do.  To keep silent, and
+disappear?  Had that a chance of success?  Perhaps if the answers to his
+questions had been correct.  But this girl!  Suppose the dead man's
+relationship to her were ferreted out, could she be relied on not to
+endanger Larry?  These women were all the same, unstable as water,
+emotional, shiftless pests of society.  Then, too, a crime untracked,
+dogging all his brother's after life; a secret following him wherever he
+might vanish to; hanging over him, watching for some drunken moment, to
+slip out of his lips.  It was bad to think of.  A clean breast of it?
+But his heart twitched within him.  "Brother of Mr. Keith Darrant, the
+well-known King's Counsel"--visiting a woman of the town, strangling with
+his bare hands the woman's husband!  No intention to murder, but--a dead
+man!  A dead man carried out of the house, laid under a dark archway!
+Provocation!  Recommended to mercy--penal servitude for life!  Was that
+the advice he was going to give Larry to-morrow morning?
+
+And he had a sudden vision of shaven men with clay-coloured features,
+run, as it were, to seed, as he had seen them once in Pentonville, when
+he had gone there to visit a prisoner.  Larry!  Whom, as a baby creature,
+he had watched straddling; whom, as a little fellow, he had fagged; whom
+he had seen through scrapes at college; to whom he had lent money time
+and again, and time and again admonished in his courses.  Larry!  Five
+years younger than himself; and committed to his charge by their mother
+when she died.  To become for life one of those men with faces like
+diseased plants; with no hair but a bushy stubble; with arrows marked on
+their yellow clothes!  Larry!  One of those men herded like sheep; at the
+beck and call of common men!  A gentleman, his own brother, to live that
+slave's life, to be ordered here and there, year after year, day in, day
+out.  Something snapped within him.  He could not give that advice.
+Impossible!  But if not, he must make sure of his ground, must verify,
+must know.  This Glove Lane--this arch way?  It would not be far from
+where he was that very moment.  He looked for someone of whom to make
+enquiry.  A policeman was standing at the corner, his stolid face
+illumined by a lamp; capable and watchful--an excellent officer, no
+doubt; but, turning his head away, Keith passed him without a word.
+Strange to feel that cold, uneasy feeling in presence of the law!  A grim
+little driving home of what it all meant!  Then, suddenly, he saw that
+the turning to his left was Borrow Street itself.  He walked up one side,
+crossed over, and returned.  He passed Number Forty-two, a small house
+with business names printed on the lifeless windows of the first and
+second floors; with dark curtained windows on the ground floor, or was
+there just a slink of light in one corner?  Which way had Larry turned?
+Which way under that grisly burden?  Fifty paces of this squalid
+street-narrow, and dark, and empty, thank heaven!  Glove Lane!  Here it
+was!  A tiny runlet of a street.  And here--!  He had run right on to the
+arch, a brick bridge connecting two portions of a warehouse, and dark
+indeed.
+
+"That's right, gov'nor!  That's the place!"  He needed all his
+self-control to turn leisurely to the speaker.  "'Ere's where they found
+the body--very spot leanin' up 'ere.  They ain't got 'im yet. Lytest--me
+lord!"
+
+It was a ragged boy holding out a tattered yellowish journal.  His lynx
+eyes peered up from under lanky wisps of hair, and his voice had the
+proprietary note of one making "a corner" in his news.  Keith took the
+paper and gave him twopence.  He even found a sort of comfort in the
+young ghoul's hanging about there; it meant that others besides himself
+had come morbidly to look.  By the dim lamplight he read: "Glove Lane
+garrotting mystery.  Nothing has yet been discovered of the murdered
+man's identity; from the cut of his clothes he is supposed to be a
+foreigner."  The boy had vanished, and Keith saw the figure of a
+policeman coming slowly down this gutter of a street.  A second's
+hesitation, and he stood firm.  Nothing obviously could have brought him
+here save this "mystery," and he stayed quietly staring at the arch.  The
+policeman moved up abreast. Keith saw that he was the one whom he had
+passed just now.  He noted the cold offensive question die out of the
+man's eyes when they caught the gleam of white shirt-front under the
+opened fur collar. And holding up the paper, he said:
+
+"Is this where the man was found?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Still a mystery, I see?"
+
+"Well, we can't always go by the papers.  But I don't fancy they do know
+much about it, yet."
+
+"Dark spot.  Do fellows sleep under here?"
+
+The policeman nodded.  "There's not an arch in London where we don't get
+'em sometimes."
+
+"Nothing found on him--I think I read?"
+
+"Not a copper.  Pockets inside out.  There's some funny characters about
+this quarter.  Greeks, Hitalians--all sorts."
+
+Queer sensation this, of being glad of a policeman's confidential tone!
+
+"Well, good-night!"
+
+"Good-night, sir.  Good-night!"
+
+He looked back from Borrow Street.  The policeman was still standing
+there holding up his lantern, so that its light fell into the archway, as
+if trying to read its secret.
+
+Now that he had seen this dark, deserted spot, the chances seemed to him
+much better.  "Pockets inside out!"  Either Larry had had presence of
+mind to do a very clever thing, or someone had been at the body before
+the police found it.  That was the more likely.  A dead backwater of a
+place.  At three o'clock--loneliest of all hours--Larry's five minutes'
+grim excursion to and fro might well have passed unseen!  Now, it all
+depended on the girl; on whether Laurence had been seen coming to her or
+going away; on whether, if the man's relationship to her were discovered,
+she could be relied on to say nothing.  There was not a soul in Borrow
+Street now; hardly even a lighted window; and he took one of those rather
+desperate decisions only possible to men daily accustomed to the instant
+taking of responsibility.  He would go to her, and see for himself.  He
+came to the door of Forty-two, obviously one of those which are only shut
+at night, and tried the larger key.  It fitted, and he was in a
+gas-lighted passage, with an oil-clothed floor, and a single door to his
+left.  He stood there undecided.  She must be made to understand that he
+knew everything.  She must not be told more than that he was a friend of
+Larry's.  She must not be frightened, yet must be forced to give her very
+soul away.  A hostile witness--not to be treated as hostile--a matter for
+delicate handling!  But his knock was not answered.
+
+Should he give up this nerve-racking, bizarre effort to come at a basis
+of judgment; go away, and just tell Laurence that he could not advise
+him?  And then--what?  Something must be done.  He knocked again.  Still
+no answer.  And with that impatience of being thwarted, natural to him,
+and fostered to the full by the conditions of his life, he tried the
+other key.  It worked, and he opened the door. Inside all was dark, but a
+voice from some way off, with a sort of breathless relief in its foreign
+tones, said:
+
+"Oh! then it's you, Larry!  Why did you knock?  I was so frightened. Turn
+up the light, dear.  Come in!"
+
+Feeling by the door for a switch in the pitch blackness he was conscious
+of arms round his neck, a warm thinly clad body pressed to his own; then
+withdrawn as quickly, with a gasp, and the most awful terror-stricken
+whisper:
+
+"Oh!  Who is it?"
+
+With a glacial shiver down his own spine, Keith answered
+
+"A friend of Laurence.  Don't be frightened!"
+
+There was such silence that he could hear a clock ticking, and the sound
+of his own hand passing over the surface of the wall, trying to find the
+switch.  He found it, and in the light which leaped up he saw, stiffened
+against a dark curtain evidently screening off a bedroom, a girl
+standing, holding a long black coat together at her throat, so that her
+face with its pale brown hair, short and square-cut and curling up
+underneath, had an uncanny look of being detached from any body.  Her
+face was so alabaster pale that the staring, startled eyes, dark blue or
+brown, and the faint rose of the parted lips, were like colour stainings
+on a white mask; and it had a strange delicacy, truth, and pathos, such
+as only suffering brings. Though not susceptible to aesthetic emotion,
+Keith was curiously affected.  He said gently:
+
+"You needn't be afraid.  I haven't come to do you harm--quite the
+contrary.  May I sit down and talk?"  And, holding up the keys, he added:
+"Laurence wouldn't have given me these, would he, if he hadn't trusted
+me?"
+
+Still she did not move, and he had the impression that he was looking at
+a spirit--a spirit startled out of its flesh.  Nor at the moment did it
+seem in the least strange that he should conceive such an odd thought.
+He stared round the room--clean and tawdry, with its tarnished gilt
+mirror, marble-topped side-table, and plush-covered sofa.  Twenty years
+and more since he had been in such a place.  And he said:
+
+"Won't you sit down?  I'm sorry to have startled you."
+
+But still she did not move, whispering:
+
+"Who are you, please?"
+
+And, moved suddenly beyond the realm of caution by the terror in that
+whisper, he answered:
+
+"Larry's brother."
+
+She uttered a little sigh of relief which went to Keith's heart, and,
+still holding the dark coat together at her throat, came forward and sat
+down on the sofa.  He could see that her feet, thrust into slippers, were
+bare; with her short hair, and those candid startled eyes, she looked
+like a tall child.  He drew up a chair and said:
+
+"You must forgive me coming at such an hour; he's told me, you see." He
+expected her to flinch and gasp; but she only clasped her hands together
+on her knees, and said:
+
+"Yes?"
+
+Then horror and discomfort rose up in him, afresh.
+
+"An awful business!"
+
+Her whisper echoed him:
+
+"Yes, oh! yes!  Awful--it is awful!"
+
+And suddenly realising that the man must have fallen dead just where he
+was sitting, Keith became stock silent, staring at the floor.
+
+"Yes," she whispered; "Just there.  I see him now always falling!"
+
+How she said that!  With what a strange gentle despair!  In this girl of
+evil life, who had brought on them this tragedy, what was it which moved
+him to a sort of unwilling compassion?
+
+"You look very young," he said.
+
+"I am twenty."
+
+"And you are fond of--my brother?"
+
+"I would die for him."
+
+Impossible to mistake the tone of her voice, or the look in her eyes,
+true deep Slav eyes; dark brown, not blue as he had thought at first. It
+was a very pretty face--either her life had not eaten into it yet, or the
+suffering of these last hours had purged away those marks; or perhaps
+this devotion of hers to Larry.  He felt strangely at sea, sitting there
+with this child of twenty; he, over forty, a man of the world,
+professionally used to every side of human nature.  But he said,
+stammering a little:
+
+"I--I have come to see how far you can save him.  Listen, and just answer
+the questions I put to you."
+
+She raised her hands, squeezed them together, and murmured:
+
+"Oh!  I will answer anything."
+
+"This man, then--your--your husband--was he a bad man?"
+
+"A dreadful man."
+
+"Before he came here last night, how long since you saw him?"
+
+"Eighteen months."
+
+"Where did you live when you saw him last?"
+
+"In Pimlico."
+
+"Does anybody about here know you as Mrs. Walenn?"
+
+"No.  When I came here, after my little girl died, I came to live a bad
+life.  Nobody knows me at all.  I am quite alone."
+
+"If they discover who he was, they will look for his wife?"
+
+"I do not know.  He did not let people think I was married to him.  I was
+very young; he treated many, I think, like me."
+
+"Do you think he was known to the police?"
+
+She shook her head.  "He was very clever."
+
+"What is your name now?"
+
+"Wanda Livinska."
+
+"Were you known by that name before you were married?"
+
+"Wanda is my Christian name.  Livinska--I just call myself."
+
+"I see; since you came here."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Did my brother ever see this man before last night?"
+
+"Never."
+
+"You had told him about his treatment of you?"
+
+"Yes.  And that man first went for him."
+
+"I saw the mark.  Do you think anyone saw my brother come to you?"
+
+"I do not know.  He says not."
+
+"Can you tell if anyone saw him carrying the--the thing away?"
+
+"No one in this street--I was looking."
+
+"Nor coming back?"
+
+"No one."
+
+"Nor going out in the morning?"
+
+"I do not think it."
+
+"Have you a servant?"
+
+"Only a woman who comes at nine in the morning for an hour."
+
+"Does she know Larry?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Friends, acquaintances?"
+
+"No; I am very quiet.  And since I knew your brother, I see no one.
+Nobody comes here but him for a long time now."
+
+"How long?"
+
+"Five months."
+
+"Have you been out to-day?"
+
+"No."
+
+"What have you been doing?"
+
+"Crying."
+
+It was said with a certain dreadful simplicity, and pressing her hands
+together, she went on:
+
+"He is in danger, because of me.  I am so afraid for him." Holding up his
+hand to check that emotion, he said:
+
+"Look at me!"
+
+She fixed those dark eyes on him, and in her bare throat, from which the
+coat had fallen back, he could see her resolutely swallowing down her
+agitation.
+
+"If the worst comes to the worst, and this man is traced to you, can you
+trust yourself not to give my brother away?"
+
+Her eyes shone.  She got up and went to the fireplace:
+
+"Look!  I have burned all the things he has given me--even his picture.
+Now I have nothing from him."
+
+Keith, too, got up.
+
+"Good!  One more question: Do the police know you, because--because of
+your life?"
+
+She shook her head, looking at him intently, with those mournfully true
+eyes.  And he felt a sort of shame.
+
+"I was obliged to ask.  Do you know where he lives?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You must not go there.  And he must not come to you, here."
+
+Her lips quivered; but she bowed her head.  Suddenly he found her quite
+close to him, speaking almost in a whisper:
+
+"Please do not take him from me altogether.  I will be so careful.  I
+will not do anything to hurt him; but if I cannot see him sometimes, I
+shall die.  Please do not take him from me."  And catching his hand
+between her own, she pressed it desperately.  It was several seconds
+before Keith said:
+
+"Leave that to me.  I will see him.  I shall arrange.  You must leave
+that to me."
+
+"But you will be kind?"
+
+He felt her lips kissing his hand.  And the soft moist touch sent a queer
+feeling through him, protective, yet just a little brutal, having in it a
+shiver of sensuality.  He withdrew his hand.  And as if warned that she
+had been too pressing, she recoiled humbly.  But suddenly she turned, and
+stood absolutely rigid; then almost inaudibly whispered: "Listen!
+Someone out--out there!"  And darting past him she turned out the light.
+
+Almost at once came a knock on the door.  He could feel--actually feel
+the terror of this girl beside him in the dark.  And he, too, felt
+terror.  Who could it be?  No one came but Larry, she had said. Who else
+then could it be?  Again came the knock, louder!  He felt the breath of
+her whisper on his cheek: "If it is Larry!  I must open."  He shrank back
+against the wall; heard her open the door and say faintly: "Yes.  Please!
+Who?"
+
+Light painted a thin moving line on the wall opposite, and a voice which
+Keith recognised answered:
+
+"All right, miss.  Your outer door's open here.  You ought to keep it
+shut after dark."
+
+God!  That policeman!  And it had been his own doing, not shutting the
+outer door behind him when he came in.  He heard her say timidly in her
+foreign voice: "Thank you, sir!" the policeman's retreating steps, the
+outer door being shut, and felt her close to him again. That something in
+her youth and strange prettiness which had touched and kept him gentle,
+no longer blunted the edge of his exasperation, now that he could not see
+her.  They were all the same, these women; could not speak the truth!
+And he said brusquely:
+
+"You told me they didn't know you!"
+
+Her voice answered like a sigh:
+
+"I did not think they did, sir.  It is so long I was not out in the town,
+not since I had Larry."
+
+The repulsion which all the time seethed deep in Keith welled up at those
+words.  His brother--son of his mother, a gentleman--the property of this
+girl, bound to her, body and soul, by this unspeakable event!  But she
+had turned up the light.  Had she some intuition that darkness was
+against her?  Yes, she was pretty with that soft face, colourless save
+for its lips and dark eyes, with that face somehow so touchingly, so
+unaccountably good, and like a child's.
+
+"I am going now," he said.  "Remember!  He mustn't come here; you mustn't
+go to him.  I shall see him to-morrow.  If you are as fond of him as you
+say--take care, take care!"
+
+She sighed out, "Yes! oh, yes!"  and Keith went to the door.  She was
+standing with her back to the wall, and to follow him she only moved her
+head--that dove-like face with all its life in eyes which seemed saying:
+'Look into us; nothing we hide; all--all is there!'
+
+And he went out.
+
+In the passage he paused before opening the outer door.  He did not want
+to meet that policeman again; the fellow's round should have taken him
+well out of the street by now, and turning the handle cautiously, he
+looked out.  No one in sight.  He stood a moment, wondering if he should
+turn to right or left, then briskly crossed the street.  A voice to his
+right hand said:
+
+"Good-night, sir."
+
+There in the shadow of a doorway the policeman was standing.  The fellow
+must have seen him coming out!  Utterly unable to restrain a start, and
+muttering "Goodnight!"  Keith walked on rapidly:
+
+He went full quarter of a mile before he lost that startled and uneasy
+feeling in sardonic exasperation that he, Keith Darrant, had been taken
+for a frequenter of a lady of the town.  The whole thing--the whole
+thing!--a vile and disgusting business!  His very mind felt dirty and
+breathless; his spirit, drawn out of sheath, had slowly to slide back
+before he could at all focus and readjust his reasoning faculty.
+Certainly, he had got the knowledge he wanted.  There was less danger
+than he thought.  That girl's eyes!  No mistaking her devotion.  She
+would not give Larry away.  Yes!  Larry must clear out--South
+America--the East--it did not matter.  But he felt no relief.  The cheap,
+tawdry room had wrapped itself round his fancy with its atmosphere of
+murky love, with the feeling it inspired, of emotion caged within those
+yellowish walls and the red stuff of its furniture.  That girl's face!
+Devotion; truth, too, and beauty, rare and moving, in its setting of
+darkness and horror, in that nest of vice and of disorder!...  The dark
+archway; the street arab, with his gleeful: "They 'ain't got 'im yet!";
+the feel of those bare arms round his neck; that whisper of horror in the
+darkness; above all, again, her child face looking into his, so truthful!
+And suddenly he stood quite still in the street.  What in God's name was
+he about?  What grotesque juggling amongst shadows, what strange and
+ghastly eccentricity was all this?  The forces of order and routine, all
+the actualities of his daily life, marched on him at that moment, and
+swept everything before them.  It was a dream, a nightmare not real!  It
+was ridiculous!  That he--he should thus be bound up with things so black
+and bizarre!
+
+He had come by now to the Strand, that street down which every day he
+moved to the Law Courts, to his daily work; his work so dignified and
+regular, so irreproachable, and solid.  No!  The thing was all a
+monstrous nightmare!  It would go, if he fixed his mind on the familiar
+objects around, read the names on the shops, looked at the faces passing.
+Far down the thoroughfare he caught the outline of the old church, and
+beyond, the loom of the Law Courts themselves. The bell of a fire-engine
+sounded, and the horses came galloping by, with the shining metal, rattle
+of hoofs and hoarse shouting.  Here was a sensation, real and harmless,
+dignified and customary!  A woman flaunting round the corner looked up at
+him, and leered out: "Good-night!"  Even that was customary, tolerable.
+Two policemen passed, supporting between them a man the worse for liquor,
+full of fight and expletives; the sight was soothing, an ordinary thing
+which brought passing annoyance, interest, disgust.  It had begun to
+rain; he felt it on his face with pleasure--an actual thing, not
+eccentric, a thing which happened every day!
+
+He began to cross the street.  Cabs were going at furious speed now that
+the last omnibus had ceased to run; it distracted him to take this
+actual, ordinary risk run so often every day.  During that crossing of
+the Strand, with the rain in his face and the cabs shooting past, he
+regained for the first time his assurance, shook off this unreal sense of
+being in the grip of something, and walked resolutely to the corner of
+his home turning.  But passing into that darker stretch, he again stood
+still.  A policeman had also turned into that street on the other side.
+Not--surely not!  Absurd!  They were all alike to look at--those fellows!
+Absurd!  He walked on sharply, and let himself into his house.  But on
+his way upstairs he could not for the life of him help raising a corner
+of a curtain and looking from the staircase window.  The policeman was
+marching solemnly, about twenty-five yards away, paying apparently no
+attention to anything whatever.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+Keith woke at five o'clock, his usual hour, without remembrance.  But the
+grisly shadow started up when he entered his study, where the lamp
+burned, and the fire shone, and the coffee was set ready, just as when
+yesterday afternoon Larry had stood out there against the wall.  For a
+moment he fought against realisation; then, drinking off his coffee, sat
+down sullenly at the bureau to his customary three hours' study of the
+day's cases.
+
+Not one word of his brief could he take in.  It was all jumbled with
+murky images and apprehensions, and for full half an hour he suffered
+mental paralysis.  Then the sheer necessity of knowing something of the
+case which he had to open at half-past ten that morning forced him to a
+concentration which never quite subdued the malaise at the bottom of his
+heart.  Nevertheless, when he rose at half-past eight and went into the
+bathroom, he had earned his grim satisfaction in this victory of
+will-power.  By half-past nine he must be at Larry's. A boat left London
+for the Argentine to-morrow.  If Larry was to get away at once, money
+must be arranged for.  And then at breakfast he came on this paragraph in
+the paper:
+
+           "SOHO MURDER.
+
+"Enquiry late last night established the fact that the Police have
+discovered the identity of the man found strangled yesterday morning
+under an archway in Glove Lane.  An arrest has been made."
+
+By good fortune he had finished eating, for the words made him feel
+physically sick.  At this very minute Larry might be locked up, waiting
+to be charged-might even have been arrested before his own visit to the
+girl last night.  If Larry were arrested, she must be implicated.  What,
+then, would be his own position?  Idiot to go and look at that archway,
+to go and see the girl!  Had that policeman really followed him home?
+Accessory after the fact!  Keith Darrant, King's Counsel, man of mark!
+He forced himself by an effort, which had something of the heroic, to
+drop this panicky feeling.  Panic never did good.  He must face it, and
+see.  He refused even to hurry, calmly collected the papers wanted for
+the day, and attended to a letter or two, before he set out in a taxi-cab
+to Fitzroy Street.
+
+Waiting outside there in the grey morning for his ring to be answered, he
+looked the very picture of a man who knew his mind, a man of resolution.
+But it needed all his will-power to ask without tremor: "Mr. Darrant in?"
+to hear without sign of any kind the answer: "He's not up yet, sir."
+
+"Never mind; I'll go in and see him.  Mr. Keith Darrant."
+
+On his way to Laurence's bedroom, in the midst of utter relief, he had
+the self-possession to think: 'This arrest is the best thing that could
+have happened.  It'll keep their noses on a wrong scent till Larry's got
+away.  The girl must be sent off too, but not with him.' Panic had ended
+in quite hardening his resolution.  He entered the bedroom with a feeling
+of disgust.  The fellow was lying there, his bare arms crossed behind his
+tousled head, staring at the ceiling, and smoking one of many cigarettes
+whose ends littered a chair beside him, whose sickly reek tainted the
+air.  That pale face, with its jutting cheek-bones and chin, its hollow
+cheeks and blue eyes far sunk back--what a wreck of goodness!
+
+He looked up at Keith through the haze of smoke and said quietly: "Well,
+brother, what's the sentence?  'Transportation for life, and then to be
+fined forty pounds?'"
+
+The flippancy revolted Keith.  It was Larry all over!  Last night
+horrified and humble, this morning, "Don't care" and feather-headed. He
+said sourly:
+
+"Oh!  You can joke about it now?"
+
+Laurence turned his face to the wall.
+
+"Must."
+
+Fatalism!  How detestable were natures like that!
+
+"I've been to see her," he said.
+
+"You?"
+
+"Last night.  She can be trusted."
+
+Laurence laughed.
+
+"That I told you."
+
+"I had to see for myself.  You must clear out at once, Larry.  She can
+come out to you by the next boat; but you can't go together. Have you any
+money?"
+
+"No."
+
+"I can foot your expenses, and lend you a year's income in advance. But
+it must be a clean cut; after you get out there your whereabouts must
+only be known to me."
+
+A long sigh answered him.
+
+"You're very good to me, Keith; you've always been very good.  I don't
+know why."
+
+Keith answered drily
+
+"Nor I.  There's a boat to the Argentine tomorrow.  You're in luck;
+they've made an arrest.  It's in the paper."
+
+"What?"
+
+The cigarette end dropped, the thin pyjama'd figure writhed up and stood
+clutching at the bedrail.
+
+"What?"
+
+The disturbing thought flitted through Keith's brain: 'I was a fool. He
+takes it queerly; what now?'
+
+Laurence passed his hand over his forehead, and sat down on the bed.
+
+"I hadn't thought of that," he said; "It does me!"
+
+Keith stared.  In his relief that the arrested man was not Laurence, this
+had not occurred to him.  What folly!
+
+"Why?"  he said quickly; "an innocent man's in no danger.  They always
+get the wrong man first.  It's a piece of luck, that's all. It gives us
+time."
+
+How often had he not seen that expression on Larry's face, wistful,
+questioning, as if trying to see the thing with his--Keith's-eyes, trying
+to submit to better judgment?  And he said, almost gently--
+
+"Now, look here, Larry; this is too serious to trifle with.  Don't worry
+about that.  Leave it to me.  Just get ready to be off'.  I'll take your
+berth and make arrangements.  Here's some money for kit.  I can come
+round between five and six, and let you know.  Pull yourself together,
+man.  As soon as the girl's joined you out there, you'd better get across
+to Chile, the further the better.  You must simply lose yourself: I must
+go now, if I'm to get to the Bank before I go down to the courts."  And
+looking very steadily at his brother, he added:
+
+"Come!  You've got to think of me in this matter as well as of yourself.
+No playing fast and loose with the arrangements. Understand?"
+
+But still Larry gazed up at him with that wistful questioning, and not
+till he had repeated, "Understand?"  did he receive "Yes" for answer.
+
+Driving away, he thought: 'Queer fellow!  I don't know him, shall never
+know him!' and at once began to concentrate on the practical
+arrangements.  At his bank he drew out L400; but waiting for the notes to
+be counted he suffered qualms.  A clumsy way of doing things!  If there
+had been more time!  The thought: 'Accessory after the fact!' now
+infected everything.  Notes were traceable.  No other way of getting him
+away at once, though.  One must take lesser risks to avoid greater.  From
+the bank he drove to the office of the steamship line.  He had told Larry
+he would book his passage.  But that would not do!  He must only ask
+anonymously if there were accommodation.  Having discovered that there
+were vacant berths, he drove on to the Law Courts.  If he could have
+taken a morning off, he would have gone down to the police court and seen
+them charge this man.  But even that was not too safe, with a face so
+well known as his.  What would come of this arrest?  Nothing, surely!
+The police always took somebody up, to keep the public quiet.  Then,
+suddenly, he had again the feeling that it was all a nightmare; Larry had
+never done it; the police had got the right man!  But instantly the
+memory of the girl's awe-stricken face, her figure huddling on the sofa,
+her words "I see him always falling!"  came back.  God!  What a business!
+
+He felt he had never been more clear-headed and forcible than that
+morning in court.  When he came out for lunch he bought the most
+sensational of the evening papers.  But it was yet too early for news,
+and he had to go back into court no whit wiser concerning the arrest.
+When at last he threw off wig and gown, and had got through a conference
+and other necessary work, he went out to Chancery Lane, buying a paper on
+the way.  Then he hailed a cab, and drove once more to Fitzroy Street.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+Laurence had remained sitting on his bed for many minutes.  An innocent
+man in no danger!  Keith had said it--the celebrated lawyer!  Could he
+rely on that?  Go out 8,000 miles, he and the girl, and leave a
+fellow-creature perhaps in mortal peril for an act committed by himself?
+
+In the past night he had touched bottom, as he thought: become ready to
+face anything.  When Keith came in he would without murmur have accepted
+the advice: "Give yourself up!"  He was prepared to pitch away the end of
+his life as he pitched from him the fag-ends of his cigarettes.  And the
+long sigh he had heaved, hearing of reprieve, had been only half relief.
+Then, with incredible swiftness there had rushed through him a feeling of
+unutterable joy and hope.  Clean away--into a new country, a new life!
+The girl and he!  Out there he wouldn't care, would rejoice even to have
+squashed the life out of such a noisome beetle of a man.  Out there!
+Under a new sun, where blood ran quicker than in this foggy land, and
+people took justice into their own hands.  For it had been justice on
+that brute even though he had not meant to kill him.  And then to hear of
+this arrest!  They would be charging the man to-day.  He could go and see
+the poor creature accused of the murder he himself had committed!  And he
+laughed.  Go and see how likely it was that they might hang a fellow-man
+in place of himself?  He dressed, but too shaky to shave himself, went
+out to a barber's shop.  While there he read the news which Keith had
+seen.  In this paper the name of the arrested man was given: "John Evan,
+no address."  To be brought up on the charge at Bow Street.  Yes!  He
+must go.  Once, twice, three times he walked past the entrance of the
+court before at last he entered and screwed himself away among the tag
+and bobtail.
+
+The court was crowded; and from the murmurs round he could tell that it
+was his particular case which had brought so many there.  In a dazed way
+he watched charge after charge disposed of with lightning quickness.  But
+were they never going to reach his business?  And then suddenly he saw
+the little scarecrow man of last night advancing to the dock between two
+policemen, more ragged and miserable than ever by light of day, like some
+shaggy, wan, grey animal, surrounded by sleek hounds.
+
+A sort of satisfied purr was rising all round; and with horror Laurence
+perceived that this--this was the man accused of what he himself had
+done--this queer, battered unfortunate to whom he had shown a passing
+friendliness.  Then all feeling merged in the appalling interest of
+listening.  The evidence was very short. Testimony of the hotel-keeper
+where Walenn had been staying, the identification of his body, and of a
+snake-shaped ring he had been wearing at dinner that evening.  Testimony
+of a pawnbroker, that this same ring was pawned with him the first thing
+yesterday morning by the prisoner.  Testimony of a policeman that he had
+noticed the man Evan several times in Glove Lane, and twice moved him on
+from sleeping under that arch.  Testimony of another policeman that, when
+arrested at midnight, Evan had said: "Yes; I took the ring off his
+finger.  I found him there dead ....  I know I oughtn't to have done
+it....  I'm an educated man; it was stupid to pawn the ring.  I found him
+with his pockets turned inside out."
+
+Fascinating and terrible to sit staring at the man in whose place he
+should have been; to wonder when those small bright-grey bloodshot eyes
+would spy him out, and how he would meet that glance.  Like a baited
+raccoon the little man stood, screwed back into a corner, mournful,
+cynical, fierce, with his ridged, obtuse yellow face, and his stubbly
+grey beard and hair, and his eyes wandering now and again amongst the
+crowd.  But with all his might Laurence kept his face unmoved.  Then came
+the word "Remanded"; and, more like a baited beast than ever, the man was
+led away.
+
+Laurence sat on, a cold perspiration thick on his forehead.  Someone
+else, then, had come on the body and turned the pockets inside out before
+John Evan took the ring.  A man such as Walenn would not be out at night
+without money.  Besides, if Evan had found money on the body he would
+never have run the risk of taking that ring.  Yes, someone else had come
+on the body first.  It was for that one to come forward, and prove that
+the ring was still on the dead man's finger when he left him, and thus
+clear Evan.  He clung to that thought; it seemed to make him less
+responsible for the little man's position; to remove him and his own deed
+one step further back.  If they found the person who had taken the money,
+it would prove Evan's innocence.  He came out of the court in a sort of
+trance.  And a craving to get drunk attacked him.  One could not go on
+like this without the relief of some oblivion.  If he could only get
+drunk, keep drunk till this business was decided and he knew whether he
+must give himself up or no.  He had now no fear at all of people
+suspecting him; only fear of himself--fear that he might go and give
+himself up.  Now he could see the girl; the danger from that was as
+nothing compared with the danger from his own conscience.  He had
+promised Keith not to see her.  Keith had been decent and loyal to
+him--good old Keith!  But he would never understand that this girl was
+now all he cared about in life; that he would rather be cut off from life
+itself than be cut off from her.  Instead of becoming less and less, she
+was becoming more and more to him--experience strange and thrilling!  Out
+of deep misery she had grown happy--through him; out of a sordid,
+shifting life recovered coherence and bloom, through devotion to him him,
+of all people in the world!  It was a miracle.  She demanded nothing of
+him, adored him, as no other woman ever had--it was this which had
+anchored his drifting barque; this--and her truthful mild intelligence,
+and that burning warmth of a woman, who, long treated by men as but a
+sack of sex, now loves at last.
+
+And suddenly, mastering his craving to get drunk, he made towards Soho.
+He had been a fool to give those keys to Keith.  She must have been
+frightened by his visit; and, perhaps, doubly miserable since, knowing
+nothing, imagining everything!  Keith was sure to have terrified her.
+Poor little thing!
+
+Down the street where he had stolen in the dark with the dead body on his
+back, he almost ran for the cover of her house.  The door was opened to
+him before he knocked, her arms were round his neck, her lips pressed to
+his.  The fire was out, as if she had been unable to remember to keep
+warm.  A stool had been drawn to the window, and there she had evidently
+been sitting, like a bird in a cage, looking out into the grey street.
+Though she had been told that he was not to come, instinct had kept her
+there; or the pathetic, aching hope against hope which lovers never part
+with.
+
+Now that he was there, her first thoughts were for his comfort.  The fire
+was lighted.  He must eat, drink, smoke.  There was never in her doings
+any of the "I am doing this for you, but you ought to be doing that for
+me" which belongs to so many marriages, and liaisons.  She was like a
+devoted slave, so in love with the chains that she never knew she wore
+them.  And to Laurence, who had so little sense of property, this only
+served to deepen tenderness, and the hold she had on him.  He had
+resolved not to tell her of the new danger he ran from his own
+conscience.  But resolutions with him were but the opposites of what was
+sure to come; and at last the words:
+
+"They've arrested someone," escaped him.
+
+From her face he knew she had grasped the danger at once; had divined it,
+perhaps, before he spoke.  But she only twined her arms round him and
+kissed his lips.  And he knew that she was begging him to put his love
+for her above his conscience.  Who would ever have thought that he could
+feel as he did to this girl who had been in the arms of many!  The
+stained and suffering past of a loved woman awakens in some men only
+chivalry; in others, more respectable, it rouses a tigerish itch, a
+rancorous jealousy of what in the past was given to others.  Sometimes it
+will do both.  When he had her in his arms he felt no remorse for killing
+the coarse, handsome brute who had ruined her.  He savagely rejoiced in
+it.  But when she laid her head in the hollow of his shoulder, turning to
+him her white face with the faint colour-staining on the parted lips, the
+cheeks, the eyelids; when her dark, wide-apart, brown eyes gazed up in
+the happiness of her abandonment--he felt only tenderness and protection.
+
+He left her at five o'clock, and had not gone two streets' length before
+the memory of the little grey vagabond, screwed back in the far corner of
+the dock like a baited raccoon, of his dreary, creaking voice, took
+possession of him again; and a kind of savagery mounted in his brain
+against a world where one could be so tortured without having meant harm
+to anyone.
+
+At the door of his lodgings Keith was getting out of a cab.  They went in
+together, but neither of them sat down; Keith standing with his back to
+the carefully shut door, Laurence with his back to the table, as if they
+knew there was a tug coming.  And Keith said: "There's room on that boat.
+Go down and book your berth before they shut.  Here's the money!"
+
+"I'm going to stick it, Keith."
+
+Keith stepped forward, and put a roll of notes on the table.
+
+"Now look here, Larry.  I've read the police court proceedings. There's
+nothing in that.  Out of prison, or in prison for a few weeks, it's all
+the same to a night-bird of that sort.  Dismiss it from your
+mind--there's not nearly enough evidence to convict.  This gives you your
+chance.  Take it like a man, and make a new life for yourself."
+
+Laurence smiled; but the smile had a touch of madness and a touch of
+malice.  He took up the notes.
+
+"Clear out, and save the honour of brother Keith.  Put them back in your
+pocket, Keith, or I'll put them in the fire.  Come, take them!" And,
+crossing to the fire, he held them to the bars.  "Take them, or in they
+go!"
+
+Keith took back the notes.
+
+"I've still got some kind of honour, Keith; if I clear out I shall have
+none, not the rag of any, left.  It may be worth more to me than that--I
+can't tell yet--I can't tell."  There was a long silence before Keith
+answered.  "I tell you you're mistaken; no jury will convict.  If they
+did, a judge would never hang on it.  A ghoul who can rob a dead body
+ought to be in prison.  What he did is worse than what you did, if you
+come to that!"  Laurence lifted his face. "Judge not, brother," he said;
+"the heart is a dark well."  Keith's yellowish face grew red and swollen,
+as though he were mastering the tickle of a bronchial cough.  "What are
+you going to do, then?  I suppose I may ask you not to be entirely
+oblivious of our name; or is such a consideration unworthy of your
+honour?"  Laurence bent his head.  The gesture said more clearly than
+words: 'Don't kick a man when he's down!'
+
+"I don't know what I'm going to do--nothing at present.  I'm awfully
+sorry, Keith; awfully sorry."
+
+Keith looked at him, and without another word went out.
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+To any, save philosophers, reputation may be threatened almost as much by
+disgrace to name and family as by the disgrace of self. Keith's instinct
+was always to deal actively with danger.  But this blow, whether it fell
+on him by discovery or by confession, could not be countered.  As blight
+falls on a rose from who knows where, the scandalous murk would light on
+him.  No repulse possible!  Not even a wriggling from under!  Brother of
+a murderer hung or sent to penal servitude!  His daughter niece to a
+murderer!  His dead mother-a murderer's mother!  And to wait day after
+day, week after week, not knowing whether the blow would fall, was an
+extraordinarily atrocious penance, the injustice of which, to a man of
+rectitude, seemed daily the more monstrous.
+
+The remand had produced evidence that the murdered man had been drinking
+heavily on the night of his death, and further evidence of the accused's
+professional vagabondage and destitution; it was shown, too, that for
+some time the archway in Glove Lane had been his favourite night haunt.
+He had been committed for trial in January. This time, despite
+misgivings, Keith had attended the police court. To his great relief
+Larry was not there.  But the policeman who had come up while he was
+looking at the archway, and given him afterwards that scare in the girl's
+rooms, was chief witness to the way the accused man haunted Glove Lane.
+Though Keith held his silk hat high, he still had the uncomfortable
+feeling that the man had recognised him.
+
+His conscience suffered few, if any, twinges for letting this man rest
+under the shadow of the murder.  He genuinely believed that there was not
+evidence enough to convict; nor was it in him to appreciate the tortures
+of a vagabond shut up.  The scamp deserved what he had got, for robbing a
+dead body; and in any case such a scarecrow was better off in prison than
+sleeping out under archways in December.  Sentiment was foreign to
+Keith's character, and his justice that of those who subordinate the
+fates of the weak and shiftless to the needful paramountcy of the strong
+and well established.
+
+His daughter came back from school for the Christmas holidays.  It was
+hard to look up from her bright eyes and rosy cheeks and see this shadow
+hanging above his calm and ordered life, as in a glowing room one's eye
+may catch an impending patch of darkness drawn like a spider's web across
+a corner of the ceiling.
+
+On the afternoon of Christmas Eve they went, by her desire, to a church
+in Soho, where the Christmas Oratorio was being given; and coming away
+passed, by chance of a wrong turning, down Borrow Street. Ugh!  How that
+startled moment, when the girl had pressed herself against him in the
+dark, and her terror-stricken whisper: "Oh!  Who is it?"  leaped out
+before him!  Always that business--that ghastly business!  After the
+trial he would have another try to get them both away.  And he thrust his
+arm within his young daughter's, hurrying her on, out of this street
+where shadows filled all the winter air.
+
+But that evening when she had gone to bed he felt uncontrollably
+restless.  He had not seen Larry for weeks.  What was he about?  What
+desperations were hatching in his disorderly brain?  Was he very
+miserable; had he perhaps sunk into a stupor of debauchery?  And the old
+feeling of protectiveness rose up in him; a warmth born of long ago
+Christmas Eves, when they had stockings hung out in the night stuffed by
+a Santa Claus, whose hand never failed to tuck them up, whose kiss was
+their nightly waft into sleep.
+
+Stars were sparkling out there over the river; the sky frosty-clear, and
+black.  Bells had not begun to ring as yet.  And obeying an obscure, deep
+impulse, Keith wrapped himself once more into his fur coat, pulled a
+motoring cap over his eyes, and sallied forth. In the Strand he took a
+cab to Fitzroy Street.  There was no light in Larry's windows, and on a
+card he saw the words "To Let."  Gone!  Had he after all cleared out for
+good?  But how-without money?  And the girl?  Bells were ringing now in
+the silent frostiness.  Christmas Eve!  And Keith thought: 'If only this
+wretched business were off my mind!  Monstrous that one should suffer for
+the faults of others!' He took a route which led him past Borrow Street.
+Solitude brooded there, and he walked resolutely down on the far side,
+looking hard at the girl's window.  There was a light.  The curtains just
+failed to meet, so that a thin gleam shone through.  He crossed; and
+after glancing swiftly up and down, deliberately peered in.
+
+He only stood there perhaps twenty seconds, but visual records gleaned in
+a moment sometimes outlast the visions of hours and days. The electric
+light was not burning; but, in the centre of the room the girl was
+kneeling in her nightgown before a little table on which were four
+lighted candles.  Her arms were crossed on her breast; the candle-light
+shone on her fair cropped hair, on the profile of cheek and chin, on her
+bowed white neck.  For a moment he thought her alone; then behind her saw
+his brother in a sleeping suit, leaning against the wall, with arms
+crossed, watching.  It was the expression on his face which burned the
+whole thing in, so that always afterwards he was able to see that little
+scene--such an expression as could never have been on the face of one
+even faintly conscious that he was watched by any living thing on earth.
+The whole of Larry's heart and feeling seemed to have come up out of him.
+Yearning, mockery, love, despair!  The depth of his feeling for this
+girl, his stress of mind, fears, hopes; the flotsam good and evil of his
+soul, all transfigured there, exposed and unforgettable.  The
+candle-light shone upward on to his face, twisted by the strangest smile;
+his eyes, darker and more wistful than mortal eyes should be, seemed to
+beseech and mock the white-clad girl, who, all unconscious, knelt without
+movement, like a carved figure of devotion.  The words seemed coming from
+his lips: "Pray for us!  Bravo!  Yes!  Pray for us!"  And suddenly Keith
+saw her stretch out her arms, and lift her face with a look of ecstasy,
+and Laurence starting forward.  What had she seen beyond the candle
+flames?  It is the unexpected which invests visions with poignancy.
+Nothing more strange could Keith have seen in this nest of the murky and
+illicit.  But in sheer panic lest he might be caught thus spying he drew
+back and hurried on. So Larry was living there with her!  When the moment
+came he could still find him.
+
+Before going in, he stood full five minutes leaning on the terrace
+parapet before his house, gazing at the star-frosted sky, and the river
+cut by the trees into black pools, oiled over by gleams from the
+Embankment lamps.  And, deep down, behind his mere thoughts, he
+ached-somehow, somewhere ached.  Beyond the cage of all that he saw and
+heard and thought, he had perceived something he could not reach. But the
+night was cold, the bells silent, for it had struck twelve. Entering his
+house, he stole upstairs.
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+If for Keith those six weeks before the Glove Lane murder trial came on
+were fraught with uneasiness and gloom, they were for Laurence almost the
+happiest since his youth.  From the moment when he left his rooms and
+went to the girl's to live, a kind of peace and exaltation took
+possession of him.  Not by any effort of will did he throw off the
+nightmare hanging over him.  Nor was he drugged by love.  He was in a
+sort of spiritual catalepsy.  In face of fate too powerful for his will,
+his turmoil, anxiety, and even restlessness had ceased; his life floated
+in the ether of "what must come, will." Out of this catalepsy, his spirit
+sometimes fell headlong into black waters.  In one such whirlpool he was
+struggling on the night of Christmas Eve.  When the girl rose from her
+knees he asked her:
+
+"What did you see?"
+
+Pressing close to him, she drew him down on to the floor before the fire;
+and they sat, knees drawn up, hands clasped, like two children trying to
+see over the edge of the world.
+
+"It was the Virgin I saw.  She stood against the wall and smiled.  We
+shall be happy soon."
+
+"When we die, Wanda," he said, suddenly, "let it be together.  We shall
+keep each other warm, out there."
+
+Huddling to him she whispered: "Yes, oh, yes!  If you die, I could not go
+on living."
+
+It was this utter dependence on him, the feeling that he had rescued
+something, which gave him sense of anchorage.  That, and his buried life
+in the retreat of these two rooms.  Just for an hour in the morning, from
+nine to ten, the charwoman would come, but not another soul all day.
+They never went out together.  He would stay in bed late, while Wanda
+bought what they needed for the day's meals; lying on his back, hands
+clasped behind his head, recalling her face, the movements of her slim,
+rounded, supple figure, robing itself before his gaze; feeling again the
+kiss she had left on his lips, the gleam of her soft eyes, so strangely
+dark in so fair a face.  In a sort of trance he would lie till she came
+back.  Then get up to breakfast about noon off things which she had
+cooked, drinking coffee.  In the afternoon he would go out alone and walk
+for hours, any where, so long as it was East.  To the East there was
+always suffering to be seen, always that which soothed him with the
+feeling that he and his troubles were only a tiny part of trouble; that
+while so many other sorrowing and shadowy creatures lived he was not cut
+off.  To go West was to encourage dejection.  In the West all was like
+Keith, successful, immaculate, ordered, resolute.  He would come back
+tired out, and sit watching her cook their little dinner.  The evenings
+were given up to love.  Queer trance of an existence, which both were
+afraid to break.  No sign from her of wanting those excitements which
+girls who have lived her life, even for a few months, are supposed to
+need.  She never asked him to take her anywhere; never, in word, deed,
+look, seemed anything but almost rapturously content.  And yet he knew,
+and she knew, that they were only waiting to see whether Fate would turn
+her thumb down on them.  In these days he did not drink.  Out of his
+quarter's money, when it came in, he had paid his debts--their expenses
+were very small.  He never went to see Keith, never wrote to him, hardly
+thought of him.  And from those dread apparitions--Walenn lying with the
+breath choked out of him, and the little grey, driven animal in the
+dock--he hid, as only a man can who must hide or be destroyed.  But daily
+he bought a newspaper, and feverishly, furtively scanned its columns.
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+Coming out of the Law Courts on the afternoon of January 28th, at the
+triumphant end of a desperately fought will case, Keith saw on a poster
+the words: "Glove Lane Murder: Trial and Verdict"; and with a rush of
+dismay he thought: 'Good God!  I never looked at the paper this morning!'
+The elation which had filled him a second before, the absorption he had
+felt for two days now in the case so hardly won, seemed suddenly quite
+sickeningly trivial.  What on earth had he been doing to forget that
+horrible business even for an instant?  He stood quite still on the
+crowded pavement, unable, really unable, to buy a paper.  But his face
+was like a piece of iron when he did step forward and hold his penny out.
+There it was in the Stop Press! "Glove Lane Murder.  The jury returned a
+verdict of Guilty.  Sentence of death was passed."
+
+His first sensation was simple irritation.  How had they come to commit
+such an imbecility?  Monstrous!  The evidence--!  Then the futility of
+even reading the report, of even considering how they had come to record
+such a verdict struck him with savage suddenness. There it was, and
+nothing he could do or say would alter it; no condemnation of this
+idiotic verdict would help reverse it.  The situation was desperate,
+indeed!  That five minutes' walk from the Law Courts to his chambers was
+the longest he had ever taken.
+
+Men of decided character little know beforehand what they will do in
+certain contingencies.  For the imaginations of decided people do not
+endow mere contingencies with sufficient actuality.  Keith had never
+really settled what he was going to do if this man were condemned. Often
+in those past weeks he had said to himself: "Of course, if they bring him
+in guilty, that's another thing!"  But, now that they had, he was beset
+by exactly the same old arguments and feelings, the same instincts of
+loyalty and protection towards Laurence and himself, intensified by the
+fearful imminence of the danger.  And yet, here was this man about to be
+hung for a thing he had not done!  Nothing could get over that!  But then
+he was such a worthless vagabond, a ghoul who had robbed a dead body.  If
+Larry were condemned in his stead, would there be any less miscarriage of
+justice?  To strangle a brute who had struck you, by the accident of
+keeping your hands on his throat a few seconds too long, was there any
+more guilt in that--was there even as much, as in deliberate theft from a
+dead man?  Reverence for order, for justice, and established fact, will,
+often march shoulder to shoulder with Jesuitry in natures to whom success
+is vital.
+
+In the narrow stone passage leading to his staircase, a friend had called
+out: "Bravo, Darrant!  That was a squeak!  Congratulations!" And with a
+bitter little smile Keith thought: 'Congratulations!  I!'
+
+At the first possible moment the hurried back to the Strand, and hailing
+a cab, he told the man to put him down at a turning near to Borrow
+Street.
+
+It was the girl who opened to his knock.  Startled, clasping her hands,
+she looked strange to Keith in her black skirt and blouse of some soft
+velvety stuff the colour of faded roses.  Her round, rather long throat
+was bare; and Keith noticed fretfully that she wore gold earrings.  Her
+eyes, so pitch dark against her white face, and the short fair hair,
+which curled into her neck, seemed both to search and to plead.
+
+"My brother?"
+
+"He is not in, sir, yet."
+
+"Do you know where he is?"
+
+"No."
+
+"He is living with you here now?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Are you still as fond of him as ever, then?"
+
+With a movement, as though she despaired of words, she clasped her hands
+over her heart.  And he said:
+
+"I see."
+
+He had the same strange feeling as on his first visit to her, and when
+through the chink in the curtains he had watched her kneeling--of pity
+mingled with some faint sexual emotion.  And crossing to the fire he
+asked:
+
+"May I wait for him?"
+
+"Oh!  Please!  Will you sit down?"
+
+But Keith shook his head.  And with a catch in her breath, she said:
+
+"You will not take him from me.  I should die."
+
+He turned round on her sharply.
+
+"I don't want him taken from you.  I want to help you keep him.  Are you
+ready to go away, at any time?"
+
+"Yes.  Oh, yes!"
+
+"And he?"
+
+She answered almost in a whisper:
+
+"Yes; but there is that poor man."
+
+"That poor man is a graveyard thief; a hyena; a ghoul--not worth
+consideration."  And the rasp in his own voice surprised him.
+
+"Ah!" she sighed.  "But I am sorry for him.  Perhaps he was hungry. I
+have been hungry--you do things then that you would not.  And perhaps he
+has no one to love; if you have no one to love you can be very bad.  I
+think of him often--in prison."
+
+Between his teeth Keith muttered: "And Laurence?"
+
+"We do never speak of it, we are afraid."
+
+"He's not told you, then, about the trial?"
+
+Her eyes dilated.
+
+"The trial!  Oh!  He was strange last night.  This morning, too, he got
+up early.  Is it-is it over?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"What has come?"
+
+"Guilty."
+
+For a moment Keith thought she was going to faint.  She had closed her
+eyes, and swayed so that he took a step, and put his hands on her arms.
+
+"Listen!" he said.  "Help me; don't let Laurence out of your sight. We
+must have time.  I must see what they intend to do.  They can't be going
+to hang this man.  I must have time, I tell you.  You must prevent his
+giving himself up."
+
+She stood, staring in his face, while he still held her arms, gripping
+into her soft flesh through the velvety sleeves.
+
+"Do you understand?"
+
+"Yes-but if he has already!"
+
+Keith felt the shiver which ran through her.  And the thought rushed into
+his mind: 'My God!  Suppose the police come round while I'm here!'  If
+Larry had indeed gone to them!  If that Policeman who had seen him here
+the night after the murder should find him here again just after the
+verdict!  He said almost fiercely:
+
+"Can I trust you not to let Larry out of your sight?  Quick!  Answer!"
+
+Clasping her hands to her breast, she answered humbly:
+
+"I will try."
+
+"If he hasn't already done this, watch him like a lynx!  Don't let him go
+out without you.  I'll come to-morrow morning early.  You're a Catholic,
+aren't you?  Swear to me that you won't let him do anything till he's
+seen me again."
+
+She did not answer, looking past him at the door; and Keith heard a key
+in the latch.  There was Laurence himself, holding in his hand a great
+bunch of pink lilies and white narcissi.  His face was pale and haggard.
+He said quietly:
+
+"Hallo, Keith!"
+
+The girl's eyes were fastened on Larry's face; and Keith, looking from
+one to the other, knew that he had never had more need for wariness.
+
+"Have you seen?"  he said.
+
+Laurence nodded.  His expression, as a rule so tell-tale of his emotions,
+baffled Keith utterly.
+
+"Well?"
+
+"I've been expecting it."
+
+"The thing can't stand--that's certain.  But I must have time to look
+into the report.  I must have time to see what I can do.  D'you
+understand me, Larry--I must have time."  He knew he was talking at
+random.  The only thing was to get them away at once out of reach of
+confession; but he dared not say so.
+
+"Promise me that you'll do nothing, that you won't go out even till I've
+seen you to-morrow morning."
+
+Again Laurence nodded.  And Keith looked at the girl.  Would she see that
+he did not break that promise?  Her eyes were still fixed immovably on
+Larry's face.  And with the feeling that he could get no further, Keith
+turned to go.
+
+"Promise me," he said.
+
+Laurence answered: "I promise."
+
+He was smiling.  Keith could make nothing of that smile, nor of the
+expression in the girl's eyes.  And saying: "I have your promise, I rely
+on it!"  he went.
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+To keep from any woman who loves, knowledge of her lover's mood, is as
+hard as to keep music from moving the heart.  But when that woman has
+lived in suffering, and for the first time knows the comfort of love,
+then let the lover try as he may to disguise his heart--no use!  Yet by
+virtue of subtler abnegation she will often succeed in keeping it from
+him that she knows.
+
+When Keith was gone the girl made no outcry, asked no questions, managed
+that Larry should not suspect her intuition; all that evening she acted
+as if she knew of nothing preparing within him, and through him, within
+herself.
+
+His words, caresses, the very zest with which he helped her to prepare
+the feast, the flowers he had brought, the wine he made her drink, the
+avoidance of any word which could spoil their happiness, all--all told
+her.  He was too inexorably gay and loving.  Not for her--to whom every
+word and every kiss had uncannily the desperate value of a last word and
+kiss--not for her to deprive herself of these by any sign or gesture
+which might betray her prescience.  Poor soul--she took all, and would
+have taken more, a hundredfold.  She did not want to drink the wine he
+kept tilting into her glass, but, with the acceptance learned by women
+who have lived her life, she did not refuse.  She had never refused him
+anything.  So much had been required of her by the detestable, that
+anything required by a loved one was but an honour.
+
+Laurence drank deeply; but he had never felt clearer, never seen things
+more clearly.  The wine gave him what he wanted, an edge to these few
+hours of pleasure, an exaltation of energy.  It dulled his sense of pity,
+too.  It was pity he was afraid of--for himself, and for this girl.  To
+make even this tawdry room look beautiful, with firelight and
+candlelight, dark amber wine in the glasses, tall pink lilies spilling
+their saffron, exuding their hot perfume he and even himself must look
+their best.  And with a weight as of lead on her heart, she managed that
+for him, letting him strew her with flowers and crush them together with
+herself.  Not even music was lacking to their feast.  Someone was playing
+a pianola across the street, and the sound, very faint, came stealing
+when they were silent--swelling, sinking, festive, mournful; having a
+far-off life of its own, like the flickering fire-flames before which
+they lay embraced, or the lilies delicate between the candles.  Listening
+to that music, tracing with his finger the tiny veins on her breast, he
+lay like one recovering from a swoon.  No parting.  None!  But sleep, as
+the firelight sleeps when flames die; as music sleeps on its deserted
+strings.
+
+And the girl watched him.
+
+It was nearly ten when he bade her go to bed.  And after she had gone
+obedient into the bedroom, he brought ink and paper down by the fire. The
+drifter, the unstable, the good-for-nothing--did not falter.  He had
+thought, when it came to the point, he would fail himself; but a sort of
+rage bore him forward.  If he lived on, and confessed, they would shut
+him up, take from him the one thing he loved, cut him off from her; sand
+up his only well in the desert.  Curse them!  And he wrote by firelight
+which mellowed the white sheets of paper; while, against the dark
+curtain, the girl, in her nightgown, unconscious of the cold, stood
+watching.
+
+Men, when they drown, remember their pasts.  Like the lost poet he had
+"gone with the wind."  Now it was for him to be true in his fashion.  A
+man may falter for weeks and weeks, consciously, subconsciously, even in
+his dreams, till there comes that moment when the only thing impossible
+is to go on faltering.  The black cap, the little driven grey man looking
+up at it with a sort of wonder--faltering had ceased!
+
+He had finished now, and was but staring into the fire.
+
+         "No more, no more, the moon is dead,
+          And all the people in it;
+          The poppy maidens strew the bed,
+          We'll come in half a minute."
+
+Why did doggerel start up in the mind like that?  Wanda!  The weed-flower
+become so rare he would not be parted from her!  The fire, the candles,
+and the fire--no more the flame and flicker!
+
+And, by the dark curtain, the girl watched.
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+Keith went, not home, but to his club; and in the room devoted to the
+reception of guests, empty at this hour, he sat down and read the report
+of the trial.  The fools had made out a case that looked black enough.
+And for a long time, on the thick soft carpet which let out no sound of
+footfall, he paced up and down, thinking.  He might see the defending
+counsel, might surely do that as an expert who thought there had been
+miscarriage of justice.  They must appeal; a petition too might be
+started in the last event.  The thing could--must be put right yet, if
+only Larry and that girl did nothing!
+
+He had no appetite, but the custom of dining is too strong.  And while he
+ate, he glanced with irritation at his fellow-members.  They looked so at
+their ease.  Unjust--that this black cloud should hang over one blameless
+as any of them!  Friends, connoisseurs of such things--a judge among
+them--came specially to his table to express their admiration of his
+conduct of that will case.  Tonight he had real excuse for pride, but he
+felt none.  Yet, in this well-warmed quietly glowing room, filled with
+decorously eating, decorously talking men, he gained insensibly some
+comfort.  This surely was reality; that shadowy business out there only
+the drear sound of a wind one must and did keep out--like the poverty and
+grime which had no real existence for the secure and prosperous.  He
+drank champagne. It helped to fortify reality, to make shadows seem more
+shadowy.  And down in the smoking-room he sat before the fire, in one of
+those chairs which embalm after-dinner dreams.  He grew sleepy there, and
+at eleven o'clock rose to go home.  But when he had once passed down the
+shallow marble steps, out through the revolving door which let in no
+draughts, he was visited by fear, as if he had drawn it in with the
+breath of the January wind.  Larry's face; and the girl watching it!  Why
+had she watched like that?  Larry's smile; and the flowers in his hand?
+Buying flowers at such a moment!  The girl was his slave-whatever he told
+her, she would do.  But she would never be able to stop him.  At this
+very moment he might be rushing to give himself up!
+
+His hand, thrust deep into the pocket of his fur coat, came in contact
+suddenly with something cold.  The keys Larry had given him all that time
+ago.  There they had lain forgotten ever since.  The chance touch decided
+him.  He turned off towards Borrow Street, walking at full speed.  He
+could but go again and see.  He would sleep better if he knew that he had
+left no stone unturned.  At the corner of that dismal street he had to
+wait for solitude before he made for the house which he now loathed with
+a deadly loathing.  He opened the outer door and shut it to behind him.
+He knocked, but no one came.  Perhaps they had gone to bed.  Again and
+again he knocked, then opened the door, stepped in, and closed it
+carefully.  Candles lighted, the fire burning; cushions thrown on the
+floor in front of it and strewn with flowers!  The table, too, covered
+with flowers and with the remnants of a meal.  Through the half-drawn
+curtain he could see that the inner room was also lighted.  Had they gone
+out, leaving everything like this?  Gone out!  His heart beat.  Bottles!
+Larry had been drinking!
+
+Had it really come?  Must he go back home with this murk on him; knowing
+that his brother was a confessed and branded murderer?  He went quickly,
+to the half-drawn curtains and looked in.  Against the wall he saw a bed,
+and those two in it.  He recoiled in sheer amazement and relief.  Asleep
+with curtains undrawn, lights left on?  Asleep through all his knocking!
+They must both be drunk.  The blood rushed up in his neck.  Asleep!  And
+rushing forward again, he called out: "Larry!"  Then, with a gasp he went
+towards the bed.  "Larry!" No answer!  No movement!  Seizing his
+brother's shoulder, he shook it violently.  It felt cold.  They were
+lying in each other's arms, breast to breast, lips to lips, their faces
+white in the light shining above the dressing-table.  And such a shudder
+shook Keith that he had to grasp the brass rail above their heads.  Then
+he bent down, and wetting his finger, placed it close to their joined
+lips. No two could ever swoon so utterly as that; not even a drunken
+sleep could be so fast.  His wet finger felt not the faintest stir of
+air, nor was there any movement in the pulses of their hands.  No breath!
+No life!  The eyes of the girl were closed.  How strangely innocent she
+looked!  Larry's open eyes seemed to be gazing at her shut eyes; but
+Keith saw that they were sightless.  With a sort of sob he drew down the
+lids.  Then, by an impulse that he could never have explained, he laid a
+hand on his brother's head, and a hand on the girl's fair hair.  The
+clothes had fallen down a little from her bare shoulder; he pulled them
+up, as if to keep her warm, and caught the glint of metal; a tiny gilt
+crucifix no longer than a thumbnail, on a thread of steel chain, had
+slipped down from her breast into the hollow of the arm which lay round
+Larry's neck.  Keith buried it beneath the clothes and noticed an
+envelope pinned to the coverlet; bending down, he read: "Please give this
+at once to the police.--LAURENCE DARRANT."  He thrust it into his pocket.
+Like elastic stretched beyond its uttermost, his reason, will, faculties
+of calculation and resolve snapped to within him.  He thought with
+incredible swiftness: 'I must know nothing of this.  I must go!' And,
+almost before he knew that he had moved, he was out again in the street.
+
+He could never have told of what he thought while he was walking home.
+He did not really come to himself till he was in his study. There, with a
+trembling hand, he poured himself out whisky and drank it off.  If he had
+not chanced to go there, the charwoman would have found them when she
+came in the morning, and given that envelope to the police!  He took it
+out.  He had a right--a right to know what was in it!  He broke it open.
+
+"I, Laurence Darrant, about to die by my own hand, declare that this is a
+solemn and true confession.  I committed what is known as the Glove Lane
+Murder on the night of November the 27th last in the following way"--on
+and on to the last words--"We didn't want to die; but we could not bear
+separation, and I couldn't face letting an innocent man be hung for me.
+I do not see any other way.  I beg that there may be no postmortem on our
+bodies.  The stuff we have taken is some of that which will be found on
+the dressing-table.  Please bury us together.
+
+"LAURENCE DARRANT. "January the 28th, about ten o'clock p.m."
+
+Full five minutes Keith stood with those sheets of paper in his hand,
+while the clock ticked, the wind moaned a little in the trees outside,
+the flames licked the logs with the quiet click and ruffle of their
+intense far-away life down there on the hearth.  Then he roused himself,
+and sat down to read the whole again.
+
+There it was, just as Larry had told it to him-nothing left out, very
+clear; even to the addresses of people who could identify the girl as
+having once been Walenn's wife or mistress.  It would convince.  Yes!  It
+would convince.
+
+The sheets dropped from his hand.  Very slowly he was grasping the
+appalling fact that on the floor beside his chair lay the life or death
+of yet another man; that by taking this confession he had taken into his
+own hands the fate of the vagabond lying under sentence of death; that he
+could not give him back his life without incurring the smirch of this
+disgrace, without even endangering himself.  If he let this confession
+reach the authorities, he could never escape the gravest suspicion that
+he had known of the whole affair during these two months.  He would have
+to attend the inquest, be recognised by that policeman as having come to
+the archway to see where the body had lain, as having visited the girl
+the very evening after the murder.  Who would believe in the mere
+coincidence of such visits on the part of the murderer's brother.  But
+apart from that suspicion, the fearful scandal which so sensational an
+affair must make would mar his career, his life, his young daughter's
+life!  Larry's suicide with this girl would make sensation enough as it
+was; but nothing to that other.  Such a death had its romance; involved
+him in no way save as a mourner, could perhaps even be hushed up!  The
+other--nothing could hush that up, nothing prevent its ringing to the
+house-tops.  He got up from his chair, and for many minutes roamed the
+room unable to get his mind to bear on the issue. Images kept starting up
+before him.  The face of the man who handed him wig and gown each
+morning, puffy and curious, with a leer on it he had never noticed
+before; his young daughter's lifted eyebrows, mouth drooping, eyes
+troubled; the tiny gilt crucifix glinting in the hollow of the dead
+girl's arm; the sightless look in Larry's unclosed eyes; even his own
+thumb and finger pulling the lids down.  And then he saw a street and
+endless people passing, turning to stare at him.  And, stopping in his
+tramp, he said aloud: "Let them go to hell!  Seven days' wonder!" Was he
+not trustee to that confession!  Trustee!  After all he had done nothing
+to be ashamed of, even if he had kept knowledge dark.  A brother!  Who
+could blame him?  And he picked up those sheets of paper.  But, like a
+great murky hand, the scandal spread itself about him; its coarse
+malignant voice seemed shouting: "Paiper!... Paiper!... Glove Lane
+Murder!... Suicide and confession of brother of well-known K.C....
+Well-known K.C.'s brother....  Murder and suicide.... Paiper!"  Was he to
+let loose that flood of foulness?  Was he, who had done nothing, to smirch
+his own little daughter's life; to smirch his dead brother, their dead
+mother--himself, his own valuable, important future?  And all for a sewer
+rat!  Let him hang, let the fellow hang if he must!  And that was not
+certain.  Appeal!  Petition!  He might--he should be saved!  To have got
+thus far, and then, by his own action, topple himself down!
+
+With a sudden darting movement he thrust the confession in among the
+burning coals.  And a smile licked at the folds in his dark face, like
+those flames licking the sheets of paper, till they writhed and
+blackened.  With the toe of his boot he dispersed their scorched and
+crumbling wafer.  Stamp them in!  Stamp in that man's life!  Burnt!  No
+more doubts, no more of this gnawing fear!  Burnt?  A man--an
+innocent-sewer rat!  Recoiling from the fire he grasped his forehead. It
+was burning hot and seemed to be going round.
+
+Well, it was done!  Only fools without will or purpose regretted. And
+suddenly he laughed.  So Larry had died for nothing!  He had no will, no
+purpose, and was dead!  He and that girl might now have been living,
+loving each other in the warm night, away at the other end of the world,
+instead of lying dead in the cold night here!  Fools and weaklings
+regretted, suffered from conscience and remorse.  A man trod firmly, held
+to his purpose, no matter what!
+
+He went to the window and drew back the curtain.  What was that?  A
+gibbet in the air, a body hanging?  Ah!  Only the trees--the dark
+trees--the winter skeleton trees!  Recoiling, he returned to his armchair
+and sat down before the fire.  It had been shining like that, the lamp
+turned low, his chair drawn up, when Larry came in that afternoon two
+months ago.  Bah!  He had never come at all!  It was a nightmare.  He had
+been asleep.  How his head burned!  And leaping up, he looked at the
+calendar on his bureau.  "January the 28th!"  No dream!  His face
+hardened and darkened.  On!  Not like Larry!  On!
+1914.
+
+
+
+
+A STOIC
+
+I
+
+1
+
+         "Aequam memento rebus in arduis
+          Servare mentem:"--Horace.
+
+In the City of Liverpool, on a January day of 1905, the Board-room of
+"The Island Navigation Company" rested, as it were, after the labours of
+the afternoon.  The long table was still littered with the ink, pens,
+blotting-paper, and abandoned documents of six persons--a deserted
+battlefield of the brain.  And, lonely, in his chairman's seat at the top
+end old Sylvanus Heythorp sat, with closed eyes, still and heavy as an
+image.  One puffy, feeble hand, whose fingers quivered, rested on the arm
+of his chair; the thick white hair on his massive head glistened in the
+light from a green-shaded lamp.  He was not asleep, for every now and
+then his sanguine cheeks filled, and a sound, half sigh, half grunt,
+escaped his thick lips between a white moustache and the tiny tuft of
+white hairs above his cleft chin. Sunk in the chair, that square thick
+trunk of a body in short black-braided coat seemed divested of all neck.
+
+Young Gilbert Farney, secretary of "The Island Navigation Company,"
+entering his hushed Board-room, stepped briskly to the table, gathered
+some papers, and stood looking at his chairman.  Not more than
+thirty-five, with the bright hues of the optimist in his hair, beard,
+cheeks, and eyes, he had a nose and lips which curled ironically.  For,
+in his view, he was the Company; and its Board did but exist to chequer
+his importance.  Five days in the week for seven hours a day he wrote,
+and thought, and wove the threads of its business, and this lot came down
+once a week for two or three hours, and taught their grandmother to suck
+eggs.  But watching that red-cheeked, white-haired, somnolent figure, his
+smile was not so contemptuous as might have been expected.  For after
+all, the chairman was a wonderful old boy.  A man of go and insight could
+not but respect him.  Eighty!  Half paralysed, over head and ears in
+debt, having gone the pace all his life--or so they said!--till at last
+that mine in Ecuador had done for him--before the secretary's day, of
+course, but he had heard of it.  The old chap had bought it up on
+spec'--"de l'audace, toujours de l'audace," as he was so fond of
+saying--paid for it half in cash and half in promises, and then--the
+thing had turned out empty, and left him with L20,000 worth of the old
+shares unredeemed.  The old boy had weathered it out without a bankruptcy
+so far.  Indomitable old buffer; and never fussy like the rest of them!
+Young Farney, though a secretary, was capable of attachment; and his eyes
+expressed a pitying affection.  The Board meeting had been long and
+"snadgy"--a final settling of that Pillin business.  Rum go the chairman
+forcing it on them like this!  And with quiet satisfaction the secretary
+thought 'And he never would have got it through if I hadn't made up my
+mind that it really is good business!'  For to expand the company was to
+expand himself. Still, to buy four ships with the freight market so
+depressed was a bit startling, and there would be opposition at the
+general meeting. Never mind!  He and the chairman could put it
+through--put it through.  And suddenly he saw the old man looking at him.
+
+Only from those eyes could one appreciate the strength of life yet
+flowing underground in that well-nigh helpless carcase--deep-coloured
+little blue wells, tiny, jovial, round windows.
+
+A sigh travelled up through layers of flesh, and he said almost
+inaudibly:
+
+"Have they come, Mr. Farney?"
+
+"Yes, sir.  I've put them in the transfer office; said you'd be with them
+in a minute; but I wasn't going to wake you."
+
+"Haven't been asleep.  Help me up."
+
+Grasping the edge of the table with his trembling hands, the old man
+pulled, and, with Farney heaving him behind, attained his feet.  He stood
+about five feet ten, and weighed fully fourteen stone; not corpulent, but
+very thick all through; his round and massive head alone would have
+outweighed a baby.  With eyes shut, he seemed to be trying to get the
+better of his own weight, then he moved with the slowness of a barnacle
+towards the door.  The secretary, watching him, thought: 'Marvellous old
+chap!  How he gets about by himself is a miracle!  And he can't retire,
+they say-lives on his fees!'
+
+But the chairman was through the green baize door.  At his tortoise gait
+he traversed the inner office, where the youthful clerks suspended their
+figuring--to grin behind his back--and entered the transfer office, where
+eight gentlemen were sitting.  Seven rose, and one did not.  Old Heythorp
+raised a saluting hand to the level of his chest and moving to an
+arm-chair, lowered himself into it.
+
+"Well, gentlemen?"
+
+One of the eight gentlemen got up again.
+
+"Mr. Heythorp, we've appointed Mr. Brownbee to voice our views.  Mr.
+Brownbee!"  And down he sat.
+
+Mr. Brownbee rose a stoutish man some seventy years of age, with little
+grey side whiskers, and one of those utterly steady faces only to be seen
+in England, faces which convey the sense of business from father to son
+for generations; faces which make wars, and passion, and free thought
+seem equally incredible; faces which inspire confidence, and awaken in
+one a desire to get up and leave the room. Mr. Brownbee rose, and said in
+a suave voice:
+
+"Mr. Heythorp, we here represent about L14,000.  When we had the pleasure
+of meeting you last July, you will recollect that you held out a prospect
+of some more satisfactory arrangement by Christmas. We are now in
+January, and I am bound to say we none of us get younger."
+
+From the depths of old Heythorp a preliminary rumble came travelling,
+reached the surface, and materialised--
+
+"Don't know about you--feel a boy, myself."
+
+The eight gentlemen looked at him.  Was he going to try and put them off
+again?  Mr. Brownbee said with unruffled calm:
+
+"I'm sure we're very glad to hear it.  But to come to the point.  We have
+felt, Mr. Heythorp, and I'm sure you won't think it unreasonable,
+that--er--bankruptcy would be the most satisfactory solution.  We have
+waited a long time, and we want to know definitely where we stand; for,
+to be quite frank, we don't see any prospect of improvement; indeed, we
+fear the opposite."
+
+"You think I'm going to join the majority."
+
+This plumping out of what was at the back of their minds produced in Mr.
+Brownbee and his colleagues a sort of chemical disturbance.  They
+coughed, moved their feet, and turned away their eyes, till the one who
+had not risen, a solicitor named Ventnor, said bluffly:
+
+"Well, put it that way if you like."
+
+Old Heythorp's little deep eyes twinkled.
+
+"My grandfather lived to be a hundred; my father ninety-six--both of them
+rips.  I'm only eighty, gentlemen; blameless life compared with theirs."
+
+"Indeed," Mr. Brownbee said, "we hope you have many years of this life
+before you."
+
+"More of this than of another."  And a silence fell, till old Heythorp
+added: "You're getting a thousand a year out of my fees. Mistake to kill
+the goose that lays the golden eggs.  I'll make it twelve hundred.  If
+you force me to resign my directorships by bankruptcy, you won't get a
+rap, you know."
+
+Mr. Brownbee cleared his throat:
+
+"We think, Mr. Heythorp, you should make it at least fifteen hundred. In
+that case we might perhaps consider--"
+
+Old Heythorp shook his head.
+
+"We can hardly accept your assertion that we should get nothing in the
+event of bankruptcy.  We fancy you greatly underrate the possibilities.
+Fifteen hundred a year is the least you can do for us."
+
+"See you d---d first."
+
+Another silence followed, then Ventnor, the solicitor, said irascibly:
+
+"We know where we are, then."
+
+Brownbee added almost nervously:
+
+"Are we to understand that twelve hundred a year is your--your last
+word?"
+
+Old Heythorp nodded.  "Come again this day month, and I'll see what I can
+do for you;" and he shut his eyes.
+
+Round Mr. Brownbee six of the gentlemen gathered, speaking in low voices;
+Mr. Ventnor nursed a leg and glowered at old Heythorp, who sat with his
+eyes closed.  Mr. Brownbee went over and conferred with Mr. Ventnor, then
+clearing his throat, he said:
+
+"Well, sir, we have considered your proposal; we agree to accept it for
+the moment.  We will come again, as you suggest, in a month's time.
+
+"We hope that you will by then have seen your way to something more
+substantial, with a view to avoiding what we should all regret, but which
+I fear will otherwise become inevitable."
+
+Old Heythorp nodded.  The eight gentlemen took their hats, and went out
+one by one, Mr. Brownbee courteously bringing up the rear.
+
+The old man, who could not get up without assistance, stayed musing in
+his chair.  He had diddled 'em for the moment into giving him another
+month, and when that month was up-he would diddle 'em again!  A month
+ought to make the Pillin business safe, with all that hung on it.  That
+poor funkey chap Joe Pillin!  A gurgling chuckle escaped his red lips.
+What a shadow the fellow had looked, trotting in that evening just a
+month ago, behind his valet's announcement: "Mr. Pillin, sir."
+
+What a parchmenty, precise, thread-paper of a chap, with his bird's claw
+of a hand, and his muffled-up throat, and his quavery:
+
+"How do you do, Sylvanus?  I'm afraid you're not--"
+
+"First rate.  Sit down.  Have some port."
+
+"Port!  I never drink it.  Poison to me!  Poison!"
+
+"Do you good!"
+
+"Oh!  I know, that's what you always say."
+
+You've a monstrous constitution, Sylvanus.  If I drank port and smoked
+cigars and sat up till one o'clock, I should be in my grave to-morrow.
+I'm not the man I was.  The fact is, I've come to see if you can help me.
+I'm getting old; I'm growing nervous...."
+
+"You always were as chickeny as an old hen, Joe."
+
+"Well, my nature's not like yours.  To come to the point, I want to sell
+my ships and retire.  I need rest.  Freights are very depressed. I've got
+my family to think of."
+
+"Crack on, and go broke; buck you up like anything!"
+
+"I'm quite serious, Sylvanus."
+
+"Never knew you anything else, Joe."
+
+A quavering cough, and out it had come:
+
+"Now--in a word--won't your 'Island Navigation Company' buy my ships?"
+
+A pause, a twinkle, a puff of smoke.  "Make it worth my while!"  He had
+said it in jest; and then, in a flash, the idea had come to him. Rosamund
+and her youngsters!  What a chance to put something between them and
+destitution when he had joined the majority!  And so he said: "We don't
+want your silly ships."
+
+That claw of a hand waved in deprecation.  "They're very good
+ships--doing quite well.  It's only my wretched health.  If I were a
+strong man I shouldn't dream...."
+
+"What d'you want for 'em?"  Good Lord! how he jumped if you asked him a
+plain question.  The chap was as nervous as a guinea-fowl!
+
+"Here are the figures--for the last four years.  I think you'll agree
+that I couldn't ask less than seventy thousand."
+
+Through the smoke of his cigar old Heythorp had digested those figures
+slowly, Joe Pillin feeling his teeth and sucking lozenges the while; then
+he said:
+
+"Sixty thousand!  And out of that you pay me ten per cent., if I get it
+through for you.  Take it or leave it."
+
+"My dear Sylvanus, that's almost-cynical."
+
+"Too good a price--you'll never get it without me."
+
+"But a--but a commission!  You could never disclose it!"
+
+"Arrange that all right.  Think it over.  Freights'll go lower yet. Have
+some port."
+
+"No, no!  Thank you.  No!  So you think freights will go lower?"
+
+"Sure of it."
+
+"Well, I'll be going.  I'm sure I don't know.  It's--it's--I must think."
+
+"Think your hardest."
+
+"Yes, yes.  Good-bye.  I can't imagine how you still go on smoking those
+things and drinking port.
+
+"See you in your grave yet, Joe."  What a feeble smile the poor fellow
+had!  Laugh-he couldn't!  And, alone again, he had browsed, developing
+the idea which had come to him.
+
+Though, to dwell in the heart of shipping, Sylvanus Heythorp had lived at
+Liverpool twenty years, he was from the Eastern Counties, of a family so
+old that it professed to despise the Conquest.  Each of its generations
+occupied nearly twice as long as those of less tenacious men.
+Traditionally of Danish origin, its men folk had as a rule bright
+reddish-brown hair, red cheeks, large round heads, excellent teeth and
+poor morals.  They had done their best for the population of any county
+in which they had settled; their offshoots swarmed.  Born in the early
+twenties of the nineteenth century, Sylvanus Heythorp, after an education
+broken by escapades both at school and college, had fetched up in that
+simple London of the late forties, where claret, opera, and eight per
+cent. for your money ruled a cheery roost.  Made partner in his shipping
+firm well before he was thirty, he had sailed with a wet sheet and a
+flowing tide; dancers, claret, Cliquot, and piquet; a cab with a tiger;
+some travel--all that delicious early-Victorian consciousness of nothing
+save a golden time.  It was all so full and mellow that he was forty
+before he had his only love affair of any depth--with the daughter of one
+of his own clerks, a liaison so awkward as to necessitate a sedulous
+concealment.  The death of that girl, after three years, leaving him a,
+natural son, had been the chief, perhaps the only real, sorrow of his
+life.  Five years later he married.  What for?  God only knew! as he was
+in the habit of remarking.  His wife had been a hard, worldly,
+well-connected woman, who presented him with two unnatural children, a
+girl and a boy, and grew harder, more worldly, less handsome, in the
+process.  The migration to Liverpool, which took place when he was sixty
+and she forty-two, broke what she still had of heart, but she lingered on
+twelve years, finding solace in bridge, and being haughty towards
+Liverpool.  Old Heythorp saw her to her rest without regret.  He had felt
+no love for her whatever, and practically none for her two children--they
+were in his view colourless, pragmatical, very unexpected characters.
+His son Ernest--in the Admiralty--he thought a poor, careful stick.  His
+daughter Adela, an excellent manager, delighting in spiritual
+conversation and the society of tame men, rarely failed to show him that
+she considered him a hopeless heathen.  They saw as little as need be of
+each other.  She was provided for under that settlement he had made on
+her mother fifteen years ago, well before the not altogether unexpected
+crisis in his affairs.  Very different was the feeling he had bestowed on
+that son of his "under the rose."  The boy, who had always gone by his
+mother's name of Larne, had on her death been sent to some relations of
+hers in Ireland, and there brought up.  He had been called to the Dublin
+bar, and married, young, a girl half Cornish and half Irish; presently,
+having cost old Heythorp in all a pretty penny, he had died impecunious,
+leaving his fair Rosamund at thirty with a girl of eight and a boy of
+five.  She had not spent six months of widowhood before coming over from
+Dublin to claim the old man's guardianship.  A remarkably pretty woman,
+like a full-blown rose, with greenish hazel eyes, she had turned up one
+morning at the offices of "The Island Navigation Company," accompanied by
+her two children--for he had never divulged to them his private address.
+And since then they had always been more or less on his hands, occupying
+a small house in a suburb of Liverpool.  He visited them there, but never
+asked them to the house in Sefton Park, which was in fact his daughter's;
+so that his proper family and friends were unaware of their existence.
+
+Rosamund Larne was one of those precarious ladies who make uncertain
+incomes by writing full-bodied storyettes.  In the most dismal
+circumstances she enjoyed a buoyancy bordering on the indecent; which
+always amused old Heythorp's cynicism.  But of his grandchildren Phyllis
+and Jock (wild as colts) he had become fond.  And this chance of getting
+six thousand pounds settled on them at a stroke had seemed to him nothing
+but heaven-sent.  As things were, if he "went off"--and, of course, he
+might at any moment, there wouldn't be a penny for them; for he would
+"cut up" a good fifteen thousand to the bad.  He was now giving them some
+three hundred a year out of his fees; and dead directors unfortunately
+earned no fees!  Six thousand pounds at four and a half per cent.,
+settled so that their mother couldn't "blue it," would give them a
+certain two hundred and fifty pounds a year-better than beggary.  And the
+more he thought the better he liked it, if only that shaky chap, Joe
+Pillin, didn't shy off when he'd bitten his nails short over it!
+
+Four evenings later, the "shaky chap" had again appeared at his house in
+Sefton Park.
+
+"I've thought it over, Sylvanus.  I don't like it.
+
+"No; but you'll do it."
+
+"It's a sacrifice.  Fifty-four thousand for four ships--it means a
+considerable reduction in my income."
+
+"It means security, my boy."
+
+"Well, there is that; but you know, I really can't be party to a secret
+commission.  If it came out, think of my name and goodness knows what."
+
+"It won't come out."
+
+"Yes, yes, so you say, but--"
+
+"All you've got to do's to execute a settlement on some third parties
+that I'll name.  I'm not going to take a penny of it myself.  Get your
+own lawyer to draw it up and make him trustee.  You can sign it when the
+purchase has gone through.  I'll trust you, Joe.  What stock have you got
+that gives four and a half per cent.?"
+
+"Midland"
+
+"That'll do.  You needn't sell."
+
+"Yes, but who are these people?"
+
+"Woman and her children I want to do a good turn to."  What a face the
+fellow had made!  "Afraid of being connected with a woman, Joe?"
+
+"Yes, you may laugh--I am afraid of being connected with someone else's
+woman.  I don't like it--I don't like it at all.  I've not led your life,
+Sylvanus."
+
+"Lucky for you; you'd have been dead long ago.  Tell your lawyer it's an
+old flame of yours--you old dog!"
+
+"Yes, there it is at once, you see.  I might be subject to blackmail."
+
+"Tell him to keep it dark, and just pay over the income, quarterly."
+
+"I don't like it, Sylvanus--I don't like it."
+
+"Then leave it, and be hanged to you.  Have a cigar?"
+
+"You know I never smoke.  Is there no other way?"
+
+"Yes.  Sell stock in London, bank the proceeds there, and bring me six
+thousand pounds in notes.  I'll hold 'em till after the general meeting.
+If the thing doesn't go through, I'll hand 'em back to you."
+
+"No; I like that even less."
+
+"Rather I trusted you, eh!"
+
+"No, not at all, Sylvanus, not at all.  But it's all playing round the
+law."
+
+"There's no law to prevent you doing what you like with your money. What
+I do's nothing to you.  And mind you, I'm taking nothing from it--not a
+mag.  You assist the widowed and the fatherless--just your line, Joe!"
+
+"What a fellow you are, Sylvanus; you don't seem capable of taking
+anything seriously."
+
+"Care killed the cat!"
+
+Left alone after this second interview he had thought: 'The beggar'll
+jump.'
+
+And the beggar had.  That settlement was drawn and only awaited
+signature.  The Board to-day had decided on the purchase; and all that
+remained was to get it ratified at the general meeting.  Let him but get
+that over, and this provision for his grandchildren made, and he would
+snap his fingers at Brownbee and his crew-the canting humbugs!  "Hope you
+have many years of this life before you!"  As if they cared for anything
+but his money--their money rather!  And becoming conscious of the length
+of his reverie, he grasped the arms of his chair, heaved at his own bulk,
+in an effort to rise, growing redder and redder in face and neck.  It was
+one of the hundred things his doctor had told him not to do for fear of
+apoplexy, the humbug!  Why didn't Farney or one of those young fellows
+come and help him up?  To call out was undignified.  But was he to sit
+there all night?  Three times he failed, and after each failure sat
+motionless again, crimson and exhausted; the fourth time he succeeded,
+and slowly made for the office.  Passing through, he stopped and said in
+his extinct voice:
+
+"You young gentlemen had forgotten me."
+
+"Mr. Farney said you didn't wish to be disturbed, sir."
+
+"Very good of him.  Give me my hat and coat."
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Thank you.  What time is it?"
+
+"Six o'clock, sir."
+
+"Tell Mr. Farney to come and see me tomorrow at noon, about my speech for
+the general meeting."
+
+"Yes, Sir."
+
+"Good-night to you."
+
+"Good-night, Sir."
+
+At his tortoise gait he passed between the office stools to the door,
+opened it feebly, and slowly vanished.
+
+Shutting the door behind him, a clerk said:
+
+"Poor old chairman!  He's on his last!"
+
+Another answered:
+
+"Gosh!  He's a tough old hulk.  He'll go down fightin'."
+
+
+
+
+2
+
+Issuing from the offices of "The Island Navigation Company," Sylvanus
+Heythorp moved towards the corner whence he always took tram to Sefton
+Park.  The crowded street had all that prosperous air of catching or
+missing something which characterises the town where London and New York
+and Dublin meet.  Old Heythorp had to cross to the far side, and he
+sallied forth without regard to traffic.  That snail-like passage had in
+it a touch of the sublime; the old man seemed saying: "Knock me down and
+be d---d to you--I'm not going to hurry."  His life was saved perhaps ten
+times a day by the British character at large, compounded of phlegm and a
+liking to take something under its protection.  The tram conductors on
+that line were especially used to him, never failing to catch him under
+the arms and heave him like a sack of coals, while with trembling hands
+he pulled hard at the rail and strap.
+
+"All right, sir?"
+
+"Thank you."
+
+He moved into the body of the tram, where somebody would always get up
+from kindness and the fear that he might sit down on them; and there he
+stayed motionless, his little eyes tight closed.  With his red face, tuft
+of white hairs above his square cleft block of shaven chin, and his big
+high-crowned bowler hat, which yet seemed too petty for his head with its
+thick hair--he looked like some kind of an idol dug up and decked out in
+gear a size too small.
+
+One of those voices of young men from public schools and exchanges where
+things are bought and sold, said:
+
+"How de do, Mr. Heythorp?"
+
+Old Heythorp opened his eyes.  That sleek cub, Joe Pillin's son!  What a
+young pup-with his round eyes, and his round cheeks, and his little
+moustache, his fur coat, his spats, his diamond pin!
+
+"How's your father?"  he said.
+
+"Thanks, rather below par, worryin' about his ships.  Suppose you haven't
+any news for him, sir?"
+
+Old Heythorp nodded.  The young man was one of his pet abominations,
+embodying all the complacent, little-headed mediocrity of this new
+generation; natty fellows all turned out of the same mould, sippers and
+tasters, chaps without drive or capacity, without even vices; and he did
+not intend to gratify the cub's curiosity.
+
+"Come to my house," he said; "I'll give you a note for him."
+
+"Tha-anks; I'd like to cheer the old man up."
+
+The old man!  Cheeky brat!  And closing his eyes he relapsed into
+immobility.  The tram wound and ground its upward way, and he mused. When
+he was that cub's age--twenty-eight or whatever it might be--he had done
+most things; been up Vesuvius, driven four-in-hand, lost his last penny
+on the Derby and won it back on the Oaks, known all the dancers and
+operatic stars of the day, fought a duel with a Yankee at Dieppe and
+winged him for saying through his confounded nose that Old England was
+played out; been a controlling voice already in his shipping firm; drunk
+five other of the best men in London under the table; broken his neck
+steeple-chasing; shot a burglar in the legs; been nearly drowned, for a
+bet; killed snipe in Chelsea; been to Court for his sins; stared a ghost
+out of countenance; and travelled with a lady of Spain.  If this young
+pup had done the last, it would be all he had; and yet, no doubt, he
+would call himself a "spark."
+
+The conductor touched his arm.
+
+"'Ere you are, sir."
+
+"Thank you."
+
+He lowered himself to the ground, and moved in the bluish darkness
+towards the gate of his daughter's house.  Bob Pillin walked beside him,
+thinking: 'Poor old josser, he is gettin' a back number!'  And he said:
+"I should have thought you ought to drive, sir.  My old guv'nor would
+knock up at once if he went about at night like this."
+
+The answer rumbled out into the misty air:
+
+"Your father's got no chest; never had."
+
+Bob Pillin gave vent to one of those fat cackles which come so readily
+from a certain type of man; and old Heythorp thought:
+
+'Laughing at his father!  Parrot!'
+
+They had reached the porch.
+
+A woman with dark hair and a thin, straight face and figure was arranging
+some flowers in the hall.  She turned and said:
+
+"You really ought not to be so late, Father!  It's wicked at this time of
+year.  Who is it--oh!  Mr. Pillin, how do you do?  Have you had tea?
+Won't you come to the drawing-room; or do you want to see my father?"
+
+"Tha-anks!  I believe your father--"  And he thought: 'By Jove! the old
+chap is a caution!'  For old Heythorp was crossing the hall without
+having paid the faintest attention to his daughter. Murmuring again:
+
+"Tha-anks awfully; he wants to give me something," he followed.  Miss
+Heythorp was not his style at all; he had a kind of dread of that thin
+woman who looked as if she could never be unbuttoned.  They said she was
+a great churchgoer and all that sort of thing.
+
+In his sanctum old Heythorp had moved to his writing-table, and was
+evidently anxious to sit down.
+
+"Shall I give you a hand, sir?"
+
+Receiving a shake of the head, Bob Pillin stood by the fire and watched.
+The old "sport" liked to paddle his own canoe.  Fancy having to lower
+yourself into a chair like that!  When an old Johnny got to such a state
+it was really a mercy when he snuffed out, and made way for younger men.
+How his Companies could go on putting up with such a fossil for chairman
+was a marvel!  The fossil rumbled and said in that almost inaudible
+voice:
+
+"I suppose you're beginning to look forward to your father's shoes?"
+
+Bob Pillin's mouth opened.  The voice went on:
+
+"Dibs and no responsibility.  Tell him from me to drink port--add five
+years to his life."
+
+To this unwarranted attack Bob Pillin made no answer save a laugh; he
+perceived that a manservant had entered the room.
+
+"A Mrs. Larne, sir.  Will you see her?"
+
+At this announcement the old man seemed to try and start; then he nodded,
+and held out the note he had written.  Bob Pillin received it together
+with the impression of a murmur which sounded like: "Scratch a poll,
+Poll!"  and passing the fine figure of a woman in a fur coat, who seemed
+to warm the air as she went by, he was in the hall again before he
+perceived that he had left his hat.
+
+A young and pretty girl was standing on the bearskin before the fire,
+looking at him with round-eyed innocence.  He thought: 'This is better; I
+mustn't disturb them for my hat'; and approaching the fire, said:
+
+"Jolly cold, isn't it?"
+
+The girl smiled: "Yes-jolly."
+
+He noticed that she had a large bunch of violets at her breast, a lot of
+fair hair, a short straight nose, and round blue-grey eyes very frank and
+open.  "Er" he said, "I've left my hat in there."
+
+"What larks!"  And at her little clear laugh something moved within Bob
+Pillin.
+
+"You know this house well?"
+
+She shook her head.  "But it's rather scrummy, isn't it?"
+
+Bob Pillin, who had never yet thought so answered:
+
+"Quite O.K."
+
+The girl threw up her head to laugh again.  "O.K.?  What's that?"
+
+Bob Pillin saw her white round throat, and thought: 'She is a ripper!'
+And he said with a certain desperation:
+
+"My name's Pillin.  Yours is Larne, isn't it?  Are you a relation here?"
+
+"He's our Guardy.  Isn't he a chook?"
+
+That rumbling whisper like "Scratch a Poll, Poll!"  recurring to Bob
+Pillin, he said with reservation:
+
+"You know him better than I do."  "Oh!  Aren't you his grandson, or
+something?"
+
+Bob Pillin did not cross himself.
+
+"Lord!  No!  My dad's an old friend of his; that's all."
+
+"Is your dad like him?"
+
+"Not much."
+
+"What a pity!  It would have been lovely if they'd been Tweedles."
+
+Bob Pillin thought: 'This bit is something new.  I wonder what her
+Christian name is.'  And he said:
+
+"What did your godfather and godmothers in your baptism---?"
+
+The girl laughed; she seemed to laugh at everything.
+
+"Phyllis."
+
+Could he say: "Is my only joy"?  Better keep it!  But-for what?  He
+wouldn't see her again if he didn't look out!  And he said:
+
+"I live at the last house in the park-the red one.  D'you know it?  Where
+do you?"
+
+"Oh! a long way--23, Millicent Villas.  It's a poky little house.  I hate
+it.  We have awful larks, though."
+
+"Who are we?"
+
+"Mother, and myself, and Jock--he's an awful boy.  You can't conceive
+what an awful boy he is.  He's got nearly red hair; I think he'll be just
+like Guardy when he gets old.  He's awful!"
+
+Bob Pillin murmured:
+
+"I should like to see him."
+
+"Would you?  I'll ask mother if you can.  You won't want to again; he
+goes off all the time like a squib."  She threw back her head, and again
+Bob Pillin felt a little giddy.  He collected himself, and drawled:
+
+"Are you going in to see your Guardy?"
+
+"No.  Mother's got something special to say.  We've never been here
+before, you see.  Isn't he fun, though?"
+
+"Fun!"
+
+"I think he's the greatest lark; but he's awfully nice to me.  Jock calls
+him the last of the Stoic'uns."
+
+A voice called from old Heythorp's den:
+
+"Phyllis!"  It had a particular ring, that voice, as if coming from
+beautifully formed red lips, of which the lower one must curve the least
+bit over; it had, too, a caressing vitality, and a kind of warm falsity.
+
+The girl threw a laughing look back over her shoulder, and vanished
+through the door into the room.
+
+Bob Pillin remained with his back to the fire and his puppy round eyes
+fixed on the air that her figure had last occupied.  He was experiencing
+a sensation never felt before.  Those travels with a lady of Spain,
+charitably conceded him by old Heythorp, had so far satisfied the
+emotional side of this young man; they had stopped short at Brighton and
+Scarborough, and been preserved from even the slightest intrusion of
+love.  A calculated and hygienic career had caused no anxiety either to
+himself or his father; and this sudden swoop of something more than
+admiration gave him an uncomfortable choky feeling just above his high
+round collar, and in the temples a sort of buzzing--those first symptoms
+of chivalry.  A man of the world does not, however, succumb without a
+struggle; and if his hat had not been out of reach, who knows whether he
+would not have left the house hurriedly, saying to himself: "No, no, my
+boy; Millicent Villas is hardly your form, when your intentions are
+honourable"?  For somehow that round and laughing face, bob of glistening
+hair, those wide-opened grey eyes refused to awaken the beginnings of
+other intentions--such is the effect of youth and innocence on even the
+steadiest young men.  With a kind of moral stammer, he was thinking: 'Can
+I--dare I offer to see them to their tram?  Couldn't I even nip out and
+get the car round and send them home in it?  No, I might miss
+them--better stick it out here!  What a jolly laugh!  What a tipping
+face--strawberries and cream, hay, and all that!  Millicent Villas!' And
+he wrote it on his cuff.
+
+The door was opening; he heard that warm vibrating voice: "Come along,
+Phyllis!"--the girl's laugh so high and fresh: "Right-o!  Coming!"  And
+with, perhaps, the first real tremor he had ever known, he crossed to the
+front door.  All the more chivalrous to escort them to the tram without a
+hat!  And suddenly he heard: "I've got your hat, young man!"  And her
+mother's voice, warm, and simulating shock: "Phyllis, you awful gairl!
+Did you ever see such an awful gairl; Mr.---"
+
+"Pillin, Mother."
+
+And then--he did not quite know how--insulated from the January air by
+laughter and the scent of fur and violets, he was between them walking to
+their tram.  It was like an experience out of the "Arabian Nights," or
+something of that sort, an intoxication which made one say one was going
+their way, though one would have to come all the way back in the same
+beastly tram.  Nothing so warming had ever happened to him as sitting
+between them on that drive, so that he forgot the note in his pocket, and
+his desire to relieve the anxiety of the "old man," his father.  At the
+tram's terminus they all got out.  There issued a purr of invitation to
+come and see them some time; a clear: "Jock'll love to see you!"  A low
+laugh: "You awful gairl!"  And a flash of cunning zigzagged across his
+brain.  Taking off his hat, he said:
+
+"Thanks awfully; rather!" and put his foot back on the step of the tram.
+Thus did he delicately expose the depths of his chivalry!
+
+"Oh! you said you were going our way!  What one-ers you do tell!  Oh!"
+The words were as music; the sight of those eyes growing rounder, the
+most perfect he had ever seen; and Mrs. Larne's low laugh, so warm yet so
+preoccupied, and the tips of the girl's fingers waving back above her
+head.  He heaved a sigh, and knew no more till he was seated at his club
+before a bottle of champagne.  Home!  Not he!  He wished to drink and
+dream.  "The old man" would get his news all right to-morrow!
+
+
+
+
+3
+
+The words: "A Mrs. Larne to see you, sir," had been of a nature to
+astonish weaker nerves.  What had brought her here?  She knew she mustn't
+come!  Old Heythorp had watched her entrance with cynical amusement.  The
+way she whiffed herself at that young pup in passing, the way her eyes
+slid round!  He had a very just appreciation of his son's widow; and a
+smile settled deep between his chin tuft and his moustache.  She lifted
+his hand, kissed it, pressed it to her splendid bust, and said:
+
+"So here I am at last, you see.  Aren't you surprised?"
+
+Old Heythorp, shook his head.
+
+"I really had to come and see you, Guardy; we haven't had a sight of you
+for such an age.  And in this awful weather!  How are you, dear old
+Guardy?"
+
+"Never better."  And, watching her green-grey eyes, he added:
+
+"Haven't a penny for you!"
+
+Her face did not fall; she gave her feather-laugh.
+
+"How dreadful of you to think I came for that!  But I am in an awful fix,
+Guardy."
+
+"Never knew you not to be."
+
+"Just let me tell you, dear; it'll be some relief.  I'm having the most
+terrible time."
+
+She sank into a low chair, disengaging an overpowering scent of violets,
+while melancholy struggled to subdue her face and body.
+
+"The most awful fix.  I expect to be sold up any moment.  We may be on
+the streets to-morrow.  I daren't tell the children; they're so happy,
+poor darlings.  I shall be obliged to take Jock away from school.  And
+Phyllis will have to stop her piano and dancing; it's an absolute crisis.
+And all due to those Midland Syndicate people. I've been counting on at
+least two hundred for my new story, and the wretches have refused it."
+
+With a tiny handkerchief she removed one tear from the corner of one eye.
+"It is hard, Guardy; I worked my brain silly over that story."
+
+From old Heythorp came a mutter which sounded suspiciously like:
+
+"Rats!"
+
+Heaving a sigh, which conveyed nothing but the generosity of her
+breathing apparatus, Mrs. Larne went on:
+
+"You couldn't, I suppose, let me have just one hundred?"
+
+"Not a bob."
+
+She sighed again, her eyes slid round the room; then in her warm voice
+she murmured:
+
+"Guardy, you were my dear Philip's father, weren't you?  I've never said
+anything; but of course you were.  He was so like you, and so is Jock."
+
+Nothing moved in old Heythorp's face.  No pagan image consulted with
+flowers and song and sacrifice could have returned less answer.  Her dear
+Philip!  She had led him the devil of a life, or he was a Dutchman!  And
+what the deuce made her suddenly trot out the skeleton like this?  But
+Mrs. Larne's eyes were still wandering.
+
+"What a lovely house!  You know, I think you ought to help me, Guardy.
+Just imagine if your grandchildren were thrown out into the street!"
+
+The old man grinned.  He was not going to deny his relationship--it was
+her look-out, not his.  But neither was he going to let her rush him.
+
+"And they will be; you couldn't look on and see it.  Do come to my rescue
+this once.  You really might do something for them."
+
+With a rumbling sigh he answered:
+
+"Wait.  Can't give you a penny now.  Poor as a church mouse."
+
+"Oh!  Guardy
+
+"Fact."
+
+Mrs. Larne heaved one of her most buoyant sighs.  She certainly did not
+believe him.
+
+"Well!" she said; "you'll be sorry when we come round one night and sing
+for pennies under your window.  Wouldn't you like to see Phyllis?  I left
+her in the hall.  She's growing such a sweet gairl. Guardy just fifty!"
+
+"Not a rap."
+
+Mrs. Larne threw up her hands.  "Well!  You'll repent it.  I'm at my last
+gasp."  She sighed profoundly, and the perfume of violets escaped in a
+cloud; Then, getting up, she went to the door and called: "Phyllis!"
+
+When the girl entered old Heythorp felt the nearest approach to a flutter
+of the heart for many years.  She had put her hair up!  She was like a
+spring day in January; such a relief from that scented humbug, her
+mother.  Pleasant the touch of her lips on his forehead, the sound of her
+clear voice, the sight of her slim movements, the feeling that she did
+him credit--clean-run stock, she and that young scamp Jock--better than
+the holy woman, his daughter Adela, would produce if anyone were ever
+fool enough to marry her, or that pragmatical fellow, his son Ernest.
+
+And when they were gone he reflected with added zest on the six thousand
+pounds he was getting for them out of Joe Pillin and his ships.  He would
+have to pitch it strong in his speech at the general meeting.  With
+freights so low, there was bound to be opposition.  No dash nowadays;
+nothing but gabby caution!  They were a scrim-shanking lot on the
+Board--he had had to pull them round one by one--the deuce of a tug
+getting this thing through!  And yet, the business was sound enough.
+Those ships would earn money, properly handled-good money
+
+His valet, coming in to prepare him for dinner, found him asleep.  He had
+for the old man as much admiration as may be felt for one who cannot put
+his own trousers on.  He would say to the housemaid Molly: "He's a game
+old blighter--must have been a rare one in his day. Cocks his hat at you,
+even now, I see!"  To which the girl, Irish and pretty, would reply:
+"Well, an' sure I don't mind, if it gives um a pleasure.  'Tis better
+anyway than the sad eye I get from herself."
+
+At dinner, old Heythorp always sat at one end of the rosewood table and
+his daughter at the other.  It was the eminent moment of the day. With
+napkin tucked high into his waistcoat, he gave himself to the meal with
+passion.  His palate was undimmed, his digestion unimpaired.  He could
+still eat as much as two men, and drink more than one.  And while he
+savoured each mouthful he never spoke if he could help it.  The holy
+woman had nothing to say that he cared to hear, and he nothing to say
+that she cared to listen to.  She had a horror, too, of what she called
+"the pleasures of the table"--those lusts of the flesh!  She was always
+longing to dock his grub, he knew.  Would see her further first!  What
+other pleasures were there at his age?  Let her wait till she was eighty.
+But she never would be; too thin and holy!
+
+This evening, however, with the advent of the partridge she did speak.
+
+"Who were your visitors, Father?"
+
+Trust her for nosing anything out!  Fixing his little blue eyes on her,
+he mumbled with a very full mouth: "Ladies."
+
+"So I saw; what ladies?"
+
+He had a longing to say: 'Part of one of my families under the rose.' As
+a fact it was the best part of the only one, but the temptation to
+multiply exceedingly was almost overpowering.  He checked himself,
+however, and went on eating partridge, his secret irritation crimsoning
+his cheeks; and he watched her eyes, those cold precise and round grey
+eyes, noting it, and knew she was thinking: 'He eats too much.'
+
+She said: "Sorry I'm not considered fit to be told.  You ought not to be
+drinking hock."
+
+Old Heythorp took up the long green glass, drained it, and repressing
+fumes and emotion went on with his partridge.  His daughter pursed her
+lips, took a sip of water, and said:
+
+"I know their name is Larne, but it conveyed nothing to me; perhaps it's
+just as well."
+
+The old man, mastering a spasm, said with a grin:
+
+"My daughter-in-law and my granddaughter."
+
+"What!  Ernest married--Oh! nonsense!"
+
+He chuckled, and shook his head.
+
+"Then do you mean to say, Father, that you were married before you
+married my mother?"
+
+"No."
+
+The expression on her face was as good as a play!
+
+She said with a sort of disgust: "Not married!  I see.  I suppose those
+people are hanging round your neck, then; no wonder you're always in
+difficulties.  Are there any more of them?"
+
+Again the old man suppressed that spasm, and the veins in his neck and
+forehead swelled alarmingly.  If he had spoken he would infallibly have
+choked.  He ceased eating, and putting his hands on the table tried to
+raise himself.  He could not and subsiding in his chair sat glaring at
+the stiff, quiet figure of his daughter.
+
+"Don't be silly, Father, and make a scene before Meller.  Finish your
+dinner."
+
+He did not answer.  He was not going to sit there to be dragooned and
+insulted!  His helplessness had never so weighed on him before.  It was
+like a revelation.  A log--that had to put up with anything!  A log!
+And, waiting for his valet to return, he cunningly took up his fork.
+
+In that saintly voice of hers she said:
+
+"I suppose you don't realise that it's a shock to me.  I don't know what
+Ernest will think--"
+
+"Ernest be d---d."
+
+"I do wish, Father, you wouldn't swear."
+
+Old Heythorp's rage found vent in a sort of rumble.  How the devil had he
+gone on all these years in the same house with that woman, dining with
+her day after day!  But the servant had come back now, and putting down
+his fork he said:
+
+"Help me up!"
+
+The man paused, thunderstruck, with the souffle balanced.  To leave
+dinner unfinished--it was a portent!
+
+"Help me up!"
+
+"Mr. Heythorp's not very well, Meller; take his other arm."
+
+The old man shook off her hand.
+
+"I'm very well.  Help me up.  Dine in my own room in future."
+
+Raised to his feet, he walked slowly out; but in his sanctum he did not
+sit down, obsessed by this first overwhelming realisation of his
+helplessness.  He stood swaying a little, holding on to the table, till
+the servant, having finished serving dinner, brought in his port.
+
+"Are you waiting to sit down, sir?"
+
+He shook his head.  Hang it, he could do that for himself, anyway. He
+must think of something to fortify his position against that woman.  And
+he said:
+
+"Send me Molly!"
+
+"Yes, sir."  The man put down the port and went.
+
+Old Heythorp filled his glass, drank, and filled again.  He took a cigar
+from the box and lighted it.  The girl came in, a grey-eyed, dark-haired
+damsel, and stood with her hands folded, her head a little to one side,
+her lips a little parted.  The old man said:
+
+"You're a human being."
+
+"I would hope so, sirr."
+
+"I'm going to ask you something as a human being--not a servant--see?"
+
+"No, sirr; but I will be glad to do anything you like."
+
+"Then put your nose in here every now and then, to see if I want
+anything.  Meller goes out sometimes.  Don't say anything; Just put your
+nose in."
+
+"Oh! an' I will; 'tis a pleasure 'twill be to do ut."
+
+He nodded, and when she had gone lowered himself into his chair with a
+sense of appeasement.  Pretty girl!  Comfort to see a pretty face--not a
+pale, peeky thing like Adela's.  His anger burned up anew.  So she
+counted on his helplessness, had begun to count on that, had she?  She
+should see that there was life in the old dog yet!  And his sacrifice of
+the uneaten souffle, the still less eaten mushrooms, the peppermint sweet
+with which he usually concluded dinner, seemed to consecrate that
+purpose.  They all thought he was a hulk, without a shot left in the
+locker!  He had seen a couple of them at the Board that afternoon
+shrugging at each other, as though saying: 'Look at him!' And young
+Farney pitying him.  Pity, forsooth!  And that coarse-grained solicitor
+chap at the creditors' meeting curling his lip as much as to say: 'One
+foot in the grave!'  He had seen the clerks dowsing the glim of their
+grins; and that young pup Bob Pillin screwing up his supercilious mug
+over his dog-collar.  He knew that scented humbug Rosamund was getting
+scared that he'd drop off before she'd squeezed him dry.  And his valet
+was always looking him up and down queerly.  As to that holy woman--!
+Not quite so fast!  Not quite so fast!  And filling his glass for the
+fourth time, he slowly sucked down the dark red fluid, with the "old
+boots" flavour which his soul loved, and, drawing deep at his cigar,
+closed his eyes.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+1
+
+The room in the hotel where the general meetings of "The Island
+Navigation Company" were held was nearly full when the secretary came
+through the door which as yet divided the shareholders from their
+directors.  Having surveyed their empty chairs, their ink and papers, and
+nodded to a shareholder or two, he stood, watch in hand, contemplating
+the congregation.  A thicker attendance than he had ever seen!  Due, no
+doubt, to the lower dividend, and this Pillin business.  And his tongue
+curled.  For if he had a natural contempt for his Board, with the
+exception of the chairman, he had a still more natural contempt for his
+shareholders.  Amusing spectacle when you came to think of it, a general
+meeting!  Unique!  Eighty or a hundred men, and five women, assembled
+through sheer devotion to their money.  Was any other function in the
+world so single-hearted. Church was nothing to it--so many motives were
+mingled there with devotion to one's soul.  A well-educated young
+man--reader of Anatole France, and other writers--he enjoyed ironic
+speculation.  What earthly good did they think they got by coming here?
+Half-past two!  He put his watch back into his pocket, and passed into the
+Board-room.
+
+There, the fumes of lunch and of a short preliminary meeting made cosy
+the February atmosphere.  By the fire four directors were conversing
+rather restlessly; the fifth was combing his beard; the chairman sat with
+eyes closed and red lips moving rhythmically in the sucking of a lozenge,
+the slips of his speech ready in his hand.  The secretary said in his
+cheerful voice: "Time, sir."
+
+Old Heythorp swallowed, lifted his arms, rose with help, and walked
+through to his place at the centre of the table.  The five directors
+followed.  And, standing at the chairman's right, the secretary read the
+minutes, forming the words precisely with his curling tongue. Then,
+assisting the chairman to his feet, he watched those rows of faces, and
+thought: 'Mistake to let them see he can't get up without help.  He ought
+to have let me read his speech--I wrote it.'
+
+The chairman began to speak:
+
+"It is my duty and my pleasure,' ladies and gentlemen, for the nineteenth
+consecutive year to present to you the directors' report and the accounts
+for the past twelve months.  You will all have had special notice of a
+measure of policy on which your Board has decided, and to which you will
+be asked to-day to give your adherence--to that I shall come at the end
+of my remarks...."
+
+"Excuse me, sir; we can't hear a word down here."
+
+'Ah!' thought the secretary, 'I was expecting that.'
+
+The chairman went on, undisturbed.  But several shareholders now rose,
+and the same speaker said testily: "We might as well go home. If the
+chairman's got no voice, can't somebody read for him?"
+
+The chairman took a sip of water, and resumed.  Almost all in the last
+six rows were now on their feet, and amid a hubbub of murmurs the
+chairman held out to the secretary the slips of his speech, and fell
+heavily back into his chair.
+
+The secretary re-read from the beginning; and as each sentence fell from
+his tongue, he thought: 'How good that is!'  'That's very clear!'  'A
+neat touch!'  'This is getting them.'  It seemed to him a pity they could
+not know it was all his composition.  When at last he came to the Pillin
+sale he paused for a second.
+
+"I come now to the measure of policy to which I made allusion at the
+beginning of my speech.  Your Board has decided to expand your enterprise
+by purchasing the entire fleet of Pillin & Co., Ltd.  By this transaction
+we become the owners of the four steamships Smyrna, Damascus, Tyre, and
+Sidon, vessels in prime condition with a total freight-carrying capacity
+of fifteen thousand tons, at the low inclusive price of sixty thousand
+pounds.  Gentlemen, de l'audace, toujours de l'audace!"--it was the
+chairman's phrase, his bit of the speech, and the secretary did it more
+than justice.  "Times are bad, but your Board is emphatically of the
+opinion that they are touching bottom; and this, in their view, is the
+psychological moment for a forward stroke.  They confidently recommend
+your adoption of their policy and the ratification of this purchase,
+which they believe will, in the not far distant future, substantially
+increase the profits of the Company."  The secretary sat down with
+reluctance. The speech should have continued with a number of appealing
+sentences which he had carefully prepared, but the chairman had cut them
+out with the simple comment: "They ought to be glad of the chance."  It
+was, in his view, an error.
+
+The director who had combed his beard now rose--a man of presence, who
+might be trusted to say nothing long and suavely.  While he was speaking
+the secretary was busy noting whence opposition was likely to come.  The
+majority were sitting owl-like-a good sign; but some dozen were studying
+their copies of the report, and three at least were making
+notes--Westgate, for, instance, who wanted to get on the Board, and was
+sure to make himself unpleasant--the time-honoured method of vinegar; and
+Batterson, who also desired to come on, and might be trusted to support
+the Board--the time-honoured method of oil; while, if one knew anything
+of human nature, the fellow who had complained that he might as well go
+home would have something uncomfortable to say.  The director finished
+his remarks, combed his beard with his fingers, and sat down.
+
+A momentary pause ensued.  Then Messieurs Westgate and Batterson rose
+together.  Seeing the chairman nod towards the latter, the secretary
+thought: 'Mistake!  He should have humoured Westgate by giving him
+precedence.'  But that was the worst of the old man, he had no notion of
+the suaviter in modo!  Mr. Batterson thus unchained--would like, if he
+might be so allowed, to congratulate the Board on having piloted their
+ship so smoothly through the troublous waters of the past year.  With
+their worthy chairman still at the helm, he had no doubt that in spite of
+the still low--he would not say falling--barometer, and
+the-er-unseasonable climacteric, they might rely on weathering
+the--er--he would not say storm.  He would confess that the present
+dividend of four per cent. was not one which satisfied every aspiration
+(Hear, hear!), but speaking for himself, and he hoped for others--and
+here Mr. Batterson looked round--he recognised that in all the
+circumstances it was as much as they had the right--er--to expect.  But
+following the bold but to his mind prudent development which the Board
+proposed to make, he thought that they might reasonably, if not
+sanguinely, anticipate a more golden future. ("No, no!") A shareholder
+said, 'No, no!'  That might seem to indicate a certain lack of confidence
+in the special proposal before the meeting.  ("Yes!") From that lack of
+confidence he would like at once to dissociate himself.  Their chairman,
+a man of foresight and acumen, and valour proved on many a field
+and--er--sea, would not have committed himself to this policy without
+good reason.  In his opinion they were in safe hands, and he was glad to
+register his support of the measure proposed.  The chairman had well said
+in his speech: 'de l'audace, toujours de l'audace!'  Shareholders would
+agree with him that there could be no better motto for Englishmen. Ahem!
+
+Mr. Batterson sat down.  And Mr. Westgate rose: He wanted--he said--to
+know more, much more, about this proposition, which to his mind was of a
+very dubious wisdom....  'Ah!' thought the secretary, 'I told the old boy
+he must tell them more'....  To whom, for instance, had the proposal
+first been made?  To him!--the chairman said.  Good!  But why were Pillins
+selling, if freights were to go up, as they were told?
+
+"Matter of opinion."
+
+"Quite so; and in my opinion they are going lower, and Pillins were right
+to sell.  It follows that we are wrong to buy."  ("Hear, hear!" "No,
+no!") "Pillins are shrewd people.  What does the chairman say?  Nerves!
+Does he mean to tell us that this sale was the result of nerves?"
+
+The chairman nodded.
+
+"That appears to me a somewhat fantastic theory; but I will leave that
+and confine myself to asking the grounds on which the chairman bases his
+confidence; in fact, what it is which is actuating the Board in pressing
+on us at such a time what I have no hesitation in stigmatising as a rash
+proposal.  In a word, I want light as well as leading in this matter."
+
+Mr. Westgate sat down.
+
+What would the chairman do now?  The situation was distinctly
+awkward--seeing his helplessness and the lukewarmness of the Board behind
+him.  And the secretary felt more strongly than ever the absurdity of his
+being an underling, he who in a few well-chosen words could so easily
+have twisted the meeting round his thumb. Suddenly he heard the long,
+rumbling sigh which preluded the chairman's speeches.
+
+"Has any other gentleman anything to say before I move the adoption of
+the report?"
+
+Phew!  That would put their backs up.  Yes, sure enough it had brought
+that fellow, who had said he might as well go home, to his feet!  Now for
+something nasty!
+
+"Mr. Westgate requires answering.  I don't like this business.  I don't
+impute anything to anybody; but it looks to me as if there were something
+behind it which the shareholders ought to be told.  Not only that; but,
+to speak frankly, I'm not satisfied to be ridden over roughshod in this
+fashion by one who, whatever he may have been in the past, is obviously
+not now in the prime of his faculties."
+
+With a gasp the secretary thought: 'I knew that was a plain-spoken man!'
+
+He heard again the rumbling beside him.  The chairman had gone crimson,
+his mouth was pursed, his little eyes were very blue.
+
+"Help me up," he said.
+
+The secretary helped him, and waited, rather breathless.
+
+The chairman took a sip of water, and his voice, unexpectedly loud, broke
+an ominous hush:
+
+"Never been so insulted in my life.  My best services have been at your
+disposal for nineteen years; you know what measure of success this
+Company has attained.  I am the oldest man here, and my experience of
+shipping is, I hope, a little greater than that of the two gentlemen who
+spoke last.  I have done my best for you, ladies and gentlemen, and we
+shall see whether you are going to endorse an indictment of my judgment
+and of my honour, if I am to take the last speaker seriously.  This
+purchase is for your good.  'There is a tide in the affairs of men'--and
+I for one am not content, never have been, to stagnate.  If that is what
+you want, however, by all means give your support to these gentlemen and
+have done with it.  I tell you freights will go up before the end of the
+year; the purchase is a sound one, more than a sound one--I, at any rate,
+stand or fall by it.  Refuse to ratify it, if you like; if you do, I
+shall resign."
+
+He sank back into his seat.  The secretary, stealing a glance, thought
+with a sort of enthusiasm: 'Bravo!  Who'd have thought he could rally his
+voice like that?  A good touch, too, that about his honour!  I believe
+he's knocked them.
+
+It's still dicky, though, if that fellow at the back gets up again; the
+old chap can't work that stop a second time.  'Ah! here was 'old
+Apple-pie' on his hind legs.  That was all right!
+
+"I do not hesitate to say that I am an old friend of the chairman; we
+are, many of us, old friends of the chairman, and it has been painful to
+me, and I doubt not to others, to hear an attack made on him.  If he is
+old in body, he is young in mental vigour and courage.  I wish we were
+all as young.  We ought to stand by him; I say, we ought to stand by
+him."  ("Hear, hear!  Hear, hear!") And the secretary thought: 'That's
+done it!' And he felt a sudden odd emotion, watching the chairman bobbing
+his body, like a wooden toy, at old Appleby; and old Appleby bobbing
+back.  Then, seeing a shareholder close to the door get up, thought:
+'Who's that?  I know his face--Ah! yes; Ventnor, the solicitor--he's one
+of the chairman's creditors that are coming again this afternoon.  What
+now?'
+
+"I can't agree that we ought to let sentiment interfere with our judgment
+in this matter.  The question is simply: How are our pockets going to be
+affected?  I came here with some misgivings, but the attitude of the
+chairman has been such as to remove them; and I shall support the
+proposition."  The secretary thought: 'That's all right--only, he said it
+rather queerly--rather queerly.'
+
+Then, after a long silence, the chairman, without rising, said:
+
+"I move the adoption of the report and accounts."
+
+"I second that."
+
+"Those in favour signify the same in the usual way.  Contrary?  Carried."
+The secretary noted the dissentients, six in number, and that Mr.
+Westgate did not vote.
+
+A quarter of an hour later he stood in the body of the emptying room
+supplying names to one of the gentlemen of the Press.  The passionless
+fellow said: "Haythorp, with an 'a'; oh! an 'e'; he seems an old man.
+Thank you.  I may have the slips?  Would you like to see a proof?  With
+an 'a' you said--oh! an 'e.' Good afternoon!" And the secretary thought:
+'Those fellows, what does go on inside them?  Fancy not knowing the old
+chairman by now!'...
+
+
+
+
+2
+
+Back in the proper office of "The Island Navigation Company" old Heythorp
+sat smoking a cigar and smiling like a purring cat.  He was dreaming a
+little of his triumph, sifting with his old brain, still subtle, the
+wheat from the chaff of the demurrers: Westgate--nothing in
+that--professional discontent till they silenced him with a place on the
+board--but not while he held the reins!  That chap at the back--an
+ill-conditioned fellow!  "Something behind!"  Suspicious brute!  There
+was something--but--hang it! they might think themselves lucky to get
+four ships at that price, and all due to him!  It was on the last speaker
+that his mind dwelt with a doubt.  That fellow Ventnor, to whom he owed
+money--there had been something just a little queer about his tone--as
+much as to say, "I smell a rat." Well! one would see that at the
+creditors' meeting in half an hour.
+
+"Mr. Pillin, sir."
+
+"Show him in!"
+
+In a fur coat which seemed to extinguish his thin form, Joe Pillin
+entered.  It was snowing, and the cold had nipped and yellowed his meagre
+face between its slight grey whiskering.  He said thinly:
+
+"How are you, Sylvanus?  Aren't you perished in this cold?"
+
+"Warm as a toast.  Sit down.  Take off your coat."
+
+"Oh!  I should be lost without it.  You must have a fire inside you.
+So-so it's gone through?"
+
+Old Heythorp nodded; and Joe Pillin, wandering like a spirit, scrutinised
+the shut door.  He came back to the table, and said in a low voice:
+
+"It's a great sacrifice."
+
+Old Heythorp smiled.
+
+"Have you signed the deed poll?"
+
+Producing a parchment from his pocket Joe Pillin unfolded it with caution
+to disclose his signature, and said:
+
+"I don't like it--it's irrevocable."
+
+A chuckle escaped old Heythorp.
+
+"As death."
+
+Joe Pillin's voice passed up into the treble clef.
+
+"I can't bear irrevocable things.  I consider you stampeded me, playing
+on my nerves."
+
+Examining the signatures old Heythorp murmured:
+
+"Tell your lawyer to lock it up.  He must think you a sad dog, Joe."
+
+"Ah!  Suppose on my death it comes to the knowledge of my wife!"
+
+"She won't be able to make it hotter for you than you'll be already."
+
+Joe Pillin replaced the deed within his coat, emitting a queer thin
+noise.  He simply could not bear joking on such subjects.
+
+"Well," he said, "you've got your way; you always do.  Who is this Mrs.
+Larne?  You oughtn't to keep me in the dark.  It seems my boy met her at
+your house.  You told me she didn't come there."
+
+Old Heythorp said with relish:
+
+"Her husband was my son by a woman I was fond of before I married; her
+children are my grandchildren.  You've provided for them.  Best thing you
+ever did."
+
+"I don't know--I don't know.  I'm sorry you told me.  It makes it all the
+more doubtful.  As soon as the transfer's complete, I shall get away
+abroad.  This cold's killing me.  I wish you'd give me your recipe for
+keeping warm."
+
+"Get a new inside."
+
+Joe Pillin regarded his old friend with a sort of yearning.  "And yet,"
+he said, "I suppose, with your full-blooded habit, your life hangs by a
+thread, doesn't it?"
+
+"A stout one, my boy"
+
+"Well, good-bye, Sylvanus.  You're a Job's comforter; I must be getting
+home."  He put on his hat, and, lost in his fur coat, passed out into the
+corridor.  On the stairs he met a man who said:
+
+"How do you do, Mr. Pillin?  I know your son.  Been' seeing the chairman?
+I see your sale's gone through all right.  I hope that'll do us some
+good, but I suppose you think the other way?"
+
+Peering at him from under his hat, Joe Pillin said:
+
+"Mr. Ventnor, I think?  Thank you!  It's very cold, isn't it?"  And, with
+that cautious remark, he passed on down.
+
+Alone again, old Heythorp thought: 'By George!  What a wavering,
+quavering, thread paper of a fellow!  What misery life must be to a chap
+like that!  He walks in fear--he wallows in it.  Poor devil!' And a
+curious feeling swelled his heart, of elation, of lightness such as he
+had not known for years.  Those two young things were safe now from
+penury-safe!  After dealing with those infernal creditors of his he would
+go round and have a look at the children.  With a hundred and twenty a
+year the boy could go into the Army--best place for a young scamp like
+that. The girl would go off like hot cakes, of course, but she needn't
+take the first calf that came along. As for their mother, she must look
+after herself; nothing under two thousand a year would keep her out of
+debt.  But trust her for wheedling and bluffing her way out of any
+scrape!  Watching his cigar-smoke curl and disperse he was conscious of
+the strain he had been under these last six weeks, aware suddenly of how
+greatly he had baulked at thought of to-day's general meeting. Yes!  It
+might have turned out nasty.  He knew well enough the forces on the
+Board, and off, who would be only too glad to shelve him.  If he were
+shelved here his other two Companies would be sure to follow suit, and
+bang would go every penny of his income--he would be a pauper dependant
+on that holy woman.  Well!  Safe now for another year if he could stave
+off these sharks once more.  It might be a harder job this time, but he
+was in luck--in luck, and it must hold.  And taking a luxurious pull at
+his cigar, he rang the handbell.
+
+"Bring 'em in here, Mr. Farney.  And let me have a cup of China tea as
+strong as you can make it."
+
+"Yes, sir.  Will you see the proof of the press report, or will you leave
+it to me?"
+
+"To you."
+
+"Yes, sir.  It was a good meeting, wasn't it?"
+
+Old Heythorp nodded.
+
+"Wonderful how your voice came back just at the right moment.  I was
+afraid things were going to be difficult.  The insult did it, I think.
+It was a monstrous thing to say.  I could have punched his head."
+
+Again old Heythorp nodded; and, looking into the secretary's fine blue
+eyes, he repeated: "Bring 'em in."
+
+The lonely minute before the entrance of his creditors passed in the
+thought: 'So that's how it struck him!  Short shrift I should get if it
+came out.'
+
+The gentlemen, who numbered ten this time, bowed to their debtor,
+evidently wondering why the deuce they troubled to be polite to an old
+man who kept them out of their money.  Then, the secretary reappearing
+with a cup of China tea, they watched while their debtor drank it.  The
+feat was tremulous.  Would he get through without spilling it all down
+his front, or choking?  To those unaccustomed to his private life it was
+slightly miraculous.  He put the cup down empty, tremblingly removed some
+yellow drops from the little white tuft below his lip, refit his cigar,
+and said:
+
+"No use beating about the bush, gentlemen; I can offer you fourteen
+hundred a year so long as I live and hold my directorships, and not a
+penny more.  If you can't accept that, you must make me bankrupt and get
+about sixpence in the pound.  My qualifying shares will fetch a couple of
+thousand at market price.  I own nothing else.  The house I live in, and
+everything in it, barring my clothes, my wine, and my cigars, belong to
+my daughter under a settlement fifteen years old. My solicitors and
+bankers will give you every information.  That's the position in a
+nutshell."
+
+In spite of business habits the surprise of the ten gentlemen was only
+partially concealed.  A man who owed them so much would naturally say he
+owned nothing, but would he refer them to his solicitors and bankers
+unless he were telling the truth?  Then Mr. Ventnor said:
+
+"Will you submit your pass books?"
+
+"No, but I'll authorise my bankers to give you a full statement of my
+receipts for the last five years--longer, if you like."
+
+The strategic stroke of placing the ten gentlemen round the Board table
+had made it impossible for them to consult freely without being
+overheard, but the low-voiced transference of thought travelling round
+was summed up at last by Mr. Brownbee.
+
+"We think, Mr. Heythorp, that your fees and dividends should enable you
+to set aside for us a larger sum.  Sixteen hundred, in fact, is what we
+think you should give us yearly.  Representing, as we do, sixteen
+thousand pounds, the prospect is not cheering, but we hope you have some
+good years before you yet.  We understand your income to be two thousand
+pounds."
+
+Old Heythorp shook his head.  "Nineteen hundred and thirty pounds in a
+good year.  Must eat and drink; must have a man to look after me not as
+active as I was.  Can't do on less than five hundred pounds. Fourteen
+hundred's all I can give you, gentlemen; it's an advance of two hundred
+pounds.  That's my last word."
+
+The silence was broken by Mr. Ventnor.
+
+"And it's my last word that I'm not satisfied.  If these other gentlemen
+accept your proposition I shall be forced to consider what I can do on my
+own account."
+
+The old man stared at him, and answered:
+
+"Oh! you will, sir; we shall see."
+
+The others had risen and were gathered in a knot at the end of the table;
+old Heythorp and Mr. Ventnor alone remained seated.  The old man's lower
+lip projected till the white hairs below stood out like bristles.  'You
+ugly dog,' he was thinking, 'you think you've got something up your
+sleeve.  Well, do your worst!'  The "ugly dog" rose abruptly and joined
+the others.  And old Heythorp closed his eyes, sitting perfectly still,
+with his cigar, which had gone out, sticking up between his teeth.  Mr.
+Brownbee turning to voice the decision come to, cleared his throat.
+
+"Mr. Heythorp," he said, "if your bankers and solicitors bear out your
+statements, we shall accept your offer faute de mieux, in consideration
+of your--" but meeting the old man's eyes, which said so very plainly:
+"Blow your consideration!" he ended with a stammer: "Perhaps you will
+kindly furnish us with the authorisation you spoke of?"
+
+Old Heythorp nodded, and Mr. Brownbee, with a little bow, clasped his hat
+to his breast and moved towards the door.  The nine gentlemen followed.
+Mr. Ventnor, bringing up the rear, turned and looked back. But the old
+man's eyes were already closed again.
+
+The moment his creditors were gone, old Heythorp sounded the hand-bell.
+
+"Help me up, Mr. Farney.  That Ventnor--what's his holding?"
+
+"Quite small.  Only ten shares, I think."
+
+"Ah!  What time is it?"
+
+"Quarter to four, sir."
+
+"Get me a taxi."
+
+After visiting his bank and his solicitors he struggled once more into
+his cab and caused it to be driven towards Millicent Villas.  A kind of
+sleepy triumph permeated his whole being, bumped and shaken by the cab's
+rapid progress.  So!  He was free of those sharks now so long as he could
+hold on to his Companies; and he would still have a hundred a year or
+more to spare for Rosamund and her youngsters.  He could live on four
+hundred, or even three-fifty, without losing his independence, for there
+would be no standing life in that holy woman's house unless he could pay
+his own scot!  A good day's work!  The best for many a long month!
+
+The cab stopped before the villa.
+
+
+
+
+3
+
+There are rooms which refuse to give away their owners, and rooms which
+seem to say: 'They really are like this.' Of such was Rosamund Larne's--a
+sort of permanent confession, seeming to remark to anyone who entered:
+'Her taste?  Well, you can see--cheerful and exuberant; her habits--yes,
+she sits here all the morning in a dressing-gown, smoking cigarettes and
+dropping ink; kindly observe my carpet. Notice the piano--it has a look
+of coming and going, according to the exchequer.  This very
+deep-cushioned sofa is permanent, however; the water-colours on the walls
+are safe, too--they're by herself.  Mark the scent of mimosa--she likes
+flowers, and likes them strong.  No clock, of course.  Examine the
+bureau--she is obviously always ringing for "the drumstick," and saying:
+"Where's this, Ellen, and where's that?  You naughty gairl, you've been
+tidying."  Cast an eye on that pile of manuscript--she has evidently a
+genius for composition; it flows off her pen--like Shakespeare, she never
+blots a line.  See how she's had the electric light put in, instead of
+that horrid gas; but try and turn either of them on--you can't; last
+quarter isn't paid, of course; and she uses an oil lamp, you can tell
+that by the ceiling: The dog over there, who will not answer to the name
+of 'Carmen,' a Pekinese spaniel like a little Djin, all prominent eyes
+rolling their blacks, and no nose between--yes, Carmen looks as if she
+didn't know what was coming next; she's right--it's a pet-and-slap-again
+life!  Consider, too, the fittings of the tea-tray, rather soiled, though
+not quite tin, but I say unto you that no millionaire's in all its glory
+ever had a liqueur bottle on it.'
+
+When old Heythorp entered this room, which extended from back to front of
+the little house, preceded by the announcement "Mr.  Aesop," it was
+resonant with a very clatter-bodandigo of noises, from Phyllis playing
+the Machiche; from the boy Jock on the hearthrug, emitting at short
+intervals the most piercing notes from an ocarina; from Mrs. Larne on the
+sofa, talking with her trailing volubility to Bob Pillin; from Bob Pillin
+muttering: "Ye-es!  Qui-ite!  Ye-es!" and gazing at Phyllis over his
+collar.  And, on the window-sill, as far as she could get from all this
+noise, the little dog Carmen was rolling her eyes.  At sight of their
+visitor Jock blew one rending screech, and bolting behind the sofa,
+placed his chin on its top, so that nothing but his round pink unmoving
+face was visible; and the dog Carmen tried to climb the blind cord.
+
+Encircled from behind by the arms of Phyllis, and preceded by the
+gracious perfumed bulk of Mrs. Larne, old Heythorp was escorted to the
+sofa.  It was low, and when he had plumped down into it, the boy Jock
+emitted a hollow groan.  Bob Pillin was the first to break the silence.
+
+"How are you, sir?  I hope it's gone through."
+
+Old Heythorp nodded.  His eyes were fixed on the liqueur, and Mrs. Larne
+murmured:
+
+"Guardy, you must try our new liqueur.  Jock, you awful boy, get up and
+bring Guardy a glass."
+
+The boy Jock approached the tea-table, took up a glass, put it to his eye
+and filled it rapidly.
+
+"You horrible boy, you could see that glass has been used."
+
+In a high round voice rather like an angel's, Jock answered:
+
+"All right, Mother; I'll get rid of it," and rapidly swallowing the
+yellow liquor, took up another glass.
+
+Mrs. Larne laughed.
+
+"What am I to do with him?"
+
+A loud shriek prevented a response.  Phyllis, who had taken her brother
+by the ear to lead him to the door, let him go to clasp her injured self.
+
+Bob Pillin went hastening towards her; and following the young man with
+her chin, Mrs. Larne said, smiling:
+
+"Aren't those children awful?  He's such a nice fellow.  We like him so
+much, Guardy."
+
+The old man grinned.  So she was making up to that young pup!  Rosamund
+Larne, watching him, murmured:
+
+"Oh!  Guardy, you're as bad as Jock.  He takes after you terribly. Look
+at the shape of his head.  Jock, come here!"  The innocent boy
+approached; with his girlish complexion, his flowery blue eyes, his
+perfect mouth, he stood before his mother like a large cherub.  And
+suddenly he blew his ocarina in a dreadful manner.  Mrs. Larne launched a
+box at his ears, and receiving the wind of it he fell prone.
+
+"That's the way he behaves.  Be off with you, you awful boy.  I want to
+talk to Guardy."
+
+The boy withdrew on his stomach, and sat against the wall cross-legged,
+fixing his innocent round eyes on old Heythorp.  Mrs. Larne sighed.
+
+"Things are worse and worse, Guardy.  I'm at my wits' end to tide over
+this quarter.  You wouldn't advance me a hundred on my new story?  I'm
+sure to get two for it in the end."
+
+The old man shook his head.
+
+"I've done something for you and the children," he said.  "You'll get
+notice of it in a day or two; ask no questions."
+
+"Oh!  Guardy!  Oh! you dear!"  And her gaze rested on Bob Pillin, leaning
+over the piano, where Phyllis again sat.
+
+Old Heythorp snorted.  "What are you cultivating that young gaby for?  She
+mustn't be grabbed up by any fool who comes along."
+
+Mrs. Larne murmured at once:
+
+"Of course, the dear gairl is much too young.  Phyllis, come and talk to
+Guardy!"
+
+When the girl was installed beside him on the sofa, and he had felt that
+little thrill of warmth the proximity of youth can bring, he said:
+
+"Been a good girl?"
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"Can't, when Jock's not at school.  Mother can't pay for him this term."
+
+Hearing his name, the boy Jock blew his ocarina till Mrs. Larne drove him
+from the room, and Phyllis went on:
+
+"He's more awful than anything you can think of.  Was my dad at all like
+him, Guardy?  Mother's always so mysterious about him.  I suppose you
+knew him well."
+
+Old Heythorp, incapable of confusion,  answered stolidly:
+
+"Not very."
+
+"Who was his father?  I don't believe even mother knows."
+
+"Man about town in my day."
+
+"Oh! your day must have been jolly.  Did you wear peg-top trousers, and
+dundreary's?"
+
+Old Heythorp nodded.
+
+"What larks!  And I suppose you had lots of adventures with opera dancers
+and gambling.  The young men are all so good now."  Her eyes rested on
+Bob Pillin.  "That young man's a perfect stick of goodness."
+
+Old Heythorp grunted.
+
+"You wouldn't know how good he was," Phyllis went on musingly, "unless
+you'd sat next him in a tunnel.  The other day he had his waist squeezed
+and he simply sat still and did nothing.  And then when the tunnel ended,
+it was Jock after all, not me.  His face was--Oh! ah! ha! ha!  Ah! ha!"
+She threw back her head, displaying all her white, round throat.  Then
+edging near, she whispered:
+
+"He likes to pretend, of course, that he's fearfully lively.  He's
+promised to take mother and me to the theatre and supper afterwards.
+Won't it be scrummy!  Only, I haven't anything to go in."
+
+Old Heythorp said: "What do you want?  Irish poplin?"
+
+Her mouth opened wide: "Oh!  Guardy!  Soft white satin!"
+
+"How many yards'll go round you?"
+
+"I should think about twelve.  We could make it ourselves.  You are a
+chook!"
+
+A scent of hair, like hay, enveloped him, her lips bobbed against his
+nose,--and there came a feeling in his heart as when he rolled the first
+sip of a special wine against his palate.  This little house was a
+rumty-too affair, her mother was a humbug, the boy a cheeky young rascal,
+but there was a warmth here he never felt in that big house which had
+been his wife's and was now his holy daughter's.  And once more he
+rejoiced at his day's work, and the success of his breach of trust, which
+put some little ground beneath these young feet, in a hard and
+unscrupulous world.  Phyllis whispered in his ear:
+
+"Guardy, do look; he will stare at me like that.  Isn't it awful--like a
+boiled rabbit?"
+
+Bob Pillin, attentive to Mrs. Larne, was gazing with all his might over
+her shoulder at the girl.  The young man was moonstruck, that was clear!
+There was something almost touching in the stare of those puppy dog's
+eyes.  And he thought 'Young beggar--wish I were his age!'  The utter
+injustice of having an old and helpless body, when your desire for
+enjoyment was as great as ever!  They said a man was as old as he felt!
+Fools!  A man was as old as his legs and arms, and not a  day younger.
+He heard the girl beside him utter a discomfortable sound, and saw her
+face cloud as if tears were not far off; she jumped up, and going to the
+window, lifted the little dog and buried her face in its brown and white
+fur.  Old Heythorp thought: 'She sees that her humbugging mother is using
+her as a decoy.'  But she had come back, and the little dog, rolling its
+eyes horribly at the strange figure on the sofa, in a desperate effort to
+escape succeeded in reaching her shoulder, where it stayed perched like a
+cat, held by one paw and trying to back away into space.  Old Heythorp
+said abruptly:
+
+"Are you very fond of your mother?"
+
+"Of course I am, Guardy.  I adore her."
+
+"H'm!  Listen to me.  When you come of age or marry, you'll have a
+hundred and twenty a year of your own that you can't get rid of. Don't
+ever be persuaded into doing what you don't want.  And remember: Your
+mother's a sieve, no good giving her money; keep what you'll get for
+yourself--it's only a pittance, and you'll want it all--every penny."
+
+Phyllis's eyes had opened very wide; so that he wondered if she had taken
+in his words.
+
+"Oh!  Isn't money horrible, Guardy?"
+
+"The want of it."
+
+"No, it's beastly altogether.  If only we were like birds.  Or if one
+could put out a plate overnight, and have just enough in the morning to
+use during the day."
+
+Old Heythorp sighed.
+
+"There's only one thing in life that matters--independence.  Lose that,
+and you lose everything.  That's the value of money.  Help me up."
+
+Phyllis stretched out her hands, and the little dog, running down her
+back, resumed its perch on the window-sill, close to the blind cord.
+
+Once on his feet, old Heythorp said:
+
+"Give me a kiss.  You'll have your satin tomorrow."
+
+Then looking at Bob Pillin, he remarked:
+
+"Going my way?  I'll give you a lift."
+
+The young man, giving Phyllis one appealing look, answered dully:
+"Tha-anks!"  and they went out together to the taxi.  In that draughtless
+vehicle they sat, full of who knows what contempt of age for youth; and
+youth for age; the old man resenting this young pup's aspiration to his
+granddaughter; the young man annoyed that this old image had dragged him
+away before he wished to go.  Old Heythorp said at last:
+
+"Well?"
+
+Thus expected to say something, Bob Pillin muttered
+
+"Glad your meetin' went off well, sir.  You scored a triumph I should
+think."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Oh!  I don't know.  I thought you had a good bit of opposition to
+contend with."
+
+Old Heythorp looked at him.
+
+"Your grandmother!"  he said; then, with his habitual instinct of attack,
+added: "You make the most of your opportunities, I see."
+
+At this rude assault Bob Pillin's red-cheeked face assumed a certain
+dignity.  "I don't know what you mean, sir.  Mrs. Larne is very kind to
+me."
+
+"No doubt.  But don't try to pick the flowers."
+
+Thoroughly upset, Bob Pillin preserved a dogged silence.  This fortnight,
+since he had first met Phyllis in old Heythorp's hall, had been the most
+singular of his existence up to now.  He would never have believed that a
+fellow could be so quickly and completely bowled, could succumb without a
+kick, without even wanting to kick. To one with his philosophy of having
+a good time and never committing himself too far, it was in the nature of
+"a fair knock-out," and yet so pleasurable, except for the wear and tear
+about one's chances.  If only he knew how far the old boy really counted
+in the matter!  To say: "My intentions are strictly honourable" would be
+old-fashioned; besides--the old fellow might have no right to hear it.
+They called him Guardy, but without knowing more he did not want to admit
+the old curmudgeon's right to interfere.
+
+"Are you a relation of theirs, sir?"
+
+Old Heythorp nodded.
+
+Bob Pillin went on with desperation:
+
+"I should like to know what your objection to me is."
+
+The old man turned his head so far as he was able; a grim smile bristled
+the hairs about his lips, and twinkled in his eyes.  What did he object
+to?  Why--everything!  Object to!  That sleek head, those puppy-dog eyes,
+fattish red cheeks, high collars, pearl pin, spats, and drawl-pah! the
+imbecility, the smugness of his mug; no go, no devil in any of his sort,
+in any of these fish-veined, coddled-up young bloods, nothing but playing
+for safety!  And he wheezed out:
+
+"Milk and water masquerading as port wine."
+
+Bob Pillin frowned.
+
+It was almost too much for the composure even of a man of the world. That
+this paralytic old fellow should express contempt for his virility was
+really the last thing in jests.  Luckily he could not take it seriously.
+But suddenly he thought: 'What if he really has the power to stop my
+going there, and means to turn them against me!' And his heart quailed.
+
+"Awfully sorry, sir," he said, "if you don't think I'm wild enough.
+Anything I can do for you in that line--"
+
+The old man grunted; and realising that he had been quite witty, Bob
+Pillin went on:
+
+"I know I'm not in debt, no entanglements, got a decent income, pretty
+good expectations and all that; but I can soon put that all right if I'm
+not fit without."
+
+It was perhaps his first attempt at irony, and he could not help thinking
+how good it was.
+
+But old Heythorp preserved a deadly silence.  He looked like a stuffed
+man, a regular Aunt Sally sitting there, with the fixed red in his
+cheeks, his stivered hair, square block of a body, and no neck that you
+could see-only wanting the pipe in his mouth!  Could there really be
+danger from such an old idol?  The idol spoke:
+
+"I'll give you a word of advice.  Don't hang round there, or you'll burn
+your fingers.  Remember me to your father.  Good-night!"
+
+The taxi had stopped before the house in Sefton Park.  An insensate
+impulse to remain seated and argue the point fought in Bob Pillin with an
+impulse to leap out, shake his fist in at the window, and walk off.  He
+merely said, however:
+
+"Thanks for the lift.  Good-night!"  And, getting out deliberately, he
+walked off.
+
+Old Heythorp, waiting for the driver to help him up, thought 'Fatter, but
+no more guts than his father!'
+
+In his sanctum he sank at once into his chair.  It was wonderfully still
+there every day at this hour; just the click of the coals, just the
+faintest ruffle from the wind in the trees of the park.  And it was
+cosily warm, only the fire lightening the darkness.  A drowsy beatitude
+pervaded the old man.  A good day's work!  A triumph--that young pup had
+said.  Yes!  Something of a triumph!  He had held on, and won.  And
+dinner to look forward to, yet.  A nap--a nap!  And soon, rhythmic, soft,
+sonorous, his breathing rose, with now and then that pathetic twitching
+of the old who dream.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+1
+
+When Bob Pillin emerged from the little front garden of 23, Millicent
+Villas ten days later, his sentiments were ravelled, and he could not get
+hold of an end to pull straight the stuff of his mind.
+
+He had found Mrs. Larne and Phyllis in the sitting-room, and Phyllis had
+been crying; he was sure she had been crying; and that memory still
+infected the sentiments evoked by later happenings.  Old Heythorp had
+said: "You'll burn your fingers."  The process had begun.  Having sent
+her daughter away on a pretext really a bit too thin, Mrs. Larne had
+installed him beside her scented bulk on the sofa, and poured into his
+ear such a tale of monetary woe and entanglement, such a mass of present
+difficulties and rosy prospects, that his brain still whirled, and only
+one thing emerged clearly-that she wanted fifty pounds, which she would
+repay him on quarter-day; for their Guardy had made a settlement by
+which, until the dear children came of age, she would have sixty pounds
+every quarter.  It was only a question of a few weeks; he might ask
+Messrs.  Scriven and Coles; they would tell him the security was quite
+safe.  He certainly might ask Messrs.  Scriven and Coles--they happened
+to be his father's solicitors; but it hardly seemed to touch the point.
+Bob Pillin had a certain shrewd caution, and the point was whether he was
+going to begin to lend money to a woman who, he could see, might borrow
+up to seventy times seven on the strength of his infatuation for her
+daughter.  That was rather too strong!  Yet, if he didn't she might take
+a sudden dislike to him, and where would he be then?  Besides, would not a
+loan make his position stronger?  And then--such is the effect of love
+even on the younger generation--that thought seemed to him unworthy.  If
+he lent at all, it should be from chivalry--ulterior motives might go
+hang!  And the memory of the tear-marks on Phyllis's pretty pale-pink
+cheeks; and her petulantly mournful: "Oh! young man, isn't money
+beastly!" scraped his heart, and ravished his judgment.  All the same,
+fifty pounds was fifty pounds, and goodness knew how much more; and what
+did he know of Mrs. Larne, after all, except that she was a relative of
+old Heythorp's and wrote stories--told them too, if he was not mistaken?
+Perhaps it would be better to see Scrivens'.  But again that absurd
+nobility assaulted him.  Phyllis!  Phyllis!  Besides, were not
+settlements always drawn so that they refused to form security for
+anything?  Thus, hampered and troubled, he hailed a cab.  He was dining
+with the Ventnors on the Cheshire side, and would be late if he didn't
+get home sharp to dress.
+
+Driving, white-tied--and waist-coated, in his father's car, he thought
+with a certain contumely of the younger Ventnor girl, whom he had been
+wont to consider pretty before he knew Phyllis. And seated next her at
+dinner, he quite enjoyed his new sense of superiority to her charms, and
+the ease with which he could chaff and be agreeable. And all the time he
+suffered from the suppressed longing which scarcely ever left him now, to
+think and talk of Phyllis.  Ventnor's fizz was good and plentiful, his
+old Madeira absolutely first chop, and the only other man present a
+teetotal curate, who withdrew with the ladies to talk his parish shop.
+Favoured by these circumstances, and the perception that Ventnor was an
+agreeable fellow, Bob Pillin yielded to his secret itch to get near the
+subject of his affections.
+
+"Do you happen," he said airily, "to know a Mrs. Larne--relative of old
+Heythorp's--rather a handsome woman-she writes stories."
+
+Mr. Ventnor shook his head.  A closer scrutiny than Bob Pillin's would
+have seen that he also moved his ears.
+
+"Of old Heythorp's?  Didn't know he had any, except his daughter, and
+that son of his in the Admiralty."
+
+Bob Pillin felt the glow of his secret hobby spreading within him.
+
+"She is, though--lives rather out of town; got a son and daughter.  I
+thought you might know her stories--clever woman."
+
+Mr. Ventnor smiled.  "Ah!" he said enigmatically, "these lady novelists!
+Does she make any money by them?"
+
+Bob Pillin knew that to make money by writing meant success, but that not
+to make money by writing was artistic, and implied that you had private
+means, which perhaps was even more distinguished.  And he said:
+
+"Oh! she has private means, I know."
+
+Mr. Ventnor reached for the Madeira.
+
+"So she's a relative of old Heythorp's," he said.  "He's a very old
+friend of your father's.  He ought to go bankrupt, you know."
+
+To Bob Pillin, glowing with passion and Madeira, the idea of bankruptcy
+seemed discreditable in connection with a relative of Phyllis.  Besides,
+the old boy was far from that!  Had he not just made this settlement on
+Mrs. Larne?  And he said:
+
+"I think you're mistaken.  That's of the past."
+
+Mr. Ventnor smiled.
+
+"Will you bet?"  he said.
+
+Bob Pillin also smiled.  "I should be bettin' on a certainty."
+
+Mr. Ventnor passed his hand over his whiskered face.  "Don't you believe
+it; he hasn't a mag to his name.  Fill your glass."
+
+Bob Pillin said, with a certain resentment:
+
+"Well, I happen to know he's just made a settlement of five or six
+thousand pounds.  Don't know if you call that being bankrupt."
+
+"What!  On this Mrs. Larne?"
+
+Confused, uncertain whether he had said something derogatory or
+indiscreet, or something which added distinction to Phyllis, Bob Pillin
+hesitated, then gave a nod.
+
+Mr. Ventnor rose and extended his short legs before the fire.
+
+"No, my boy," he said.  "No!"
+
+Unaccustomed to flat contradiction, Bob Pillin reddened.
+
+"I'll bet you a tenner.  Ask Scrivens."
+
+Mr. Ventnor ejaculated:
+
+"Scrivens---but they're not--" then, staring rather hard, he added: "I
+won't bet.  You may be right.  Scrivens are your father's solicitors too,
+aren't they?  Always been sorry he didn't come to me. Shall we join the
+ladies?"  And to the drawing-room he preceded a young man more uncertain
+in his mind than on his feet....
+
+Charles Ventnor was not one to let you see that more was going on within
+than met the eye.  But there was a good deal going on that evening, and
+after his conversation with young Bob he had occasion more than once to
+turn away and rub his hands together.  When, after that second creditors'
+meeting, he had walked down the stairway which led to the offices of "The
+Island Navigation Company," he had been deep in thought.  Short, squarely
+built, rather stout, with moustache and large mutton-chop whiskers of a
+red brown, and a faint floridity in face and dress, he impressed at first
+sight only by a certain truly British vulgarity.  One felt that here was
+a hail-fellow--well-met man who liked lunch and dinner, went to
+Scarborough for his summer holidays, sat on his wife, took his daughters
+out in a boat and was never sick.  One felt that he went to church every
+Sunday morning, looked upwards as he moved through life, disliked the
+unsuccessful, and expanded with his second glass of wine. But then a
+clear look into his well-clothed face and red-brown eyes would give the
+feeling: 'There's something fulvous here; he might be a bit too foxy.'  A
+third look brought the thought: 'He's certainly a bully.' He was not a
+large creditor of old Heythorp.  With interest on the original, he
+calculated his claim at three hundred pounds--unredeemed shares in that
+old Ecuador mine. But he had waited for his money eight years, and could
+never imagine how it came about that he had been induced to wait so long.
+There had been, of course, for one who liked "big pots," a certain
+glamour about the personality of old Heythorp, still a bit of a swell in
+shipping circles, and a bit of an aristocrat in Liverpool.  But during
+the last year Charles Ventnor had realised that the old chap's star had
+definitely set--when that happens, of course, there is no more glamour,
+and the time has come to get your money.  Weakness in oneself and others
+is despicable!  Besides, he had food for thought, and descending the
+stairs he chewed it: He smelt a rat--creatures for which both by nature
+and profession he had a nose.  Through Bob Pillin, on whom he sometimes
+dwelt in connection with his younger daughter, he knew that old Pillin
+and old Heythorp had been friends for thirty years and more.  That, to an
+astute mind, suggested something behind this sale.  The thought had
+already occurred to him when he read his copy of the report.  A
+commission would be a breach of trust, of course, but there were ways of
+doing things; the old chap was devilish hard pressed, and human nature
+was human nature!  His lawyerish mind habitually put two and two
+together.  The old fellow had deliberately appointed to meet his
+creditors again just after the general meeting which would decide the
+purchase--had said he might do something for them then.  Had that no
+significance?
+
+In these circumstances Charles Ventnor had come to the meeting with eyes
+wide open and mouth tight closed.  And he had watched.  It was certainly
+remarkable that such an old and feeble man, with no neck at all, who
+looked indeed as if he might go off with apoplexy any moment, should
+actually say that he "stood or fell" by this purchase, knowing that if he
+fell he would be a beggar.  Why should the old chap be so keen on getting
+it through?  It would do him personally no good, unless--Exactly!  He had
+left the meeting, therefore, secretly confident that old Heythorp had got
+something out of this transaction which would enable him to make a
+substantial proposal to his creditors.  So that when the old man had
+declared that he was going to make none, something had turned sour in his
+heart, and he had said to himself: "All right, you old rascal!  You don't
+know C. V."  The cavalier manner of that beggarly old rip, the defiant
+look of his deep little eyes, had put a polish on the rancour of one who
+prided himself on letting no man get the better of him.  All that
+evening, seated on one side of the fire, while Mrs. Ventnor sat on the
+other, and the younger daughter played Gounod's Serenade on the
+violin--he cogitated.  And now and again he smiled, but not too much.  He
+did not see his way as yet, but had little doubt that before long he
+would.  It would not be hard to knock that chipped old idol off his
+perch.  There was already a healthy feeling among the shareholders that
+he was past work and should be scrapped.  The old chap should find that
+Charles V. was not to be defied; that when he got his teeth into a thing,
+he did not let it go.  By hook or crook he would have the old man off his
+Boards, or his debt out of him as the price of leaving him alone.  His
+life or his money--and the old fellow should determine which.  With the
+memory of that defiance fresh within him, he almost hoped it might come
+to be the first, and turning to Mrs. Ventnor, he said abruptly:
+
+"Have a little dinner Friday week, and ask young Pillin and the curate."
+He specified the curate, a tee-totaller, because he had two daughters,
+and males and females must be paired, but he intended to pack him off
+after dinner to the drawing-room to discuss parish matters while he and
+Bob Pillin sat over their wine.  What he expected to get out of the young
+man he did not as yet know.
+
+On the day of the dinner, before departing for the office, he had gone to
+his cellar.  Would three bottles of Perrier Jouet do the trick, or must
+he add one of the old Madeira?  He decided to be on the safe side.  A
+bottle or so of champagne went very little way with him personally, and
+young Pillin might be another.
+
+The Madeira having done its work by turning the conversation into such an
+admirable channel, he had cut it short for fear young Pillin might drink
+the lot or get wind of the rat.  And when his guests were gone, and his
+family had retired, he stood staring into the fire, putting together the
+pieces of the puzzle.  Five or six thousand pounds--six would be ten per
+cent. on sixty!  Exactly!  Scrivens--young Pillin had said!  But Crow &
+Donkin, not Scriven & Coles, were old Heythorp's solicitors.  What could
+that mean, save that the old man wanted to cover the tracks of a secret
+commission, and had handled the matter through solicitors who did not
+know the state of his affairs!  But why Pillin's solicitors?  With this
+sale just going through, it must look deuced fishy to them too.  Was it
+all a mare's nest, after all?  In such circumstances he himself would
+have taken the matter to a London firm who knew nothing of anybody.
+Puzzled, therefore, and rather disheartened, feeling too that touch of
+liver which was wont to follow his old Madeira, he went up to bed and
+woke his wife to ask her why the dickens they couldn't always have soup
+like that!
+
+Next day he continued to brood over his puzzle, and no fresh light came;
+but having a matter on which his firm and Scrivens' were in touch, he
+decided to go over in person, and see if he could surprise something out
+of them.  Feeling, from experience, that any really delicate matter would
+only be entrusted to the most responsible member of the firm, he had
+asked to see Scriven himself, and just as he had taken his hat to go, he
+said casually:
+
+"By the way, you do some business for old Mr. Heythorp, don't you?"
+
+Scriven, raising his eyebrows a little, murmured: "Er--no," in exactly
+the tone Mr. Ventnor himself used when he wished to imply that though he
+didn't as a fact do business, he probably soon would. He knew therefore
+that the answer was a true one.  And non-plussed, he hazarded:
+
+"Oh!  I thought you did, in regard to a Mrs. Larne."
+
+This time he had certainly drawn blood of sorts, for down came Scriven's
+eyebrows, and he said:
+
+"Mrs. Larne--we know a Mrs. Larne, but not in that connection.  Why?"
+
+"Oh!  Young Pillin told me--"
+
+"Young Pillin?  Why, it's his---!"  A little pause, and then: "Old Mr.
+Heythorp's solicitors are Crow & Donkin, I believe."
+
+Mr. Ventnor held out his hand.  "Yes, yes," he said; "goodbye.  Glad to
+have got that matter settled up," and out he went, and down the street,
+important, smiling.  By George!  He had got it!  "It's his
+father"--Scriven had been going to say.  What a plant!  Exactly!  Oh!
+neat!  Old Pillin had made the settlement direct; and the solicitors were
+in the dark; that disposed of his difficulty about them.  No money had
+passed between old Pillin and old Heythorp not a penny. Oh! neat!  But
+not neat enough for Charles Ventnor, who had that nose for rats.  Then
+his smile died, and with a little chill he perceived that it was all
+based on supposition--not quite good enough to go on!  What then?
+Somehow he must see this Mrs. Larne, or better--old Pillin himself.  The
+point to ascertain was whether she had any connection of her own with
+Pillin.  Clearly young Pillin didn't know of it; for, according to him,
+old Heythorp had made the settlement.  By Jove!  That old rascal was
+deep--all the more satisfaction in proving that he was not as deep as C.
+V.  To unmask the old cheat was already beginning to seem in the nature
+of a public service.  But on what pretext could he visit Pillin?  A
+subscription to the Windeatt almshouses!  That would make him talk in
+self-defence and he would take care not to press the request to the
+actual point of getting a subscription.  He caused himself to be driven
+to the Pillin residence in Sefton Park.  Ushered into a room on the
+ground floor, heated in American fashion, Mr. Ventnor unbuttoned his
+coat. A man of sanguine constitution, he found this hot-house atmosphere
+a little trying.  And having sympathetically obtained Joe Pillin's
+reluctant refusal--Quite so!  One could not indefinitely extend one's
+subscriptions even for the best of causes!--he said gently:
+
+"By the way, you know Mrs. Larne, don't you?"
+
+The effect of that simple shot surpassed his highest hopes.  Joe Pillin's
+face, never highly coloured, turned a sort of grey; he opened his thin
+lips, shut them quickly, as birds do, and something seemed to pass with
+difficulty down his scraggy throat.  The hollows, which nerve exhaustion
+delves in the cheeks of men whose cheekbones are not high, increased
+alarmingly.  For a moment he looked deathly; then, moistening his lips,
+he said:
+
+"Larne--Larne?  No, I don't seem---"
+
+Mr. Ventnor, who had taken care to be drawing on his gloves, murmured:
+
+"Oh!  I thought--your son knows her; a relation of old Heythorp's," and
+he looked up.
+
+Joe Pillin had his handkerchief to his mouth; he coughed feebly, then
+with more and more vigour:
+
+"I'm in very poor health," he said, at last.  "I'm getting abroad at
+once.  This cold's killing me.  What name did you say?"  And he remained
+with his handkerchief against his teeth.
+
+Mr. Ventnor repeated:
+
+"Larne.  Writes stories."
+
+Joe Pillin muttered into his handkerchief
+
+"Ali!  H'm!  No--I--no!  My son knows all sorts of people.  I shall have
+to try Mentone.  Are you going?  Good-bye!  Good-bye!  I'm sorry; ah! ha!
+My cough--ah! ha h'h'm!  Very distressing.  Ye-hes!  My cough-ah! ha
+h'h'm!  Most distressing.  Ye-hes!"
+
+Out in the drive Mr. Ventnor took a deep breath of the frosty air. Not
+much doubt now!  The two names had worked like charms.  This weakly old
+fellow would make a pretty witness, would simply crumple under
+cross-examination.  What a contrast to that hoary old sinner Heythorp,
+whose brazenness nothing could affect.  The rat was as large as life!
+And the only point was how to make the best use of it.  Then--for his
+experience was wide--the possibility dawned on him, that after all, this
+Mrs. Larne might only have been old Pillin's mistress--or be his natural
+daughter, or have some other blackmailing hold on him.  Any such
+connection would account for his agitation, for his denying her, for his
+son's ignorance.  Only it wouldn't account for young Pillin's saying that
+old Heythorp had made the settlement.  He could only have got that from
+the woman herself. Still, to make absolutely sure, he had better try and
+see her.  But how?  It would never do to ask Bob Pillin for an
+introduction, after this interview with his father.  He would have to go
+on his own and chance it.  Wrote stories did she?  Perhaps a newspaper
+would know her address; or the Directory would give it--not a common
+name!  And, hot on the scent, he drove to a post office.  Yes, there it
+was, right enough!  "Larne, Mrs. R., 23, Millicent Villas."  And thinking
+to himself: 'No time like the present,' he turned in that direction. The
+job was delicate.  He must be careful not to do anything which might
+compromise his power of making public use of his knowledge. Yes-ticklish!
+What he did now must have a proper legal bottom. Still, anyway you looked
+at it, he had a right to investigate a fraud on himself as a shareholder
+of "The Island Navigation Company," and a fraud on himself as a creditor
+of old Heythorp.  Quite!  But suppose this Mrs. Larne was really
+entangled with old Pillin, and the settlement a mere reward of virtue,
+easy or otherwise.  Well! in that case there'd be no secret commission to
+make public, and he needn't go further.  So that, in either event, he
+would be all right.  Only--how to introduce himself?  He might pretend he
+was a newspaper man wanting a story.  No, that wouldn't do!  He must not
+represent that he was what he was not, in case he had afterwards to
+justify his actions publicly, always a difficult thing, if you were not
+careful!  At that moment there came into his mind a question Bob Pillin
+had asked the other night.  "By the way, you can't borrow on a
+settlement, can you?  Isn't there generally some clause against it?" Had
+this woman been trying to borrow from him on that settlement?  But at this
+moment he reached the house, and got out of his cab still undecided as to
+how he was going to work the oracle.  Impudence, constitutional and
+professional, sustained him in saying to the little maid:
+
+"Mrs. Larne at home?  Say Mr. Charles Ventnor, will you?"
+
+His quick brown eyes took in the apparel of the passage which served for
+hall--the deep blue paper on the walls, lilac-patterned curtains over the
+doors, the well-known print of a nude young woman looking over her
+shoulder, and he thought: 'H'm!  Distinctly tasty!'  They noted, too, a
+small brown-and-white dog cowering in terror at the very end of the
+passage, and he murmured affably: "Fluffy!  Come here, Fluffy!" till
+Carmen's teeth chattered in her head.
+
+"Will you come in, sir?"
+
+Mr. Ventnor ran his hand over his whiskers, and, entering a room, was
+impressed at once by its air of domesticity.  On a sofa a handsome woman
+and a pretty young girl were surrounded by sewing apparatus and some
+white material.  The girl looked up, but the elder lady rose.
+
+Mr. Ventnor said easily
+
+"You know my young friend, Mr. Robert Pillin, I think."
+
+The lady, whose bulk and bloom struck him to the point of admiration,
+murmured in a full, sweet drawl:
+
+"Oh!  Ye-es.  Are you from Messrs. Scrivens?"
+
+With the swift reflection: 'As I thought!'  Mr. Ventnor answered:
+
+"Er--not exactly.  I am a solicitor though; came just to ask about a
+certain settlement that Mr. Pillin tells me you're entitled under."
+
+"Phyllis dear!"
+
+Seeing the girl about to rise from underneath the white stuff, Mr.
+Ventnor said quickly:
+
+"Pray don't disturb yourself--just a formality!"  It had struck him at
+once that the lady would have to speak the truth in the presence of this
+third party, and he went on: "Quite recent, I think.  This'll be your
+first interest-on six thousand pounds?  Is that right?"  And at the
+limpid assent of that rich, sweet voice, he thought: 'Fine woman; what
+eyes!'
+
+"Thank you; that's quite enough.  I can go to Scrivens for any detail.
+Nice young fellow, Bob Pillin, isn't he?"  He saw the girl's chin tilt,
+and Mrs. Larne's full mouth curling in a smile.
+
+"Delightful young man; we're very fond of him."
+
+And he proceeded:
+
+"I'm quite an old friend of his; have you known him long?"
+
+"Oh! no.  How long, Phyllis, since we met him at Guardy's?  About a
+month.  But he's so unaffected--quite at home with us.  A nice fellow."
+
+Mr. Ventnor murmured:
+
+"Very different from his father, isn't he?"
+
+"Is he?  We don't know his father; he's a shipowner, I think."
+
+Mr. Ventnor rubbed his hands: "Ye-es," he said, "just giving up--a warm
+man.  Young Pillin's a lucky fellow--only son.  So you met him at old Mr.
+Heythorp's.  I know him too--relation of yours, I believe."
+
+"Our dear Guardy such a wonderful man."
+
+Mr. Ventnor echoed: "Wonderful--regular old Roman."
+
+"Oh! but he's so kind!"  Mrs. Larne lifted the white stuff: "Look what
+he's given this naughty gairl!"
+
+Mr. Ventnor murmured: "Charming!  Charming!  Bob Pillin said, I think,
+that Mr. Heythorp was your settlor."
+
+One of those little clouds which visit the brows of women who have owed
+money in their time passed swiftly athwart Mrs. Larne's eyes. For a
+moment they seemed saying: 'Don't you want to know too much?' Then they
+slid from under it.
+
+"Won't you sit down?"  she said.  "You must forgive our being at work."
+
+Mr. Ventnor, who had need of sorting his impressions, shook his head.
+
+"Thank you; I must be getting on.  Then Messrs. Scriven can--a mere
+formality!  Goodbye!  Good-bye, Miss Larne.  I'm sure the dress will be
+most becoming."
+
+And with memories of a too clear look from the girl's eyes, of a warm
+firm pressure from the woman's hand, Mr. Ventnor backed towards the door
+and passed away just in time to avoid hearing in two voices:
+
+"What a nice lawyer!"
+
+"What a horrid man!"
+
+Back in his cab, he continued to rub his hands.  No, she didn't know old
+Pillin!  That was certain; not from her words, but from her face. She
+wanted to know him, or about him, anyway.  She was trying to hook young
+Bob for that sprig of a girl--it was clear as mud.  H'm! it would
+astonish his young friend to hear that he had called.  Well, let it!  And
+a curious mixture of emotions beset Mr. Ventnor.  He saw the whole thing
+now so plainly, and really could not refrain from a certain admiration.
+The law had been properly diddled!  There was nothing to prevent a man
+from settling money on a woman he had never seen; and so old Pillin's
+settlement could probably not be upset. But old Heythorp could.  It was
+neat, though, oh! neat!  And that was a fine woman--remarkably!  He had a
+sort of feeling that if only the settlement had been in danger, it might
+have been worth while to have made a bargain--a woman like that could
+have made it worth while!  And he believed her quite capable of
+entertaining the proposition!  Her eye!  Pity--quite a pity!  Mrs.
+Ventnor was not a wife who satisfied every aspiration.  But alas! the
+settlement was safe.  This baulking of the sentiment of love, whipped up,
+if anything, the longing for justice in Mr. Ventnor.  That old chap
+should feel his teeth now.  As a piece of investigation it was not so
+bad--not so bad at all!  He had had a bit of luck, of course,--no, not
+luck--just that knack of doing the right thing at the right moment which
+marks a real genius for affairs.
+
+But getting into his train to return to Mrs. Ventnor, he thought: 'A
+woman like that would have been--!' And he sighed.
+
+
+
+
+2
+
+With a neatly written cheque for fifty pounds in his pocket Bob Pillin
+turned in at 23, Millicent Villas on the afternoon after Mr. Ventnor's
+visit.  Chivalry had won the day.  And he rang the bell with an elation
+which astonished him, for he knew he was doing a soft thing.
+
+"Mrs. Larne is out, sir; Miss Phyllis is at home."
+
+His heart leaped.
+
+"Oh-h!  I'm sorry.  I wonder if she'd see me?"
+
+The little maid answered
+
+"I think she's been washin' 'er'air, sir, but it may be dry be now. I'll
+see."
+
+Bob Pillin stood stock still beneath the young woman on the wall.  He
+could scarcely breathe.  If her hair were not dry--how awful!  Suddenly he
+heard floating down a clear but smothered "Oh!  Gefoozleme!"  and other
+words which he could not catch.  The little maid came running down.
+
+"Miss Phyllis says, sir, she'll be with you in a jiffy.  And I was to
+tell you that Master Jock is loose, sir."
+
+Bob Pillin answered "Tha-anks," and passed into the drawing-room.  He
+went to the bureau, took an envelope, enclosed the cheque, and addressing
+it: "Mrs. Larne," replaced it in his pocket.  Then he crossed over to the
+mirror.  Never till this last month had he really doubted his own face;
+but now he wanted for it things he had never wanted.  It had too much
+flesh and colour.  It did not reflect his passion.  This was a handicap.
+With a narrow white piping round his waistcoat opening, and a buttonhole
+of tuberoses, he had tried to repair its deficiencies.  But do what he
+would, he was never easy about himself nowadays, never up to that pitch
+which could make him confident in her presence.  And until this month to
+lack confidence had never been his wont.  A clear, high, mocking voice
+said:
+
+"Oh-h!  Conceited young man!"
+
+And spinning round he saw Phyllis in the doorway.  Her light brown hair
+was fluffed out on her shoulders, so that he felt a kind of
+fainting-sweet sensation, and murmured inarticulately:
+
+"Oh!  I say--how jolly!"
+
+"Lawks!  It's awful!  Have you come to see mother?"
+
+Balanced between fear and daring, conscious of a scent of hay and verbena
+and camomile, Bob Pillin stammered:
+
+"Ye-es.  I--I'm glad she's not in, though."
+
+Her laugh seemed to him terribly unfeeling.
+
+"Oh! oh!  Don't be foolish.  Sit down.  Isn't washing one's head awful?"
+
+Bob Pillin answered feebly:
+
+"Of course, I haven't much experience."
+
+Her mouth opened.
+
+"Oh!  You are--aren't you?"
+
+And he thought desperately: 'Dare I--oughtn't I--couldn't I somehow take
+her hand or put my arm round her, or something?'  Instead, he sat very
+rigid at his end of the sofa, while she sat lax and lissom at the other,
+and one of those crises of paralysis which beset would-be lovers fixed
+him to the soul.
+
+Sometimes during this last month memories of a past existence, when chaff
+and even kisses came readily to the lips, and girls were fair game, would
+make him think: 'Is she really such an innocent?  Doesn't she really want
+me to kiss her?'  Alas! such intrusions lasted but a moment before a
+blast of awe and chivalry withered them, and a strange and tragic
+delicacy--like nothing he had ever known--resumed its sway.  And suddenly
+he heard her say:
+
+"Why do you know such awful men?"
+
+"What?  I don't know any awful men."
+
+"Oh yes, you do; one came here yesterday; he had whiskers, and he was
+awful."
+
+"Whiskers?"  His soul revolted in disclaimer.  "I believe I only know one
+man with whiskers--a lawyer."
+
+"Yes--that was him; a perfectly horrid man.  Mother didn't mind him, but
+I thought he was a beast."
+
+"Ventnor!  Came here?  How d'you mean?"
+
+"He did; about some business of yours, too."  Her face had clouded over.
+Bob Pillin had of late been harassed by the still-born beginning of a
+poem:
+
+         "I rode upon my way and saw
+          A maid who watched me from the door."
+
+It never grew longer, and was prompted by the feeling that her face was
+like an April day.  The cloud which came on it now was like an April
+cloud, as if a bright shower of rain must follow.  Brushing aside the two
+distressful lines, he said:
+
+"Look here, Miss Larne--Phyllis--look here!"
+
+"All right, I'm looking!"
+
+"What does it mean--how did he come?  What did he say?"
+
+She shook her head, and her hair quivered; the scent of camomile,
+verbena, hay was wafted; then looking at her lap, she muttered:
+
+"I wish you wouldn't--I wish mother wouldn't--I hate it.  Oh!  Money!
+Beastly--beastly!" and a tearful sigh shivered itself into Bob Pillin's
+reddening ears.
+
+"I say--don't!  And do tell me, because--"
+
+"Oh! you know."
+
+"I don't--I don't know anything at all.  I never---"
+
+Phyllis looked up at him.  "Don't tell fibs; you know mother's borrowing
+money from you, and it's hateful!"
+
+A desire to lie roundly, a sense of the cheque in his pocket, a feeling
+of injustice, the emotion of pity, and a confused and black astonishment
+about Ventnor, caused Bob Pillin to stammer:
+
+"Well, I'm d---d!" and to miss the look which Phyllis gave him through
+her lashes--a look saying:
+
+"Ah! that's better!"
+
+"I am d---d!  Look here!  D'you mean to say that Ventnor came here about
+my lending money?  I never said a word to him---"
+
+"There you see--you are lending!"
+
+He clutched his hair.
+
+"We've got to have this out," he added.
+
+"Not by the roots!  Oh! you do look funny.  I've never seen you with your
+hair untidy.  Oh! oh!"
+
+Bob Pillin rose and paced the room.  In the midst of his emotion he could
+not help seeing himself sidelong in the mirror; and on pretext of holding
+his head in both his hands, tried earnestly to restore his hair.  Then
+coming to a halt he said:
+
+"Suppose I am lending money to your mother, what does it matter?  It's
+only till quarter-day.  Anybody might want money."
+
+Phyllis did not raise her face.
+
+"Why are you lending it?"
+
+"Because--because--why shouldn't I?"  and diving suddenly, he seized her
+hands.
+
+She wrenched them free; and with the emotion of despair, Bob Pillin took
+out the envelope.
+
+"If you like," he said, "I'll tear this up.  I don't want to lend it, if
+you don't want me to; but I thought--I thought--"  It was for her alone
+he had been going to lend this money!
+
+Phyllis murmured through her hair:
+
+"Yes!  You thought that I--that's what's so hateful!"
+
+Apprehension pierced his mind.
+
+"Oh!  I never--I swear I never--"
+
+"Yes, you did; you thought I wanted you to lend it."
+
+She jumped up, and brushed past him into the window.
+
+So she thought she was being used as a decoy!  That was awful--especially
+since it was true.  He knew well enough that Mrs. Larne was working his
+admiration for her daughter for all that it was worth.  And he said with
+simple fervour:
+
+"What rot!"  It produced no effect, and at his wits' end, he almost
+shouted: "Look, Phyllis!  If you don't want me to--here goes!" Phyllis
+turned.  Tearing the envelope across he threw the bits into the fire.
+"There it is," he said.
+
+Her eyes grew round; she said in an awed voice: "Oh!"
+
+In a sort of agony of honesty he said:
+
+"It was only a cheque.  Now you've got your way."
+
+Staring at the fire she answered slowly:
+
+"I expect you'd better go before mother comes."
+
+Bob Pillin's mouth fell afar; he secretly agreed, but the idea of
+sacrificing a moment alone with her was intolerable, and he said hardily:
+
+"No, I shall stick it!"
+
+Phyllis sneezed.
+
+"My hair isn't a bit dry," and she sat down on the fender with her back
+to the fire.
+
+A certain spirituality had come into Bob Pillin's face.  If only he could
+get that wheeze off: "Phyllis is my only joy!" or even: "Phyllis--do
+you--won't you--mayn't I?"  But nothing came--nothing.
+
+And suddenly she said:
+
+"Oh! don't breathe so loud; it's awful!"
+
+"Breathe?  I wasn't!"
+
+"You were; just like Carmen when she's dreaming."
+
+He had walked three steps towards the door, before he thought: 'What does
+it matter?  I can stand anything from her; and walked the three steps
+back again.
+
+She said softly:
+
+"Poor young man!"
+
+He answered gloomily:
+
+"I suppose you realise that this may be the last time you'll see me?"
+
+"Why?  I thought you were going to take us to the theatre."
+
+"I don't know whether your mother will--after---"
+
+Phyllis gave a little clear laugh.
+
+"You don't know mother.  Nothing makes any difference to her."
+
+And Bob Pillin muttered:
+
+"I see."  He did not, but it was of no consequence.  Then the thought of
+Ventnor again ousted all others.  What on earth-how on earth!  He
+searched his mind for what he could possibly have said the other night.
+Surely he had not asked him to do anything; certainly not given him their
+address.  There was something very odd about it that had jolly well got
+to be cleared up!  And he said:
+
+"Are you sure the name of that Johnny who came here yesterday was
+Ventnor?"
+
+Phyllis nodded.
+
+"And he was short, and had whiskers?"
+
+"Yes; red, and red eyes."
+
+He murmured reluctantly:
+
+"It must be him.  Jolly good cheek; I simply can't understand.  I shall
+go and see him.  How on earth did he know your address?"
+
+"I expect you gave it him."
+
+"I did not.  I won't have you thinking me a squirt."
+
+Phyllis jumped up.  "Oh!  Lawks!  Here's mother!"  Mrs. Larne was coming
+up the garden.  Bob Pillin made for the door.  "Good-bye," he said; "I'm
+going."  But Mrs. Larne was already in the hall. Enveloping him in fur
+and her rich personality, she drew him with her into the drawing-room,
+where the back window was open and Phyllis gone.
+
+"I hope," she said, "those naughty children have been making you
+comfortable.  That nice lawyer of yours came yesterday.  He seemed quite
+satisfied."
+
+Very red above his collar, Bob Pillin stammered:
+
+"I never told him to; he isn't my lawyer.  I don't know what it means."
+
+Mrs. Larne smiled.  "My dear boy, it's all right.  You needn't be so
+squeamish.  I want it to be quite on a business footing."
+
+Restraining a fearful inclination to blurt out: "It's not going to be on
+any footing!"  Bob Pillin mumbled: "I must go; I'm late."
+
+"And when will you be able---?"
+
+"Oh!  I'll--I'll send--I'll write.  Good-bye!"  And suddenly he found
+that Mrs. Larne had him by the lapel of his coat.  The scent of violets
+and fur was overpowering, and the thought flashed through him: 'I believe
+she only wanted to take money off old Joseph in the Bible.  I can't leave
+my coat in her hands!  What shall I do?'
+
+Mrs. Larne was murmuring:
+
+"It would be so sweet of you if you could manage it today"; and her hand
+slid over his chest.  "Oh!  You have brought your cheque-book--what a
+nice boy!"
+
+Bob Pillin took it out in desperation, and, sitting down at the bureau,
+wrote a cheque similar to that which he had torn and burned. A warm kiss
+lighted on his eyebrow, his head was pressed for a moment to a furry
+bosom; a hand took the cheque; a voice said: "How delightful!"  and a
+sigh immersed him in a bath of perfume.  Backing to the door, he gasped:
+
+"Don't mention it; and--and don't tell Phyllis, please.  Good-bye!"
+
+Once through the garden gate, he thought: 'By gum!  I've done it now.
+That Phyllis should know about it at all!  That beast Ventnor!'
+
+His face grew almost grim.  He would go and see what that meant anyway!
+
+
+
+
+3
+
+Mr. Ventnor had not left his office when his young friend's card was
+brought to him.  Tempted for a moment to deny his own presence, he
+thought: 'No!  What's the good?  Bound to see him some time!'  If he had
+not exactly courage, he had that peculiar blend of self-confidence and
+insensibility which must needs distinguish those who follow the law; nor
+did he ever forget that he was in the right.
+
+"Show him in!"  he said.
+
+He would be quite bland, but young Pillin might whistle for an
+explanation; he was still tormented, too, by the memory of rich curves
+and moving lips, and the possibilities of better acquaintanceship.
+
+While shaking the young man's hand his quick and fulvous eye detected at
+once the discomposure behind that mask of cheek and collar, and relapsing
+into one of those swivel chairs which give one an advantage over men more
+statically seated, he said:
+
+"You look pretty bobbish.  Anything I can do for you?"
+
+Bob Pillin, in the fixed chair of the consultor, nursed his bowler on his
+knee.
+
+"Well, yes, there is.  I've just been to see Mrs. Larne."
+
+Mr. Ventnor did not flinch.
+
+"Ah!  Nice woman; pretty daughter, too!"  And into those words he put a
+certain meaning.  He never waited to be bullied.  Bob Pillin felt the
+pressure of his blood increasing.
+
+"Look here, Ventnor," he said, "I want an explanation."
+
+"What of?"
+
+"Why, of your going there, and using my name, and God knows what."
+
+Mr. Ventnor gave his chair two little twiddles before he said
+
+"Well, you won't get it."
+
+Bob Pillin remained for a moment taken aback; then he muttered
+resolutely:
+
+"It's not the conduct of a gentleman."
+
+Every man has his illusions, and no man likes them disturbed.  The
+gingery tint underlying Mr. Ventnor's colouring overlaid it; even the
+whites of his eyes grew red."
+
+"Oh!"  he said; "indeed!  You mind your own business, will you?"
+
+"It is my business--very much so.  You made use of my name, and I don't
+choose---"
+
+"The devil you don't!  Now, I tell you what---"
+
+Mr. Ventnor leaned forward--"you'd better hold your tongue, and not
+exasperate me.  I'm a good-tempered man, but I won't stand your
+impudence."
+
+Clenching his bowler hat, and only kept in his seat by that sense of
+something behind, Bob Pillin ejaculated:
+
+"Impudence!  That's good--after what you did!  Look here, why did you?
+It's so extraordinary!"
+
+Mr. Ventnor answered:
+
+"Oh! is it?  You wait a bit, my friend!"
+
+Still more moved by the mystery of this affair, Bob Pillin could only
+mutter:
+
+"I never gave you their address; we were only talking about old
+Heythorp."
+
+And at the smile which spread between Mr. Ventnor's whiskers, he jumped
+up, crying:
+
+"It's not the thing, and you're not going to put me off.  I insist on an
+explanation."
+
+Mr. Ventnor leaned back, crossing his stout legs, joining the tips of his
+thick fingers.  In this attitude he was always self-possessed.
+
+"You do--do you?"
+
+"Yes.  You must have had some reason."
+
+Mr. Ventnor gazed up at him.
+
+"I'll give you a piece of advice, young cock, and charge you nothing for
+it, too: Ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies.  And here's
+another: Go away before you forget yourself again."
+
+The natural stolidity of Bob Pilings face was only just proof against
+this speech.  He said thickly:
+
+"If you go there again and use my name, I'll Well, it's lucky for you
+you're not my age.  Anyway I'll relieve you of my acquaintanceship in
+future.  Good-evening!"  and he went to the door.  Mr. Ventnor had risen.
+
+"Very well," he said loudly.  "Good riddance!  You wait and see which
+boot the leg is on!"
+
+But Bob Pillin was gone, leaving the lawyer with a very red face, a very
+angry heart, and a vague sense of disorder in his speech.  Not only Bob
+Pillin, but his tender aspirations had all left him; he no longer dallied
+with the memory of Mrs. Larne, but like a man and a Briton thought only
+of how to get his own back, and punish evildoers. The atrocious words of
+his young friend, "It's not the conduct of a gentleman," festered in the
+heart of one who was made gentle not merely by nature but by Act of
+Parliament, and he registered a solemn vow to wipe the insult out, if not
+with blood, with verjuice.  It was his duty, and they should d---d well
+see him do it!
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+Sylvanus Heythorp seldom went to bed before one or rose before eleven.
+The latter habit alone kept his valet from handing in the resignation
+which the former habit prompted almost every night.
+
+Propped on his pillows in a crimson dressing-gown, and freshly shaved, he
+looked more Roman than he ever did, except in his bath. Having disposed
+of coffee, he was wont to read his letters, and The Morning Post, for he
+had always been a Tory, and could not stomach paying a halfpenny for his
+news.  Not that there were many letters--when a man has reached the age
+of eighty, who should write to him, except to ask for money?
+
+It was Valentine's Day.  Through his bedroom window he could see the
+trees of the park, where the birds were in song, though he could not hear
+them.  He had never been interested in Nature--full-blooded men with
+short necks seldom are.
+
+This morning indeed there were two letters, and he opened that which
+smelt of something.  Inside was a thing like a Christmas card, save that
+the naked babe had in his hands a bow and arrow, and words coming out of
+his mouth: "To be your Valentine."  There was also a little pink note
+with one blue forget-me-not printed at the top.  It ran:
+
+"DEAREST GUARDY,--I'm sorry this is such a mangy little valentine; I
+couldn't go out to get it because I've got a beastly cold, so I asked
+Jock, and the pig bought this.  The satin is simply scrumptious.  If you
+don't come and see me in it some time soon, I shall come and show it to
+you.  I wish I had a moustache, because my top lip feels just like a
+matchbox, but it's rather ripping having breakfast in bed. Mr. Pillin's
+taking us to the theatre the day after to-morrow evening.  Isn't it
+nummy!  I'm going to have rum and honey for my cold.
+
+"Good-bye, "Your PHYLLIS."
+
+So this that quivered in his thick fingers, too insensitive to feel it,
+was a valentine for him!
+
+Forty years ago that young thing's grandmother had given him his last.
+It made him out a very old chap!  Forty years ago!  Had that been himself
+living then?  And himself, who, as a youth came on the town in
+'forty-five?  Not a thought, not a feeling the same!  They said you
+changed your body every seven years.  The mind with it, too, perhaps!
+Well, he had come to the last of his bodies, now!  And that holy woman
+had been urging him to take it to Bath, with her face as long as a
+tea-tray, and some gammon from that doctor of his.  Too full a
+habit--dock his port--no alcohol--might go off in a coma any night!
+Knock off not he!  Rather die any day than turn tee-totaller!  When a man
+had nothing left in life except his dinner, his bottle, his cigar, and
+the dreams they gave him--these doctors forsooth must want to cut them
+off!  No, no!  Carpe diem! while you lived, get something out of it.  And
+now that he had made all the provision he could for those youngsters, his
+life was no good to any one but himself; and the sooner he went off the
+better, if he ceased to enjoy what there was left, or lost the power to
+say: "I'll do this and that, and you be jiggered!"  Keep a stiff lip
+until you crashed, and then go clean!  He sounded the bell beside him
+twice-for Molly, not his man.  And when the girl came in, and stood,
+pretty in her print frock, her fluffy over-fine dark hair escaping from
+under her cap, he gazed at her in silence.
+
+"Yes, sirr?"
+
+"Want to look at you, that's all."
+
+"Oh I an' I'm not tidy, sirr."
+
+"Never mind.  Had your valentine?"
+
+"No, sirr; who would send me one, then?"
+
+"Haven't you a young man?"
+
+"Well, I might.  But he's over in my country.
+
+"What d'you think of this?"
+
+He held out the little boy.
+
+The girl took the card and scrutinised it reverently; she said in a
+detached voice:
+
+"Indeed, an' ut's pretty, too."
+
+"Would you like it?"
+
+"Oh I if 'tis not taking ut from you."
+
+Old Heythorp shook his head, and pointed to the dressing-table.
+
+"Over there--you'll find a sovereign.  Little present for a good girl."
+
+She uttered a deep sigh.  "Oh! sirr, 'tis too much; 'tis kingly."
+
+"Take it."
+
+She took it, and came back, her hands clasping the sovereign and the
+valentine, in an attitude as of prayer.
+
+The old man's gaze rested on her with satisfaction.
+
+"I like pretty faces--can't bear sour ones.  Tell Meller to get my bath
+ready."
+
+When she had gone he took up the other letter--some lawyer's writing, and
+opening it with the usual difficulty, read:
+
+"February 13, 1905.
+
+"SIR,--Certain facts having come to my knowledge, I deem it my duty to
+call a special meeting of the shareholders of 'The Island Navigation
+Coy.,' to consider circumstances in connection with the purchase of Mr.
+Joseph Pillin's fleet.  And I give you notice that at this meeting your
+conduct will be called in question.
+
+"I am, Sir, "Yours faithfully,
+"CHARLES VENTNOR.
+"SYLVANUS HEYTHORP, ESQ."
+
+Having read this missive, old Heythorp remained some minutes without
+stirring.  Ventnor!  That solicitor chap who had made himself unpleasant
+at the creditors' meetings!
+
+There are men whom a really bad bit of news at once stampedes out of all
+power of coherent thought and action, and men who at first simply do not
+take it in.  Old Heythorp took it in fast enough; coming from a lawyer it
+was about as nasty as it could be.  But, at once, with stoic wariness his
+old brain began casting round.  What did this fellow really know?  And
+what exactly could he do?  One thing was certain; even if he knew
+everything, he couldn't upset that settlement.  The youngsters were all
+right.  The old man grasped the fact that only his own position was at
+stake.  But this was enough in all conscience; a name which had been
+before the public fifty odd years--income, independence, more perhaps.
+It would take little, seeing his age and feebleness, to make his
+Companies throw him over. But what had the fellow got hold of?  How
+decide whether or no to take notice; to let him do his worst, or try and
+get into touch with him?  And what was the fellow's motive?  He held ten
+shares!  That would never make a man take all this trouble, and over a
+purchase which was really first-rate business for the Company.  Yes!  His
+conscience was quite clean.  He had not betrayed his Company--on the
+contrary, had done it a good turn, got them four sound ships at a low
+price--against much opposition.  That he might have done the Company a
+better turn, and got the ships at fifty-four thousand, did not trouble
+him--the six thousand was a deuced sight better employed; and he had not
+pocketed a penny piece himself!  But the fellow's motive?  Spite?  Looked
+like it.  Spite, because he had been disappointed of his money, and
+defied into the bargain!  H'm!  If that were so, he might still be got to
+blow cold again.  His eyes lighted on the pink note with the blue
+forget-me-not.  It marked as it were the high water mark of what was left
+to him of life; and this other letter in his hand-by Jove!  Low water
+mark!  And with a deep and rumbling sigh he thought: 'No, I'm not going
+to be beaten by this fellow.'
+
+"Your bath is ready, sir."
+
+Crumpling the two letters into the pocket of his dressing-gown, he said:
+
+"Help me up; and telephone to Mr. Farney to be good enough to come
+round." ....
+
+An hour later, when the secretary entered, his chairman was sitting by
+the fire perusing the articles of association.  And, waiting for him to
+look up, watching the articles shaking in that thick, feeble hand, the
+secretary had one of those moments of philosophy not too frequent with
+his kind.  Some said the only happy time of life was when you had no
+passions, nothing to hope and live for.  But did you really ever reach
+such a stage?  The old chairman, for instance, still had his passion for
+getting his own way, still had his prestige, and set a lot of store by
+it!  And he said:
+
+"Good morning, sir; I hope you're all right in this east wind.  The
+purchase is completed."
+
+"Best thing the company ever did.  Have you heard from a shareholder
+called Ventnor.  You know the man I mean?"
+
+"No, sir.  I haven't."
+
+"Well!  You may get a letter that'll make you open your eyes.  An
+impudent scoundrel!  Just write at my dictation."
+
+"February 14th, 1905.
+
+"CHARLES VENTNOR, Esq.
+
+"SIR,--I have your letter of yesterday's date, the contents of which I am
+at a loss to understand.  My solicitors will be instructed to take the
+necessary measures."
+
+'Phew What's all this about?' the secretary thought.
+
+"Yours truly...."
+
+"I'll sign."  And the shaky letters closed the page:
+"SYLVANUS HEYTHORP."
+
+"Post that as you go."
+
+"Anything else I can do for you, sir?"
+
+"Nothing, except to let me know if you hear from this fellow."
+
+When the secretary had gone the old man thought: 'So!  The ruffian hasn't
+called the meeting yet.  That'll bring him round here fast enough if it's
+his money he wants-blackmailing scoundrel!'
+
+"Mr. Pillin, sir; and will you wait lunch, or will you have it in the
+dining-room?"
+
+"In the dining-room."
+
+At sight of that death's-head of a fellow, old Heythorp felt a sort of
+pity.  He looked bad enough already--and this news would make him look
+worse.  Joe Pillin glanced round at the two closed doors.
+
+"How are you, Sylvanus?  I'm very poorly."  He came closer, and lowered
+his voice: "Why did you get me to make that settlement?  I must have been
+mad.  I've had a man called Ventnor--I didn't like his manner.  He asked
+me if I knew a Mrs. Larne."
+
+"Ha!  What did you say?"
+
+"What could I say?  I don't know her.  But why did he ask?"
+
+"Smells a rat."
+
+Joe Pillin grasped the edge of the table with both hands.
+
+"Oh!"  he murmured.  "Oh! don't say that!"
+
+Old Heythorp held out to him the crumpled letter.
+
+When he had read it Joe Pillin sat down abruptly before the fire.
+
+"Pull yourself together, Joe; they can't touch you, and they can't upset
+either the purchase or the settlement.  They can upset me, that's all."
+
+Joe Pillin answered, with trembling lips:
+
+"How you can sit there, and look the same as ever!  Are you sure they
+can't touch me?"
+
+Old Heyworth nodded grimly.
+
+"They talk of an Act, but they haven't passed it yet.  They might prove a
+breach of trust against me.  But I'll diddle them.  Keep your pecker up,
+and get off abroad."
+
+"Yes, yes.  I must.  I'm very bad.  I was going to-morrow.  But I don't
+know, I'm sure, with this hanging over me.  My son knowing her makes it
+worse.  He picks up with everybody.  He knows this man Ventnor too.  And
+I daren't say anything to Bob.  What are you thinking of, Sylvanus?  You
+look very funny!"
+
+Old Heythorp seemed to rouse himself from a sort of coma.
+
+"I want my lunch," he said.  "Will you stop and have some?"
+
+Joe Pillin stammered out:
+
+"Lunch!  I don't know when I shall eat again.  What are you going to do,
+Sylvanus?"
+
+"Bluff the beggar out of it."
+
+"But suppose you can't?"
+
+"Buy him off.  He's one--of my creditors."
+
+Joe Pillin stared at him afresh.  "You always had such nerve," he said
+yearningly.  "Do you ever wake up between two and four?  I do--and
+everything's black."
+
+"Put a good stiff nightcap on, my boy, before going to bed."
+
+"Yes; I sometimes wish I was less temperate.  But I couldn't stand it.
+I'm told your doctor forbids you alcohol."
+
+"He does.  That's why I drink it."
+
+Joe Pillin, brooding over the fire, said: "This meeting--d'you think they
+mean to have it?  D'you think this man really knows?  If my name gets
+into the newspapers--" but encountering his old friend's deep little
+eyes, he stopped.  "So you advise me to get off to-morrow, then?"
+
+Old Heythorp nodded.
+
+"Your lunch is served, sir."
+
+Joe Pillin started violently, and rose.
+
+"Well, good-bye, Sylvanus-good-bye!  I don't suppose I shall be back till
+the summer, if I ever come back!"  He sank his voice: "I shall rely on
+you.  You won't let them, will you?"
+
+Old Heythorp lifted his hand, and Joe Pillin put into that swollen
+shaking paw his pale and spindly fingers.  "I wish I had your pluck," he
+said sadly.  "Good-bye, Sylvanus," and turning, he passed out.
+
+Old Heythorp thought: 'Poor shaky chap.  All to pieces at the first
+shot!'  And, going to his lunch, ate more heavily than usual.
+
+
+
+
+2
+
+Mr. Ventnor, on reaching his office and opening his letters, found, as he
+had anticipated, one from "that old rascal."  Its contents excited in him
+the need to know his own mind.  Fortunately this was not complicated by a
+sense of dignity--he only had to consider the position with an eye on not
+being made to look a fool.  The point was simply whether he set more
+store by his money than by his desire for--er--Justice.  If not, he had
+merely to convene the special meeting, and lay before it the plain fact
+that Mr. Joseph Pillin, selling his ships for sixty thousand pounds, had
+just made a settlement of six thousand pounds on a lady whom he did not
+know, a daughter, ward, or what-not--of the purchasing company's
+chairman, who had said, moreover, at the general meeting, that he stood
+or fell by the transaction; he had merely to do this, and demand that an
+explanation be required from the old man of such a startling coincidence.
+Convinced that no explanation would hold water, he felt sure that his
+action would be at once followed by the collapse, if nothing more, of
+that old image, and the infliction of a nasty slur on old Pillin and his
+hopeful son.  On the other hand, three hundred pounds was money; and, if
+old Heythorp were to say to him: "What do you want to make this fuss
+for--here's what I owe you!"  could a man of business and the world let
+his sense of justice--however he might itch to have it satisfied--stand
+in the way of what was after all also his sense of Justice?--for this
+money had been owing to him for the deuce of along time.  In this
+dilemma, the words:
+
+"My solicitors will be instructed" were of notable service in helping him
+to form a decision, for he had a certain dislike of other solicitors, and
+an intimate knowledge of the law of libel and slander; if by any remote
+chance there should be a slip between the cup and the lip, Charles
+Ventnor might be in the soup--a position which he deprecated both by
+nature and profession.  High thinking, therefore, decided him at last to
+answer thus:
+
+"February 19th, 1905.
+
+"SIR,--I have received your note.  I think it may be fair, before taking
+further steps in this matter, to ask you for a personal explanation of
+the circumstances to which I alluded.  I therefore propose with your
+permission to call on you at your private residence at five o'clock
+to-morrow afternoon.
+
+"Yours faithfully,
+"CHARLES VENTNOR.
+
+"SYLVANUS HEYTHORP, Esq."
+
+Having sent this missive, and arranged in his mind the damning, if
+circumstantial, evidence he had accumulated, he awaited the hour with
+confidence, for his nature was not lacking in the cock-surety of a
+Briton.  All the same, he dressed himself particularly well that morning,
+putting on a blue and white striped waistcoat which, with a
+cream-coloured tie, set off his fulvous whiskers and full blue eyes; and
+he lunched, if anything, more fully than his wont, eating a stronger
+cheese and taking a glass of special Club ale.  He took care to be late,
+too, to show the old fellow that his coming at all was in the nature of
+an act of grace.  A strong scent of hyacinths greeted him in the hall;
+and Mr. Ventnor, who was an amateur of flowers, stopped to put his nose
+into a fine bloom and think uncontrollably of Mrs. Larne.  Pity!  The
+things one had to give up in life--fine women--one thing and another.
+Pity!  The thought inspired in him a timely anger; and he followed the
+servant, intending to stand no nonsense from this paralytic old rascal.
+
+The room he entered was lighted by a bright fire, and a single electric
+lamp with an orange shade on a table covered by a black satin cloth.
+There were heavily gleaming oil paintings on the walls, a heavy old brass
+chandelier without candles, heavy dark red curtains, and an indefinable
+scent of burnt acorns, coffee, cigars, and old man.  He became conscious
+of a candescent spot on the far side of the hearth, where the light fell
+on old Heythorp's thick white hair.
+
+"Mr. Ventnor, sir."
+
+The candescent spot moved.  A voice said: "Sit down."
+
+Mr. Ventnor sat in an armchair on the opposite side of the fire; and,
+finding a kind of somnolence creeping over him, pinched himself.  He
+wanted all his wits about him.
+
+The old man was speaking in that extinct voice of his, and Mr. Ventnor
+said rather pettishly:
+
+"Beg pardon, I don't get you."
+
+Old Heythorp's voice swelled with sudden force:
+
+"Your letters are Greek to me."
+
+"Oh! indeed, I think we can soon make them into plain English!"
+
+"Sooner the better."
+
+Mr. Ventnor passed through a moment of indecision.  Should he lay his
+cards on the table?  It was not his habit, and the proceeding was
+sometimes attended with risk.  The knowledge, however, that he could
+always take them up again, seeing there was no third person here to
+testify that he had laid them down, decided him, and he said:
+
+"Well, Mr. Heythorp, the long and short of the matter is this: Our friend
+Mr. Pillin paid you a commission of ten per cent. on the sale of his
+ships.  Oh! yes.  He settled the money, not on you, but on your relative
+Mrs. Larne and her children.  This, as you know, is a breach of trust on
+your part."
+
+The old man's voice: "Where did you get hold of that cock-and-bull
+story?"  brought him to his feet before the fire.
+
+"It won't do, Mr. Heythorp.  My witnesses are Mr. Pillin, Mrs. Larne, and
+Mr. Scriven."
+
+"What have you come here for, then--blackmail?"
+
+Mr. Ventnor straightened his waistcoat; a rush of conscious virtue had
+dyed his face.
+
+"Oh! you take that tone," he said, "do you?  You think you can ride
+roughshod over everything?  Well, you're very much mistaken.  I advise
+you to keep a civil tongue and consider your position, or I'll make a
+beggar of you.  I'm not sure this isn't a case for a prosecution!"
+
+"Gammon!"
+
+The choler in Charles Ventnor kept him silent for a moment; then he burst
+out:
+
+"Neither gammon nor spinach.  You owe me three hundred pounds, you've
+owed it me for years, and you have the impudence to take this attitude
+with me, have you?  Now, I never bluster; I say what I mean. You just
+listen to me.  Either you pay me what you owe me at once, or I call this
+meeting and make what I know public.  You'll very soon find out where you
+are.  And a good thing, too, for a more unscrupulous--unscrupulous---" he
+paused for breath.
+
+Occupied with his own emotion, he had not observed the change in old
+Heythorp's face.  The imperial on that lower lip was bristling, the
+crimson of those cheeks had spread to the roots of his white hair. He
+grasped the arms of his chair, trying to rise; his swollen hands
+trembled; a little saliva escaped one corner of his lips.  And the words
+came out as if shaken by his teeth:
+
+"So-so-you-you bully me!"
+
+Conscious that the interview had suddenly passed from the phase of
+negotiation, Mr. Ventnor looked hard at his opponent.  He saw nothing but
+a decrepit, passionate, crimson-faced old man at bay, and all the
+instincts of one with everything on his side boiled up in him.  The
+miserable old turkey-cock--the apoplectic image!  And he said:
+
+"And you'll do no good for yourself by getting into a passion.  At your
+age, and in your condition, I recommend a little prudence.  Now just take
+my terms quietly, or you know what'll happen.  I'm not to be intimidated
+by any of your airs."  And seeing that the old man's rage was such that
+he simply could not speak, he took the opportunity of going on: "I don't
+care two straws which you do--I'm out to show you who's master.  If you
+think in your dotage you can domineer any longer--well, you'll find two
+can play at that game.  Come, now, which are you going to do?"
+
+The old man had sunk back in his chair, and only his little deep-blue
+eyes seemed living.  Then he moved one hand, and Mr. Ventnor saw that he
+was fumbling to reach the button of an electric bell at the end of a
+cord.  'I'll show him,' he thought, and stepping forward, he put it out
+of reach.
+
+Thus frustrated, the old man remained-motionless, staring up.  The word
+"blackmail" resumed its buzzing in Mr. Ventnor's ears.  The impudence the
+consummate impudence of it from this fraudulent old ruffian with one foot
+in bankruptcy and one foot in the grave, if not in the dock.
+
+"Yes," he said, "it's never too late to learn; and for once you've come
+up against someone a leetle bit too much for you.  Haven't you now?
+You'd better cry 'Peccavi.'"
+
+Then, in the deathly silence of the room, the moral force of his
+position, and the collapse as it seemed of his opponent, awakening a
+faint compunction, he took a turn over the Turkey carpet to readjust his
+mind.
+
+"You're an old man, and I don't want to be too hard on you.  I'm only
+showing you that you can't play fast and loose as if you were God
+Almighty any longer.  You've had your own way too many years.  And now
+you can't have it, see!"  Then, as the old man again moved forward in his
+chair, he added: "Now, don't get into a passion again; calm yourself,
+because I warn you--this is your last chance.  I'm a man of my word; and
+what I say, I do."
+
+By a violent and unsuspected effort the old man jerked himself up and
+reached the bell.  Mr. Ventnor heard it ring, and said sharply:
+
+"Mind you, it's nothing to me which you do.  I came for your own good.
+Please yourself.  Well?"
+
+He was answered by the click of the door and the old man's husky voice:
+
+"Show this hound out!  And then come back!"
+
+Mr. Ventnor had presence of mind enough not to shake his fist. Muttering:
+"Very well, Mr. Heythorp!  Ah!  Very well!" he moved with dignity to the
+door.  The careful shepherding of the servant renewed the fire of his
+anger.  Hound!  He had been called a hound!
+
+
+
+
+3
+
+After seeing Mr. Ventnor off the premises the man Meller returned to his
+master, whose face looked very odd--"all patchy-like," as he put it in
+the servants' hall, as though the blood driven to his head had mottled
+for good the snowy whiteness of the forehead.  He received the unexpected
+order:
+
+"Get me a hot bath ready, and put some pine stuff in it."
+
+When the old man was seated there, the valet asked:
+
+"How long shall I give you, sir?"
+
+"Twenty minutes."
+
+"Very good, sir."
+
+Lying in that steaming brown fragrant liquid, old Heythorp heaved a
+stertorous sigh.  By losing his temper with that ill-conditioned cur he
+had cooked his goose.  It was done to a turn; and he was a ruined man.
+If only--oh! if only he could have seized the fellow by the neck and
+pitched him out of the room!  To have lived to be so spoken to; to have
+been unable to lift hand or foot, hardly even his voice--he would sooner
+have been dead!  Yes--sooner have been dead!  A dumb and measureless
+commotion was still at work in the recesses of that thick old body,
+silver-brown in the dark water, whose steam he drew deep into his
+wheezing lungs, as though for spiritual relief.  To be beaten by a cur
+like that!  To have that common cad of a pettifogging lawyer drag him
+down and kick him about; tumble a name which had stood high, in the dust!
+The fellow had the power to make him a byword and a beggar!  It was
+incredible!  But it was a fact.  And to-morrow he would begin to do
+it--perhaps had begun already.  His tree had come down with a crash!
+Eighty years-eighty good years!  He regretted none of them-regretted
+nothing; least of all this breach of trust which had provided for his
+grandchildren--one of the best things he had ever done.  The fellow was a
+cowardly hound, too!  The way he had snatched the bell-pull out of his
+reach-despicable cur!  And a chap like that was to put "paid" to the
+account of Sylvanus Heythorp, to "scratch" him out of life--so near the
+end of everything, the very end!  His hand raised above the surface fell
+back on his stomach through the dark water, and a bubble or two rose. Not
+so fast--not so fast!  He had but to slip down a foot, let the water
+close over his head, and "Good-bye" to Master Ventnor's triumph Dead men
+could not be kicked off the Boards of Companies.  Dead men could not be
+beggared, deprived of their independence.  He smiled and stirred a little
+in the bath till the water reached the white hairs on his lower lip.  It
+smelt nice!  And he took a long sniff: He had had a good life, a good
+life!  And with the thought that he had it in his power at any moment to
+put Master Ventnor's nose out of joint--to beat the beggar after all, a
+sense of assuagement and well-being crept over him.  His blood ran more
+evenly again.  He closed his eyes.  They talked about an
+after-life--people like that holy woman. Gammon!  You went to sleep--a
+long sleep; no dreams.  A nap after dinner!  Dinner!  His tongue sought
+his palate!  Yes! he could eat a good dinner!  That dog hadn't put him
+off his stroke!  The best dinner he had ever eaten was the one he gave to
+Jack Herring, Chichester, Thornworthy, Nick Treffry and Jolyon Forsyte at
+Pole's. Good Lord!  In 'sixty--yes--'sixty-five?  Just before he fell in
+love with Alice Larne--ten years before he came to Liverpool.  That was a
+dinner!  Cost twenty-four pounds for the six of them--and Forsyte an
+absurdly moderate fellow.  Only Nick Treff'ry and himself had been
+three-bottle men!  Dead!  Every jack man of them.  And suddenly he
+thought: 'My name's a good one--I was never down before--never beaten!'
+
+A voice above the steam said:
+
+"The twenty minutes is up, sir."
+
+"All right; I'll get out.  Evening clothes."
+
+And Meller, taking out dress suit and shirt, thought: 'Now, what does the
+old bloomer want dressin' up again for; why can't he go to bed and have
+his dinner there?  When a man's like a baby, the cradle's the place for
+him.'....
+
+An hour later, at the scene of his encounter with Mr. Ventnor, where the
+table was already laid for dinner, old Heythorp stood and gazed. The
+curtains had been drawn back, the window thrown open to air the room, and
+he could see out there the shapes of the dark trees and a sky
+grape-coloured, in the mild, moist night.  It smelt good.  A sensuous
+feeling stirred in him, warm from his bath, clothed from head to foot in
+fresh garments.  Deuce of a time since he had dined in full fig!  He
+would have liked a woman dining opposite--but not the holy woman; no, by
+George!--would have liked to see light falling on a woman's shoulders
+once again, and a pair of bright eyes!  He crossed, snail-like, towards
+the fire.  There that bullying fellow had stood with his back to
+it--confound his impudence!--as if the place belonged to him.  And
+suddenly he had a vision of his three secretaries' faces--especially
+young Farney's as they would look, when the pack got him by the throat
+and pulled him down.  His co-directors, too!  Old Heythorp!  How are the
+mighty fallen!  And that hound jubilant!
+
+His valet passed across the room to shut the window and draw the
+curtains.  This chap too!  The day he could no longer pay his wages, and
+had lost the power to say "Shan't want your services any more"--when he
+could no longer even pay his doctor for doing his best to kill him off!
+Power, interest, independence, all--gone!  To be dressed and undressed,
+given pap, like a baby in arms, served as they chose to serve him, and
+wished out of the way--broken, dishonoured!
+
+By money alone an old man had his being!  Meat, drink, movement, breath!
+When all his money was gone the holy woman would let him know it fast
+enough.  They would all let him know it; or if they didn't, it would be
+out of pity!  He had never been pitied yet--thank God!  And he said:
+
+"Get me up a bottle of Perrier Jouet.  What's the menu?"
+
+"Germane soup, sir; filly de sole; sweetbread; cutlet soubees, rum
+souffly."
+
+"Tell her to give me a hors d'oeuvre, and put on a savoury."
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+When the man had gone, he thought: 'I should have liked an oyster--too
+late now!' and going over to his bureau, he fumblingly pulled out the top
+drawer.  There was little in it--Just a few papers, business papers on
+his Companies, and a schedule of his debts; not even a copy of his
+will--he had not made one, nothing to leave!  Letters he had never kept.
+Half a dozen bills, a few receipts, and the little pink note with the
+blue forget-me-not.  That was the lot!  An old tree gives up bearing
+leaves, and its roots dry up, before it comes down in a wind; an old
+man's world slowly falls away from him till he stands alone in the night.
+Looking at the pink note, he thought: 'Suppose I'd married Alice--a man
+never had a better mistress!'  He fumbled the drawer to; but still he
+strayed feebly about the room, with a curious shrinking from sitting
+down, legacy from the quarter of an hour he had been compelled to sit
+while that hound worried at his throat.  He was opposite one of the
+pictures now.  It gleamed, dark and oily, limning a Scots Grey who had
+mounted a wounded Russian on his horse, and was bringing him back
+prisoner from the Balaclava charge.  A very old friend--bought in
+'fifty-nine.  It had hung in his chambers in the Albany--hung with him
+ever since.  With whom would it hang when he was gone?  For that holy
+woman would scrap it, to a certainty, and stick up some Crucifixion or
+other, some new-fangled high art thing!  She could even do that now if
+she liked--for she owned it, owned every mortal stick in the room, to the
+very glass he would drink his champagne from; all made over under the
+settlement fifteen years ago, before his last big gamble went wrong.  "De
+l'audace, toujours de l'audace!"  The gamble which had brought him down
+till his throat at last was at the mercy of a bullying hound. The pitcher
+and the well!  At the mercy---!  The sound of a popping cork dragged him
+from reverie.  He moved to his seat, back to the window, and sat down to
+his dinner.  By George!  They had got him an oyster!  And he said:
+
+"I've forgotten my teeth!"
+
+While the man was gone for them, he swallowed the oysters, methodically
+touching them one by one with cayenne, Chili vinegar, and lemon.  Ummm!
+Not quite what they used to be at Pimm's in the best days, but not
+bad--not bad!  Then seeing the little blue bowl lying before him, he
+looked up and said:
+
+"My compliments to cook on the oysters.  Give me the champagne."  And he
+lifted his trembling teeth.  Thank God, he could still put 'em in for
+himself!  The creaming goldenish fluid from the napkined bottle slowly
+reached the brim of his glass, which had a hollow stem; raising it to his
+lips, very red between the white hairs above and below, he drank with a
+gurgling noise, and put the glass down-empty. Nectar!  And just cold
+enough!
+
+"I frapped it the least bit, sir."
+
+"Quite right.  What's that smell of flowers?"
+
+"It's from those 'yacinths on the sideboard, sir.  They come from Mrs.
+Larne, this afternoon."
+
+"Put 'em on the table.  Where's my daughter?"
+
+"She's had dinner, sir; goin' to a ball, I think."
+
+"A ball!"
+
+"Charity ball, I fancy, sir."
+
+"Ummm!  Give me a touch of the old sherry with the soup."
+
+"Yes, sir.  I shall have to open a bottle:"
+
+"Very well, then, do!"
+
+On his way to the cellar the man confided to Molly, who was carrying the
+soup:
+
+"The Gov'nor's going it to-night!  What he'll be like tomorrow I dunno."
+
+The girl answered softly:
+
+"Poor old man, let um have his pleasure."  And, in the hall, with the
+soup tureen against her bosom, she hummed above the steam, and thought of
+the ribbons on her new chemises, bought out of the sovereign he had given
+her.
+
+And old Heythorp, digesting his osyters, snuffed the scent of the
+hyacinths, and thought of the St. Germain, his favourite soup.  It would
+n't be first-rate, at this time of year--should be made with little young
+home-grown peas.  Paris was the place for it.  Ah!  The French were the
+fellows for eating, and--looking things in the face!  Not hypocrites--not
+ashamed of their reason or their senses!
+
+The soup came in.  He sipped it, bending forward as far as he could, his
+napkin tucked in over his shirt-front like a bib.  He got the bouquet of
+that sherry to a T--his sense of smell was very keen to-night; rare old
+stuff it was--more than a year since he had tasted it--but no one drank
+sherry nowadays, hadn't the constitution for it!  The fish came up, and
+went down; and with the sweetbread he took his second glass of champagne.
+Always the best, that second glass--the stomach well warmed, and the
+palate not yet dulled.  Umm!  So that fellow thought he had him beaten,
+did he?  And he said suddenly:
+
+"The fur coat in the wardrobe, I've no use for it.  You can take it away
+to-night."
+
+With tempered gratitude the valet answered:
+
+"Thank you, sir; much obliged, I'm sure."  So the old buffer had found
+out there was moth in it!
+
+"Have I worried you much?"
+
+"No, sir; not at all, sir--that is, no more than reason."
+
+"Afraid I have.  Very sorry--can't help it.  You'll find that, when you
+get like me."
+
+"Yes, sir; I've always admired your pluck, sir.
+
+"Um!  Very good of you to say so."
+
+"Always think of you keepin' the flag flying', sir."
+
+Old Heythorp bent his body from the waist.
+
+"Much obliged to you."
+
+"Not at all, sir.  Cook's done a little spinach in cream with the
+soubees."
+
+"Ah!  Tell her from me it's a capital dinner, so far."
+
+"Thank you, sir."
+
+Alone again, old Heythorp sat unmoving, his brain just narcotically
+touched.  "The flag flyin'--the flag flyin'!"  He raised his glass and
+sucked.  He had an appetite now, and finished the three cutlets, and all
+the sauce and spinach.  Pity! he could have managed a snipe fresh shot!
+A desire to delay, to lengthen dinner, was strong upon him; there were
+but the souffle' and the savoury to come.  He would have enjoyed, too,
+someone to talk to.  He had always been fond of good company--been good
+company himself, or so they said--not that he had had a chance of late.
+Even at the Boards they avoided talking to him, he had noticed for a long
+time.  Well! that wouldn't trouble him again--he had sat through his last
+Board, no doubt.  They shouldn't kick him off, though; he wouldn't give
+them that pleasure--had seen the beggars hankering after his chairman's
+shoes too long. The souffle was before him now, and lifting his glass, he
+said:
+
+"Fill up."
+
+"These are the special glasses, sir; only four to the bottle."
+
+"Fill up."
+
+The servant filled, screwing up his mouth.
+
+Old Heythorp drank, and put the glass down empty with a sigh.  He had
+been faithful to his principles, finished the bottle before touching the
+sweet--a good bottle--of a good brand!  And now for the souffle!
+Delicious, flipped down with the old sherry!  So that holy woman was
+going to a ball, was she!  How deuced funny!  Who would dance with a dry
+stick like that, all eaten up with a piety which was just sexual
+disappointment?  Ah! yes, lots of women like that--had often noticed
+'em--pitied 'em too, until you had to do with them and they made you as
+unhappy as themselves, and were tyrants into the bargain.  And he asked:
+
+"What's the savoury?"
+
+"Cheese remmykin, sir."
+
+His favourite.
+
+"I'll have my port with it--the 'sixty-eight."  The man stood gazing with
+evident stupefaction.  He had not expected this.  The old man's face was
+very flushed, but that might be the bath.  He said feebly:
+
+"Are you sure you ought, sir?"
+
+"No, but I'm going to."
+
+"Would you mind if I spoke to Miss Heythorp, Sir?"
+
+"If you do, you can leave my service."
+
+"Well, Sir, I don't accept the responsibility."
+
+"Who asked you to?"
+
+"No, Sir...."
+
+"Well, get it, then; and don't be an ass."
+
+"Yes, Sir."  If the old man were not humoured he would have a fit,
+perhaps!
+
+And the old man sat quietly staring at the hyacinths.  He felt happy, his
+whole being lined and warmed and drowsed--and there was more to come!
+What had the holy folk to give you compared with the comfort of a good
+dinner?  Could they make you dream, and see life rosy for a little?  No,
+they could only give you promissory notes which never would be cashed.  A
+man had nothing but his pluck--they only tried to undermine it, and make
+him squeal for help.  He could see his precious doctor throwing up his
+hands: "Port after a bottle of champagne--you'll die of it!"  And a very
+good death too--none better.  A sound broke the silence of the closed-up
+room.  Music?  His daughter playing the piano overhead.  Singing too!
+What a trickle of a voice!  Jenny Lind!  The Swedish nightingale--he had
+never missed the nights when she was singing--Jenny Lind!
+
+"It's very hot, sir.  Shall I take it out of the case?"
+
+Ah!  The ramequin!
+
+"Touch of butter, and the cayenne!"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+He ate it slowly, savouring each mouthful; had never tasted a better.
+With cheese--port!  He drank one glass, and said:
+
+"Help me to my chair."
+
+And settled there before the fire with decanter and glass and hand-bell
+on the little low table by his side, he murmured:
+
+"Bring coffee, and my cigar, in twenty minutes."
+
+To-night he would do justice to his wine, not smoking till he had
+finished.  As old Horace said:
+
+"Aequam memento rebus in arduis Servare mentem."
+
+And, raising his glass, he sipped slowly, spilling a drop or two,
+shutting his eyes.
+
+The faint silvery squealing of the holy woman in the room above, the
+scent of hyacinths, the drowse of the fire, on which a cedar log had just
+been laid, the feeling of the port soaking down into the crannies of his
+being, made up a momentary Paradise.  Then the music stopped; and no
+sound rose but the tiny groans of the log trying to resist the fire.
+Dreamily he thought: 'Life wears you out--wears you out.  Logs on a
+fire!'  And he filled his glass again.  That fellow had been careless;
+there were dregs at the bottom of the decanter and he had got down to
+them!  Then, as the last drop from his tilted glass trickled into the
+white hairs on his chin, he heard the coffee tray put down, and taking
+his cigar he put it to his ear, rolling it in his thick fingers.  In
+prime condition!  And drawing a first whiff, he said:
+
+"Open that bottle of the old brandy in the sideboard."
+
+"Brandy, sir?  I really daren't, sir."
+
+"Are you my servant or not?"
+
+"Yes, sir, but---"
+
+A minute of silence, then the man went hastily to the sideboard, took out
+the bottle, and drew the cork.  The tide of crimson in the old man's face
+had frightened him.
+
+"Leave it there."
+
+The unfortunate valet placed the bottle on the little table.  'I'll have
+to tell her,' he thought; 'but if I take away the port decanter and the
+glass, it won't look so bad.' And, carrying them, he left the room.
+
+Slowly the old man drank his coffee, and the liqueur of brandy.  The
+whole gamut!  And watching his cigar-smoke wreathing blue in the orange
+glow, he smiled.  The last night to call his soul his own, the last night
+of his independence.  Send in his resignations to-morrow--not wait to be
+kicked off!  Not give that fellow a chance!
+
+A voice which seemed to come from far off, said:
+
+"Father!  You're drinking brandy!  How can you--you know it's simple
+poison to you!"  A figure in white, scarcely actual, loomed up close. He
+took the bottle to fill up his liqueur glass, in defiance; but a hand in
+a long white glove, with another dangling from its wrist, pulled it away,
+shook it at him, and replaced it in the sideboard. And, just as when Mr.
+Ventnor stood there accusing him, a swelling and churning in his throat
+prevented him from speech; his lips moved, but only a little froth came
+forth.
+
+His daughter had approached again.  She stood quite close, in white
+satin, thin-faced, sallow, with eyebrows raised, and her dark hair
+frizzed--yes! frizzed--the holy woman!  With all his might he tried to
+say: 'So you bully me, do you--you bully me to-night!' but only the word
+"so" and a sort of whispering came forth.  He heard her speaking.  "It's
+no good your getting angry, Father.  After champagne--it's wicked!"  Then
+her form receded in a sort of rustling white mist; she was gone; and he
+heard the sputtering and growling of her taxi, bearing her to the ball.
+So!  She tyrannised and bullied, even before she had him at her mercy,
+did she?  She should see!  Anger had brightened his eyes; the room came
+clear again.  And slowly raising himself he sounded the bell twice, for
+the girl, not for that fellow Meller, who was in the plot.  As soon as
+her pretty black and white-aproned figure stood before him, he said:
+
+"Help me up."
+
+Twice her soft pulling was not enough, and he sank back.  The third time
+he struggled to his feet.
+
+"Thank you; that'll do."  Then, waiting till she was gone, he crossed the
+room, fumbled open the sideboard door, and took out the bottle. Reaching
+over the polished oak, he grasped a sherry glass; and holding the bottle
+with both hands, tipped the liquor into it, put it to his lips and
+sucked.  Drop by drop it passed over his palate mild, very old, old as
+himself, coloured like sunlight, fragrant.  To the last drop he drank it,
+then hugging the bottle to his shirt-front, he moved snail-like to his
+chair, and fell back into its depths.  For some minutes he remained there
+motionless, the bottle clasped to his chest, thinking: 'This is not the
+attitude of a gentleman.  I must put it down on the table-on the table;'
+but a thick cloud was between him and everything.  It was with his hands
+he would have to put the bottle on the table!  But he could not find his
+hands, could not feel them.  His mind see-sawed in strophe and
+antistrophe: "You can't move!"--"I will move!"  "You're beaten"--"I'm not
+beat."  "Give up"--"I won't."  That struggle to find his hands seemed to
+last for ever--he must find them!  After that--go down--all
+standing--after that!  Everything round him was red.  Then the red cloud
+cleared just a little, and he could hear the clock--"tick-tick-tick"; a
+faint sensation spread from his shoulders down to his wrists, down his
+palms; and yes--he could feel the bottle!  He redoubled his struggle to
+get forward in his chair; to get forward and put the bottle down. It was
+not dignified like this!  One arm he could move now; but he could not
+grip the bottle nearly tight enough to put it down. Working his whole
+body forward, inch by inch, he shifted himself up in the chair till he
+could lean sideways, and the bottle, slipping down his chest, dropped
+slanting to the edge of the low stool-table. Then with all his might he
+screwed his trunk and arms an inch further, and the bottle stood.  He had
+done it--done it!  His lips twitched into a smile; his body sagged back
+to its old position.  He had done it!  And he closed his eyes ....
+
+At half-past eleven the girl Molly, opening the door, looked at him and
+said softly: "Sirr! there's some ladies, and a gentleman!"  But he did
+not answer.  And, still holding the door, she whispered out into the
+hall:
+
+"He's asleep, miss."
+
+A voice whispered back:
+
+"Oh!  Just let me go in, I won't wake him unless he does.  But I do want
+to show him my dress."
+
+The girl moved aside; and on tiptoe Phyllis passed in.  She walked to
+where, between the lamp-glow and the fire-glow, she was lighted up. White
+satin--her first low-cut dress--the flush of her first supper party--a
+gardenia at her breast, another in her fingers!  Oh! what a pity he was
+asleep!  How red he looked!  How funnily old men breathed!  And
+mysteriously, as a child might, she whispered:
+
+"Guardy!"
+
+No answer!  And pouting, she stood twiddling the gardenia.  Then suddenly
+she thought: 'I'll put it in his buttonhole!  When he wakes up and sees
+it, how he'll jump!'
+
+And stealing close, she bent and slipped it in.  Two faces looked at her
+from round the door; she heard Bob Pillin's smothered chuckle; her
+mother's rich and feathery laugh.  Oh!  How red his forehead was!  She
+touched it with her lips; skipped back, twirled round, danced silently a
+second, blew a kiss, and like quicksilver was gone.
+
+And the whispering, the chuckling, and one little out-pealing laugh rose
+in the hall.
+
+But the old man slept.  Nor until Meller came at his usual hour of
+half-past twelve, was it known that he would never wake.
+
+
+
+
+THE APPLE TREE
+
+              "The Apple-tree, the singing and the gold."
+               MURRAY'S "HIPPOLYTUS of EURIPIDES."
+
+In their silver-wedding day Ashurst and his wife were motoring along the
+outskirts of the moor, intending to crown the festival by stopping the
+night at Torquay, where they had first met.  This was the idea of Stella
+Ashurst, whose character contained a streak of sentiment.  If she had
+long lost the blue-eyed, flower-like charm, the cool slim purity of face
+and form, the apple-blossom colouring, which had so swiftly and so oddly
+affected Ashurst twenty-six years ago, she was still at forty-three a
+comely and faithful companion, whose cheeks were faintly mottled, and
+whose grey-blue eyes had acquired a certain fullness.
+
+It was she who had stopped the car where the common rose steeply to the
+left, and a narrow strip of larch and beech, with here and there a pine,
+stretched out towards the valley between the road and the first long high
+hill of the full moor.  She was looking for a place where they might
+lunch, for Ashurst never looked for anything; and this, between the
+golden furze and the feathery green larches smelling of lemons in the
+last sun of April--this, with a view into the deep valley and up to the
+long moor heights, seemed fitting to the decisive nature of one who
+sketched in water-colours, and loved romantic spots.  Grasping her paint
+box, she got out.
+
+"Won't this do, Frank?"
+
+Ashurst, rather like a bearded Schiller, grey in the wings, tall,
+long-legged, with large remote grey eyes which sometimes filled with
+meaning and became almost beautiful, with nose a little to one side, and
+bearded lips just open--Ashurst, forty-eight, and silent, grasped the
+luncheon basket, and got out too.
+
+"Oh!  Look, Frank!  A grave!"
+
+By the side of the road, where the track from the top of the common
+crossed it at right angles and ran through a gate past the narrow wood,
+was a thin mound of turf, six feet by one, with a moorstone to the west,
+and on it someone had thrown a blackthorn spray and a handful of
+bluebells.  Ashurst looked, and the poet in him moved.  At cross-roads--a
+suicide's grave!  Poor mortals with their superstitions!  Whoever lay
+there, though, had the best of it, no clammy sepulchre among other
+hideous graves carved with futilities--just a rough stone, the wide sky,
+and wayside blessings!  And, without comment, for he had learned not to
+be a philosopher in the bosom of his family, he strode away up on to the
+common, dropped the luncheon basket under a wall, spread a rug for his
+wife to sit on--she would turn up from her sketching when she was
+hungry--and took from his pocket Murray's translation of the
+"Hippolytus."  He had soon finished reading of "The Cyprian" and her
+revenge, and looked at the sky instead.  And watching the white clouds so
+bright against the intense blue, Ashurst, on his silver-wedding day,
+longed for--he knew not what.  Maladjusted to life--man's organism!
+One's mode of life might be high and scrupulous, but there was always an,
+undercurrent of greediness, a hankering, and sense of waste.  Did women
+have it too?  Who could tell?  And yet, men who gave vent to their
+appetites for novelty, their riotous longings for new adventures, new
+risks, new pleasures, these suffered, no doubt, from the reverse side of
+starvation, from surfeit.  No getting out of it--a maladjusted animal,
+civilised man!  There could be no garden of his choosing, of "the
+Apple-tree, the singing, and the gold," in the words of that lovely Greek
+chorus, no achievable elysium in life, or lasting haven of happiness for
+any man with a sense of beauty--nothing which could compare with the
+captured loveliness in a work of art, set down for ever, so that to look
+on it or read was always to have the same precious sense of exaltation
+and restful inebriety.  Life no doubt had moments with that quality of
+beauty, of unbidden flying rapture, but the trouble was, they lasted no
+longer than the span of a cloud's flight over the sun; impossible to keep
+them with you, as Art caught beauty and held it fast.  They were fleeting
+as one of the glimmering or golden visions one had of the soul in nature,
+glimpses of its remote and brooding spirit.  Here, with the sun hot on
+his face, a cuckoo calling from a thorn tree, and in the air the honey
+savour of gorse--here among the little fronds of the young fern, the
+starry blackthorn, while the bright clouds drifted by high above the
+hills and dreamy valleys here and now was such a glimpse.  But in a
+moment it would pass--as the face of Pan, which looks round the corner of
+a rock, vanishes at your stare.  And suddenly he sat up.  Surely there
+was something familiar about this view, this bit of common, that ribbon
+of road, the old wall behind him.  While they were driving he had not
+been taking notice--never did; thinking of far things or of nothing--but
+now he saw!  Twenty-six years ago, just at this time of year, from the
+farmhouse within half a mile of this very spot he had started for that
+day in Torquay whence it might be said he had never returned.  And a
+sudden ache beset his heart; he had stumbled on just one of those past
+moments in his life, whose beauty and rapture he had failed to arrest,
+whose wings had fluttered away into the unknown; he had stumbled on a
+buried memory, a wild sweet time, swiftly choked and ended.  And, turning
+on his face, he rested his chin on his hands, and stared at the short
+grass where the little blue milkwort was growing....
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+And this is what he remembered.
+
+On the first of May, after their last year together at college, Frank
+Ashurst and his friend Robert Garton were on a tramp.  They had walked
+that day from Brent, intending to make Chagford, but Ashurst's football
+knee had given out, and according to their map they had still some seven
+miles to go.  They were sitting on a bank beside the-road, where a track
+crossed alongside a wood, resting the knee and talking of the universe,
+as young men will.  Both were over six feet, and thin as rails; Ashurst
+pale, idealistic, full of absence; Garton queer, round-the-corner,
+knotted, curly, like some primeval beast.  Both had a literary bent;
+neither wore a hat.
+
+Ashurst's hair was smooth, pale, wavy, and had a way of rising on either
+side of his brow, as if always being flung back; Carton's was a kind of
+dark unfathomed mop.  They had not met a soul for miles.
+
+"My dear fellow," Garton was saying, "pity's only an effect of
+self-consciousness; it's a disease of the last five thousand years.  The
+world was happier without."
+
+Ashurst, following the clouds with his eyes, answered:
+
+"It's the pearl in the oyster, anyway."
+
+"My dear chap, all our modern unhappiness comes from pity.  Look at
+animals, and Red Indians, limited to feeling their own occasional
+misfortunes; then look at ourselves--never free from feeling the
+toothaches of others.  Let's get back to feeling for nobody, and have a
+better time."
+
+"You'll never practise that."
+
+Garton pensively stirred the hotch-potch of his hair.
+
+"To attain full growth, one mustn't be squeamish.  To starve oneself
+emotionally's a mistake.  All emotion is to the good--enriches life."
+
+"Yes, and when it runs up against chivalry?"
+
+"Ah!  That's so English!  If you speak of emotion the English always
+think you want something physical, and are shocked.  They're afraid of
+passion, but not of lust--oh, no!--so long as they can keep it secret."
+
+Ashurst did not answer; he had plucked a blue floweret, and was twiddling
+it against the sky.  A cuckoo began calling from a thorn tree.  The sky,
+the flowers, the songs of birds!  Robert was talking through his hat!
+And he said:
+
+"Well, let's go on, and find some farm where we can put up."  In uttering
+those words, he was conscious of a girl coming down from the common just
+above them.  She was outlined against the sky, carrying a basket, and you
+could see that sky through the crook of her arm.  And Ashurst, who saw
+beauty without wondering how it could advantage him, thought: 'How
+pretty!'  The wind, blowing her dark frieze skirt against her legs,
+lifted her battered peacock tam-o'-shanter; her greyish blouse was worn
+and old, her shoes were split, her little hands rough and red, her neck
+browned.  Her dark hair waved untidy across her broad forehead, her face
+was short, her upper lip short, showing a glint of teeth, her brows were
+straight and dark, her lashes long and dark, her nose straight; but her
+grey eyes were the wonder-dewy as if opened for the first time that day.
+She looked at Ashurst--perhaps he struck her as strange, limping along
+without a hat, with his large eyes on her, and his hair falling back.  He
+could not take off what was not on his head, but put up his hand in a
+salute, and said:
+
+"Can you tell us if there's a farm near here where we could stay the
+night?  I've gone lame."
+
+"There's only our farm near, sir."  She spoke without shyness, in a
+pretty soft crisp voice.
+
+"And where is that?"
+
+"Down here, sir."
+
+"Would you put us up?"
+
+"Oh!  I think we would."
+
+"Will you show us the way?"
+
+"Yes, Sir."
+
+He limped on, silent, and Garton took up the catechism.
+
+"Are you a Devonshire girl?"
+
+"No, Sir."
+
+"What then?"
+
+"From Wales."
+
+"Ah!  I thought you were a Celt; so it's not your farm?"
+
+"My aunt's, sir."
+
+"And your uncle's?"
+
+"He is dead."
+
+"Who farms it, then?"
+
+"My aunt, and my three cousins."
+
+"But your uncle was a Devonshire man?"
+
+"Yes, Sir."
+
+"Have you lived here long?"  "Seven years."
+
+"And how d'you like it after Wales?"  "I don't know, sir."
+
+"I suppose you don't remember?"  "Oh, yes!  But it is different."
+
+"I believe you!"
+
+Ashurst broke in suddenly: "How old are you?"
+
+"Seventeen, Sir."
+
+"And what's your name?"  "Megan David."
+
+"This is Robert Garton, and I am Frank Ashurst.  We wanted to get on to
+Chagford."
+
+"It is a pity your leg is hurting you."
+
+Ashurst smiled, and when he smiled his face was rather beautiful.
+
+Descending past the narrow wood, they came on the farm suddenly-a long,
+low, stone-built dwelling with casement windows, in a farmyard where pigs
+and fowls and an old mare were straying.  A short steep-up grass hill
+behind was crowned with a few Scotch firs, and in front, an old orchard
+of apple trees, just breaking into flower, stretched down to a stream and
+a long wild meadow.  A little boy with oblique dark eyes was shepherding
+a pig, and by the house door stood a woman, who came towards them.  The
+girl said:
+
+"It is Mrs. Narracombe, my aunt."
+
+"Mrs. Narracombe, my aunt," had a quick, dark eye, like a mother
+wild-duck's, and something of the same snaky turn about her neck.
+
+"We met your niece on the road," said Ashurst; "she thought you might
+perhaps put us up for the night."
+
+Mrs. Narracombe, taking them in from head to heel, answered:
+
+"Well, I can, if you don't mind one room.  Megan, get the spare room
+ready, and a bowl of cream.  You'll be wanting tea, I suppose."
+
+Passing through a sort of porch made by two yew trees and some
+flowering-currant bushes, the girl disappeared into the house, her
+peacock tam-o'-shanter bright athwart that rosy-pink and the dark green
+of the yews.
+
+"Will you come into the parlour and rest your leg?  You'll be from
+college, perhaps?"
+
+"We were, but we've gone down now."
+
+Mrs. Narracombe nodded sagely.
+
+The parlour, brick-floored, with bare table and shiny chairs and sofa
+stuffed with horsehair, seemed never to have been used, it was so
+terribly clean.  Ashurst sat down at once on the sofa, holding his lame
+knee between his hands, and Mrs. Narracombe gazed at him.  He was the
+only son of a late professor of chemistry, but people found a certain
+lordliness in one who was often so sublimely unconscious of them.
+
+"Is there a stream where we could bathe?"
+
+"There's the strame at the bottom of the orchard, but sittin' down you'll
+not be covered!"
+
+"How deep?"
+
+"Well, 'tis about a foot and a half, maybe."
+
+"Oh!  That'll do fine.  Which way?"
+
+"Down the lane, through the second gate on the right, an' the pool's by
+the big apple tree that stands by itself.  There's trout there, if you
+can tickle them."
+
+"They're more likely to tickle us!"
+
+Mrs. Narracombe smiled.  "There'll be the tea ready when you come back."
+
+The pool, formed by the damming of a rock, had a sandy bottom; and the
+big apple tree, lowest in the orchard, grew so close that its boughs
+almost overhung the water; it was in leaf, and all but in flower-its
+crimson buds just bursting.  There was not room for more than one at a
+time in that narrow bath, and Ashurst waited his turn, rubbing his knee
+and gazing at the wild meadow, all rocks and thorn trees and feld
+flowers, with a grove of beeches beyond, raised up on a flat mound.
+Every bough was swinging in the wind, every spring bird calling, and a
+slanting sunlight dappled the grass.  He thought of Theocritus, and the
+river Cherwell, of the moon, and the maiden with the dewy eyes; of so
+many things that he seemed to think of nothing; and he felt absurdly
+happy.
+
+
+
+
+2
+
+During a late and sumptuous tea with eggs to it, cream and jam, and thin,
+fresh cakes touched with saffron, Garton descanted on the Celts.  It was
+about the period of the Celtic awakening, and the discovery that there
+was Celtic blood about this family had excited one who believed that he
+was a Celt himself.  Sprawling on a horse hair chair, with a hand-made
+cigarette dribbling from the corner of his curly lips, he had been
+plunging his cold pin-points of eyes into Ashurst's and praising the
+refinement of the Welsh.  To come out of Wales into England was like the
+change from china to earthenware!  Frank, as a d---d Englishman, had not
+of course perceived the exquisite refinement and emotional capacity of
+that Welsh girl!  And, delicately stirring in the dark mat of his still
+wet hair, he explained how exactly she illustrated the writings of the
+Welsh bard Morgan-ap-Something in the twelfth century.
+
+Ashurst, full length on the horsehair sofa, and jutting far beyond its
+end, smoked a deeply-coloured pipe, and did not listen, thinking of the
+girl's face when she brought in a relay of cakes.  It had been exactly
+like looking at a flower, or some other pretty sight in Nature-till, with
+a funny little shiver, she had lowered her glance and gone out, quiet as
+a mouse.
+
+"Let's go to the kitchen," said Garton, "and see some more of her."
+
+The kitchen was a white-washed room with rafters, to which were attached
+smoked hams; there were flower-pots on the window-sill, and guns hanging
+on nails, queer mugs, china and pewter, and portraits of Queen Victoria.
+A long, narrow table of plain wood was set with bowls and spoons, under a
+string of high-hung onions; two sheep-dogs and three cats lay here and
+there.  On one side of the recessed fireplace sat two small boys, idle,
+and good as gold; on the other sat a stout, light-eyed, red-faced youth
+with hair and lashes the colour of the tow he was running through the
+barrel of a gun; between them Mrs. Narracombe dreamily stirred some
+savoury-scented stew in a large pot.  Two other youths, oblique-eyed,
+dark-haired, rather sly-faced, like the two little boys, were talking
+together and lolling against the wall; and a short, elderly, clean-shaven
+man in corduroys, seated in the window, was conning a battered journal.
+The girl Megan seemed the only active creature-drawing cider and passing
+with the jugs from cask to table.  Seeing them thus about to eat, Garton
+said:
+
+"Ah!  If you'll let us, we'll come back when supper's over," and without
+waiting for an answer they withdrew again to the parlour. But the colour
+in the kitchen, the warmth, the scents, and all those faces, heightened
+the bleakness of their shiny room, and they resumed their seats moodily.
+
+"Regular gipsy type, those boys.  There was only one Saxon--the fellow
+cleaning the gun.  That girl is a very subtle study psychologically."
+
+Ashurst's lips twitched.  Garton seemed to him an ass just then. Subtle
+study!  She was a wild flower.  A creature it did you good to look at.
+Study!
+
+Garton went on:
+
+"Emotionally she would be wonderful.  She wants awakening."
+
+"Are you going to awaken her?"
+
+Garton looked at him and smiled.  'How coarse and English you are!' that
+curly smile seemed saying.
+
+And Ashurst puffed his pipe.  Awaken her!  That fool had the best opinion
+of himself!  He threw up the window and leaned out.  Dusk had gathered
+thick.  The farm buildings and the wheel-house were all dim and bluish,
+the apple trees but a blurred wilderness; the air smelled of woodsmoke
+from the kitchen fire.  One bird going to bed later than the others was
+uttering a half-hearted twitter, as though surprised at the darkness.
+From the stable came the snuffle and stamp of a feeding horse.  And away
+over there was the loom of the moor, and away and away the shy stars
+which had not as yet full light, pricking white through the deep blue
+heavens.  A quavering owl hooted. Ashurst drew a deep breath.  What a
+night to wander out in!  A padding of unshod hoofs came up the lane, and
+three dim, dark shapes passed--ponies on an evening march.  Their heads,
+black and fuzzy, showed above the gate.  At the tap of his pipe, and a
+shower of little sparks, they shied round and scampered.  A bat went
+fluttering past, uttering its almost inaudible "chip, chip."  Ashurst
+held out his hand; on the upturned palm he could feel the dew.  Suddenly
+from overhead he heard little burring boys' voices, little thumps of
+boots thrown down, and another voice, crisp and soft--the girl's putting
+them to bed, no doubt; and nine clear words "No, Rick, you can't have the
+cat in bed"; then came a skirmish of giggles and gurgles, a soft slap, a
+laugh so low and pretty that it made him shiver a little.  A blowing
+sound, and the glim of the candle which was fingering the dusk above,
+went out; silence reigned.  Ashurst withdrew into the room and sat down;
+his knee pained him, and his soul felt gloomy.
+
+"You go to the kitchen," he said; "I'm going to bed."
+
+
+
+
+3
+
+For Ashurst the wheel of slumber was wont to turn noiseless and slick and
+swift, but though he seemed sunk in sleep when his companion came up, he
+was really wide awake; and long after Carton, smothered in the other bed
+of that low-roofed room, was worshipping darkness with his upturned nose,
+he heard the owls.  Barring the discomfort of his knee, it was not
+unpleasant--the cares of life did not loom large in night watches for
+this young man.  In fact he had none; just enrolled a barrister, with
+literary aspirations, the world before him, no father or mother, and four
+hundred a year of his own.  Did it matter where he went, what he did, or
+when he did it?  His bed, too, was hard, and this preserved him from
+fever.  He lay, sniffing the scent of the night which drifted into the
+low room through the open casement close to his head.  Except for a
+definite irritation with his friend, natural when you have tramped with a
+man for three days, Ashurst's memories and visions that sleepless night
+were kindly and wistful and exciting.  One vision, specially clear and
+unreasonable, for he had not even been conscious of noting it, was the
+face of the youth cleaning the gun; its intent, stolid, yet startled
+uplook at the kitchen doorway, quickly shifted to the girl carrying the
+cider jug.  This red, blue-eyed, light-lashed, tow-haired face stuck as
+firmly in his memory as the girl's own face, so dewy and simple.  But at
+last, in the square of darkness through the uncurtained casement, he saw
+day coming, and heard one hoarse and sleepy caw.  Then followed silence,
+dead as ever, till the song of a blackbird, not properly awake,
+adventured into the hush.  And, from staring at the framed brightening
+light, Ashurst fell asleep.
+
+Next day his knee was badly swollen; the walking tour was obviously over.
+Garton, due back in London on the morrow, departed at midday with an
+ironical smile which left a scar of irritation--healed the moment his
+loping figure vanished round the corner of the steep lane. All day
+Ashurst rested his knee, in a green-painted wooden chair on the patch of
+grass by the yew-tree porch, where the sunlight distilled the scent of
+stocks and gillyflowers, and a ghost of scent from the flowering-currant
+bushes.  Beatifically he smoked, dreamed, watched.
+
+A farm in spring is all birth-young things coming out of bud and shell,
+and human beings watching over the process with faint excitement feeding
+and tending what has been born.  So still the young man sat, that a
+mother-goose, with stately cross-footed waddle, brought her six
+yellow-necked grey-backed goslings to strop their little beaks against
+the grass blades at his feet.  Now and again Mrs. Narracombe or the girl
+Megan would come and ask if he wanted anything, and he would smile and
+say: "Nothing, thanks.  It's splendid here."  Towards tea-time they came
+out together, bearing a long poultice of some dark stuff in a bowl, and
+after a long and solemn scrutiny of his swollen knee, bound it on.  When
+they were gone, he thought of the girl's soft "Oh!"--of her pitying eyes,
+and the little wrinkle in her brow.  And again he felt that unreasoning
+irritation against his departed friend, who had talked such rot about
+her.  When she brought out his tea, he said:
+
+"How did you like my friend, Megan?"
+
+She forced down her upper lip, as if afraid that to smile was not polite.
+"He was a funny gentleman; he made us laugh.  I think he is very clever."
+
+"What did he say to make you laugh?"
+
+"He said I was a daughter of the bards.  What are they?"
+
+"Welsh poets, who lived hundreds of years ago."
+
+"Why am I their daughter, please?"
+
+"He meant that you were the sort of girl they sang about."
+
+She wrinkled her brows.  "I think he likes to joke.  Am I?"
+
+"Would you believe me, if I told you?"
+
+"Oh, yes."
+
+"Well, I think he was right."
+
+She smiled.
+
+And Ashurst thought: 'You are a pretty thing!'
+
+"He said, too, that Joe was a Saxon type.  What would that be?"
+
+"Which is Joe?  With the blue eyes and red face?"
+
+"Yes.  My uncle's nephew."
+
+"Not your cousin, then?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Well, he meant that Joe was like the men who came over to England about
+fourteen hundred years ago, and conquered it."
+
+"Oh!  I know about them; but is he?"
+
+"Garton's crazy about that sort of thing; but I must say Joe does look a
+bit Early Saxon."
+
+"Yes."
+
+That "Yes" tickled Ashurst.  It was so crisp and graceful, so conclusive,
+and politely acquiescent in what was evidently.  Greek to her.
+
+"He said that all the other boys were regular gipsies.  He should not
+have said that.  My aunt laughed, but she didn't like it, of course, and
+my cousins were angry.  Uncle was a farmer--farmers are not gipsies.  It
+is wrong to hurt people."
+
+Ashurst wanted to take her hand and give it a squeeze, but he only
+answered:
+
+"Quite right, Megan.  By the way, I heard you putting the little ones to
+bed last night."
+
+She flushed a little.  "Please to drink your tea--it is getting cold.
+Shall I get you some fresh?"
+
+"Do you ever have time to do anything for yourself?"
+
+"Oh!  Yes."
+
+"I've been watching, but I haven't seen it yet."
+
+She wrinkled her brows in a puzzled frown, and her colour deepened.
+
+When she was gone, Ashurst thought: 'Did she think I was chaffing her?  I
+wouldn't for the world!' He was at that age when to some men "Beauty's a
+flower," as the poet says, and inspires in them the thoughts of chivalry.
+Never very conscious of his surroundings, it was some time before he was
+aware that the youth whom Garton had called "a Saxon type" was standing
+outside the stable door; and a fine bit of colour he made in his soiled
+brown velvet-cords, muddy gaiters, and blue shirt; red-armed, red-faced,
+the sun turning his hair from tow to flax; immovably stolid, persistent,
+unsmiling he stood.  Then, seeing Ashurst looking at him, he crossed the
+yard at that gait of the young countryman always ashamed not to be slow
+and heavy-dwelling on each leg, and disappeared round the end of the
+house towards the kitchen entrance.  A chill came over Ashurst's mood.
+Clods?  With all the good will in the world, how impossible to get on
+terms with them!  And yet--see that girl!  Her shoes were split, her
+hands rough; but--what was it?  Was it really her Celtic blood, as Garton
+had said?--she was a lady born, a jewel, though probably she could do no
+more than just read and write!
+
+The elderly, clean-shaven man he had seen last night in the kitchen had
+come into the yard with a dog, driving the cows to their milking. Ashurst
+saw that he was lame.
+
+"You've got some good ones there!"
+
+The lame man's face brightened.  He had the upward look in his eyes which
+prolonged suffering often brings.
+
+"Yeas; they'm praaper buties; gude milkers tu."
+
+"I bet they are."
+
+"'Ope as yure leg's better, zurr."
+
+"Thank you, it's getting on."
+
+The lame man touched his own: "I know what 'tes, meself; 'tes a main
+worritin' thing, the knee.  I've a-'ad mine bad this ten year."
+
+Ashurst made the sound of sympathy which comes so readily from those who
+have an independent income, and the lame man smiled again.
+
+"Mustn't complain, though--they mighty near 'ad it off."
+
+"Ho!"
+
+"Yeas; an' compared with what 'twas, 'tes almost so gude as nu."
+
+"They've put a bandage of splendid stuff on mine."
+
+"The maid she picks et.  She'm a gude maid wi' the flowers.  There's
+folks zeem to know the healin' in things.  My mother was a rare one for
+that.  'Ope as yu'll zune be better, zurr.  Goo ahn, therr!"
+
+Ashurst smiled.  "Wi' the flowers!"  A flower herself!
+
+That evening, after his supper of cold duck, junket, and cider, the girl
+came in.
+
+"Please, auntie says--will you try a piece of our Mayday cake?"
+
+"If I may come to the kitchen for it."
+
+"Oh, yes!  You'll be missing your friend."
+
+"Not I.  But are you sure no one minds?"
+
+"Who would mind?  We shall be very pleased."
+
+Ashurst rose too suddenly for his stiff knee, staggered, and subsided.
+The girl gave a little gasp, and held out her hands. Ashurst took them,
+small, rough, brown; checked his impulse to put them to his lips, and let
+her pull him up.  She came close beside him, offering her shoulder.  And
+leaning on her he walked across the room.  That shoulder seemed quite the
+pleasantest thing he had ever touched.  But, he had presence of mind
+enough to catch his stick out of the rack, and withdraw his hand before
+arriving at the kitchen.
+
+That night he slept like a top, and woke with his knee of almost normal
+size.  He again spent the morning in his chair on the grass patch,
+scribbling down verses; but in the afternoon he wandered about with the
+two little boys Nick and Rick.  It was Saturday, so they were early home
+from school; quick, shy, dark little rascals of seven and six, soon
+talkative, for Ashurst had a way with children.  By four o'clock they had
+shown him all their methods of destroying life, except the tickling of
+trout; and with breeches tucked up, lay on their stomachs over the trout
+stream, pretending they had this accomplishment also.  They tickled
+nothing, of course, for their giggling and shouting scared every spotted
+thing away.  Ashurst, on a rock at the edge of the beech clump, watched
+them, and listened to the cuckoos, till Nick, the elder and less
+persevering, came up and stood beside him.
+
+"The gipsy bogle zets on that stone," he said.
+
+"What gipsy bogie?"
+
+"Dunno; never zeen 'e.  Megan zays 'e zets there; an' old Jim zeed 'e
+once.  'E was zettin' there naight afore our pony kicked--in father's
+'ead.  'E plays the viddle."
+
+"What tune does he play?"
+
+"Dunno."
+
+"What's he like?"
+
+"'E's black.  Old Jim zays 'e's all over 'air.  'E's a praaper bogle. 'E
+don' come only at naight."  The little boy's oblique dark eyes slid
+round.  "D'yu think 'e might want to take me away?  Megan's feared of
+'e."
+
+"Has she seen him?"
+
+"No.  She's not afeared o' yu."
+
+"I should think not.  Why should she be?"
+
+"She zays a prayer for yu."
+
+"How do you know that, you little rascal?"
+
+"When I was asleep, she said: 'God bless us all, an' Mr. Ashes.'  I yeard
+'er whisperin'."
+
+"You're a little ruffian to tell what you hear when you're not meant to
+hear it!"
+
+The little boy was silent.  Then he said aggressively:
+
+"I can skin rabbets.  Megan, she can't bear skinnin' 'em.  I like blood."
+
+"Oh! you do; you little monster!"
+
+"What's that?"
+
+"A creature that likes hurting others."
+
+The little boy scowled.  "They'm only dead rabbets, what us eats."
+
+"Quite right, Nick.  I beg your pardon."
+
+"I can skin frogs, tu."
+
+But Ashurst had become absent.  "God bless us all, and Mr. Ashes!" And
+puzzled by that sudden inaccessibility, Nick ran back to the stream where
+the giggling and shouts again uprose at once.
+
+When Megan brought his tea, he said:
+
+"What's the gipsy bogle, Megan?"
+
+She looked up, startled.
+
+"He brings bad things."
+
+"Surely you don't believe in ghosts?"
+
+"I hope I will never see him."
+
+"Of course you won't.  There aren't such things.  What old Jim saw was a
+pony."
+
+"No!  There are bogies in the rocks; they are the men who lived long
+ago."
+
+"They aren't gipsies, anyway; those old men were dead long before gipsies
+came."
+
+She said simply: "They are all bad."
+
+"Why?  If there are any, they're only wild, like the rabbits.  The
+flowers aren't bad for being wild; the thorn trees were never
+planted--and you don't mind them.  I shall go down at night and look for
+your bogie, and have a talk with him."
+
+"Oh, no!  Oh, no!"
+
+"Oh, yes!  I shall go and sit on his rock."
+
+She clasped her hands together: "Oh, please!"
+
+"Why!  What 'does it matter if anything happens to me?"
+
+She did not answer; and in a sort of pet he added:
+
+"Well, I daresay I shan't see him, because I suppose I must be off soon."
+
+"Soon?"
+
+"Your aunt won't want to keep me here."
+
+"Oh, yes!  We always let lodgings in summer."
+
+Fixing his eyes on her face, he asked:
+
+"Would you like me to stay?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I'm going to say a prayer for you to-night!"
+
+She flushed crimson, frowned, and went out of the room.  He sat, cursing
+himself, till his tea was stewed.  It was as if he had hacked with his
+thick boots at a clump of bluebells.  Why had he said such a silly thing?
+Was he just a towny college ass like Robert Garton, as far from
+understanding this girl?
+
+Ashurst spent the next week confirming the restoration of his leg, by
+exploration of the country within easy reach.  Spring was a revelation to
+him this year.  In a kind of intoxication he would watch the pink-white
+buds of some backward beech tree sprayed up in the sunlight against the
+deep blue sky, or the trunks and limbs of the few Scotch firs, tawny in
+violent light, or again, on the moor, the gale-bent larches which had
+such a look of life when the wind streamed in their young green, above
+the rusty black underboughs.  Or he would lie on the banks, gazing at the
+clusters of dog-violets, or up in the dead bracken, fingering the pink,
+transparent buds of the dewberry, while the cuckoos called and yafes
+laughed, or a lark, from very high, dripped its beads of song.  It was
+certainly different from any spring he had ever known, for spring was
+within him, not without.  In the daytime he hardly saw the family; and
+when Megan brought in his meals she always seemed too busy in the house
+or among the young things in the yard to stay talking long.  But in the
+evenings he installed himself in the window seat in the kitchen, smoking
+and chatting with the lame man Jim, or Mrs. Narracombe, while the girl
+sewed, or moved about, clearing the supper things away.  And sometimes,
+with the sensation a cat must feel when it purrs, he would become
+conscious that Megan's eyes--those dew-grey eyes--were fixed on him with
+a sort of lingering soft look which was strangely flattering.
+
+It was on Sunday week in the evening, when he was lying in the orchard
+listening to a blackbird and composing a love poem, that he heard the
+gate swing to, and saw the girl come running among the trees, with the
+red-cheeked, stolid Joe in swift pursuit.  About twenty yards away the
+chase ended, and the two stood fronting each other, not noticing the
+stranger in the grass--the boy pressing on, the girl fending him off.
+Ashurst could see her face, angry, disturbed; and the youth's--who would
+have thought that red-faced yokel could look so distraught!  And
+painfully affected by that sight, he jumped up.  They saw him then.
+Megan dropped her hands, and shrank behind a tree trunk; the boy gave an
+angry grunt, rushed at the bank, scrambled over and vanished.  Ashurst
+went slowly up to her.  She was standing quite still, biting her lip-very
+pretty, with her fine, dark hair blown loose about her face, and her eyes
+cast down.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he said.
+
+She gave him one upward look, from eyes much dilated; then, catching her
+breath, turned away.  Ashurst followed.
+
+"Megan!"
+
+But she went on; and taking hold of her arm, he turned her gently round
+to him.
+
+"Stop and speak to me."
+
+"Why do you beg my pardon?  It is not to me you should do that."
+
+"Well, then, to Joe."
+
+"How dare he come after me?"
+
+"In love with you, I suppose."
+
+She stamped her foot.
+
+Ashurst uttered a short laugh.  "Would you like me to punch his head?"
+
+She cried with sudden passion:
+
+"You laugh at me-you laugh at us!"
+
+He caught hold of her hands, but she shrank back, till her passionate
+little face and loose dark hair were caught among the pink clusters of
+the apple blossom.  Ashurst raised one of her imprisoned hands and put
+his lips to it.  He felt how chivalrous he was, and superior to that clod
+Joe--just brushing that small, rough hand with his mouth I Her shrinking
+ceased suddenly; she seemed to tremble towards him.  A sweet warmth
+overtook Ashurst from top to toe.  This slim maiden, so simple and fine
+and pretty, was pleased, then, at the touch of his lips!  And, yielding
+to a swift impulse, he put his arms round her, pressed her to him, and
+kissed her forehead.  Then he was frightened--she went so pale, closing
+her eyes, so that the long, dark lashes lay on her pale cheeks; her
+hands, too, lay inert at her sides.  The touch of her breast sent a
+shiver through him.  "Megan!"  he sighed out, and let her go.  In the
+utter silence a blackbird shouted.  Then the girl seized his hand, put it
+to her cheek, her heart, her lips, kissed it passionately, and fled away
+among the mossy trunks of the apple trees, till they hid her from him.
+
+Ashurst sat down on a twisted old tree growing almost along the ground,
+and, all throbbing and bewildered, gazed vacantly at the blossom which
+had crowned her hair--those pink buds with one white open apple star.
+What had he done?  How had he let himself be thus stampeded by
+beauty--pity--or--just the spring!  He felt curiously happy, all the
+same; happy and triumphant, with shivers running through his limbs, and a
+vague alarm.  This was the beginning of--what?  The midges bit him, the
+dancing gnats tried to fly into his mouth, and all the spring around him
+seemed to grow more lovely and alive; the songs of the cuckoos and the
+blackbirds, the laughter of the yaflies, the level-slanting sunlight, the
+apple blossom which had crowned her head!  He got up from the old trunk
+and strode out of the orchard, wanting space, an open sky, to get on
+terms with these new sensations.  He made for the moor, and from an ash
+tree in the hedge a magpie flew out to herald him.
+
+Of man--at any age from five years on--who can say he has never been in
+love?  Ashurst had loved his partners at his dancing class; loved his
+nursery governess; girls in school-holidays; perhaps never been quite out
+of love, cherishing always some more or less remote admiration.  But this
+was different, not remote at all.  Quite a new sensation; terribly
+delightful, bringing a sense of completed manhood.  To be holding in his
+fingers such a wild flower, to be able to put it to his lips, and feel it
+tremble with delight against them!  What intoxication, and--embarrassment!
+What to do with it--how meet her next time?  His first caress had been
+cool, pitiful; but the next could not be, now that, by her burning little
+kiss on his hand, by her pressure of it to her heart, he knew that she
+loved him.  Some natures are coarsened by love bestowed on them; others,
+like Ashurst's, are swayed and drawn, warmed and softened, almost
+exalted, by what they feel to be a sort of miracle.
+
+And up there among the tors he was racked between the passionate desire
+to revel in this new sensation of spring fulfilled within him, and a
+vague but very real uneasiness.  At one moment he gave himself up
+completely to his pride at having captured this pretty, trustful,
+dewy-eyed thing!  At the next he thought with factitious solemnity: 'Yes,
+my boy!  But look out what you're doing!  You know what comes of it!'
+
+Dusk dropped down without his noticing--dusk on the carved,
+Assyrian-looking masses of the rocks.  And the voice of Nature said:
+"This is a new world for you!"  As when a man gets up at four o'clock and
+goes out into a summer morning, and beasts, birds, trees stare at him and
+he feels as if all had been made new.
+
+He stayed up there for hours, till it grew cold, then groped his way down
+the stones and heather roots to the road, back into the lane, and came
+again past the wild meadow to the orchard.  There he struck a match and
+looked at his watch.  Nearly twelve!  It was black and unstirring in
+there now, very different from the lingering, bird-befriended brightness
+of six hours ago!  And suddenly he saw this idyll of his with the eyes of
+the outer world--had mental vision of Mrs. Narracombe's snake-like neck
+turned, her quick dark glance taking it all in, her shrewd face
+hardening; saw the gipsy-like cousins coarsely mocking and distrustful;
+Joe stolid and furious; only the lame man, Jim, with the suffering eyes,
+seemed tolerable to his mind.  And the village pub!--the gossiping
+matrons he passed on his walks; and then--his own friends--Robert
+Carton's smile when he went off that morning ten days ago; so ironical
+and knowing!  Disgusting!  For a minute he literally hated this earthy,
+cynical world to which one belonged, willy-nilly.  The gate where he was
+leaning grew grey, a sort of shimmer passed be fore him and spread into
+the bluish darkness. The moon!  He could just see it over the bank be
+hind; red, nearly round-a strange moon!  And turning away, he went up the
+lane which smelled of the night and cowdung and young leaves.  In the
+straw-yard he could see the dark shapes of cattle, broken by the pale
+sickles of their horns, like so many thin moons, fallen ends-up.  He
+unlatched the farm gate stealthily.  All was dark in the house.  Muffling
+his footsteps, he gained the porch, and, blotted against one of the yew
+trees, looked up at Megan's window. It was open.  Was she sleeping, or
+lying awake perhaps, disturbed--unhappy at his absence?  An owl hooted
+while he stood there peering up, and the sound seemed to fill the whole
+night, so quiet was all else, save for the never-ending murmur of the
+stream running below the orchard.  The cuckoos by day, and now the
+owls--how wonderfully they voiced this troubled ecstasy within him!  And
+suddenly he saw her at her window, looking out.  He moved a little from
+the yew tree, and whispered: "Megan!"  She drew back, vanished,
+reappeared, leaning far down.  He stole forward on the grass patch, hit
+his shin against the green-painted chair, and held his breath at the
+sound.  The pale blur of her stretched-down arm and face did not stir; he
+moved the chair, and noiselessly mounted it.  By stretching up his arm he
+could just reach.  Her hand held the huge key of the front door, and he
+clasped that burning hand with the cold key in it.  He could just see her
+face, the glint of teeth between her lips, her tumbled hair.  She was
+still dressed--poor child, sitting up for him, no doubt!  "Pretty Megan!"
+Her hot, roughened fingers clung to his; her face had a strange, lost
+look.  To have been able to reach it--even with his hand!  The owl
+hooted, a scent of sweetbriar crept into his nostrils. Then one of the
+farm dogs barked; her grasp relaxed, she shrank back.
+
+"Good-night, Megan!"
+
+"Good-night, sir!"  She was gone!  With a sigh he dropped back to earth,
+and sitting on that chair, took off his boots.  Nothing for it but to
+creep in and go to bed; yet for a long while he sat unmoving, his feet
+chilly in the dew, drunk on the memory of her lost, half-smiling face,
+and the clinging grip of her burning fingers, pressing the cold key into
+his hand.
+
+
+
+
+5
+
+He awoke feeling as if he had eaten heavily overnight, instead of having
+eaten nothing.  And far off, unreal, seemed yesterday's romance!  Yet it
+was a golden morning.  Full spring had burst at last--in one night the
+"goldie-cups," as the little boys called them, seemed to have made the
+field their own, and from his window he could see apple blossoms covering
+the orchard as with a rose and white quilt.  He went down almost dreading
+to see Megan; and yet, when not she but Mrs. Narracombe brought in his
+breakfast, he felt vexed and disappointed.  The woman's quick eye and
+snaky neck seemed to have a new alacrity this morning.  Had she noticed?
+
+"So you an' the moon went walkin' last night, Mr. Ashurst!  Did ye have
+your supper anywheres?"
+
+Ashurst shook his head.
+
+"We kept it for you, but I suppose you was too busy in your brain to
+think o' such a thing as that?"
+
+Was she mocking him, in that voice of hers, which still kept some Welsh
+crispness against the invading burr of the West Country?  If she knew!
+And at that moment he thought: 'No, no; I'll clear out.  I won't put
+myself in such a beastly false position.'
+
+But, after breakfast, the longing to see Megan began and increased with
+every minute, together with fear lest something should have been said to
+her which had spoiled everything.  Sinister that she had not appeared,
+not given him even a glimpse of her!  And the love poem, whose
+manufacture had been so important and absorbing yesterday afternoon under
+the apple trees, now seemed so paltry that he tore it up and rolled it
+into pipe spills.  What had he known of love, till she seized his hand
+and kissed it!  And now--what did he not know?  But to write of it seemed
+mere insipidity!  He went up to his bedroom to get a book, and his heart
+began to beat violently, for she was in there making the bed.  He stood
+in the doorway watching; and suddenly, with turbulent joy, he saw her
+stoop and kiss his pillow, just at the hollow made by his head last
+night.
+
+How let her know he had seen that pretty act of devotion?  And yet, if
+she heard him stealing away, it would be even worse.  She took the pillow
+up, holding it as if reluctant to shake out the impress of his cheek,
+dropped it, and turned round.
+
+"Megan!"
+
+She put her hands up to her cheeks, but her eyes seemed to look right
+into him.  He had never before realised the depth and purity and touching
+faithfulness in those dew-bright eyes, and he stammered:
+
+"It was sweet of you to wait up for me last night."
+
+She still said nothing, and he stammered on:
+
+"I was wandering about on the moor; it was such a jolly night.  I--I've
+just come up for a book."
+
+Then, the kiss he had seen her give the pillow afflicted him with sudden
+headiness, and he went up to her.  Touching her eyes with his lips, he
+thought with queer excitement: 'I've done it!  Yesterday all was
+sudden--anyhow; but now--I've done it!' The girl let her forehead rest
+against his lips, which moved downwards till they reached hers. That
+first real lover's kiss-strange, wonderful, still almost innocent--in
+which heart did it make the most disturbance?
+
+"Come to the big apple tree to-night, after they've gone to bed.
+Megan-promise!"
+
+She whispered back: "I promise."
+
+Then, scared at her white face, scared at everything, he let her go, and
+went downstairs again.  Yes!  He had done it now!  Accepted her love,
+declared his own!  He went out to the green chair as devoid of a book as
+ever; and there he sat staring vacantly before him, triumphant and
+remorseful, while under his nose and behind his back the work of the farm
+went on.  How long he had been sitting in that curious state of vacancy
+he had no notion when he saw Joe standing a little behind him to the
+right.  The youth had evidently come from hard work in the fields, and
+stood shifting his feet, breathing loudly, his face coloured like a
+setting sun, and his arms, below the rolled-up sleeves of his blue shirt,
+showing the hue and furry sheen of ripe peaches.  His red lips were open,
+his blue eyes with their flaxen lashes stared fixedly at Ashurst, who
+said ironically:
+
+"Well, Joe, anything I can do for you?"
+
+"Yeas."
+
+"What, then?"
+
+"Yu can goo away from yere.  Us don' want yu."
+
+Ashurst's face, never too humble, assumed its most lordly look.
+
+"Very good of you, but, do you know, I prefer the others should speak for
+themselves."
+
+The youth moved a pace or two nearer, and the scent of his honest heat
+afflicted Ashurst's nostrils.
+
+"What d'yu stay yere for?"
+
+"Because it pleases me."
+
+"Twon't please yu when I've bashed yure head in!"
+
+"Indeed!  When would you like to begin that?"
+
+Joe answered only with the loudness of his breathing, but his eyes looked
+like those of a young and angry bull.  Then a sort of spasm seemed to
+convulse his face.
+
+"Megan don' want yu."
+
+A rush of jealousy, of contempt, and anger with this thick,
+loud-breathing rustic got the better of Ashurst's self-possession; he
+jumped up, and pushed back his chair.
+
+"You can go to the devil!"
+
+And as he said those simple words, he saw Megan in the doorway with a
+tiny brown spaniel puppy in her arms.  She came up to him quickly:
+
+"Its eyes are blue!"  she said.
+
+Joe turned away; the back of his neck was literally crimson.
+
+Ashurst put his finger to the mouth of the little brown bullfrog of a
+creature in her arms.  How cosy it looked against her!
+
+"It's fond of you already.  Ah I Megan, everything is fond of you."
+
+"What was Joe saying to you, please?"
+
+"Telling me to go away, because you didn't want me here."
+
+She stamped her foot; then looked up at Ashurst.  At that adoring look he
+felt his nerves quiver, just as if he had seen a moth scorching its
+wings.
+
+"To-night!"  he said.  "Don't forget!"
+
+"No."  And smothering her face against the puppy's little fat, brown
+body, she slipped back into the house.
+
+Ashurst wandered down the lane.  At the gate of the wild meadow he came
+on the lame man and his cows.
+
+"Beautiful day, Jim!"
+
+"Ah!  'Tes brave weather for the grass.  The ashes be later than th' oaks
+this year.  'When th' oak before th' ash---'"
+
+Ashurst said idly: "Where were you standing when you saw the gipsy bogie,
+Jim?"
+
+"It might be under that big apple tree, as you might say."
+
+"And you really do think it was there?"
+
+The lame man answered cautiously:
+
+"I shouldn't like to say rightly that 't was there.  'Twas in my mind as
+'twas there."
+
+"What do you make of it?"
+
+The lame man lowered his voice.
+
+"They du zay old master, Mist' Narracombe come o' gipsy stock.  But
+that's tellin'.  They'm a wonderful people, yu know, for claimin' their
+own.  Maybe they knu 'e was goin', and sent this feller along for
+company.  That's what I've a-thought about it."
+
+"What was he like?"
+
+"'E 'ad 'air all over 'is face, an' goin' like this, he was, zame as if
+'e 'ad a viddle.  They zay there's no such thing as bogies, but I've
+a-zeen the 'air on this dog standin' up of a dark naight, when I couldn'
+zee nothin', meself."
+
+"Was there a moon?"
+
+"Yeas, very near full, but 'twas on'y just risen, gold-like be'ind them
+trees."
+
+"And you think a ghost means trouble, do you?"
+
+The lame man pushed his hat up; his aspiring eyes looked at Ashurst more
+earnestly than ever.
+
+"'Tes not for me to zay that but 'tes they bein' so unrestin'like.
+There's things us don' understand, that's zartin, for zure.  There's
+people that zee things, tu, an' others that don't never zee nothin'. Now,
+our Joe--yu might putt anything under'is eyes an e'd never zee it; and
+them other boys, tu, they'm rattlin' fellers.  But yu take an' putt our
+Megan where there's suthin', she'll zee it, an' more tu, or I'm
+mistaken."
+
+"She's sensitive, that's why."
+
+"What's that?"
+
+"I mean, she feels everything."
+
+"Ah!  She'm very lovin'-'earted."
+
+Ashurst, who felt colour coming into his cheeks, held out his tobacco
+pouch.
+
+"Have a fill, Jim?"
+
+"Thank 'ee, sir.  She'm one in an 'underd, I think."
+
+"I expect so," said Ashurst shortly, and folding up his pouch, walked on.
+
+"Lovin'-hearted!"  Yes!  And what was he doing?  What were his
+intentions--as they say towards this loving-hearted girl?  The thought
+dogged him, wandering through fields bright with buttercups, where the
+little red calves were feeding, and the swallows flying high. Yes, the
+oaks were before the ashes, brown-gold already; every tree in different
+stage and hue.  The cuckoos and a thousand birds were singing; the little
+streams were very bright.  The ancients believed in a golden age, in the
+garden of the Hesperides!...  A queen wasp settled on his sleeve.  Each
+queen wasp killed meant two thousand fewer wasps to thieve the apples
+which would grow from that blossom in the orchard; but who, with love in
+his heart, could kill anything on a day like this?  He entered a field
+where a young red bull was feeding.  It seemed to Ashurst that he looked
+like Joe.  But the young bull took no notice of this visitor, a little
+drunk himself, perhaps, on the singing and the glamour of the golden
+pasture, under his short legs.  Ashurst crossed out unchallenged to the
+hillside above the stream.  From that slope a for mounted to its crown of
+rocks.  The ground there was covered with a mist of bluebells, and nearly
+a score of crab-apple trees were in full bloom.  He threw himself down on
+the grass.  The change from the buttercup glory and oak-goldened glamour
+of the fields to this ethereal beauty under the grey for filled him with
+a sort of wonder; nothing the same, save the sound of running water and
+the songs of the cuckoos.  He lay there a long time, watching the
+sunlight wheel till the crab-trees threw shadows over the bluebells, his
+only companions a few wild bees.  He was not quite sane, thinking of that
+morning's kiss, and of to-night under the apple tree.  In such a spot as
+this, fauns and dryads surely lived; nymphs, white as the crab-apple
+blossom, retired within those trees; fauns, brown as the dead bracken,
+with pointed ears, lay in wait for them.  The cuckoos were still calling
+when he woke, there was the sound of running water; but the sun had
+couched behind the tor, the hillside was cool, and some rabbits had come
+out. 'Tonight!' he thought.  Just as from the earth everything was
+pushing up, unfolding under the soft insistent fingers of an unseen hand,
+so were his heart and senses being pushed, unfolded.  He got up and broke
+off a spray from a crab-apple tree.  The buds were like
+Megan--shell-like, rose-pink, wild, and fresh; and so, too, the opening
+flowers, white, and wild; and touching.  He put the spray into his coat.
+And all the rush of the spring within him escaped in a triumphant sigh.
+But the rabbits scurried away.
+
+
+
+
+6
+
+It was nearly eleven that night when Ashurst put down the pocket
+"Odyssey" which for half an hour he had held in his hands without
+reading, and slipped through the yard down to the orchard.  The moon had
+just risen, very golden, over the hill, and like a bright, powerful,
+watching spirit peered through the bars of an ash tree's half-naked
+boughs.  In among the apple trees it was still dark, and he stood making
+sure of his direction, feeling the rough grass with his feet.  A black
+mass close behind him stirred with a heavy grunting sound, and three
+large pigs settled down again close to each other, under the wall.  He
+listened.  There was no wind, but the stream's burbling whispering
+chuckle had gained twice its daytime strength.  One bird, he could not
+tell what, cried "Pippip," "Pip-pip," with perfect monotony; he could
+hear a night-Jar spinning very far off; an owl hooting.  Ashurst moved a
+step or two, and again halted, aware of a dim living whiteness all round
+his head.  On the dark unstirring trees innumerable flowers and buds all
+soft and blurred were being bewitched to life by the creeping moonlight.
+He had the oddest feeling of actual companionship, as if a million white
+moths or spirits had floated in and settled between dark sky and darker
+ground, and were opening and shutting their wings on a level with his
+eyes.  In the bewildering, still, scentless beauty of that moment he
+almost lost memory of why he had come to the orchard.  The flying glamour
+which had clothed the earth all day had not gone now that night had
+fallen, but only changed into this new form.  He moved on through the
+thicket of stems and boughs covered with that live powdering whiteness,
+till he reached the big apple tree.  No mistaking that, even in the dark,
+nearly twice the height and size of any other, and leaning out towards
+the open meadows and the stream. Under the thick branches he stood still
+again, to listen.  The same sounds exactly, and a faint grunting from the
+sleepy pigs.  He put his hands on the dry, almost warm tree trunk, whose
+rough mossy surface gave forth a peaty scent at his touch.  Would she
+come--would she?  And among these quivering, haunted, moon-witched trees
+he was seized with doubts of everything!  All was unearthly here, fit for
+no earthly lovers; fit only for god and goddess, faun and nymph not for
+him and this little country girl.  Would it not be almost a relief if she
+did not come?  But all the time he was listening.  And still that unknown
+bird went "Pip-pip," "Pip-pip," and there rose the busy chatter of the
+little trout stream, whereon the moon was flinging glances through the
+bars of her tree-prison.  The blossom on a level with his eyes seemed to
+grow more living every moment, seemed with its mysterious white beauty
+more and more a part of his suspense.  He plucked a fragment and held it
+close--three blossoms.  Sacrilege to pluck fruit-tree blossom--soft,
+sacred, young blossom--and throw it away!  Then suddenly he heard the
+gate close, the pigs stirring again and grunting; and leaning against the
+trunk, he pressed his hands to its mossy sides behind him, and held his
+breath.  She might have been a spirit threading the trees, for all the
+noise she made!  Then he saw her quite close--her dark form part of a
+little tree, her white face part of its blossom; so still, and peering
+towards him. He whispered: "Megan!" and held out his hands. She ran
+forward, straight to his breast.  When he felt her heart beating against
+him, Ashurst knew to the full the sensations of chivalry and passion.
+Because she was not of his world, because she was so simple and young and
+headlong, adoring and defenceless, how could he be other than her
+protector, in the dark!  Because she was all simple Nature and beauty, as
+much a part of this spring night as was the living blossom, how should he
+not take all that she would give him how not fulfil the spring in her
+heart and his!  And torn between these two emotions he clasped her close,
+and kissed her hair.  How long they stood there without speaking he knew
+not.  The stream went on chattering, the owls hooting, the moon kept
+stealing up and growing whiter; the blossom all round them and above
+brightened in suspense of living beauty.  Their lips had sought each
+other's, and they did not speak.  The moment speech began all would be
+unreal!  Spring has no speech, nothing but rustling and whispering.
+Spring has so much more than speech in its unfolding flowers and leaves,
+and the coursing of its streams, and in its sweet restless seeking!  And
+sometimes spring will come alive, and, like a mysterious Presence stand,
+encircling lovers with its arms, laying on them the fingers of
+enchantment, so that, standing lips to lips, they forget everything but
+just a kiss.  While her heart beat against him, and her lips quivered on
+his, Ashurst felt nothing but simple rapture--Destiny meant her for his
+arms, Love could not be flouted!  But when their lips parted for breath,
+division began again at once.  Only, passion now was so much the
+stronger, and he sighed:
+
+"Oh!  Megan!  Why did you come?"  She looked up, hurt, amazed.
+
+"Sir, you asked me to."
+
+"Don't call me 'sir,' my pretty sweet."  "What should I be callin" you?"
+
+"Frank."
+
+"I could not.  Oh, no!"
+
+"But you love me--don't you?"
+
+"I could not help lovin' you.  I want to be with you--that's all."
+
+"All!"
+
+So faint that he hardly heard, she whispered: "I shall die if I can't be
+with you."
+
+Ashurst took a mighty breath.
+
+"Come and be with me, then!"
+
+"Oh!"
+
+Intoxicated by the awe and rapture in that "Oh!" he went on, whispering:
+
+"We'll go to London.  I'll show you the world.
+
+"And I will take care of you, I promise, Megan.  I'll never be a brute to
+you!"
+
+"If I can be with you--that is all."
+
+He stroked her hair, and whispered on:
+
+"To-morrow I'll go to Torquay and get some money, and get you some
+clothes that won't be noticed, and then we'll steal away.  And when we
+get to London, soon perhaps, if you love me well enough, we'll be
+married."
+
+He could feel her hair shiver with the shake of her head.
+
+"Oh, no!  I could not.  I only want to be with you!"
+
+Drunk on his own chivalry, Ashurst went on murmuring, "It's I who am not
+good enough for you.  Oh!  Megan, when did you begin to love me?"
+
+"When I saw you in the road, and you looked at me.  The first night I
+loved you; but I never thought you would want me."
+
+She slipped down suddenly to her knees, trying to kiss his feet.
+
+A shiver of horror went through Ashurst; he lifted her up bodily and held
+her fast--too upset to speak.
+
+She whispered: "Why won't you let me?"
+
+"It's I who will kiss your feet!"
+
+Her smile brought tears into his eyes.  The whiteness of her moonlit face
+so close to his, the faint pink of her opened lips, had the living
+unearthly beauty of the apple blossom.
+
+And then, suddenly, her eyes widened and stared past him painfully; she
+writhed out of his arms, and whispered: "Look!"
+
+Ashurst saw nothing but the brightened stream, the furze faintly gilded,
+the beech trees glistening, and behind them all the wide loom of the
+moonlit hill.  Behind him came her frozen whisper: "The gipsy bogie!"
+
+"Where?"
+
+"There--by the stone--under the trees!"
+
+Exasperated, he leaped the stream, and strode towards the beech clump.
+Prank of the moonlight!  Nothing!  In and out of the boulders and thorn
+trees, muttering and cursing, yet with a kind of terror, he rushed and
+stumbled.  Absurd!  Silly!  Then he went back to the apple tree.  But she
+was gone; he could hear a rustle, the grunting of the pigs, the sound of
+a gate closing.  Instead of her, only this old apple tree!  He flung his
+arms round the trunk.  What a substitute for her soft body; the rough
+moss against his face--what a substitute for her soft cheek; only the
+scent, as of the woods, a little the same!  And above him, and around,
+the blossoms, more living, more moonlit than ever, seemed to glow and
+breathe.
+
+
+
+
+7
+
+Descending from the train at Torquay station, Ashurst wandered
+uncertainly along the front, for he did not know this particular queen of
+English watering places.  Having little sense of what he had on, he was
+quite unconscious of being remarkable among its inhabitants, and strode
+along in his rough Norfolk jacket, dusty boots, and battered hat, without
+observing that people gazed at him rather blankly.  He was seeking a
+branch of his London bank, and having found one, found also the first
+obstacle to his mood.  Did he know anyone in Torquay?  No.  In that case,
+if he would wire to his bank in London, they would be happy to oblige him
+on receipt of the reply.  That suspicious breath from the matter-of-fact
+world somewhat tarnished the brightness of his visions.  But he sent the
+telegram.
+
+Nearly opposite to the post office he saw a shop full of ladies'
+garments, and examined the window with strange sensations.  To have to
+undertake the clothing of his rustic love was more than a little
+disturbing.  He went in.  A young woman came forward; she had blue eyes
+and a faintly puzzled forehead.  Ashurst stared at her in silence.
+
+"Yes, sir?"
+
+"I want a dress for a young lady."
+
+The young woman smiled.  Ashurst frowned the peculiarity of his request
+struck him with sudden force.
+
+The young woman added hastily:
+
+"What style would you like--something modish?"
+
+"No.  Simple."
+
+"What figure would the young lady be?"
+
+"I don't know; about two inches shorter than you, I should say."
+
+"Could you give me her waist measurement?"
+
+Megan's waist!
+
+"Oh! anything usual!"
+
+"Quite!"
+
+While she was gone he stood disconsolately eyeing the models in the
+window, and suddenly it seemed to him incredible that Megan--his Megan
+could ever be dressed save in the rough tweed skirt, coarse blouse, and
+tam-o'-shanter cap he was wont to see her in.  The young woman had come
+back with several dresses in her arms, and Ashurst eyed her laying them
+against her own modish figure.  There was one whose colour he liked, a
+dove-grey, but to imagine Megan clothed in it was beyond him.  The young
+woman went away, and brought some more. But on Ashurst there had now come
+a feeling of paralysis.  How choose?  She would want a hat too, and
+shoes, and gloves; and, suppose, when he had got them all, they
+commonised her, as Sunday clothes always commonised village folk!  Why
+should she not travel as she was?  Ah!  But conspicuousness would matter;
+this was a serious elopement.  And, staring at the young woman, he
+thought: 'I wonder if she guesses, and thinks me a blackguard?'
+
+"Do you mind putting aside that grey one for me?"  he said desperately at
+last.  "I can't decide now; I'll come in again this afternoon."
+
+The young woman sighed.
+
+"Oh! certainly.  It's a very tasteful costume.  I don't think you'll get
+anything that will suit your purpose better."
+
+"I expect not," Ashurst murmured, and went out.
+
+Freed again from the suspicious matter-of-factness of the world, he took
+a long breath, and went back to visions.  In fancy he saw the trustful,
+pretty creature who was going to join her life to his; saw himself and
+her stealing forth at night, walking over the moor under the moon, he
+with his arm round her, and carrying her new garments, till, in some
+far-off wood, when dawn was coming, she would slip off her old things and
+put on these, and an early train at a distant station would bear them
+away on their honeymoon journey, till London swallowed them up, and the
+dreams of love came true.
+
+"Frank Ashurst!  Haven't seen you since Rugby, old chap!"
+
+Ashurst's frown dissolved; the face, close to his own, was blue-eyed,
+suffused with sun--one of those faces where sun from within and without
+join in a sort of lustre.  And he answered:
+
+"Phil Halliday, by Jove!"
+
+"What are you doing here?"
+
+"Oh! nothing.  Just looking round, and getting some money.  I'm staying
+on the moor."
+
+"Are you lunching anywhere?  Come and lunch with us; I'm here with my
+young sisters.  They've had measles."
+
+Hooked in by that friendly arm Ashurst went along, up a hill, down a
+hill, away out of the town, while the voice of Halliday, redolent of
+optimism as his face was of sun, explained how "in this mouldy place the
+only decent things were the bathing and boating," and so on, till
+presently they came to a crescent of houses a little above and back from
+the sea, and into the centre one an hotel--made their way.
+
+"Come up to my room and have a wash.  Lunch'll be ready in a jiffy."
+
+Ashurst contemplated his visage in a looking-glass.  After his farmhouse
+bedroom, the comb and one spare shirt regime of the last fortnight, this
+room littered with clothes and brushes was a sort of Capua; and he
+thought: 'Queer--one doesn't realise But what--he did not quite know.
+
+When he followed Halliday into the sitting room for lunch, three faces,
+very fair and blue-eyed, were turned suddenly at the words: "This is
+Frank Ashurst my young sisters."
+
+Two were indeed young, about eleven and ten.  The third was perhaps
+seventeen, tall and fair-haired too, with pink-and-white cheeks just
+touched by the sun, and eyebrows, rather darker than the hair, running a
+little upwards from her nose to their outer points.  The voices of all
+three were like Halliday's, high and cheerful; they stood up straight,
+shook hands with a quick movement, looked at Ashurst critically, away
+again at once, and began to talk of what they were going to do in the
+afternoon.  A regular Diana and attendant nymphs!  After the farm this
+crisp, slangy, eager talk, this cool, clean, off-hand refinement, was
+queer at first, and then so natural that what he had come from became
+suddenly remote.  The names of the two little ones seemed to be Sabina
+and Freda; of the eldest, Stella.
+
+Presently the one called Sabina turned to him and said:
+
+"I say, will you come shrimping with us?--it's awful fun!"
+
+Surprised by this unexpected friendliness, Ashurst murmured:
+
+"I'm afraid I've got to get back this afternoon."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"Can't you put it off?"
+
+Ashurst turned to the new speaker, Stella, shook his head, and smiled.
+She was very pretty!  Sabina said regretfully: "You might!" Then the talk
+switched off to caves and swimming.
+
+"Can you swim far?"
+
+"About two miles."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"I say!"
+
+"How jolly!"
+
+The three pairs of blue eyes, fixed on him, made him conscious of his new
+importance--The sensation was agreeable.  Halliday said:
+
+"I say, you simply must stop and have a bathe.  You'd better stay the
+night."
+
+"Yes, do!"'
+
+But again Ashurst smiled and shook his head.  Then suddenly he found
+himself being catechised about his physical achievements.  He had
+rowed--it seemed--in his college boat, played in his college football
+team, won his college mile; and he rose from table a sort of hero. The
+two little girls insisted that he must see "their" cave, and they set
+forth chattering like magpies, Ashurst between them, Stella and her
+brother a little behind.  In the cave, damp and darkish like any other
+cave, the great feature was a pool with possibility of creatures which
+might be caught and put into bottles.  Sabina and Freda, who wore no
+stockings on their shapely brown legs, exhorted Ashurst to join them in
+the middle of it, and help sieve the water. He too was soon bootless and
+sockless.  Time goes fast for one who has a sense of beauty, when there
+are pretty children in a pool and a young Diana on the edge, to receive
+with wonder anything you can catch!  Ashurst never had much sense of
+time.  It was a shock when, pulling out his watch, he saw it was well
+past three.  No cashing his cheque to-day-the bank would be closed before
+he could get there. Watching his expression, the little girls cried out
+at once:
+
+"Hurrah!  Now you'll have to stay!"
+
+Ashurst did not answer.  He was seeing again Megan's face, when at
+breakfast time he had whispered: "I'm going to Torquay, darling, to get
+everything; I shall be back this evening.  If it's fine we can go
+to-night.  Be ready."  He was seeing again how she quivered and hung on
+his words.  What would she think?  Then he pulled himself together,
+conscious suddenly of the calm scrutiny of this other young girl, so tall
+and fair and Diana-like, at the edge of the pool, of her wondering blue
+eyes under those brows which slanted up a little. If they knew what was
+in his mind--if they knew that this very night he had meant!  Well, there
+would be a little sound of disgust, and he would be alone in the cave.
+And with a curious mixture of anger, chagrin, and shame, he put his watch
+back into his pocket and said abruptly:
+
+"Yes; I'm dished for to-day."
+
+"Hurrah!  Now you can bathe with us."
+
+It was impossible not to succumb a little to the contentment of these
+pretty children, to the smile on Stella's lips, to Halliday's "Ripping,
+old chap!  I can lend you things for the night!" But again a spasm of
+longing and remorse throbbed through Ashurst, and he said moodily:
+
+"I must send a wire!"
+
+The attractions of the pool palling, they went back to the hotel. Ashurst
+sent his wire, addressing it to Mrs. Narracombe: "Sorry, detained for the
+night, back to-morrow."  Surely Megan would understand that he had too
+much to do; and his heart grew lighter. It was a lovely afternoon, warm,
+the sea calm and blue, and swimming his great passion; the favour of
+these pretty children flattered him, the pleasure of looking at them, at
+Stella, at Halliday's sunny face; the slight unreality, yet extreme
+naturalness of it all--as of a last peep at normality before he took this
+plunge with Megan!  He got his borrowed bathing dress, and they all set
+forth.  Halliday and he undressed behind one rock, the three girls behind
+another.  He was first into the sea, and at once swam out with the
+bravado of justifying his self-given reputation.  When he turned he could
+see Halliday swimming along shore, and the girls flopping and dipping,
+and riding the little waves, in the way he was accustomed to despise, but
+now thought pretty and sensible, since it gave him the distinction of the
+only deep-water fish.  But drawing near, he wondered if they would like
+him, a stranger, to come into their splashing group; he felt shy,
+approaching that slim nymph.  Then Sabina summoned him to teach her to
+float, and between them the little girls kept him so busy that he had no
+time even to notice whether Stella was accustomed to his presence, till
+suddenly he heard a startled sound from her: She was standing submerged
+to the waist, leaning a little forward, her slim white arms stretched out
+and pointing, her wet face puckered by the sun and an expression of fear.
+
+"Look at Phil!  Is he all right?  Oh, look!"
+
+Ashurst saw at once that Phil was not all right.  He was splashing and
+struggling out of his depth, perhaps a hundred yards away; suddenly he
+gave a cry, threw up his arms, and went down.  Ashurst saw the girl
+launch herself towards him, and crying out: "Go back, Stella!  Go back!"
+he dashed out.  He had never swum so fast, and reached Halliday just as
+he was coming up a second time.  It was a case of cramp, but to get him
+in was not difficult, for he did not struggle.  The girl, who had stopped
+where Ashurst told her to, helped as soon as he was in his depth, and
+once on the beach they sat down one on each side of him to rub his limbs,
+while the little ones stood by with scared faces.  Halliday was soon
+smiling.  It was--he said--rotten of him, absolutely rotten!  If Frank
+would give him an arm, he could get to his clothes all right now.
+Ashurst gave him the arm, and as he did so caught sight of Stella's face,
+wet and flushed and tearful, all broken up out of its calm; and he
+thought: 'I called her Stella!  Wonder if she minded?'
+
+While they were dressing, Halliday said quietly, "You saved my life, old
+chap!"
+
+"Rot!"
+
+Clothed, but not quite in their right minds, they went up all together to
+the hotel and sat down to tea, except Halliday, who was lying down in his
+room.  After some slices of bread and jam, Sabina said:
+
+"I say, you know, you are a brick!"  And Freda chimed in:
+
+"Rather!"
+
+Ashurst saw Stella looking down; he got up in confusion, and went to the
+window.  From there he heard Sabina mutter: "I say, let's swear blood
+bond.  Where's your knife, Freda?"  and out of the corner of his eye
+could see each of them solemnly prick herself, squeeze out a drop of
+blood and dabble on a bit of paper.  He turned and made for the door.
+
+"Don't be a stoat!  Come back!"  His arms were seized; imprisoned between
+the little girls he was brought back to the table.  On it lay a piece of
+paper with an effigy drawn in blood, and the three names Stella Halliday,
+Sabina Halliday, Freda Halliday--also in blood, running towards it like
+the rays of a star.  Sabina said:
+
+"That's you.  We shall have to kiss you, you know."
+
+And Freda echoed:
+
+"Oh!  Blow--Yes!"
+
+Before Ashurst could escape, some wettish hair dangled against his face,
+something like a bite descended on his nose, he felt his left arm
+pinched, and other teeth softly searching his cheek.  Then he was
+released, and Freda said:
+
+"Now, Stella."
+
+Ashurst, red and rigid, looked across the table at a red and rigid
+Stella.  Sabina giggled; Freda cried:
+
+"Buck up--it spoils everything!"
+
+A queer, ashamed eagerness shot through Ashurst: then he said quietly:
+
+"Shut up, you little demons!"
+
+Again Sabina giggled.
+
+"Well, then, she can kiss her hand, and you can put it against your nose.
+It is on one side!"
+
+To his amazement the girl did kiss her hand and stretch it out. Solemnly
+he took that cool, slim hand and laid it to his cheek.  The two little
+girls broke into clapping, and Freda said:
+
+"Now, then, we shall have to save your life at any time; that's settled.
+Can I have another cup, Stella, not so beastly weak?" Tea was resumed,
+and Ashurst, folding up the paper, put it in his pocket.  The talk turned
+on the advantages of measles, tangerine oranges, honey in a spoon, no
+lessons, and so forth.  Ashurst listened, silent, exchanging friendly
+looks with Stella, whose face was again of its normal sun-touched pink
+and white.  It was soothing to be so taken to the heart of this jolly
+family, fascinating to watch their faces.  And after tea, while the two
+little girls pressed seaweed, he talked to Stella in the window seat and
+looked at her water-colour sketches.  The whole thing was like a
+pleasurable dream; time and incident hung up, importance and reality
+suspended. Tomorrow he would go back to Megan, with nothing of all this
+left save the paper with the blood of these children, in his pocket.
+Children!  Stella was not quite that--as old as Megan!  Her talk--quick,
+rather hard and shy, yet friendly--seemed to flourish on his silences,
+and about her there was something cool and virginal--a maiden in a bower.
+At dinner, to which Halliday, who had swallowed too much sea-water, did
+not come, Sabina said:
+
+"I'm going to call you Frank."
+
+Freda echoed:
+
+"Frank, Frank, Franky."
+
+Ashurst grinned and bowed.
+
+"Every time Stella calls you Mr. Ashurst, she's got to pay a forfeit.
+It's ridiculous."
+
+Ashurst looked at Stella, who grew slowly red.  Sabina giggled; Freda
+cried:
+
+"She's 'smoking'--'smoking!'--Yah!"
+
+Ashurst reached out to right and left, and grasped some fair hair in each
+hand.
+
+"Look here," he said, "you two!  Leave Stella alone, or I'll tie you
+together!"
+
+Freda gurgled:
+
+"Ouch!  You are a beast!"
+
+Sabina murmured cautiously:
+
+"You call her Stella, you see!"
+
+"Why shouldn't I?  It's a jolly name!"
+
+"All right; we give you leave to!"
+
+Ashurst released the hair.  Stella!  What would she call him--after this?
+But she called him nothing; till at bedtime he said, deliberately:
+
+"Good-night, Stella!"
+
+"Good-night, Mr.----Good-night, Frank!  It was jolly of you, you know!"
+
+"Oh-that!  Bosh!"
+
+Her quick, straight handshake tightened suddenly, and as suddenly became
+slack.
+
+Ashurst stood motionless in the empty sitting-room.  Only last night,
+under the apple tree and the living blossom, he had held Megan to him,
+kissing her eyes and lips.  And he gasped, swept by that rush of
+remembrance.  To-night it should have begun-his life with her who only
+wanted to be with him!  And now, twenty-four hours and more must pass,
+because-of not looking at his watch!  Why had he made friends with this
+family of innocents just when he was saying good-bye to innocence, and
+all the rest of it?  'But I mean to marry her,' he thought; 'I told her
+so!'
+
+He took a candle, lighted it, and went to his bedroom, which was next to
+Halliday's.  His friend's voice called, as he was passing:
+
+"Is that you, old chap?  I say, come in."
+
+He was sitting up in bed, smoking a pipe and reading.
+
+"Sit down a bit."
+
+Ashurst sat down by the open window.
+
+"I've been thinking about this afternoon, you know," said Halliday rather
+suddenly.  "They say you go through all your past.  I didn't. I suppose I
+wasn't far enough gone."
+
+"What did you think of?"
+
+Halliday was silent for a little, then said quietly
+
+"Well, I did think of one thing--rather odd--of a girl at Cambridge that
+I might have--you know; I was glad I hadn't got her on my mind. Anyhow,
+old chap, I owe it to you that I'm here; I should have been in the big
+dark by now.  No more bed, or baccy; no more anything.  I say, what d'you
+suppose happens to us?"
+
+Ashurst murmured:
+
+"Go out like flames, I expect."
+
+"Phew!"
+
+"We may flicker, and cling about a bit, perhaps."
+
+"H'm!  I think that's rather gloomy.  I say, I hope my young sisters have
+been decent to you?"
+
+"Awfully decent."
+
+Halliday put his pipe down, crossed his hands behind his neck, and turned
+his face towards the window.
+
+"They're not bad kids!"  he said.
+
+Watching his friend, lying there, with that smile, and the candle-light
+on his face, Ashurst shuddered.  Quite true!  He might have been lying
+there with no smile, with all that sunny look gone out for ever!  He
+might not have been lying there at all, but "sanded" at the bottom of the
+sea, waiting for resurrection on the ninth day, was it?  And that smile of
+Halliday's seemed to him suddenly something wonderful, as if in it were
+all the difference between life and death--the little flame--the all!  He
+got up, and said softly:
+
+"Well, you ought to sleep, I expect.  Shall I blow out?"
+
+Halliday caught his hand.
+
+"I can't say it, you know; but it must be rotten to be dead.  Good-night,
+old boy!"
+
+Stirred and moved, Ashurst squeezed the hand, and went downstairs. The
+hall door was still open, and he passed out on to the lawn before the
+Crescent.  The stars were bright in a very dark blue sky, and by their
+light some lilacs had that mysterious colour of flowers by night which no
+one can describe.  Ashurst pressed his face against a spray; and before
+his closed eyes Megan started up, with the tiny brown spaniel pup against
+her breast.  "I thought of a girl that I might have you know.  I was glad
+I hadn't got her on my mind!"  He jerked his head away from the lilac,
+and began pacing up and down over the grass, a grey phantom coming to
+substance for a moment in the light from the lamp at either end.  He was
+with her again under the living, breathing white ness of the blossom, the
+stream chattering by, the moon glinting steel-blue on the bathing-pool;
+back in the rapture of his kisses on her upturned face of innocence and
+humble passion, back in the suspense and beauty of that pagan night. He
+stood still once more in the shadow of the lilacs.  Here the sea, not the
+stream, was Night's voice; the sea with its sigh and rustle; no little
+bird, no owl, no night-Jar called or spun; but a piano tinkled, and the
+white houses cut the sky with solid curve, and the scent from the lilacs
+filled the air.  A window of the hotel, high up, was lighted; he saw a
+shadow move across the blind.  And most queer sensations stirred within
+him, a sort of churning, and twining, and turning of a single emotion on
+itself, as though spring and love, bewildered and confused, seeking the
+way, were baffled.  This girl, who had called him Frank, whose hand had
+given his that sudden little clutch, this girl so cool and pure--what
+would she think of such wild, unlawful loving?  He sank down on the
+grass, sitting there cross-legged, with his back to the house, motionless
+as some carved Buddha.  Was he really going to break through innocence,
+and steal?  Sniff the scent out of a wild flower, and--perhaps--throw it
+away? "Of a girl at Cambridge that I might have--you know!"  He put his
+hands to the grass, one on each side, palms downwards, and pressed; it
+was just warm still--the grass, barely moist, soft and firm and friendly.
+'What am I going to do?' he thought.  Perhaps Megan was at her window,
+looking out at the blossom, thinking of him!  Poor little Megan!  'Why
+not?' he thought.  'I love her!  But do I really love her? or do I only
+want her because she is so pretty, and loves me?  What am I going to do?'
+The piano tinkled on, the stars winked; and Ashurst gazed out before him
+at the dark sea, as if spell-bound.  He got up at last, cramped and
+rather chilly.  There was no longer light in any window.  And he went in
+to bed.
+
+Out of a deep and dreamless sleep he was awakened by the sound of
+thumping on the door.  A shrill voice called:
+
+"Hi!  Breakfast's ready."
+
+He jumped up.  Where was he--?  Ah!
+
+He found them already eating marmalade, and sat down in the empty place
+between Stella and Sabina, who, after watching him a little, said:
+
+"I say, do buck up; we're going to start at half-past nine."
+
+"We're going to Berry Head, old chap; you must come!"
+
+Ashurst thought: 'Come!  Impossible.  I shall be getting things and going
+back.'  He looked at Stella.  She said quickly:
+
+"Do come!"
+
+Sabina chimed in:
+
+"It'll be no fun without you."
+
+Freda got up and stood behind his chair.
+
+"You've got to come, or else I'll pull your hair!"
+
+Ashurst thought: 'Well--one day more--to think it over!  One day more!'
+And he said:
+
+"All right!  You needn't tweak my mane!"
+
+"Hurrah!"
+
+At the station he wrote a second telegram to the farm, and then tore it
+up; he could not have explained why.  From Brixham they drove in a very
+little wagonette.  There, squeezed between Sabina and Freda, with his
+knees touching Stella's, they played "Up, Jenkins "; and the gloom he was
+feeling gave way to frolic.  In this one day more to think it over, he
+did not want to think!  They ran races, wrestled, paddled--for to-day
+nobody wanted to bathe--they sang catches, played games, and ate all they
+had brought.  The little girls fell asleep against him on the way back,
+and his knees still touched Stella's in the narrow wagonette.  It seemed
+incredible that thirty hours ago he had never set eyes on any of those
+three flaxen heads.  In the train he talked to Stella of poetry,
+discovering her favourites, and telling her his own with a pleasing sense
+of superiority; till suddenly she said, rather low:
+
+"Phil says you don't believe in a future life, Frank.  I think that's
+dreadful."
+
+Disconcerted, Ashurst muttered:
+
+"I don't either believe or not believe--I simply don't know."
+
+She said quickly:
+
+"I couldn't bear that.  What would be the use of living?"
+
+Watching the frown of those pretty oblique brows, Ashurst answered:
+
+"I don't believe in believing things because a one wants to."
+
+"But why should one wish to live again, if one isn't going to?"
+
+And she looked full at him.
+
+He did not want to hurt her, but an itch to dominate pushed him on to
+say:
+
+"While one's alive one naturally wants to go on living for ever; that's
+part of being alive.  But it probably isn't anything more."
+
+"Don't you believe in the Bible at all, then?"
+
+Ashurst thought: 'Now I shall really hurt her!'
+
+"I believe in the Sermon on the Mount, because it's beautiful and good
+for all time."
+
+"But don't you believe Christ was divine?"
+
+He shook his head.
+
+She turned her face quickly to the window, and there sprang into his mind
+Megan's prayer, repeated by little Nick: "God bless us all, and Mr.
+Ashes!"  Who else would ever say a prayer for him, like her who at this
+moment must be waiting--waiting to see him come down the lane?  And he
+thought suddenly: 'What a scoundrel I am!'
+
+All that evening this thought kept coming back; but, as is not unusual,
+each time with less poignancy, till it seemed almost a matter of course
+to be a scoundrel.  And--strange!--he did not know whether he was a
+scoundrel if he meant to go back to Megan, or if he did not mean to go
+back to her.
+
+They played cards till the children were sent off to bed; then Stella
+went to the piano.  From over on the window seat, where it was nearly
+dark, Ashurst watched her between the candles--that fair head on the
+long, white neck bending to the movement of her hands.  She played
+fluently, without much expression; but what a Picture she made, the faint
+golden radiance, a sort of angelic atmosphere hovering about her!  Who
+could have passionate thoughts or wild desires in the presence of that
+swaying, white-clothed girl with the seraphic head?  She played a thing of
+Schumann's called "Warum?"  Then Halliday brought out a flute, and the
+spell was broken.  After this they made Ashurst sing, Stella playing him
+accompaniments from a book of Schumann songs, till, in the middle of "Ich
+grolle nicht," two small figures clad in blue dressing-gowns crept in and
+tried to conceal themselves beneath the piano.  The evening broke up in
+confusion, and what Sabina called "a splendid rag."
+
+That night Ashurst hardly slept at all.  He was thinking, tossing and
+turning.  The intense domestic intimacy of these last two days, the
+strength of this Halliday atmosphere, seemed to ring him round, and make
+the farm and Megan--even Megan--seem unreal.  Had he really made love to
+her--really promised to take her away to live with him?  He must have
+been bewitched by the spring, the night, the apple blossom!  This May
+madness could but destroy them both!  The notion that he was going to
+make her his mistress--that simple child not yet eighteen--now filled him
+with a sort of horror, even while it still stung and whipped his blood.
+He muttered to himself: "It's awful, what I've done--awful!"  And the
+sound of Schumann's music throbbed and mingled with his fevered thoughts,
+and he saw again Stella's cool, white, fair-haired figure and bending
+neck, the queer, angelic radiance about her.  'I must have been--I must
+be-mad!' he thought.  'What came into me?  Poor little Megan!'  "God
+bless us all, and Mr. Ashes!"  "I want to be with you--only to be with
+you!"  And burying his face in his pillow, he smothered down a fit of
+sobbing.  Not to go back was awful!  To go back--more awful still!
+
+Emotion, when you are young, and give real vent to it, loses its power of
+torture.  And he fell asleep, thinking: 'What was it--a few kisses--all
+forgotten in a month!'
+
+Next morning he got his cheque cashed, but avoided the shop of the
+dove-grey dress like the plague; and, instead, bought himself some
+necessaries.  He spent the whole day in a queer mood, cherishing a kind
+of sullenness against himself.  Instead of the hankering of the last two
+days, he felt nothing but a blank--all passionate longing gone, as if
+quenched in that outburst of tears.  After tea Stella put a book down
+beside him, and said shyly:
+
+"Have you read that, Frank?"
+
+It was Farrar's "Life of Christ."  Ashurst smiled.  Her anxiety about his
+beliefs seemed to him comic, but touching.  Infectious too, perhaps, for
+he began to have an itch to justify himself, if not to convert her.  And
+in the evening, when the children and Halliday were mending their
+shrimping nets, he said:
+
+"At the back of orthodox religion, so far as I can see, there's always
+the idea of reward--what you can get for being good; a kind of begging
+for favours.  I think it all starts in fear."
+
+She was sitting on the sofa making reefer knots with a bit of string. She
+looked up quickly:
+
+"I think it's much deeper than that."
+
+Ashurst felt again that wish to dominate.
+
+"You think so," he said; "but wanting the 'quid pro quo' is about the
+deepest thing in all of us!  It's jolly hard to get to the bottom of it!"
+
+She wrinkled her brows in a puzzled frown.
+
+"I don't think I understand."
+
+He went on obstinately:
+
+"Well, think, and see if the most religious people aren't those who feel
+that this life doesn't give them all they want.  I believe in being good
+because to be good is good in itself."
+
+"Then you do believe in being good?"
+
+How pretty she looked now--it was easy to be good with her!  And he
+nodded and said:
+
+"I say, show me how to make that knot!"
+
+With her fingers touching his, in manoeuvring the bit of string, he felt
+soothed and happy.  And when he went to bed he wilfully kept his thoughts
+on her, wrapping himself in her fair, cool sisterly radiance, as in some
+garment of protection.
+
+Next day he found they had arranged to go by train to Totnes, and picnic
+at Berry Pomeroy Castle.  Still in that resolute oblivion of the past, he
+took his place with them in the landau beside Halliday, back to the
+horses.  And, then, along the sea front, nearly at the turning to the
+railway station, his heart almost leaped into his mouth.  Megan--Megan
+herself!--was walking on the far pathway, in her old skirt and jacket and
+her tam-o'-shanter, looking up into the faces of the passers-by.
+Instinctively he threw his hand up for cover, then made a feint of
+clearing dust out of his eyes; but between his fingers he could see her
+still, moving, not with her free country step, but wavering,
+lost-looking, pitiful-like some little dog which has missed its master
+and does not know whether to run on, to run back--where to run.  How had
+she come like this?--what excuse had she found to get away?--what did she
+hope for?  But with every turn of the wheels bearing him away from her,
+his heart revolted and cried to him to stop them, to get out, and go to
+her!  When the landau turned the corner to the station he could stand it
+no more, and opening the carriage door, muttered: "I've forgotten
+something!  Go on--don't wait for me!  I'll join you at the castle by the
+next train!"  He jumped, stumbled, spun round, recovered his balance, and
+walked forward, while the carriage with the astonished Hallidays rolled
+on.
+
+From the corner he could only just see Megan, a long way ahead now. He
+ran a few steps, checked himself, and dropped into a walk.  With each
+step nearer to her, further from the Hallidays, he walked more and more
+slowly.  How did it alter anything--this sight of her?  How make the
+going to her, and that which must come of it, less ugly?  For there was no
+hiding it--since he had met the Hallidays he had become gradually sure
+that he would not marry Megan.  It would only be a wild love-time, a
+troubled, remorseful, difficult time--and then--well, then he would get
+tired, just because she gave him everything, was so simple, and so
+trustful, so dewy.  And dew--wears off!  The little spot of faded colour,
+her tam-o'-shanter cap, wavered on far in front of him; she was looking
+up into every face, and at the house windows.  Had any man ever such a
+cruel moment to go through?  Whatever he did, he felt he would be a
+beast.  And he uttered a groan which made a nursemaid turn and stare.  He
+saw Megan stop and lean against the sea-wall, looking at the sea; and he
+too stopped.  Quite likely she had never seen the sea before, and even in
+her distress could not resist that sight.  'Yes-she's seen nothing,' he
+thought; 'everything's before her.  And just for a few weeks' passion, I
+shall be cutting her life to ribbons.  I'd better go and hang myself
+rather than do it!'  And suddenly he seemed to see Stella's calm eyes
+looking into his, the wave of fluffy hair on her forehead stirred by the
+wind.  Ah! it would be madness, would mean giving up all that he
+respected, and his own self-respect.  He turned and walked quickly back
+towards the station.  But memory of that poor, bewildered little figure,
+those anxious eyes searching the passers-by, smote him too hard again,
+and once more he turned towards the sea.
+
+The cap was no longer visible; that little spot of colour had vanished in
+the stream of the noon promenaders.  And impelled by the passion of
+longing, the dearth which comes on one when life seems to be whirling
+something out of reach, he hurried forward.  She was nowhere to be seen;
+for half an hour he looked for her; then on the beach flung himself face
+downward in the sand.  To find her again he knew he had only to go to the
+station and wait till she returned from her fruitless quest, to take her
+train home; or to take train himself and go back to the farm, so that she
+found him there when she returned.  But he lay inert in the sand, among
+the indifferent groups of children with their spades and buckets.  Pity
+at her little figure wandering, seeking, was well-nigh merged in the
+spring-running of his blood; for it was all wild feeling now--the
+chivalrous part, what there had been of it, was gone.  He wanted her
+again, wanted her kisses, her soft, little body, her abandonment, all her
+quick, warm, pagan emotion; wanted the wonderful feeling of that night
+under the moonlit apple boughs; wanted it all with a horrible intensity,
+as the faun wants the nymph.  The quick chatter of the little bright
+trout-stream, the dazzle of the buttercups, the rocks of the old "wild
+men"; the calling of the cuckoos and yaffles, the hooting of the owls;
+and the red moon peeping out of the velvet dark at the living whiteness
+of the blossom; and her face just out of reach at the window, lost in its
+love-look; and her heart against his, her lips answering his, under the
+apple tree--all this besieged him.  Yet he lay inert.  What was it which
+struggled against pity and this feverish longing, and kept him there
+paralysed in the warm sand?  Three flaxen heads--a fair face with friendly
+blue--grey eyes, a slim hand pressing his, a quick voice speaking his
+name--"So you do believe in being good?"  Yes, and a sort of atmosphere
+as of some old walled-in English garden, with pinks, and cornflowers, and
+roses, and scents of lavender and lilaccool and fair, untouched, almost
+holy--all that he had been brought up to feel was clean and good.  And
+suddenly he thought: 'She might come along the front again and see me!'
+and he got up and made his way to the rock at the far end of the beach.
+There, with the spray biting into his face, he could think more coolly.
+To go back to the farm and love Megan out in the woods, among the rocks,
+with everything around wild and fitting--that, he knew, was impossible,
+utterly.  To transplant her to a great town, to keep, in some little flat
+or rooms, one who belonged so wholly to Nature--the poet in him shrank
+from it.  His passion would be a mere sensuous revel, soon gone; in
+London, her very simplicity, her lack of all intellectual quality, would
+make her his secret plaything--nothing else.  The longer he sat on the
+rock, with his feet dangling over a greenish pool from which the sea was
+ebbing, the more clearly he saw this; but it was as if her arms and all
+of her were slipping slowly, slowly down from him, into the pool, to be
+carried away out to sea; and her face looking up, her lost face with
+beseeching eyes, and dark, wet hair-possessed, haunted, tortured him!  He
+got up at last, scaled the low rock-cliff, and made his way down into a
+sheltered cove.  Perhaps in the sea he could get back his control--lose
+this fever!  And stripping off his clothes, he swam out.  He wanted to
+tire himself so that nothing mattered and swam recklessly, fast and far;
+then suddenly, for no reason, felt afraid.  Suppose he could not reach
+shore again--suppose the current set him out--or he got cramp, like
+Halliday!  He turned to swim in.  The red cliffs looked a long way off.
+If he were drowned they would find his clothes.  The Hallidays would
+know; but Megan perhaps never--they took no newspaper at the farm.  And
+Phil Halliday's words came back to him again: "A girl at Cambridge I
+might have   Glad I haven't got her on my mind!"  And in that moment of
+unreasoning fear he vowed he would not have her on his mind.  Then his
+fear left him; he swam in easily enough, dried himself in the sun, and
+put on his clothes.  His heart felt sore, but no longer ached; his body
+cool and refreshed.
+
+When one is as young as Ashurst, pity is not a violent emotion.  And,
+back in the Hallidays' sitting-room, eating a ravenous tea, he felt much
+like a man recovered from fever.  Everything seemed new and clear; the
+tea, the buttered toast and jam tasted absurdly good; tobacco had never
+smelt so nice.  And walking up and down the empty room, he stopped here
+and there to touch or look.  He took up Stella's work-basket, fingered
+the cotton reels and a gaily-coloured plait of sewing silks, smelt at the
+little bag filled with woodroffe she kept among them.  He sat down at the
+piano, playing tunes with one finger, thinking: 'To-night she'll play; I
+shall watch her while she's playing; it does me good to watch her.'  He
+took up the book, which still lay where she had placed it beside him, and
+tried to read.  But Megan's little, sad figure began to come back at
+once, and he got up and leaned in the window, listening to the thrushes
+in the Crescent gardens, gazing at the sea, dreamy and blue below the
+trees. A servant came in and cleared the tea away, and he still stood,
+inhaling the evening air, trying not to think.  Then he saw the Hallidays
+coming through the gate of the Crescent, Stella a little in front of Phil
+and the children, with their baskets, and instinctively he drew back.
+His heart, too sore and discomfited, shrank from this encounter, yet
+wanted its friendly solace--bore a grudge against this influence, yet
+craved its cool innocence, and the pleasure of watching Stella's face.
+From against the wall behind the piano he saw her come in and stand
+looking a little blank as though disappointed; then she saw him and
+smiled, a swift, brilliant smile which warmed yet irritated Ashurst.
+
+"You never came after us, Frank."
+
+"No; I found I couldn't."
+
+"Look!  We picked such lovely late violets!"  She held out a bunch.
+Ashurst put his nose to them, and there stirred within him vague
+longings, chilled instantly by a vision of Megan's anxious face lifted to
+the faces of the passers-by.
+
+He said shortly: "How jolly!"  and turned away.  He went up to his room,
+and, avoiding the children, who were coming up the stairs, threw himself
+on his bed, and lay there with his arms crossed over his face.  Now that
+he felt the die really cast, and Megan given up, he hated himself, and
+almost hated the Hallidays and their atmosphere of healthy, happy English
+homes.
+
+Why should they have chanced here, to drive away first love--to show him
+that he was going to be no better than a common seducer?  What right had
+Stella, with her fair, shy beauty, to make him know for certain that he
+would never marry Megan; and, tarnishing it all, bring him such
+bitterness of regretful longing and such pity?  Megan would be back by
+now, worn out by her miserable seeking--poor little thing!--expecting,
+perhaps, to find him there when she reached home. Ashurst bit at his
+sleeve, to stifle a groan of remorseful longing. He went to dinner glum
+and silent, and his mood threw a dinge even over the children.  It was a
+melancholy, rather ill tempered evening, for they were all tired; several
+times he caught Stella looking at him with a hurt, puzzled expression,
+and this pleased his evil mood. He slept miserably; got up quite early,
+and wandered out.  He went down to the beach.  Alone there with the
+serene, the blue, the sunlit sea, his heart relaxed a little.  Conceited
+fool--to think that Megan would take it so hard!  In a week or two she
+would almost have forgotten!  And he well, he would have the reward of
+virtue!  A good young man!  If Stella knew, she would give him her
+blessing for resisting that devil she believed in; and he uttered a hard
+laugh. But slowly the peace and beauty of sea and sky, the flight of the
+lonely seagulls, made him feel ashamed.  He bathed, and turned homewards.
+
+In the Crescent gardens Stella herself was sitting on a camp stool,
+sketching.  He stole up close behind.  How fair and pretty she was, bent
+diligently, holding up her brush, measuring, wrinkling her brows.
+
+He said gently:
+
+"Sorry I was such a beast last night, Stella."
+
+She turned round, startled, flushed very pink, and said in her quick way:
+
+"It's all right.  I knew there was something.  Between friends it doesn't
+matter, does it?"
+
+Ashurst answered:
+
+"Between friends--and we are, aren't we?"
+
+She looked up at him, nodded vehemently, and her upper teeth gleamed
+again in that swift, brilliant smile.
+
+Three days later he went back to London, travelling with the Hallidays.
+He had not written to the farm.  What was there he could say?
+
+On the last day of April in the following year he and Stella were
+married....
+
+Such were Ashurst's memories, sitting against the wall among the gorse,
+on his silver-wedding day.  At this very spot, where he had laid out the
+lunch, Megan must have stood outlined against the sky when he had first
+caught sight of her.  Of all queer coincidences!  And there moved in him a
+longing to go down and see again the farm and the orchard, and the meadow
+of the gipsy bogle.  It would not take long; Stella would be an hour yet,
+perhaps.
+
+How well he remembered it all--the little crowning group of pine trees,
+the steep-up grass hill behind!  He paused at the farm gate. The low
+stone house, the yew-tree porch, the flowering currants--not changed a
+bit; even the old green chair was out there on the grass under the
+window, where he had reached up to her that night to take the key.  Then
+he turned down the lane, and stood leaning on the orchard gate-grey
+skeleton of a gate, as then.  A black pig even was wandering in there
+among the trees.  Was it true that twenty-six years had passed, or had he
+dreamed and awakened to find Megan waiting for him by the big apple tree?
+Unconsciously he put up his hand to his grizzled beard and brought
+himself back to reality. Opening the gate, he made his way down through
+the docks and nettles till he came to the edge, and the old apple tree
+itself.  Unchanged!  A little more of the greygreen lichen, a dead branch
+or two, and for the rest it might have been only last night that he had
+embraced that mossy trunk after Megan's flight and inhaled its woody
+savour, while above his head the moonlit blossom had seemed to breathe
+and live. In that early spring a few buds were showing already; the
+blackbirds shouting their songs, a cuckoo calling, the sunlight bright
+and warm. Incredibly the same-the chattering trout-stream, the narrow
+pool he had lain in every morning, splashing the water over his flanks
+and chest; and out there in the wild meadow the beech clump and the stone
+where the gipsy bogie was supposed to sit.  And an ache for lost youth, a
+hankering, a sense of wasted love and sweetness, gripped Ashurst by the
+throat.  Surely, on this earth of such wild beauty, one was meant to hold
+rapture to one's heart, as this earth and sky held it!  And yet, one
+could not!
+
+He went to the edge of the stream, and looking down at the little pool,
+thought: 'Youth and spring!  What has become of them all, I wonder?'
+
+And then, in sudden fear of having this memory jarred by human encounter,
+he went back to the lane, and pensively retraced his steps to the
+crossroads.
+
+Beside the car an old, grey-bearded labourer was leaning on a stick,
+talking to the chauffeur.  He broke off at once, as though guilty of
+disrespect, and touching his hat, prepared to limp on down the lane.
+
+Ashurst pointed to the narrow green mound.  "Can you tell me what this
+is?"
+
+The old fellow stopped; on his face had come a look as though he were
+thinking: 'You've come to the right shop, mister!'
+
+"'Tes a grave," he said.
+
+"But why out here?"
+
+The old man smiled.  "That's a tale, as yu may say.  An' not the first
+time as I've a-told et--there's plenty folks asks 'bout that bit o' turf.
+'Maid's Grave' us calls et, 'ereabouts."
+
+Ashurst held out his pouch.  "Have a fill?"
+
+The old man touched his hat again, and slowly filled an old clay pipe.
+His eyes, looking upward out of a mass of wrinkles and hair, were still
+quite bright.
+
+"If yu don' mind, zurr, I'll zet down my leg's 'urtin' a bit today." And
+he sat down on the mound of turf.
+
+"There's always a flower on this grave.  An' 'tain't so very lonesome,
+neither; brave lot o' folks goes by now, in they new motor cars an'
+things--not as 'twas in th' old days.  She've a got company up 'ere.
+'Twas a poor soul killed 'erself."
+
+"I see!" said Ashurst.  "Cross-roads burial.  I didn't know that custom
+was kept up."
+
+"Ah! but 'twas a main long time ago.  Us 'ad a parson as was very
+God-fearin' then.  Let me see, I've a 'ad my pension six year come
+Michaelmas, an' I were just on fifty when t'appened.  There's none livin'
+knows more about et than what I du.  She belonged close 'ere; same farm
+as where I used to work along o' Mrs. Narracombe 'tes Nick Narracombe's
+now; I dus a bit for 'im still, odd times."
+
+Ashurst, who was leaning against the gate, lighting his pipe, left his
+curved hands before his face for long after the flame of the match had
+gone out.
+
+"Yes?"  he said, and to himself his voice sounded hoarse and queer.
+
+"She was one in an 'underd, poor maid!  I putts a flower 'ere every time
+I passes.  Pretty maid an' gude maid she was, though they wouldn't burry
+'er up to th' church, nor where she wanted to be burried neither."  The
+old labourer paused, and put his hairy, twisted hand flat down on the
+turf beside the bluebells.
+
+"Yes?"  said Ashurst.
+
+"In a manner of speakin'," the old man went on, "I think as 'twas a
+love-story--though there's no one never knu for zartin.  Yu can't tell
+what's in a maid's 'ead but that's wot I think about it."  He drew his
+hand along the turf.  "I was fond o' that maid--don' know as there was
+anyone as wasn' fond of 'er.  But she was to lovin'-'earted--that's where
+'twas, I think."  He looked up.  And Ashurst, whose lips were trembling
+in the cover of his beard, murmured again: "Yes?"
+
+"'Twas in the spring, 'bout now as 't might be, or a little
+later--blossom time--an' we 'ad one o' they young college gentlemen
+stayin' at the farm-nice feller tu, with 'is 'ead in the air.  I liked 'e
+very well, an' I never see nothin' between 'em, but to my thinkin' 'e
+turned the maid's fancy."  The old man took the pipe out of his mouth,
+spat, and went on:
+
+"Yu see, 'e went away sudden one day, an' never come back.  They got 'is
+knapsack and bits o' things down there still.  That's what stuck in my
+mind--'is never sendin' for 'em.  'Is name was Ashes, or somethen' like
+that."
+
+"Yes?"  said Ashurst once more.
+
+The old man licked his lips.
+
+"'Er never said nothin', but from that day 'er went kind of dazed lukin';
+didn'seem rightly therr at all.  I never knu a'uman creature so changed
+in me life--never.  There was another young feller at the farm--Joe
+Biddaford 'is name wer', that was praaperly sweet on 'er, tu; I guess 'e
+used to plague 'er wi 'is attentions.  She got to luke quite wild.  I'd
+zee her sometimes of an avenin' when I was bringin' up the calves; ther'
+she'd stand in th' orchard, under the big apple tree, lukin' straight
+before 'er.  'Well,' I used t'think, 'I dunno what 'tes that's the matter
+wi' yu, but yu'm lukin' pittiful, that yu be!'"
+
+The old man refit his pipe, and sucked at it reflectively.
+
+"Yes?"  said Ashurst.
+
+"I remembers one day I said to 'er: 'What's the matter, Megan?'--'er name
+was Megan David, she come from Wales same as 'er aunt, ol' Missis
+Narracombe.  'Yu'm frettin' about somethin'.  I says.  'No, Jim,' she
+says, 'I'm not frettin'.' 'Yes, yu be!' I says.  'No,' she says, and to
+tears cam' rollin' out.  'Yu'm cryin'--what's that, then?' I says.  She
+putts 'er 'and over 'er 'eart: 'It 'urts me,' she says; 'but 'twill sune
+be better,' she says.  'But if anything shude 'appen to me, Jim, I wants
+to be burried under this 'ere apple tree.' I laughed.  'What's goin' to
+'appen to yu?' I says; 'don't 'ee be fulish.' 'No,' she says, 'I won't be
+fulish.'  Well, I know what maids are, an' I never thought no more about
+et, till two days arter that, 'bout six in the avenin' I was comin' up
+wi' the calves, when I see somethin' dark lyin' in the strame, close to
+that big apple tree. I says to meself: 'Is that a pig-funny place for a
+pig to get to!' an' I goes up to et, an' I see what 'twas."
+
+The old man stopped; his eyes, turned upward, had a bright, suffering
+look.
+
+"'Twas the maid, in a little narrer pool ther' that's made by the
+stoppin' of a rock--where I see the young gentleman bathin' once or
+twice.  'Er was lyin' on 'er face in the watter.  There was a plant o'
+goldie-cups growin' out o' the stone just above 'er'ead.  An' when I come
+to luke at 'er face, 'twas luvly, butiful, so calm's a baby's--wonderful
+butiful et was.  When the doctor saw 'er, 'e said: 'Er culdn' never
+a-done it in that little bit o' watter ef' er 'adn't a-been in an
+extarsy.'  Ah! an' judgin' from 'er face, that was just 'ow she was.  Et
+made me cry praaper-butiful et was!  'Twas June then, but she'd afound a
+little bit of apple-blossom left over somewheres, and stuck et in 'er
+'air.  That's why I thinks 'er must abeen in an extarsy, to go to et gay,
+like that.  Why! there wasn't more than a fute and 'arf o' watter.  But I
+tell 'ee one thing--that meadder's 'arnted; I knu et, an' she knu et; an'
+no one'll persuade me as 'tesn't.  I told 'em what she said to me 'bout
+bein' burried under th' apple tree.  But I think that turned 'em--made et
+luke to much 's ef she'd 'ad it in 'er mind deliberate; an' so they
+burried 'er up 'ere.  Parson we 'ad then was very particular, 'e was."
+
+Again the old man drew his hand over the turf.
+
+"'Tes wonderful, et seems," he added slowly, "what maids 'll du for love.
+She 'ad a lovin-'eart; I guess 'twas broken.  But us never knu nothin'!"
+
+He looked up as if for approval of his story, but Ashurst had walked past
+him as if he were not there.
+
+Up on the top of the hill, beyond where he had spread the lunch, over,
+out of sight, he lay down on his face.  So had his virtue been rewarded,
+and "the Cyprian," goddess of love, taken her revenge!  And before his
+eyes, dim with tears, came Megan's face with the sprig of apple blossom
+in her dark, wet hair.  'What did I do that was wrong?' he thought.
+'What did I do?' But he could not answer.  Spring, with its rush of
+passion, its flowers and song-the spring in his heart and Megan's!  Was
+it just Love seeking a victim!  The Greek was right, then--the words of
+the "Hippolytus" as true to-day!
+
+    "For mad is the heart of Love,
+     And gold the gleam of his wing;
+     And all to the spell thereof
+     Bend when he makes his spring.
+     All life that is wild and young
+     In mountain and wave and stream
+     All that of earth is sprung,
+     Or breathes in the red sunbeam;
+     Yea, and Mankind.  O'er all a royal throne,
+     Cyprian, Cyprian, is thine alone!"
+
+The Greek was right!  Megan!  Poor little Megan--coming over the hill!
+Megan under the old apple tree waiting and looking!  Megan dead, with
+beauty printed on her!
+
+A voice said:
+
+"Oh, there you are!  Look!"
+
+Ashurst rose, took his wife's sketch, and stared at it in silence.
+
+"Is the foreground right, Frank?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"But there's something wanting, isn't there?"
+
+Ashurst nodded.  Wanting?  The apple tree, the singing, and the gold!
+
+And solemnly he put his lips to her forehead.  It was his silver-wedding
+day.
+1916
+
+
+
+
+THE JURYMAN
+
+     "Don't you see, brother, I was reading yesterday the Gospel
+     about Christ, the little Father; how He suffered, how He walked
+     on the earth.  I suppose you have heard about it?"
+
+     "Indeed, I have," replied Stepanuitch; "but we are people in
+     darkness; we can't read."--TOLSTOI.
+
+Mr. Henry Bosengate, of the London Stock Exchange, seated himself in his
+car that morning during the great war with a sense of injury. Major in a
+Volunteer Corps; member of all the local committees; lending this very
+car to the neighbouring hospital, at times even driving it himself for
+their benefit; subscribing to funds, so far as his diminished income
+permitted--he was conscious of being an asset to the country, and one
+whose time could not be wasted with impunity. To be summoned to sit on a
+jury at the local assizes, and not even the grand jury at that!  It was
+in the nature of an outrage.
+
+Strong and upright, with hazel eyes and dark eyebrows, pinkish-brown
+cheeks, a forehead white, well-shaped, and getting high, with greyish
+hair glossy and well-brushed, and a trim moustache, he might have been
+taken for that colonel of Volunteers which indeed he was in a fair way of
+becoming.
+
+His wife had followed him out under the porch, and stood bracing her
+supple body clothed in lilac linen.  Red rambler roses formed a sort of
+crown to her dark head; her ivory-coloured face had in it just a
+suggestion of the Japanese.
+
+Mr. Bosengate spoke through the whirr of the engine:
+
+"I don't expect to be late, dear.  This business is ridiculous. There
+oughtn't to be any crime in these days."
+
+His wife--her name was Kathleen--smiled.  She looked very pretty and
+cool, Mr. Bosengate thought.  To him bound on this dull and stuffy
+business everything he owned seemed pleasant--the geranium beds beside
+the gravel drive, his long, red-brick house mellowing decorously in its
+creepers and ivy, the little clock-tower over stables now converted to a
+garage, the dovecote, masking at the other end the conservatory which
+adjoined the billiard-room.  Close to the red-brick lodge his two
+children, Kate and Harry, ran out from under the acacia trees, and waved
+to him, scrambling bare-legged on to the low, red, ivy-covered wall which
+guarded his domain of eleven acres. Mr. Bosengate waved back, thinking:
+'Jolly couple--by Jove, they are!'  Above their heads, through the trees,
+he could see right away to some Downs, faint in the July heat haze.  And
+he thought: 'Pretty a spot as one could have got, so close to Town!'
+
+Despite the war he had enjoyed these last two years more than any of the
+ten since he built "Charmleigh" and settled down to semi-rural
+domesticity with his young wife.  There had been a certain piquancy, a
+savour added to existence, by the country's peril, and all the public
+service and sacrifice it demanded.  His chauffeur was gone, and one
+gardener did the work of three.  He enjoyed-positively enjoyed, his
+committee work; even the serious decline of business and increase of
+taxation had not much worried one continually conscious of the national
+crisis and his own part therein.  The country had wanted waking up,
+wanted a lesson in effort and economy; and the feeling that he had not
+spared himself in these strenuous times, had given a zest to those quiet
+pleasures of bed and board which, at his age, even the most patriotic
+could retain with a good conscience.  He had denied himself many
+things--new clothes, presents for Kathleen and the children, travel, and
+that pine-apple house which he had been on the point of building when the
+war broke out; new wine, too, and cigars, and membership of the two Clubs
+which he had never used in the old days.  The hours had seemed fuller and
+longer, sleep better earned--wonderful, the things one could do without
+when put to it!  He turned the car into the high road, driving dreamily
+for he was in plenty of time.  The war was going pretty well now; he was
+no fool optimist, but now that conscription was in force, one might
+reasonably hope for its end within a year.  Then there would be a boom,
+and one might let oneself go a little.  Visions of theatres and supper
+with his wife at the Savoy afterwards, and cosy night drives back into
+the sweet-smelling country behind your own chauffeur once more teased a
+fancy which even now did not soar beyond the confines of domestic
+pleasures.  He pictured his wife in new dresses by Jay--she was fifteen
+years younger than himself, and "paid for dressing" as they said.  He had
+always delighted--as men older than their wives will--in the admiration
+she excited from others not privileged to enjoy her charms.  Her rather
+queer and ironical beauty, her cool irreproachable wifeliness, was a
+constant balm to him.  They would give dinner parties again, have their
+friends down from town, and he would once more enjoy sitting at the foot
+of the dinner table while Kathleen sat at the head, with the light soft
+on her ivory shoulders, behind flowers she had arranged in that original
+way of hers, and fruit which he had grown in his hot-houses; once more he
+would take legitimate interest in the wine he offered to his guests--once
+more stock that Chinese cabinet wherein he kept cigars.  Yes--there was a
+certain satisfaction in these days of privation, if only from the
+anticipation they created.
+
+The sprinkling of villas had become continuous on either side of the high
+road; and women going out to shop, tradesmen's boys delivering victuals,
+young men in khaki, began to abound.  Now and then a limping or bandaged
+form would pass--some bit of human wreckage; and Mr. Bosengate would
+think mechanically: 'Another of those poor devils!  Wonder if we've had
+his case before us!'
+
+Running his car into the best hotel garage of the little town, he made
+his way leisurely over to the court.  It stood back from the
+market-place, and was already lapped by a sea of persons having, as in
+the outer ring at race meetings, an air of business at which one must not
+be caught out, together with a soaked or flushed appearance. Mr.
+Bosengate could not resist putting his handkerchief to his nose. He had
+carefully drenched it with lavender water, and to this fact owed,
+perhaps, his immunity from the post of foreman on the jury--for, say what
+you will about the English, they have a deep instinct for affairs.
+
+He found himself second in the front row of the jury box, and through the
+odour of "Sanitas" gazed at the judge's face expressionless up there, for
+all the world like a bewigged bust.  His fellows in the box had that
+appearance of falling between two classes characteristic of jurymen.  Mr.
+Bosengate was not impressed.  On one side of him the foreman sat, a
+prominent upholsterer, known in the town as "Gentleman Fox."  His dark
+and beautifully brushed and oiled hair and moustache, his radiant linen,
+gold watch and chain, the white piping to his waistcoat, and a habit of
+never saying "Sir" had long marked him out from commoner men; he
+undertook to bury people too, to save them trouble; and was altogether
+superior.  On the other side Mr. Bosengate had one of those men, who,
+except when they sit on juries, are never seen without a little brown
+bag, and the appearance of having been interrupted in a drink.  Pale and
+shiny, with large loose eyes shifting from side to side, he had an
+underdone voice and uneasy flabby hands.  Mr. Bosengate disliked sitting
+next to him.  Beyond this commercial traveller sat a dark pale young man
+with spectacles; beyond him again, a short old man with grey moustache,
+mutton chops, and innumerable wrinkles; and the front row was completed
+by a chemist.  The three immediately behind, Mr. Bosengate did not
+thoroughly master; but the three at the end of the second row he learned
+in their order of an oldish man in a grey suit, given to winking; an
+inanimate person with the mouth of a moustachioed codfish, over whose
+long bald crown three wisps of damp hair were carefully arranged; and a
+dried, dapperish, clean-shorn man, whose mouth seemed terrified lest it
+should be surprised without a smile. Their first and second verdicts were
+recorded without the necessity for withdrawal, and Mr. Bosengate was
+already sleepy when the third case was called.  The sight of khaki
+revived his drooping attention. But what a weedy-looking specimen!  This
+prisoner had a truly nerveless pitiable dejected air.  If he had ever had
+a military bearing it had shrunk into him during his confinement.  His
+ill-shaped brown tunic, whose little brass buttons seemed trying to keep
+smiling, struck Mr. Bosengate as ridiculously short, used though he was
+to such things.  'Absurd,' he thought--'Lumbago!  Just where they ought
+to be covered!'  Then the officer and gentleman stirred in him, and he
+added to himself: 'Still, there must be some distinction made!'  The
+little soldier's visage had once perhaps been tanned, but was now the
+colour of dark dough; his large brown eyes with white showing below the
+iris, as so often in the eyes of very nervous people--wandered from face
+to face, of judge, counsel, jury, and public.  There were hollows in his
+cheeks, his dark hair looked damp; around his neck he wore a bandage.
+The commercial traveller on Mr. Bosengate's left turned, and whispered:
+"Felo de se!  My hat! what a guy!"  Mr. Bosengate pretended not to
+hear--he could not bear that fellow!--and slowly wrote on a bit of paper:
+"Owen Lewis."  Welsh!  Well, he looked it--not at all an English face.
+Attempted suicide--not at all an English crime!  Suicide implied
+surrender, a putting-up of hands to Fate--to say nothing of the religious
+aspect of the matter.  And suicide in khaki seemed to Mr. Bosengate
+particularly abhorrent; like turning tail in face of the enemy; almost
+meriting the fate of a deserter.  He looked at the prisoner, trying not
+to give way to this prejudice.  And the prisoner seemed to look at him,
+though this, perhaps, was fancy.
+
+The Counsel for the prosecution, a little, alert, grey, decided man,
+above military age, began detailing the circumstances of the crime. Mr.
+Bosengate, though not particularly sensitive to atmosphere, could
+perceive a sort of current running through the Court.  It was as if jury
+and public were thinking rhythmically in obedience to the same
+unexpressed prejudice of which he himself was conscious.  Even the
+Caesar-like pale face up there, presiding, seemed in its ironic serenity
+responding to that current.
+
+"Gentlemen of the jury, before I call my evidence, I direct your
+attention to the bandage the accused is still wearing.  He gave himself
+this wound with his Army razor, adding, if I may say so, insult to the
+injury he was inflicting on his country.  He pleads not guilty; and
+before the magistrates he said that absence from his wife was preying on
+his mind"--the advocate's close lips widened--"Well, gentlemen, if such
+an excuse is to weigh with us in these days, I'm sure I don't know what's
+to happen to the Empire."
+
+'No, by George!' thought Mr. Bosengate.
+
+The evidence of the first witness, a room-mate who had caught the
+prisoner's hand, and of the sergeant, who had at once been summoned, was
+conclusive and he began to cherish a hope that they would get through
+without withdrawing, and he would be home before five.  But then a hitch
+occurred.  The regimental doctor failed to respond when his name was
+called; and the judge having for the first time that day showed himself
+capable of human emotion, intimated that he would adjourn until the
+morrow.
+
+Mr. Bosengate received the announcement with equanimity.  He would be
+home even earlier!  And gathering up the sheets of paper he had scribbled
+on, he put them in his pocket and got up.  The would-be suicide was being
+taken out of the court--a shambling drab figure with shoulders hunched.
+What good were men like that in these days!  What good!  The prisoner
+looked up.  Mr. Bosengate encountered in full the gaze of those large
+brown eyes, with the white showing underneath.  What a suffering,
+wretched, pitiful face!  A man had no business to give you a look like
+that!  The prisoner passed on down the stairs, and vanished.  Mr.
+Bosengate went out and across the market place to the garage of the hotel
+where he had left his car. The sun shone fiercely and he thought: 'I must
+do some watering in the garden.'  He brought the car out, and was about
+to start the engine, when someone passing said: "Good evenin'.
+Seedy-lookin' beggar that last prisoner, ain't he?  We don't want men of
+that stamp."  It was his neighbour on the jury, the commercial traveller,
+in a straw hat, with a little brown bag already in his hand and the froth
+of an interrupted drink on his moustache.  Answering curtly: "Good
+evening!" and thinking: 'Nor of yours, my friend!'  Mr. Bosengate started
+the car with unnecessary clamour.  But as if brought back to life by the
+commercial traveller's remark, the prisoner's figure seemed to speed
+along too, turning up at Mr. Bosengate his pitifully unhappy eyes.  Want
+of his wife!--queer excuse that for trying to put it out of his power
+ever to see her again!  Why!  Half a loaf, even a slice, was better than
+no bread. Not many of that neurotic type in the Army--thank Heaven!  The
+lugubrious figure vanished, and Mr. Bosengate pictured instead the form
+of his own wife bending over her "Gloire de Dijon roses" in the rosery,
+where she generally worked a little before tea now that they were short
+of gardeners.  He saw her, as often he had seen her, raise herself and
+stand, head to one side, a gloved hand on her slender hip, gazing as it
+were ironically from under drooped lids at buds which did not come out
+fast enough.  And the word 'Caline,' for he was something of a French
+scholar, shot through his mind: 'Kathleen--Caline!'  If he found her
+there when he got in, he would steal up on the grass and--ah! but with
+great care not to crease her dress or disturb her hair!  'If only she
+weren't quite so self-contained,' he thought; 'It's like a cat you can't
+get near, not really near!'
+
+The car, returning faster than it had come down that morning, had already
+passed the outskirt villas, and was breasting the hill to where, among
+fields and the old trees, Charmleigh lay apart from commoner life.
+Turning into his drive, Mr. Bosengate thought with a certain surprise: 'I
+wonder what she does think of!  I wonder!'  He put his gloves and hat
+down in the outer hall and went into the lavatory, to dip his face in
+cool water and wash it with sweet-smelling soap--delicious revenge on the
+unclean atmosphere in which he had been stewing so many hours.  He came
+out again into the hall dazed by soap and the mellowed light, and a voice
+from half-way up the stairs said: "Daddy!  Look!"  His little daughter
+was standing up there with one hand on the banisters.  She scrambled on
+to them and came sliding down, her frock up to her eyes, and her holland
+knickers to her middle.  Mr. Bosengate said mildly:
+
+"Well, that's elegant!"
+
+"Tea's in the summer-house.  Mummy's waiting.  Come on!"
+
+With her hand in his, Mr. Bosengate went on, through the drawing-room,
+long and cool, with sun-blinds down, through the billiard-room, high and
+cool, through the conservatory, green and sweet-smelling, out on to the
+terrace and the upper lawn.  He had never felt such sheer exhilarated joy
+in his home surroundings, so cool, glistening and green under the July
+sun; and he said:
+
+"Well, Kit, what have you all been doing?"
+
+"I've fed my rabbits and Harry's; and we've been in the attic; Harry got
+his leg through the skylight."
+
+Mr. Bosengate drew in his breath with a hiss.
+
+"It's all right, Daddy; we got it out again, it's only grazed the skin.
+And we've been making swabs--I made seventeen, Mummy made thirty-three,
+and then she went to the hospital.  Did you put many men in prison?"
+
+Mr. Bosengate cleared his throat.  The question seemed to him untimely.
+
+"Only two."
+
+"What's it like in prison, Daddy?"
+
+Mr. Bosengate, who had no more knowledge than his little daughter,
+replied in an absent voice:
+
+"Not very nice."
+
+They were passing under a young oak tree, where the path wound round to
+the rosery and summer-house.  Something shot down and clawed Mr.
+Bosengate's neck.  His little daughter began to hop and suffocate with
+laughter.
+
+"Oh, Daddy!  Aren't you caught!  I led you on purpose!"
+
+Looking up, Mr. Bosengate saw his small son lying along a low branch
+above him--like the leopard he was declaring himself to be (for fear of
+error), and thought blithely: 'What an active little chap it is!' "Let me
+drop on your shoulders, Daddy--like they do on the deer."
+
+"Oh, yes!  Do be a deer, Daddy!"
+
+Mr. Bosengate did not see being a deer; his hair had just been brushed.
+But he entered the rosery buoyantly between his offspring. His wife was
+standing precisely as he had imagined her, in a pale blue frock open at
+the neck, with a narrow black band round the waist, and little accordion
+pleats below.  She looked her coolest. Her smile, when she turned her
+head, hardly seemed to take Mr. Bosengate seriously enough.  He placed
+his lips below one of her half-drooped eyelids.  She even smelled of
+roses.  His children began to dance round their mother, and Mr.
+Bosengate,--firmly held between them, was also compelled to do this,
+until she said:
+
+"When you've quite done, let's have tea!"
+
+It was not the greeting he had imagined coming along in the car. Earwigs
+were plentiful in the summer-house--used perhaps twice a year, but
+indispensable to every country residence--and Mr. Bosengate was not sorry
+for the excuse to get out again.  Though all was so pleasant, he felt
+oddly restless, rather suffocated; and lighting his pipe, began to move
+about among the roses, blowing tobacco at the greenfly; in war-time one
+was never quite idle!  And suddenly he said:
+
+"We're trying a wretched Tommy at the assizes."
+
+His wife looked up from a rose.
+
+"What for?"
+
+"Attempted suicide."
+
+"Why did he?"
+
+"Can't stand the separation from his wife."
+
+She looked at him, gave a low laugh, and said:
+
+"Oh dear!"
+
+Mr. Bosengate was puzzled.  Why did she laugh?  He looked round, saw that
+the children were gone, took his pipe from his mouth, and approached her.
+
+"You look very pretty," he said.  "Give me a kiss!"
+
+His wife bent her body forward from the waist, and pushed her lips out
+till they touched his moustache.  Mr. Bosengate felt a sensation as if he
+had arisen from breakfast, without having eaten marmalade. He mastered
+it, and said:
+
+"That jury are a rum lot."
+
+His wife's eyelids flickered.  "I wish women sat on juries."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"It would be an experience."
+
+Not the first time she had used that curious expression!  Yet her life
+was far from dull, so far as he could see; with the new interests created
+by the war, and the constant calls on her time made by the perfection of
+their home life, she had a useful and busy existence.  Again the random
+thought passed through him: 'But she never tells me anything!'  And
+suddenly that lugubrious khaki-clad figure started up among the rose
+bushes.  "We've got a lot to be thankful for!" he said abruptly.  "I must
+go to work!"  His wife, raising one eyebrow, smiled.  "And I to weep!"
+Mr. Bosengate laughed--she had a pretty wit!  And stroking his comely
+moustache where it had been kissed, he moved out into the sunshine.  All
+the evening, throughout his labours, not inconsiderable, for this jury
+business had put him behind time, he was afflicted by that restless
+pleasure in his surroundings; would break off in mowing the lower lawn to
+look at the house through the trees; would leave his study and committee
+papers, to cross into the drawing-room and sniff its dainty fragrance;
+paid a special good-night visit to the children having supper in the
+schoolroom; pottered in and out from his dressing room to admire his wife
+while she was changing for dinner; dined with his mind perpetually on the
+next course; talked volubly of the war; and in the billiard room
+afterwards, smoking the pipe which had taken the place of his cigar,
+could not keep still, but roamed about, now in conservatory, now in the
+drawing-room, where his wife and the governess were still making swabs.
+It seemed to him that he could not have enough of anything.  About eleven
+o'clock he strolled out beautiful night, only just dark enough--under the
+new arrangement with Time--and went down to the little round fountain
+below the terrace.  His wife was playing the piano.  Mr. Bosengate looked
+at the water and the flat dark water lily leaves which floated there;
+looked up at the house, where only narrow chinks of light showed, because
+of the Lighting Order.  The dreamy music  drifted out; there was a scent
+of heliotrope.  He moved a few steps back, and sat in the children's
+swing under an old lime tree.  Jolly--blissful--in the warm, bloomy dark!
+Of all hours of the day, this before going to bed was perhaps the
+pleasantest.  He saw the light go up in his wife's bed room, unscreened
+for a full minute, and thought: 'Aha!  If I did my duty as a special, I
+should "strafe" her for that.'  She came to the window, her figure
+lighted, hands up to the back of her head, so that her bare arms gleamed.
+Mr. Bosengate wafted her a kiss, knowing he could not be seen.  'Lucky
+chap!' he mused; 'she's a great joy!' Up went her arm, down came the
+blind the house was dark again.  He drew a long breath.  'Another ten
+minutes,' he thought, 'then I'll go in and shut up.  By Jove!  The limes
+are beginning to smell already!' And, the better to take in that acme of
+his well-being, he tilted the swing, lifted his feet from the ground, and
+swung himself toward the scented blossoms.  He wanted to whelm his senses
+in their perfume, and closed his eyes.  But instead of the domestic
+vision he expected, the face of the little Welsh soldier, hare-eyed,
+shadowy, pinched and dark and pitiful, started up with such disturbing
+vividness that he opened his eyes again at once.  Curse!  The fellow
+almost haunted one!  Where would he be now poor little devil!--lying in
+his cell, thinking--thinking of his wife!  Feeling suddenly morbid, Mr.
+Bosengate arrested the swing and stood up. Absurd!--all his well-being
+and mood of warm anticipation had deserted him!  'A d---d world!' he
+thought.  'Such a lot of misery!  Why should I have to sit in judgment on
+that poor beggar, and condemn him?'  He moved up on to the terrace and
+walked briskly, to rid himself of this disturbance before going in.
+'That commercial traveller chap,' he thought, 'the rest of those
+fellows--they see nothing!'  And, abruptly turning up the three stone
+steps, he entered the conservatory, locked it, passed into the billiard
+room, and drank his barley water.  One of the pictures was hanging
+crooked; he went up to put it straight.  Still life.  Grapes and apples,
+and--lobsters!  They struck him as odd for the first time.  Why lobsters?
+The whole picture seemed dead and oily.  He turned off the light, and
+went upstairs, passed his wife's door, into his own room, and undressed.
+Clothed in his pyjamas he opened the door between the rooms.  By the
+light coming from his own he could see her dark head on the pillow.  Was
+she asleep?  No--not asleep, certainly.  The moment of fruition had come;
+the crowning of his pride and pleasure in his home.  But he continued to
+stand there. He had suddenly no pride, no pleasure, no desire; nothing
+but a sort of dull resentment against everything.  He turned back; shut
+the door, and slipping between the heavy curtains and his open window,
+stood looking out at the night.  'Full of misery!' he thought.  'Full of
+d---d misery!'
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+Filing into the jury box next morning, Mr. Bosengate collided slightly
+with a short juryman, whose square figure and square head of stiff
+yellow-red hair he had only vaguely noticed the day before. The man
+looked angry, and Mr. Bosengate thought: 'An ill-bred dog, that!'
+
+He sat down quickly, and, to avoid further recognition of his fellows,
+gazed in front of him.  His appearance on Saturdays was always military,
+by reason of the route march of his Volunteer Corps in the afternoon.
+Gentleman Fox, who belonged to the corps too, was also looking square;
+but that commercial traveller on his other side seemed more louche, and
+as if surprised in immorality, than ever; only the proximity of Gentleman
+Fox on the other side kept Mr. Bosengate from shrinking.  Then he saw the
+prisoner being brought in, shadowy and dark behind the brightness of his
+buttons, and he experienced a sort of shock, this figure was so exactly
+that which had several times started up in his mind.  Somehow he had
+expected a fresh sight of the fellow to dispel and disprove what had been
+haunting him, had expected to find him just an outside phenomenon, not,
+as it were, a part of his own life.  And he gazed at the carven
+immobility of the judge's face, trying to steady himself, as a drunken
+man will, by looking at a light.  The regimental doctor, unabashed by the
+judge's comment on his absence the day before, gave his evidence like a
+man who had better things to do, and the case for the prosecution was
+forthwith rounded in by a little speech from counsel.  The matter--he
+said--was clear as daylight.  Those who wore His Majesty's uniform,
+charged with the responsibility and privilege of defending their country,
+were no more entitled to desert their regiments by taking their own lives
+than they were entitled to desert in any other way.  He asked for a
+conviction.  Mr. Bosengate felt a sympathetic shuffle passing through all
+feet; the judge was speaking:
+
+"Prisoner, you can either go into the witness box and make your statement
+on oath, in which case you may be cross-examined on it; or you can make
+your statement there from the dock, in which case you will not be
+cross-examined.  Which do you elect to do?"
+
+"From here, my lord."
+
+Seeing him now full face, and, as it might be, come to life in the effort
+to convey his feelings, Mr. Bosengate had suddenly a quite different
+impression of the fellow.  It was as if his khaki had fallen off, and he
+had stepped out of his own shadow, a live and quivering creature.  His
+pinched clean-shaven face seemed to have an irregular, wilder, hairier
+look, his large nervous brown eyes darkened and glowed; he jerked his
+shoulders, his arms, his whole body, like a man suddenly freed from cramp
+or a suit of armour.
+
+He spoke, too, in a quick, crisp, rather high voice, pinching his
+consonants a little, sharpening his vowels, like a true Welshman.
+
+"My lord and misters the jury," he said: "I was a hairdresser when the
+call came on me to join the army.  I had a little home and a wife.  I
+never thought what it would be like to be away from them, I surely never
+did; and I'm ashamed to be speaking it out like this--how it can squeeze
+and squeeze a man, how it can prey on your mind, when you're nervous like
+I am.  'Tis not everyone that cares for his home--there's lots o' them
+never wants to see their wives again.  But for me 'tis like being shut up
+in a cage, it is!"  Mr. Bosengate saw daylight between the skinny fingers
+of the man's hand thrown out with a jerk.  "I cannot bear it shut up away
+from wife and home like what you are in the army.  So when I took my
+razor that morning I was wild--an' I wouldn't be here now but for that
+man catching my hand. There was no reason in it, I'm willing to confess.
+It was foolish; but wait till you get feeling like what I was, and see
+how it draws you.  Misters the jury, don't send me back to prison; it is
+worse still there.  If you have wives you will know what it is like for
+lots of us; only some is more nervous than others.  I swear to you, sirs,
+I could not help it---?"  Again the little man flung out his hand, his
+whole thin body shook and Mr. Bosengate felt the same sensation as when
+he drove his car over a dog--"Misters the jury, I hope you may never in
+your lives feel as I've been feeling."
+
+The little man ceased, his eyes shrank back into their sockets, his
+figure back into its mask of shadowy brown and gleaming buttons, and Mr.
+Bosengate was conscious that the judge was making a series of remarks;
+and, very soon, of being seated at a mahogany table in the jury's
+withdrawing room, hearing the, voice of the man with hair like an Irish
+terrier's saying: "Didn't he talk through his hat, that little blighter!"
+Conscious, too, of the commercial traveller, still on his left--always on
+his left!--mopping his brow, and muttering: "Phew!  It's hot in there
+to-day!"  while an effluvium, as of an inside accustomed to whisky came
+from him.  Then the man with the underlip and the three plastered wisps
+of hair said:
+
+"Don't know why we withdrew, Mr. Foreman!"
+
+Mr. Bosengate looked round to where, at the head of the table, Gentleman
+Fox sat, in defensive gentility and the little white piping to his
+waistcoat saying blandly:
+
+"I shall be happy to take the sense of the jury."
+
+There was a short silence, then the chemist murmured:
+
+"I should say he must have what they call claustrophobia."
+
+"Clauster fiddlesticks!  The feller's a shirker, that's all.  Missed his
+wife--pretty excuse!  Indecent, I call it!"
+
+The speaker was the little wire-haired man; and emotion, deep and angry,
+stirred in Mr. Bosengate.  That ill-bred little cur!  He gripped the edge
+of the table with both hands.
+
+"I think it's d-----d natural!"  he muttered.  But almost before the
+words had left his lips he felt dismay.  What had he said--he, nearly a
+colonel of volunteers--endorsing such a want of patriotism!  And hearing
+the commercial traveller murmuring: "'Ear, 'ear!"  he reddened violently.
+
+The wire-headed man said roughly:
+
+"There's too many of these blighted shirkers, and too much pampering of
+them."
+
+The turmoil in Mr. Bosengate increased; he remarked in an icy voice:
+
+"I agree to no verdict that'll send the man back to prison."
+
+At this a real tremor seemed to go round the table, as if they all saw
+themselves sitting there through lunch time.  Then the large grey-haired
+man given to winking, said:
+
+"Oh!  Come, sir--after what the judge said!  Come, sir!  What do you say,
+Mr. Foreman?"
+
+Gentleman Fox--as who should say 'This is excellent value, but I don't
+wish to press it on you!'--answered:
+
+"We are only concerned with the facts.  Did he or did he not try to
+shorten his life?"
+
+"Of course he did--said so himself," Mr. Bosengate heard the wire-haired
+man snap out, and from the following murmur of assent he alone abstained.
+Guilty!  Well--yes!  There was no way out of admitting that, but his
+feelings revolted against handing "that poor little beggar" over to the
+tender mercy of his country's law.  His whole soul rose in arms against
+agreeing with that ill-bred little cur, and the rest of this job-lot.  He
+had an impulse to get up and walk out, saying: "Settle it your own way.
+Good morning."
+
+"It seems, sir," Gentleman Fox was saying, "that we're all agreed to
+guilty, except yourself.  If you will allow me, I don't see how you can
+go behind what the prisoner himself admitted."
+
+Thus brought up to the very guns, Mr. Bosengate, red in the face, thrust
+his hands deep into the side pockets of his tunic, and, staring straight
+before him, said:
+
+"Very well; on condition we recommend him to mercy."
+
+"What do you say, gentlemen; shall we recommend him to mercy?"
+
+"'Ear, 'ear!" burst from the commercial traveller, and from the chemist
+came the murmur:
+
+"No harm in that."
+
+"Well, I think there is.  They shoot deserters at the front, and we let
+this fellow off.  I'd hang the cur."
+
+Mr. Bosengate stared at that little wire-haired brute.  "Haven't you any
+feeling for others?"  he wanted to say.  "Can't you see that this poor
+devil suffers tortures?"  But the sheer impossibility of doing this
+before ten other men brought a slight sweat out on his face and hands;
+and in agitation he smote the table a blow with his fist.  The effect was
+instantaneous.  Everybody looked at the wire-haired man, as if saying:
+"Yes, you've gone a bit too far there!"  The "little brute" stood it for
+a moment, then muttered surlily:
+
+"Well, commend 'im to mercy if you like; I don't care."
+
+"That's right; they never pay any attention to it," said the grey-haired
+man, winking heartily.  And Mr. Bosengate filed back with the others into
+court.
+
+But when from the jury box his eyes fell once more on the hare-eyed
+figure in the dock, he had his worst moment yet.  Why should this poor
+wretch suffer so--for no fault, no fault; while he, and these others, and
+that snapping counsel, and the Caesar-like judge up there, went off to
+their women and their homes, blithe as bees, and probably never thought
+of him again?  And suddenly he was conscious of the judge's voice:
+
+"You will go back to your regiment, and endeavour to serve your country
+with better spirit.  You may thank the jury that you are not sent to
+prison, and your good fortune that you were not at the front when you
+tried to commit this cowardly act.  You are lucky to be alive."
+
+A policeman pulled the little soldier by the arm; his drab figure with
+eyes fixed and lustreless, passed down and away.  From his very soul Mr.
+Bosengate wanted to lean out and say: "Cheer up, cheer up!  I understand."
+
+It was nearly ten o'clock that evening before he reached home, motoring
+back from the route march.  His physical tiredness was abated, for he had
+partaken of a snack and a whisky and soda at the hotel; but mentally he
+was in a curious mood.  His body felt appeased, his spirit hungry.
+Tonight he had a yearning, not for his wife's kisses, but for her
+understanding.  He wanted to go to her and say: "I've learnt a lot
+to-day-found out things I never thought of. Life's a wonderful thing,
+Kate, a thing one can't live all to oneself; a thing one shares with
+everybody, so that when another suffers, one suffers too.  It's come to
+me that what one has doesn't matter a bit--it's what one does, and how
+one sympathises with other people.  It came to me in the most
+extraordinary vivid way, when I was on that jury, watching that poor
+little rat of a soldier in his trap; it's the first time I've ever
+felt--the--the spirit of Christ, you know.  It's a wonderful thing,
+Kate--wonderful!  We haven't been close--really close, you and I, so that
+we each understand what the other is feeling.  It's all in that, you
+know; understanding--sympathy--it's priceless.  When I saw that poor
+little devil taken down and sent back to his regiment to begin his
+sorrows all over again--wanting his wife, thinking and thinking of her
+just as you know I would be thinking and wanting you, I felt what an
+awful outside sort of life we lead, never telling each other what we
+really think and feel, never being really close.  I daresay that little
+chap and his wife keep nothing from each other--live each other's lives.
+That's what we ought to do.  Let's get to feeling that what really
+matters is--understanding and loving, and not only just saying it as we
+all do, those fellows on the jury, and even that poor devil of a
+judge--what an awful life judging one's fellow-creatures.
+
+"When I left that poor little Tommy this morning, and ever since, I've
+longed to get back here quietly to you and tell you about it, and make a
+beginning.  There's something wonderful in this, and I want you to feel
+it as I do, because you mean such a lot to me."
+
+This was what he wanted to say to his wife, not touching, or kissing her,
+just looking into her eyes, watching them soften and glow as they surely
+must, catching the infection of his new ardour.  And he felt unsteady,
+fearfully unsteady with the desire to say it all as it should be said:
+swiftly, quietly, with the truth and fervour of his feeling.
+
+The hall was not lit up, for daylight still lingered under the new
+arrangement.  He went towards the drawing-room, but from the very door
+shied off to his study and stood irresolute under the picture of a "Man
+catching a flea" (Dutch school), which had come down to him from his
+father.  The governess would be in there with his wife!  He must wait.
+Essential to go straight to Kathleen and pour it all out, or he would
+never do it.  He felt as nervous as an undergraduate going up for his
+viva' voce.  This thing was so big, so astoundingly and unexpectedly
+important.  He was suddenly afraid of his wife, afraid of her coolness
+and her grace, and that something Japanese about her--of all those
+attributes he had been accustomed to admire most; afraid, as it were, of
+her attraction.  He felt young to-night, almost boyish; would she see
+that he was not really fifteen years older than herself, and she not
+really a part of his collection, of all the admirable appointments of his
+home; but a companion spirit to one who wanted a companion badly.  In
+this agitation of his soul he could keep still no more than he could last
+night in the agitation of his senses; and he wandered into the
+dining-room.  A dainty supper was set out there, sandwiches, and cake,
+whisky and the cigarettes--even an early peach. Mr. Bosengate looked at
+this peach with sorrow rather than disgust.  The perfection of it was of
+a piece with all that had gone before this new and sudden feeling.  Its
+delicious bloom seemed to heighten his perception of the hedge around
+him, that hedge of the things he so enjoyed, carefully planted and tended
+these many years.  He passed it by uneaten, and went to the window.  Out
+there all was darkening, the fountain, the lime tree, the flower-beds,
+and the fields below, with the Jersey cows who would come to your call;
+darkening slowly, losing form, blurring into soft blackness, vanishing,
+but there none the less--all there--the hedge of his possessions.  He
+heard the door of the drawing-room open, the voices of his wife and the
+governess in the hall, going up to bed. If only they didn't look in here!
+If only!  The voices ceased.  He was safe now--had but to follow in a few
+minutes, to make sure of Kathleen alone.  He turned round and stared down
+the length of the dark dining-room, over the rosewood table, to where in
+the mirror above the sideboard at the far end, his figure bathed, a
+stain, a mere blurred shadow; he made his way down to it along the table
+edge, and stood before himself as close as he could get.  His throat and
+the roof of his mouth felt dry with nervousness; he put out his finger
+and touched his face in the glass.  'You're an ass!' he thought.  'Pull
+yourself together, and get it over.  She will see; of course she will!'
+He swallowed, smoothed his moustache, and walked out.  Going up the
+stairs, his heart beat painfully; but he was in for it now, and marched
+straight into her room. Dressed only in a loose blue wrapper, she was
+brushing her dark hair before the glass.  Mr. Bosengate went up to her
+and stood there silent, looking down.  The words he had thought of were
+like a swarm of bees buzzing in his head, yet not one would fly from
+between his lips.  His wife went on brushing her hair under the light
+which shone on her polished elbows.  She looked up at him from beneath
+one lifted eyebrow.
+
+"Well, dear--tired?"
+
+With a sort of vehemence the single word "No" passed out.  A faint, a
+quizzical smile flitted over her face; she shrugged her shoulders ever so
+gently.  That gesture--he had seen it before!  And in desperate desire to
+make her understand, he put his hand on her lifted arm.
+
+"Kathleen, stop--listen to me!"  His fingers tightened in his agitation
+and eagerness to make his great discovery known.  But before he could get
+out a word he became conscious of that cool round arm, conscious of her
+eyes half-closed, sliding round at him, of her half-smiling lips, of her
+neck under the wrapper.  And he stammered:
+
+"I want--I must--Kathleen, I---"
+
+She lifted her shoulders again in that little shrug.  "Yes--I know; all
+right!"
+
+A wave of heat and shame, and of God knows what came over Mr. Bosengate;
+he fell on his knees and pressed his forehead to her arm; and he was
+silent, more silent than the grave.  Nothing--nothing came from him but
+two long sighs.  Suddenly he felt her hand stroke his
+cheek--compassionately, it seemed to him.  She made a little movement
+towards him; her lips met his, and he remembered nothing but that....
+
+In his own room Mr. Bosengate sat at his wide open window, smoking a
+cigarette; there was no light.  Moths went past, the moon was creeping
+up.  He sat very calm, puffing the smoke out in to the night air.
+Curious thing-life!  Curious world!  Curious forces in it--making one do
+the opposite of what one wished; always--always making one do the
+opposite, it seemed!  The furtive light from that creeping moon was
+getting hold of things down there, stealing in among the boughs of the
+trees.  'There's something ironical,' he thought, 'which walks about.
+Things don't come off as you think they will.  I meant, I tried but one
+doesn't change like that all of a sudden, it seems.  Fact is, life's too
+big a thing for one!  All the same, I'm not the man I was yesterday--not
+quite!'  He closed his eyes, and in one of those flashes of vision which
+come when the senses are at rest, he saw himself as it were far down
+below--down on the floor of a street narrow as a grave, high as a
+mountain, a deep dark slit of a street walking down there, a black midget
+of a fellow, among other black midgets--his wife, and the little soldier,
+the judge, and those jury chaps--fantoches straight up on their tiny
+feet, wandering down there in that dark, infinitely tall, and narrow
+street.  'Too much for one!' he thought; 'Too high for one--no getting on
+top of it. We've got to be kind, and help one another, and not expect too
+much, and not think too much.  That's--all!'  And, squeezing out his
+cigarette, he took six deep breaths of the night air, and got into bed.
+
+
+
+
+INDIAN SUMMER OF A FORSYTE
+
+      "And Summer's lease hath all
+                too short a date."
+                --Shakespeare
+
+I
+
+In the last day of May in the early 'nineties, about six o'clock of the
+evening, old Jolyon Forsyte sat under the oak tree below the terrace of
+his house at Robin Hill.  He was waiting for the midges to bite him,
+before abandoning the glory of the afternoon.  His thin brown hand, where
+blue veins stood out, held the end of a cigar in its tapering,
+long-nailed fingers--a pointed polished nail had survived with him from
+those earlier Victorian days when to touch nothing, even with the tips of
+the fingers, had been so distinguished.  His domed forehead, great white
+moustache, lean cheeks, and long lean jaw were covered from the westering
+sunshine by an old brown Panama hat.  His legs were crossed; in all his
+attitude was serenity and a kind of elegance, as of an old man who every
+morning put eau de Cologne upon his silk handkerchief.  At his feet lay a
+woolly brown-and-white dog trying to be a Pomeranian--the dog Balthasar
+between whom and old Jolyon primal aversion had changed into attachment
+with the years.  Close to his chair was a swing, and on the swing was
+seated one of Holly's dolls--called 'Duffer Alice'--with her body fallen
+over her legs and her doleful nose buried in a black petticoat.  She was
+never out of disgrace, so it did not matter to her how she sat.  Below
+the oak tree the lawn dipped down a bank, stretched to the fernery, and,
+beyond that refinement, became fields, dropping to the pond, the coppice,
+and the prospect--'Fine, remarkable'--at which Swithin Forsyte, from
+under this very tree, had stared five years ago when he drove down with
+Irene to look at the house.  Old Jolyon had heard of his brother's
+exploit--that drive which had become quite celebrated on Forsyte 'Change.
+Swithin!  And the fellow had gone and died, last November, at the age of
+only seventy-nine, renewing the doubt whether Forsytes could live for
+ever, which had first arisen when Aunt Ann passed away.  Died! and left
+only Jolyon and James, Roger and Nicholas and Timothy, Julia, Hester,
+Susan!  And old Jolyon thought: 'Eighty-five!  I don't feel it--except
+when I get that pain.'
+
+His memory went searching.  He had not felt his age since he had bought
+his nephew Soames' ill-starred house and settled into it here at Robin
+Hill over three years ago.  It was as if he had been getting younger
+every spring, living in the country with his son and his
+grandchildren--June, and the little ones of the second marriage, Jolly
+and Holly; living down here out of the racket of London and the cackle of
+Forsyte 'Change,' free of his boards, in a delicious atmosphere of no
+work and all play, with plenty of occupation in the perfecting and
+mellowing of the house and its twenty acres, and in ministering to the
+whims of Holly and Jolly. All the knots and crankiness, which had
+gathered in his heart during that long and tragic business of June,
+Soames, Irene his wife, and poor young Bosinney, had been smoothed out.
+Even June had thrown off her melancholy at last--witness this travel in
+Spain she was taking now with her father and her stepmother.  Curiously
+perfect peace was left by their departure; blissful, yet blank, because
+his son was not there.  Jo was never anything but a comfort and a
+pleasure to him nowadays--an amiable chap; but women, somehow--even the
+best--got a little on one's nerves, unless of course one admired them.
+
+Far-off a cuckoo called; a wood-pigeon was cooing from the first elm-tree
+in the field, and how the daisies and buttercups had sprung up after the
+last mowing!  The wind had got into the sou' west, too--a delicious air,
+sappy!  He pushed his hat back and let the sun fall on his chin and cheek.
+Somehow, to-day, he wanted company--wanted a pretty face to look at.
+People treated the old as if they wanted nothing.  And with the
+un-Forsytean philosophy which ever intruded on his soul, he thought:
+'One's never had enough. With a foot in the grave one'll want something,
+I shouldn't be surprised!'  Down here--away from the exigencies of
+affairs--his grandchildren, and the flowers, trees, birds of his little
+domain, to say nothing of sun and moon and stars above them, said, 'Open,
+sesame,' to him day and night.  And sesame had opened--how much, perhaps,
+he did not know.  He had always been responsive to what they had begun to
+call 'Nature,' genuinely, almost religiously responsive, though he had
+never lost his habit of calling a sunset a sunset and a view a view,
+however deeply they might move him. But nowadays Nature actually made him
+ache, he appreciated it so. Every one of these calm, bright, lengthening
+days, with Holly's hand in his, and the dog Balthasar in front looking
+studiously for what he never found, he would stroll, watching the roses
+open, fruit budding on the walls, sunlight brightening the oak leaves and
+saplings in the coppice, watching the water-lily leaves unfold and
+glisten, and the silvery young corn of the one wheat field; listening to
+the starlings and skylarks, and the Alderney cows chewing the cud,
+flicking slow their tufted tails; and every one of these fine days he
+ached a little from sheer love of it all, feeling perhaps, deep down,
+that he had not very much longer to enjoy it.  The thought that some
+day--perhaps not ten years hence, perhaps not five--all this world would
+be taken away from him, before he had exhausted his powers of loving it,
+seemed to him in the nature of an injustice brooding over his horizon. If
+anything came after this life, it wouldn't be what he wanted; not Robin
+Hill, and flowers and birds and pretty faces--too few, even now, of those
+about him!  With the years his dislike of humbug had increased; the
+orthodoxy he had worn in the 'sixties, as he had worn side-whiskers out
+of sheer exuberance, had long dropped off, leaving him reverent before
+three things alone--beauty, upright conduct, and the sense of property;
+and the greatest of these now was beauty.  He had always had wide
+interests, and, indeed could still read The Times, but he was liable at
+any moment to put it down if he heard a blackbird sing.  Upright conduct,
+property--somehow, they were tiring; the blackbirds and the sunsets never
+tired him, only gave him an uneasy feeling that he could not get enough
+of them.  Staring into the stilly radiance of the early evening and at
+the little gold and white flowers on the lawn, a thought came to him:
+This weather was like the music of 'Orfeo,' which he had recently heard
+at Covent Garden.  A beautiful opera, not like Meyerbeer, nor even quite
+Mozart, but, in its way, perhaps even more lovely; something classical
+and of the Golden Age about it, chaste and mellow, and the Ravogli
+'almost worthy of the old days'--highest praise he could bestow. The
+yearning of Orpheus for the beauty he was losing, for his love going down
+to Hades, as in life love and beauty did go--the yearning which sang and
+throbbed through the golden music, stirred also in the lingering beauty
+of the world that evening.  And with the tip of his cork-soled,
+elastic-sided boot he involuntarily stirred the ribs of the dog
+Balthasar, causing the animal to wake and attack his fleas; for though he
+was supposed to have none, nothing could persuade him of the fact.  When
+he had finished he rubbed the place he had been scratching against his
+master's calf, and settled down again with his chin over the instep of
+the disturbing boot.  And into old Jolyon's mind came a sudden
+recollection--a face he had seen at that opera three weeks ago--Irene,
+the wife of his precious nephew Soames, that man of property!  Though he
+had not met her since the day of  the 'At Home' in his old house at
+Stanhope Gate, which celebrated his granddaughter June's ill-starred
+engagement to young Bosinney, he had remembered her at once, for he had
+always admired her--a very pretty creature.  After the death of young
+Bosinney, whose mistress she had so reprehensibly become, he had heard
+that she had left Soames at once.  Goodness only knew what she had been
+doing since.  That sight of her face--a side view--in the row in front,
+had been literally the only reminder these three years that she was still
+alive.  No one ever spoke of her.  And yet Jo had told him something
+once--something which had upset him completely. The boy had got it from
+George Forsyte, he believed, who had seen Bosinney in the fog the day he
+was run over--something which explained the young fellow's distress--an
+act of Soames towards his wife--a shocking act.  Jo had seen her, too,
+that afternoon, after the news was out, seen her for a moment, and his
+description had always lingered in old Jolyon's mind--'wild and lost' he
+had called her.  And next day June had gone there--bottled up her
+feelings and gone there, and the maid had cried and told her how her
+mistress had slipped out in the night and vanished.  A tragic business
+altogether!  One thing was certain--Soames had never been able to lay
+hands on her again.  And he was living at Brighton, and journeying up and
+down--a fitting fate, the man of property!  For when he once took a
+dislike to anyone--as he had to his nephew--old Jolyon never got over it.
+He remembered still the sense of relief with which he had heard the news
+of Irene's disappearance.  It had been shocking to think of her a
+prisoner in that house to which she must have wandered back, when Jo saw
+her, wandered back for a moment--like a wounded animal to its hole after
+seeing that news, 'Tragic death of an Architect,' in the street.  Her
+face had struck him very much the other night--more beautiful than he had
+remembered, but like a mask, with something going on beneath it.  A young
+woman still--twenty-eight perhaps.  Ah, well!  Very likely she had another
+lover by now.  But at this subversive thought--for married women should
+never love: once, even, had been too much--his instep rose, and with it
+the dog Balthasar's head.  The sagacious animal stood up and looked into
+old Jolyon's face.  'Walk?' he seemed to say; and old Jolyon answered:
+"Come on, old chap!"
+
+Slowly, as was their wont, they crossed among the constellations of
+buttercups and daisies, and entered the fernery.  This feature, where
+very little grew as yet, had been judiciously dropped below the level of
+the lawn so that it might come up again on the level of the other lawn
+and give the impression of irregularity, so important in horticulture.
+Its rocks and earth were beloved of the dog Balthasar, who sometimes
+found a mole there.  Old Jolyon made a point of passing through it
+because, though it was not beautiful, he intended that it should be, some
+day, and he would think: 'I must get Varr to come down and look at it;
+he's better than Beech.' For plants, like houses and human complaints,
+required the best expert consideration.  It was inhabited by snails, and
+if accompanied by his grandchildren, he would point to one and tell them
+the story of the little boy who said: 'Have plummers got leggers, Mother?
+'No, sonny.'  'Then darned if I haven't been and swallowed a snileybob.'
+And when they skipped and clutched his hand, thinking of the snileybob
+going down the little boy's 'red lane,' his eyes would twinkle.  Emerging
+from the fernery, he opened the wicket gate, which just there led into
+the first field, a large and park-like area, out of which, within brick
+walls, the vegetable garden had been carved.  Old Jolyon avoided this,
+which did not suit his mood, and made down the hill towards the pond.
+Balthasar, who knew a water-rat or two, gambolled in front, at the gait
+which marks an oldish dog who takes the same walk every day. Arrived at
+the edge, old Jolyon stood, noting another water-lily opened since
+yesterday; he would show it to Holly to-morrow, when 'his little sweet'
+had got over the upset which had followed on her eating a tomato at
+lunch--her little arrangements were very delicate.  Now that Jolly had
+gone to school--his first term--Holly was with him nearly all day long,
+and he missed her badly.  He felt that pain too, which often bothered him
+now, a little dragging at his left side.  He looked back up the hill.
+Really, poor young Bosinney had made an uncommonly good job of the house;
+he would have done very well for himself if he had lived!  And where was
+he now?  Perhaps, still haunting this, the site of his last work, of his
+tragic love affair.  Or was Philip Bosinney's spirit diffused in the
+general?  Who could say?  That dog was getting his legs muddy!  And he
+moved towards the coppice.  There had been the most delightful lot of
+bluebells, and he knew where some still lingered like little patches of
+sky fallen in between the trees, away out of the sun.  He passed the
+cow-houses and the hen-houses there installed, and pursued a path into
+the thick of the saplings, making for one of the bluebell plots.
+Balthasar, preceding him once more, uttered a low growl.  Old Jolyon
+stirred him with his foot, but the dog remained motionless, just where
+there was no room to pass, and the hair rose slowly along the centre of
+his woolly back.  Whether from the growl and the look of the dog's
+stivered hair, or from the sensation which a man feels in a wood, old
+Jolyon also felt something move along his spine.  And then the path
+turned, and there was an old mossy log, and on it a woman sitting. Her
+face was turned away, and he had just time to think: 'She's
+trespassing--I must have a board put up!' before she turned. Powers
+above!  The face he had seen at the opera--the very woman he had just
+been thinking of!  In that confused moment he saw things blurred, as if a
+spirit--queer effect--the slant of sunlight perhaps on her violet-grey
+frock!  And then she rose and stood smiling, her head a little to one
+side.  Old Jolyon thought: 'How pretty she is!' She did not speak,
+neither did he; and he realized why with a certain admiration.  She was
+here no doubt because of some memory, and did not mean to try and get out
+of it by vulgar explanation.
+
+"Don't let that dog touch your frock," he said; "he's got wet feet. Come
+here, you!"
+
+But the dog Balthasar went on towards the visitor, who put her hand down
+and stroked his head.  Old Jolyon said quickly:
+
+"I saw you at the opera the other night; you didn't notice me."
+
+"Oh, yes!  I did."
+
+He felt a subtle flattery in that, as though she had added: 'Do you think
+one could miss seeing you?'
+
+"They're all in Spain," he remarked abruptly.  "I'm alone; I drove up for
+the opera.  The Ravogli's good.  Have you seen the cow-houses?"
+
+In a situation so charged with mystery and something very like emotion he
+moved instinctively towards that bit of property, and she moved beside
+him.  Her figure swayed faintly, like the best kind of French figures;
+her dress, too, was a sort of French grey. He noticed two or three silver
+threads in her amber-coloured hair, strange hair with those dark eyes of
+hers, and that creamy-pale face.  A sudden sidelong look from the velvety
+brown eyes disturbed him.  It seemed to come from deep and far, from
+another world almost, or at all events from some one not living very much
+in this.  And he said mechanically:
+
+"Where are you living now?"
+
+"I have a little flat in Chelsea."
+
+He did not want to hear what she was doing, did not want to hear
+anything; but the perverse word came out:
+
+"Alone?"
+
+She nodded.  It was a relief to know that.  And it came into his mind
+that, but for a twist of fate, she would have been mistress of this
+coppice, showing these cow-houses to him, a visitor.
+
+"All Alderneys," he muttered; "they give the best milk.  This one's a
+pretty creature.  Woa, Myrtle!"
+
+The fawn-coloured cow, with eyes as soft and brown as Irene's own, was
+standing absolutely still, not having long been milked.  She looked round
+at them out of the corner of those lustrous, mild, cynical eyes, and from
+her grey lips a little dribble of saliva threaded its way towards the
+straw.  The scent of hay and vanilla and ammonia rose in the dim light of
+the cool cow-house; and old Jolyon said:
+
+"You must come up and have some dinner with me.  I'll send you home in
+the carriage."
+
+He perceived a struggle going on within her; natural, no doubt, with her
+memories.  But he wanted her company; a pretty face, a charming figure,
+beauty!  He had been alone all the afternoon. Perhaps his eyes were
+wistful, for she answered: "Thank you, Uncle Jolyon.  I should like to."
+
+He rubbed his hands, and said:
+
+"Capital!  Let's go up, then!" And, preceded by the dog Balthasar, they
+ascended through the field.  The sun was almost level in their faces now,
+and he could see, not only those silver threads, but little lines, just
+deep enough to stamp her beauty with a coin-like fineness--the special
+look of life unshared with others.  "I'll take her in by the terrace," he
+thought: "I won't make a common visitor of her."
+
+"What do you do all day?" he said.
+
+"Teach music; I have another interest, too."
+
+"Work!" said old Jolyon, picking up the doll from off the swing, and
+smoothing its black petticoat.  "Nothing like it, is there?  I don't do
+any now.  I'm getting on.  What interest is that?"
+
+"Trying to help women who've come to grief."  Old Jolyon did not quite
+understand.  "To grief?" he repeated; then realised with a shock that she
+meant exactly what he would have meant himself if he had used that
+expression.  Assisting the Magdalenes of London!  What a weird and
+terrifying interest!  And, curiosity overcoming his natural shrinking, he
+asked:
+
+"Why?  What do you do for them?"
+
+"Not much.  I've no money to spare.  I can only give sympathy and food
+sometimes."
+
+Involuntarily old Jolyon's hand sought his purse.  He said hastily: "How
+d'you get hold of them?"
+
+"I go to a hospital."
+
+"A hospital!  Phew!"
+
+"What hurts me most is that once they nearly all had some sort of
+beauty."
+
+Old Jolyon straightened the doll.  "Beauty!" he ejaculated: "Ha!  Yes!  A
+sad business!" and he moved towards the house.  Through a French window,
+under sun-blinds not yet drawn up, he preceded her into the room where he
+was wont to study The Times and the sheets of an agricultural magazine,
+with huge illustrations of mangold wurzels, and the like, which provided
+Holly with material for her paint brush.
+
+"Dinner's in half an hour.  You'd like to wash your hands!  I'll take you
+to June's room."
+
+He saw her looking round eagerly; what changes since she had last visited
+this house with her husband, or her lover, or both perhaps--he did not
+know, could not say!  All that was dark, and he wished to leave it so.
+But what changes!  And in the hall he said:
+
+"My boy Jo's a painter, you know.  He's got a lot of taste.  It isn't
+mine, of course, but I've let him have his way."
+
+She was standing very still, her eyes roaming through the hall and music
+room, as it now was--all thrown into one, under the great skylight.  Old
+Jolyon had an odd impression of her.  Was she trying to conjure somebody
+from the shades of that space where the colouring was all pearl-grey and
+silver?  He would have had gold himself; more lively and solid.  But Jo
+had French tastes, and it had come out shadowy like that, with an effect
+as of the fume of cigarettes the chap was always smoking, broken here and
+there by a little blaze of blue or crimson colour.  It was not his dream!
+Mentally he had hung this space with those gold-framed masterpieces of
+still and stiller life which he had bought in days when quantity was
+precious.  And now where were they?  Sold for a song!  That something
+which made him, alone among Forsytes, move with the times had warned him
+against the struggle to retain them.  But in his study he still had
+'Dutch Fishing Boats at Sunset.'
+
+He began to mount the stairs with her, slowly, for he felt his side.
+
+"These are the bathrooms," he said, "and other arrangements.  I've had
+them tiled.  The nurseries are along there.  And this is Jo's and his
+wife's.  They all communicate.  But you remember, I expect."
+
+Irene nodded.  They passed on, up the gallery and entered a large room
+with a small bed, and several windows.
+
+"This is mine," he said.  The walls were covered with the photographs of
+children and watercolour sketches, and he added doubtfully:
+
+"These are Jo's.  The view's first-rate.  You can see the Grand Stand at
+Epsom in clear weather."
+
+The sun was down now, behind the house, and over the 'prospect' a
+luminous haze had settled, emanation of the long and prosperous day.  Few
+houses showed, but fields and trees faintly glistened, away to a loom of
+downs.
+
+"The country's changing," he said abruptly, "but there it'll be when
+we're all gone.  Look at those thrushes--the birds are sweet here in the
+mornings.  I'm glad to have washed my hands of London."
+
+Her face was close to the window pane, and he was struck by its mournful
+look.  'Wish I could make her look happy!' he thought.  'A pretty face,
+but sad!'  And taking up his can of hot water he went out into the
+gallery.
+
+"This is June's room," he said, opening the next door and putting the can
+down; "I think you'll find everything." And closing the door behind her
+he went back to his own room.  Brushing his hair with his great ebony
+brushes, and dabbing his forehead with eau de Cologne, he mused.  She had
+come so strangely--a sort of visitation; mysterious, even romantic, as if
+his desire for company, for beauty, had been fulfilled by whatever it was
+which fulfilled that sort of thing.  And before the mirror he
+straightened his still upright figure, passed the brushes over his great
+white moustache, touched up his eyebrows with eau de Cologne, and rang
+the bell.
+
+"I forgot to let them know that I have a lady to dinner with me. Let cook
+do something extra, and tell Beacon to have the landau and pair at
+half-past ten to drive her back to Town to-night.  Is Miss Holly asleep?"
+
+The maid thought not.  And old Jolyon, passing down the gallery, stole on
+tiptoe towards the nursery, and opened the door whose hinges he kept
+specially oiled that he might slip in and out in the evenings without
+being heard.
+
+But Holly was asleep, and lay like a miniature Madonna, of that type
+which the old painters could not tell from Venus, when they had completed
+her.  Her long dark lashes clung to her cheeks; on her face was perfect
+peace--her little arrangements were evidently all right again.  And old
+Jolyon, in the twilight of the room, stood adoring her!  It was so
+charming, solemn, and loving--that little face.  He had more than his
+share of the blessed capacity of living again in the young.  They were to
+him his future life--all of a future life that his fundamental pagan
+sanity perhaps admitted.  There she was with everything before her, and
+his blood--some of it--in her tiny veins.  There she was, his little
+companion, to be made as happy as ever he could make her, so that she
+knew nothing but love.  His heart swelled, and he went out, stilling the
+sound of his patent-leather boots.  In the corridor an eccentric notion
+attacked him: To think that children should come to that which Irene had
+told him she was helping!  Women who were all, once, little things like
+this one sleeping there!  'I must give her a cheque!' he mused; 'Can't
+bear to think of them!'  They had never borne reflecting on, those poor
+outcasts; wounding too deeply the core of true refinement hidden under
+layers of conformity to the sense of property--wounding too grievously
+the deepest thing in him--a love of beauty which could give him, even
+now, a flutter of the heart, thinking of his evening in the society of a
+pretty woman.  And he went downstairs, through the swinging doors, to the
+back regions.  There, in the wine-cellar, was a hock worth at least two
+pounds a bottle, a Steinberg Cabinet, better than any Johannisberg that
+ever went down throat; a wine of perfect bouquet, sweet as a
+nectarine--nectar indeed!  He got a bottle out, handling it like a baby,
+and holding it level to the light, to look.  Enshrined in its coat of
+dust, that mellow coloured, slender-necked bottle gave him deep pleasure.
+Three years to settle down again since the move from Town--ought to be in
+prime condition!  Thirty-five years ago he had bought it--thank God he had
+kept his palate, and earned the right to drink it.  She would appreciate
+this; not a spice of acidity in a dozen.  He wiped the bottle, drew the
+cork with his own hands, put his nose down, inhaled its perfume, and went
+back to the music room.
+
+Irene was standing by the piano; she had taken off her hat and a lace
+scarf she had been wearing, so that her gold-coloured hair was visible,
+and the pallor of her neck.  In her grey frock she made a pretty picture
+for old Jolyon, against the rosewood of the piano.
+
+He gave her his arm, and solemnly they went.  The room, which had been
+designed to enable twenty-four people to dine in comfort, held now but a
+little round table.  In his present solitude the big dining-table
+oppressed old Jolyon; he had caused it to be removed till his son came
+back.  Here in the company of two really good copies of Raphael Madonnas
+he was wont to dine alone.  It was the only disconsolate hour of his day,
+this summer weather.  He had never been a large eater, like that great
+chap Swithin, or Sylvanus Heythorp, or Anthony Thornworthy, those cronies
+of past times; and to dine alone, overlooked by the Madonnas, was to him
+but a sorrowful occupation, which he got through quickly, that he might
+come to the more spiritual enjoyment of his coffee and cigar.  But this
+evening was a different matter!  His eyes twinkled at her across the
+little table and he spoke of Italy and Switzerland, telling her stories
+of his travels there, and other experiences which he could no longer
+recount to his son and grand-daughter because they knew them.  This fresh
+audience was precious to him; he had never become one of those old men
+who ramble round and round the fields of reminiscence.  Himself quickly
+fatigued by the insensitive, he instinctively avoided fatiguing others,
+and his natural flirtatiousness towards beauty guarded him specially in
+his relations with a woman.  He would have liked to draw her out, but
+though she murmured and smiled and seemed to be enjoying what he told
+her, he remained conscious of that mysterious remoteness which
+constituted half her fascination.  He could not bear women who threw
+their shoulders and eyes at you, and chattered away; or hard-mouthed
+women who laid down the law and knew more than you did. There was only
+one quality in a woman that appealed to him--charm; and the quieter it
+was, the more he liked it.  And this one had charm, shadowy as afternoon
+sunlight on those Italian hills and valleys he had loved.  The feeling,
+too, that she was, as it were, apart, cloistered, made her seem nearer to
+himself, a strangely desirable companion.  When a man is very old and
+quite out of the running, he loves to feel secure from the rivalries of
+youth, for he would still be first in the heart of beauty.  And he drank
+his hock, and watched her lips, and felt nearly young.  But the dog
+Balthasar lay watching her lips too, and despising in his heart the
+interruptions of their talk, and the tilting of those greenish glasses
+full of a golden fluid which was distasteful to him.
+
+The light was just failing when they went back into the music-room. And,
+cigar in mouth, old Jolyon said:
+
+"Play me some Chopin."
+
+By the cigars they smoke, and the composers they love, ye shall know the
+texture of men's souls.  Old Jolyon could not bear a strong cigar or
+Wagner's music.  He loved Beethoven and Mozart, Handel and Gluck, and
+Schumann, and, for some occult reason, the operas of Meyerbeer; but of
+late years he had been seduced by Chopin, just as in painting he had
+succumbed to Botticelli.  In yielding to these tastes he had been
+conscious of divergence from the standard of the Golden Age.  Their
+poetry was not that of Milton and Byron and Tennyson; of Raphael and
+Titian; Mozart and Beethoven.  It was, as it were, behind a veil; their
+poetry hit no one in the face, but slipped its fingers under the ribs and
+turned and twisted, and melted up the heart.  And, never certain that
+this was healthy, he did not care a rap so long as he could see the
+pictures of the one or hear the music of the other.
+
+Irene sat down at the piano under the electric lamp festooned with
+pearl-grey, and old Jolyon, in an armchair, whence he could see her,
+crossed his legs and drew slowly at his cigar.  She sat a few moments
+with her hands on the keys, evidently searching her mind for what to give
+him.  Then she began and within old Jolyon there arose a sorrowful
+pleasure, not quite like anything else in the world.  He fell slowly into
+a trance, interrupted only by the movements of taking the cigar out of
+his mouth at long intervals, and replacing it.  She was there, and the
+hock within him, and the scent of tobacco; but there, too, was a world of
+sunshine lingering into moonlight, and pools with storks upon them, and
+bluish trees above, glowing with blurs of wine-red roses, and fields of
+lavender where milk-white cows were grazing, and a woman all shadowy,
+with dark eyes and a white neck, smiled, holding out her arms; and
+through air which was like music a star dropped and was caught on a cow's
+horn.  He opened his eyes.  Beautiful piece; she played well--the touch
+of an angel!  And he closed them again.  He felt miraculously sad and
+happy, as one does, standing under a lime-tree in full honey flower.  Not
+live one's own life again, but just stand there and bask in the smile of
+a woman's eyes, and enjoy the bouquet!  And he jerked his hand; the dog
+Balthasar had reached up and licked it.
+
+"Beautiful!" He said: "Go on--more Chopin!"
+
+She began to play again.  This time the resemblance between her and
+'Chopin' struck him.  The swaying he had noticed in her walk was in her
+playing too, and the Nocturne she had chosen and the soft darkness of her
+eyes, the light on her hair, as of moonlight from a golden moon.
+Seductive, yes; but nothing of Delilah in her or in that music.  A long
+blue spiral from his cigar ascended and dispersed.  'So we go out!' he
+thought.  'No more beauty!  Nothing?'
+
+Again Irene stopped.
+
+"Would you like some Gluck?  He used to write his music in a sunlit
+garden, with a bottle of Rhine wine beside him."
+
+"Ah! yes.  Let's have 'Orfeo.'"  Round about him now were fields of gold
+and silver flowers, white forms swaying in the sunlight, bright birds
+flying to and fro.  All was summer.  Lingering waves of sweetness and
+regret flooded his soul.  Some cigar ash dropped, and taking out a silk
+handkerchief to brush it off, he inhaled a mingled scent as of snuff and
+eau de Cologne.  'Ah!' he thought, 'Indian summer--that's all!' and he
+said: "You haven't played me 'Che faro.'"
+
+She did not answer; did not move.  He was conscious of something--some
+strange upset.  Suddenly he saw her rise and turn away, and a pang of
+remorse shot through him.  What a clumsy chap!  Like Orpheus, she of
+course--she too was looking for her lost one in the hall of memory!  And
+disturbed to the heart, he got up from his chair.  She had gone to the
+great window at the far end.  Gingerly he followed.  Her hands were
+folded over her breast; he could just see her cheek, very white.  And,
+quite emotionalized, he said:
+
+"There, there, my love!"  The words had escaped him mechanically, for
+they were those he used to Holly when she had a pain, but their effect
+was instantaneously distressing.  She raised her arms, covered her face
+with them, and wept.
+
+Old Jolyon stood gazing at her with eyes very deep from age.  The
+passionate shame she seemed feeling at her abandonment, so unlike the
+control and quietude of her whole presence was as if she had never before
+broken down in the presence of another being.
+
+"There, there--there, there!" he murmured, and putting his hand out
+reverently, touched her.  She turned, and leaned the arms which covered
+her face against him.  Old Jolyon stood very still, keeping one thin hand
+on her shoulder.  Let her cry her heart out--it would do her good.
+
+And the dog Balthasar, puzzled, sat down on his stern to examine them.
+
+The window was still open, the curtains had not been drawn, the last of
+daylight from without mingled with faint intrusion from the lamp within;
+there was a scent of new-mown grass.  With the wisdom of a long life old
+Jolyon did not speak.  Even grief sobbed itself out in time; only Time
+was good for sorrow--Time who saw the passing of each mood, each emotion
+in turn; Time the layer-to-rest. There came into his mind the words: 'As
+panteth the hart after cooling streams'--but they were of no use to him.
+Then, conscious of a scent of violets, he knew she was drying her eyes.
+He put his chin forward, pressed his moustache against her forehead, and
+felt her shake with a quivering of her whole body, as of a tree which
+shakes itself free of raindrops.  She put his hand to her lips, as if
+saying: "All over now!  Forgive me!"
+
+The kiss filled him with a strange comfort; he led her back to where she
+had been so upset.  And the dog Balthasar, following, laid the bone of
+one of the cutlets they had eaten at their feet.
+
+Anxious to obliterate the memory of that emotion, he could think of
+nothing better than china; and moving with her slowly from cabinet to
+cabinet, he kept taking up bits of Dresden and Lowestoft and Chelsea,
+turning them round and round with his thin, veined hands, whose skin,
+faintly freckled, had such an aged look.
+
+"I bought this at Jobson's," he would say; "cost me thirty pounds. It's
+very old.  That dog leaves his bones all over the place.  This old
+'ship-bowl' I picked up at the sale when that precious rip, the Marquis,
+came to grief.  But you don't remember.  Here's a nice piece of Chelsea.
+Now, what would you say this was?"  And he was comforted, feeling that,
+with her taste, she was taking a real interest in these things; for,
+after all, nothing better composes the nerves than a doubtful piece of
+china.
+
+When the crunch of the carriage wheels was heard at last, he said:
+
+"You must come again; you must come to lunch, then I can show you these
+by daylight, and my little sweet--she's a dear little thing. This dog
+seems to have taken a fancy to you."
+
+For Balthasar, feeling that she was about to leave, was rubbing his side
+against her leg.  Going out under the porch with her, he said:
+
+"He'll get you up in an hour and a quarter.  Take this for your
+protegees," and he slipped a cheque for fifty pounds into her hand. He
+saw her brightened eyes, and heard her murmur: "Oh!  Uncle Jolyon!" and a
+real throb of pleasure went through him.  That meant one or two poor
+creatures helped a little, and it meant that she would come again.  He
+put his hand in at the window and grasped hers once more.  The carriage
+rolled away.  He stood looking at the moon and the shadows of the trees,
+and thought: 'A sweet night!  She......!'
+II
+
+Two days of rain, and summer set in bland and sunny.  Old Jolyon walked
+and talked with Holly.  At first he felt taller and full of a new vigour;
+then he felt restless.  Almost every afternoon they would enter the
+coppice, and walk as far as the log.  'Well, she's not there!' he would
+think, 'of course not!'  And he would feel a little shorter, and drag his
+feet walking up the hill home, with his hand clapped to his left side.
+Now and then the thought would move in him: 'Did she come--or did I dream
+it?' and he would stare at space, while the dog Balthasar stared at him.
+Of course she would not come again!  He opened the letters from Spain
+with less excitement.  They were not returning till July; he felt, oddly,
+that he could bear it.  Every day at dinner he screwed up his eyes and
+looked at where she had sat.  She was not there, so he unscrewed his eyes
+again.
+
+On the seventh afternoon he thought: 'I must go up and get some boots.'
+He ordered Beacon, and set out.  Passing from Putney towards Hyde Park he
+reflected: 'I might as well go to Chelsea and see her.'  And he called
+out: "Just drive me to where you took that lady the other night."  The
+coachman turned his broad red face, and his juicy lips answered: "The
+lady in grey, sir?"
+
+"Yes, the lady in grey."  What other ladies were there!  Stodgy chap!
+
+The carriage stopped before a small three-storied block of flats,
+standing a little back from the river.  With a practised eye old Jolyon
+saw that they were cheap.  'I should think about sixty pound a year,'  he
+mused; and entering, he looked at the name-board.  The name 'Forsyte' was
+not on it, but against 'First Floor, Flat C' were the words: 'Mrs. Irene
+Heron.'  Ah!  She had taken her maiden name again!  And somehow this
+pleased him.  He went upstairs slowly, feeling his side a little.  He
+stood a moment, before ringing, to lose the feeling of drag and
+fluttering there.  She would not be in!  And then--Boots!  The thought
+was black.  What did he want with boots at his age?  He could not wear out
+all those he had.
+
+"Your mistress at home?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Say Mr. Jolyon Forsyte."
+
+"Yes, sir, will you come this way?"
+
+Old Jolyon followed a very little maid--not more than sixteen one would
+say--into a very small drawing-room where the sun-blinds were drawn.  It
+held a cottage piano and little else save a vague fragrance and good
+taste.  He stood in the middle, with his top hat in his hand, and
+thought: 'I expect she's very badly off!' There was a mirror above the
+fireplace, and he saw himself reflected.  An old-looking chap!  He heard
+a rustle, and turned round.  She was so close that his moustache almost
+brushed her forehead, just under her hair.
+
+"I was driving up," he said.  "Thought I'd look in on you, and ask you
+how you got up the other night."
+
+And, seeing her smile, he felt suddenly relieved.  She was really glad to
+see him, perhaps.
+
+"Would you like to put on your hat and come for a drive in the Park?"
+
+But while she was gone to put her hat on, he frowned.  The Park!  James
+and Emily!  Mrs. Nicholas, or some other member of his precious family
+would be there very likely, prancing up and down. And they would go and
+wag their tongues about having seen him with her, afterwards.  Better
+not!  He did not wish to revive the echoes of the past on Forsyte
+'Change.  He removed a white hair from the lapel of his
+closely-buttoned-up frock coat, and passed his hand over his cheeks,
+moustache, and square chin.  It felt very hollow there under the
+cheekbones.  He had not been eating much lately--he had better get that
+little whippersnapper who attended Holly to give him a tonic.  But she
+had come back and when they were in the carriage, he said:
+
+"Suppose we go and sit in Kensington Gardens instead?" and added with a
+twinkle: "No prancing up and down there," as if she had been in the
+secret of his thoughts.
+
+Leaving the carriage, they entered those select precincts, and strolled
+towards the water.
+
+"You've gone back to your maiden name, I see," he said: "I'm not sorry."
+
+She slipped her hand under his arm: "Has June forgiven me, Uncle Jolyon?"
+
+He answered gently: "Yes--yes; of course, why not?"
+
+"And have you?"
+
+"I?  I forgave you as soon as I saw how the land really lay."  And
+perhaps he had; his instinct had always been to forgive the beautiful.
+
+She drew a deep breath.  "I never regretted--I couldn't.  Did you ever
+love very deeply, Uncle Jolyon?"
+
+At that strange question old Jolyon stared before him.  Had he?  He did
+not seem to remember that he ever had.  But he did not like to say this
+to the young woman whose hand was touching his arm, whose life was
+suspended, as it were, by memory of a tragic love.  And he thought: 'If I
+had met you when I was young I--I might have made a fool of myself,
+perhaps.'  And a longing to escape in generalities beset him.
+
+"Love's a queer thing," he said, "fatal thing often.  It was the
+Greeks--wasn't it?--made love into a goddess; they were right, I dare
+say, but then they lived in the Golden Age."
+
+"Phil adored them."
+
+Phil!  The word jarred him, for suddenly--with his power to see all round
+a thing, he perceived why she was putting up with him like this.  She
+wanted to talk about her lover!  Well!  If it was any pleasure to her!
+And he said: "Ah!  There was a bit of the sculptor in him, I fancy."
+
+"Yes.  He loved balance and symmetry; he loved the whole-hearted way the
+Greeks gave themselves to art."
+
+Balance!  The chap had no balance at all, if he remembered; as for
+symmetry--clean-built enough he was, no doubt; but those queer eyes of
+his, and high cheek-bones--Symmetry?
+
+"You're of the Golden Age, too, Uncle Jolyon."
+
+Old Jolyon looked round at her.  Was she chaffing him?  No, her eyes were
+soft as velvet.  Was she flattering him?  But if so, why?  There was
+nothing to be had out of an old chap like him.
+
+"Phil thought so.  He used to say: 'But I can never tell him that I
+admire him.'"
+
+Ah!  There it was again.  Her dead lover; her desire to talk of him!  And
+he pressed her arm, half resentful of those memories, half grateful, as
+if he recognised what a link they were between herself and him.
+
+"He was a very talented young fellow," he murmured.  "It's hot; I feel
+the heat nowadays.  Let's sit down."
+
+They took two chairs beneath a chestnut tree whose broad leaves covered
+them from the peaceful glory of the afternoon.  A pleasure to sit there
+and watch her, and feel that she liked to be with him. And the wish to
+increase that liking, if he could, made him go on:
+
+"I expect he showed you a side of him I never saw.  He'd be at his best
+with you.  His ideas of art were a little new--to me "--he had stiffed
+the word 'fangled.'
+
+"Yes: but he used to say you had a real sense of beauty."  Old Jolyon
+thought: 'The devil he did!' but answered with a twinkle: "Well, I have,
+or I shouldn't be sitting here with you."  She was fascinating when she
+smiled with her eyes, like that!
+
+"He thought you had one of those hearts that never grow old.  Phil had
+real insight."
+
+He was not taken in by this flattery spoken out of the past, out of a
+longing to talk of her dead lover--not a bit; and yet it was precious to
+hear, because she pleased his eyes and heart which--quite true!--had
+never grown old.  Was that because--unlike her and her dead lover, he had
+never loved to desperation, had always kept his balance, his sense of
+symmetry.  Well!  It had left him power, at eighty-four, to admire beauty.
+And he thought, 'If I were a painter or a sculptor!  But I'm an old chap.
+Make hay while the sun shines.'
+
+A couple with arms entwined crossed on the grass before them, at the edge
+of the shadow from their tree.  The sunlight fell cruelly on their pale,
+squashed, unkempt young faces.  "We're an ugly lot!" said old Jolyon
+suddenly.  "It amazes me to see how--love triumphs over that."
+
+"Love triumphs over everything!"
+
+"The young think so," he muttered.
+
+"Love has no age, no limit, and no death."
+
+With that glow in her pale face, her breast heaving, her eyes so large
+and dark and soft, she looked like Venus come to life!  But this
+extravagance brought instant reaction, and, twinkling, he said: "Well, if
+it had limits, we shouldn't be born; for by George! it's got a lot to put
+up with."
+
+Then, removing his top hat, he brushed it round with a cuff.  The great
+clumsy thing heated his forehead; in these days he often got a rush of
+blood to the head--his circulation was not what it had been.
+
+She still sat gazing straight before her, and suddenly she murmured:
+
+"It's strange enough that I'm alive."
+
+Those words of Jo's 'Wild and lost' came back to him.
+
+"Ah!" he said: "my son saw you for a moment--that day."
+
+"Was it your son?  I heard a voice in the hall; I thought for a second it
+was--Phil."
+
+Old Jolyon saw her lips tremble.  She put her hand over them, took it
+away again, and went on calmly: "That night I went to the Embankment; a
+woman caught me by the dress.  She told me about herself.  When one knows
+that others suffer, one's ashamed."
+
+"One of those?"
+
+She nodded, and horror stirred within old Jolyon, the horror of one who
+has never known a struggle with desperation.  Almost against his will he
+muttered: "Tell me, won't you?"
+
+"I didn't care whether I lived or died.  When you're like that, Fate
+ceases to want to kill you.  She took care of me three days--she never
+left me.  I had no money.  That's why I do what I can for them, now."
+
+But old Jolyon was thinking: 'No money!'  What fate could compare with
+that?  Every other was involved in it.
+
+"I wish you had come to me," he said.  "Why didn't you?"  But Irene did
+not answer.
+
+"Because my name was Forsyte, I suppose?  Or was it June who kept you
+away?  How are you getting on now?"  His eyes involuntarily swept her
+body.  Perhaps even now she was--!  And yet she wasn't thin--not really!
+
+"Oh! with my fifty pounds a year, I make just enough."  The answer did
+not reassure him; he had lost confidence.  And that fellow Soames!  But
+his sense of justice stifled condemnation.  No, she would certainly have
+died rather than take another penny from him. Soft as she looked, there
+must be strength in her somewhere--strength and fidelity.  But what
+business had young Bosinney to have got run over and left her stranded
+like this!
+
+"Well, you must come to me now," he said, "for anything you want, or I
+shall be quite cut up."  And putting on his hat, he rose. "Let's go and
+get some tea.  I told that lazy chap to put the horses up for an hour,
+and come for me at your place.  We'll take a cab presently; I can't walk
+as I used to."
+
+He enjoyed that stroll to the Kensington end of the gardens--the sound of
+her voice, the glancing of her eyes, the subtle beauty of a charming form
+moving beside him.  He enjoyed their tea at Ruffel's in the High Street,
+and came out thence with a great box of chocolates swung on his little
+finger.  He enjoyed the drive back to Chelsea in a hansom, smoking his
+cigar.  She had promised to come down next Sunday and play to him again,
+and already in thought he was plucking carnations and early roses for her
+to carry back to town.  It was a pleasure to give her a little pleasure,
+if it WERE pleasure from an old chap like him!  The carriage was already
+there when they arrived.  Just like that fellow, who was always late when
+he was wanted!  Old Jolyon went in for a minute to say good-bye.  The
+little dark hall of the flat was impregnated with a disagreeable odour of
+patchouli, and on a bench against the wall--its only furniture--he saw a
+figure sitting.  He heard Irene say softly: "Just one minute."  In the
+little drawing-room when the door was shut, he asked gravely: "One of
+your protegees?"
+
+"Yes.  Now thanks to you, I can do something for her."
+
+He stood, staring, and stroking that chin whose strength had frightened
+so many in its time.  The idea of her thus actually in contact with this
+outcast grieved and frightened him.  What could she do for them?  Nothing.
+Only soil and make trouble for herself, perhaps.  And he said: "Take
+care, my dear!  The world puts the worst construction on everything."
+
+"I know that."
+
+He was abashed by her quiet smile.  "Well then--Sunday," he murmured:
+"Good-bye."
+
+She put her cheek forward for him to kiss.
+
+"Good-bye," he said again; "take care of yourself."  And he went out, not
+looking towards the figure on the bench.  He drove home by way of
+Hammersmith; that he might stop at a place he knew of and tell them to
+send her in two dozen of their best Burgundy.  She must want picking-up
+sometimes!  Only in Richmond Park did he remember that he had gone up to
+order himself some boots, and was surprised that he could have had so
+paltry an idea.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+The little spirits of the past which throng an old man's days had never
+pushed their faces up to his so seldom as in the seventy hours elapsing
+before Sunday came.  The spirit of the future, with the charm of the
+unknown, put up her lips instead.  Old Jolyon was not restless now, and
+paid no visits to the log, because she was coming to lunch.  There is
+wonderful finality about a meal; it removes a world of doubts, for no one
+misses meals except for reasons beyond control.  He played many games
+with Holly on the lawn, pitching them up to her who was batting so as to
+be ready to bowl to Jolly in the holidays.  For she was not a Forsyte,
+but Jolly was--and Forsytes always bat, until they have resigned and
+reached the age of eighty-five.  The dog Balthasar, in attendance, lay on
+the ball as often as he could, and the page-boy fielded, till his face
+was like the harvest moon.  And because the time was getting shorter,
+each day was longer and more golden than the last. On Friday night he
+took a liver pill, his side hurt him rather, and though it was not the
+liver side, there is no remedy like that. Anyone telling him that he had
+found a new excitement in life and that excitement was not good for him,
+would have been met by one of those steady and rather defiant looks of
+his deep-set iron-grey eyes, which seemed to say: 'I know my own business
+best.'  He always had and always would.
+
+On Sunday morning, when Holly had gone with her governess to church, he
+visited the strawberry beds.  There, accompanied by the dog Balthasar, he
+examined the plants narrowly and succeeded in finding at least two dozen
+berries which were really ripe. Stooping was not good for him, and he
+became very dizzy and red in the forehead.  Having placed the
+strawberries in a dish on the dining-table, he washed his hands and
+bathed his forehead with eau de Cologne.  There, before the mirror, it
+occurred to him that he was thinner.  What a 'threadpaper' he had been
+when he was young!  It was nice to be slim--he could not bear a fat chap;
+and yet perhaps his cheeks were too thin!  She was to arrive by train at
+half-past twelve and walk up, entering from the road past Drage's farm at
+the far end of the coppice.  And, having looked into June's room to see
+that there was hot water ready, he set forth to meet her, leisurely, for
+his heart was beating.  The air smelled sweet, larks sang, and the Grand
+Stand at Epsom was visible.  A perfect day!  On just such a one, no
+doubt, six years ago, Soames had brought young Bosinney down with him to
+look at the site before they began to build.  It was Bosinney who had
+pitched on the exact spot for the house--as June had often told him.  In
+these days he was thinking much about that young fellow, as if his spirit
+were really haunting the field of his last work, on the chance of
+seeing--her.  Bosinney--the one man who had possessed her heart, to whom
+she had given her whole self with rapture!  At his age one could not, of
+course, imagine such things, but there stirred in him a queer vague
+aching--as it were the ghost of an impersonal jealousy; and a feeling,
+too, more generous, of pity for that love so early lost.  All over in a
+few poor months!  Well, well!  He looked at his watch before entering the
+coppice--only a quarter past, twenty-five minutes to wait!  And then,
+turning the corner of the path, he saw her exactly where he had seen her
+the first time, on the log; and realised that she must have come by the
+earlier train to sit there alone for a couple of hours at least.  Two
+hours of her society missed!  What memory could make that log so dear to
+her?  His face showed what he was thinking, for she said at once:
+
+"Forgive me, Uncle Jolyon; it was here that I first knew."
+
+"Yes, yes; there it is for you whenever you like.  You're looking a
+little Londony; you're giving too many lessons."
+
+That she should have to give lessons worried him.  Lessons to a parcel of
+young girls thumping out scales with their thick fingers.
+
+"Where do you go to give them?" he asked.
+
+"They're mostly Jewish families, luckily."
+
+Old Jolyon stared; to all Forsytes Jews seem strange and doubtful.
+
+"They love music, and they're very kind."
+
+"They had better be, by George!"  He took her arm--his side always hurt
+him a little going uphill--and said:
+
+"Did you ever see anything like those buttercups?  They came like that in
+a night."
+
+Her eyes seemed really to fly over the field, like bees after the flowers
+and the honey.  "I wanted you to see them--wouldn't let them turn the
+cows in yet."  Then, remembering that she had come to talk about
+Bosinney, he pointed to the clock-tower over the stables:
+
+"I expect he wouldn't have let me put that there--had no notion of time,
+if I remember."
+
+But, pressing his arm to her, she talked of flowers instead, and he knew
+it was done that he might not feel she came because of her dead lover.
+
+"The best flower I can show you," he said, with a sort of triumph, "is my
+little sweet.  She'll be back from Church directly.  There's something
+about her which reminds me a little of you," and it did not seem to him
+peculiar that he had put it thus, instead of saying: "There's something
+about you which reminds me a little of her."  Ah!  And here she was!
+
+Holly, followed closely by her elderly French governess, whose digestion
+had been ruined twenty-two years ago in the siege of Strasbourg, came
+rushing towards them from under the oak tree.  She stopped about a dozen
+yards away, to pat Balthasar and pretend that this was all she had in her
+mind.  Old Jolyon, who knew better, said:
+
+"Well, my darling, here's the lady in grey I promised you."
+
+Holly raised herself and looked up.  He watched the two of them with a
+twinkle, Irene smiling, Holly beginning with grave inquiry, passing into
+a shy smile too, and then to something deeper.  She had a sense of
+beauty, that child--knew what was what!  He enjoyed the sight of the kiss
+between them.
+
+"Mrs. Heron, Mam'zelle Beauce.  Well, Mam'zelle--good sermon?"
+
+For, now that he had not much more time before him, the only part of the
+service connected with this world absorbed what interest in church
+remained to him.  Mam'zelle Beauce stretched out a spidery hand clad in a
+black kid glove--she had been in the best families--and the rather sad
+eyes of her lean yellowish face seemed to ask: "Are you well-brrred?"
+Whenever Holly or Jolly did anything unpleasing to her--a not uncommon
+occurrence--she would say to them: "The little Tayleurs never did
+that--they were such well-brrred little children."  Jolly hated the
+little Tayleurs; Holly wondered dreadfully how it was she fell so short
+of them.  'A thin rum little soul,' old Jolyon thought her--Mam'zelle
+Beauce.
+
+Luncheon was a successful meal, the mushrooms which he himself had picked
+in the mushroom house, his chosen strawberries, and another bottle of the
+Steinberg cabinet filled him with a certain aromatic spirituality, and a
+conviction that he would have a touch of eczema to-morrow.
+
+After lunch they sat under the oak tree drinking Turkish coffee. It was
+no matter of grief to him when Mademoiselle Beauce withdrew to write her
+Sunday letter to her sister, whose future had been endangered in the past
+by swallowing a pin--an event held up daily in warning to the children to
+eat slowly and digest what they had eaten.  At the foot of the bank, on a
+carriage rug, Holly and the dog Balthasar teased and loved each other,
+and in the shade old Jolyon with his legs crossed and his cigar
+luxuriously savoured, gazed at Irene sitting in the swing.  A light,
+vaguely swaying, grey figure with a fleck of sunlight here and there upon
+it, lips just opened, eyes dark and soft under lids a little drooped. She
+looked content; surely it did her good to come and see him!  The
+selfishness of age had not set its proper grip on him, for he could still
+feel pleasure in the pleasure of others, realising that what he wanted,
+though much, was not quite all that mattered.
+
+"It's quiet here," he said; "you mustn't come down if you find it dull.
+But it's a pleasure to see you.  My little sweet is the only face which
+gives me any pleasure, except yours."
+
+From her smile he knew that she was not beyond liking to be appreciated,
+and this reassured him.  "That's not humbug," he said. "I never told a
+woman I admired her when I didn't.  In fact I don't know when I've told a
+woman I admired her, except my wife in the old days; and wives are
+funny."  He was silent, but resumed abruptly:
+
+"She used to expect me to say it more often than I felt it, and there we
+were."  Her face looked mysteriously troubled, and, afraid that he had
+said something painful, he hurried on: "When my little sweet marries, I
+hope she'll find someone who knows what women feel.  I shan't be here to
+see it, but there's too much topsy-turvydom in marriage; I don't want her
+to pitch up against that."  And, aware that he had made bad worse, he
+added: "That dog will scratch."
+
+A silence followed.  Of what was she thinking, this pretty creature whose
+life was spoiled; who had done with love, and yet was made for love?  Some
+day when he was gone, perhaps, she would find another mate--not so
+disorderly as that young fellow who had got himself run over.  Ah! but
+her husband?
+
+"Does Soames never trouble you?" he asked.
+
+She shook her head.  Her face had closed up suddenly.  For all her
+softness there was something irreconcilable about her.  And a glimpse of
+light on the inexorable nature of sex antipathies strayed into a brain
+which, belonging to early Victorian civilisation--so much older than this
+of his old age--had never thought about such primitive things.
+
+"That's a comfort," he said.  "You can see the Grand Stand to-day. Shall
+we take a turn round?"
+
+Through the flower and fruit garden, against whose high outer walls peach
+trees and nectarines were trained to the sun, through the stables, the
+vinery, the mushroom house, the asparagus beds, the rosery, the
+summer-house, he conducted her--even into the kitchen garden to see the
+tiny green peas which Holly loved to scoop out of their pods with her
+finger, and lick up from the palm of her little brown hand.  Many
+delightful things he showed her, while Holly and the dog Balthasar danced
+ahead, or came to them at intervals for attention.  It was one of the
+happiest afternoons he had ever spent, but it tired him and he was glad
+to sit down in the music room and let her give him tea.  A special little
+friend of Holly's had come in--a fair child with short hair like a boy's.
+And the two sported in the distance, under the stairs, on the stairs, and
+up in the gallery.  Old Jolyon begged for Chopin.  She played studies,
+mazurkas, waltzes, till the two children, creeping near, stood at the
+foot of the piano their dark and golden heads bent forward, listening.
+Old Jolyon watched.
+
+"Let's see you dance, you two!"
+
+Shyly, with a false start, they began.  Bobbing and circling, earnest,
+not very adroit, they went past and past his chair to the strains of that
+waltz.  He watched them and the face of her who was playing turned
+smiling towards those little dancers thinking:
+
+'Sweetest picture I've seen for ages.'
+
+A voice said:
+
+"Hollee!  Mais enfin--qu'est-ce que tu fais la--danser, le dimanche!
+Viens, donc!"
+
+But the children came close to old Jolyon, knowing that he would save
+them, and gazed into a face which was decidedly 'caught out.'
+
+"Better the day, better the deed, Mam'zelle.  It's all my doing. Trot
+along, chicks, and have your tea."
+
+And, when they were gone, followed by the dog Balthasar, who took every
+meal, he looked at Irene with a twinkle and said:
+
+"Well, there we are!  Aren't they sweet?  Have you any little ones among
+your pupils?"
+
+"Yes, three--two of them darlings."
+
+"Pretty?"
+
+"Lovely!"
+
+Old Jolyon sighed; he had an insatiable appetite for the very young.  "My
+little sweet," he said, "is devoted to music; she'll be a musician some
+day.  You wouldn't give me your opinion of her playing, I suppose?"
+
+"Of course I will."
+
+"You wouldn't like--" but he stifled the words "to give her lessons." The
+idea that she gave lessons was unpleasant to him; yet it would mean that
+he would see her regularly.  She left the piano and came over to his
+chair.
+
+"I would like, very much; but there is--June.  When are they coming
+back?"
+
+Old Jolyon frowned.  "Not till the middle of next month.  What does that
+matter?"
+
+"You said June had forgiven me; but she could never forget, Uncle
+Jolyon."
+
+Forget!  She must forget, if he wanted her to.
+
+But as if answering, Irene shook her head.  "You know she couldn't; one
+doesn't forget."
+
+Always that wretched past!  And he said with a sort of vexed finality:
+
+"Well, we shall see."
+
+He talked to her an hour or more, of the children, and a hundred little
+things, till the carriage came round to take her home.  And when she had
+gone he went back to his chair, and sat there smoothing his face and
+chin, dreaming over the day.
+
+That evening after dinner he went to his study and took a sheet of paper.
+He stayed for some minutes without writing, then rose and stood under the
+masterpiece 'Dutch Fishing Boats at Sunset.'  He was not thinking of that
+picture, but of his life.  He was going to leave her something in his
+Will; nothing could so have stirred the stilly deeps of thought and
+memory.  He was going to leave her a portion of his wealth, of his
+aspirations, deeds, qualities, work--all that had made that wealth; going
+to leave her, too, a part of all he had missed in life, by his sane and
+steady pursuit of wealth.  All!  What had he missed?  'Dutch Fishing
+Boats' responded blankly; he crossed to the French window, and drawing
+the curtain aside, opened it.  A wind had got up, and one of last year's
+oak leaves which had somehow survived the gardener's brooms, was dragging
+itself with a tiny clicking rustle along the stone terrace in the
+twilight.  Except for that it was very quiet out there, and he could
+smell the heliotrope watered not long since.  A bat went by.  A bird
+uttered its last 'cheep.'  And right above the oak tree the first star
+shone.  Faust in the opera had bartered his soul for some fresh years of
+youth.  Morbid notion!  No such bargain was possible, that was real
+tragedy!  No making oneself new again for love or life or anything.
+Nothing left to do but enjoy beauty from afar off while you could, and
+leave it something in your Will.  But how much?  And, as if he could not
+make that calculation looking out into the mild freedom of the country
+night, he turned back and went up to the chimney-piece.  There were his
+pet bronzes--a Cleopatra with the asp at her breast; a Socrates; a
+greyhound playing with her puppy; a strong man reining in some horses.
+'They last!' he thought, and a pang went through his heart.  They had a
+thousand years of life before them!
+
+'How much?' Well! enough at all events to save her getting old before her
+time, to keep the lines out of her face as long as possible, and grey
+from soiling that bright hair.  He might live another five years.  She
+would be well over thirty by then.  'How much?'  She had none of his
+blood in her!  In loyalty to the tenor of his life for forty years and
+more, ever since he married and founded that mysterious thing, a family,
+came this warning thought--None of his blood, no right to anything!  It
+was a luxury then, this notion.  An extravagance, a petting of an old
+man's whim, one of those things done in dotage.  His real future was
+vested in those who had his blood, in whom he would live on when he was
+gone. He turned away from the bronzes and stood looking at the old
+leather chair in which he had sat and smoked so many hundreds of cigars.
+And suddenly he seemed to see her sitting there in her grey dress,
+fragrant, soft, dark-eyed, graceful, looking up at him. Why!  She cared
+nothing for him, really; all she cared for was that lost lover of hers.
+But she was there, whether she would or no, giving him pleasure with her
+beauty and grace.  One had no right to inflict an old man's company, no
+right to ask her down to play to him and let him look at her--for no
+reward!  Pleasure must be paid for in this world.  'How much?'  After
+all, there was plenty; his son and his three grandchildren would never
+miss that little lump. He had made it himself, nearly every penny; he
+could leave it where he liked, allow himself this little pleasure.  He
+went back to the bureau.  'Well, I'm going to,' he thought, 'let them
+think what they like.  I'm going to!'  And he sat down.
+
+'How much?' Ten thousand, twenty thousand--how much?  If only with his
+money he could buy one year, one month of youth.  And startled by that
+thought, he wrote quickly:
+
+'DEAR HERRING,--Draw me a codicil to this effect: "I leave to my niece
+Irene Forsyte, born Irene Heron, by which name she now goes, fifteen
+thousand pounds free of legacy duty." 'Yours faithfully, 'JOLYON
+FORSYTE.'
+
+When he had sealed and stamped the envelope, he went back to the window
+and drew in a long breath.  It was dark, but many stars shone now.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+He woke at half-past two, an hour which long experience had taught him
+brings panic intensity to all awkward thoughts.  Experience had also
+taught him that a further waking at the proper hour of eight showed the
+folly of such panic.  On this particular morning the thought which
+gathered rapid momentum was that if he became ill, at his age not
+improbable, he would not see her.  From this it was but a step to
+realisation that he would be cut off, too, when his son and June returned
+from Spain.  How could he justify desire for the company of one who had
+stolen--early morning does not mince words--June's lover?  That lover was
+dead; but June was a stubborn little thing; warm-hearted, but stubborn as
+wood, and--quite true--not one who forgot!  By the middle of next month
+they would be back.  He had barely five weeks left to enjoy the new
+interest which had come into what remained of his life.  Darkness showed
+up to him absurdly clear the nature of his feeling.  Admiration for
+beauty--a craving to see that which delighted his eyes.
+
+Preposterous, at his age!  And yet--what other reason was there for asking
+June to undergo such painful reminder, and how prevent his son and his
+son's wife from thinking him very queer?  He would be reduced to sneaking
+up to London, which tired him; and the least indisposition would cut him
+off even from that.  He lay with eyes open, setting his jaw against the
+prospect, and calling himself an old fool, while his heart beat loudly,
+and then seemed to stop beating altogether.  He had seen the dawn
+lighting the window chinks, heard the birds chirp and twitter, and the
+cocks crow, before he fell asleep again, and awoke tired but sane.  Five
+weeks before he need bother, at his age an eternity!  But that early
+morning panic had left its mark, had slightly fevered the will of one who
+had always had his own way.  He would see her as often as he wished!  Why
+not go up to town and make that codicil at his solicitor's instead of
+writing about it; she might like to go to the opera!  But, by train, for
+he would not have that fat chap Beacon grinning behind his back. Servants
+were such fools; and, as likely as not, they had known all the past
+history of Irene and young Bosinney--servants knew everything, and
+suspected the rest. He wrote to her that morning:
+
+"MY DEAR IRENE,--I have to be up in town to-morrow.  If you would like to
+have a look in at the opera, come and dine with me quietly ...."
+
+But where?  It was decades since he had dined anywhere in London save at
+his Club or at a private house.  Ah! that new-fangled place close to
+Covent Garden....
+
+"Let me have a line to-morrow morning to the Piedmont Hotel whether to
+expect you there at 7 o'clock." "Yours affectionately, "JOLYON FORSYTE."
+
+She would understand that he just wanted to give her a little pleasure;
+for the idea that she should guess he had this itch to see her was
+instinctively unpleasant to him; it was not seemly that one so old should
+go out of his way to see beauty, especially in a woman.
+
+The journey next day, short though it was, and the visit to his lawyer's,
+tired him.  It was hot too, and after dressing for dinner he lay down on
+the sofa in his bedroom to rest a little.  He must have had a sort of
+fainting fit, for he came to himself feeling very queer; and with some
+difficulty rose and rang the bell.  Why! it was past seven!  And there he
+was and she would be waiting.  But suddenly the dizziness came on again,
+and he was obliged to relapse on the sofa.  He heard the maid's voice
+say:
+
+"Did you ring, sir?"
+
+"Yes, come here"; he could not see her clearly, for the cloud in front of
+his eyes.  "I'm not well, I want some sal volatile."
+
+"Yes, sir."  Her voice sounded frightened.
+
+Old Jolyon made an effort.
+
+"Don't go.  Take this message to my niece--a lady waiting in the hall--a
+lady in grey.  Say Mr. Forsyte is not well--the heat.  He is very sorry;
+if he is not down directly, she is not to wait dinner."
+
+When she was gone, he thought feebly: 'Why did I say a lady in grey--she
+may be in anything.  Sal volatile!'  He did not go off again, yet was not
+conscious of how Irene came to be standing beside him, holding smelling
+salts to his nose, and pushing a pillow up behind his head.  He heard her
+say anxiously: "Dear Uncle Jolyon, what is it?" was dimly conscious of
+the soft pressure of her lips on his hand; then drew a long breath of
+smelling salts, suddenly discovered strength in them, and sneezed.
+
+"Ha!" he said, "it's nothing.  How did you get here?  Go down and
+dine--the tickets are on the dressing-table.  I shall be all right in a
+minute."
+
+He felt her cool hand on his forehead, smelled violets, and sat divided
+between a sort of pleasure and a determination to be all right.
+
+"Why!  You are in grey!" he said.  "Help me up."  Once on his feet he gave
+himself a shake.
+
+"What business had I to go off like that!"  And he moved very slowly to
+the glass.  What a cadaverous chap!  Her voice, behind him, murmured:
+
+"You mustn't come down, Uncle; you must rest."
+
+"Fiddlesticks!  A glass of champagne'll soon set me to rights.  I can't
+have you missing the opera."
+
+But the journey down the corridor was troublesome.  What carpets they had
+in these newfangled places, so thick that you tripped up in them at every
+step!  In the lift he noticed how concerned she looked, and said with the
+ghost of a twinkle:
+
+"I'm a pretty host."
+
+When the lift stopped he had to hold firmly to the seat to prevent its
+slipping under him; but after soup and a glass of champagne he felt much
+better, and began to enjoy an infirmity which had brought such solicitude
+into her manner towards him.
+
+"I should have liked you for a daughter," he said suddenly; and watching
+the smile in her eyes, went on:
+
+"You mustn't get wrapped up in the past at your time of life; plenty of
+that when you get to my age.  That's a nice dress--I like the style."
+
+"I made it myself."
+
+Ah!  A woman who could make herself a pretty frock had not lost her
+interest in life.
+
+"Make hay while the sun shines," he said; "and drink that up.  I want to
+see some colour in your cheeks.  We mustn't waste life; it doesn't do.
+There's a new Marguerite to-night; let's hope she won't be fat.  And
+Mephisto--anything more dreadful than a fat chap playing the Devil I
+can't imagine."
+
+But they did not go to the opera after all, for in getting up from dinner
+the dizziness came over him again, and she insisted on his staying quiet
+and going to bed early.  When he parted from her at the door of the
+hotel, having paid the cabman to drive her to Chelsea, he sat down again
+for a moment to enjoy the memory of her words: "You are such a darling to
+me, Uncle Jolyon!"  Why!  Who wouldn't be!  He would have liked to stay up
+another day and take her to the Zoo, but two days running of him would
+bore her to death.  No, he must wait till next Sunday; she had promised
+to come then.  They would settle those lessons for Holly, if only for a
+month.  It would be something.  That little Mam'zelle Beauce wouldn't
+like it, but she would have to lump it.  And crushing his old opera hat
+against his chest he sought the lift.
+
+He drove to Waterloo next morning, struggling with a desire to say:
+'Drive me to Chelsea.'  But his sense of proportion was too strong.
+Besides, he still felt shaky, and did not want to risk another aberration
+like that of last night, away from home.  Holly, too, was expecting him,
+and what he had in his bag for her.  Not that there was any cupboard love
+in his little sweet--she was a bundle of affection.  Then, with the
+rather bitter cynicism of the old, he wondered for a second whether it
+was not cupboard love which made Irene put up with him.  No, she was not
+that sort either.  She had, if anything, too little notion of how to
+butter her bread, no sense of property, poor thing!  Besides, he had not
+breathed a word about that codicil, nor should he--sufficient unto the
+day was the good thereof.
+
+In the victoria which met him at the station Holly was restraining the
+dog Balthasar, and their caresses made 'jubey' his drive home. All the
+rest of that fine hot day and most of the next he was content and
+peaceful, reposing in the shade, while the long lingering sunshine
+showered gold on the lawns and the flowers.  But on Thursday evening at
+his lonely dinner he began to count the hours; sixty-five till he would
+go down to meet her again in the little coppice, and walk up through the
+fields at her side.  He had intended to consult the doctor about his
+fainting fit, but the fellow would be sure to insist on quiet, no
+excitement and all that; and he did not mean to be tied by the leg, did
+not want to be told of an infirmity--if there were one, could not afford
+to hear of it at his time of life, now that this new interest had come.
+And he carefully avoided making any mention of it in a letter to his son.
+It would only bring them back with a run!  How far this silence was due
+to consideration for their pleasure, how far to regard for his own, he
+did not pause to consider.
+
+That night in his study he had just finished his cigar and was dozing
+off, when he heard the rustle of a gown, and was conscious of a scent of
+violets.  Opening his eyes he saw her, dressed in grey, standing by the
+fireplace, holding out her arms.  The odd thing was that, though those
+arms seemed to hold nothing, they were curved as if round someone's neck,
+and her own neck was bent back, her lips open, her eyes closed.  She
+vanished at once, and there were the mantelpiece and his bronzes.  But
+those bronzes and the mantelpiece had not been there when she was, only
+the fireplace and the wall!  Shaken and troubled, he got up.  'I must
+take medicine,' he thought; 'I can't be well.'  His heart beat too fast,
+he had an asthmatic feeling in the chest; and going to the window, he
+opened it to get some air.  A dog was barking far away, one of the dogs
+at Gage's farm no doubt, beyond the coppice.  A beautiful still night,
+but dark.  'I dropped off,' he mused, 'that's it!  And yet I'll swear my
+eyes were open!'  A sound like a sigh seemed to answer.
+
+"What's that?" he said sharply, "who's there?"
+
+Putting his hand to his side to still the beating of his heart, he
+stepped out on the terrace.  Something soft scurried by in the dark.
+"Shoo!"  It was that great grey cat.  'Young Bosinney was like a great
+cat!' he thought.  'It was him in there, that she--that she was--He's got
+her still!'  He walked to the edge of the terrace, and looked down into
+the darkness; he could just see the powdering of the daisies on the
+unmown lawn.  Here to-day and gone to-morrow!  And there came the moon,
+who saw all, young and old, alive and dead, and didn't care a dump!  His
+own turn soon.  For a single day of youth he would give what was left!
+And he turned again towards the house.  He could see the windows of the
+night nursery up there.  His little sweet would be asleep.  'Hope that
+dog won't wake her!' he thought.  'What is it makes us love, and makes us
+die!  I must go to bed.'
+
+And across the terrace stones, growing grey in the moonlight, he passed
+back within.
+
+How should an old man live his days if not in dreaming of his well-spent
+past?  In that, at all events, there is no agitating warmth, only pale
+winter sunshine.  The shell can withstand the gentle beating of the
+dynamos of memory.  The present he should distrust; the future shun. From
+beneath thick shade he should watch the sunlight creeping at his toes.
+If there be sun of summer, let him not go out into it, mistaking it for
+the Indian-summer sun!  Thus peradventure he shall decline softly,
+slowly, imperceptibly, until impatient Nature clutches his wind-pipe and
+he gasps away to death some early morning before the world is aired, and
+they put on his tombstone: 'In the fulness of years!' yea!  If he
+preserve his principles in perfect order, a Forsyte may live on long
+after he is dead.
+
+Old Jolyon was conscious of all this, and yet there was in him that which
+transcended Forsyteism.  For it is written that a Forsyte shall not love
+beauty more than reason; nor his own way more than his own health.  And
+something beat within him in these days that with each throb fretted at
+the thinning shell.  His sagacity knew this, but it knew too that he
+could not stop that beating, nor would if he could.  And yet, if you had
+told him he was living on his capital, he would have stared you down. No,
+no; a man did not live on his capital; it was not done!  The shibboleths
+of the past are ever more real than the actualities of the present.  And
+he, to whom living on one's capital had always been anathema, could not
+have borne to have applied so gross a phrase to his own case. Pleasure is
+healthful; beauty good to see; to live again in the youth of the
+young--and what else on earth was he doing!
+
+Methodically, as had been the way of his whole life, he now arranged his
+time.  On Tuesdays he journeyed up to town by train; Irene came and dined
+with him.  And they went to the opera.  On Thursdays he drove to town,
+and, putting that fat chap and his horses up, met her in Kensington
+Gardens, picking up the carriage after he had left her, and driving home
+again in time for dinner. He threw out the casual formula that he had
+business in London on those two days.  On Wednesdays and Saturdays she
+came down to give Holly music lessons.  The greater the pleasure he took
+in her society, the more scrupulously fastidious he became, just a
+matter-of-fact and friendly uncle.  Not even in feeling, really, was he
+more--for, after all, there was his age.  And yet, if she were late he
+fidgeted himself to death.  If she missed coming, which happened twice,
+his eyes grew sad as an old dog's, and he failed to sleep.
+
+And so a month went by--a month of summer in the fields, and in his
+heart, with summer's heat and the fatigue thereof.  Who could have
+believed a few weeks back that he would have looked forward to his son's
+and his grand-daughter's return with something like dread!  There was such
+a delicious freedom, such recovery of that independence a man enjoys
+before he founds a family, about these weeks of lovely weather, and this
+new companionship with one who demanded nothing, and remained always a
+little unknown, retaining the fascination of mystery.  It was like a
+draught of wine to him who has been drinking water for so long that he
+has almost forgotten the stir wine brings to his blood, the narcotic to
+his brain.  The flowers were coloured brighter, scents and music and the
+sunlight had a living value--were no longer mere reminders of past
+enjoyment.  There was something now to live for which stirred him
+continually to anticipation.  He lived in that, not in retrospection; the
+difference is considerable to any so old as he. The pleasures of the
+table, never of much consequence to one naturally abstemious, had lost
+all value.  He ate little, without knowing what he ate; and every day
+grew thinner and more worn to look at.  He was again a 'threadpaper'; and
+to this thinned form his massive forehead, with hollows at the temples,
+gave more dignity than ever.  He was very well aware that he ought to see
+the doctor, but liberty was too sweet.  He could not afford to pet his
+frequent shortness of breath and the pain in his side at the expense of
+liberty.  Return to the vegetable existence he had led among the
+agricultural journals with the life-size mangold wurzels, before this new
+attraction came into his life--no!  He exceeded his allowance of cigars.
+Two a day had always been his rule.  Now he smoked three and sometimes
+four--a man will when he is filled with the creative spirit.  But very
+often he thought: 'I must give up smoking, and coffee; I must give up
+rattling up to town.'  But he did not; there was no one in any sort of
+authority to notice him, and this was a priceless boon.
+
+The servants perhaps wondered, but they were, naturally, dumb. Mam'zelle
+Beauce was too concerned with her own digestion, and too 'wellbrrred' to
+make personal allusions.  Holly had not as yet an eye for the relative
+appearance of him who was her plaything and her god.  It was left for
+Irene herself to beg him to eat more, to rest in the hot part of the day,
+to take a tonic, and so forth. But she did not tell him that she was the
+a cause of his thinness--for one cannot see the havoc oneself is working.
+A man of eighty-five has no passions, but the Beauty which produces
+passion works on in the old way, till death closes the eyes which crave
+the sight of Her.
+
+On the first day of the second week in July he received a letter from his
+son in Paris to say that they would all be back on Friday. This had
+always been more sure than Fate; but, with the pathetic improvidence
+given to the old, that they may endure to the end, he had never quite
+admitted it.  Now he did, and something would have to be done.  He had
+ceased to be able to imagine life without this new interest, but that
+which is not imagined sometimes exists, as Forsytes are perpetually
+finding to their cost.  He sat in his old leather chair, doubling up the
+letter, and mumbling with his lips the end of an unlighted cigar.  After
+to-morrow his Tuesday expeditions to town would have to be abandoned.  He
+could still drive up, perhaps, once a week, on the pretext of seeing his
+man of business.  But even that would be dependent on his health, for now
+they would begin to fuss about him.  The lessons!  The lessons must go
+on!  She must swallow down her scruples, and June must put her feelings
+in her pocket.  She had done so once, on the day after the news of
+Bosinney's death; what she had done then, she could surely do again now.
+Four years since that injury was inflicted on her--not Christian to keep
+the memory of old sores alive.  June's will was strong, but his was
+stronger, for his sands were running out. Irene was soft, surely she
+would do this for him, subdue her natural shrinking, sooner than give him
+pain!  The lessons must continue; for if they did, he was secure.  And
+lighting his cigar at last, he began trying to shape out how to put it to
+them all, and explain this strange intimacy; how to veil and wrap it away
+from the naked truth--that he could not bear to be deprived of the sight
+of beauty.  Ah!  Holly!  Holly was fond of her, Holly liked her lessons.
+She would save him--his little sweet!  And with that happy thought he
+became serene, and wondered what he had been worrying about so fearfully.
+He must not worry, it left him always curiously weak, and as if but half
+present in his own body.
+
+That evening after dinner he had a return of the dizziness, though he did
+not faint.  He would not ring the bell, because he knew it would mean a
+fuss, and make his going up on the morrow more conspicuous.  When one
+grew old, the whole world was in conspiracy to limit freedom, and for
+what reason?--just to keep the breath in him a little longer.  He did not
+want it at such cost.  Only the dog Balthasar saw his lonely recovery
+from that weakness; anxiously watched his master go to the sideboard and
+drink some brandy, instead of giving him a biscuit.  When at last old
+Jolyon felt able to tackle the stairs he went up to bed.  And, though
+still shaky next morning, the thought of the evening sustained and
+strengthened him.  It was always such a pleasure to give her a good
+dinner--he suspected her of undereating when she was alone; and, at the
+opera to watch her eyes glow and brighten, the unconscious smiling of her
+lips.  She hadn't much pleasure, and this was the last time he would be
+able to give her that treat.  But when he was packing his bag he caught
+himself wishing that he had not the fatigue of dressing for dinner before
+him, and the exertion, too, of telling her about June's return.
+
+The opera that evening was 'Carmen,' and he chose the last entr'acte to
+break the news, instinctively putting it off till the latest moment.
+
+She took it quietly, queerly; in fact, he did not know how she had taken
+it before the wayward music lifted up again and silence became necessary.
+The mask was down over her face, that mask behind which so much went on
+that he could not see.  She wanted time to think it over, no doubt!  He
+would not press her, for she would be coming to give her lesson to-morrow
+afternoon, and he should see her then when she had got used to the idea.
+In the cab he talked only of the Carmen; he had seen better in the old
+days, but this one was not bad at all.  When he took her hand to say
+good-night, she bent quickly forward and kissed his forehead.
+
+"Good-bye, dear Uncle Jolyon, you have been so sweet to me."
+
+"To-morrow then," he said.  "Good-night.  Sleep well."  She echoed
+softly: "Sleep well" and from the cab window, already moving away, he saw
+her face screwed round towards him, and her hand put out in a gesture
+which seemed to linger.
+
+He sought his room slowly.  They never gave him the same, and he could
+not get used to these 'spick-and-spandy' bedrooms with new furniture and
+grey-green carpets sprinkled all over with pink roses.  He was wakeful
+and that wretched Habanera kept throbbing in his head.
+
+His French had never been equal to its words, but its sense he knew, if
+it had any sense, a gipsy thing--wild and unaccountable. Well, there was
+in life something which upset all your care and plans--something which
+made men and women dance to its pipes.  And he lay staring from deep-sunk
+eyes into the darkness where the unaccountable held sway.  You thought
+you had hold of life, but it slipped away behind you, took you by the
+scruff of the neck, forced you here and forced you there, and then,
+likely as not, squeezed life out of you!  It took the very stars like
+that, he shouldn't wonder, rubbed their noses together and flung them
+apart; it had never done playing its pranks.  Five million people in this
+great blunderbuss of a town, and all of them at the mercy of that
+Life-Force, like a lot of little dried peas hopping about on a board when
+you struck your fist on it.  Ah, well!  Himself would not hop much
+longer--a good long sleep would do him good!
+
+How hot it was up here!--how noisy!  His forehead burned; she had kissed
+it just where he always worried; just there--as if she had known the very
+place and wanted to kiss it all away for him.  But, instead, her lips
+left a patch of grievous uneasiness.  She had never spoken in quite that
+voice, had never before made that lingering gesture or looked back at him
+as she drove away.
+
+He got out of bed and pulled the curtains aside; his room faced down over
+the river.  There was little air, but the sight of that breadth of water
+flowing by, calm, eternal, soothed him.  'The great thing,' he thought
+'is not to make myself a nuisance.  I'll think of my little sweet, and go
+to sleep.'  But it was long before the heat and throbbing of the London
+night died out into the short slumber of the summer morning.  And old
+Jolyon had but forty winks.
+
+When he reached home next day he went out to the flower garden, and with
+the help of Holly, who was very delicate with flowers, gathered a great
+bunch of carnations.  They were, he told her, for 'the lady in grey'--a
+name still bandied between them; and he put them in a bowl in his study
+where he meant to tackle Irene the moment she came, on the subject of
+June and future lessons.  Their fragrance and colour would help.  After
+lunch he lay down, for he felt very tired, and the carriage would not
+bring her from the station till four o'clock.  But as the hour approached
+he grew restless, and sought the schoolroom, which overlooked the drive.
+The sun-blinds were down, and Holly was there with Mademoiselle Beauce,
+sheltered from the heat of a stifling July day, attending to their
+silkworms.  Old Jolyon had a natural antipathy to these methodical
+creatures, whose heads and colour reminded him of elephants; who nibbled
+such quantities of holes in nice green leaves; and smelled, as he
+thought, horrid.  He sat down on a chintz-covered windowseat whence he
+could see the drive, and get what air there was; and the dog Balthasar
+who appreciated chintz on hot days, jumped up beside him.  Over the
+cottage piano a violet dust-sheet, faded almost to grey, was spread, and
+on it the first lavender, whose scent filled the room.  In spite of the
+coolness here, perhaps because of that coolness the beat of life
+vehemently impressed his ebbed-down senses.  Each sunbeam which came
+through the chinks had annoying brilliance; that dog smelled very strong;
+the lavender perfume was overpowering; those silkworms heaving up their
+grey-green backs seemed horribly alive; and Holly's dark head bent over
+them had a wonderfully silky sheen.  A marvellous cruelly strong thing
+was life when you were old and weak; it seemed to mock you with its
+multitude of forms and its beating vitality.  He had never, till those
+last few weeks, had this curious feeling of being with one half of him
+eagerly borne along in the stream of life, and with the other half left
+on the bank, watching that helpless progress.  Only when Irene was with
+him did he lose this double consciousness.
+
+Holly turned her head, pointed with her little brown fist to the
+piano--for to point with a finger was not 'well-brrred'--and said slyly:
+
+"Look at the 'lady in grey,' Gran; isn't she pretty to-day?"
+
+Old Jolyon's heart gave a flutter, and for a second the room was clouded;
+then it cleared, and he said with a twinkle:
+
+"Who's been dressing her up?"
+
+"Mam'zelle."
+
+"Hollee!  Don't be foolish!"
+
+That prim little Frenchwoman!  She hadn't yet got over the music lessons
+being taken away from her.  That wouldn't help.  His little sweet was the
+only friend they had.  Well, they were her lessons. And he shouldn't
+budge shouldn't budge for anything.  He stroked the warm wool on
+Balthasar's head, and heard Holly say: "When mother's home, there won't
+be any changes, will there?  She doesn't like strangers, you know."
+
+The child's words seemed to bring the chilly atmosphere of opposition
+about old Jolyon, and disclose all the menace to his new-found freedom.
+Ah!  He would have to resign himself to being an old man at the mercy of
+care and love, or fight to keep this new and prized companionship; and to
+fight tired him to death.  But his thin, worn face hardened into
+resolution till it appeared all Jaw. This was his house, and his affair;
+he should not budge!  He looked at his watch, old and thin like himself;
+he had owned it fifty years.  Past four already!  And kissing the top of
+Holly's head in passing, he went down to the hall.  He wanted to get hold
+of her before she went up to give her lesson.  At the first sound of
+wheels he stepped out into the porch, and saw at once that the victoria
+was empty.
+
+"The train's in, sir; but the lady 'asn't come."
+
+Old Jolyon gave him a sharp upward look, his eyes seemed to push away
+that fat chap's curiosity, and defy him to see the bitter disappointment
+he was feeling.
+
+"Very well," he said, and turned back into the house.  He went to his
+study and sat down, quivering like a leaf.  What did this mean?  She might
+have lost her train, but he knew well enough she hadn't. 'Good-bye, dear
+Uncle Jolyon.'  Why 'Good-bye' and not 'Good-night'?  And that hand of
+hers lingering in the air.  And her kiss. What did it mean?  Vehement
+alarm and irritation took possession of him.  He got up and began to pace
+the Turkey carpet, between window and wall.  She was going to give him
+up!  He felt it for certain--and he defenceless.  An old man wanting to
+look on beauty!  It was ridiculous!  Age closed his mouth, paralysed his
+power to fight. He had no right to what was warm and living, no right to
+anything but memories and sorrow.  He could not plead with her; even an
+old man has his dignity.  Defenceless!  For an hour, lost to bodily
+fatigue, he paced up and down, past the bowl of carnations he had
+plucked, which mocked him with its scent.  Of all things hard to bear,
+the prostration of will-power is hardest, for one who has always had his
+way.  Nature had got him in its net, and like an unhappy fish he turned
+and swam at the meshes, here and there, found no hole, no breaking point.
+They brought him tea at five o'clock, and a letter.  For a moment hope
+beat up in him.  He cut the envelope with the butter knife, and read:
+
+"DEAREST UNCLE JOLYON,--I can't bear to write anything that may
+disappoint you, but I was too cowardly to tell you last night.  I feel I
+can't come down and give Holly any more lessons, now that June is coming
+back.  Some things go too deep to be forgotten.  It has been such a joy
+to see you and Holly.  Perhaps I shall still see you sometimes when you
+come up, though I'm sure it's not good for you; I can see you are tiring
+yourself too much.  I believe you ought to rest quite quietly all this
+hot weather, and now you have your son and June coming back you will be
+so happy.  Thank you a million times for all your sweetness to me.
+
+"Lovingly your IRENE."
+
+So, there it was!  Not good for him to have pleasure and what he chiefly
+cared about; to try and put off feeling the inevitable end of all things,
+the approach of death with its stealthy, rustling footsteps.  Not good
+for him!  Not even she could see how she was his new lease of interest in
+life, the incarnation of all the beauty he felt slipping from him.
+
+His tea grew cold, his cigar remained unlit; and up and down he paced,
+torn between his dignity and his hold on life.  Intolerable to be
+squeezed out slowly, without a say of your own, to live on when your will
+was in the hands of others bent on weighing you to the ground with care
+and love.  Intolerable!  He would see what telling her the truth would
+do--the truth that he wanted the sight of her more than just a lingering
+on.  He sat down at his old bureau and took a pen.  But he could not
+write.  There was something revolting in having to plead like this; plead
+that she should warm his eyes with her beauty.  It was tantamount to
+confessing dotage.  He simply could not.  And instead, he wrote:
+
+"I had hoped that the memory of old sores would not be allowed to stand
+in the way of what is a pleasure and a profit to me and my little
+grand-daughter.  But old men learn to forego their whims; they are
+obliged to, even the whim to live must be foregone sooner or later; and
+perhaps the sooner the better. "My love to you, "JOLYON FORSYTE."
+
+'Bitter,' he thought, 'but I can't help it.  I'm tired.'  He sealed and
+dropped it into the box for the evening post, and hearing it fall to the
+bottom, thought: 'There goes all I've looked forward to!'
+
+That evening after dinner which he scarcely touched, after his cigar
+which he left half-smoked for it made him feel faint, he went very slowly
+upstairs and stole into the night-nursery.  He sat down on the
+window-seat.  A night-light was burning, and he could just see Holly's
+face, with one hand underneath the cheek.  An early cockchafer buzzed in
+the Japanese paper with which they had filled the grate, and one of the
+horses in the stable stamped restlessly. To sleep like that child!  He
+pressed apart two rungs of the venetian blind and looked out.  The moon
+was rising, blood-red.  He had never seen so red a moon.  The woods and
+fields out there were dropping to sleep too, in the last glimmer of the
+summer light. And beauty, like a spirit, walked.  'I've had a long life,'
+he thought, 'the best of nearly everything.  I'm an ungrateful chap; I've
+seen a lot of beauty in my time.  Poor young Bosinney said I had a sense
+of beauty.  There's a man in the moon to-night!'  A moth went by,
+another, another.  'Ladies in grey!'  He closed his eyes.  A feeling that
+he would never open them again beset him; he let it grow, let himself
+sink; then, with a shiver, dragged the lids up.  There was something
+wrong with him, no doubt, deeply wrong; he would have to have the doctor
+after all.  It didn't much matter now!  Into that coppice the moon-light
+would have crept; there would be shadows, and those shadows would be the
+only things awake.  No birds, beasts, flowers, insects; Just the
+shadows--moving; 'Ladies in grey!'  Over that log they would climb; would
+whisper together.  She and Bosinney!  Funny thought!  And the frogs and
+little things would whisper too!  How the clock ticked, in here!  It was
+all eerie--out there in the light of that red moon; in here with the
+little steady night-light and, the ticking clock and the nurse's
+dressing-gown hanging from the edge of the screen, tall, like a woman's
+figure.  'Lady in grey!'  And a very odd thought beset him: Did she
+exist?  Had she ever come at all?  Or was she but the emanation of all
+the beauty he had loved and must leave so soon?  The violet-grey spirit
+with the dark eyes and the crown of amber hair, who walks the dawn and
+the moonlight, and at blue-bell time?  What was she, who was she, did she
+exist?  He rose and stood a moment clutching the window-sill, to give him
+a sense of reality again; then began tiptoeing towards the door.  He
+stopped at the foot of the bed; and Holly, as if conscious of his eyes
+fixed on her, stirred, sighed, and curled up closer in defence.  He
+tiptoed on and passed out into the dark passage; reached his room,
+undressed at once, and stood before a mirror in his night-shirt.  What a
+scarecrow--with temples fallen in, and thin legs!  His eyes resisted his
+own image, and a look of pride came on his face.  All was in league to
+pull him down, even his reflection in the glass, but he was not
+down--yet!  He got into bed, and lay a long time without sleeping, trying
+to reach resignation, only too well aware that fretting and
+disappointment were very bad for him.
+
+He woke in the morning so unrefreshed and strengthless that he sent for
+the doctor.  After sounding him, the fellow pulled a face as long as your
+arm, and ordered him to stay in bed and give up smoking.  That was no
+hardship; there was nothing to get up for, and when he felt ill, tobacco
+always lost its savour.  He spent the morning languidly with the
+sun-blinds down, turning and re-turning The Times, not reading much, the
+dog Balthasar lying beside his bed. With his lunch they brought him a
+telegram, running thus:
+
+'Your letter received coming down this afternoon will be with you at
+four-thirty.  Irene.'
+
+Coming down!  After all!  Then she did exist--and he was not deserted.
+Coming down!  A glow ran through his limbs; his cheeks and forehead felt
+hot.  He drank his soup, and pushed the tray-table away, lying very quiet
+until they had removed lunch and left him alone; but every now and then
+his eyes twinkled.  Coming down!  His heart beat fast, and then did not
+seem to beat at all.  At three o'clock he got up and dressed
+deliberately, noiselessly. Holly and Mam'zelle would be in the
+schoolroom, and the servants asleep after their dinner, he shouldn't
+wonder.  He opened his door cautiously, and went downstairs.  In the hall
+the dog Balthasar lay solitary, and, followed by him, old Jolyon passed
+into his study and out into the burning afternoon.  He meant to go down
+and meet her in the coppice, but felt at once he could not manage that in
+this heat.  He sat down instead under the oak tree by the swing, and the
+dog Balthasar, who also felt the heat, lay down beside him. He sat there
+smiling.  What a revel of bright minutes!  What a hum of insects, and
+cooing of pigeons!  It was the quintessence of a summer day.  Lovely!  And
+he was happy--happy as a sand-boy, whatever that might be.  She was
+coming; she had not given him up!  He had everything in life he
+wanted--except a little more breath, and less weight--just here!  He
+would see her when she emerged from the fernery, come swaying just a
+little, a violet-grey figure passing over the daisies and dandelions and
+'soldiers' on the lawn--the soldiers with their flowery crowns.  He would
+not move, but she would come up to him and say: 'Dear Uncle Jolyon, I am
+sorry!' and sit in the swing and let him look at her and tell her that he
+had not been very well but was all right now; and that dog would lick her
+hand.  That dog knew his master was fond of her; that dog was a good dog.
+
+It was quite shady under the tree; the sun could not get at him, only
+make the rest of the world bright so that he could see the Grand Stand at
+Epsom away out there, very far, and the cows cropping the clover in the
+field and swishing at the flies with their tails.  He smelled the scent
+of limes, and lavender.  Ah! that was why there was such a racket of
+bees.  They were excited--busy, as his heart was busy and excited.
+Drowsy, too, drowsy and drugged on honey and happiness; as his heart was
+drugged and drowsy.  Summer--summer--they seemed saying; great bees and
+little bees, and the flies too!
+
+The stable clock struck four; in half an hour she would be here. He would
+have just one tiny nap, because he had had so little sleep of late; and
+then he would be fresh for her, fresh for youth and beauty, coming
+towards him across the sunlit lawn--lady in grey!  And settling back in
+his chair he closed his eyes.  Some thistle-down came on what little air
+there was, and pitched on his moustache more white than itself.  He did
+not know; but his breathing stirred it, caught there.  A ray of sunlight
+struck through and lodged on his boot.  A bumble-bee alighted and
+strolled on the crown of his Panama hat.  And the delicious surge of
+slumber reached the brain beneath that hat, and the head swayed forward
+and rested on his breast.  Summer--summer!  So went the hum.
+
+The stable clock struck the quarter past.  The dog Balthasar stretched
+and looked up at his master.  The thistledown no longer moved.  The dog
+placed his chin over the sunlit foot.  It did not stir.  The dog withdrew
+his chin quickly, rose, and leaped on old Jolyon's lap, looked in his
+face, whined; then, leaping down, sat on his haunches, gazing up.  And
+suddenly he uttered a long, long howl.
+
+But the thistledown was still as death, and the face of his old master.
+
+Summer--summer--summer!  The soundless footsteps on the grass!
+1917
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Five Tales, by John Galsworthy
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIVE TALES ***
+
+***** This file should be named 2684.txt or 2684.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
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+
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diff --git a/old/2684.zip b/old/2684.zip
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diff --git a/old/5tale10.txt b/old/5tale10.txt
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@@ -0,0 +1,11884 @@
+*The Project Gutenberg Etext of Five Tales, by John Galsworthy*
+#9 in our series by John Galsworthy
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+Title:  Five Tales
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+THE FIRST AND LAST
+A STOIC
+THE APPLE TREE
+THE JURYMAN
+INDIAN SUMMER OF A FORSYTE  [Also posted as Etext #2594]
+Contains:
+Indian Summer of a Forsyte
+In Chancery
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+Author:  John Galsworthy
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+*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*
+
+
+
+
+
+This etext was prepared by David Widger, < widger@cecomet.net >
+
+
+
+
+
+FIVE TALES
+
+by John Galsworthy
+
+
+
+
+"Life calls the tune, we dance."
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS:
+
+THE FIRST AND LAST
+A STOIC
+THE APPLE TREE
+THE JURYMAN
+INDIAN SUMMER OF A FORSYTE  [Also posted as Etext #2594]
+Contains:
+Indian Summer of a Forsyte
+In Chancery
+
+
+
+
+[In this 1919 edition of "Five Tales" the fifth tale was "Indian
+Summer of a Forsyte;" in later collections, "Indian Summer..." became
+the first section of the second volume of The Forsyte Saga]
+
+
+
+
+FIVE TALES
+
+"Life calls the tune, we dance."
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS:
+
+THE FIRST AND LAST
+A STOIC
+THE APPLE TREE
+THE JURYMAN
+INDIAN SUMMER OF A FORSYTE
+
+
+
+
+THE FIRST AND LAST
+
+"So the last shall be first, and the first last."--HOLY WRIT.
+
+
+
+
+It was a dark room at that hour of six in the evening, when just the
+single oil reading-lamp under its green shade let fall a dapple of
+light over the Turkey carpet; over the covers of books taken out of
+the bookshelves, and the open pages of the one selected; over the
+deep blue and gold of the coffee service on the little old stool with
+its Oriental embroidery.  Very dark in the winter, with drawn
+curtains, many rows of leather-bound volumes, oak-panelled walls and
+ceiling.  So large, too, that the lighted spot before the fire where
+he sat was just an oasis.  But that was what Keith Darrant liked,
+after his day's work--the hard early morning study of his "cases,"
+the fret and strain of the day in court; it was his rest, these two
+hours before dinner, with books, coffee, a pipe, and sometimes a nap.
+In red Turkish slippers and his old brown velvet coat, he was well
+suited to that framing of glow and darkness.  A painter would have
+seized avidly on his clear-cut, yellowish face, with its black
+eyebrows twisting up over eyes--grey or brown, one could hardly tell,
+and its dark grizzling hair still plentiful, in spite of those daily
+hours of wig.  He seldom thought of his work while he sat there,
+throwing off with practised ease the strain of that long attention to
+the multiple threads of argument and evidence to be disentangled--
+work profoundly interesting, as a rule, to his clear intellect,
+trained to almost instinctive rejection of all but the essential, to
+selection of what was legally vital out of the mass of confused
+tactical and human detail presented to his scrutiny; yet sometimes
+tedious and wearing.  As for instance to-day, when he had suspected
+his client of perjury, and was almost convinced that he must throw up
+his brief.  He had disliked the weak-looking, white-faced fellow from
+the first, and his nervous, shifty answers, his prominent startled
+eyes--a type too common in these days of canting tolerations and weak
+humanitarianism; no good, no good!
+
+Of the three books he had taken down, a Volume of Voltaire--curious
+fascination that Frenchman had, for all his destructive irony!--a
+volume of Burton's travels, and Stevenson's "New Arabian Nights," he
+had pitched upon the last.  He felt, that evening, the want of
+something sedative, a desire to rest from thought of any kind.  The
+court had been crowded, stuffy; the air, as he walked home, soft,
+sou'-westerly, charged with coming moisture, no quality of vigour in
+it; he felt relaxed, tired, even nervy, and for once the loneliness
+of his house seemed strange and comfortless.
+
+Lowering the lamp, he turned his face towards the fire.  Perhaps he
+would get a sleep before that boring dinner at the Tellasson's.  He
+wished it were vacation, and Maisie back from school.  A widower for
+many years, he had lost the habit of a woman about him; yet to-night
+he had a positive yearning for the society of his young daughter,
+with her quick ways, and bright, dark eyes.  Curious what perpetual
+need of a woman some men had!  His brother Laurence--wasted--all
+through women--atrophy of willpower!  A man on the edge of things;
+living from hand to mouth; his gifts all down at heel!  One would
+have thought the Scottish strain might have saved him; and yet, when
+a Scotsman did begin to go downhill, who could go faster?  Curious
+that their mother's blood should have worked so differently in her
+two sons.  He himself had always felt he owed all his success to it.
+
+His thoughts went off at a tangent to a certain issue troubling his
+legal conscience.  He had not wavered in the usual assumption of
+omniscience, but he was by no means sure that he had given right
+advice.  Well!  Without that power to decide and hold to decision in
+spite of misgiving, one would never have been fit for one's position
+at the Bar, never have been fit for anything.  The longer he lived,
+the more certain he became of the prime necessity of virile and
+decisive action in all the affairs of life.  A word and a blow--and
+the blow first!  Doubts, hesitations, sentiment the muling and puking
+of this twilight age--!  And there welled up on his handsome face a
+smile that was almost devilish--the tricks of firelight are so many!
+It faded again in sheer drowsiness; he slept....
+
+He woke with a start, having a feeling of something out beyond the
+light, and without turning his head said: "What's that?"  There came
+a sound as if somebody had caught his breath.  He turned up the lamp.
+
+"Who's there?"
+
+A voice over by the door answered:
+
+"Only I--Larry."
+
+Something in the tone, or perhaps just being startled out of sleep
+like this, made him shiver.  He said:
+
+"I was asleep.  Come in!"
+
+It was noticeable that he did not get up, or even turn his head, now
+that he knew who it was, but waited, his half-closed eyes fixed on
+the fire, for his brother to come forward.  A visit from Laurence was
+not an unmixed blessing.  He could hear him breathing, and became
+conscious of a scent of whisky.  Why could not the fellow at least
+abstain when he was coming here!  It was so childish, so lacking in
+any sense of proportion or of decency!  And he said sharply:
+
+"Well, Larry, what is it?"
+
+It was always something.  He often wondered at the strength of that
+sense of trusteeship, which kept him still tolerant of the troubles,
+amenable to the petitions of this brother of his; or was it just
+"blood" feeling, a Highland sense of loyalty to kith and kin; an old-
+time quality which judgment and half his instincts told him was
+weakness but which, in spite of all, bound him to the distressful
+fellow?  Was he drunk now, that he kept lurking out there by the
+door?  And he said less sharply:
+
+"Why don't you come and sit down?"
+
+He was coming now, avoiding the light, skirting along the walls just
+beyond the radiance of the lamp, his feet and legs to the waist
+brightly lighted, but his face disintegrated in shadow, like the face
+of a dark ghost.
+
+"Are you ill, man?"
+
+Still no answer, save a shake of that head, and the passing up of a
+hand, out of the light, to the ghostly forehead under the dishevelled
+hair.  The scent of whisky was stronger now; and Keith thought:
+
+'He really is drunk.  Nice thing for the new butler to see!  If he
+can't behave--'
+
+The figure against the wall heaved a sigh--so truly from an
+overburdened heart that Keith was conscious with a certain dismay of
+not having yet fathomed the cause of this uncanny silence.  He got
+up, and, back to the fire, said with a brutality born of nerves
+rather than design:
+
+'What is it, man?  Have you committed a murder, that you stand there
+dumb as a fish?"
+
+For a second no answer at all, not even of breathing; then, just the
+whisper:
+
+"Yes."
+
+The sense of unreality which so helps one at moments of disaster
+enabled Keith to say vigorously:
+
+"By Jove!  You have been drinking!"
+
+But it passed at once into deadly apprehension.
+
+"What do you mean?  Come here, where I can see you.  What's the
+matter with you, Larry?"
+
+With a sudden lurch and dive, his brother left the shelter of the
+shadow, and sank into a chair in the circle of light.  And another
+long, broken sigh escaped him.
+
+"There's nothing the matter with me, Keith!  It's true!"
+
+Keith stepped quickly forward, and stared down into his brother's
+face; and instantly he saw that it was true.  No one could have
+simulated the look in those eyes--of horrified wonder, as if they
+would never again get on terms with the face to which they belonged.
+To see them squeezed the heart-only real misery could look like that.
+Then that sudden pity became angry bewilderment.
+
+"What in God's name is this nonsense?"
+
+But it was significant that he lowered his voice; went over to the
+door, too, to see if it were shut.  Laurence had drawn his chair
+forward, huddling over the fire--a thin figure, a worn, high-
+cheekboned face with deep-sunk blue eyes, and wavy hair all ruffled,
+a face that still had a certain beauty.  Putting a hand on that lean
+shoulder, Keith said:
+
+"Come, Larry!  Pull yourself together, and drop exaggeration."
+
+"It's true; I tell you; I've killed a man."
+
+The noisy violence of that outburst acted like a douche.  What was
+the fellow about--shouting out such words!  But suddenly Laurence
+lifted his hands and wrung them.  The gesture was so utterly painful
+that it drew a quiver from Keith's face.
+
+"Why did you come here," he said, "and tell me this?"
+
+Larry's face was really unearthly sometimes, such strange gleams
+passed up on to it!
+
+"Whom else should I tell?  I came to know what I'm to do, Keith?
+Give myself up, or what?"
+
+At that sudden introduction of the practical Keith felt his heart
+twitch.  Was it then as real as all that?  But he said, very quietly:
+
+"Just tell me -How did it come about, this--affair?"
+
+That question linked the dark, gruesome, fantastic nightmare on to
+actuality.
+
+"When did it happen?"
+
+"Last night."
+
+In Larry's face there was--there had always been--something
+childishly truthful.  He would never stand a chance in court!  And
+Keith said:
+
+"How?  Where?  You'd better tell me quietly from the beginning.
+Drink this coffee; it'll clear your head."
+
+Laurence took the little blue cup and drained it.
+
+"Yes," he said.  "It's like this, Keith.  There's a girl I've known
+for some months now--"
+
+Women!  And Keith said between his teeth: "Well?"
+
+"Her father was a Pole who died over here when she was sixteen, and
+left her all alone.  A man called Walenn, a mongrel American, living
+in the same house, married her, or pretended to--she's very pretty,
+Keith--he left her with a baby six months old, and another coming.
+That one died, and she did nearly.  Then she starved till another
+fellow took her on.  She lived with him two years; then Walenn turned
+up again, and made her go back to him.  The brute used to beat her
+black and blue, all for nothing.  Then he left her again.  When I met
+her she'd lost her elder child, too, and was taking anybody who came
+along."
+
+He suddenly looked up into Keith's face.
+
+"But I've never met a sweeter woman, nor ,a truer, that I swear.
+Woman!  She's only twenty now!  When I went to her last night, that
+brute--that Walenn--had found her out again; and when he came for me,
+swaggering and bullying--Look!"--he touched a dark mark on his
+forehead--"I took his throat in my hands, and when I let go--"
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"Dead.  I never knew till afterwards that she was hanging on to him
+behind."
+
+Again he made that gesture-wringing his hands.
+
+In a hard voice Keith said:
+
+"What did you do then?"
+
+"We sat by it a long time.  Then I carried it on my back down the
+street, round a corner to an archway."
+
+"How far?"
+
+"About fifty yards."
+
+"Was anyone--did anyone see?"
+
+"No."
+
+"What time?"
+
+"Three."
+
+"And then?"
+
+"Went back to her."
+
+"Why--in Heaven's name?"
+
+"She was lonely and afraid; so was I, Keith."
+
+"Where is this place?"
+
+"Forty-two, Borrow Street, Soho."
+
+"And the archway?"
+
+"Corner of Glove Lane."
+
+"Good God!  Why--I saw it in the paper!"
+
+And seizing the journal that lay on his bureau, Keith read again that
+paragraph: "The body of a man was found this morning under an archway
+in Glove Lane, Soho.  From marks about the throat grave suspicions of
+foul play are entertained.  The body had apparently been robbed, and
+nothing was discovered leading to identification."
+
+It was real earnest, then.  Murder!  His own brother!  He faced round
+and said:
+
+"You saw this in the paper, and dreamed it.  Understand--you dreamed
+it!"
+
+The wistful answer came:
+
+"If only I had, Keith--if only I had!"
+
+In his turn, Keith very nearly wrung his hands.
+
+"Did you take anything from the--body?"
+
+"This dropped while we were struggling.",
+
+It was an empty envelope with a South American post-mark addressed:
+"Patrick Walenn, Simon's Hotel, Farrier Street, London." Again with
+that twitching in his heart, Keith said:
+
+"Put it in the fire."
+
+Then suddenly he stooped to pluck it out.  By that command--he had--
+identified himself with this--this-- But he did not pluck it out.  It
+blackened, writhed, and vanished.  And once more he said:
+
+"What in God's name made you come here and tell me?"
+
+"You know about these things.  I didn't mean to kill him.  I love the
+girl.  What shall I do, Keith?
+
+"Simple!  How simple!  To ask what he was to do!  It was like Larry!
+And he said:
+
+"You were not seen, you think?"  "It's a dark street.  There was no
+one about."
+
+"When did you leave this girl the second time?"
+
+"About seven o'clock."
+
+"Where did you go?"
+
+"To my rooms."
+
+"In Fitzroy Street?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Did anyone see you come in?"
+
+"No."
+
+"What have you done since?"
+
+"Sat there."
+
+"Not been out?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Not seen the girl?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You don't know, then, what she's done since?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Would she give you away?"
+
+"Never."
+
+"Would she give herself away--hysteria?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Who knows of your relations with her?"
+
+"No one."
+
+"No one?"
+
+"I don't know who should, Keith."
+
+"Did anyone see you going in last night, when you first went to her?"
+
+"No.  She lives on the ground floor.  I've got keys."
+
+"Give them to me.  What else have you that connects you with her?"
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"In your rooms?"
+
+"No."
+
+"No photographs.  No letters?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Be careful."
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"No one saw you going back to her the second time?"
+
+"No."
+
+"No one saw you leave her in the morning?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You were fortunate.  Sit down again, man.  I must think."
+
+Think!  Think out this accursed thing--so beyond all thought, and all
+belief.  But he could not think.  Not a coherent thought would come.
+And he began again:
+
+"Was it his first reappearance with her?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"She told you so?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"How did he find out where she was?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"How drunk were you?"
+
+"I was not drunk."
+
+"How much had you drunk?"
+
+"About two bottles of claret--nothing."
+
+"You say you didn't mean to kill him?"
+
+"No-God knows!"
+
+"That's something.
+
+What made you choose the arch?"
+
+"It was the first dark place."
+
+"Did his face look as if he had been strangled?"
+
+"Don't!"
+
+"Did it?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Very disfigured?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Did you look to see if his clothes were marked?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Why not?  My God!  If you had done it!"
+
+"You say he was disfigured.  Would he be recognisable?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"When she lived with him last--where was that?"
+
+"I don't know for certain.  Pimlico, I think."
+
+"Not Soho?"
+
+"No."
+
+"How long has she been at the Soho place?"
+
+"Nearly a year."
+
+"Always the same rooms?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Is there anyone living in that house or street who would be likely
+to know her as his wife?"
+
+"I don't think so."
+
+"What was he?"
+
+"I should think he was a professional 'bully.'"
+
+"I see.  Spending most of his time abroad, then?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Do you know if he was known to the police?"
+
+"I haven't heard of it."
+
+"Now, listen, Larry.  When you leave here go straight home, and don't
+go out till I come to you, to-morrow morning.  Promise that!"
+
+"I promise."
+
+"I've got a dinner engagement.  I'll think this out.  Don't drink.
+Don't talk! Pull yourself together."
+
+"Don't keep me longer than you can help, Keith!"
+
+That white face, those eyes, that shaking hand!  With a twinge of
+pity in the midst of all the turbulence of his revolt, and fear, and
+disgust Keith put his hand on his brother's shoulder, and said:
+
+"Courage!"
+
+And suddenly he thought: 'My God!  Courage!  I shall want it all
+myself!'
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+Laurence Darrant, leaving his brother's house in the Adelphi, walked
+northwards, rapidly, slowly, rapidly again.  For, if there are men
+who by force of will do one thing only at a time, there are men who
+from lack of will do now one thing, now another; with equal
+intensity.  To such natures, to be gripped by the Nemesis which
+attends the lack of self-control is no reason for being more self-
+controlled.  Rather does it foster their pet feeling: "What matter?
+To-morrow we die!"  The effort of will required to go to Keith had
+relieved, exhausted and exasperated him.  In accordance with those
+three feelings was the progress of his walk.  He started from the
+door with the fixed resolve to go home and stay there quietly till
+Keith came.  He was in Keith's hands, Keith would know what was to be
+done.  But he had not gone three hundred yards before he felt so
+utterly weary, body and soul, that if he had but had a pistol in his
+pocket he would have shot himself in the street.  Not even the
+thought of the girl--this young unfortunate with her strange
+devotion, who had kept him straight these last five months, who had
+roused in him a depth of feeling he had never known before--would
+have availed against that sudden black defection.  Why go on--a waif
+at the mercy of his own nature, a straw blown here and there by every
+gust which rose in him?  Why not have done with it for ever, and take
+it out in sleep?
+
+He was approaching the fatal street, where he and the girl, that
+early morning, had spent the hours clutched together, trying in the
+refuge of love to forget for a moment their horror and fear.  Should
+he go in?  He had promised Keith not to.  Why had he promised?  He
+caught sight of himself in a chemist's lighted window.  Miserable,
+shadowy brute!  And he remembered suddenly a dog he had picked up
+once in the streets of Pera, a black-and-white creature--different
+from the other dogs, not one of their breed, a pariah of pariahs, who
+had strayed there somehow.  He had taken it home to the house where
+he was staying, contrary to all custom of the country; had got fond
+of it; had shot it himself, sooner than leave it behind again to the
+mercies of its own kind in the streets.  Twelve years ago!  And those
+sleevelinks made of little Turkish coins he had brought back for the
+girl at the hairdresser's in Chancery Lane where he used to get
+shaved--pretty creature, like a wild rose.  He had asked of her a
+kiss for payment.  What queer emotion when she put her face forward
+to his lips--a sort of passionate tenderness and shame, at the
+softness and warmth of that flushed cheek, at her beauty and trustful
+gratitude.  She would soon have given herself to him--that one!  He
+had never gone there again!  And to this day he did not know why he
+had abstained; to this day he did not know whether he were glad or
+sorry not to have plucked that rose.  He must surely have been very
+different then!  Queer business, life--queer, queer business!--to go
+through it never knowing what you would do next.  Ah! to be like
+Keith, steady, buttoned-up in success; a brass pot, a pillar of
+society!  Once, as a boy, he had been within an ace of killing Keith,
+for sneering at him.  Once in Southern Italy he had been near killing
+a driver who was flogging his horse.  And now, that darkfaced,
+swinish bully who had ruined the girl he had grown to love--he had
+done it!  Killed him!  Killed a man!
+
+He who did not want to hurt a fly.  The chemist's window comforted
+him with the sudden thought that he had at home that which made him
+safe, in case they should arrest him.  He would never again go out
+without some of those little white tablets sewn into the lining of
+his coat.  Restful, even exhilarating thought!  They said a man
+should not take his own life.  Let them taste horror--those glib
+citizens!  Let them live as that girl had lived, as millions lived
+all the world over, under their canting dogmas!  A man might rather
+even take his life than watch their cursed inhumanities.
+
+He went into the chemist's for a bromide; and, while the man was
+mixing it, stood resting one foot like a tired horse.  The "life" he
+had squeezed out of that fellow!  After all, a billion living
+creatures gave up life each day, had it squeezed out of them, mostly.
+And perhaps not one a day deserved death so much as that loathly
+fellow.  Life! a breath--aflame!  Nothing!  Why, then, this icy
+clutching at his heart?
+
+The chemist brought the draught.
+
+"Not sleeping, sir?"
+
+"No."
+
+The man's eyes seemed to say: 'Yes!  Burning the candle at both ends-
+I know!' Odd life, a chemist's; pills and powders all day long, to
+hold the machinery of men together!  Devilish odd trade!
+
+In going out he caught the reflection of his face in a mirror; it
+seemed too good altogether for a man who had committed murder.  There
+was a sort of brightness underneath, an amiability lurking about its
+shadows; how--how could it be the face of a man who had done what he
+had done?  His head felt lighter now, his feet lighter; he walked
+rapidly again.
+
+Curious feeling of relief and oppression all at once!  Frightful--to
+long for company, for talk, for distraction; and--to be afraid of it!
+The girl--the girl and Keith were now the only persons who would not
+give him that feeling of dread.  And, of those two--Keith was not...!
+Who could consort with one who was never wrong, a successful,
+righteous fellow; a chap built so that he knew nothing about himself,
+wanted to know nothing, a chap all solid actions?  To be a quicksand
+swallowing up one's own resolutions was bad enough!  But to be like
+Keith--all willpower, marching along, treading down his own feelings
+and weaknesses!  No!  One could not make a comrade of a man like
+Keith, even if he were one's brother?  The only creature in all the
+world was the girl.  She alone knew and felt what he was feeling;
+would put up with him and love him whatever he did, or was done to
+him.  He stopped and took shelter in a doorway, to light a cigarette.
+He had suddenly a fearful wish to pass the archway where he had
+placed the body; a fearful wish that had no sense, no end in view, no
+anything; just an insensate craving to see the dark place again.  He
+crossed Borrow Street to the little lane.  There was only one person
+visible, a man on the far side with his shoulders hunched against the
+wind; a short, dark figure which crossed and came towards him in the
+flickering lamplight.  What a face!  Yellow, ravaged, clothed almost
+to the eyes in a stubbly greyish growth of beard, with blackish
+teeth, and haunting bloodshot eyes.  And what a figure of rags--one
+shoulder higher than the other, one leg a little lame, and thin!  A
+surge of feeling came up in Laurence for this creature, more
+unfortunate than himself.  There were lower depths than his!
+
+"Well, brother," he said, "you don't look too prosperous!"
+
+The smile which gleamed out on the man's face seemed as unlikely as a
+smile on a scarecrow.
+
+"Prosperity doesn't come my way," he said in a rusty voice.  "I'm a
+failure--always been a failure.  And yet you wouldn't think it, would
+you?--I was a minister of religion once."
+
+Laurence held out a shilling.  But the man shook his head.
+
+"Keep your money," he said.  "I've got more than you to-day, I
+daresay.  But thank you for taking a little interest.  That's worth
+more than money to a man that's down."
+
+"You're right."
+
+"Yes," the rusty voice went on; "I'd as soon die as go on living as I
+do.  And now I've lost my self-respect.  Often wondered how long a
+starving man could go without losing his self-respect.  Not so very
+long.  You take my word for that."  And without the slightest change
+in the monotony of that creaking voice he added:
+
+"Did you read of the murder?  Just here.  I've been looking at the
+place."
+
+The words: 'So have I!' leaped up to Laurence's lips; he choked them
+down with a sort of terror.
+
+"I wish you better luck," he said.  "Goodnight!" and hurried away.  A
+sort of ghastly laughter was forcing its way up in his throat.  Was
+everyone talking of the murder he had committed?  Even the very
+scarecrows?
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+There are some natures so constituted that, due to be hung at ten
+o'clock, they will play chess at eight.  Such men invariably rise.
+They make especially good bishops, editors, judges, impresarios,
+Prime ministers, money-lenders, and generals; in fact, fill with
+exceptional credit any position of power over their fellow-men.  They
+have spiritual cold storage, in which are preserved their nervous
+systems.  In such men there is little or none of that fluid sense and
+continuity of feeling known under those vague terms, speculation,
+poetry, philosophy.  Men of facts and of decision switching
+imagination on and off at will, subordinating sentiment to reason...
+one does not think of them when watching wind ripple over cornfields,
+or swallows flying.
+
+Keith Darrant had need for being of that breed during his dinner at
+the Tellassons.  It was just eleven when he issued from the big house
+in Portland Place and refrained from taking a cab.  He wanted to walk
+that he might better think.  What crude and wanton irony there was in
+his situation!  To have been made father-confessor to a murderer, he-
+-well on towards a judgeship!  With his contempt for the kind of
+weakness which landed men in such abysses, he felt it all so sordid,
+so "impossible," that he could hardly bring his mind to bear on it at
+all.  And yet he must, because of two powerful instincts--self-
+preservation and blood-loyalty.
+
+The wind had still the sapping softness of the afternoon, but rain
+had held off so far.  It was warm, and he unbuttoned his fur
+overcoat.  The nature of his thoughts deepened the dark austerity of
+his face, whose thin, well-cut lips were always pressing together, as
+if, by meeting, to dispose of each thought as it came up.  He moved
+along the crowded pavements glumly.  That air of festive conspiracy
+which drops with the darkness on to lighted streets, galled him.  He
+turned off on a darker route.
+
+This ghastly business!  Convinced of its reality, he yet could not
+see it.  The thing existed in his mind, not as a picture, but as a
+piece of irrefutable evidence.  Larry had not meant to do it, of
+course.  But it was murder, all the same.  Men like Larry--weak,
+impulsive, sentimental, introspective creatures--did they ever mean
+what they did?  This man, this Walenn, was, by all accounts, better
+dead than alive; no need to waste a thought on him!  But, crime--the
+ugliness--Justice unsatisfied!  Crime concealed--and his own share in
+the concealment!  And yet--brother to brother!  Surely no one could
+demand action from him!  It was only a question of what he was going
+to advise Larry to do.  To keep silent, and disappear?  Had that a
+chance of success?  Perhaps if the answers to his questions had been
+correct.  But this girl!  Suppose the dead man's relationship to her
+were ferreted out, could she be relied on not to endanger Larry?
+These women were all the same, unstable as water, emotional,
+shiftless pests of society.  Then, too, a crime untracked, dogging
+all his brother's after life; a secret following him wherever he
+might vanish to; hanging over him, watching for some drunken moment,
+to slip out of his lips.  It was bad to think of.  A clean breast of
+it?  But his heart twitched within him.  "Brother of Mr. Keith
+Darrant, the wellknown King's Counsel"--visiting a woman of the town,
+strangling with his bare hands the woman's husband!  No intention to
+murder, but--a dead man!  A dead man carried out of the house, laid
+under a dark archway!  Provocation!  Recommended to mercy--penal
+servitude for life!  Was that the advice he was going to give Larry
+to-morrow morning?
+
+And he had a sudden vision of shaven men with clay-coloured features,
+run, as it were, to seed, as he had seen them once in Pentonville,
+when he had gone there to visit a prisoner.  Larry!  Whom, as a baby
+creature, he had watched straddling; whom, as a little fellow, he had
+fagged; whom he had seen through scrapes at college; to whom he had
+lent money time and again, and time and again admonished in his
+courses.  Larry!  Five years younger than himself; and committed to
+his charge by their mother when she died.  To become for life one of
+those men with faces like diseased plants; with no hair but a bushy
+stubble; with arrows marked on their yellow clothes!  Larry!  One of
+those men herded like sheep; at the beck and call of common men!  A
+gentleman, his own brother, to live that slave's life, to be ordered
+here and there, year after year, day in, day out.  Something snapped
+within him.  He could not give that advice.  Impossible!  But if not,
+he must make sure of his ground, must verify, must know.  This Glove
+Lane--this arch way?  It would not be far from where he was that very
+moment.  He looked for someone of whom to make enquiry.  A policeman
+was standing at the corner, his stolid face illumined by a lamp;
+capable and watchful--an excellent officer, no doubt; but, turning
+his head away, Keith passed him without a word.  Strange to feel that
+cold, uneasy feeling in presence of the law!  A grim little driving
+home of what it all meant!  Then, suddenly, he saw that the turning
+to his left was Borrow Street itself.  He walked up one side, crossed
+over, and returned.  He passed Number Forty-two, a small house with
+business names printed on the lifeless windows of the first and
+second floors; with dark curtained windows on the ground floor, or
+was there just a slink of light in one corner?  Which way had Larry
+turned?  Which way under that grisly burden?  Fifty paces of this
+squalid street-narrow, and dark, and empty, thank heaven!  Glove
+Lane!  Here it was!  A tiny runlet of a street.  And here--!  He had
+run right on to the arch, a brick bridge connecting two portions of a
+warehouse, and dark indeed.
+
+"That's right, gov'nor!  That's the place!"  He needed all his self-
+control to turn leisurely to the speaker.  "'Ere's where they found
+the body--very spot leanin' up 'ere.  They ain't got 'im yet.
+Lytest--me lord!"
+
+It was a ragged boy holding out a tattered yellowish journal.  His
+lynx eyes peered up from under lanky wisps of hair, and his voice had
+the proprietary note of one making "a corner" in his news.  Keith
+took the paper and gave him twopence.  He even found a sort of
+comfort in the young ghoul's hanging about there; it meant that
+others besides himself had come morbidly to look.  By the dim
+lamplight he read: "Glove Lane garrotting mystery.  Nothing has yet
+been discovered of the murdered man's identity; from the cut of his
+clothes he is supposed to be a foreigner."  The boy had vanished, and
+Keith saw the figure of a policeman coming slowly down this gutter of
+a street.  A second's hesitation, and he stood firm.  Nothing
+obviously could have brought him here save this "mystery," and he
+stayed quietly staring at the arch.  The policeman moved up abreast.
+Keith saw that he was the one whom he had passed just now.  He noted
+the cold offensive question die out of the man's eyes when they
+caught the gleam of white shirt-front under the opened fur collar.
+And holding up the paper, he said:
+
+"Is this where the man was found?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Still a mystery, I see?"
+
+"Well, we can't always go by the papers.  But I don't fancy they do
+know much about it, yet."
+
+"Dark spot.  Do fellows sleep under here?"
+
+The policeman nodded.  "There's not an arch in London where we don't
+get 'em sometimes."
+
+"Nothing found on him--I think I read?"
+
+"Not a copper.  Pockets inside out.  There's some funny characters
+about this quarter.  Greeks, Hitalians--all sorts."
+
+Queer sensation this, of being glad of a policeman's confidential
+tone!
+
+"Well, good-night!"
+
+"Good-night, sir.  Good-night!"
+
+He looked back from Borrow Street.  The policeman was still standing
+there holding up his lantern, so that its light fell into the
+archway, as if trying to read its secret.
+
+Now that he had seen this dark, deserted spot, the chances seemed to
+him much better.  "Pockets inside out!"  Either Larry had had
+presence of mind to do a very clever thing, or someone had been at
+the body before the police found it.  That was the more likely.  A
+dead backwater of a place.  At three o'clock--loneliest of all hours-
+-Larry's five minutes' grim excursion to and fro might well have
+passed unseen!  Now, it all depended on the girl; on whether Laurence
+had been seen coming to her or going away; on whether, if the man's
+relationship to her were discovered, she could be relied on to say
+nothing.  There was not a soul in Borrow Street now; hardly even a
+lighted window; and he took one of those rather desperate decisions
+only possible to men daily accustomed to the instant taking of
+responsibility.  He would go to her, and see for himself.  He came to
+the door of Forty-two, obviously one of those which are only shut at
+night, and tried the larger key.  It fitted, and he was in a gas-
+lighted passage, with an oil-clothed floor, and a single door to his
+left.  He stood there undecided.  She must be made to understand that
+he knew everything.  She must not be told more than that he was a
+friend of Larry's.  She must not be frightened, yet must be forced to
+give her very soul away.  A hostile witness--not to be treated as
+hostile--a matter for delicate handling!  But his knock was not
+answered.
+
+Should he give up this nerve-racking, bizarre effort to come at a
+basis of judgment; go away, and just tell Laurence that he could not
+advise him?  And then--what?  Something must be done.  He knocked
+again.  Still no answer.  And with that impatience of being thwarted,
+natural to him, and fostered to the full by the conditions of his
+life, he tried the other key.  It worked, and he opened the door.
+Inside all was dark, but a voice from some way off, with a sort of
+breathless relief in its foreign tones, said:
+
+"Oh!  then it's you, Larry!  Why did you knock?  I was so frightened.
+Turn up the light, dear.  Come in!"
+
+Feeling by the door for a switch in the pitch blackness he was
+conscious of arms round his neck, a warm thinly clad body pressed to
+his own; then withdrawn as quickly, with a gasp, and the most awful
+terror-stricken whisper:
+
+"Oh!  Who is it?"
+
+With a glacial shiver down his own spine, Keith answered
+
+"A friend of Laurence.  Don't be frightened!"
+
+There was such silence that he could hear a clock ticking, and the
+sound of his own hand passing over the surface of the wall, trying to
+find the switch.  He found it, and in the light which leaped up he
+saw, stiffened against a dark curtain evidently screening off a
+bedroom, a girl standing, holding a long black coat together at her
+throat, so that her face with its pale brown hair, short and square-
+cut and curling up underneath, had an uncanny look of being detached
+from any body.  Her face was so alabaster pale that the staring,
+startled eyes, dark blue or brown, and the faint rose of the parted
+lips, were like colour stainings on a white mask; and it had a
+strange delicacy, truth, and pathos, such as only suffering brings.
+Though not susceptible to aesthetic emotion, Keith was curiously
+affected.  He said gently:
+
+"You needn't be afraid.  I haven't come to do you harm--quite the
+contrary.  May I sit down and talk?"  And, holding up the keys, he
+added: "Laurence wouldn't have given me these, would he, if he hadn't
+trusted me?"
+
+Still she did not move, and he had the impression that he was looking
+at a spirit--a spirit startled out of its flesh.  Nor at the moment
+did it seem in the least strange that he should conceive such an odd
+thought.  He stared round the room--clean and tawdry, with its
+tarnished gilt mirror, marble-topped side-table, and plush-covered
+sofa.  Twenty years and more since he had been in such a place.  And
+he said:
+
+"Won't you sit down?  I'm sorry to have startled you."
+
+But still she did not move, whispering:
+
+"Who are you, please?"
+
+And, moved suddenly beyond the realm of caution by the terror in that
+whisper, he answered:
+
+"Larry's brother."
+
+She uttered a little sigh of relief which went to Keith's heart, and,
+still holding the dark coat together at her throat, came forward and
+sat down on the sofa.  He could see that her feet, thrust into
+slippers, were bare; with her short hair, and those candid startled
+eyes, she looked like a tall child.  He drew up a chair and said:
+
+"You must forgive me coming at such an hour; he's told me, you see."
+He expected her to flinch and gasp; but she only clasped her hands
+together on her knees, and said:
+
+"Yes?"
+
+Then horror and discomfort rose up in him, afresh.
+
+"An awful business!"
+
+Her whisper echoed him:
+
+"Yes, oh! yes!  Awful--it is awful!"
+
+And suddenly realising that the man must have fallen dead just where
+he was sitting, Keith became stock silent, staring at the floor.
+
+"Yes," she whispered; "Just there.  I see him now always falling!"
+
+How she said that!  With what a strange gentle despair!  In this girl
+of evil life, who had brought on them this tragedy, what was it which
+moved him to a sort of unwilling compassion?
+
+"You look very young," he said.
+
+"I am twenty."
+
+"And you are fond of--my brother?"
+
+"I would die for him."
+
+Impossible to mistake the tone of her voice, or the look in her eyes,
+true deep Slav eyes; dark brown, not blue as he had thought at first.
+It was a very pretty face--either her life had not eaten into it yet,
+or the suffering of these last hours had purged away those marks; or
+perhaps this devotion of hers to Larry.  He felt strangely at sea,
+sitting there with this child of twenty; he, over forty, a man of the
+world, professionally used to every side of human nature.  But he
+said, stammering a little:
+
+"I--I have come to see how far you can save him.  Listen, and just
+answer the questions I put to you."
+
+She raised her hands, squeezed them together, and murmured:
+
+"Oh!  I will answer anything."
+
+"This man, then--your--your husband--was he a bad man?"
+
+"A dreadful man."
+
+"Before he came here last night, how long since you saw him?"
+
+"Eighteen months."
+
+"Where did you live when you saw him last?"
+
+"In Pimlico."
+
+"Does anybody about here know you as Mrs. Walenn?"
+
+"No.  When I came here, after my little girl died, I came to live a
+bad life.  Nobody knows me at all.  I am quite alone."
+
+"If they discover who he was, they will look for his wife?"
+
+"I do not know.  He did not let people think I was married to him.  I
+was very young; he treated many, I think, like me."
+
+"Do you think he was known to the police?"
+
+She shook her head.  "He was very clever."
+
+"What is your name now?"
+
+"Wanda Livinska."
+
+"Were you known by that name before you were married?"
+
+"Wanda is my Christian name.  Livinska--I just call myself."
+
+"I see; since you came here."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Did my brother ever see this man before last night?"
+
+"Never."
+
+"You had told him about his treatment of you?"
+
+"Yes.  And that man first went for him."
+
+"I saw the mark.  Do you think anyone saw my brother come to you?"
+
+"I do not know.  He says not."
+
+"Can you tell if anyone saw him carrying the--the thing away?"
+
+"No one in this street--I was looking."
+
+"Nor coming back?"
+
+"No one."
+
+"Nor going out in the morning?"
+
+"I do not think it."
+
+
+"Have you a servant?"
+
+"Only a woman who comes at nine in the morning for an hour."
+
+"Does she know Larry?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Friends, acquaintances?"
+
+"No; I am very quiet.  And since I knew your brother, I see no one.
+Nobody comes here but him for a long time now."
+
+"How long?"
+
+"Five months."
+
+"Have you been out to-day?"
+
+"No."
+
+"What have you been doing?"
+
+"Crying."
+
+It was said with a certain dreadful simplicity, and pressing her
+hands together, she went on:
+
+"He is in danger, because of me.  I am so afraid for him."
+Holding up his hand to check that emotion, he said:
+
+"Look at me!"
+
+She fixed those dark eyes on him, and in her bare throat, from which
+the coat had fallen back, he could see her resolutely swallowing down
+her agitation.
+
+"If the worst comes to the worst, and this man is traced to you, can
+you trust yourself not to give my brother away?"
+
+Her eyes shone.  She got up and went to the fireplace:
+
+"Look!  I have burned all the things he has given me--even his
+picture.  Now I have nothing from him."
+
+Keith, too, got up.
+
+"Good!  One more question: Do the police know you, because--because
+of your life?"
+
+She shook her head, looking at him intently, with those mournfully
+true eyes.  And he felt a sort of shame.
+
+"I was obliged to ask.  Do you know where he lives?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You must not go there.  And he must not come to you, here."
+
+Her lips quivered; but she bowed her head.  Suddenly he found her
+quite close to him, speaking almost in a whisper:
+
+"Please do not take him from me altogether.  I will be so careful.  I
+will not do anything to hurt him; but if I cannot see him sometimes,
+I shall die.  Please do not take him from me."  And catching his hand
+between her own, she pressed it desperately.  It was several seconds
+before Keith said:
+
+"Leave that to me.  I will see him.  I shall arrange.  You must leave
+that to me."
+
+"But you will be kind?"
+
+He felt her lips kissing his hand.  And the soft moist touch sent a
+queer feeling through him, protective, yet just a little brutal,
+having in it a shiver of sensuality.  He withdrew his hand.  And as
+if warned that she had been too pressing, she recoiled humbly.  But
+suddenly she turned, and stood absolutely rigid; then almost
+inaudibly whispered: "Listen!  Someone out--out there!"  And darting
+past him she turned out the light.
+
+Almost at once came a knock on the door.  He could feel--actually
+feel the terror of this girl beside him in the dark.  And he, too,
+felt terror.  Who could it be?  No one came but Larry, she had said.
+Who else then could it be?  Again came the knock, louder!  He felt
+the breath of her whisper on his cheek: "If it is Larry!  I must
+open."  He shrank back against the wall; heard her open the door and
+say faintly: "Yes.  Please!  Who?"
+
+Light painted a thin moving line on the wall opposite, and a voice
+which Keith recognised answered:
+
+"All right, miss.  Your outer door's open here.  You ought to keep it
+shut after dark."
+
+God!  That policeman!  And it had been his own doing, not shutting
+the outer door behind him when he came in.  He heard her say timidly
+in her foreign voice: "Thank you, sir!" the policeman's retreating
+steps, the outer door being shut, and felt her close to him again.
+That something in her youth and strange prettiness which had touched
+and kept him gentle, no longer blunted the edge of his exasperation,
+now that he could not see her.  They were all the same, these women;
+could not speak the truth! And he said brusquely:
+
+"You told me they didn't know you!"
+
+Her voice answered like a sigh:
+
+"I did not think they did, sir.  It is so long I was not out in the
+town, not since I had Larry."
+
+The repulsion which all the time seethed deep in Keith welled up at
+those words.  His brother--son of his mother, a gentleman--the
+property of this girl, bound to her, body and soul, by this
+unspeakable event!  But she had turned up the light.  Had she some
+intuition that darkness was against her?  Yes, she was pretty with
+that soft face, colourless save for its lips and dark eyes, with that
+face somehow so touchingly, so unaccountably good, and like a
+child's.
+
+"I am going now," he said.  "Remember!  He mustn't come here; you
+mustn't go to him.  I shall see him to-morrow.  If you are as fond of
+him as you say--take care, take care!"
+
+She sighed out, "Yes! oh, yes!"  and Keith went to the door.  She was
+standing with her back to the wall, and to follow him she only moved
+her head--that dove-like face with all its life in eyes which seemed
+saying: 'Look into us; nothing we hide; all--all is there!'
+
+And he went out.
+
+In the passage he paused before opening the outer door.  He did not
+want to meet that policeman again; the fellow's round should have
+taken him well out of the street by now, and turning the handle
+cautiously, he looked out.  No one in sight.  He stood a moment,
+wondering if he should turn to right or left, then briskly crossed
+the street.  A voice to his right hand said:
+
+"Good-night, sir."
+
+There in the shadow of a doorway the policeman was standing.  The
+fellow must have seen him coming out!  Utterly unable to restrain a
+start, and muttering "Goodnight!"  Keith walked on rapidly:
+
+He went full quarter of a mile before he lost that startled and
+uneasy feeling in sardonic exasperation that he, Keith Darrant, had
+been taken for a frequenter of a lady of the town.  The whole thing--
+the whole thing!--a vile and disgusting business!  His very mind felt
+dirty and breathless; his spirit, drawn out of sheath, had slowly to
+slide back before he could at all focus and readjust his reasoning
+faculty.  Certainly, he had got the knowledge he wanted.  There was
+less danger than he thought.  That girl's eyes!  No mistaking her
+devotion.  She would not give Larry away.  Yes!  Larry must clear
+out--South America--the East--it did not matter.  But he felt no
+relief.  The cheap, tawdry room had wrapped itself round his fancy
+with its atmosphere of murky love, with the feeling it inspired, of
+emotion caged within those yellowish walls and the red stuff of its
+furniture.  That girl's face!  Devotion; truth, too, and beauty, rare
+and moving, in its setting of darkness and horror, in that nest of
+vice and of disorder!...  The dark archway; the street arab, with his
+gleeful: "They 'ain't got 'im yet!"; the feel of those bare arms
+round his neck; that whisper of horror in the darkness; above all,
+again, her child face looking into his, so truthful!  And suddenly he
+stood quite still in the street.  What in God's name was he about?
+What grotesque juggling amongst shadows, what strange and ghastly
+eccentricity was all this?  The forces of order and routine, all the
+actualities of his daily life, marched on him at that moment, and
+swept everything before them.  It was a dream, a nightmare not real!
+It was ridiculous!  That he -he should thus be bound up with things
+so black and bizarre!
+
+He had come by now to the Strand, that street down which every day he
+moved to the Law Courts, to his daily work; his work so dignified and
+regular, so irreproachable, and solid.  No!  The thing was all a
+monstrous nightmare!  It would go, if he fixed his mind on the
+familiar objects around, read the names on the shops, looked at the
+faces passing.  Far down the thoroughfare he caught the outline of
+the old church, and beyond, the loom of the Law Courts themselves.
+The bell of a fire-engine sounded, and the horses came galloping by,
+with the shining metal, rattle of hoofs and hoarse shouting.  Here
+was a sensation, real and harmless, dignified and customary!  A woman
+flaunting round the corner looked up at him, and leered out: "Good-
+night!"  Even that was customary, tolerable.  Two policemen passed,
+supporting between them a man the worse for liquor, full of fight and
+expletives; the sight was soothing, an ordinary thing which brought
+passing annoyance, interest, disgust.  It had begun to rain; he felt
+it on his face with pleasure--an actual thing, not eccentric, a thing
+which happened every day!
+
+He began to cross the street.  Cabs were going at furious speed now
+that the last omnibus had ceased to run; it distracted him to take
+this actual, ordinary risk run so often every day.  During that
+crossing of the Strand, with the rain in his face and the cabs
+shooting past, he regained for the first time his assurance, shook
+off this unreal sense of being in the grip of something, and walked
+resolutely to the corner of his home turning.  But passing into that
+darker stretch, he again stood still.  A policeman had also turned
+into that street on the other side.  Not--surely not!  Absurd!  They
+were all alike to look at--those fellows!  Absurd!  He walked on
+sharply, and let himself into his house.  But on his way upstairs he
+could not for the life of him help raising a corner of a curtain and
+looking from the staircase window.  The policeman was marching
+solemnly, about twenty-five yards away, paying apparently no
+attention to anything whatever.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+Keith woke at five o'clock, his usual hour, without remembrance.  But
+the grisly shadow started up when he entered his study, where the
+lamp burned, and the fire shone, and the coffee was set ready, just
+as when yesterday afternoon Larry had stood out there against the
+wall.  For a moment he fought against realisation; then, drinking off
+his coffee, sat down sullenly at the bureau to his customary three
+hours' study of the day's cases.
+
+Not one word of his brief could he take in.  It was all jumbled with
+murky images and apprehensions, and for full half an hour he suffered
+mental paralysis.  Then the sheer necessity of knowing something of
+the case which he had to open at half-past ten that morning forced
+him to a concentration which never quite subdued the malaise at the
+bottom of his heart.  Nevertheless, when he rose at half-past eight
+and went into the bathroom, he had earned his grim satisfaction in
+this victory of will-power.  By half-past nine he must be at Larry's.
+A boat left London for the Argentine to-morrow.  If Larry was to get
+away at once, money must be arranged for.  And then at breakfast he
+came on this paragraph in the paper:
+
+           "SOHO MURDER.
+
+"Enquiry late last night established the fact that the Police have
+discovered the identity of the man found strangled yesterday morning
+under an archway in Glove Lane.  An arrest has been made."
+
+By good fortune he had finished eating, for the words made him feel
+physically sick.  At this very minute Larry might be locked up,
+waiting to be charged-might even have been arrested before his own
+visit to the girl last night.  If Larry were arrested, she must be
+implicated.  What, then, would be his own position?  Idiot to go and
+look at that archway, to go and see the girl!  Had that policeman
+really followed him home?  Accessory after the fact!  Keith Darrant,
+King's Counsel, man of mark!  He forced himself by an effort, which
+had something of the heroic, to drop this panicky feeling.  Panic
+never did good.  He must face it, and see.  He refused even to hurry,
+calmly collected the papers wanted for the day, and attended to a
+letter or two, before he set out in a taxi-cab to Fitzroy Street.
+
+Waiting outside there in the grey morning for his ring to be
+answered, he looked the very picture of a man who knew his mind, a
+man of resolution.  But it needed all his will-power to ask without
+tremor: "Mr. Darrant in?"  to hear without sign of any kind the
+answer: "He's not up yet, sir."
+
+"Never mind; I'll go in and see him.  Mr. Keith Darrant."
+
+On his way to Laurence's bedroom, in the midst of utter relief, he
+had the self-possession to think: 'This arrest is the best thing that
+could have happened.  It'll keep their noses on a wrong scent till
+Larry's got away.  The girl must be sent off too, but not with him.'
+Panic had ended in quite hardening his resolution.  He entered the
+bedroom with a feeling of disgust.  The fellow was lying there, his
+bare arms crossed behind his tousled head, staring at the ceiling,
+and smoking one of many cigarettes whose ends littered a chair beside
+him, whose sickly reek tainted the air.  That pale face, with its
+jutting cheek-bones and chin, its hollow cheeks and blue eyes far
+sunk back--what a wreck of goodness!
+
+He looked up at Keith through the haze of smoke and said quietly:
+"Well, brother, what's the sentence?  'Transportation for life, and
+then to be fined forty pounds?'"
+
+The flippancy revolted Keith.  It was Larry all over!  Last night
+horrified and humble, this morning, "Don't care" and feather-headed.
+He said sourly:
+
+"Oh!  You can joke about it now?"
+
+Laurence turned his face to the wall.
+
+"Must."
+
+Fatalism!  How detestable were natures like that!
+
+"I've been to see her," he said.
+
+"You?"
+
+"Last night.  She can be trusted."
+
+Laurence laughed.
+
+"That I told you."
+
+"I had to see for myself.  You must clear out at once, Larry.  She
+can come out to you by the next boat; but you can't go together.
+Have you any money?"
+
+"No."
+
+"I can foot your expenses, and lend you a year's income in advance.
+But it must be a clean cut; after you get out there your whereabouts
+must only be known to me."
+
+A long sigh answered him.
+
+"You're very good to me, Keith; you've always been very good.  I
+don't know why."
+
+Keith answered drily
+
+"Nor I.  There's a boat to the Argentine tomorrow.  You're in luck;
+they've made an arrest.  It's in the paper."
+
+"What?"
+
+The cigarette end dropped, the thin pyjama'd figure writhed up and
+stood clutching at the bedrail.
+
+"What?"
+
+The disturbing thought flitted through Keith's brain: 'I was a fool.
+He takes it queerly; what now?'
+
+Laurence passed his hand over his forehead, and sat down on the bed.
+
+"I hadn't thought of that," he said; "It does me!"
+
+Keith stared.  In his relief that the arrested man was not Laurence,
+this had not occurred to him.  What folly!
+
+"Why?"  he said quickly; "an innocent man's in no danger.  They
+always get the wrong man first.  It's a piece of luck, that's all.
+It gives us time."
+
+How often had he not seen that expression on Larry's face, wistful,
+questioning, as if trying to see the thing with his--Keith's-eyes,
+trying to submit to better judgment?  And he said, almost gently
+
+"Now, look here, Larry; this is too serious to trifle with.  Don't
+worry about that.  Leave it to me.  Just get ready to be off'.  I'll
+take your berth and make arrangements.  Here's some money for kit.  I
+can come round between five and six, and let you know.  Pull yourself
+together, man.  As soon as the girl's joined you out there, you'd
+better get across to Chile, the further the better.  You must simply
+lose yourself: I must go now, if I'm to get to the Bank before I go
+down to the courts."  And looking very steadily at his brother, he
+added:
+
+"Come!  You've got to think of me in this matter as well as of
+yourself.  No playing fast and loose with the arrangements.
+Understand?"
+
+But still Larry gazed up at him with that wistful questioning, and
+not till he had repeated, "Understand?"  did he receive "Yes" for
+answer.
+
+Driving away, he thought: 'Queer fellow!  I don't know him, shall
+never know him!' and at once began to concentrate on the practical
+arrangements.  At his bank he drew out L400; but waiting for the
+notes to be counted he suffered qualms.  A clumsy way of doing
+things!  If there had been more time!  The thought: 'Accessory after
+the fact!' now infected everything.  Notes were traceable.  No other
+way of getting him away at once, though.  One must take lesser risks
+to avoid greater.  From the bank he drove to the office of the
+steamship line.  He had told Larry he would book his passage.  But
+that would not do!  He must only ask anonymously if there were
+accommodation.  Having discovered that there were vacant berths, he
+drove on to the Law Courts.  If he could have taken a morning off, he
+would have gone down to the police court and seen them charge this
+man.  But even that was not too safe, with a face so well known as
+his.  What would come of this arrest?  Nothing, surely!  The police
+always took somebody up, to keep the public quiet.  Then, suddenly,
+he had again the feeling that it was all a nightmare; Larry had never
+done it; the police had got the right man!  But instantly the memory
+of the girl's awe-stricken face, her figure huddling on the sofa, her
+words "I see him always falling!"  came back.  God!  What a business!
+
+He felt he had never been more clear-headed and forcible than that
+morning in court.  When he came out for lunch he bought the most
+sensational of the evening papers.  But it was yet too early for
+news, and he had to go back into court no whit wiser concerning the
+arrest.  When at last he threw off wig and gown, and had got through
+a conference and other necessary work, he went out to Chancery Lane,
+buying a paper on the way.  Then he hailed a cab, and drove once more
+to Fitzroy Street.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+Laurence had remained sitting on his bed for many minutes.  An
+innocent man in no danger!  Keith had said it--the celebrated lawyer!
+Could he rely on that?  Go out 8,000 miles, he and the girl, and
+leave a fellow-creature perhaps in mortal peril for an act committed
+by himself?
+
+In the past night he had touched bottom, as he thought: become ready
+to face anything.  When Keith came in he would without murmur have
+accepted the advice: "Give yourself up!"  He was prepared to pitch
+away the end of his life as he pitched from him the fag-ends of his
+cigarettes.  And the long sigh he had heaved, hearing of reprieve,
+had been only half relief.  Then, with incredible swiftness there had
+rushed through him a feeling of unutterable joy and hope.  Clean
+away--into a new country, a new life!  The girl and he!  Out there he
+wouldn't care, would rejoice even to have squashed the life out of
+such a noisome beetle of a man.  Out there!  Under a new sun, where
+blood ran quicker than in this foggy land, and people took justice
+into their own hands.  For it had been justice on that brute even
+though he had not meant to kill him.  And then to hear of this
+arrest!  They would be charging the man to-day.  He could go and see
+the poor creature accused of the murder he himself had committed!
+And he laughed.  Go and see how likely it was that they might hang a
+fellow-man in place of himself?  He dressed, but too shaky to shave
+himself, went out to a barber's shop.  While there he read the news
+which Keith had seen.  In this paper the name of the arrested man was
+given: "John Evan, no address."  To be brought up on the charge at
+Bow Street.  Yes!  He must go.  Once, twice, three times he walked
+past the entrance of the court before at last he entered and screwed
+himself away among the tag and bobtail.
+
+The court was crowded; and from the murmurs round he could tell that
+it was his particular case which had brought so many there.  In a
+dazed way he watched charge after charge disposed of with lightning
+quickness.  But were they never going to reach his business?  And
+then suddenly he saw the little scarecrow man of last night advancing
+to the dock between two policemen, more ragged and miserable than
+ever by light of day, like some shaggy, wan, grey animal, surrounded
+by sleek hounds.
+
+A sort of satisfied purr was rising all round; and with horror
+Laurence perceived that this--this was the man accused of what he
+himself had done--this queer, battered unfortunate to whom he had
+shown a passing friendliness.  Then all feeling merged in the
+appalling interest of listening.  The evidence was very short.
+Testimony of the hotel-keeper where Walenn had been staying, the
+identification of his body, and of a snake-shaped ring he had been
+wearing at dinner that evening.  Testimony of a pawnbroker, that this
+same ring was pawned with him the first thing yesterday morning by
+the prisoner.  Testimony of a policeman that he had noticed the man
+Evan several times in Glove Lane, and twice moved him on from
+sleeping under that arch.  Testimony of another policeman that, when
+arrested at midnight, Evan had said: "Yes; I took the ring off his
+finger.  I found him there dead ....  I know I oughtn't to have done
+it....  I'm an educated man; it was stupid to pawn the ring.  I found
+him with his pockets turned inside out."
+
+Fascinating and terrible to sit staring at the man in whose place he
+should have been; to wonder when those small bright-grey bloodshot
+eyes would spy him out, and how he would meet that glance.  Like a
+baited raccoon the little man stood, screwed back into a corner,
+mournful, cynical, fierce, with his ridged, obtuse yellow face, and
+his stubbly grey beard and hair, and his eyes wandering now and again
+amongst the crowd.  But with all his might Laurence kept his face
+unmoved.  Then came the word "Remanded"; and, more like a baited
+beast than ever, the man was led away.
+
+Laurence sat on, a cold perspiration thick on his forehead.  Someone
+else, then, had come on the body and turned the pockets inside out
+before John Evan took the ring.  A man such as Walenn would not be
+out at night without money.  Besides, if Evan had found money on the
+body he would never have run the risk of taking that ring.  Yes,
+someone else had come on the body first.  It was for that one to come
+forward, and prove that the ring was still on the dead man's finger
+when he left him, and thus clear Evan.  He clung to that thought; it
+seemed to make him less responsible for the little man's position; to
+remove him and his own deed one step further back.  If they found the
+person who had taken the money, it would prove Evan's innocence.  He
+came out of the court in a sort of trance.  And a craving to get
+drunk attacked him.  One could not go on like this without the relief
+of some oblivion.  If he could only get drunk, keep drunk till this
+business was decided and he knew whether he must give himself up or
+no.  He had now no fear at all of people suspecting him; only fear of
+himself--fear that he might go and give himself up.  Now he could see
+the girl; the danger from that was as nothing compared with the
+danger from his own conscience.  He had promised Keith not to see
+her.  Keith had been decent and loyal to him--good old Keith!  But he
+would never understand that this girl was now all he cared about in
+life; that he would rather be cut off from life itself than be cut
+off from her.  Instead of becoming less and less, she was becoming
+more and more to him--experience strange and thrilling!  Out of deep
+misery she had grown happy--through him; out of a sordid, shifting
+life recovered coherence and bloom, through devotion to him him, of
+all people in the world!  It was a miracle.  She demanded nothing of
+him, adored him, as no other woman ever had--it was this which had
+anchored his drifting barque; this--and her truthful mild
+intelligence, and that burning warmth of a woman, who, long treated
+by men as but a sack of sex, now loves at last.
+
+And suddenly, mastering his craving to get drunk, he made towards
+Soho.  He had been a fool to give those keys to Keith.  She must have
+been frightened by his visit; and, perhaps, doubly miserable since,
+knowing nothing, imagining everything!  Keith was sure to have
+terrified her.  Poor little thing!
+
+Down the street where he had stolen in the dark with the dead body on
+his back, he almost ran for the cover of her house.  The door was
+opened to him before he knocked, her arms were round his neck, her
+lips pressed to his.  The fire was out, as if she had been unable to
+remember to keep warm.  A stool had been drawn to the window, and
+there she had evidently been sitting, like a bird in a cage, looking
+out into the grey street.  Though she had been told that he was not
+to come, instinct had kept her there; or the pathetic, aching hope
+against hope which lovers never part with.
+
+Now that he was there, her first thoughts were for his comfort.  The
+fire was lighted.  He must eat, drink, smoke.  There was never in her
+doings any of the "I am doing this for you, but you ought to be doing
+that for me" which belongs to so many marriages, and liaisons.  She
+was like a devoted slave, so in love with the chains that she never
+knew she wore them.  And to Laurence, who had so little sense of
+property, this only served to deepen tenderness, and the hold she had
+on him.  He had resolved not to tell her of the new danger he ran
+from his own conscience.  But resolutions with him were but the
+opposites of what was sure to come; and at last the words:
+
+"They've arrested someone," escaped him.
+
+>From her face he knew she had grasped the danger at once; had divined
+it, perhaps, before he spoke.  But she only twined her arms round him
+and kissed his lips.  And he knew that she was begging him to put his
+love for her above his conscience.  Who would ever have thought that
+he could feel as he did to this girl who had been in the arms of
+many!  The stained and suffering past of a loved woman awakens in
+some men only chivalry; in others, more respectable, it rouses a
+tigerish itch, a rancorous jealousy of what in the past was given to
+others.  Sometimes it will do both.  When he had her in his arms he
+felt no remorse for killing the coarse, handsome brute who had ruined
+her.  He savagely rejoiced in it.  But when she laid her head in the
+hollow of his shoulder, turning to him her white face with the faint
+colour-staining on the parted lips, the cheeks, the eyelids; when her
+dark, wide-apart, brown eyes gazed up in the happiness of her
+abandonment--he felt only tenderness and protection.
+
+He left her at five o'clock, and had not gone two streets' length
+before the memory of the little grey vagabond, screwed back in the
+far corner of the dock like a baited raccoon, of his dreary, creaking
+voice, took possession of him again; and a kind of savagery mounted
+in his brain against a world where one could be so tortured without
+having meant harm to anyone.
+
+At the door of his lodgings Keith was getting out of a cab.  They
+went in together, but neither of them sat down; Keith standing with
+his back to the carefully shut door, Laurence with his back to the
+table, as if they knew there was a tug coming.  And Keith said:
+"There's room on that boat.  Go down and book your berth before they
+shut.  Here's the money!"
+
+"I'm going to stick it, Keith."
+
+Keith stepped forward, and put a roll of notes on the table.
+
+"Now look here, Larry.  I've read the police court proceedings.
+There's nothing in that.  Out of prison, or in prison for a few
+weeks, it's all the same to a night-bird of that sort.  Dismiss it
+from your mind--there's not nearly enough evidence to convict.  This
+gives you your chance.  Take it like a man, and make a new life for
+yourself."
+
+Laurence smiled; but the smile had a touch of madness and a touch of
+malice.  He took up the notes.
+
+"Clear out, and save the honour of brother Keith.  Put them back in
+your pocket, Keith, or I'll put them in the fire.  Come, take them!"
+And, crossing to the fire, he held them to the bars.  "Take them, or
+in they go!"
+
+Keith took back the notes.
+
+"I've still got some kind of honour, Keith; if I clear out I shall
+have none, not the rag of any, left.  It may be worth more to me than
+that--I can't tell yet--I can't tell."  There was a long silence
+before Keith answered.  "I tell you you're mistaken; no jury will
+convict.  If they did, a judge would never hang on it.  A ghoul who
+can rob a dead body ought to be in prison.  What he did is worse than
+what you did, if you come to that!"  Laurence lifted his face.
+"Judge not, brother," he said; "the heart is a dark well."  Keith's
+yellowish face grew red and swollen, as though he were mastering the
+tickle of a bronchial cough.  "What are you going to do, then?  I
+suppose I may ask you not to be entirely oblivious of our name; or is
+such a consideration unworthy of your honour?"  Laurence bent his
+head.  The gesture said more clearly than words: 'Don't kick a man
+when he's down!'
+
+"I don't know what I'm going to do--nothing at present.  I'm awfully
+sorry, Keith; awfully sorry."
+
+Keith looked at him, and without another word went out.
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+To any, save philosophers, reputation may be threatened almost as
+much by disgrace to name and family as by the disgrace of self.
+Keith's instinct was always to deal actively with danger.  But this
+blow, whether it fell on him by discovery or by confession, could not
+be countered.  As blight falls on a rose from who knows where, the
+scandalous murk would light on him.  No repulse possible!  Not even a
+wriggling from under!  Brother of a murderer hung or sent to penal
+servitude!  His daughter niece to a murderer!  His dead mother-a
+murderer's mother!  And to wait day after day, week after week, not
+knowing whether the blow would fall, was an extraordinarily atrocious
+penance, the injustice of which, to a man of rectitude, seemed daily
+the more monstrous.
+
+The remand had produced evidence that the murdered man had been
+drinking heavily on the night of his death, and further evidence of
+the accused's professional vagabondage and destitution; it was shown,
+too, that for some time the archway in Glove Lane had been his
+favourite night haunt.  He had been committed for trial in January.
+This time, despite misgivings, Keith had attended the police court.
+To his great relief Larry was not there.  But the policeman who had
+come up while he was looking at the archway, and given him afterwards
+that scare in the girl's rooms, was chief witness to the way the
+accused man haunted Glove Lane.  Though Keith held his silk hat high,
+he still had the uncomfortable feeling that the man had recognised
+him.
+
+His conscience suffered few, if any, twinges for letting this man
+rest under the shadow of the murder.  He genuinely believed that
+there was not evidence enough to convict; nor was it in him to
+appreciate the tortures of a vagabond shut up.  The scamp deserved
+what he had got, for robbing a dead body; and in any case such a
+scarecrow was better off in prison than sleeping out under archways
+in December.  Sentiment was foreign to Keith's character, and his
+justice that of those who subordinate the fates of the weak and
+shiftless to the needful paramountcy of the strong and well
+established.
+
+His daughter came back from school for the Christmas holidays.  It
+was hard to look up from her bright eyes and rosy cheeks and see this
+shadow hanging above his calm and ordered life, as in a glowing room
+one's eye may catch an impending patch of darkness drawn like a
+spider's web across a corner of the ceiling.
+
+On the afternoon of Christmas Eve they went, by her desire, to a
+church in Soho, where the Christmas Oratorio was being given; and
+coming away passed, by chance of a wrong turning, down Borrow Street.
+Ugh!  How that startled moment, when the girl had pressed herself
+against him in the dark, and her terror-stricken whisper: "Oh!  Who
+is it?"  leaped out before him!  Always that business--that ghastly
+business!  After the trial he would have another try to get them both
+away.  And he thrust his arm within his young daughter's, hurrying
+her on, out of this street where shadows filled all the winter air.
+
+But that evening when she had gone to bed he felt uncontrollably
+restless.  He had not seen Larry for weeks.  What was he about?  What
+desperations were hatching in his disorderly brain?  Was he very
+miserable; had he perhaps sunk into a stupor of debauchery?  And the
+old feeling of protectiveness rose up in him; a warmth born of long
+ago Christmas Eves, when they had stockings hung out in the night
+stuffed by a Santa Claus, whose hand never failed to tuck them up,
+whose kiss was their nightly waft into sleep.
+
+Stars were sparkling out there over the river; the sky frosty-clear,
+and black.  Bells had not begun to ring as yet.  And obeying an
+obscure, deep impulse, Keith wrapped himself once more into his fur
+coat, pulled a motoring cap over his eyes, and sallied forth.
+In the Strand he took a cab to Fitzroy Street.  There was no light in
+Larry's windows, and on a card he saw the words "To Let."  Gone!  Had
+he after all cleared out for good?  But how-without money?  And the
+girl?  Bells were ringing now in the silent frostiness.  Christmas
+Eve!  And Keith thought: 'If only this wretched business were off my
+mind!  Monstrous that one should suffer for the faults of others!'
+He took a route which led him past Borrow Street.  Solitude brooded
+there, and he walked resolutely down on the far side, looking hard at
+the girl's window.  There was a light.  The curtains just failed to
+meet, so that a thin gleam shone through.  He crossed; and after
+glancing swiftly up and down, deliberately peered in.
+
+He only stood there perhaps twenty seconds, but visual records
+gleaned in a moment sometimes outlast the visions of hours and days.
+The electric light was not burning; but, in the centre of the room
+the girl was kneeling in her nightgown before a little table on which
+were four lighted candles.  Her arms were crossed on her breast; the
+candle-light shone on her fair cropped hair, on the profile of cheek
+and chin, on her bowed white neck.  For a moment he thought her
+alone; then behind her saw his brother in a sleeping suit, leaning
+against the wall, with arms crossed, watching.  It was the expression
+on his face which burned the whole thing in, so that always
+afterwards he was able to see that little scene--such an expression
+as could never have been on the face of one even faintly conscious
+that he was watched by any living thing on earth. The whole of
+Larry's heart and feeling seemed to have come up out of him.
+Yearning, mockery, love, despair!  The depth of his feeling for this
+girl, his stress of mind, fears, hopes; the flotsam good and evil of
+his soul, all transfigured there, exposed and unforgettable.  The
+candle-light shone upward on to his face, twisted by the strangest
+smile; his eyes, darker and more wistful than mortal eyes should be,
+seemed to beseech and mock the white-clad girl, who, all unconscious,
+knelt without movement, like a carved figure of devotion.  The words
+seemed coming from his lips: "Pray for us!  Bravo!  Yes!  Pray for
+us!"  And suddenly Keith saw her stretch out her arms, and lift her
+face with a look of ecstasy, and Laurence starting forward.  What had
+she seen beyond the candle flames?  It is the unexpected which
+invests visions with poignancy.  Nothing more strange could Keith
+have seen in this nest of the murky and illicit.  But in sheer panic
+lest he might be caught thus spying he drew back and hurried on.
+So Larry was living there with her!  When the moment came he could
+still find him.
+
+Before going in, he stood full five minutes leaning on the terrace
+parapet before his house, gazing at the star-frosted sky, and the
+river cut by the trees into black pools, oiled over by gleams from
+the Embankment lamps.  And, deep down, behind his mere thoughts, he
+ached-somehow, somewhere ached.  Beyond the cage of all that he saw
+and heard and thought, he had perceived something he could not reach.
+But the night was cold, the bells silent, for it had struck twelve.
+Entering his house, he stole upstairs.
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+If for Keith those six weeks before the Glove Lane murder trial came
+on were fraught with uneasiness and gloom, they were for Laurence
+almost the happiest since his youth.  From the moment when he left
+his rooms and went to the girl's to live, a kind of peace and
+exaltation took possession of him.  Not by any effort of will did he
+throw off the nightmare hanging over him.  Nor was he drugged by
+love.  He was in a sort of spiritual catalepsy.  In face of fate too
+powerful for his will, his turmoil, anxiety, and even restlessness
+had ceased; his life floated in the ether of "what must come, will."
+Out of this catalepsy, his spirit sometimes fell headlong into black
+waters.  In one such whirlpool he was struggling on the night of
+Christmas Eve.  When the girl rose from her knees he asked her:
+
+"What did you see?"
+
+Pressing close to him, she drew him down on to the floor before the
+fire; and they sat, knees drawn up, hands clasped, like two children
+trying to see over the edge of the world.
+
+"It was the Virgin I saw.  She stood against the wall and smiled.  We
+shall be happy soon."
+
+"When we die, Wanda," he said, suddenly, "let it be together.  We
+shall keep each other warm, out there."
+
+Huddling to him she whispered: "Yes, oh, yes!  If you die, I could
+not go on living."
+
+It was this utter dependence on him, the feeling that he had rescued
+something, which gave him sense of anchorage.  That, and his buried
+life in the retreat of these two rooms.  Just for an hour in the
+morning, from nine to ten, the charwoman would come, but not another
+soul all day.  They never went out together.  He would stay in bed
+late, while Wanda bought what they needed for the day's meals; lying
+on his back, hands clasped behind his head, recalling her face, the
+movements of her slim, rounded, supple figure, robing itself before
+his gaze; feeling again the kiss she had left on his lips, the gleam
+of her soft eyes, so strangely dark in so fair a face.  In a sort of
+trance he would lie till she came back.  Then get up to breakfast
+about noon off things which she had cooked, drinking coffee.  In the
+afternoon he would go out alone and walk for hours, any where, so
+long as it was East.  To the East there was always suffering to be
+seen, always that which soothed him with the feeling that he and his
+troubles were only a tiny part of trouble; that while so many other
+sorrowing and shadowy creatures lived he was not cut off.  To go West
+was to encourage dejection.  In the West all was like Keith,
+successful, immaculate, ordered, resolute.  He would come back tired
+out, and sit watching her cook their little dinner.  The evenings
+were given up to love.  Queer trance of an existence, which both were
+afraid to break.  No sign from her of wanting those excitements which
+girls who have lived her life, even for a few months, are supposed to
+need.  She never asked him to take her anywhere; never, in word,
+deed, look, seemed anything but almost rapturously content.  And yet
+he knew, and she knew, that they were only waiting to see whether
+Fate would turn her thumb down on them.  In these days he did not
+drink.  Out of his quarter's money, when it came in, he had paid his
+debts--their expenses were very small.  He never went to see Keith,
+never wrote to him, hardly thought of him.  And from those dread
+apparitions--Walenn lying with the breath choked out of him, and the
+little grey, driven animal in the dock--he hid, as only a man can who
+must hide or be destroyed.  But daily he bought a newspaper, and
+feverishly, furtively scanned its columns.
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+Coming out of the Law Courts on the afternoon of January 28th, at the
+triumphant end of a desperately fought will case, Keith saw on a
+poster the words: "Glove Lane Murder: Trial and Verdict"; and with a
+rush of dismay he thought: 'Good God!  I never looked at the paper
+this morning!'  The elation which had filled him a second before, the
+absorption he had felt for two days now in the case so hardly won,
+seemed suddenly quite sickeningly trivial.  What on earth had he been
+doing to forget that horrible business even for an instant?  He stood
+quite still on the crowded pavement, unable, really unable, to buy a
+paper.  But his face was like a piece of iron when he did step
+forward and hold his penny out.  There it was in the Stop Press!
+"Glove Lane Murder.  The jury returned a verdict of Guilty.  Sentence
+of death was passed."
+
+His first sensation was simple irritation.  How had they come to
+commit such an imbecility?  Monstrous!  The evidence--!  Then the
+futility of even reading the report, of even considering how they had
+come to record such a verdict struck him with savage suddenness.
+There it was, and nothing he could do or say would alter it; no
+condemnation of this idiotic verdict would help reverse it.  The
+situation was desperate, indeed!  That five minutes' walk from the
+Law Courts to his chambers was the longest he had ever taken.
+
+Men of decided character little know beforehand what they will do in
+certain contingencies.  For the imaginations of decided people do not
+endow mere contingencies with sufficient actuality.  Keith had never
+really settled what he was going to do if this man were condemned.
+Often in those past weeks he had said to himself: "Of course, if they
+bring him in guilty, that's another thing!"  But, now that they had,
+he was beset by exactly the same old arguments and feelings, the same
+instincts of loyalty and protection towards Laurence and himself,
+intensified by the fearful imminence of the danger.  And yet, here
+was this man about to be hung for a thing he had not done!  Nothing
+could get over that!  But then he was such a worthless vagabond, a
+ghoul who had robbed a dead body.  If Larry were condemned in his
+stead, would there be any less miscarriage of justice?  To strangle a
+brute who had struck you, by the accident of keeping your hands on
+his throat a few seconds too long, was there any more guilt in that--
+was there even as much, as in deliberate theft from a dead man?
+Reverence for order, for justice, and established fact, will, often
+march shoulder to shoulder with Jesuitry in natures to whom success
+is vital.
+
+In the narrow stone passage leading to his staircase, a friend had
+called out: "Bravo, Darrant!  That was a squeak!  Congratulations!"
+And with a bitter little smile Keith thought: 'Congratulations!  I!'
+
+At the first possible moment the hurried back to the Strand, and
+hailing a cab, he told the man to put him down at a turning near to
+Borrow Street.
+
+It was the girl who opened to his knock.  Startled, clasping her
+hands, she looked strange to Keith in her black skirt and blouse of
+some soft velvety stuff the colour of faded roses.  Her round, rather
+long throat was bare; and Keith noticed fretfully that she wore gold
+earrings.  Her eyes, so pitch dark against her white face, and the
+short fair hair, which curled into her neck, seemed both to search
+and to plead.
+
+"My brother?"
+
+"He is not in, sir, yet."
+
+"Do you know where he is?"
+
+"No."
+
+"He is living with you here now?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Are you still as fond of him as ever, then?"
+
+With a movement, as though she despaired of words, she clasped her
+hands over her heart.  And he said:
+
+"I see."
+
+He had the same strange feeling as on his first visit to her, and
+when through the chink in the curtains he had watched her kneeling--
+of pity mingled with some faint sexual emotion.  And crossing to the
+fire he asked:
+
+"May I wait for him?"
+
+"Oh!  Please!  Will you sit down?"
+
+But Keith shook his head.  And with a catch in her breath, she said:
+
+"You will not take him from me.  I should die."
+
+He turned round on her sharply.
+
+"I don't want him taken from you.  I want to help you keep him.  Are
+you ready to go away, at any time?"
+
+"Yes.  Oh, yes!"
+
+"And he?"
+
+She answered almost in a whisper:
+
+"Yes; but there is that poor man."
+
+"That poor man is a graveyard thief; a hyena; a ghoul--not worth
+consideration."  And the rasp in his own voice surprised him.
+
+"Ah!" she sighed.  "But I am sorry for him.  Perhaps he was hungry.
+I have been hungry--you do things then that you would not.  And
+perhaps he has no one to love; if you have no one to love you can be
+very bad.  I think of him often--in prison."
+
+Between his teeth Keith muttered: "And Laurence?"
+
+"We do never speak of it, we are afraid."
+
+"He's not told you, then, about the trial?"
+
+Her eyes dilated.
+
+"The trial!  Oh!  He was strange last night.  This morning, too, he
+got up early.  Is it-is it over?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"What has come?"
+
+"Guilty."
+
+For a moment Keith thought she was going to faint.  She had closed
+her eyes, and swayed so that he took a step, and put his hands on her
+arms.
+
+"Listen!" he said.  "Help me; don't let Laurence out of your sight.
+We must have time.  I must see what they intend to do.  They can't be
+going to hang this man.  I must have time, I tell you.  You must
+prevent his giving himself up."
+
+She stood, staring in his face, while he still held her arms,
+gripping into her soft flesh through the velvety sleeves.
+
+"Do you understand?"
+
+"Yes-but if he has already!"
+
+Keith felt the shiver which ran through her.  And the thought rushed
+into his mind: 'My God!  Suppose the police come round while I'm
+here!'  If Larry had indeed gone to them!  If that Policeman who had
+seen him here the night after the murder should find him here again
+just after the verdict!  He said almost fiercely:
+
+"Can I trust you not to let Larry out of your sight?  Quick!
+Answer!"
+
+Clasping her hands to her breast, she answered humbly:
+
+"I will try."
+
+"If he hasn't already done this, watch him like a lynx!  Don't let
+him go out without you.  I'll come to-morrow morning early.  You're a
+Catholic, aren't you?  Swear to me that you won't let him do anything
+till he's seen me again."
+
+She did not answer, looking past him at the door; and Keith heard a
+key in the latch.  There was Laurence himself, holding in his hand a
+great bunch of pink lilies and white narcissi.  His face was pale and
+haggard.  He said quietly:
+
+"Hallo, Keith!"
+
+The girl's eyes were fastened on Larry's face; and Keith, looking
+from one to the other, knew that he had never had more need for
+wariness.
+
+"Have you seen?"  he said.
+
+Laurence nodded.  His expression, as a rule so tell-tale of his
+emotions, baffled Keith utterly.
+
+"Well?"
+
+"I've been expecting it."
+
+"The thing can't stand--that's certain.  But I must have time to look
+into the report.  I must have time to see what I can do.  D'you
+understand me, Larry--I must have time."  He knew he was talking at
+random.  The only thing was to get them away at once out of reach of
+confession; but he dared not say so.
+
+"Promise me that you'll do nothing, that you won't go out even till
+I've seen you to-morrow morning."
+
+Again Laurence nodded.  And Keith looked at the girl.  Would she see
+that he did not break that promise?  Her eyes were still fixed
+immovably on Larry's face.  And with the feeling that he could get no
+further, Keith turned to go.
+
+"Promise me," he said.
+
+Laurence answered: "I promise."
+
+He was smiling.  Keith could make nothing of that smile, nor of the
+expression in the girl's eyes.  And saying: "I have your promise, I
+rely on it!"  he went.
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+To keep from any woman who loves, knowledge of her lover's mood, is
+as hard as to keep music from moving the heart.  But when that woman
+has lived in suffering, and for the first time knows the comfort of
+love, then let the lover try as he may to disguise his heart--no use!
+Yet by virtue of subtler abnegation she will often succeed in keeping
+it from him that she knows.
+
+When Keith was gone the girl made no outcry, asked no questions,
+managed that Larry should not suspect her intuition; all that evening
+she acted as if she knew of nothing preparing within him, and through
+him, within herself.
+
+His words, caresses, the very zest with which he helped her to
+prepare the feast, the flowers he had brought, the wine he made her
+drink, the avoidance of any word which could spoil their happiness,
+all--all told her.  He was too inexorably gay and loving.  Not for
+her--to whom every word and every kiss had uncannily the desperate
+value of a last word and kiss--not for her to deprive herself of
+these by any sign or gesture which might betray her prescience.  Poor
+soul--she took all, and would have taken more, a hundredfold.  She
+did not want to drink the wine he kept tilting into her glass, but,
+with the acceptance learned by women who have lived her life, she did
+not refuse.  She had never refused him anything.  So much had been
+required of her by the detestable, that anything required by a loved
+one was but an honour.
+
+Laurence drank deeply; but he had never felt clearer, never seen
+things more clearly.  The wine gave him what he wanted, an edge to
+these few hours of pleasure, an exaltation of energy.  It dulled his
+sense of pity, too.  It was pity he was afraid of--for himself, and
+for this girl.  To make even this tawdry room look beautiful, with
+firelight and candlelight, dark amber wine in the glasses, tall pink
+lilies spilling their saffron, exuding their hot perfume he and even
+himself must look their best.  And with a weight as of lead on her
+heart, she managed that for him, letting him strew her with flowers
+and crush them together with herself.  Not even music was lacking to
+their feast.  Someone was playing a pianola across the street, and
+the sound, very faint, came stealing when they were silent--swelling,
+sinking, festive, mournful; having a far-off life of its own, like
+the flickering fire-flames before which they lay embraced, or the
+lilies delicate between the candles.  Listening to that music,
+tracing with his finger the tiny veins on her breast, he lay like one
+recovering from a swoon.  No parting.  None!  But sleep, as the
+firelight sleeps when flames die; as music sleeps on its deserted
+strings.
+
+And the girl watched him.
+
+It was nearly ten when he bade her go to bed.  And after she had gone
+obedient into the bedroom, he brought ink and paper down by the fire.
+The drifter, the unstable, the good-for-nothing--did not falter.  He
+had thought, when it came to the point, he would fail himself; but a
+sort of rage bore him forward.  If he lived on, and confessed, they
+would shut him up, take from him the one thing he loved, cut him off
+from her; sand up his only well in the desert.  Curse them!  And he
+wrote by firelight which mellowed the white sheets of paper; while,
+against the dark curtain, the girl, in her nightgown, unconscious of
+the cold, stood watching.
+
+Men, when they drown, remember their pasts.  Like the lost poet he
+had "gone with the wind."  Now it was for him to be true in his
+fashion.  A man may falter for weeks and weeks, consciously,
+subconsciously, even in his dreams, till there comes that moment when
+the only thing impossible is to go on faltering.  The black cap, the
+little driven grey man looking up at it with a sort of wonder--
+faltering had ceased!
+
+He had finished now, and was but staring into the fire.
+
+         "No more, no more, the moon is dead,
+          And all the people in it;
+          The poppy maidens strew the bed,
+          We'll come in half a minute."
+
+Why did doggerel start up in the mind like that?  Wanda!  The weed-
+flower become so rare he would not be parted from her!  The fire, the
+candles, and the fire--no more the flame and flicker!
+
+And, by the dark curtain, the girl watched.
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+Keith went, not home, but to his club; and in the room devoted to the
+reception of guests, empty at this hour, he sat down and read the
+report of the trial.  The fools had made out a case that looked black
+enough.  And for a long time, on the thick soft carpet which let out
+no sound of footfall, he paced up and down, thinking.  He might see
+the defending counsel, might surely do that as an expert who thought
+there had been miscarriage of justice.  They must appeal; a petition
+too might be started in the last event.  The thing could--must be put
+right yet, if only Larry and that girl did nothing!
+
+He had no appetite, but the custom of dining is too strong.  And
+while he ate, he glanced with irritation at his fellow-members.  They
+looked so at their ease.  Unjust--that this black cloud should hang
+over one blameless as any of them!  Friends, connoisseurs of such
+things--a judge among them--came specially to his table to express
+their admiration of his conduct of that will case.  Tonight he had
+real excuse for pride, but he felt none.  Yet, in this well-warmed
+quietly glowing room, filled with decorously eating, decorously
+talking men, he gained insensibly some comfort.  This surely was
+reality; that shadowy business out there only the drear sound of a
+wind one must and did keep out--like the poverty and grime which had
+no real existence for the secure and prosperous.  He drank champagne.
+It helped to fortify reality, to make shadows seem more shadowy.  And
+down in the smoking-room he sat before the fire, in one of those
+chairs which embalm after-dinner dreams.  He grew sleepy there, and
+at eleven o'clock rose to go home.  But when he had once passed down
+the shallow marble steps, out through the revolving door which let in
+no draughts, he was visited by fear, as if he had drawn it in with
+the breath of the January wind.  Larry's face; and the girl watching
+it!  Why had she watched like that?  Larry's smile; and the flowers
+in his hand?  Buying flowers at such a moment!  The girl was his
+slave-whatever he told her, she would do.  But she would never be
+able to stop him.  At this very moment he might be rushing to give
+himself up!
+
+His hand, thrust deep into the pocket of his fur coat, came in
+contact suddenly with something cold.  The keys Larry had given him
+all that time ago.  There they had lain forgotten ever since.  The
+chance touch decided him.  He turned off towards Borrow Street,
+walking at full speed.  He could but go again and see.  He would
+sleep better if he knew that he had left no stone unturned.  At the
+corner of that dismal street he had to wait for solitude before he
+made for the house which he now loathed with a deadly loathing.  He
+opened the outer door and shut it to behind him.  He knocked, but no
+one came.  Perhaps they had gone to bed.  Again and again he knocked,
+then opened the door, stepped in, and closed it carefully.  Candles
+lighted, the fire burning; cushions thrown on the floor in front of
+it and strewn with flowers!  The table, too, covered with flowers and
+with the remnants of a meal.  Through the half-drawn curtain he could
+see that the inner room was also lighted.  Had they gone out, leaving
+everything like this?  Gone out!  His heart beat.  Bottles! Larry had
+been drinking!
+
+Had it really come?  Must he go back home with this murk on him;
+knowing that his brother was a confessed and branded murderer?  He
+went quickly, to the half-drawn curtains and looked in.  Against the
+wall he saw a bed, and those two in it.  He recoiled in sheer
+amazement and relief.  Asleep with curtains undrawn, lights left on?
+Asleep through all his knocking!  They must both be drunk.  The blood
+rushed up in his neck.  Asleep!  And rushing forward again, he called
+out: "Larry!"  Then, with a gasp he went towards the bed.  "Larry!"
+No answer!  No movement!  Seizing his brother's shoulder, he shook it
+violently.  It felt cold.  They were lying in each other's arms,
+breast to breast, lips to lips, their faces white in the light
+shining above the dressing-table.  And such a shudder shook Keith
+that he had to grasp the brass rail above their heads.  Then he bent
+down, and wetting his finger, placed it close to their joined lips.
+No two could ever swoon so utterly as that; not even a drunken sleep
+could be so fast.  His wet finger felt not the faintest stir of air,
+nor was there any movement in the pulses of their hands.  No breath!
+No life!  The eyes of the girl were closed.  How strangely innocent
+she looked!  Larry's open eyes seemed to be gazing at her shut eyes;
+but Keith saw that they were sightless.  With a sort of sob he drew
+down the lids.  Then, by an impulse that he could never have
+explained, he laid a hand on his brother's head, and a hand on the
+girl's fair hair.  The clothes had fallen down a little from her bare
+shoulder; he pulled them up, as if to keep her warm, and caught the
+glint of metal; a tiny gilt crucifix no longer than a thumbnail, on a
+thread of steel chain, had slipped down from her breast into the
+hollow of the arm which lay round Larry's neck.  Keith buried it
+beneath the clothes and noticed an envelope pinned to the coverlet;
+bending down, he read: "Please give this at once to the police.--
+LAURENCE DARRANT."  He thrust it into his pocket.  Like elastic
+stretched beyond its uttermost, his reason, will, faculties of
+calculation and resolve snapped to within him.  He thought with
+incredible swiftness: 'I must know nothing of this.  I must go!'
+And, almost before he knew that he had moved, he was out again in the
+street.
+
+He could never have told of what he thought while he was walking
+home.  He did not really come to himself till he was in his study.
+There, with a trembling hand, he poured himself out whisky and drank
+it off.  If he had not chanced to go there, the charwoman would have
+found them when she came in the morning, and given that envelope to
+the police!  He took it out.  He had a right--a right to know what
+was in it!  He broke it open.
+
+"I, Laurence Darrant, about to die by my own hand, declare that this
+is a solemn and true confession.  I committed what is known as the
+Glove Lane Murder on the night of November the 27th last in the
+following way"--on and on to the last words--"We didn't want to die;
+but we could not bear separation, and I couldn't face letting an
+innocent man be hung for me.  I do not see any other way.  I beg that
+there may be no postmortem on our bodies.  The stuff we have taken is
+some of that which will be found on the dressing-table.  Please bury
+us together.
+
+"LAURENCE DARRANT.
+"January the 28th, about ten o'clock p.m."
+
+Full five minutes Keith stood with those sheets of paper in his hand,
+while the clock ticked, the wind moaned a little in the trees
+outside, the flames licked the logs with the quiet click and ruffle
+of their intense far-away life down there on the hearth.  Then he
+roused himself, and sat down to read the whole again.
+
+
+There it was, just as Larry had told it to him-nothing left out, very
+clear; even to the addresses of people who could identify the girl as
+having once been Walenn's wife or mistress.  It would convince.  Yes!
+It would convince.
+
+The sheets dropped from his hand.  Very slowly he was grasping the
+appalling fact that on the floor beside his chair lay the life or
+death of yet another man; that by taking this confession he had taken
+into his own hands the fate of the vagabond lying under sentence of
+death; that he could not give him back his life without incurring the
+smirch of this disgrace, without even endangering himself.  If he let
+this confession reach the authorities, he could never escape the
+gravest suspicion that he had known of the whole affair during these
+two months.  He would have to attend the inquest, be recognised by
+that policeman as having come to the archway to see where the body
+had lain, as having visited the girl the very evening after the
+murder.  Who would believe in the mere coincidence of such visits on
+the part of the murderer's brother.  But apart from that suspicion,
+the fearful scandal which so sensational an affair must make would
+mar his career, his life, his young daughter's life!  Larry's suicide
+with this girl would make sensation enough as it was; but nothing to
+that other.  Such a death had its romance; involved him in no way
+save as a mourner, could perhaps even be hushed up!  The other--
+nothing could hush that up, nothing prevent its ringing to the house-
+tops.  He got up from his chair, and for many minutes roamed the room
+unable to get his mind to bear on the issue. Images kept starting up
+before him.  The face of the man who handed him wig and gown each
+morning, puffy and curious, with a leer on it he had never noticed
+before; his young daughter's lifted eyebrows, mouth drooping, eyes
+troubled; the tiny gilt crucifix glinting in the hollow of the dead
+girl's arm; the sightless look in Larry's unclosed eyes; even his own
+thumb and finger pulling the lids down.  And then he saw a street and
+endless people passing, turning to stare at him.  And, stopping in
+his tramp, he said aloud: "Let them go to hell!  Seven days' wonder!"
+Was he not trustee to that confession!  Trustee!  After all he had
+done nothing to be ashamed of, even if he had kept knowledge dark.  A
+brother!  Who could blame him?  And he picked up those sheets of
+paper.  But, like a great murky hand, the scandal spread itself about
+him; its coarse malignant voice seemed shouting: "Paiper!...
+Paiper!... Glove Lane Murder!... Suicide and confession of brother of
+well-known K.C....  Well-known K.C.'s brother....  Murder and
+suicide.... Paiper!"  Was he to let loose that flood of foulness?
+Was he, who had done nothing, to smirch his own little daughter's
+life; to smirch his dead brother, their dead mother--himself, his own
+valuable, important future?  And all for a sewer rat!  Let him hang,
+let the fellow hang if he must!  And that was not certain.  Appeal!
+Petition!  He might--he should be saved!  To have got thus far, and
+then, by his own action, topple himself down!
+
+With a sudden darting movement he thrust the confession in among the
+burning coals.  And a smile licked at the folds in his dark face,
+like those flames licking the sheets of paper, till they writhed and
+blackened.  With the toe of his boot he dispersed their scorched and
+crumbling wafer.  Stamp them in!  Stamp in that man's life!  Burnt!
+No more doubts, no more of this gnawing fear!  Burnt?  A man--an
+innocent-sewer rat!  Recoiling from the fire he grasped his forehead.
+It was burning hot and seemed to be going round.
+
+Well, it was done!  Only fools without will or purpose regretted.
+And suddenly he laughed.  So Larry had died for nothing!  He had no
+will, no purpose, and was dead!  He and that girl might now have been
+living, loving each other in the warm night, away at the other end of
+the world, instead of lying dead in the cold night here!  Fools and
+weaklings regretted, suffered from conscience and remorse.  A man
+trod firmly, held to his purpose, no matter what!
+
+He went to the window and drew back the curtain.  What was that?  A
+gibbet in the air, a body hanging?  Ah!  Only the trees--the dark
+trees--the winter skeleton trees!  Recoiling, he returned to his
+armchair and sat down before the fire.  It had been shining like
+that, the lamp turned low, his chair drawn up, when Larry came in
+that afternoon two months ago.  Bah!  He had never come at all!  It
+was a nightmare.  He had been asleep.  How his head burned!  And
+leaping up, he looked at the calendar on his bureau.  "January the
+28th!"  No dream!  His face hardened and darkened.  On!  Not like
+Larry!  On!
+
+1914.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A STOIC
+
+I
+
+1
+
+         "Aequam memento rebus in arduis
+          Servare mentem:"--Horace.
+
+In the City of Liverpool, on a January day of 1905, the Board-room of
+"The Island Navigation Company" rested, as it were, after the labours
+of the afternoon.  The long table was still littered with the ink,
+pens, blotting-paper, and abandoned documents of six persons--a
+deserted battlefield of the brain.  And, lonely, in his chairman's
+seat at the top end old Sylvanus Heythorp sat, with closed eyes,
+still and heavy as an image.  One puffy, feeble hand, whose fingers
+quivered, rested on the arm of his chair; the thick white hair on his
+massive head glistened in the light from a green-shaded lamp.  He was
+not asleep, for every now and then his sanguine cheeks filled, and a
+sound, half sigh, half grunt, escaped his thick lips between a white
+moustache and the tiny tuft of white hairs above his cleft chin.
+Sunk in the chair, that square thick trunk of a body in short black-
+braided coat seemed divested of all neck.
+
+Young Gilbert Farney, secretary of "The Island Navigation Company,"
+entering his hushed Board-room, stepped briskly to the table,
+gathered some papers, and stood looking at his chairman.  Not more
+than thirty-five, with the bright hues of the optimist in his hair,
+beard, cheeks, and eyes, he had a nose and lips which curled
+ironically.  For, in his view, he was the Company; and its Board did
+but exist to chequer his importance.  Five days in the week for seven
+hours a day he wrote, and thought, and wove the threads of its
+business, and this lot came down once a week for two or three hours,
+and taught their grandmother to suck eggs.  But watching that red-
+cheeked, white-haired, somnolent figure, his smile was not so
+contemptuous as might have been expected.  For after all, the
+chairman was a wonderful old boy.  A man of go and insight could not
+but respect him.  Eighty!  Half paralysed, over head and ears in
+debt, having gone the pace all his life--or so they said!--till at
+last that mine in Ecuador had done for him--before the secretary's
+day, of course, but he had heard of it.  The old chap had bought it
+up on spec'--"de l'audace, toujours de l'audace," as he was so fond
+of saying--paid for it half in cash and half in promises, and then--
+the thing had turned out empty, and left him with L20,000 worth of
+the old shares unredeemed.  The old boy had weathered it out without
+a bankruptcy so far.  Indomitable old buffer; and never fussy like
+the rest of them!  Young Farney, though a secretary, was capable of
+attachment; and his eyes expressed a pitying affection.  The Board
+meeting had been long and "snadgy"--a final settling of that Pillin
+business.  Rum go the chairman forcing it on them like this!  And
+with quiet satisfaction the secretary thought 'And he never would
+have got it through if I hadn't made up my mind that it really is
+good business!'  For to expand the company was to expand himself.
+Still, to buy four ships with the freight market so depressed was a
+bit startling, and there would be opposition at the general meeting.
+Never mind!  He and the chairman could put it through--put it
+through.  And suddenly he saw the old man looking at him.
+
+Only from those eyes could one appreciate the strength of life yet
+flowing underground in that well-nigh helpless carcase--deep-coloured
+little blue wells, tiny, jovial, round windows.
+
+A sigh travelled up through layers of flesh, and he said almost
+inaudibly:
+
+"Have they come, Mr. Farney?"
+
+"Yes, sir.  I've put them in the transfer office; said you'd be with
+them in a minute; but I wasn't going to wake you."
+
+"Haven't been asleep.  Help me up."
+
+Grasping the edge of the table with his trembling hands, the old man
+pulled, and, with Farney heaving him behind, attained his feet.  He
+stood about five feet ten, and weighed fully fourteen stone; not
+corpulent, but very thick all through; his round and massive head
+alone would have outweighed a baby.  With eyes shut, he seemed to be
+trying to get the better of his own weight, then he moved with the
+slowness of a barnacle towards the door.  The secretary, watching
+him, thought: 'Marvellous old chap!  How he gets about by himself is
+a miracle!  And he can't retire, they say-lives on his fees!'
+
+But the chairman was through the green baize door.  At his tortoise
+gait he traversed the inner office, where the youthful clerks
+suspended their figuring--to grin behind his back--and entered the
+transfer office, where eight gentlemen were sitting.  Seven rose, and
+one did not.  Old Heythorp raised a saluting hand to the level of his
+chest and moving to an arm-chair, lowered himself into it.
+
+"Well, gentlemen?"
+
+One of the eight gentlemen got up again.
+
+"Mr. Heythorp, we've appointed Mr. Brownbee to voice our views.  Mr.
+Brownbee!"  And down he sat.
+
+Mr. Brownbee rose a stoutish man some seventy years of age, with
+little grey side whiskers, and one of those utterly steady faces only
+to be seen in England, faces which convey the sense of business from
+father to son for generations; faces which make wars, and passion,
+and free thought seem equally incredible; faces which inspire
+confidence, and awaken in one a desire to get up and leave the room.
+Mr. Brownbee rose, and said in a suave voice:
+
+"Mr. Heythorp, we here represent about L14,000.  When we had the
+pleasure of meeting you last July, you will recollect that you held
+out a prospect of some more satisfactory arrangement by Christmas.
+We are now in January, and I am bound to say we none of us get
+younger."
+
+>From the depths of old Heythorp a preliminary rumble came travelling,
+reached the surface, and materialised
+
+"Don't know about you--feel a boy, myself."
+
+The eight gentlemen looked at him.  Was he going to try and put them
+off again?  Mr. Brownbee said with unruffled calm:
+
+"I'm sure we're very glad to hear it.  But to come to the point.  We
+have felt, Mr. Heythorp, and I'm sure you won't think it
+unreasonable, that--er--bankruptcy would be the most satisfactory
+solution.  We have waited a long time, and we want to know definitely
+where we stand; for, to be quite frank, we don't see any prospect of
+improvement; indeed, we fear the opposite."
+
+"You think I'm going to join the majority."
+
+This plumping out of what was at the back of their minds produced in
+Mr. Brownbee and his colleagues a sort of chemical disturbance.  They
+coughed, moved their feet, and turned away their eyes, till the one
+who had not risen, a solicitor named Ventnor, said bluffly:
+
+"Well, put it that way if you like."
+
+Old Heythorp's little deep eyes twinkled.
+
+"My grandfather lived to be a hundred; my father ninety-six--both of
+them rips.  I'm only eighty, gentlemen; blameless life compared with
+theirs."
+
+"Indeed," Mr. Brownbee said, "we hope you have many years of this
+life before you."
+
+"More of this than of another."  And a silence fell, till old
+Heythorp added: "You're getting a thousand a year out of my fees.
+Mistake to kill the goose that lays the golden eggs.  I'll make it
+twelve hundred.  If you force me to resign my directorships by
+bankruptcy, you won't get a rap, you know."
+
+Mr. Brownbee cleared his throat:
+
+"We think, Mr. Heythorp, you should make it at least fifteen hundred.
+In that case we might perhaps consider--"
+
+Old Heythorp shook his head.
+
+"We can hardly accept your assertion that we should get nothing in
+the event of bankruptcy.  We fancy you greatly underrate the
+possibilities.  Fifteen hundred a year is the least you can do for
+us."
+
+"See you d---d first."
+
+Another silence followed, then Ventnor, the solicitor, said
+irascibly:
+
+"We know where we are, then."
+
+Brownbee added almost nervously:
+
+"Are we to understand that twelve hundred a year is your--your last
+word?"
+
+Old Heythorp nodded.  "Come again this day month, and I'll see what I
+can do for you;" and he shut his eyes.
+
+Round Mr. Brownbee six of the gentlemen gathered, speaking in low
+voices; Mr. Ventnor nursed a leg and glowered at old Heythorp, who
+sat with his eyes closed.  Mr. Brownbee went over and conferred with
+Mr. Ventnor, then clearing his throat, he said:
+
+"Well, sir, we have considered your proposal; we agree to accept it
+for the moment.  We will come again, as you suggest, in a month's
+time.
+
+We hope that you will by then have seen your way to something more
+substantial, with a view to avoiding what we should all regret, but
+which I fear will otherwise become inevitable."
+
+Old Heythorp nodded.  The eight gentlemen took their hats, and went
+out one by one, Mr. Brownbee courteously bringing up the rear.
+
+The old man, who could not get up without assistance, stayed musing
+in his chair.  He had diddled 'em for the moment into giving him
+another month, and when that month was up-he would diddle 'em again!
+A month ought to make the Pillin business safe, with all that hung on
+it.  That poor funkey chap Joe Pillin!  A gurgling chuckle escaped
+his red lips.  What a shadow the fellow had looked, trotting in that
+evening just a month ago, behind his valet's announcement: "Mr.
+Pillin, sir."
+
+What a parchmenty, precise, thread-paper of a chap, with his bird's
+claw of a hand, and his muffled-up throat, and his quavery:
+
+"How do you do, Sylvanus?  I'm afraid you're not--"
+
+"First rate.  Sit down.  Have some port."
+
+"Port!  I never drink it.  Poison to me!  Poison!"
+
+"Do you good!"
+
+"Oh!  I know, that's what you always say.
+
+You've a monstrous constitution, Sylvanus.  If I drank port and
+smoked cigars and sat up till one o'clock, I should be in my grave
+to-morrow.  I'm not the man I was.  The fact is, I've come to see if
+you can help me.  I'm getting old; I'm growing nervous...."
+
+"You always were as chickeny as an old hen, Joe."
+
+"Well, my nature's not like yours.  To come to the point, I want to
+sell my ships and retire.  I need rest.  Freights are very depressed.
+I've got my family to think of."
+
+"Crack on, and go broke; buck you up like anything!"
+
+"I'm quite serious, Sylvanus."
+
+"Never knew you anything else, Joe."
+
+A quavering cough, and out it had come:
+
+"Now--in a word--won't your 'Island Navigation Company' buy my
+ships?"
+
+A pause, a twinkle, a puff of smoke.  "Make it worth my while!"  He
+had said it in jest; and then, in a flash, the idea had come to him.
+Rosamund and her youngsters!  What a chance to put something between
+them and destitution when he had joined the majority!  And so he
+said:" We don't want your silly ships."
+
+That claw of a hand waved in deprecation.  "They're very good ships--
+doing quite well.  It's only my wretched health.  If I were a strong
+man I shouldn't dream...."
+
+"What d'you want for'em?"  Good Lord!  how he jumped if you asked him
+a plain question.  The chap was as nervous as a guinea-fowl!
+
+"Here are the figures--for the last four years.  I think you'll agree
+that I couldn't ask less than seventy thousand."
+
+Through the smoke of his cigar old Heythorp had digested those
+figures slowly, Joe Pillin feeling his teeth and sucking lozenges the
+while; then he said:
+
+"Sixty thousand!  And out of that you pay me ten per cent., if I get
+it through for you.  Take it or leave it."
+
+"My dear Sylvanus, that's almost-cynical."
+
+"Too good a price--you'll never get it without me."
+
+"But a--but a commission!  You could never disclose it!"
+
+"Arrange that all right.  Think it over.  Freights'll go lower yet.
+Have some port."
+
+"No, no!  Thank you.  No!  So you think freights will go lower?"
+
+"Sure of it."
+
+"Well, I'll be going.  I'm sure I don't know.  It's--it's--I must
+think."
+
+"Think your hardest."
+
+"Yes, yes.  Good-bye.  I can't imagine how you still go on smoking
+those things and drinking port.
+
+"See you in your grave yet, Joe."  What a feeble smile the poor
+fellow had!  Laugh-he couldn't!  And, alone again, he had browsed,
+developing the idea which had come to him.
+
+Though, to dwell in the heart of shipping, Sylvanus Heythorp had
+lived at Liverpool twenty years, he was from the Eastern Counties, of
+a family so old that it professed to despise the Conquest.  Each of
+its generations occupied nearly twice as long as those of less
+tenacious men.  Traditionally of Danish origin, its men folk had as a
+rule bright reddish-brown hair, red cheeks, large round heads,
+excellent teeth and poor morals.  They had done their best for the
+population of any county in which they had settled; their offshoots
+swarmed.  Born in the early twenties of the nineteenth century,
+Sylvanus Heythorp, after an education broken by escapades both at
+school and college, had fetched up in that simple London of the late
+forties, where claret, opera, and eight per cent. for your money
+ruled a cheery roost.  Made partner in his shipping firm well before
+he was thirty, he had sailed with a wet sheet and a flowing tide;
+dancers, claret, Cliquot, and piquet; a cab with a tiger; some
+travel--all that delicious early-Victorian consciousness of nothing
+save a golden time.  It was all so full and mellow that he was forty
+before he had his only love affair of any depth--with the daughter of
+one of his own clerks, a liaison so awkward as to necessitate a
+sedulous concealment.  The death of that girl, after three years,
+leaving him a, natural son, had been the chief, perhaps the only
+real, sorrow of his life.  Five years later he married.  What for?
+God only knew! as he was in the habit of remarking.  His wife had
+been a hard, worldly, well-connected woman, who presented him with
+two unnatural children, a girl and a boy, and grew harder, more
+worldly, less handsome, in the process.  The migration to Liverpool,
+which took place when he was sixty and she forty-two, broke what she
+still had of heart, but she lingered on twelve years, finding solace
+in bridge, and being haughty towards Liverpool.  Old Heythorp saw her
+to her rest without regret.  He had felt no love for her whatever,
+and practically none for her two children--they were in his view
+colourless, pragmatical, very unexpected characters.  His son Ernest-
+-in the Admiralty--he thought a poor, careful stick.  His daughter
+Adela, an excellent manager, delighting in spiritual conversation and
+the society of tame men, rarely failed to show him that she
+considered him a hopeless heathen.  They saw as little as need be of
+each other.  She was provided for under that settlement he had made
+on her mother fifteen years ago, well before the not altogether
+unexpected crisis in his affairs.  Very different was the feeling he
+had bestowed on that son of his "under the rose."  The boy, who had
+always gone by his mother's name of Larne, had on her death been sent
+to some relations of hers in Ireland, and there brought up.  He had
+been called to the Dublin bar, and married, young, a girl half
+Cornish and ,half Irish; presently, having cost old Heythorp in all a
+pretty penny, he had died impecunious, leaving his fair Rosamund at
+thirty with a girl of eight and a boy of five.  She had not spent six
+months of widowhood before coming over from Dublin to claim the old
+man's guardianship.  A remarkably pretty woman, like a full-blown
+rose, with greenish hazel eyes, she had turned up one morning at the
+offices of "The Island Navigation Company," accompanied by her two
+children--for he had never divulged to them his private address.  And
+since then they had always been more or less on his hands, occupying
+a small house in a suburb of Liverpool.  He visited them there, but
+never asked them to the house in Sefton Park, which was in fact his
+daughter's; so that his proper family and friends were unaware of
+their existence.
+
+Rosamund Larne was one of those precarious ladies who make uncertain
+incomes by writing full-bodied storyettes.  In the most dismal
+circumstances she enjoyed a buoyancy bordering on the indecent; which
+always amused old Heythorp's cynicism.  But of his grandchildren
+Phyllis and Jock (wild as colts) he had become fond.  And this chance
+of getting six thousand pounds settled on them at a stroke had seemed
+to him nothing but heaven-sent.  As things were, if he "went off"--
+and, of course, he might at any moment, there wouldn't be a penny for
+them; for he would "cut up" a good fifteen thousand to the bad.  He
+was now giving them some three hundred a year out of his fees; and
+dead directors unfortunately earned no fees!  Six thousand pounds at
+four and a half per cent., settled so that their mother couldn't
+"blue it," would give them a certain two hundred and fifty pounds a
+year-better than beggary.  And the more he thought the better he
+liked it, if only that shaky chap, Joe Pillin, didn't shy off when
+he'd bitten his nails short over it!
+
+Four evenings later, the "shaky chap" had again appeared at his house
+in Sefton Park.
+
+"I've thought it over, Sylvanus.  I don't like it.
+
+"No; but you'll do it."
+
+"It's a sacrifice.  Fifty-four thousand for four ships--it means a
+considerable reduction in my income."
+
+"It means security, my boy."
+
+"Well, there is that; but you know, I really can't be party to a
+secret commission.  If it came out, think of my name and goodness
+knows what."
+
+"It won't come out."
+
+"Yes, yes, so you say, but--"
+
+"All you've got to do's to execute a settlement on some third parties
+that I'll name.  I'm not going to take a penny of it myself.  Get
+your own lawyer to draw it up and make him trustee.  You can sign it
+when the purchase has gone through.  I'll trust you, Joe.  What stock
+have you got that gives four and a half per cent.?"
+
+"Midland"
+
+"That'll do.  You needn't sell."
+
+"Yes, but who are these people?"
+
+"Woman and her children I want to do a good turn to."  What a face
+the fellow had made!  "Afraid of being connected with a woman, Joe?"
+
+"Yes, you may laugh--I am afraid of being connected with someone
+else's woman.  I don't like it--I don't like it at all.  I've not led
+your life, Sylvanus."
+
+"Lucky for you; you'd have been dead long ago.  Tell your lawyer it's
+an old flame of yours--you old dog!"
+
+"Yes, there it is at once, you see.  I might be subject to
+blackmail."
+
+"Tell him to keep it dark, and just pay over the income, quarterly."
+
+"I don't like it, Sylvanus--I don't like it."
+
+"Then leave it, and be hanged to you.  Have a cigar?"
+
+"You know I never smoke.  Is there no other way?"
+
+"Yes.  Sell stock in London, bank the proceeds there, and bring me
+six thousand pounds in notes.  I'll hold 'em till after the general
+meeting.  If the thing doesn't go through, I'll hand 'em back to
+you."
+
+"No; I like that even less."
+
+"Rather I trusted you, eh!"
+
+"No, not at all, Sylvanus, not at all.  But it's all playing round
+the law."
+
+"There's no law to prevent you doing what you like with your money.
+What I do's nothing to you.  And mind you, I'm taking nothing from
+it--not a mag.  You assist the widowed and the fatherless--just your
+line, Joe!"
+
+"What a fellow you are, Sylvanus; you don't seem capable of taking
+anything seriously."
+
+"Care killed the cat!"
+
+Left alone after this second interview he had thought: 'The beggar'll
+jump.'
+
+And the beggar had.  That settlement was drawn and only awaited
+signature.  The Board to-day had decided on the purchase; and all
+that remained was to get it ratified at the general meeting.  Let him
+but get that over, and this provision for his grandchildren made, and
+he would snap his fingers at Brownbee and his crew-the canting
+humbugs!  "Hope you have many years of this life before you!"  As if
+they cared for anything but his money--their money rather!  And
+becoming conscious of the length of his reverie, he grasped the arms
+of his chair, heaved at his own bulk, in an effort to rise, growing
+redder and redder in face and neck.  It was one of the hundred things
+his doctor had told him not to do for fear of apoplexy, the humbug!
+Why didn't Farney or one of those young fellows come and help him up?
+To call out was undignified.  But was he to sit there all night?
+Three times he failed, and after each failure sat motionless again,
+crimson and exhausted; the fourth time he succeeded, and slowly made
+for the office.  Passing through, he stopped and said in his extinct
+voice:
+
+"You young gentlemen had forgotten me."
+
+"Mr. Farney said you didn't wish to be disturbed, sir."
+
+"Very good of him.  Give me my hat and coat."
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Thank you.  What time is it?"
+
+"Six o'clock, sir."
+
+"Tell Mr. Farney to come and see me tomorrow at noon, about my speech
+for the general meeting."
+
+"Yes, Sir."
+
+"Good-night to you."
+
+"Good-night, Sir."
+
+At his tortoise gait he passed between the office stools to the door,
+opened it feebly, and slowly vanished.
+
+Shutting the door behind him, a clerk said:
+
+"Poor old chairman!  He's on his last!"
+
+Another answered:
+
+"Gosh!  He's a tough old hulk.  He'll go down fightin'."
+
+
+
+
+2
+
+Issuing from the offices of "The Island Navigation Company," Sylvanus
+Heythorp moved towards the corner whence he always took tram to
+Sefton Park.  The crowded street had all that prosperous air of
+catching or missing something which characterises the town where
+London and New York and Dublin meet.  Old Heythorp had to cross to
+the far side, and he sallied forth without regard to traffic.  That
+snail-like passage had in it a touch of the sublime; the old man
+seemed saying: "Knock me down and be d---d to you--I'm not going to
+hurry."  His life was saved perhaps ten times a day by the British
+character at large, compounded of phlegm and a liking to take
+something under its protection.  The tram conductors on that line
+were especially used to him, never failing to catch him under the
+arms and heave him like a sack of coals, while with trembling hands
+he pulled hard at the rail and strap.
+
+"All right, sir?"
+
+"Thank you."
+
+He moved into the body of the tram, where somebody would always get
+up from kindness and the fear that he might sit down on them; and
+there he stayed motionless, his little eyes tight closed.  With his
+red face, tuft of white hairs above his square cleft block of shaven
+chin, and his big high-crowned bowler hat, which yet seemed too petty
+for his head with its thick hair--he looked like some kind of an idol
+dug up and decked out in gear a size too small.
+
+One of those voices of young men from public schools and exchanges
+where things are bought and sold, said:
+
+"How de do, Mr. Heythorp?"
+
+Old Heythorp opened his eyes.  That sleek cub, Joe Pillin's son!
+What a young pup-with his round eyes, and his round cheeks, and his
+little moustache, his fur coat, his spats, his diamond pin!
+
+"How's your father?"  he said.
+
+"Thanks, rather below par, worryin' about his ships.  Suppose you
+haven't any news for him, sir?"
+
+Old Heythorp nodded.  The young man was one of his pet abominations,
+embodying all the complacent, little-headed mediocrity of this new
+generation; natty fellows all turned out of the same mould, sippers
+and tasters, chaps without drive or capacity, without even vices; and
+he did not intend to gratify the cub's curiosity.
+
+"Come to my house," he said; "I'll give you a note for him."
+
+"Tha-anks; I'd like to cheer the old man up."
+
+The old man!  Cheeky brat!  And closing his eyes he relapsed into
+immobility.  The tram wound and ground its upward way, and he mused.
+When he was that cub's age--twenty-eight or whatever it might be--he
+had done most things; been up Vesuvius, driven four-in-hand, lost his
+last penny on the Derby and won it back on the Oaks, known all the
+dancers and operatic stars of the day, fought a duel with a Yankee at
+Dieppe and winged him for saying through his confounded nose that Old
+England was played out; been a controlling voice already in his
+shipping firm; drunk five other of the best men in London under the
+table; broken his neck steeple-chasing; shot a burglar in the legs;
+been nearly drowned, for a bet; killed snipe in Chelsea; been to
+Court for his sins; stared a ghost out of countenance; and travelled
+with a lady of Spain.  If this young pup had done the last, it would
+be all he had; and yet, no doubt, he would call himself a "spark."
+
+The conductor touched his arm.
+
+"'Ere you are, sir."
+
+"Thank you."
+
+He lowered himself to the ground, and moved in the bluish darkness
+towards the gate of his daughter's house.  Bob Pillin walked beside
+him, thinking: 'Poor old josser, he is gettin' a back number!'  And
+he said: "I should have thought you ought to drive, sir.  My old
+guv'nor would knock up at once if he went about at night like this."
+
+The answer rumbled out into the misty air:
+
+"Your father's got no chest; never had."
+
+Bob Pillin gave vent to one of those fat cackles which come so
+readily from a certain type of man; and old Heythorp thought:
+
+'Laughing at his father!  Parrot!'
+
+They had reached the porch.
+
+A woman with dark hair and a thin, straight face and figure was
+arranging some flowers in the hall.  She turned and said:
+
+"You really ought not to be so late, Father!  It's wicked at this
+time of year.  Who is it--oh!  Mr. Pillin, how do you do?  Have you
+had tea?  Won't you come to the drawing-room; or do you want to see
+my father?"
+
+"Tha-anks!  I believe your father--"  And he thought: 'By Jove! the
+old chap is a caution!'  For old Heythorp was crossing the hall
+without having paid the faintest attention to his daughter.
+Murmuring again:
+
+"Tha-anks awfully; he wants to give me something," he followed.  Miss
+Heythorp was not his style at all; he had a kind of dread of that
+thin woman who looked as if she could never be unbuttoned.  They said
+she was a great churchgoer and all that sort of thing.
+
+In his sanctum old Heythorp had moved to his writing-table, and was
+evidently anxious to sit down.
+
+"Shall I give you a hand, sir?"
+
+Receiving a shake of the head, Bob Pillin stood by the fire and
+watched.  The old "sport" liked to paddle his own canoe.  Fancy
+having to lower yourself into a chair like that!  When an old Johnny
+got to such a state it was really a mercy when he snuffed out, and
+made way for younger men.  How his Companies could go on putting up
+with such a fossil for chairman was a marvel!  The fossil rumbled and
+said in that almost inaudible voice:
+
+"I suppose you're beginning to look forward to your father's shoes?"
+
+Bob Pillin's mouth opened.  The voice went on:
+
+"Dibs and no responsibility.  Tell him from me to drink port--add
+five years to his life."
+
+To this unwarranted attack Bob Pillin made no answer save a laugh; he
+perceived that a manservant had entered the room.
+
+"A Mrs. Larne, sir.  Will you see her?"
+
+At this announcement the old man seemed to try and start; then he
+nodded, and held out the note he had written.  Bob Pillin received it
+together with the impression of a murmur which sounded like: "Scratch
+a poll, Poll!"  and passing the fine figure of a woman in a fur coat,
+who seemed to warm the air as she went by, he was in the hall again
+before he perceived that he had left his hat.
+
+A young and pretty girl was standing on the bearskin before the fire,
+looking at him with round-eyed innocence.  He thought: 'This is
+better; I mustn't disturb them for my hat'; and approaching the fire,
+said:
+
+"Jolly cold, isn't it?"
+
+The girl smiled: "Yes-jolly."
+
+He noticed that she had a large bunch of violets at her breast, a lot
+of fair hair, a short straight nose, and round blue-grey eyes very
+frank and open.  "Er" he said, "I've left my hat in there."
+
+"What larks!"  And at her little clear laugh something moved within
+Bob Pillin.
+
+"You know this house well?"
+
+She shook her head.  "But it's rather scrummy, isn't it?"
+
+Bob Pillin, who had never yet thought so answered:
+
+"Quite O.K."
+
+The girl threw up her head to laugh again.  "O.K.?  What's that?"
+
+Bob Pillin saw her white round throat, and thought: 'She is a
+ripper!'  And he said with a certain desperation:
+
+"My name's Pillin.  Yours is Larne, isn't it?  Are you a relation
+here?"
+
+"He's our Guardy.  Isn't he a chook?"
+
+That rumbling whisper like "Scratch a Poll, Poll!"  recurring to Bob
+Pillin, he said with reservation:
+
+"You know him better than I do."  "Oh!  Aren't you his grandson, or
+something?"
+
+Bob Pillin did not cross himself.
+
+"Lord!  No!  My dad's an old friend of his; that's all."
+
+"Is your dad like him?"
+
+"Not much."
+
+"What a pity!  It would have been lovely if they'd been Tweedles."
+
+Bob Pillin thought: 'This bit is something new.  I wonder what her
+Christian name is.'  And he said:
+
+"What did your godfather and godmothers in your baptism---?"
+
+The girl laughed; she seemed to laugh at everything.
+
+"Phyllis."
+
+Could he say: "Is my only joy"?  Better keep it!  But-for what?  He
+wouldn't see her again if he didn't look out!  And he said:
+
+"I live at the last house in the park-the red one.  D'you know it?
+Where do you?"
+
+"Oh!  a long way--23, Millicent Villas.  It's a poky little house.  I
+hate it.  We have awful larks, though."
+
+"Who are we?"
+
+"Mother, and myself, and Jock--he's an awful boy.  You can't conceive
+what an awful boy he is.  He's got nearly red hair; I think he'll be
+just like Guardy when he gets old.  He's awful!"
+
+Bob Pillin murmured:
+
+"I should like to see him."
+
+"Would you?  I'll ask mother if you can.  You won't want to again; he
+goes off all the time like a squib."  She threw back her head, and
+again Bob Pillin felt a little giddy.  He collected himself, and
+drawled:
+
+"Are you going in to see your Guardy?"
+
+"No.  Mother's got something special to say.  We've never been here
+before, you see.  Isn't he fun, though?"
+
+"Fun!"
+
+"I think he's the greatest lark; but he's awfully nice to me.  Jock
+calls him the last of the Stoic'uns."
+
+A voice called from old Heythorp's den:
+
+"Phyllis!"  It had a particular ring, that voice, as if coming from
+beautifully formed red lips, of which the lower one must curve the
+least bit over; it had, too, a caressing vitality, and a kind of warm
+falsity.
+
+The girl threw a laughing look back over her shoulder, and vanished
+through the door into the room.
+
+Bob Pillin remained with his back to the fire and his puppy round
+eyes fixed on the air that her figure had last occupied.  He was
+experiencing a sensation never felt before.  Those travels with a
+lady of Spain, charitably conceded him by old Heythorp, had so far
+satisfied the emotional side of this young man; they had stopped
+short at Brighton and Scarborough, and been preserved from even the
+slightest intrusion of love.  A calculated and hygienic career had
+caused no anxiety either to himself or his father; and this sudden
+swoop of something more than admiration gave him an uncomfortable
+choky feeling just above his high round collar, and in the temples a
+sort of buzzing--those first symptoms of chivalry.  A man of the
+world does not, however, succumb without a struggle; and if his hat
+had not been out of reach, who knows whether he would not have left
+the house hurriedly, saying to himself: "No, no, my boy; Millicent
+Villas is hardly your form, when your intentions are honourable"?
+For somehow that round and laughing face, bob of glistening hair,
+those wide-opened grey eyes refused to awaken the beginnings of other
+intentions--such is the effect of youth and innocence on even the
+steadiest young men.  With a kind of moral stammer, he was thinking:
+'Can I--dare I offer to see them to their tram?  Couldn't I even nip
+out and get the car round and send them home in it?  No, I might miss
+them--better stick it out here!  What a jolly laugh!  What a tipping
+face--strawberries and cream, hay, and all that!  Millicent Villas!'
+And he wrote it on his cuff.
+
+The door was opening; he heard that warm vibrating voice: "Come
+along, Phyllis!"--the girl's laugh so high and fresh: "Right-o!
+Coming!"  And with, perhaps, the first real tremor he had ever known,
+he crossed to the front door.  All the more chivalrous to escort them
+to the tram without a hat!  And suddenly he heard: " I've got your
+hat, young man!"  And her mother's voice, warm, and simulating shock:
+"Phyllis, you awful gairl!  Did you ever see such an awful gairl;
+Mr.---"
+
+"Pillin, Mother."
+
+And then--he did not quite know how--insulated from the January air
+by laughter and the scent of fur and violets, he was between them
+walking to their tram.  It was like an experience out of the "Arabian
+Nights," or something of that sort, an intoxication which made one
+say one was going their way, though one would have to come all the
+way back in the same beastly tram.  Nothing so warming had ever
+happened to him as sitting between them on that drive, so that he
+forgot the note in his pocket, and his desire to relieve the anxiety
+of the "old man," his father.  At the tram's terminus they all got
+out.  There issued a purr of invitation to come and see them some
+time; a clear: "Jock'll love to see you!"  A low laugh: "You awful
+gairl!"  And a flash of cunning zigzagged across his brain.  Taking
+off his hat, he said:
+
+"Thanks awfully; rather!" and put his foot back on the step of the
+tram.  Thus did he delicately expose the depths of his chivalry!
+
+"Oh!  you said you were going our way!  What one-ers you do tell!
+Oh!"  The words were as music; the sight of those eyes growing
+rounder, the most perfect he had ever seen; and Mrs. Larne's low
+laugh, so warm yet so preoccupied, and the tips of the girl's fingers
+waving back above her head.  He heaved a sigh, and knew no more till
+he was seated at his club before a bottle of champagne.  Home!  Not
+he!  He wished to drink and dream.  "The old man" would get his news
+all right to-morrow!
+
+
+
+
+3
+
+The words: "A Mrs. Larne to see you, sir," had been of a nature to
+astonish weaker nerves.  What had brought her here?  She knew she
+mustn't come!  Old Heythorp had watched her entrance with cynical
+amusement.  The way she whiffed herself at that young pup in passing,
+the way her eyes slid round!  He had a very just appreciation of his
+son's widow; and a smile settled deep between his chin tuft and his
+moustache.  She lifted his hand, kissed it, pressed it to her
+splendid bust, and said:
+
+"So here I am at last, you see.  Aren't you surprised?"
+
+Old Heythorp, shook his head.
+
+"I really had to come and see you, Guardy; we haven't had a sight of
+you for such an age.  And in this awful weather!  How are you, dear
+old Guardy?"
+
+"Never better."  And, watching her green-grey eyes, he added:
+
+"Haven't a penny for you!"
+
+Her face did not fall; she gave her feather-laugh.
+
+"How dreadful of you to think I came for that!  But I am in an awful
+fix, Guardy."
+
+"Never knew you not to be."
+
+"Just let me tell you, dear; it'll be some relief.  I'm having the
+most terrible time."
+
+She sank into a low chair, disengaging an overpowering scent of
+violets, while melancholy struggled to subdue her face and body.
+
+"The most awful fix.  I expect to be sold up any moment.  We may be
+on the streets to-morrow.  I daren't tell the children; they're so
+happy, poor darlings.  I shall be obliged to take Jock away from
+school.  And Phyllis will have to stop her piano and dancing; it's an
+absolute crisis.  And all due to those Midland Syndicate people.
+I've been counting on at least two hundred for my new story, and the
+wretches have refused it."
+
+With a tiny handkerchief she removed one tear from the corner of one
+eye.  "It is hard, Guardy; I worked my brain silly over that story."
+
+>From old Heythorp came a mutter which sounded suspiciously like:
+
+"Rats!"
+
+Heaving a sigh, which conveyed nothing but the generosity of her
+breathing apparatus, Mrs. Larne went on:
+
+"You couldn't, I suppose, let me have just one hundred?"
+
+"Not a bob."
+
+She sighed again, her eyes slid round the room; then in her warm
+voice she murmured:
+
+"Guardy, you were my dear Philip's father, weren't you?  I've never
+said anything; but of course you were.  He was so like you, and so is
+Jock."
+
+Nothing moved in old Heythorp's face.  No pagan image consulted with
+flowers and song and sacrifice could have returned less answer.  Her
+dear Philip!  She had led him the devil of a life, or he was a
+Dutchman!  And what the deuce made her suddenly trot out the skeleton
+like this?  But Mrs. Larne's eyes were still wandering.
+
+"What a lovely house!  You know, I think you ought to help me,
+Guardy.  Just imagine if your grandchildren were thrown out into the
+street!"
+
+The old man grinned.  He was not going to deny his relationship--it
+was her look-out, not his.  But neither was he going to let her rush
+him.
+
+"And they will be; you couldn't look on and see it.  Do come to my
+rescue this once.  You really might do something for them."
+
+With a rumbling sigh he answered:
+
+"Wait.  Can't give you a penny now.  Poor as a church mouse."
+
+"Oh!  Guardy
+
+"Fact."
+
+Mrs. Larne heaved one of her most buoyant sighs.  She certainly did
+not believe him.
+
+"Well!" she said; "you'll be sorry when we come round one night and
+sing for pennies under your window.  Wouldn't you like to see
+Phyllis?  I left her in the hall.  She's growing such a sweet gairl.
+Guardy just fifty!"
+
+"Not a rap."
+
+Mrs. Larne threw up her hands.  "Well! You'll repent it.  I'm at my
+last gasp."  She sighed profoundly, and the perfume of violets
+escaped in a cloud; Then, getting up, she went to the door and
+called: "Phyllis!"
+
+When the girl entered old Heythorp felt the nearest approach to a
+flutter of the heart for many years.  She had put her hair up!  She
+was like a spring day in January; such a relief from that scented
+humbug, her mother.  Pleasant the touch of her lips on his forehead,
+the sound of her clear voice, the sight of her slim movements, the
+feeling that she did him credit--clean-run stock, she and that young
+scamp Jock--better than the holy woman, his daughter Adela, would
+produce if anyone were ever fool enough to marry her, or that
+pragmatical fellow, his son Ernest.
+
+And when they were gone he reflected with added zest on the six
+thousand pounds he was getting for them out of Joe Pillin and his
+ships.  He would have to pitch it strong in his speech at the general
+meeting.  With freights so low, there was bound to be opposition.  No
+dash nowadays; nothing but gabby caution!  They were a scrim-shanking
+lot on the Board--he had had to pull them round one by one--the deuce
+of a tug getting this thing through!  And yet, the business was sound
+enough.  Those ships would earn money, properly handled-good money
+
+His valet, coming in to prepare him for dinner, found him asleep.  He
+had for the old man as much admiration as may be felt for one who
+cannot put his own trousers on.  He would say to the housemaid Molly:
+"He's a game old blighter--must have been a rare one in his day.
+Cocks his hat at you, even now, I see!"  To which the girl, Irish and
+pretty, would reply: "Well, an' sure I don't mind, if it gives um a
+pleasure.  'Tis better anyway than the sad eye I get from herself."
+
+At dinner, old Heythorp always sat at one end of the rosewood table
+and his daughter at the other.  It was the eminent moment of the day.
+With napkin tucked high into his waistcoat, he gave himself to the
+meal with passion.  His palate was undimmed, his digestion
+unimpaired.  He could still eat as much as two men, and drink more
+than one.  And while he savoured each mouthful he never spoke if he
+could help it.  The holy woman had nothing to say that he cared to
+hear, and he nothing to say that she cared to listen to.  She had a
+horror, too, of what she called "the pleasures of the table"--those
+lusts of the flesh!  She was always longing to dock his grub, he
+knew.  Would see her further first!  What other pleasures were there
+at his age?  Let her wait till she was eighty.  But she never would
+be; too thin and holy!
+
+This evening, however, with the advent of the partridge she did
+speak.
+
+"Who were your visitors, Father?"
+
+Trust her for nosing anything out!  Fixing his little blue eyes on
+her, he mumbled with a very full mouth: "Ladies."
+
+"So I saw; what ladies?"
+
+He had a longing to say: 'Part of one of my families under the rose.'
+As a fact it was the best part of the only one, but the temptation to
+multiply exceedingly was almost overpowering.  He checked himself,
+however, and went on eating partridge, his secret irritation
+crimsoning his cheeks; and he watched her eyes, those cold precise
+and round grey eyes, noting it, and knew she was thinking: 'He eats
+too much.'
+
+She said: "Sorry I'm not considered fit to be told.  You ought not to
+be drinking hock."
+
+Old Heythorp took up the long green glass, drained it, and repressing
+fumes and emotion went on with his partridge.  His daughter pursed
+her lips, took a sip of water, and said:
+
+"I know their name is Larne, but it conveyed nothing to me; perhaps
+it's just as well."
+
+The old man, mastering a spasm, said with a grin:
+
+"My daughter-in-law and my granddaughter."
+
+"What!  Ernest married--Oh!  nonsense!"
+
+He chuckled, and shook his head.
+
+"Then do you mean to say, Father, that you were married before you
+married my mother?"
+
+"No."
+
+The expression on her face was as good as a play!
+
+She said with a sort of disgust: "Not married!  I see.  I suppose
+those people are hanging round your neck, then; no wonder you're
+always in difficulties.  Are there any more of them?"
+
+Again the old man suppressed that spasm, and the veins in his neck
+and forehead swelled alarmingly.  If he had spoken he would
+infallibly have choked.  He ceased eating, and putting his hands on
+the table tried to raise himself.  He could not and subsiding in his
+chair sat glaring at the stiff, quiet figure of his daughter.
+
+"Don't be silly, Father, and make a scene before Meller.  Finish your
+dinner."
+
+He did not answer.  He was not going to sit there to be dragooned and
+insulted!  His helplessness had never so weighed on him before.  It
+was like a revelation.  A log--that had to put up with anything!  A
+log!  And, waiting for his valet to return, he cunningly took up his
+fork.
+
+In that saintly voice of hers she said:
+
+"I suppose you don't realise that it's a shock to me.  I don't know
+what Ernest will think--"
+
+"Ernest be d---d."
+
+"I do wish, Father, you wouldn't swear."
+
+Old Heythorp's rage found vent in a sort of rumble.  How the devil
+had he gone on all these years in the same house with that woman,
+dining with her day after day!  But the servant had come back now,
+and putting down his fork he said:
+
+"Help me up!"
+
+The man paused, thunderstruck, with the souffle balanced.  To leave
+dinner unfinished--it was a portent!
+
+"Help me up!"
+
+"Mr. Heythorp's not very well, Meller; take his other arm."
+
+The old man shook off her hand.
+
+"I'm very well.  Help me up.  Dine in my own room in future."
+
+Raised to his feet, he walked slowly out; but in his sanctum he did
+not sit down, obsessed by this first overwhelming realisation of his
+helplessness.  He stood swaying a little, holding on to the table,
+till the servant, having finished serving dinner, brought in his
+port.
+
+"Are you waiting to sit down, sir?"
+
+He shook his head.  Hang it, he could do that for himself, anyway.
+He must think of something to fortify his position against that
+woman.  And he said:
+
+"Send me Molly!"
+
+"Yes, sir."  The man put down the port and went.
+
+Old Heythorp filled his glass, drank, and filled again.  He took a
+cigar from the box and lighted it.  The girl came in, a grey-eyed,
+dark-haired damsel, and stood with her hands folded, her head a
+little to one side, her lips a little parted.  The old man said:
+
+"You're a human being."
+
+"I would hope so, sirr."
+
+"I'm going to ask you something as a human being--not a servant--
+see?"
+
+"No, sirr; but I will be glad to do anything you like."
+
+"Then put your nose in here every now and then, to see if I want
+anything.  Meller goes out sometimes.  Don't say anything; Just put
+your nose in."
+
+"Oh!  an' I will; 'tis a pleasure 'twill be to do ut.
+
+He nodded, and when she had gone lowered himself into his chair with
+a sense of appeasement.  Pretty girl!  Comfort to see a pretty face-
+not a pale, peeky thing like Adela's.  His anger burned up anew.  So
+she counted on his helplessness, had begun to count on that, had she?
+She should see that there was life in the old dog yet!  And his
+sacrifice of the uneaten souffle, the still less eaten mushrooms, the
+peppermint sweet with which he usually concluded dinner, seemed to
+consecrate that purpose.  They all thought he was a hulk, without a
+shot left in the locker!  He had seen a couple of them at the Board
+that afternoon shrugging at each other, as though saying: 'Look at
+him!' And young Farney pitying him.  Pity, forsooth!  And that
+coarse-grained solicitor chap at the creditors' meeting curling his
+lip as much as to say: 'One foot in the grave!'  He had seen the
+clerks dowsing the glim of their grins; and that young pup Bob Pillin
+screwing up his supercilious mug over his dog-collar.  He knew that
+scented humbug Rosamund was getting scared that he'd drop off before
+she'd squeezed him dry.  And his valet was always looking him up and
+down queerly.  As to that holy woman--!  Not quite so fast!  Not
+quite so fast!  And filling his glass for the fourth time, he slowly
+sucked down the dark red fluid, with the "old boots" flavour which
+his soul loved, and, drawing deep at his cigar, closed his eyes.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+1
+
+The room in the hotel where the general meetings of "The Island
+Navigation Company" were held was nearly full when the secretary came
+through the door which as yet divided the shareholders from their
+directors.  Having surveyed their empty chairs, their ink and papers,
+and nodded to a shareholder or two, he stood, watch in hand,
+contemplating the congregation.  A thicker attendance than he had
+ever seen!  Due, no doubt, to the lower dividend, and this Pillin
+business.  And his tongue curled.  For if he had a natural contempt
+for his Board, with the exception of the chairman, he had a still
+more natural contempt for his shareholders.  Amusing spectacle when
+you came to think of it, a general meeting!  Unique!  Eighty or a
+hundred men, and five women, assembled through sheer devotion to
+their money.  Was any other function in the world so single-hearted.
+Church was nothing to it--so many motives were mingled there with
+devotion to one's soul.  A well-educated young man--reader of Anatole
+France, and other writers--he enjoyed ironic speculation.  What
+earthly good did they think they got by coming here?  Half-past two!
+He put his watch back into his pocket, and passed into the Board-
+room.
+
+There, the fumes of lunch and of a short preliminary meeting made
+cosy the February atmosphere.  By the fire four directors were
+conversing rather restlessly; the fifth was combing his beard; the
+chairman sat with eyes closed and red lips moving rhythmically in the
+sucking of a lozenge, the slips of his speech ready in his hand.  The
+secretary said in his cheerful voice: "Time, sir."
+
+Old Heythorp swallowed, lifted his arms, rose with help, and walked
+through to his place at the centre of the table.  The five directors
+followed.  And, standing at the chairman's right, the secretary read
+the minutes, forming the words precisely with his curling tongue.
+Then, assisting the chairman to his feet, he watched those rows of
+faces, and thought: 'Mistake to let them see he can't get up without
+help.  He ought to have let me read his speech--I wrote it.'
+
+The chairman began to speak:
+
+"It is my duty and my pleasure,' ladies and gentlemen, for the
+nineteenth consecutive year to present to you the directors' report
+and the accounts for the past twelve months.  You will all have had
+special notice of a measure of policy on which your Board has
+decided, and to which you will be asked to-day to give your
+adherence--to that I shall come at the end of my remarks...."
+
+"Excuse me, sir; we can't hear a word down here."
+
+'Ah!' thought the secretary, 'I was expecting that.'
+
+The chairman went on, undisturbed.  But several shareholders now
+rose, and the same speaker said testily: "We might as well go home.
+If the chairman's got no voice, can't somebody read for him?"
+
+The chairman took a sip of water, and resumed.  Almost all in the
+last six rows were now on their feet, and amid a hubbub of murmurs
+the chairman held out to the secretary the slips of his speech, and
+fell heavily back into his chair.
+
+The secretary re-read from the beginning; and as each sentence fell
+from his tongue, he thought: 'How good that is!'  'That's very
+clear!'  'A neat touch!'  'This is getting them.'  It seemed to him a
+pity they could not know it was all his composition.  When at last he
+came to the Pillin sale he paused for a second.
+
+"I come now to the measure of policy to which I made allusion at the
+beginning of my speech.  Your Board has decided to expand your
+enterprise by purchasing the entire fleet of Pillin & Co., Ltd.  By
+this transaction we become the owners of the four steamships Smyrna,
+Damascus, Tyre, and Sidon, vessels in prime condition with a total
+freight-carrying capacity of fifteen thousand tons, at the low
+inclusive price of sixty thousand pounds.  Gentlemen, de l'audace,
+toujours de l'audace!"--it was the chairman's phrase, his bit of the
+speech, and the secretary did it more than justice.  "Times are bad,
+but your Board is emphatically of the opinion that they are touching
+bottom; and this, in their view, is the psychological moment for a
+forward stroke.  They confidently recommend your adoption of their
+policy and the ratification of this purchase, which they believe
+will, in the not far distant future, substantially increase the
+profits of the Company."  The secretary sat down with reluctance.
+The speech should have continued with a number of appealing sentences
+which he had carefully prepared, but the chairman had cut them out
+with the simple comment: "They ought to be glad of the chance."  It
+was, in his view, an error.
+
+The director who had combed his beard now rose--a man of presence,
+who might be trusted to say nothing long and suavely.  While he was
+speaking the secretary was busy noting whence opposition was likely
+to come.  The majority were sitting owl-like-a good sign; but some
+dozen were studying their copies of the report, and three at least
+were making notes--Westgate, for, instance, who wanted to get on the
+Board, and was sure to make himself unpleasant--the time-honoured
+method of vinegar; and Batterson, who also desired to come on, and
+might be trusted to support the Board--the time-honoured method of
+oil; while, if one knew anything of human nature, the fellow who had
+complained that he might as well go home would have something
+uncomfortable to say.  The director finished his remarks, combed his
+beard with his fingers, and sat down.
+
+A momentary pause ensued.  Then Messieurs Westgate and Batterson rose
+together.  Seeing the chairman nod towards the latter, the secretary
+thought: 'Mistake!  He should have humoured Westgate by giving him
+precedence.'  But that was the worst of the old man, he had no notion
+of the suaviter in modo!  Mr. Batterson thus unchained--would like,
+if he might be so allowed, to congratulate the Board on having
+piloted their ship so smoothly through the troublous waters of the
+past year.  With their worthy chairman still at the helm, he had no
+doubt that in spite of the still low--he would not say falling-
+barometer, and the-er-unseasonable climacteric, they might rely on
+weathering the--er--he would not say storm.  He would confess that
+the present dividend of four per cent. was not one which satisfied
+every aspiration (Hear, hear!), but speaking for himself, and he
+hoped for others--and here Mr. Batterson looked round--he recognised
+that in all the circumstances it was as much as they had the right--
+er--to expect.  But following the bold but to his mind prudent
+development which the Board proposed to make, he thought that they
+might reasonably, if not sanguinely, anticipate a more golden future.
+("No, no!") A shareholder said, 'No, no!'  That might seem to
+indicate a certain lack of confidence in the special proposal before
+the meeting.  ("Yes!") From that lack of confidence he would like at
+once to dissociate himself.  Their chairman, a man of foresight and
+acumen, and valour proved on many a field and--er--sea, would not
+have committed himself to this policy without good reason.  In his
+opinion they were in safe hands, and he was glad to register his
+support of the measure proposed.  The chairman had well said in his
+speech: 'de l'audace, toujours de l'audace!'  Shareholders would
+agree with him that there could be no better motto for Englishmen.
+Ahem!
+
+Mr. Batterson sat down.  And Mr. Westgate rose: He wanted--he said--
+to know more, much more, about this proposition, which to his mind
+was of a very dubious wisdom....  'Ah!' thought the secretary, 'I
+told the old boy he must tell them more'....  To whom, for instance,
+had the proposal first been made?  To him!--the chairman said.  Good!
+But why were Pillins selling, if freights were to go up, as they were
+told?
+
+"Matter of opinion."
+
+"Quite so; and in my opinion they are going lower, and Pillins were
+right to sell.  It follows that we are wrong to buy."  ("Hear, hear!"
+"No, no!") "Pillins are shrewd people.  What does the chairman say?
+Nerves!  Does he mean to tell us that this sale was the result of
+nerves?"
+
+The chairman nodded.
+
+"That appears to me a somewhat fantastic theory; but I will leave
+that and confine myself to asking the grounds on which the chairman
+bases his confidence; in fact, what it is which is actuating the
+Board in pressing on us at such a time what I have no hesitation in
+stigmatising as a rash proposal.  In a word, I want light as well as
+leading in this matter."
+
+Mr. Westgate sat down.
+
+What would the chairman do now?  The situation was distinctly
+awkward--seeing his helplessness and the lukewarmness of the Board
+behind him.  And the secretary felt more strongly than ever the
+absurdity of his being an underling, he who in a few well-chosen
+words could so easily have twisted the meeting round his thumb.
+Suddenly he heard the long, rumbling sigh which preluded the
+chairman's speeches.
+
+"Has any other gentleman anything to say before I move the adoption
+of the report?"
+
+Phew!  That would put their backs up.  Yes, sure enough it had
+brought that fellow, who had said he might as well go home, to his
+feet!  Now for something nasty!
+
+"Mr. Westgate requires answering.  I don't like this business.  I
+don't impute anything to anybody; but it looks to me as if there were
+something behind it which the shareholders ought to be told.  Not
+only that; but, to speak frankly, I'm not satisfied to be ridden over
+roughshod in this fashion by one who, whatever he may have been in
+the past, is obviously not now in the prime of his faculties."
+
+With a gasp the secretary thought: 'I knew that was a plain-spoken
+man!'
+
+He heard again the rumbling beside him.  The chairman had gone
+crimson, his mouth was pursed, his little eyes were very blue.
+
+"Help me up," he said.
+
+The secretary helped him, and waited, rather breathless.
+
+The chairman took a sip of water, and his voice, unexpectedly loud,
+broke an ominous hush:
+
+"Never been so insulted in my life.  My best services have been at
+your disposal for nineteen years; you know what measure of success
+this Company has attained.  I am the oldest man here, and my
+experience of shipping is, I hope, a little greater than that of the
+two gentlemen who spoke last.  I have done my best for you, ladies
+and gentlemen, and we shall see whether you are going to endorse an
+indictment of my judgment and of my honour, if I am to take the last
+speaker seriously.  This purchase is for your good.  'There is a tide
+in the affairs of men'--and I for one am not content, never have
+been, to stagnate.  If that is what you want, however, by all means
+give your support to these gentlemen and have done with it.  I tell
+you freights will go up before the end of the year; the purchase is a
+sound one, more than a sound one--I, at any rate, stand or fall by
+it.  Refuse to ratify it, if you like; if you do, I shall resign."
+
+He sank back into his seat.  The secretary, stealing a glance,
+thought with a sort of enthusiasm: 'Bravo!  Who'd have thought he
+could rally his voice like that?  A good touch, too, that about his
+honour!  I believe he's knocked them.
+
+It's still dicky, though, if that fellow at the back gets up again;
+the old chap can't work that stop a second time.  'Ah! here was 'old
+Apple-pie' on his hind legs.  That was all right!
+
+"I do not hesitate to say that I am an old friend of the chairman; we
+are, many of us, old friends of the chairman, and it has been painful
+to me, and I doubt not to others, to hear an attack made on him.  If
+he is old in body, he is young in mental vigour and courage.  I wish
+we were all as young.  We ought to stand by him; I say, we ought to
+stand by him."  ("Hear, hear!  Hear, hear!") And the secretary
+thought: 'That's done it!' And he felt a sudden odd emotion, watching
+the chairman bobbing his body, like a wooden toy, at old Appleby; and
+old Appleby bobbing back.  Then, seeing a shareholder close to the
+door get up, thought: 'Who's that?  I know his face--Ah!  yes;
+Ventnor, the solicitor--he's one of the chairman's creditors that are
+coming again this afternoon.  What now?'
+
+"I can't agree that we ought to let sentiment interfere with our
+judgment in this matter.  The question is simply: How are our pockets
+going to be affected?  I came here with some misgivings, but the
+attitude of the chairman has been such as to remove them; and I shall
+support the proposition."  The secretary thought: 'That's all right--
+only, he said it rather queerly--rather queerly.'
+
+Then, after a long silence, the chairman, without rising, said:
+
+"I move the adoption of the report and accounts."
+
+"I second that."
+
+"Those in favour signify the same in the usual way.  Contrary?
+Carried."  The secretary noted the dissentients, six in number, and
+that Mr. Westgate did not vote.
+
+A quarter of an hour later he stood in the body of the emptying room
+supplying names to one of the gentlemen of the Press.  The
+passionless fellow said: "Haythorp, with an 'a'; oh!  an 'e'; he
+seems an old man.  Thank you.  I may have the slips?  Would you like
+to see a proof?  With an 'a' you said--oh!  an 'e.' Good afternoon!"
+And the secretary thought: 'Those fellows, what does go on inside
+them?  Fancy not knowing the old chairman by now!'...
+
+
+
+
+2
+
+Back in the proper office of "The Island Navigation Company" old
+Heythorp sat smoking a cigar and smiling like a purring cat.  He was
+dreaming a little of his triumph, sifting with his old brain, still
+subtle, the wheat from the chaff of the demurrers: Westgate--nothing
+in that--professional discontent till they silenced him with a place
+on the board--but not while be held the reins!  That chap at the
+back--an ill-conditioned fellow!  "Something behind!"  Suspicious
+brute!  There was something--but--hang it! they might think
+themselves lucky to get four ships at that price, and all due to him!
+It was on the last speaker that his mind dwelt with a doubt.  That
+fellow Ventnor, to whom he owed money--there had been something just
+a little queer about his tone--as much as to say, "I smell a rat."
+Well! one would see that at the creditors' meeting in half an hour.
+
+"Mr. Pillin, sir."
+
+"Show him in!"
+
+In a fur coat which seemed to extinguish his thin form, Joe Pillin
+entered.  It was snowing, and the cold had nipped and yellowed his
+meagre face between its slight grey whiskering.  He said thinly:
+
+"How are you, Sylvanus?  Aren't you perished in this cold?"
+
+"Warm as a toast.  Sit down.  Take off your coat."
+
+"Oh! I should be lost without it.  You must have a fire inside you.
+So-so it's gone through?"
+
+Old Heythorp nodded; and Joe Pillin, wandering like a spirit,
+scrutinised the shut door.  He came back to the table, and said in a
+low voice:
+
+"It's a great sacrifice."
+
+Old Heythorp smiled.
+
+"Have you signed the deed poll?"
+
+Producing a parchment from his pocket Joe Pillin unfolded it with
+caution to disclose his signature, and said:
+
+"I don't like it--it's irrevocable."
+
+A chuckle escaped old Heythorp.
+
+"As death."
+
+Joe Pillin's voice passed up into the treble clef.
+
+"I can't bear irrevocable things.  I consider you stampeded me,
+playing on my nerves."
+
+Examining the signatures old Heythorp murmured:
+
+"Tell your lawyer to lock it up.  He must think you a sad dog, Joe."
+
+"Ah!  Suppose on my death it comes to the knowledge of my wife!"
+
+"She won't be able to make it hotter for you than you'll be already."
+
+Joe Pillin replaced the deed within his coat, emitting a queer thin
+noise.  He simply could not bear joking on such subjects.
+
+"Well," he said, "you've got your way; you always do.  Who is this
+Mrs. Larne?  You oughtn't to keep me in the dark.  It seems my boy
+met her at your house.  You told me she didn't come there."
+
+Old Heythorp said with relish:
+
+"Her husband was my son by a woman I was fond of before I married;
+her children are my grandchildren.  You've provided for them.  Best
+thing you ever did."
+
+"I don't know--I don't know.  I'm sorry you told me.  It makes it all
+the more doubtful.  As soon as the transfer's complete, I shall get
+away abroad.  This cold's killing me.  I wish you'd give me your
+recipe for keeping warm."
+
+"Get a new inside."
+
+Joe Pillin regarded his old friend with a sort of yearning.  "And
+yet," he said, "I suppose, with your full-blooded habit, your life
+hangs by a thread, doesn't it?"
+
+"A stout one, my boy"
+
+"Well, good-bye, Sylvanus.  You're a Job's comforter; I must be
+getting home."  He put on his hat, and, lost in his fur coat, passed
+out into the corridor.  On the stairs he met a man who said:
+
+"How do you do, Mr. Pillin?  I know your son.  Been' seeing the
+chairman?  I see your sale's gone through all right.  I hope that'll
+do us some good, but I suppose you think the other way?"
+
+Peering at him from under his hat, Joe Pillin said:
+
+"Mr. Ventnor, I think?  Thank you!  It's very cold, isn't it?"  And,
+with that cautious remark, he passed on down.
+
+Alone again, old Heythorp thought: 'By George!  What a wavering,
+quavering, thread paper of a fellow!  What misery life must be to a
+chap like that!  He walks in fear--he wallows in it.  Poor devil!'
+And a curious feeling swelled his heart, of elation, of lightness
+such as he had not known for years.  Those two young things were safe
+now from penury-safe!  After dealing with those infernal creditors of
+his he would go round and have a look at the children.  With a
+hundred and twenty a year the boy could go into the Army--best place
+for a young scamp like that. The girl would go off like hot cakes, of
+course, but she needn't take the first calf that came along. As for
+their mother, she must look after herself; nothing under two thousand
+a year would keep her out of debt.  But trust her for wheedling and
+bluffing her way out of any scrape!  Watching his cigar-smoke curl
+and disperse he was conscious of the strain he had been under these
+last six weeks, aware suddenly of how greatly he had baulked at
+thought of to-day's general meeting. Yes!  It might have turned out
+nasty.  He knew well enough the forces on the Board, and off, who
+would be only too glad to shelve him.  If he were shelved here his
+other two Companies would be sure to follow suit, and bang would go
+every penny of his income--he would be a pauper dependant on that
+holy woman.  Well!  Safe now for another year if he could stave off
+these sharks once more.  It might be a harder job this time, but he
+was in luck--in luck, and it must hold.  And taking a luxurious pull
+at his cigar, he rang the handbell.
+
+"Bring 'em in here, Mr. Farney.  And let me have a cup of China tea
+as strong as you can make it."
+
+"Yes, sir.  Will you see the proof of the press report, or will you
+leave it to me?"
+
+"To you."
+
+"Yes, sir.  It was a good meeting, wasn't it?"
+
+Old Heythorp nodded.
+
+"Wonderful how your voice came back just at the right moment.  I was
+afraid things were going to be difficult.  The insult did it, I
+think.  It was a monstrous thing to say.  I could have punched his
+head."
+
+Again old Heythorp nodded; and, looking into the secretary's fine
+blue eyes, he repeated: "Bring 'em in."
+
+The lonely minute before the entrance of his creditors passed in the
+thought: 'So that's how it struck him!  Short shrift I should get if
+it came out.'
+
+The gentlemen, who numbered ten this time, bowed to their debtor,
+evidently wondering why the deuce they troubled to be polite to an
+old man who kept them out of their money.  Then, the secretary
+reappearing with a cup of China tea, they watched while their debtor
+drank it.  The feat was tremulous.  Would he get through without
+spilling it all down his front, or choking?  To those unaccustomed to
+his private life it was slightly miraculous.  He put the cup down
+empty, tremblingly removed some yellow drops from the little white
+tuft below his lip, refit his cigar, and said:
+
+"No use beating about the bush, gentlemen; I can offer you fourteen
+hundred a year so long as I live and hold my directorships, and not a
+penny more.  If you can't accept that, you must make me bankrupt and
+get about sixpence in the pound.  My qualifying shares will fetch a
+couple of thousand at market price.  I own nothing else.  The house I
+live in, and everything in it, barring my clothes, my wine, and my
+cigars, belong to my daughter under a settlement fifteen years old.
+My solicitors and bankers will give you every information.  That's
+the position in a nutshell."
+
+In spite of business habits the surprise of the ten gentlemen was
+only partially concealed.  A man who owed them so much would
+naturally say he owned nothing, but would he refer them to his
+solicitors and bankers unless he were telling the truth?  Then Mr.
+Ventnor said:
+
+"Will you submit your pass books?"
+
+"No, but I'll authorise my bankers to give you a full statement of my
+receipts for the last five years--longer, if you like."
+
+The strategic stroke of placing the ten gentlemen round the Board
+table had made it impossible for them to consult freely without being
+overheard, but the low-voiced transference of thought travelling
+round was summed up at last by Mr. Brownbee.
+
+"We think, Mr. Heythorp, that your fees and dividends should enable
+you to set aside for us a larger sum.  Sixteen hundred, in fact, is
+what we think you should give us yearly.  Representing, as we do,
+sixteen thousand pounds, the prospect is not cheering, but we hope
+you have some good years before you yet.  We understand your income
+to be two thousand pounds."
+
+Old Heythorp shook his head.  "Nineteen hundred and thirty pounds in
+a good year.  Must eat and drink; must have a man to look after me
+not as active as I was.  Can't do on less than five hundred pounds.
+Fourteen hundred's all I can give you, gentlemen; it's an advance of
+two hundred pounds.  That's my last word."
+
+The silence was broken by Mr. Ventnor.
+
+"And it's my last word that I'm not satisfied.  If these other
+gentlemen accept your proposition I shall be forced to consider what
+I can do on my own account."
+
+The old man stared at him, and answered:
+
+"Oh!  you will, sir; we shall see."
+
+The others had risen and were gathered in a knot at the end of the
+table; old Heythorp and Mr. Ventnor alone remained seated.  The old
+man's lower lip projected till the white hairs below stood out like
+bristles.  'You ugly dog,' he was thinking, 'you think you've got
+something up your sleeve.  Well, do your worst!'  The "ugly dog" rose
+abruptly and joined the others.  And old Heythorp closed his eyes,
+sitting perfectly still, with his cigar, which had gone out, sticking
+up between his teeth.  Mr. Brownbee turning to voice the decision
+come to, cleared his throat.
+
+"Mr. Heythorp," he said, "if your bankers and solicitors bear out
+your statements, we shall accept your offer faute de mieux, in
+consideration of your--" but meeting the old man's eyes, which said
+so very plainly: "Blow your consideration!" he ended with a stammer:
+"Perhaps you will kindly furnish us with the authorisation you spoke
+of?"
+
+Old Heythorp nodded, and Mr. Brownbee, with a little bow, clasped his
+hat to his breast and moved towards the door.  The nine gentlemen
+followed.  Mr. Ventnor, bringing up the rear, turned and looked back.
+But the old man's eyes were already closed again.
+
+The moment his creditors were gone, old Heythorp sounded the hand-
+bell.
+
+"Help me up, Mr. Farney.  That Ventnor--what's his holding?"
+
+"Quite small.  Only ten shares, I think."
+
+"Ah!  What time is it?"
+
+"Quarter to four, sir."
+
+"Get me a taxi."
+
+After visiting his bank and his solicitors he struggled once more
+into his cab and caused it to be driven towards Millicent Villas.  A
+kind of sleepy triumph permeated his whole being, bumped and shaken
+by the cab's rapid progress.  So!  He was free of those sharks now so
+long as he could hold on to his Companies; and he would still have a
+hundred a year or more to spare for Rosamund and her youngsters.  He
+could live on four hundred, or even three-fifty, without losing his
+independence, for there would be no standing life in that holy
+woman's house unless he could pay his own scot!  A good day's work!
+The best for many a long month!
+
+The cab stopped before the villa.
+
+
+
+
+3
+
+There are rooms which refuse to give away their owners, and rooms
+which seem to say: 'They really are like this.' Of such was Rosamund
+Larne's--a sort of permanent confession, seeming to remark to anyone
+who entered: 'Her taste?  Well, you can see--cheerful and exuberant;
+her habits--yes, she sits here all the morning in a dressing-gown,
+smoking cigarettes and dropping ink; kindly observe my carpet.
+Notice the piano--it has a look of coming and going, according to the
+exchequer.  This very deep-cushioned sofa is permanent, however; the
+water-colours on the walls are safe, too--they're by herself.  Mark
+the scent of mimosa--she likes flowers, and likes them strong.  No
+clock, of course.  Examine the bureau--she is obviously always
+ringing for "the drumstick," and saying: "Where's this, Ellen, and
+where's that?  You naughty gairl, you've been tidying."  Cast an eye
+on that pile of manuscript--she has evidently a genius for
+composition; it flows off her pen--like Shakespeare, she never blots
+a line.  See how she's had the electric light put in, instead of that
+horrid gas; but try and turn either of them on--you can't; last
+quarter isn't paid, of course; and she uses an oil lamp, you can tell
+that by the ceiling: The dog over there, who will not answer to the
+name of 'Carmen,' a Pekinese spaniel like a little Djin, all
+prominent eyes rolling their blacks, and no nose between--yes, Carmen
+looks as if she didn't know what was coming next; she's right--it's a
+pet-and-slap-again life!  Consider, too, the fittings of the tea-
+tray, rather soiled, though not quite tin, but I say unto you that no
+millionaire's in all its glory ever had a liqueur bottle on it.'
+
+When old Heythorp entered this room, which extended from back to
+front of the little house, preceded by the announcement "Mr.  Aesop,"
+it was resonant with a very clatter-bodandigo of noises, from Phyllis
+playing the Machiche; from the boy Jock on the hearthrug, emitting at
+short intervals the most piercing notes from an ocarina; from Mrs.
+Larne on the sofa, talking with her trailing volubility to Bob
+Pillin; from Bob Pillin muttering: "Ye-es!  Qui-ite!  Ye-es!" and
+gazing at Phyllis over his collar.  And, on the window-sill, as far
+as she could get from all this noise, the little dog Carmen was
+rolling her eyes.  At sight of their visitor Jock blew one rending
+screech, and bolting behind the sofa, placed his chin on its top, so
+that nothing but his round pink unmoving face was visible; and the
+dog Carmen tried to climb the blind cord.
+
+Encircled from behind by the arms of Phyllis, and preceded by the
+gracious perfumed bulk of Mrs. Larne, old Heythorp was escorted to
+the sofa.  It was low, and when he had plumped down into it, the boy
+Jock emitted a hollow groan.  Bob Pillin was the first to break the
+silence.
+
+"How are you, sir?  I hope it's gone through."
+
+Old Heythorp nodded.  His eyes were fixed on the liqueur, and Mrs.
+Larne murmured:
+
+"Guardy, you must try our new liqueur.  Jock, you awful boy, get up
+and bring Guardy a glass."
+
+The boy Jock approached the tea-table, took up a glass, put it to his
+eye and filled it rapidly.
+
+"You horrible boy, you could see that glass has been used."
+
+In a high round voice rather like an angel's, Jock answered:
+
+"All right, Mother; I'll get rid of it," and rapidly swallowing the
+yellow liquor, took up another glass.
+
+Mrs. Larne laughed.
+
+"What am I to do with him?"
+
+A loud shriek prevented a response.  Phyllis, who had taken her
+brother by the ear to lead him to the door, let him go to clasp her
+injured self.
+
+Bob Pillin went hastening towards her; and following the young man
+with her chin, Mrs. Larne said, smiling:
+
+"Aren't those children awful?  He's such a nice fellow.  We like him
+so much, Guardy."
+
+The old man grinned.  So she was making up to that young pup!
+Rosamund Larne, watching him, murmured:
+
+"Oh! Guardy, you're as bad as Jock.  He takes after you terribly.
+Look at the shape of his head.  Jock, come here!"  The innocent boy
+approached; with his girlish complexion, his flowery blue eyes, his
+perfect mouth, he stood before his mother like a large cherub.  And
+suddenly he blew his ocarina in a dreadful manner.  Mrs. Larne
+launched a box at his ears, and receiving the wind of it he fell
+prone.
+
+"That's the way he behaves.  Be off with you, you awful boy.  I want
+to talk to Guardy."
+
+The boy withdrew on his stomach, and sat against the wall cross-
+legged, fixing his innocent round eyes on old Heythorp.  Mrs. Larne
+sighed.
+
+"Things are worse and worse, Guardy.  I'm at my wits' end to tide
+over this quarter.  You wouldn't advance me a hundred on my new
+story?  I'm sure to get two for it in the end."
+
+The old man shook his head.
+
+"I've done something for you and the children," he said.  "You'll get
+notice of it in a day or two; ask no questions."
+
+"Oh!  Guardy!  Oh!  you dear!"  And her gaze rested on Bob Pillin,
+leaning over the piano, where Phyllis again sat.
+
+Old Heythorp snorted.  "What are you cultivating that young gaby for?
+She mustn't be grabbed up by any fool who comes along."
+
+Mrs. Larne murmured at once:
+
+"Of course, the dear gairl is much too young.  Phyllis, come and talk
+to Guardy!"
+
+When the girl was installed beside him on the sofa, and he had felt
+that little thrill of warmth the proximity of youth can bring, he
+said:
+
+"Been a good girl?"
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"Can't, when Jock's not at school.  Mother can't pay for him this
+term."
+
+Hearing his name, the boy Jock blew his ocarina till Mrs. Larne drove
+him from the room, and Phyllis went on:
+
+"He's more awful than anything you can think of.  Was my dad at all
+like him, Guardy?  Mother's always so mysterious about him.  I
+suppose you knew him well."
+
+Old Heythorp, incapable of confusion,  answered stolidly:
+
+"Not very."
+
+"Who was his father?  I don't believe even mother knows."
+
+"Man about town in my day."
+
+"Oh!  your day must have been jolly.  Did you wear peg-top trousers,
+and dundreary's?"
+
+Old Heythorp nodded.
+
+"What larks!  And I suppose you had lots of adventures with opera
+dancers and gambling.  The young men are all so good now."  Her eyes
+rested on Bob Pillin.  "That young man's a perfect stick of
+goodness."
+
+Old Heythorp grunted.
+
+"You wouldn't know how good he was," Phyllis went on musingly,
+"unless you'd sat next him in a tunnel.  The other day he had his
+waist squeezed and he simply sat still and did nothing.  And then
+when the tunnel ended, it was Jock after all, not me.  His face was--
+Oh!  ah!  ha!  ha!  Ah!  ha!"  She threw back her head, displaying
+all her white, round throat.  Then edging near, she whispered:
+
+"He likes to pretend, of course, that he's fearfully lively.  He's
+promised to take mother and me to the theatre and supper afterwards.
+Won't it be scrummy!  Only, I haven't anything to go in."
+
+Old Heythorp said: "What do you want?  Irish poplin?"
+
+Her mouth opened wide: "Oh!  Guardy!  Soft white satin!"
+
+"How many yards'll go round you?"
+
+"I should think about twelve.  We could make it ourselves.  You are a
+chook!"
+
+A scent of hair, like hay, enveloped him, her lips bobbed against his
+nose,--and there came a feeling in his heart as when he rolled the
+first sip of a special wine against his palate.  This little house
+was a rumty-too affair, her mother was a humbug, the boy a cheeky
+young rascal, but there was a warmth here he never felt in that big
+house which had been his wife's and was now his holy daughter's.  And
+once more he rejoiced at his day's work, and the success of his
+breach of trust, which put some little ground beneath these young
+feet, in a hard and unscrupulous world.  Phyllis whispered in his
+ear:
+
+"Guardy, do look; he will stare at me like that.  Isn't it awful--
+like a boiled rabbit?"
+
+Bob Pillin, attentive to Mrs. Larne, was gazing with all his might
+over her shoulder at the girl.  The young man was moonstruck, that
+was clear!  There was something almost touching in the stare of those
+puppy dog's eyes.  And he thought 'Young beggar--wish I were his
+age!'  The utter injustice of having an old and helpless body, when
+your desire for enjoyment was as great as ever!  They said a man was
+as old as he felt!  Fools!  A man was as old as his legs and arms,
+and not a  day younger.  He heard the girl beside him utter a
+discomfortable sound, and saw her face cloud as if tears were not far
+off; she jumped up, and going to the window, lifted the little dog
+and buried her face in its brown and white fur.  Old Heythorp
+thought: 'She sees that her humbugging mother is using her as a
+decoy.'  But she had come back, and the little dog, rolling its eyes
+horribly at the strange figure on the sofa, in a desperate effort to
+escape succeeded in reaching her shoulder, where it stayed perched
+like a cat, held by one paw and trying to back away into space.  Old
+Heythorp said abruptly:
+
+"Are you very fond of your mother?"
+
+"Of course I am, Guardy.  I adore her."
+
+"H'm!  Listen to me.  When you come of age or marry, you'll have a
+hundred and twenty a year of your own that you can't get rid of.
+Don't ever be persuaded into doing what you don't want.  And
+remember: Your mother's a sieve, no good giving her money; keep what
+you'll get for yourself--it's only a pittance, and you'll want it all
+--every penny.
+
+Phyllis's eyes had opened very wide; so that he wondered if she had
+taken in his words.
+
+"Oh!  Isn't money horrible, Guardy?"
+
+"The want of it."
+
+"No, it's beastly altogether.  If only we were like birds.  Or if one
+could put out a plate overnight, and have just enough in the morning
+to use during the day."
+
+Old Heythorp sighed.
+
+"There's only one thing in life that matters--independence.  Lose
+that, and you lose everything.  That's the value of money.  Help me
+up."
+
+Phyllis stretched out her hands, and the little dog, running down her
+back, resumed its perch on the window-sill, close to the blind cord.
+
+Once on his feet, old Heythorp said:
+
+"Give me a kiss.  You'll have your satin tomorrow."
+
+Then looking at Bob Pillin, he remarked:
+
+"Going my way?  I'll give you a lift."
+
+The young man, giving Phyllis one appealing look, answered dully:
+"Tha-anks!"  and they went out together to the taxi.  In that
+draughtless vehicle they sat, full of who knows what contempt of age
+for youth; and youth for age; the old man resenting this young pup's
+aspiration to his granddaughter; the young man annoyed that this old
+image had dragged him away before he wished to go.  Old Heythorp said
+at last:
+
+"Well?"
+
+Thus expected to say something, Bob Pillin muttered
+
+"Glad your meetin' went off well, sir.  You scored a triumph I should
+think."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Oh!  I don't know.  I thought you had a good bit of opposition to
+contend with."
+
+Old Heythorp looked at him.
+
+"Your grandmother!"  he said; then, with his habitual instinct of
+attack, added: "You make the most of your opportunities, I see."
+
+At this rude assault Bob Pillin's red-cheeked face assumed a certain
+dignity.  "I don't know what you mean, sir.  Mrs. Larne is very kind
+to me."
+
+"No doubt.  But don't try to pick the flowers."
+
+Thoroughly upset, Bob Pillin preserved a dogged silence.  This
+fortnight, since he had first met Phyllis in old Heythorp's hall, had
+been the most singular of his existence up to now.  He would never
+have believed that a fellow could be so quickly and completely
+bowled, could succumb without a kick, without even wanting to kick.
+To one with his philosophy of having a good time and never committing
+himself too far, it was in the nature of "a fair knock-out," and yet
+so pleasurable, except for the wear and tear about one's chances.  If
+only he knew how far the old boy really counted in the matter!  To
+say: "My intentions are strictly honourable" would be old-fashioned;
+besides--the old fellow might have no right to hear it.  They called
+him Guardy, but without knowing more he did not want to admit the old
+curmudgeon's right to interfere.
+
+"Are you a relation of theirs, sir?"
+
+Old Heythorp nodded.
+
+Bob Pillin went on with desperation:
+
+"I should like to know what your objection to me is."
+
+The old man turned his head so far as he was able; a grim smile
+bristled the hairs about his lips, and twinkled in his eyes.  What
+did he object to?  Why--everything!  Object to!  That sleek head,
+those puppy-dog eyes, fattish red cheeks, high collars, pearl pin,
+spats, and drawl-pah!  the imbecility, the smugness of his mug; no
+go, no devil in any of his sort, in any of these fish-veined,
+coddled-up young bloods, nothing but playing for safety!  And he
+wheezed out:
+
+"Milk and water masquerading as port wine."
+
+Bob Pillin frowned.
+
+It was almost too much for the composure even of a man of the world.
+That this paralytic old fellow should express contempt for his
+virility was really the last thing in jests.  Luckily he could not
+take it seriously.  But suddenly he thought: 'What if he really has
+the power to stop my going there, and means to turn them against me!'
+And his heart quailed.
+
+"Awfully sorry, sir," he said, "if you don't think I'm wild enough.
+Anything I can do for you in that line--"
+
+The old man grunted; and realising that he had been quite witty, Bob
+Pillin went on:
+
+"I know I'm not in debt, no entanglements, got a decent income,
+pretty good expectations and all that; but I can soon put that all
+right if I'm not fit without."
+
+It was perhaps his first attempt at irony, and he could not help
+thinking how good it was.
+
+But old Heythorp preserved a deadly silence.  He looked like a
+stuffed man, a regular Aunt Sally sitting there, with the fixed red
+in his cheeks, his stivered hair, square block of a body, and no neck
+that you could see-only wanting the pipe in his mouth!  Could there
+really be danger from such an old idol?  The idol spoke:
+
+"I'll give you a word of advice.  Don't hang round there, or you'll
+burn your fingers.  Remember me to your father.  Good-night!"
+
+The taxi had stopped before the house in Sefton Park.  An insensate
+impulse to remain seated and argue the point fought in Bob Pillin
+with an impulse to leap out, shake his fist in at the window, and
+walk off.  He merely said, however:
+
+"Thanks for the lift.  Good-night!"  And, getting out deliberately,
+he walked off.
+
+Old Heythorp, waiting for the driver to help him up, thought 'Fatter,
+but no more guts than his father!'
+
+In his sanctum he sank at once into his chair.  It was wonderfully
+still there every day at this hour; just the click of the coals, just
+the faintest ruffle from the wind in the trees of the park.  And it
+was cosily warm, only the fire lightening the darkness.  A drowsy
+beatitude pervaded the old man.  A good day's work!  A triumph--that
+young pup had said.  Yes!  Something of a triumph!  He had held on,
+and won.  And dinner to look forward to, yet.  A nap--a nap!  And
+soon, rhythmic, soft, sonorous, his breathing rose, with now and then
+that pathetic twitching of the old who dream.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+1
+
+When Bob Pillin emerged from the little front garden of 23, Millicent
+Villas ten days later, his sentiments were ravelled, and he could not
+get hold of an end to pull straight the stuff of his mind.
+
+He had found Mrs. Larne and Phyllis in the sitting-room, and Phyllis
+had been crying; he was sure she had been crying; and that memory
+still infected the sentiments evoked by later happenings.  Old
+Heythorp had said: "You'll burn your fingers."  The process had
+begun.  Having sent her daughter away on a pretext really a bit too
+thin, Mrs. Larne had installed him beside her scented bulk on the
+sofa, and poured into his ear such a tale of monetary woe and
+entanglement, such a mass of present difficulties and rosy prospects,
+that his brain still whirled, and only one thing emerged clearly-that
+she wanted fifty pounds, which she would repay him on quarter-day;
+for their Guardy had made a settlement by which, until the dear
+children came of age, she would have sixty pounds every quarter.  It
+was only a question of a few weeks; he might ask Messrs.  Scriven and
+Coles; they would tell him the security was quite safe.  He certainly
+might ask Messrs.  Scriven and Coles--they happened to be his
+father's solicitors; but it hardly seemed to touch the point.  Bob
+Pillin had a certain shrewd caution, and the point was whether he was
+going to begin to lend money to a woman who, he could see, might
+borrow up to seventy times seven on the strength of his infatuation
+for her daughter.  That was rather too strong!  Yet, if he didn't she
+might take a sudden dislike to him, and where would he be then?
+Besides, would not a loan make his position stronger?  And then--such
+is the effect of love even on the younger generation--that thought
+seemed to him unworthy.  If he lent at all, it should be from
+chivalry--ulterior motives might go hang!  And the memory of the
+tear-marks on Phyllis's pretty pale-pink cheeks; and her petulantly
+mournful: "Oh!  young man, isn't money beastly!" scraped his heart,
+and ravished his judgment.  All the same, fifty pounds was fifty
+pounds, and goodness knew how much more; and what did he know of Mrs.
+Larne, after all, except that she was a relative of old Heythorp's
+and wrote stories--told them too, if he was not mistaken?  Perhaps it
+would be better to see Scrivens'.  But again that absurd nobility
+assaulted him.  Phyllis!  Phyllis!  Besides, were not settlements
+always drawn so that they refused to form security for anything?
+Thus, hampered and troubled, he hailed a cab.  He was dining with the
+Ventnors on the Cheshire side, and would be late if he didn't get
+home sharp to dress.
+
+Driving, white-tied--and waist-coated, in his father's car, he
+thought with a certain contumely of the younger Ventnor girl, whom he
+had been wont to consider pretty before he knew Phyllis. And seated
+next her at dinner, he quite enjoyed his new sense of superiority to
+her charms, and the ease with which he could chaff and be agreeable.
+And all the time he suffered from the suppressed longing which
+scarcely ever left him now, to think and talk of Phyllis.  Ventnor's
+fizz was good and plentiful, his old Madeira absolutely first chop,
+and the only other man present a teetotal curate, who withdrew with
+the ladies to talk his parish shop.  Favoured by these circumstances,
+and the perception that Ventnor was an agreeable fellow, Bob Pillin
+yielded to his secret itch to get near the subject of his affections.
+
+"Do you happen," he said airily, "to know a Mrs. Larne--relative of
+old Heythorp's--rather a handsome woman-she writes stories."
+
+Mr. Ventnor shook his head.  A closer scrutiny than Bob Pillin's
+would have seen that he also moved his ears.
+
+"Of old Heythorp's?  Didn't know he had any, except his daughter, and
+that son of his in the Admiralty."
+
+Bob Pillin felt the glow of his secret hobby spreading within him.
+
+"She is, though--lives rather out of town; got a son and daughter.  I
+thought you might know her stories--clever woman."
+
+Mr. Ventnor smiled.  "Ah!" he said enigmatically, "these lady
+novelists!  Does she make any money by them?"
+
+Bob Pillin knew that to make money by writing meant success, but that
+not to make money by writing was artistic, and implied that you had
+private means, which perhaps was even more distinguished.  And he
+said:
+
+"Oh!  she has private means, I know."
+
+Mr. Ventnor reached for the Madeira.
+
+"So she's a relative of old Heythorp's," he said.  "He's a very old
+friend of your father's.  He ought to go bankrupt, you know."
+
+To Bob Pillin, glowing with passion and Madeira, the idea of
+bankruptcy seemed discreditable in connection with a relative of
+Phyllis.  Besides, the old boy was far from that!  Had he not just
+made this settlement on Mrs. Larne?  And he said:
+
+"I think you're mistaken.  That's of the past."
+
+Mr. Ventnor smiled.
+
+"Will you bet?"  he said.
+
+Bob Pillin also smiled.  "I should be bettin' on a certainty."
+
+Mr. Ventnor passed his hand over his whiskered face.  "Don't you
+believe it; he hasn't a mag to his name.  Fill your glass."
+
+Bob Pillin said, with a certain resentment:
+
+"Well, I happen to know he's just made a settlement of five or six
+thousand pounds.  Don't know if you call that being bankrupt."
+
+"What!  On this Mrs. Larne?"
+
+Confused, uncertain whether he had said something derogatory or
+indiscreet, or something which added distinction to Phyllis, Bob
+Pillin hesitated, then gave a nod.
+
+Mr. Ventnor rose and extended his short legs before the fire.
+
+"No, my boy," he said.  "No!"
+
+Unaccustomed to flat contradiction, Bob Pillin reddened.
+
+"I'll bet you a tenner.  Ask Scrivens."
+
+Mr. Ventnor ejaculated:
+
+"Scrivens---but they're not--" then, staring rather hard, he added:
+"I won't bet.  You may be right.  Scrivens are your father's
+solicitors too, aren't they?  Always been sorry he didn't come to me.
+Shall we join the ladies?"  And to the drawing-room he preceded a
+young man more uncertain in his mind than on his feet....
+
+Charles Ventnor was not one to let you see that more was going on
+within than met the eye.  But there was a good deal going on that
+evening, and after his conversation with young Bob he had occasion
+more than once to turn away and rub his hands together.  When, after
+that second creditors' meeting, he had walked down the stairway which
+led to the offices of "The Island Navigation Company," he had been
+deep in thought.  Short, squarely built, rather stout, with moustache
+and large mutton-chop whiskers of a red brown, and a faint floridity
+in face and dress, he impressed at first sight only by a certain
+truly British vulgarity.  One felt that here was a hail-fellow--well-
+met man who liked lunch and dinner, went to Scarborough for his
+summer holidays, sat on his wife, took his daughters out in a boat
+and was never sick.  One felt that he went to church every Sunday
+morning, looked upwards as he moved through life, disliked the
+unsuccessful, and expanded with his second glass of wine. But then a
+clear look into his well-clothed face and red-brown eyes would give
+the feeling: 'There's something fulvous here; he might be a bit too
+foxy.'  A third look brought the thought: 'He's certainly a bully.'
+He was not a large creditor of old Heythorp.  With interest on the
+original, he calculated his claim at three hundred pounds--unredeemed
+shares in that old Ecuador mine. But he had waited for his money
+eight years, and could never imagine how it came about that he had
+been induced to wait so long.  There had been, of course, for one who
+liked "big pots," a certain glamour about the personality of old
+Heythorp, still a bit of a swell in shipping circles, and a bit of an
+aristocrat in Liverpool.  But during the last year Charles Ventnor
+had realised that the old chap's star had definitely set--when that
+happens, of course, there is no more glamour, and the time has come
+to get your money.  Weakness in oneself and others is despicable!
+Besides, he had food for thought, and descending the stairs he chewed
+it: He smelt a rat--creatures for which both by nature and profession
+he had a nose.  Through Bob Pillin, on whom he sometimes dwelt in
+connection with his younger daughter, he knew that old Pillin and old
+Heythorp had been friends for thirty years and more.  That, to an
+astute mind, suggested something behind this sale.  The thought had
+already occurred to him when he read his copy of the report.  A
+commission would be a breach of trust, of course, but there were ways
+of doing things; the old chap was devilish hard pressed, and human
+nature was human nature!  His lawyerish mind habitually put two and
+two together.  The old fellow had deliberately appointed to meet his
+creditors again just after the general meeting which would decide the
+purchase--had said he might do something for them then.  Had that no
+significance?
+
+In these circumstances Charles Ventnor had come to the meeting with
+eyes wide open and mouth tight closed.  And he had watched.  It was
+certainly remarkable that such an old and feeble man, with no neck at
+all, who looked indeed as if he might go off with apoplexy any
+moment, should actually say that he "stood or fell" by this purchase,
+knowing that if he fell he would be a beggar.  Why should the old
+chap be so keen on getting it through?  It would do him personally no
+good, unless--Exactly!  He had left the meeting, therefore, secretly
+confident that old Heythorp had got something out of this transaction
+which would enable him to make a substantial proposal to his
+creditors.  So that when the old man had declared that he was going
+to make none, something had turned sour in his heart, and he had said
+to himself: "All right, you old rascal!  You don't know C. V."  The
+cavalier manner of that beggarly old rip, the defiant look of his
+deep little eyes, had put a polish on the rancour of one who prided
+himself on letting no man get the better of him.  All that evening,
+seated on one side of the fire, while Mrs. Ventnor sat on the other,
+and the younger daughter played Gounod's Serenade on the violin--he
+cogitated.  And now and again he smiled, but not too much.  He did
+not see his way as yet, but had little doubt that before long he
+would.  It would not be hard to knock that chipped old idol off his
+perch.  There was already a healthy feeling among the shareholders
+that he was past work and should be scrapped.  The old chap should
+find that Charles V. was not to be defied; that when he got his teeth
+into a thing, he did not let it go.  By hook or crook he would have
+the old man off his Boards, or his debt out of him as the price of
+leaving him alone.  His life or his money--and the old fellow should
+determine which.  With the memory of that defiance fresh within him,
+he almost hoped it might come to be the first, and turning to Mrs.
+Ventnor, he said abruptly:
+
+"Have a little dinner Friday week, and ask young Pillin and the
+curate."  He specified the curate, a tee-totaller, because he had two
+daughters, and males and females must be paired, but he intended to
+pack him off after dinner to the drawing-room to discuss parish
+matters while he and Bob Pillin sat over their wine.  What he
+expected to get out of the young man he did not as yet know.
+
+On the day of the dinner, before departing for the office, he had
+gone to his cellar.  Would three bottles of Perrier Jouet do the
+trick, or must he add one of the old Madeira?  He decided to be on
+the safe side.  A bottle or so of champagne went very little way with
+him personally, and young Pillin might be another.
+
+The Madeira having done its work by turning the conversation into
+such an admirable channel, he had cut it short for fear young Pillin
+might drink the lot or get wind of the rat.  And when his guests were
+gone, and his family had retired, he stood staring into the fire,
+putting together the pieces of the puzzle.  Five or six thousand
+pounds--six would be ten per cent. on sixty!  Exactly!  Scrivens--
+young Pillin had said!  But Crow & Donkin, not Scriven & Coles, were
+old Heythorp's solicitors.  What could that mean, save that the old
+man wanted to cover the tracks of a secret commission, and had
+handled the matter through solicitors who did not know the state of
+his affairs!  But why Pillin's solicitors?  With this sale just going
+through, it must look deuced fishy to them too.  Was it all a mare's
+nest, after all?  In such circumstances he himself would have taken
+the matter to a London firm who knew nothing of anybody.  Puzzled,
+therefore, and rather disheartened, feeling too that touch of liver
+which was wont to follow his old Madeira, he went up to bed and woke
+his wife to ask her why the dickens they couldn't always have soup
+like that!
+
+Next day he continued to brood over his puzzle, and no fresh light
+came; but having a matter on which his firm and Scrivens' were in
+touch, he decided to go over in person, and see if he could surprise
+something out of them.  Feeling, from experience, that any really
+delicate matter would only be entrusted to the most responsible
+member of the firm, he had asked to see Scriven himself, and just as
+he had taken his hat to go, he said casually:
+
+"By the way, you do some business for old Mr. Heythorp, don't you?"
+
+Scriven, raising his eyebrows a little, murmured: "Er--no," in
+exactly the tone Mr. Ventnor himself used when he wished to imply
+that though he didn't as a fact do business, he probably soon would.
+He knew therefore that the answer was a true one.  And non-plussed,
+he hazarded:
+
+"Oh!  I thought you did, in regard to a Mrs. Larne."
+
+This time he had certainly drawn blood of sorts, for down came
+Scriven's eyebrows, and he said:
+
+"Mrs. Larne--we know a Mrs. Larne, but not in that connection.  Why?"
+
+"Oh!  Young Pillin told me--"
+
+"Young Pillin?  Why, it's his---!"  A little pause, and then: "Old
+Mr. Heythorp's solicitors are Crow & Donkin, I believe."
+
+Mr. Ventnor held out his hand.  "Yes, yes," he said; "goodbye.  Glad
+to have got that matter settled up," and out he went, and down the
+street, important, smiling.  By George!  He had got it!  "It's his
+father"--Scriven had been going to say.  What a plant!  Exactly!  Oh!
+neat!  Old Pillin had made the settlement direct; and the solicitors
+were in the dark; that disposed of his difficulty about them.  No
+money had passed between old Pillin and old Heythorp not a penny.
+Oh!  neat!  But not neat enough for Charles Ventnor, who had that
+nose for rats.  Then his smile died, and with a little chill he
+perceived that it was all based on supposition--not quite good enough
+to go on!  What then?  Somehow he must see this Mrs. Larne, or
+better--old Pillin himself.  The point to ascertain was whether she
+had any connection of her own with Pillin.  Clearly young Pillin
+didn't know of it; for, according to him, old Heythorp had made the
+settlement.  By Jove!  That old rascal was deep--all the more
+satisfaction in proving that he was not as deep as C. V.  To unmask
+the old cheat was already beginning to seem in the nature of a public
+service.  But on what pretext could he visit Pillin?  A subscription
+to the Windeatt almshouses!  That would make him talk in self-defence
+and he would take care not to press the request to the actual point
+of getting a subscription.  He caused himself to be driven to the
+Pillin residence in Sefton Park.  Ushered into a room on the ground
+floor, heated in American fashion, Mr. Ventnor unbuttoned his coat.
+A man of sanguine constitution, he found this hot-house atmosphere a
+little trying.  And having sympathetically obtained Joe Pillin's
+reluctant refusal--Quite so!  One could not indefinitely extend one's
+subscriptions even for the best of causes!--he said gently:
+
+"By the way, you know Mrs. Larne, don't you?"
+
+The effect of that simple shot surpassed his highest hopes.  Joe
+Pillin's face, never highly coloured, turned a sort of grey; he
+opened his thin lips, shut them quickly, as birds do, and something
+seemed to pass with difficulty down his scraggy throat.  The hollows,
+which nerve exhaustion delves in the cheeks of men whose cheekbones
+are not high, increased alarmingly.  For a moment he looked deathly;
+then, moistening his lips, he said:
+
+"Larne--Larne?  No, I don't seem---"
+
+Mr. Ventnor, who had taken care to be drawing on his gloves,
+murmured:
+
+"Oh!  I thought--your son knows her; a relation of old Heythorp's,"
+and he looked up.
+
+Joe Pillin had his handkerchief to his mouth; he coughed feebly, then
+with more and more vigour:
+
+"I'm in very poor health," he said, at last.  "I'm getting abroad at
+once.  This cold's killing me.  What name did you say?"  And he
+remained with his handkerchief against his teeth.
+
+Mr. Ventnor repeated:
+
+"Larne.  Writes stories."
+
+Joe Pillin muttered into his handkerchief
+
+"Ali!  H'm!  No--I--no!  My son knows all sorts of people.  I shall
+have to try Mentone.  Are you going?  Good-bye!  Good-bye! I'm sorry;
+ah! ha!  My cough--ah! ha h'h'm!  Very distressing.  Ye-hes!  My
+cough-ah! ha h'h'm!  Most distressing.  Ye-hes!"
+
+Out in the drive Mr. Ventnor took a deep breath of the frosty air.
+Not much doubt now!  The two names had worked like charms.  This
+weakly old fellow would make a pretty witness, would simply crumple
+under cross-examination.  What a contrast to that hoary old sinner
+Heythorp, whose brazenness nothing could affect.  The rat was as
+large as life!  And the only point was how to make the best use of
+it.  Then--for his experience was wide--the possibility dawned on
+him, that after all, this Mrs. Larne might only have been old
+Pillin's mistress--or be his natural daughter, or have some other
+blackmailing hold on him.  Any such connection would account for his
+agitation, for his denying her, for his son's ignorance.  Only it
+wouldn't account for young Pillin's saying that old Heythorp had made
+the settlement.  He could only have got that from the woman herself.
+Still, to make absolutely sure, he had better try and see her.  But
+how?  It would never do to ask Bob Pillin for an introduction, after
+this interview with his father.  He would have to go on his own and
+chance it.  Wrote stories did she?  Perhaps a newspaper would know
+her address; or the Directory would give it--not a common name!  And,
+hot on the scent, he drove to a post office.  Yes, there it was,
+right enough!  "Larne, Mrs. R., 23, Millicent Villas."  And thinking
+to himself: 'No time like the present,' he turned in that direction.
+The job was delicate.  He must be careful not to do anything which
+might compromise his power of making public use of his knowledge.
+Yes-ticklish!  What he did now must have a proper legal bottom.
+Still, anyway you looked at it, he had a right to investigate a fraud
+on himself as a shareholder of "The Island Navigation Company," and a
+fraud on himself as a creditor of old Heythorp.  Quite!  But suppose
+this Mrs. Larne was really entangled with old Pillin, and the
+settlement a mere reward of virtue, easy or otherwise.  Well! in that
+case there'd be no secret commission to make public, and he needn't
+go further.  So that, in either event, he would be all right.  Only--
+how to introduce himself?  He might pretend he was a newspaper man
+wanting a story.  No, that wouldn't do!  He must not represent that
+he was what he was not, in case he had afterwards to justify his
+actions publicly, always a difficult thing, if you were not careful!
+At that moment there came into his mind a question Bob Pillin had
+asked the other night.  "By the way, you can't borrow on a
+settlement, can you?  Isn't there generally some clause against it?"
+Had this woman been trying to borrow from him on that settlement?
+But at this moment he reached the house, and got out of his cab still
+undecided as to how he was going to work the oracle.  Impudence,
+constitutional and professional, sustained him in saying to the
+little maid:
+
+"Mrs. Larne at home?  Say Mr. Charles Ventnor, will you?"
+
+His quick brown eyes took in the apparel of the passage which served
+for hall--the deep blue paper on the walls, lilac-patterned curtains
+over the doors, the well-known print of a nude young woman looking
+over her shoulder, and he thought: 'H'm!  Distinctly tasty!'  They
+noted, too, a small brown-and-white dog cowering in terror at the
+very end of the passage, and he murmured affably: "Fluffy!  Come
+here, Fluffy!" till Carmen's teeth chattered in her head.
+
+"Will you come in, sir?"
+
+Mr. Ventnor ran his hand over his whiskers, and, entering a room, was
+impressed at once by its air of domesticity.  On a sofa a handsome
+woman and a pretty young girl were surrounded by sewing apparatus and
+some white material.  The girl looked up, but the elder lady rose.
+
+Mr. Ventnor said easily
+
+"You know my young friend, Mr. Robert Pillin, I think."
+
+The lady, whose bulk and bloom struck him to the point of admiration,
+murmured in a full, sweet drawl:
+
+"Oh!  Ye-es.  Are you from Messrs. Scrivens?"
+
+With the swift reflection: 'As I thought!'  Mr. Ventnor answered:
+
+"Er--not exactly.  I am a solicitor though; came just to ask about a
+certain settlement that Mr. Pillin tells me you're entitled under."
+
+"Phyllis dear!"
+
+Seeing the girl about to rise from underneath the white stuff, Mr.
+Ventnor said quickly:
+
+"Pray don't disturb yourself -just a formality!"  It had struck him
+at once that the lady would have to speak the truth in the presence
+of this third party, and he went on: "Quite recent, I think.  This'll
+be your first interest-on six thousand pounds?  Is that right?"  And
+at the limpid assent of that rich, sweet voice, he thought: 'Fine
+woman; what eyes!'
+
+"Thank you; that's quite enough.  I can go to Scrivens for any
+detail.  Nice young fellow, Bob Pillin, isn't he?"  He saw the girl's
+chin tilt, and Mrs. Larne's full mouth curling in a smile.
+
+"Delightful young man; we're very fond of him."
+
+And he proceeded:
+
+"I'm quite an old friend of his; have you known him long?"
+
+"Oh! no.  How long, Phyllis, since we met him at Guardy's?  About a
+month.  But he's so unaffected--quite at home with us.  A nice
+fellow."
+
+Mr. Ventnor murmured:
+
+"Very different from his father, isn't he?"
+
+"Is he?  We don't know his father; he's a shipowner, I think."
+
+Mr. Ventnor rubbed his hands: "Ye-es," he said, "just giving up--a
+warm man.  Young Pillin's a lucky fellow--only son.  So you met him
+at old Mr. Heythorp's.  I know him too--relation of yours, I
+believe."
+
+"Our dear Guardy such a wonderful man."
+
+Mr. Ventnor echoed: "Wonderful--regular old Roman."
+
+"Oh! but he's so kind!"  Mrs. Larne lifted the white stuff: "Look
+what he's given this naughty gairl!"
+
+Mr. Ventnor murmured: "Charming! Charming!  Bob Pillin said, I think,
+that Mr. Heythorp was your settlor."
+
+One of those little clouds which visit the brows of women who have
+owed money in their time passed swiftly athwart Mrs. Larne's eyes.
+For a moment they seemed saying: 'Don't you want to know too much?'
+Then they slid from under it.
+
+"Won't you sit down?"  she said.  "You must forgive our being at
+work."
+
+Mr. Ventnor, who had need of sorting his impressions, shook his head.
+
+"Thank you; I must be getting on.  Then Messrs. Scriven can--a mere
+formality!  Goodbye!  Good-bye, Miss Larne.  I'm sure the dress will
+be most becoming."
+
+And with memories of a too clear look from the girl's eyes, of a warm
+firm pressure from the woman's hand, Mr. Ventnor backed towards the
+door and passed away just in time to avoid hearing in two voices:
+
+"What a nice lawyer!"
+
+"What a horrid man!"
+
+Back in his cab, he continued to rub his hands.  No, she didn't know
+old Pillin! That was certain; not from her words, but from her face.
+She wanted to know him, or about him, anyway.  She was trying to hook
+young Bob for that sprig of a girl--it was clear as mud.  H'm! it
+would astonish his young friend to hear that he had called.  Well,
+let it!  And a curious mixture of emotions beset Mr. Ventnor.  He saw
+the whole thing now so plainly, and really could not refrain from a
+certain admiration.  The law had been properly diddled!  There was
+nothing to prevent a man from settling money on a woman he had never
+seen; and so old Pillin's settlement could probably not be upset.
+But old Heythorp could.  It was neat, though, oh!  neat!  And that
+was a fine woman--remarkably!  He had a sort of feeling that if only
+the settlement had been in danger, it might have been worth while to
+have made a bargain--a woman like that could have made it worth
+while!  And he believed her quite capable of entertaining the
+proposition!  Her eye!  Pity--quite a pity!  Mrs. Ventnor was not a
+wife who satisfied every aspiration.  But alas! the settlement was
+safe.  This baulking of the sentiment of love, whipped up, if
+anything, the longing for justice in Mr. Ventnor.  That old chap
+should feel his teeth now.  As a piece of investigation it was not so
+bad--not so bad at all!  He had had a bit of luck, of course,--no,
+not luck--just that knack of doing the right thing at the right
+moment which marks a real genius for affairs.
+
+But getting into his train to return to Mrs. Ventnor, he thought: 'A
+woman like that would have been--!' And he sighed.
+
+
+
+
+2
+
+With a neatly written cheque for fifty pounds in his pocket Bob
+Pillin turned in at 23, Millicent Villas on the afternoon after Mr.
+Ventnor's visit.  Chivalry had won the day.  And he rang the bell
+with an elation which astonished him, for he knew he was doing a soft
+thing.
+
+"Mrs. Larne is out, sir; Miss Phyllis is at home."
+
+His heart leaped.
+
+"Oh-h!  I'm sorry.  I wonder if she'd see me?"
+
+The little maid answered
+
+"I think she's been washin' 'er'air, sir, but it may be dry be now.
+I'll see."
+
+Bob Pillin stood stock still beneath the young woman on the wall.  He
+could scarcely breathe.  If her hair were not dry--how awful!
+Suddenly he heard floating down a clear but smothered "Oh!
+Gefoozleme!"  and other words which he could not catch.  The little
+maid came running down.
+
+"Miss Phyllis says, sir, she'll be with you in a jiffy.  And I was to
+tell you that Master Jock is loose, sir."
+
+Bob Pillin answered "Tha-anks," and passed into the drawing-room.  He
+went to the bureau, took an envelope, enclosed the cheque, and
+addressing it: "Mrs. Larne," replaced it in his pocket.  Then he
+crossed over to the mirror.  Never till this last month had he really
+doubted his own face; but now he wanted for it things he had never
+wanted.  It had too much flesh and colour.  It did not reflect his
+passion.  This was a handicap.  With a narrow white piping round his
+waistcoat opening, and a buttonhole of tuberoses, he had tried to
+repair its deficiencies.  But do what he would, he was never easy
+about himself nowadays, never up to that pitch which could make him
+confident in her presence.  And until this month to lack confidence
+had never been his wont.  A clear, high, mocking voice said:
+
+"Oh-h!  Conceited young man!"
+
+And spinning round he saw Phyllis in the doorway.  Her light brown
+hair was fluffed out on her shoulders, so that he felt a kind of
+fainting-sweet sensation, and murmured inarticulately:
+
+"Oh!  I say--how jolly!"
+
+"Lawks!  It's awful!  Have you come to see mother?"
+
+Balanced between fear and daring, conscious of a scent of hay and
+verbena and camomile, Bob Pillin stammered:
+
+"Ye-es.  I--I'm glad she's not in, though."
+
+Her laugh seemed to him terribly unfeeling.
+
+"Oh!  oh!  Don't be foolish.  Sit down.  Isn't washing one's head
+awful?"
+
+Bob Pillin answered feebly:
+
+"Of course, I haven't much experience."
+
+Her mouth opened.
+
+"Oh!  You are--aren't you?"
+
+And he thought desperately: 'Dare I--oughtn't I--couldn't I somehow
+take'her hand or put my arm round her, or something?'  Instead, he
+sat very rigid at his end of the sofa, while she sat lax and lissom
+at the other, and one of those crises of paralysis which beset would-
+-be lovers fixed him to the soul.
+
+Sometimes during this last month memories of a past existence, when
+chaff and even kisses came readily to the lips, and girls were fair
+game, would make him think: 'Is she really such an innocent?  Doesn't
+she really want me to kiss her?'  Alas! such intrusions lasted but a
+moment before a blast of awe and chivalry withered them, and a
+strange and tragic delicacy--like nothing he had ever known--resumed
+its sway.  And suddenly he heard her say:
+
+"Why do you know such awful men?"
+
+"What?  I don't know any awful men."
+
+"Oh yes, you do; one came here yesterday; he had whiskers, and he was
+awful."
+
+"Whiskers?"  His soul revolted in disclaimer.  "I believe I only know
+one man with whiskers--a lawyer."
+
+"Yes--that was him; a perfectly horrid man.  Mother didn't mind him,
+but I thought he was a beast."
+
+"Ventnor!  Came here?  How d'you mean?"
+
+"He did; about some business of yours, too."  Her face had clouded
+over.  Bob Pillin had of late been harassed by the still-born
+beginning of a poem:
+
+         "I rode upon my way and saw
+          A maid who watched me from the door."
+
+It never grew longer, and was prompted by the feeling that her face
+was like an April day.  The cloud which came on it now was like an
+April cloud, as if a bright shower of rain must follow.  Brushing
+aside the two distressful lines, he said:
+
+"Look here, Miss Larne--Phyllis--look here!"
+
+"All right, I'm looking!"
+
+"What does it mean--how did he come?  What did he say?"
+
+She shook her head, and her hair quivered; the scent of camomile,
+verbena, hay was wafted; then looking at her lap, she muttered:
+
+"I wish you wouldn't--I wish mother wouldn't--I hate it.  Oh!  Money!
+Beastly--beastly!" and a tearful sigh shivered itself into Bob
+Pillin's reddening ears.
+
+"I say--don't!  And do tell me, because--"
+
+"Oh! you know."
+
+"I don't--I don't know anything at all.  I never---"
+
+Phyllis looked up at him.  "Don't tell fibs; you know mother's
+borrowing money from you, and it's hateful!"
+
+A desire to lie roundly, a sense of the cheque in his pocket, a
+feeling of injustice, the emotion of pity, and a confused and black
+astonishment about Ventnor, caused Bob Pillin to stammer:
+
+'Well, I'm d---d!" and to miss the look which Phyllis gave him
+through her lashes--a look saying:
+
+"Ah! that's better!"
+
+"I am d---d!  Look here!  D'you mean to say that Ventnor came here
+about my lending money?  I never said a word to him---"
+
+"There you see--you are lending!"
+
+He clutched his hair.
+
+"We've got to have this out," he added.
+
+"Not by the roots!  Oh! you do look funny.  I've never seen you with
+your hair untidy.  Oh! oh!"
+
+Bob Pillin rose and paced the room.  In the midst of his emotion he
+could not help seeing himself sidelong in the mirror; and on pretext
+of holding his head in both his hands, tried earnestly to restore his
+hair.  Then coming to a halt he said:
+
+"Suppose I am lending money to your mother, what does it matter?
+It's only till quarter-day.  Anybody might want money."
+
+Phyllis did not raise her face.
+
+"Why are you lending it?"
+
+"Because--because--why shouldn't I?"  and diving suddenly, he seized
+her hands.
+
+She wrenched them free; and with the emotion of despair, Bob Pillin
+took out the envelope.
+
+"If you like," he said, "I'll tear this up.  I don't want to lend it,
+if you don't want me to; but I thought--I thought--"  It was for her
+alone he had been going to lend this money!
+
+Phyllis murmured through her hair:
+
+"Yes!  You thought that I--that's what's so hateful!"
+
+Apprehension pierced his mind.
+
+"Oh!  I never--I swear I never--"
+
+"Yes, you did; you thought I wanted you to lend it."
+
+She jumped up, and brushed past him into the window.
+
+So she thought she was being used as a decoy!  That was awful--
+especially since it was true.  He knew well enough that Mrs. Larne
+was working his admiration for her daughter for all that it was
+worth.  And he said with simple fervour:
+
+"What rot!"  It produced no effect, and at his wits' end, he almost
+shouted: "Look, Phyllis!  If you don't want me to--here goes!"
+Phyllis turned.  Tearing the envelope across he threw the bits into
+the fire.  "There it is," he said.
+
+Her eyes grew round; she said in an awed voice: "Oh!"
+
+In a sort of agony of honesty he said:
+
+"It was only a cheque.  Now you've got your way."
+
+Staring at the fire she answered slowly:
+
+"I expect you'd better go before mother comes.
+
+Bob Pillin's mouth fell afar; he secretly agreed, but the idea of
+sacrificing a moment alone with her was intolerable, and he said
+hardily:
+
+"No, I shall stick it!"
+
+Phyllis sneezed.
+
+"My hair isn't a bit dry," and she sat down on the fender with her
+back to the fire.
+
+A certain spirituality had come into Bob Pillin's face.  If only he
+could get that wheeze off: "Phyllis is my only joy!" or even:
+"Phyllis--do you--won't you--mayn't I?"  But nothing came--nothing.
+
+And suddenly she said:
+
+"Oh! don't breathe so loud; it's awful!"
+
+"Breathe?  I wasn't!"
+
+"You were; just like Carmen when she's dreaming."
+
+He had walked three steps towards the door, before he thought: 'What
+does it matter?  I can stand anything from her; and walked the three
+steps back again.
+
+She said softly:
+
+"Poor young man!"
+
+He answered gloomily:
+
+"I suppose you realise that this may be the last time you'll see me?"
+
+"Why?  I thought you were going to take us to the theatre."
+
+"I don't know whether your mother will--after---"
+
+Phyllis gave a little clear laugh.
+
+"You don't know mother.  Nothing makes any difference to her."
+
+And Bob Pillin muttered:
+
+"I see."  He did not, but it was of no consequence.  Then the thought
+of Ventnor again ousted all others.  What on earth-how on earth!  He
+searched his mind for what he could possibly have said the other
+night.  Surely he had not asked him to do anything; certainly not
+given him their address.  There was something very odd about it that
+had jolly well got to be cleared up!  And he said:
+
+"Are you sure the name of that Johnny who came here yesterday was
+Ventnor?"
+
+Phyllis nodded.
+
+"And he was short, and had whiskers?"
+
+"Yes; red, and red eyes."
+
+He murmured reluctantly:
+
+"It must be him.  Jolly good cheek; I simply can't understand.  I
+shall go and see him.  How on earth did he know your address?"
+
+"I expect you gave it him."
+
+"I did not.  I won't have you thinking me a squirt."
+
+Phyllis jumped up.  "Oh!  Lawks!  Here's mother!"  Mrs. Larne was
+coming up the garden.  Bob Pillin made for the door.  "Good-bye," he
+said; "I'm going."  But Mrs. Larne was already in the hall.
+Enveloping him in fur and her rich personality, she drew him with her
+into the drawing-room, where the back window was open and Phyllis
+gone.
+
+"I hope," she said, "those naughty children have been making you
+comfortable.  That nice lawyer of yours came yesterday.  He seemed
+quite satisfied."
+
+Very red above his collar, Bob Pillin stammered:
+
+"I never told him to; he isn't my lawyer.  I don't know what it
+means."
+
+Mrs. Larne smiled.  "My dear boy, it's all right.  You needn't be so
+squeamish.  I want it to be quite on a business footing."
+
+Restraining a fearful inclination to blurt out: "It's not going to be
+on any footing!"  Bob Pillin mumbled: "I must go; I'm late."
+
+"And when will you be able---?"
+
+"Oh!  I'll--I'll send--I'll write.  Good-bye!"  And suddenly he found
+that Mrs. Larne had him by the lapel of his coat.  The scent of
+violets and fur was overpowering, and the thought flashed through
+him: 'I believe she only wanted to take money off old Joseph in the
+Bible.  I can't leave my coat in her hands!  What shall I do?'
+
+Mrs. Larne was murmuring:
+
+"It would be se sweet of you if you could manage it today"; and her
+hand slid over his chest.  "Oh!  You have brought your cheque-book--
+what a nice boy!"
+
+Bob Pillin took it out in desperation, and, sitting down at the
+bureau, wrote a cheque similar to that which he had torn and burned.
+A warm kiss lighted on his eyebrow, his head was pressed for a moment
+to a furry bosom; a hand took the cheque; a voice said: "How
+delightful!"  and a sigh immersed him in a bath of perfume.  Backing
+to the door, he gasped:
+
+"Don't mention it; and--and don't tell Phyllis, please.  Good-bye!"
+
+Once through the garden gate, he thought: 'By gum!  I've done it now.
+That Phyllis should know about it at all!  That beast Ventnor!'
+
+His face grew almost grim.  He would go and see what that meant
+anyway!
+
+
+
+
+3
+
+Mr. Ventnor had not left his office when his young friend's card was
+brought to him.  Tempted for a moment to deny his own presence, he
+thought: 'No!  What's the good?  Bound to see him some time!'  If he
+had not exactly courage, he had that peculiar blend of self-
+confidence and insensibility which must needs distinguish those who
+follow the law; nor did he ever forget that he was in the right.
+
+"Show him in!"  he said.
+
+He would be quite bland, but young Pillin might whistle for an
+explanation; he was still tormented, too, by the memory of rich
+curves and moving lips, and the possibilities of better
+acquaintanceship.
+
+While shaking the young man's hand his quick and fulvous eye detected
+at once the discomposure behind that mask of cheek and collar, and
+relapsing into one of those swivel chairs which give one an advantage
+over men more statically seated, he said:
+
+"You look pretty bobbish.  Anything I can do for you?"
+
+Bob Pillin, in the fixed chair of the consultor, nursed his bowler on
+his knee.
+
+"Well, yes, there is.  I've just been to see Mrs. Larne."
+
+Mr. Ventnor did not flinch.
+
+"Ah!  Nice woman; pretty daughter, too!"  And into those words he put
+a certain meaning.  He never waited to be bullied.  Bob Pillin felt
+the pressure of his blood increasing.
+
+"Look here, Ventnor," he said, "I want an explanation."
+
+"What of?"
+
+"Why, of your going there, and using my name, and God knows what."
+
+Mr. Ventnor gave his chair two little twiddles before he said
+
+"Well, you won't get it."
+
+Bob Pillin remained for a moment taken aback; then he muttered
+resolutely:
+
+"It's not the conduct of a gentleman."
+
+Every man has his illusions, and no man likes them disturbed.  The
+gingery tint underlying Mr. Ventnor's colouring overlaid it; even the
+whites of his eyes grew red."
+
+"Oh!"  he said; "indeed!  You mind your own business, will you?"
+
+"It is my business--very much so.  You made use of my name, and I
+don't choose---"
+
+"The devil you don't!  Now, I tell you what---"
+
+"Mr. Ventnor leaned forward--"you'd better hold your tongue, and not
+exasperate me.  I'm a good-tempered man, but I won't stand your
+impudence."
+
+Clenching his bowler hat, and only kept in his seat by that sense of
+something behind, Bob Pillin ejaculated:
+
+"Impudence!  That's good--after what you did!  Look here, why did
+you?  It's so extraordinary!"
+
+Mr. Ventnor answered:
+
+"Oh! is it?  You wait a bit, my friend!"
+
+Still more moved by the mystery of this affair, Bob Pillin could only
+mutter:
+
+"I never gave you their address; we were only talking about old
+Heythorp."
+
+
+And at the smile which spread between Mr. Ventnor's whiskers, he
+jumped up, crying:
+
+"It's not the thing, and you're not going to put me off.  I insist on
+an explanation."
+
+Mr. Ventnor leaned back, crossing his stout legs, joining the tips of
+his thick fingers.  In this attitude he was always self-possessed.
+
+"You do--do you?"
+
+"Yes.  You must have had some reason.'
+
+Mr. Ventnor gazed up at him.
+
+"I'll give you a piece of advice, young cock, and charge you nothing
+for it, too: Ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies.  And
+here's another: Go away before you forget yourself again."
+
+The natural stolidity of Bob Pilings face was only just proof against
+this speech.  He said thickly:
+
+"If you go there again and use my name, I'll Well, it's lucky for you
+you're not my age.  Anyway I'll relieve you of my acquaintanceship in
+future.  Good-evening!"  and he went to the door.  Mr. Ventnor had
+risen.
+
+"Very well," he said loudly.  "Good riddance!  You wait and see which
+boot the leg is on!"
+
+But Bob Pillin was gone, leaving the lawyer with a very red face, a
+very angry heart, and a vague sense of disorder in his speech.  Not
+only Bob Pillin, but his tender aspirations had all left him; he no
+longer dallied with the memory of Mrs. Larne, but like a man and a
+Briton thought only of how to get his own back, and punish evildoers.
+The atrocious words of his young friend, "It's not the conduct of a
+gentleman," festered in the heart of one who was made gentle not
+merely by nature but by Act of Parliament, and he registered a solemn
+vow to wipe the insult out, if not with blood, with verjuice.  It was
+his duty, and they should d---d well see him do it!
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+Sylvanus Heythorp seldom went to bed before one or rose before
+eleven.  The latter habit alone kept his valet from handing in the
+resignation which the former habit prompted almost every night.
+
+Propped on his pillows in a crimson dressing-gown, and freshly
+shaved, he looked more Roman than he ever did, except in his bath.
+Having disposed of coffee, he was wont to read his letters, and The
+Morning Post, for he had always been a Tory, and could not stomach
+paying a halfpenny for his news.  Not that there were many letters--
+when a man has reached the age of eighty, who should write to him,
+except to ask for money?
+
+It was Valentine's Day.  Through his bedroom window he could see the
+trees of the park, where the birds were in song, though he could not
+hear them.  He had never been interested in Nature--full-blooded men
+with short necks seldom are.
+
+This morning indeed there were two letters, and he opened that which
+smelt of something.  Inside was a thing like a Christmas card, save
+that the naked babe had in his hands a bow and arrow, and words
+coming out of his mouth: "To be your Valentine."  There was also a
+little pink note with one blue forget-me-not printed at the top.  It
+ran:
+
+"DEAREST GUARDY,-I'm sorry this is such a mangy little valentine; I
+couldn't go out to get it because I've got a beastly cold, so I asked
+Jock, and the pig bought this.  The satin is simply scrumptious.  If
+you don't come and see me in it some time soon, I shall come and show
+it to you.  I wish I had a moustache, because my top lip feels just
+like a matchbox, but it's rather ripping having breakfast in bed.
+Mr. Pillin's taking us to the theatre the day after to-morrow
+evening.  Isn't it nummy!  I'm going to have rum and honey for my
+cold.
+
+"Good-bye,
+"Your PHYLLIS."
+
+
+So this that quivered in his thick fingers, too insensitive to feel
+it, was a valentine for him!
+
+Forty years ago that young thing's grandmother had given him his
+last.  It made him out a very old chap!  Forty years ago!  Had that
+been himself living then?  And himself, who, as a youth came on the
+town in 'forty-five?  Not a thought, not a feeling the same!  They
+said you changed your body every seven years.  The mind with it, too,
+perhaps!  Well, he had come to the last of his bodies, now!  And that
+holy woman had been urging him to take it to Bath, with her face as
+long as a tea-tray, and some gammon from that doctor of his.  Too
+full a habit--dock his port--no alcohol--might go off in a coma any
+night!  Knock off not he!  Rather die any day than turn tee-totaller!
+When a man had nothing left in life except his dinner, his bottle,
+his cigar, and the dreams they gave him--these doctors forsooth must
+want to cut them off!  No, no!  Carpe diem! while you lived, get
+something out of it.  And now that he had made all the provision he
+could for those youngsters, his life was no good to any one but
+himself; and the sooner he went off the better, if he ceased to enjoy
+what there was left, or lost the power to say: "I'll do this and
+that, and you be jiggered!"  Keep a stiff lip until you crashed, and
+then go clean!  He sounded the bell beside him twice-for Molly, not
+his man.  And when the girl came in, and stood, pretty in her print
+frock, her fluffy over-fine dark hair escaping from under her cap, he
+gazed at her in silence.
+
+"Yes, sirr?"
+
+"Want to look at you, that's all."
+
+"Oh I an' I'm not tidy, sirr."
+
+"Never mind.  Had your valentine?"
+
+"No, sirr; who would send me one, then?"
+
+"Haven't you a young man?"
+
+"Well, I might.  But he's over in my country.
+
+"What d'you think of this?"
+
+He held out the little boy.
+
+The girl took the card and scrutinised it reverently; she said in a
+detached voice:
+
+"Indeed, an' ut's pretty, too."
+
+"Would you like it?"
+
+"Oh I if 'tis not taking ut from you."
+
+Old Heythorp shook his head, and pointed to the dressing-table.
+
+"Over there--you'll find a sovereign.  Little present for a good
+girl."
+
+She uttered a deep sigh.  "Oh!  sirr, 'tis too much; 'tis kingly."
+
+"Take it."
+
+She took it, and came back, her hands clasping the sovereign and the
+valentine, in an attitude as of prayer.
+
+The old man's gaze rested on her with satisfaction.
+
+"I like pretty faces--can't bear sour ones.  Tell Meller to get my
+bath ready."
+
+When she had gone he took up the other letter--some lawyer's writing,
+and opening it with the usual difficulty, read:
+
+"February 13, 1905.
+
+"SIR,--Certain facts having come to my knowledge, I deem it my duty
+to call a special meeting of the shareholders of 'The Island
+Navigation Coy.,' to consider circumstances in connection with the
+purchase of Mr. Joseph Pillin's fleet.  And I give you notice that at
+this meeting your conduct will be called in question.
+
+"I am, Sir,
+"Yours faithfully,
+
+"CHARLES VENTNOR.
+
+"SYLVANUS HEYTHORP, ESQ."
+
+
+Having read this missive, old Heythorp remained some minutes without
+stirring.  Ventnor!  That solicitor chap who had made himself
+unpleasant at the creditors' meetings!
+
+There are men whom a really bad bit of news at once stampedes out of
+all power of coherent thought and action, and men who at first simply
+do not take it in.  Old Heythorp took it in fast enough; coming from
+a lawyer it was about as nasty as it could be.  But, at once, with
+stoic wariness his old brain began casting round.  What did this
+fellow really know?  And what exactly could he do?  One thing was
+certain; even if he knew everything, he couldn't upset that
+settlement.  The youngsters were all right.  The old man grasped the
+fact that only his own position was at stake.  But this was enough in
+all conscience; a name which had been before the public fifty odd
+years--income, independence, more perhaps.  It would take little,
+seeing his age and feebleness, to make his Companies throw him over.
+But what had the fellow got hold of?  How decide whether or no to
+take notice; to let him do his worst, or try and get into touch with
+him?  And what was the fellow's motive?  He held ten shares!  That
+would never make a man take all this trouble, and over a purchase
+which was really first-rate business for the Company.  Yes!  His
+conscience was quite clean.  He had not betrayed his Company--on the
+contrary, had done it a good turn, got them four sound ships at a low
+price--against much opposition.  That he might have done the Company
+a better turn, and got the ships at fifty-four thousand, did not
+trouble him--the six thousand was a deuced sight better employed; and
+he had not pocketed a penny piece himself!  But the fellow's motive?
+Spite?  Looked like it.  Spite, because he had been disappointed of
+his money, and defied into the bargain!  H'm!  If that were so, he
+might still be got to blow cold again.  His eyes lighted on the pink
+note with the blue forget-me-not.  It marked as it were the high
+water mark of what was left to him of life; and this other letter in
+his hand-by Jove!  Low water mark!  And with a deep and rumbling sigh
+he thought: 'No, I'm not going to be beaten by this fellow.'
+
+"Your bath is ready, sir."
+
+Crumpling the two letters into the pocket of his dressing-gown, he
+said:
+
+"Help me up; and telephone to Mr. Farney to be good enough to come
+round." ....
+
+An hour later, when the secretary entered, his chairman was sitting
+by the fire perusing the articles of association.  And, waiting for
+him to look up, watching the articles shaking in that thick, feeble
+hand, the secretary had one of those moments of philosophy not too
+frequent with his kind.  Some said the only happy time of life was
+when you had no passions, nothing to hope and live for.  But did you
+really ever reach such a stage?  The old chairman, for instance,
+still had his passion for getting his own way, still had his
+prestige, and set a lot of store by it!  And he said:
+
+"Good morning, sir; I hope you're all right in this east wind.  The
+purchase is completed."
+
+"Best thing the company ever did.  Have you heard from a shareholder
+called Ventnor.  You know the man I mean?"
+
+"No, sir.  I haven't."
+
+"Well!  You may get a letter that'll make you open your eyes.  An
+impudent scoundrel!  Just write at my dictation."
+
+"February 14th, 1905.
+
+"CHARLES VENTNOR, Esq.
+
+"SIR,--I have your letter of yesterday's date, the contents of which
+I am at a loss to understand.  My solicitors will be instructed to
+take the necessary measures.
+
+'Phew What's all this about?' the secretary thought.
+
+"Yours truly...."
+
+"I'll sign."  And the shaky letters closed the page:
+
+"SYLVANUS HEYTHORP."
+
+
+"Post that as you go."
+
+"Anything else I can do for you, sir?"
+
+"Nothing, except to let me know if you hear from this fellow."
+
+When the secretary had gone the old man thought: 'So!  The ruffian
+hasn't called the meeting yet.  That'll bring him round here fast
+enough if it's his money he wants-blackmailing scoundrel!'
+
+"Mr. Pillin, sir; and will you wait lunch, or will you have it in the
+dining-room?"
+
+"In the dining-room."
+
+At sight of that death's-head of a fellow, old Heythorp felt a sort
+of pity.  He looked bad enough already--and this news would make him
+look worse.  Joe Pillin glanced round at the two closed doors.
+
+"How are you, Sylvanus ?  I'm very poorly."  He came closer, and
+lowered his voice: "Why did you get me to make that settlement?  I
+must have been mad.  I've had a man called Ventnor--I didn't like his
+manner.  He asked me if I knew a Mrs. Larne."
+
+"Ha!  What did you say?"
+
+"What could I say?  I don't know her.  But why did he ask?"
+
+"Smells a rat."
+
+Joe Pillin grasped the edge of the table with both hands.
+
+"Oh!"  he murmured.  "Oh!  don't say that!"
+
+Old Heythorp held out to him the crumpled letter.
+
+When he had read it Joe Pillin sat down abruptly before the fire.
+
+"Pull yourself together, Joe; they can't touch you, and they can't
+upset either the purchase or the settlement.  They can upset me,
+that's all."
+
+Joe Pillin answered, with trembling lips:
+
+"How you can sit there, and look the same as ever!  Are you sure they
+can't touch me?"
+
+Old Heyworth nodded grimly.
+
+"They talk of an Act, but they haven't passed it yet.  They might
+prove a breach of trust against me.  But I'll diddle them.  Keep your
+pecker up, and get off abroad."
+
+"Yes, yes.  I must.  I'm very bad.  I was going to-morrow.  But I
+don't know, I'm sure, with this hanging over me.  My son knowing her
+makes it worse.  He picks up with everybody.  He knows this man
+Ventnor too.  And I daren't say anything to Bob.  What are you
+thinking of, Sylvanus?  You look very funny!"
+
+Old Heythorp seemed to rouse himself from a sort of coma.
+
+"I want my lunch," he said.  "Will you stop and have some?"
+
+Joe Pillin stammered out:
+
+"Lunch! I don't know when I shall eat again.  What are you going to
+do, Sylvanus?"
+
+"Bluff the beggar out of it."
+
+"But suppose you can't?"
+
+"Buy him off.  He's one--of my creditors."
+
+Joe Pillin stared at him afresh.  "You always had such nerve," he
+said yearningly.  "Do you ever wake up between two and four?  I do--
+and everything's black."
+
+"Put a good stiff nightcap on, my boy, before going to bed."
+
+"Yes; I sometimes wish I was less temperate.  But I couldn't stand
+it.  I'm told your doctor forbids you alcohol."
+
+"He does.  That's why I drink it."
+
+Joe Pillin, brooding over the fire, said: "This meeting--d'you think
+they mean to have it?  D'you think this man really knows?  If my name
+gets into the newspapers--" but encountering his old friend's deep
+little eyes, he stopped.  "So you advise me to get off to-morrow,
+then?"
+
+Old Heythorp nodded.
+
+"Your lunch is served, sir."
+
+Joe Pillin started violently, and rose.
+
+"Well, good-bye, Sylvanus-good-bye!  I don't suppose I shall be back
+till the summer, if I ever come back!"  He sank his voice: "I shall
+rely on you.  You won't let them, will you?"
+
+Old Heythorp lifted his hand, and Joe Pillin put into that swollen
+shaking paw his pale and spindly fingers.  "I wish I had your pluck,"
+he said sadly.  "Good-bye, Sylvanus," and turning, he passed out.
+
+Old Heythorp thought: 'Poor shaky chap.  All to pieces at the first
+shot!'  And, going to his lunch, ate more heavily than usual.
+
+
+
+
+2
+
+Mr. Ventnor, on reaching his office and opening his letters, found,
+as he had anticipated, one from "that old rascal."  Its contents
+excited in him the need to know his own mind.  Fortunately this was
+not complicated by a sense of dignity--he only had to consider the
+position with an eye on not being made to look a fool.  The point was
+simply whether he set more store by his money than by his desire for-
+-er--Justice.  If not, he had merely to convene the special meeting,
+and lay before it the plain fact that Mr. Joseph Pillin, selling his
+ships for sixty thousand pounds, had just made a settlement of six
+thousand pounds on a lady whom he did not know, a daughter, ward, or
+what-not--of the purchasing company's chairman, who had said,
+moreover, at the general meeting, that he stood or fell by the
+transaction; he had merely to do this, and demand that an explanation
+be required from the old man of such a startling coincidence.
+Convinced that no explanation would hold water, he felt sure that his
+action would be at once followed by the collapse, if nothing more, of
+that old image, and the infliction of a nasty slur on old Pillin and
+his hopeful son.  On the other hand, three hundred pounds was money;
+and, if old Heythorp were to say to him: "What do you want to make
+this fuss for--here's what I owe you!"  could a man of business and
+the world let his sense of justice--however he might itch to have it
+satisfied--stand in the way of what was after all also his sense of
+Justice?--for this money had been owing to him for the deuce of along
+time.  In this dilemma, the words:
+
+"My solicitors will be instructed" were of notable service in helping
+him to form a decision, for he had a certain dislike of other
+solicitors, and an intimate knowledge of the law of libel and
+slander; if by any remote chance there should be a slip between the
+cup and the lip, Charles Ventnor might be in the soup--a position
+which he deprecated both by nature and profession.  High thinking,
+therefore, decided him at last to answer thus:
+
+"February 19th, 1905.
+
+"SIR,--I have received your note.  I think it may be fair, before
+taking further steps in this matter, to ask you for a personal
+explanation of the circumstances to which I alluded.  I therefore
+propose with your permission to call on you at your private residence
+at five o'clock to-morrow afternoon.
+
+"Yours faithfully,
+
+"CHARLES VENTNOR.
+
+"SYLVANUS HEYTHORP, Esq."
+
+
+Having sent this missive, and arranged in his mind the damning, if
+circumstantial, evidence he had accumulated, he awaited the hour with
+confidence, for his nature was not lacking in the cock-surety of a
+Briton.  All the same, he dressed himself particularly well that
+morning, putting on a blue and white striped waistcoat which, with a
+cream-coloured tie, set off his fulvous whiskers and full blue eyes;
+and he lunched, if anything, more fully than his wont, eating a
+stronger cheese and taking a glass of special Club ale.  He took care
+to be late, too, to show the old fellow that his coming at all was in
+the nature of an act of grace.  A strong scent of hyacinths greeted
+him in the hall; and Mr. Ventnor, who was an amateur of flowers,
+stopped to put his nose into a fine bloom and think uncontrollably of
+Mrs. Larne.  Pity!  The things one had to give up in life--fine
+women--one thing and another.  Pity!  The thought inspired in him a
+timely anger; and he followed the servant, intending to stand no
+nonsense from this paralytic old rascal.
+
+The room he entered was lighted by a bright fire, and a single
+electric lamp with an orange shade on a table covered by a black
+satin cloth.  There were heavily gleaming oil paintings on the walls,
+a heavy old brass chandelier without candles, heavy dark red
+curtains, and an indefinable scent of burnt acorns, coffee, cigars,
+and old man.  He became conscious of a candescent spot on the far
+side of the hearth, where the light fell on old Heythorp's thick
+white hair.
+
+"Mr. Ventnor, sir."
+
+The candescent spot moved.  A voice said: "Sit down."
+
+Mr. Ventnor sat in an armchair on the opposite side of the fire; and,
+finding a kind of somnolence creeping over him, pinched himself.  He
+wanted all his wits about him.
+
+The old man was speaking in that extinct voice of his, and Mr.
+Ventnor said rather pettishly:
+
+"Beg pardon, I don't get you."
+
+Old Heythorp's voice swelled with sudden force:
+
+"Your letters are Greek to me."
+
+"Oh!  indeed, I think we can soon make them into plain English!"
+
+"Sooner the better."
+
+Mr. Ventnor passed through a moment of indecision.  Should he lay his
+cards on the table?  It was not his habit, and the proceeding was
+sometimes attended with risk.  The knowledge, however, that he could
+always take them up again, seeing there was no third person here to
+testify that he had laid them down, decided him, and he said:
+
+"Well, Mr. Heythorp, the long and short of the matter is this: Our
+friend Mr. Pillin paid you a commission of ten per cent. on the sale
+of his ships.  Oh! yes.  He settled the money, not on you, but on
+your relative Mrs. Larne and her children.  This, as you know, is a
+breach of trust on your part.
+
+The old man's voice: "Where did you get hold of that cock-and-bull
+story?"  brought him to his feet before the fire.
+
+"It won't do, Mr. Heythorp.  My witnesses are Mr. Pillin, Mrs. Larne,
+and Mr. Scriven."
+
+"What have you come here for, then--blackmail?"
+
+Mr. Ventnor straightened his waistcoat; a rush of conscious virtue
+had dyed his face.
+
+"Oh! you take that tone," he said, "do you?  You think you can ride
+roughshod over everything?  Well, you're very much mistaken.  I
+advise you to keep a civil tongue and consider your position, or I'll
+make a beggar of you.  I'm not sure this isn't a case for a
+prosecution!"
+
+"Gammon!"
+
+The choler in Charles Ventnor kept him silent for a moment; then he
+burst out:
+
+"Neither gammon nor spinach.  You owe me three hundred pounds, you've
+owed it me for years, and you have the impudence to take this
+attitude with me, have you?  Now, I never bluster; I say what I mean.
+You just listen to me.  Either you pay me what you owe me at once, or
+I call this meeting and make what I know public.  You'll very soon
+find out where you are.  And a good thing, too, for a more
+unscrupulous--unscrupulous---" he paused for breath.
+
+Occupied with his own emotion, he had not observed the change in old
+Heythorp's face.  The imperial on that lower lip was bristling, the
+crimson of those cheeks had spread to the roots of his white hair.
+He grasped the arms of his chair, trying to rise; his swollen hands
+trembled; a little saliva escaped one corner of his lips.  And the
+words came out as if shaken by his teeth:
+
+"So-so-you-you bully me!"
+
+Conscious that the interview had suddenly passed from the phase of
+negotiation, Mr. Ventnor looked hard at his opponent.  He saw nothing
+but a decrepit, passionate, crimson-faced old man at bay, and all the
+instincts of one with everything on his side boiled up in him.  The
+miserable old turkey-cock--the apoplectic image!  And he said:
+
+"And you'll do no good for yourself by getting into a passion.  At
+your age, and in your condition, I recommend a little prudence.  Now
+just take my terms quietly, or you know what'll happen.  I'm not to
+be intimidated by any of your airs."  And seeing that the old man's
+rage was such that he simply could not speak, he took the opportunity
+of going on: "I don't care two straws which you do--I'm out to show
+you who's master.  If you think in your dotage you can domineer any
+longer--well, you'll find two can play at that game.  Come, now,
+which are you going to do?"
+
+The old man had sunk back in his chair, and only his little deep-blue
+eyes seemed living.  Then he moved one hand, and Mr. Ventnor saw that
+he was fumbling to reach the button of an electric bell at the end of
+a cord.  'I'll show him,' he thought, and stepping forward, he put it
+out of reach.
+
+Thus frustrated, the old man remained-motionless, staring up.  The
+word "blackmail" resumed its buzzing in Mr. Ventnor's ears.  The
+impudence the consummate impudence of it from this fraudulent old
+ruffian with one foot in bankruptcy and one foot in the grave, if not
+in the dock.
+
+"Yes," he said, "it's never too late to learn; and for once you've
+come up against someone a leetle bit too much for you.  Haven't you
+now?  You'd better cry 'Peccavi.'
+
+Then, in the deathly silence of the room, the moral force of his
+position, and the collapse as it seemed of his opponent, awakening a
+faint compunction, he took a turn over the Turkey carpet to readjust
+his mind.
+
+"You're an old man, and I don't want to be too hard on you.  I'm only
+showing you that you can't play fast and loose as if you were God
+Almighty any longer.  You've had your own way too many years.  And
+now you can't have it, see!"  Then, as the old man again moved
+forward in his chair, he added: "Now, don't get into a passion again;
+calm yourself, because I warn you--this is your last chance.  I'm a
+man of my word; and what I say, I do."
+
+By a violent and unsuspected effort the old man jerked himself up and
+reached the bell.  Mr. Ventnor heard it ring, and said sharply:
+
+"Mind you, it's nothing to me which you do.  I came for your own
+good.  Please yourself.  Well?"
+
+He was answered by the click of the door and the old man's husky
+voice:
+
+"Show this hound out!  And then come back!"
+
+Mr. Ventnor had presence of mind enough not to shake his fist.
+Muttering: "Very well, Mr. Heythorp!  Ah!  Very well!" he moved with
+dignity to the door.  The careful shepherding of the servant renewed
+the fire of his anger.  Hound!  He had been called a hound
+
+
+
+
+3
+
+After seeing Mr. Ventnor off the premises the man Meller returned to
+his master, whose face looked very odd--"all patchy-like," as he put
+it in the servants' hall, as though the blood driven to his head had
+mottled for good the snowy whiteness of the forehead.  He received
+the unexpected order:
+
+"Get me a hot bath ready, and put some pine stuff in it."
+
+When the old man was seated there, the valet asked:
+
+"How long shall I give you, sir?"
+
+"Twenty minutes."
+
+"Very good, sir."
+
+Lying in that steaming brown fragrant liquid, old Heythorp heaved a
+stertorous sigh.  By losing his temper with that ill-conditioned cur
+he had cooked his goose.  It was done to a turn; and he was a ruined
+man.  If only--oh! if only he could have seized the fellow by the
+neck and pitched him out of the room!  To have lived to be so spoken
+to; to have been unable to lift hand or foot, hardly even his voice--
+he would sooner have been dead!  Yes--sooner have been dead!  A dumb
+and measureless commotion was still at work in the recesses of that
+thick old body, silver-brown in the dark water, whose steam he drew
+deep into his wheezing lungs, as though for spiritual relief.  To be
+beaten by a cur like that!  To have that common cad of a pettifogging
+lawyer drag him down and kick him about; tumble a name which had
+stood high, in the dust!  The fellow had the power to make him a
+byword and a beggar!  It was incredible!  But it was a fact.  And to-
+morrow he would begin to do it--perhaps had begun already.  His tree
+had come down with a crash!  Eighty years-eighty good years!  He
+regretted none of them-regretted nothing; least of all this breach of
+trust which had provided for his grandchildren--one of the best
+things he had ever done.  The fellow was a cowardly hound, too!  The
+way he had snatched the bell-pull out of his reach-despicable cur!
+And a chap like that was to put "paid" to the account of Sylvanus
+Heythorp, to "scratch" him out of life--so near the end of
+everything, the very end!  His hand raised above the surface fell
+back on his stomach through the dark water, and a bubble or two rose.
+Not so fast--not so fast!  He had but to slip down a foot, let the
+water close over his head, and "Good-bye" to Master Ventnor's triumph
+Dead men could not be kicked off the Boards of Companies.  Dead men
+could not be beggared, deprived of their independence.  He smiled and
+stirred a little in the bath till the water reached the white hairs
+on his lower lip.  It smelt nice!  And he took a long sniff: He had
+had a good life, a good life!  And with the thought that he had it in
+his power at any moment to put Master Ventnor's nose out of joint--to
+beat the beggar after all, a sense of assuagement and well-being
+crept over him.  His blood ran more evenly again.  He closed his
+eyes.  They talked about an after-life--people like that holy woman.
+Gammon!  You went to sleep--a long sleep; no dreams.  A nap after
+dinner!  Dinner!  His tongue sought his palate!  Yes! he could eat a
+good dinner!  That dog hadn't put him off his stroke!  The best
+dinner he had ever eaten was the one he gave to Jack Herring,
+Chichester, Thornworthy, Nick Treffry and Jolyon Forsyte at Pole's.
+Good Lord!  In 'sixty--yes--'sixty-five?  Just before he fell in love
+with Alice Larne--ten years before he came to Liverpool.  That was a
+dinner!  Cost twenty-four pounds for the six of them--and Forsyte an
+absurdly moderate fellow.  Only Nick Treff'ry and himself had been
+three-bottle men!  Dead!  Every jack man of them.  And suddenly he
+thought: 'My name's a good one--I was never down before--never
+beaten!'
+
+A voice above the steam said:
+
+"The twenty minutes is up, sir."
+
+"All right; I'll get out.  Evening clothes."
+
+And Meller, taking out dress suit and shirt, thought: 'Now, what does
+the old bloomer want dressin' up again for; why can't he go to bed
+and have his dinner there?  When a man's like a baby, the cradle's
+the place for him.'....
+
+An hour later, at the scene of his encounter with Mr. Ventnor, where
+the table was already laid for dinner, old Heythorp stood and gazed.
+The curtains had been drawn back, the window thrown open to air the
+room, and he could see out there the shapes of the dark trees and a
+sky grape-coloured, in the mild, moist night.  It smelt good.  A
+sensuous feeling stirred in him, warm from his bath, clothed from
+head to foot in fresh garments.  Deuce of a time since he had dined
+in full fig!  He would have liked a woman dining opposite--but not
+the holy woman; no, by George!--would have liked to see light falling
+on a woman's shoulders once again, and a pair of bright eyes!  He
+crossed, snail-like, towards the fire.  There that bullying fellow
+had stood with his back to it--confound his impudence!--as if the
+place belonged to him.  And suddenly he had a vision of his three
+secretaries' faces--especially young Farney's as they would look,
+when the pack got him by the throat and pulled him down.  His co-
+directors, too! Old Heythorp!  How are the mighty fallen!  And that
+hound jubilant!
+
+His valet passed across the room to shut the window and draw the
+curtains.  This chap too!  The day he could no longer pay his wages,
+and had lost the power to say "Shan't want your services any more"--
+when he could no longer even pay his doctor for doing his best to
+kill him off!  Power, interest, independence, all--gone!  To be
+dressed and undressed, given pap, like a baby in arms, served as they
+chose to serve him, and wished out of the way--broken, dishonoured!
+
+By money alone an old man had his being!  Meat, drink, movement,
+breath!  When all his money was gone the holy woman would let him
+know it fast enough.  They would all let him know it; or if they
+didn't, it would be out of pity!  He had never been pitied yet--thank
+God!  And he said:
+
+"Get me up a bottle of Perrier Jouet.  What's the menu?"
+
+"Germane soup, sir; filly de sole; sweetbread; cutlet soubees, rum
+souffly."
+
+"Tell her to give me a hors d'oeuvre, and put on a savoury."
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+When the man had gone, he thought: 'I should have liked an oyster--
+too late now!' and going over to his bureau, he fumblingly pulled out
+the top drawer.  There was little in it--Just a few papers, business
+papers on his Companies, and a schedule of his debts; not even a copy
+of his will--he had not made one, nothing to leave!  Letters he had
+never kept.  Half a dozen bills, a few receipts, and the little pink
+note with the blue forget-me-not.  That was the lot!  An old tree
+gives up bearing leaves, and its roots dry up, before it comes down
+in a wind; an old man's world slowly falls away from him till he
+stands alone in the night.  Looking at the pink note, he thought:
+'Suppose I'd married Alice--a man never had a better mistress!'  He
+fumbled the drawer to; but still he strayed feebly about the room,
+with a curious shrinking from sitting down, legacy from the quarter
+of an hour he had been compelled to sit while that hound worried at
+his throat.  He was opposite one of the pictures now.  It gleamed,
+dark and oily, limning a Scots Grey who had mounted a wounded Russian
+on his horse, and was bringing him back prisoner from the Balaclava
+charge.  A very old friend--bought in 'fifty-nine.  It had hung in
+his chambers in the Albany--hung with him ever since.  With whom
+would it hang when he was gone?  For that holy woman would scrap it,
+to a certainty, and stick up some Crucifixion or other, some new-
+fangled high art thing!  She could even do that now if she liked--for
+she owned it, owned every mortal stick in the room, to the very glass
+he would drink his champagne from; all made over under the settlement
+fifteen years ago, before his last big gamble went wrong.  "De
+l'audace, toujours de l'audace!"  The gamble which had brought him
+down till his throat at last was at the mercy of a bullying hound.
+The pitcher and the well!  At the mercy---!  The sound of a popping
+cork dragged him from reverie.  He moved to his seat, back to the
+window, and sat down to his dinner.  By George!  They had got him an
+oyster!  And he said:
+
+"I've forgotten my teeth!"
+
+While the man was gone for them, he swallowed the oysters,
+methodically touching them one by one with cayenne, Chili vinegar,
+and lemon.  Ummm!  Not quite what they used to be at Pimm's in the
+best days, but not bad--not bad!  Then seeing the little blue bowl
+lying before him, he looked up and said:
+
+"My compliments to cook on the oysters.  Give me the champagne."  And
+he lifted his trembling teeth.  Thank God, he could still put 'em in
+for himself!  The creaming goldenish fluid from the napkined bottle
+slowly reached the brim of his glass, which had a hollow stem;
+raising it to his lips, very red between the white hairs above and
+below, he drank with a gurgling noise, and put the glass down-empty.
+Nectar!  And just cold enough!
+
+"I frapped it the least bit, sir."
+
+"Quite right.  What's that smell of flowers?"
+
+"It's from those 'yacinths on the sideboard, sir.  They come from
+Mrs. Larne, this afternoon."
+
+"Put 'em on the table.  Where's my daughter?"
+
+"She's had dinner, sir; goin' to a ball, I think."
+
+"A ball!"
+
+"Charity ball, I fancy, sir."
+
+"Ummm!  Give me a touch of the old sherry with the soup."
+
+"Yes, sir.  I shall have to open a bottle:"
+
+"Very well, then, do!"
+
+On his way to the cellar the man confided to Molly, who was carrying
+the soup:
+
+"The Gov'nor's going it to-night!  What he'll be like tomorrow I
+dunno."
+
+The girl answered softly:
+
+"Poor old man, let um have his pleasure."  And, in the hall, with the
+soup tureen against her bosom, she hummed above the steam, and
+thought of the ribbons on her new chemises, bought out of the
+sovereign he had given her.
+
+And old Heythorp, digesting his osyters, snuffed the scent of the
+hyacinths, and thought of the St. Germain, his favourite soup.  It
+would n't be first-rate, at this time of year--should be made with
+little young home-grown peas.  Paris was the place for it.  Ah!  The
+French were the fellows for eating, and--looking things in the face!
+Not hypocrites--not ashamed of their reason or their senses!
+
+The soup came in.  He sipped it, bending forward as far as he could,
+his napkin tucked in over his shirt-front like a bib.  He got the
+bouquet of that sherry to a T--his sense of smell was very keen to-
+night; rare old stuff it was--more than a year since he had tasted
+it--but no one drank sherry nowadays, hadn't the constitution for it!
+The fish came up, and went down; and with the sweetbread he took his
+second glass of champagne.  Always the best, that second glass--the
+stomach well warmed, and the palate not yet dulled.  Umm!  So that
+fellow thought he had him beaten, did he?  And he said suddenly:
+
+"The fur coat in the wardrobe, I've no use for it.  You can take it
+away to-night."
+
+With tempered gratitude the valet answered:
+
+"Thank you, sir; much obliged, I'm sure."  So the old buffer had
+found out there was moth in it!
+
+"Have I worried you much?"
+
+"No, sir; not at all, sir--that is, no more than reason."
+
+"Afraid I have.  Very sorry--can't help it.  You'll find that, when
+you get like me."
+
+"Yes, sir; I've always admired your pluck, sir.
+
+"Um!  Very good of you to say so."
+
+"Always think of you keepin' the flag flying', sir."
+
+Old Heythorp bent his body from the waist.
+
+"Much obliged to you."
+
+"Not at all, sir.  Cook's done a little spinach in cream with the
+soubees."
+
+"Ah!  Tell her from me it's a capital dinner, so far."
+
+"Thank you, sir."
+
+Alone again, old Heythorp sat unmoving, his brain just narcotically
+touched.  "The flag flyin'--the flag flyin'!"  He raised his glass
+and sucked.  He had an appetite now, and finished the three cutlets,
+and all the sauce and spinach.  Pity!  he could have managed a snipe
+fresh shot!  A desire to delay, to lengthen dinner, was strong upon
+him; there were but the souffle' and the savoury to come.  He would
+have enjoyed, too, someone to talk to.  He had always been fond of
+good company--been good company himself, or so they said--not that he
+had had a chance of late.  Even at the Boards they avoided talking to
+him, he had noticed for a long time.  Well!  that wouldn't trouble
+him again--he had sat through his last Board, no doubt.  They
+shouldn't kick him off, though; he wouldn't give them that pleasure--
+had seen the beggars hankering after his chairman's shoes too long.
+The souffle was before him now, and lifting his glass, he said:
+
+"Fill up."
+
+"These are the special glasses, sir; only four to the bottle."
+
+"Fill up."
+
+The servant filled, screwing up his mouth.
+
+Old Heythorp drank, and put the glass down empty with a sigh.  He had
+been ,faithful to his principles, finished the bottle before touching
+the sweet--a good bottle--of a good brand!  And now for the souffle!
+Delicious, flipped down with the old sherry!  So that holy woman was
+going to a ball, was she!  How deuced funny!  Who would dance with a
+dry stick like that, all eaten up with a piety which was just sexual
+disappointment?  Ah! yes, lots of women like that--had often noticed
+'em--pitied 'em too, until you had to do with them and they made you
+as unhappy as themselves, and were tyrants into the bargain.  And he
+asked:
+
+"What's the savoury?"
+
+"Cheese remmykin, sir."
+
+His favourite.
+
+"I'll have my port with it--the 'sixty-eight."  The man stood gazing
+with evident stupefaction.  He had not expected this.  The old man's
+face was very flushed, but that might be the bath.  He said feebly:
+
+"Are you sure you ought, sir?"
+
+"No, but I'm going to."
+
+"Would you mind if I spoke to Miss Heythorp, Sir?"
+
+"If you do, you can leave my service."
+
+"Well, Sir, I don't accept the responsibility."
+
+"Who asked you to?"
+
+"No, Sir...."
+
+"Well, get it, then; and don't be an ass."
+
+"Yes, Sir."  If the old man were not humoured he would have a fit,
+perhaps!
+
+And the old man sat quietly staring at the hyacinths.  He felt happy,
+his whole being lined and warmed and drowsed--and there was more to
+come!  What had the holy folk to give you compared with the comfort
+of a good dinner?  Could they make you dream, and see life rosy for a
+little?  No, they could only give you promissory notes which never
+would be cashed.  A man had nothing but his pluck--they only tried to
+undermine it, and make him squeal for help.  He could see his
+precious doctor throwing up his hands: "Port after a bottle of
+champagne--you'll die of it!"  And a very good death too--none
+better.  A sound broke the silence of the closed-up room.  Music?
+His daughter playing the piano overhead.  Singing too!  What a
+trickle of a voice!  Jenny Lind!  The Swedish nightingale--he had
+never missed the nights when she was singing--Jenny Lind!
+
+"It's very hot, sir.  Shall I take it out of the case?"
+
+Ah!  The ramequin!
+
+"Touch of butter, and the cayenne!"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+He ate it slowly, savouring each mouthful; had never tasted a better.
+With cheese--port!  He drank one glass, and said:
+
+"Help me to my chair."
+
+And settled there before the fire with decanter and glass and hand-
+bell on the little low table by his side, he murmured:
+
+"Bring coffee, and my cigar, in twenty minutes."
+
+To-night he would do justice to his wine, not smoking till he had
+finished.  As old Horace said:
+
+"Aequam memento rebus in arduis Servare mentem."
+
+And, raising his glass, he sipped slowly, spilling a drop or two,
+shutting his eyes.
+
+The faint silvery squealing of the holy woman in the room above, the
+scent of hyacinths, the drowse of the fire, on which a cedar log had
+just been laid, the feeling of the port soaking down into the
+crannies of his being, made up a momentary Paradise.  Then the music
+stopped; and no sound rose but the tiny groans of the log trying to
+resist the fire.  Dreamily he thought: 'Life wears you out--wears you
+out.  Logs on a fire!'  And he filled his glass again.  That fellow
+had been careless; there were dregs at the bottom of the decanter and
+he had got down to them!  Then, as the last drop from his tilted
+glass trickled into the white hairs on his chin, he heard the coffee
+tray put down, and taking his cigar he put it to his ear, rolling it
+in his thick fingers.  In prime condition!  And drawing a first
+whiff, he said:
+
+"Open that bottle of the old brandy in the sideboard."
+
+"Brandy, sir?  I really daren't, sir."
+
+"Are you my servant or not?"
+
+"Yes, sir, but---"
+
+A minute of silence, then the man went hastily to the sideboard, took
+out the bottle, and drew the cork.  The tide of crimson in the old
+man's face had frightened him.
+
+"Leave it there."
+
+The unfortunate valet placed the bottle on the little table.  'I'll
+have to tell her,' he thought; 'but if I take away the port decanter
+and the glass, it won't look so bad.' And, carrying them, he left the
+room.
+
+Slowly the old man drank his coffee, and the liqueur of brandy.  The
+whole gamut!  And watching his cigar-smoke wreathing blue in the
+orange glow, he smiled.  The last night to call his soul his own, the
+last night of his independence.  Send in his resignations to-morrow--
+not wait to be kicked off!  Not give that fellow a chance
+
+A voice which seemed to come from far off, said:
+
+"Father!  You're drinking brandy!  How can you--you know it's simple
+poison to you!"  A figure in white, scarcely actual, loomed up close.
+He took the bottle to fill up his liqueur glass, in defiance; but a
+hand in a long white glove, with another dangling from its wrist,
+pulled it away, shook it at him, and replaced it in the sideboard.
+And, just as when Mr. Ventnor stood there accusing him, a swelling
+and churning in his throat prevented him from speech; his lips moved,
+but only a little froth came forth.
+
+His daughter had approached again.  She stood quite close, in white
+satin, thin-faced, sallow, with eyebrows raised, and her dark hair
+frizzed--yes! frizzed--the holy woman!  With all his might he tried
+to say: 'So you bully me, do you--you bully me to-night!' but only
+the word "so" and a sort of whispering came forth.  He heard her
+speaking.  "It's no good your getting angry, Father.  After
+champagne--it's wicked!"  Then her form receded in a sort of rustling
+white mist; she was gone; and he heard the sputtering and growling of
+her taxi, bearing her to the ball.  So!  She tyrannised and bullied,
+even before she had him at her mercy, did she?  She should see!
+Anger had brightened his eyes; the room came clear again.  And slowly
+raising himself he sounded the bell twice, for the girl, not for that
+fellow Meller, who was in the plot.  As soon as her pretty black and
+white-aproned figure stood before him, he said:
+
+"Help me up."
+
+Twice her soft pulling was not enough, and he sank back.  The third
+time he struggled to his feet.
+
+"Thank you; that'll do."  Then, waiting till she was gone, he crossed
+the room, fumbled open the sideboard door, and took out the bottle.
+Reaching over the polished oak, he grasped a sherry glass; and
+holding the bottle with both hands, tipped the liquor into it, put it
+to his lips and sucked.  Drop by drop it passed over his palate mild,
+very old, old as himself, coloured like sunlight, fragrant.  To the
+last drop he drank it, then hugging the bottle to his shirt-front, he
+moved snail-like to his chair, and fell back into its depths.  For
+some minutes he remained there motionless, the bottle clasped to his
+chest, thinking: 'This is not the attitude of a gentleman.  I must
+put it down on the table-on the table;' but a thick cloud was between
+him and everything.  It was with his hands he would have to put the
+bottle on the table!  But he could not find his hands, could not feel
+them.  His mind see-sawed in strophe and antistrophe: "You can't
+move!"--"I will move!"  "You're beaten"--"I'm not beat."  "Give up"--
+"I won't."  That struggle to find his hands seemed to last for ever--
+he must find them!  After that--go down--all standing--after that!
+Everything round him was red.  Then the red cloud cleared just a
+little, and he could hear the clock--"tick-tick-tick"; a faint
+sensation spread from his shoulders down to his wrists, down his
+palms; and yes--he could feel the bottle!  He redoubled his struggle
+to get forward in his chair; to get forward and put the bottle down.
+It was not dignified like this!  One arm he could move now; but he
+could not grip the bottle nearly tight enough to put it down.
+Working his whole body forward, inch by inch, he shifted himself up
+in the chair till he could lean sideways, and the bottle, slipping
+down his chest, dropped slanting to the edge of the low stool-table.
+Then with all his might he screwed his trunk and arms an inch
+further, and the bottle stood.  He had done it--done it!  His lips
+twitched into a smile; his body sagged back to its old position.  He
+had done it!  And he closed his eyes ....
+
+At half-past eleven the girl Molly, opening the door, looked at him
+and said softly: "Sirr! there's some ladies, and a gentleman!"  But
+he did not answer.  And, still holding the door, she whispered out
+into the hall:
+
+"He's asleep, miss."
+
+A voice whispered back:
+
+"Oh!  Just let me go in, I won't wake him unless he does.  But I do
+want to show him my dress."
+
+The girl moved aside; and on tiptoe Phyllis passed in.  She walked to
+where, between the lamp-glow and the fire-glow, she was lighted up.
+White satin--her first low-cut dress--the flush of her first supper
+party--a gardenia at her breast, another in her fingers!  Oh!  what a
+pity he was asleep!  How red he looked!  How funnily old men
+breathed!  And mysteriously, as a child might, she whispered:
+
+"Guardy!"
+
+No answer!  And pouting, she stood twiddling the gardenia.  Then
+suddenly she thought: 'I'll put it in his buttonhole!  When he wakes
+up and sees it, how he'll jump!'
+
+And stealing close, she bent and slipped it in.  Two faces looked at
+her from round the door; she heard Bob Pillin's smothered chuckle;
+her mother's rich and feathery laugh.  Oh!  How red his forehead was!
+She touched it with her lips; skipped back, twirled round, danced
+silently a second, blew a kiss, and like quicksilver was gone.
+
+And the whispering, the chuckling, and one little out-pealing laugh
+rose in the hall.
+
+But the old man slept.  Nor until Meller came at his usual hour of
+half-past twelve, was it known that he would never wake.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE APPLE TREE
+
+
+              "The Apple-tree, the singing and the gold."
+               MURRAY'S "HIPPOLYTUS of EURIPIDES."
+
+In their silver-wedding day Ashurst and his wife were motoring along
+the outskirts of the moor, intending to crown the festival by
+stopping the night at Torquay, where they had first met.  This was
+the idea of Stella Ashurst, whose character contained a streak of
+sentiment.  If she had long lost the blue-eyed, flower-like charm,
+the cool slim purity of face and form, the apple-blossom colouring,
+which had so swiftly and so oddly affected Ashurst twenty-six years
+ago, she was still at forty-three a comely and faithful companion,
+whose cheeks were faintly mottled, and whose grey-blue eyes had
+acquired a certain fullness.
+
+It was she who had stopped the car where the common rose steeply to
+the left, and a narrow strip of larch and beech, with here and there
+a pine, stretched out towards the valley between the road and the
+first long high hill of the full moor.  She was looking for a place
+where they might lunch, for Ashurst never looked for anything; and
+this, between the golden furze and the feathery green larches
+smelling of lemons in the last sun of April--this, with a view into
+the deep valley and up to the long moor heights, seemed fitting to
+the decisive nature of one who sketched in water-colours, and loved
+romantic spots.  Grasping her paint box, she got out.
+
+"Won't this do, Frank?"
+
+Ashurst, rather like a bearded Schiller, grey in the wings, tall,
+long-legged, with large remote grey eyes which sometimes filled with
+meaning and became almost beautiful, with nose a little to one side,
+and bearded lips just open--Ashurst, forty-eight, and silent, grasped
+the luncheon basket, and got out too.
+
+"Oh! Look, Frank!  A grave!"
+
+By the side of the road, where the track from the top of the common
+crossed it at right angles and ran through a gate past the narrow
+wood, was a thin mound of turf, six feet by one, with a moorstone to
+the west, and on it someone had thrown a blackthorn spray and a
+handful of bluebells.  Ashurst looked, and the poet in him moved.  At
+cross-roads--a suicide's grave!  Poor mortals with their
+superstitions!  Whoever lay there, though, had the best of it, no
+clammy sepulchre among other hideous graves carved with futilities--
+just a rough stone, the wide sky, and wayside blessings!  And,
+without comment, for he had learned not to be a philosopher in the
+bosom of his family, he strode away up on to the common, dropped the
+luncheon basket under a wall, spread a rug for his wife to sit on--
+she would turn up from her sketching when she was hungry--and took
+from his pocket Murray's translation of the "Hippolytus."  He had
+soon finished reading of "The Cyprian" and her revenge, and looked at
+the sky instead.  And watching the white clouds so bright against the
+intense blue, Ashurst, on his silver-wedding day, longed for--he knew
+not what.  Maladjusted to life--man's organism!  One's mode of life
+might be high and scrupulous, but there was always an, undercurrent
+of greediness, a hankering, and sense of waste.  Did women have it
+too?  Who could tell?  And yet, men who gave vent to their appetites
+for novelty, their riotous longings for new adventures, new risks,
+new pleasures, these suffered, no doubt, from the reverse side of
+starvation, from surfeit.  No getting out of it--a maladjusted
+animal, civilised man!  There could be no garden of his choosing, of
+"the Apple-tree, the singing, and the gold," in the words of that
+lovely Greek chorus, no achievable elysium in life, or lasting haven
+of happiness for any man with a sense of beauty--nothing which could
+compare with the captured loveliness in a work of art, set down for
+ever, so that to look on it or read was always to have the same
+precious sense of exaltation and restful inebriety.  Life no doubt
+had moments with that quality of beauty, of unbidden flying rapture,
+but the trouble was, they lasted no longer than the span of a cloud's
+flight over the sun; impossible to keep them with you, as Art caught
+beauty and held it fast.  They were fleeting as one of the glimmering
+or golden visions one had of the soul in nature, glimpses of its
+remote and brooding spirit.  Here, with the sun hot on his face, a
+cuckoo calling from a thorn tree, and in the air the honey savour of
+gorse--here among the little fronds of the young fern, the starry
+blackthorn, while the bright clouds drifted by high above the hills
+and dreamy valleys here and now was such a glimpse.  But in a moment
+it would pass--as the face of Pan, which looks round the corner of a
+rock, vanishes at your stare.  And suddenly he sat up.  Surely there
+was something familiar about this view, this bit of common, that
+ribbon of road, the old wall behind him.  While they were driving he
+had not been taking notice--never did; thinking of far things or of
+nothing--but now he saw!  Twenty-six years ago, just at this time of
+year, from the farmhouse within half a mile of this very spot he had
+started for that day in Torquay whence it might be said he had never
+returned.  And a sudden ache beset his heart; he had stumbled on just
+one of those past moments in his life, whose beauty and rapture he
+had failed to arrest, whose wings had fluttered away into the
+unknown; he had stumbled on a buried memory, a wild sweet time,
+swiftly choked and ended.  And, turning on his face, he rested his
+chin on his hands, and stared at the short grass where the little
+blue milkwort was growing....
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+And this is what he remembered.
+
+On the first of May, after their last year together at college, Frank
+Ashurst and his friend Robert Garton were on a tramp.  They had
+walked that day from Brent, intending to make Chagford, but Ashurst's
+football knee had given out, and according to their map they had
+still some seven miles to go.  They were sitting on a bank beside
+the-road, where a track crossed alongside a wood, resting the knee
+and talking of the universe, as young men will.  Both were over six
+feet, and thin as rails; Ashurst pale, idealistic, full of absence;
+Garton queer, round-the-corner, knotted, curly, like some primeval
+beast.  Both had a literary bent; neither wore a hat.
+
+Ashurst's hair was smooth, pale, wavy, and had a way of rising on
+either side of his brow, as if always being flung back; Carton's was
+a kind of dark unfathomed mop.  They had not met a soul for miles.
+
+"My dear fellow," Garton was saying, "pity's only an effect of self-
+consciousness; it's a disease of the last five thousand years.  The
+world was happier without."
+
+Ashurst, following the clouds with his eyes, answered:
+
+"It's the pearl in the oyster, anyway."
+
+"My dear chap, all our modern unhappiness comes from pity.  Look at
+animals, and Red Indians, limited to feeling their own occasional
+misfortunes; then look at ourselves--never free from feeling the
+toothaches of others.  Let's get back to feeling for nobody, and have
+a better time."
+
+"You'll never practise that."
+
+Garton pensively stirred the hotch-potch of his hair.
+
+"To attain full growth, one mustn't be squeamish.  To starve oneself
+emotionally's a mistake.  All emotion is to the good--enriches life."
+
+"Yes, and when it runs up against chivalry?"
+
+"Ah!  That's so English!  If you speak of emotion the English always
+think you want something physical, and are shocked.  They're afraid
+of passion, but not of lust--oh, no!--so long as they can keep it
+secret."
+
+Ashurst did not answer; he had plucked a blue floweret, and was
+twiddling it against the sky.  A cuckoo began calling from a thorn
+tree.  The sky, the flowers, the songs of birds!  Robert was talking
+through his hat!  And he said:
+
+"Well, let's go on, and find some farm where we can put up."  In
+uttering those words, he was conscious of a girl coming down from the
+common just above them.  She was outlined against the sky, carrying a
+basket, and you could see that sky through the crook of her arm.  And
+Ashurst, who saw beauty without wondering how it could advantage him,
+thought: 'How pretty!'  The wind, blowing her dark frieze skirt
+against her legs, lifted her battered peacock tam-o'-shanter; her
+greyish blouse was worn and old, her shoes were split, her little
+hands rough and red, her neck browned.  Her dark hair waved untidy
+across her broad forehead, her face was short, her upper lip short,
+showing a glint of teeth, her brows were straight and dark, her
+lashes long and dark, her nose straight; but her grey eyes were the
+wonder-dewy as if opened for the first time that day.  She looked at
+Ashurst--perhaps he struck her as strange, limping along without a
+hat, with his large eyes on her, and his hair falling back.  He could
+not take off what was not on his head, but put up his hand in a
+salute, and said:
+
+"Can you tell us if there's a farm near here where we could stay the
+night?  I've gone lame."
+
+"There's only our farm near, sir."  She spoke without shyness, in a
+pretty soft crisp voice.
+
+"And where is that?"
+
+"Down here, sir."
+
+"Would you put us up?"
+
+"Oh!  I think we would."
+
+"Will you show us the way?"
+
+"Yes, Sir."
+
+He limped on, silent, and Garton took up the catechism.
+
+"Are you a Devonshire girl?"
+
+"No, Sir."
+
+"What then?"
+
+"From Wales."
+
+"Ah!  I thought you were a Celt; so it's not your farm?"
+
+"My aunt's, sir."
+
+"And your uncle's?"
+
+"He is dead."
+
+"Who farms it, then?"
+
+"My aunt, and my three cousins."
+
+"But your uncle was a Devonshire man?"
+
+"Yes, Sir."
+
+"Have you lived here long?"  "Seven years."
+
+"And how d'you like it after Wales?"  "I don't know, sir."
+
+"I suppose you don't remember?"  "Oh, yes!  But it is different."
+
+"I believe you!"
+
+Ashurst broke in suddenly: "How old are you?"
+
+"Seventeen, Sir."
+
+"And what's your name?"  "Megan David."
+
+"This is Robert Garton, and I am Frank Ashurst.  We wanted to get on
+to Chagford."
+
+"It is a pity your leg is hurting you."
+
+Ashurst smiled, and when he smiled his face was rather beautiful.
+
+Descending past the narrow wood, they came on the farm suddenly-a
+long, low, stone-built dwelling with casement windows, in a farmyard
+where pigs and fowls and an old mare were straying.  A short steep-up
+grass hill behind was crowned with a few Scotch firs, and in front,
+an old orchard of apple trees, just breaking into flower, stretched
+down to a stream and a long wild meadow.  A little boy with oblique
+dark eyes was shepherding a pig, and by the house door stood a woman,
+who came towards them.  The girl said:
+
+"It is Mrs. Narracombe, my aunt."
+
+"Mrs. Narracombe, my aunt," had a quick, dark eye, like a mother
+wild-duck's, and something of the same snaky turn about her neck.
+
+"We met your niece on the road," said Ashurst; "she thought you might
+perhaps put us up for the night."
+
+Mrs. Narracombe, taking them in from head to heel, answered:
+
+"Well, I can, if you don't mind one room.  Megan, get the spare room
+ready, and a bowl of cream.  You'll be wanting tea, I suppose."
+
+Passing through a sort of porch made by two yew trees and some
+flowering-currant bushes, the girl disappeared into the house, her
+peacock tam-o'-shanter bright athwart that rosy-pink and the dark
+green of the yews.
+
+"Will you come into the parlour and rest your leg?  You'll be from
+college, perhaps?"
+
+"We were, but we've gone down now."
+
+Mrs. Narracombe nodded sagely.
+
+The parlour, brick-floored, with bare table and shiny chairs and sofa
+stuffed with horsehair, seemed never to have been used, it was so
+terribly clean.  Ashurst sat down at once on the sofa, holding his
+lame knee between his hands, and Mrs. Narracombe gazed at him.  He
+was the only son of a late professor of chemistry, but people found a
+certain lordliness in one who was often so sublimely unconscious of
+them.
+
+"Is there a stream where we could bathe?"
+
+"There's the strame at the bottom of the orchard, but sittin' down
+you'll not be covered!"
+
+"How deep?"
+
+"Well, 'tis about a foot and a half, maybe."
+
+"Oh!  That'll do fine.  Which way?"
+
+"Down the lane, through the second gate on the right, an' the pool's
+by the big apple tree that stands by itself.  There's trout there, if
+you can tickle them."
+
+"They're more likely to tickle us!"
+
+Mrs. Narracombe smiled.  "There'll be the tea ready when you come
+back."
+
+The pool, formed by the damming of a rock, had a sandy bottom; and
+the big apple tree, lowest in the orchard, grew so close that its
+boughs almost overhung the water; it was in leaf, and all but in
+flower-its crimson buds just bursting.  There was not room for more
+than one at a time in that narrow bath, and Ashurst waited his turn,
+rubbing his knee and gazing at the wild meadow, all rocks and thorn
+trees and feld flowers, with a grove of beeches beyond, raised up on
+a flat mound.  Every bough was swinging in the wind, every spring
+bird calling, and a slanting sunlight dappled the grass.  He thought
+of Theocritus, and the river Cherwell, of the moon, and the maiden
+with the dewy eyes; of so many things that he seemed to think of
+nothing; and he felt absurdly happy.
+
+
+
+
+2
+
+During a late and sumptuous tea with eggs to it, cream and jam, and
+thin, fresh cakes touched with saffron, Garton descanted on the
+Celts.  It was about the period of the Celtic awakening, and the
+discovery that there was Celtic blood about this family had excited
+one who believed that he was a Celt himself.  Sprawling on a horse
+hair chair, with a hand-made cigarette dribbling from the corner of
+his curly lips, he had been plunging his cold pin-points of eyes into
+Ashurst's and praising the refinement of the Welsh.  To come out of
+Wales into England was like the change from china to earthenware!
+Frank, as a d---d Englishman, had not of course perceived the
+exquisite refinement and emotional capacity of that Welsh girl!  And,
+delicately stirring in the dark mat of his still wet hair, he
+explained how exactly she illustrated the writings of the Welsh bard
+Morgan-ap-Something in the twelfth century.
+
+Ashurst, full length on the horsehair sofa, and jutting far beyond
+its end, smoked a deeply-coloured pipe, and did not listen, thinking
+of the girl's face when she brought in a relay of cakes.  It had been
+exactly like looking at a flower, or some other pretty sight in
+Nature-till, with a funny little shiver, she had lowered her glance
+and gone out, quiet as a mouse.
+
+"Let's go to the kitchen," said Garton, "and see some more of her."
+
+The kitchen was a white-washed room with rafters, to which were
+attached smoked hams; there were flower-pots on the window-sill, and
+guns hanging on nails, queer mugs, china and pewter, and portraits of
+Queen Victoria.  A long, narrow table of plain wood was set with
+bowls and spoons, under a string of high-hung onions; two sheep-dogs
+and three cats lay here and there.  On one side of the recessed
+fireplace sat two small boys, idle, and good as gold; on the other
+sat a stout, light-eyed, red-faced youth with hair and lashes the
+colour of the tow he was running through the barrel of a gun; between
+them Mrs. Narracombe dreamily stirred some savoury-scented stew in a
+large pot.  Two other youths, oblique-eyed, dark-haired, rather sly-
+faced, like the two little boys, were talking together and lolling
+against the wall; and a short, elderly, clean-shaven man in
+corduroys, seated in the window, was conning a battered journal.  The
+girl Megan seemed the only active creature-drawing cider and passing
+with the jugs from cask to table.  Seeing them thus about to eat,
+Garton said:
+
+"Ah!  If you'll let us, we'll come back when supper's over," and
+without waiting for an answer they withdrew again to the parlour.
+But the colour in the kitchen, the warmth, the scents, and all those
+faces, heightened the bleakness of their shiny room, and they resumed
+their seats moodily.
+
+"Regular gipsy type, those boys.  There was only one Saxon--the
+fellow cleaning the gun.  That girl is a very subtle study
+psychologically."
+
+Ashurst's lips twitched.  Garton seemed to him an ass just then.
+Subtle study!  She was a wild flower.  A creature it did you good to
+look at.  Study!
+
+Garton went on:
+
+"Emotionally she would be wonderful.  She wants awakening."
+
+"Are you going to awaken her?"
+
+Garton looked at him and smiled.  'How coarse and English you are!'
+that curly smile seemed saying.
+
+And Ashurst puffed his pipe.  Awaken her! That fool had the best
+opinion of himself!  He threw up the window and leaned out.  Dusk had
+gathered thick.  The farm buildings and the wheel-house were all dim
+and bluish, the apple trees but a blurred wilderness; the air smelled
+of woodsmoke from the kitchen fire.  One bird going to bed later than
+the others was uttering a half-hearted twitter, as though surprised
+at the darkness.  From the stable came the snuffle and stamp of a
+feeding horse.  And away over there was the loom of the moor, and
+away and away the shy stars which had not as yet full light, pricking
+white through the deep blue heavens.  A quavering owl hooted.
+Ashurst drew a deep breath.  What a night to wander out in!  A
+padding of unshod hoofs came up the lane, and three dim, dark shapes
+passed--ponies on an evening march.  Their heads, black and fuzzy,
+showed above the gate.  At the tap of his pipe, and a shower of
+little sparks, they shied round and scampered.  A bat went fluttering
+past, uttering its almost inaudible "chip, chip."  Ashurst held out
+his hand; on the upturned palm he could feel the dew.  Suddenly from
+overhead he heard little burring boys' voices, little thumps of boots
+thrown down, and another voice, crisp and soft--the girl's putting
+them to bed, no doubt; and nine clear words "No, Rick, you can't have
+the cat in bed"; then came a skirmish of giggles and gurgles, a soft
+slap, a laugh so low and pretty that it made him shiver a little.  A
+blowing sound, and the glim of the candle which was fingering the
+dusk above, went out; silence reigned.  Ashurst withdrew into the
+room and sat down; his knee pained him, and his soul felt gloomy.
+
+"You go to the kitchen," he said; "I'm going to bed."
+
+
+
+
+3
+
+For Ashurst the wheel of slumber was wont to turn noiseless and slick
+and swift, but though he seemed sunk in sleep when his companion came
+up, he was really wide awake; and long after Carton, smothered in the
+other bed of that low-roofed room, was worshipping darkness with his
+upturned nose, he heard the owls.  Barring the discomfort of his
+knee, it was not unpleasant--the cares of life did not loom large in
+night watches for this young man.  In fact he had none; just enrolled
+a barrister, with literary aspirations, the world before him, no
+father or mother, and four hundred a year of his own.  Did it matter
+where he went, what he did, or when he did it?  His bed, too, was
+hard, and this preserved him from fever.  He lay, sniffing the scent
+of the night which drifted into the low room through the open
+casement close to his head.  Except for a definite irritation with
+his friend, natural when you have tramped with a man for three days,
+Ashurst's memories and visions that sleepless night were kindly and
+wistful and exciting.  One vision, specially clear and unreasonable,
+for he had not even been conscious of noting it, was the face of the
+youth cleaning the gun; its intent, stolid, yet startled uplook at
+the kitchen doorway, quickly shifted to the girl carrying the cider
+jug.  This red, blue-eyed, light-lashed, tow-haired face stuck as
+firmly in his memory as the girl's own face, so dewy and simple.  But
+at last, in the square of darkness through the uncurtained casement,
+he saw day coming, and heard one hoarse and sleepy caw.  Then
+followed silence, dead as ever, till the song of a blackbird, not
+properly awake, adventured into the hush.  And, from staring at the
+framed brightening light, Ashurst fell asleep.
+
+Next day his knee was badly swollen; the walking tour was obviously
+over.  Garton, due back in London on the morrow, departed at midday
+with an ironical smile which left a scar of irritation--healed the
+moment his loping figure vanished round the corner of the steep lane.
+All day Ashurst rested his knee, in a green-painted wooden chair on
+the patch of grass by the yew-tree porch, where the sunlight
+distilled the scent of stocks and gillyflowers, and a ghost of scent
+from the flowering-currant bushes.  Beatifically he smoked, dreamed,
+watched.
+
+A farm in spring is all birth-young things coming out of bud and
+shell, and human beings watching over the process with faint
+excitement feeding and tending what has been born.  So still the
+young man sat, that a mother-goose, with stately cross-footed waddle,
+brought her six yellow-necked grey-backed goslings to strop their
+little beaks against the grass blades at his feet.  Now and again
+Mrs. Narracombe or the girl Megan would come and ask if he wanted
+anything, and he would smile and say: "Nothing, thanks.  It's
+splendid here."  Towards tea-time they came out together, bearing a
+long poultice of some dark stuff in a bowl, and after a long and
+solemn scrutiny of his swollen knee, bound it on.  When they were
+gone, he thought of the girl's soft "Oh!"--of her pitying eyes, and
+the little wrinkle in her brow.  And again he felt that unreasoning
+irritation against his departed friend, who had talked such rot about
+her.  When she brought out his tea, he said:
+
+"How did you like my friend, Megan?"
+
+She forced down her upper lip, as if afraid that to smile was not
+polite.  "He was a funny gentleman; he made us laugh.  I think he is
+very clever."
+
+"What did he say to make you laugh?"
+
+"He said I was a daughter of the bards.  What are they?"
+
+"Welsh poets, who lived hundreds of years ago."
+
+"Why am I their daughter, please?"
+
+"He meant that you were the sort of girl they sang about."
+
+She wrinkled her brows.  "I think he likes to joke.  Am I?"
+
+"Would you believe me, if I told you?"
+
+"Oh, yes."
+
+"Well, I think he was right."
+
+She smiled.
+
+And Ashurst thought: 'You are a pretty thing!'
+
+"He said, too, that Joe was a Saxon type.  What would that be?"
+
+"Which is Joe?  With the blue eyes and red face?"
+
+"Yes.  My uncle's nephew."
+
+"Not your cousin, then?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Well, he meant that Joe was like the men who came over to England
+about fourteen hundred years ago, and conquered it."
+
+"Oh!  I know about them; but is he?"
+
+"Garton's crazy about that sort of thing; but I must say Joe does
+look a bit Early Saxon."
+
+"Yes."
+
+That "Yes" tickled Ashurst.  It was so crisp and graceful, so
+conclusive, and politely acquiescent in what was evidently.  Greek to
+her.
+
+"He said that all the other boys were regular gipsies.  He should not
+have said that.  My aunt laughed, but she didn't like it, of course,
+and my cousins were angry.  Uncle was a farmer--farmers are not
+gipsies.  It is wrong to hurt people."
+
+Ashurst wanted to take her hand and give it a squeeze, but he only
+answered:
+
+"Quite right, Megan.  By the way, I heard you putting the little ones
+to bed last night."
+
+She flushed a little.  "Please to drink your tea--it is getting cold.
+Shall I get you some fresh?"
+
+"Do you ever have time to do anything for yourself?"
+
+"Oh!  Yes."
+
+"I've been watching, but I haven't seen it yet.
+
+She wrinkled her brows in a puzzled frown, and her colour deepened.
+
+When she was gone, Ashurst thought: 'Did she think I was chaffing
+her?  I wouldn't for the world!' He was at that age when to some men
+"Beauty's a flower," as the poet says, and inspires in them the
+thoughts of chivalry.  Never very conscious of his surroundings, it
+was some time before he was aware that the youth whom Garton had
+called "a Saxon type" was standing outside the stable door; and a
+fine bit of colour he made in his soiled brown velvet-cords, muddy
+gaiters, and blue shirt; red-armed, red-faced, the sun turning his
+hair from tow to flax; immovably stolid, persistent, unsmiling he
+stood.  Then, seeing Ashurst looking at him, he crossed the yard at
+that gait of the young countryman always ashamed not to be slow and
+heavy-dwelling on each leg, and disappeared round the end of the
+house towards the kitchen entrance.  A chill came over Ashurst's
+mood.  Clods?  With all the good will in the world, how impossible to
+get on terms with them!  And yet--see that girl!  Her shoes were
+split, her hands rough; but--what was it?  Was it really her Celtic
+blood, as Garton had said?--she was a lady born, a jewel, though
+probably she could do no more than just read and write!
+
+The elderly, clean-shaven man he had seen last night in the kitchen
+had come into the yard with a dog, driving the cows to their milking.
+Ashurst saw that he was lame.
+
+"You've got some good ones there!"
+
+The lame man's face brightened.  He had the upward look in his eyes
+which prolonged suffering often brings.
+
+"Yeas; they'm praaper buties; gude milkers tu."
+
+"I bet they are."
+
+"'Ope as yure leg's better, zurr."
+
+"Thank you, it's getting on."
+
+The lame man touched his own: "I know what 'tes, meself; 'tes a main
+worritin' thing, the knee.  I've a-'ad mine bad this ten year."
+
+Ashurst made the sound of sympathy which comes so readily from those
+who have an independent income, and the lame man smiled again.
+
+"Mustn't complain, though--they mighty near 'ad it off."
+
+"Ho!"
+
+"Yeas; an' compared with what 'twas, 'tes almost so gude as nu."
+
+"They've put a bandage of splendid stuff on mine."
+
+"The maid she picks et.  She'm a gude maid wi' the flowers.  There's
+folks zeem to know the healin' in things.  My mother was a rare one
+for that.  'Ope as yu'll zune be better, zurr.  Goo ahn, therr!"
+
+Ashurst smiled.  "Wi' the flowers!"  A flower herself!
+
+That evening, after his supper of cold duck, junket, and cider, the
+girl came in.
+
+"Please, auntie says--will you try a piece of our Mayday cake?"
+
+"If I may come to the kitchen for it."
+
+"Oh, yes!  You'll be missing your friend."
+
+"Not I.  But are you sure no one minds?"
+
+"Who would mind?  We shall be very pleased."
+
+Ashurst rose too suddenly for his stiff knee, staggered, and
+subsided.  The girl gave a little gasp, and held out her hands.
+Ashurst took them, small, rough, brown; checked his impulse to put
+them to his lips, and let her pull him up.  She came close beside
+him, offering her shoulder.  And leaning on her he walked across the
+room.  That shoulder seemed quite the pleasantest thing he had ever
+touched.  But, he had presence of mind enough to catch his stick out
+of the rack, and withdraw his hand before arriving at the kitchen.
+
+That night he slept like a top, and woke with his knee of almost
+normal size.  He again spent the morning in his chair on the grass
+patch, scribbling down verses; but in the afternoon he wandered about
+with the two little boys Nick and Rick.  It was Saturday, so they
+were early home from school; quick, shy, dark little rascals of seven
+and six, soon talkative, for Ashurst had a way with children.  By
+four o'clock they had shown him all their methods of destroying life,
+except the tickling of trout; and with breeches tucked up, lay on
+their stomachs over the trout stream, pretending they had this
+accomplishment also.  They tickled nothing, of course, for their
+giggling and shouting scared every spotted thing away.  Ashurst, on a
+rock at the edge of the beech clump, watched them, and listened to
+the cuckoos, till Nick, the elder and less persevering, came up and
+stood beside him.
+
+"The gipsy bogle zets on that stone," he said.
+
+"What gipsy bogie?"
+
+"Dunno; never zeen 'e.  Megan zays 'e zets there; an' old Jim zeed 'e
+once.  'E was zettin' there naight afore our pony kicked--in father's
+'ead.  'E plays the viddle."
+
+"What tune does he play?"
+
+"Dunno."
+
+"What's he like?"
+
+"'E's black.  Old Jim zays 'e's all over 'air.  'E's a praaper bogle.
+'E don' come only at naight."  The little boy's oblique dark eyes
+slid round.  "D'yu think 'e might want to take me away?  Megan's
+feared of 'e."
+
+"Has she seen him?"
+
+"No.  She's not afeared o' yu."
+
+"I should think not.  Why should she be?"
+
+"She zays a prayer for yu."
+
+"How do you know that, you little rascal?"
+
+"When I was asleep, she said: 'God bless us all, an' Mr. Ashes.'  I
+yeard 'er whisperin'."
+
+"You're a little ruffian to tell what you hear when you're not meant
+to hear it!"
+
+The little boy was silent.  Then he said aggressively:
+
+"I can skin rabbets.  Megan, she can't bear skinnin' 'em.  I like
+blood."
+
+"Oh! you do; you little monster!"
+
+"What's that?"
+
+"A creature that likes hurting others."
+
+The little boy scowled.  "They'm only dead rabbets, what us eats."
+
+"Quite right, Nick.  I beg your pardon."
+
+"I can skin frogs, tu."
+
+But Ashurst had become absent.  "God bless us all, and Mr. Ashes!"
+And puzzled by that sudden inaccessibility, Nick ran back to the
+stream where the giggling and shouts again uprose at once.
+
+When Megan brought his tea, he said:
+
+"What's the gipsy bogle, Megan?"
+
+She looked up, startled.
+
+"He brings bad things."
+
+"Surely you don't believe in ghosts?"
+
+"I hope I will never see him."
+
+"Of course you won't.  There aren't such things.  What old Jim saw
+was a pony."
+
+"No!  There are bogies in the rocks; they are the men who lived long
+ago."
+
+"They aren't gipsies, anyway; those old men were dead long before
+gipsies came."
+
+She said simply: "They are all bad."
+
+"Why?  If there are any, they're only wild, like the rabbits.  The
+flowers aren't bad for being wild; the thorn trees were never
+planted--and you don't mind them.  I shall go down at night and look
+for your bogie, and have a talk with him."
+
+"Oh, no! Oh, no!"
+
+"Oh, yes!  I shall go and sit on his rock."
+
+She clasped her hands together: "Oh, please!"
+
+"Why!  What 'does it matter if anything happens to me?"
+
+She did not answer; and in a sort of pet he added:
+
+"Well, I daresay I shan't see him, because I suppose I must be off
+soon."
+
+"Soon?"
+
+"Your aunt won't want to keep me here."
+
+"Oh, yes!  We always let lodgings in summer."
+
+Fixing his eyes on her face, he asked:
+
+"Would you like me to stay?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I'm going to say a prayer for you to-night!"
+
+She flushed crimson, frowned, and went out of the room.  He sat,
+cursing himself, till his tea was stewed.  It was as if he had hacked
+with his thick boots at a clump of bluebells.  Why had he said such a
+silly thing?  Was he just a towny college ass like Robert Garton, as
+far from understanding this girl?
+
+Ashurst spent the next week confirming the restoration of his leg, by
+exploration of the country within easy reach.  Spring was a
+revelation to him this year.  In a kind of intoxication he would
+watch the pink-white buds of some backward beech tree sprayed up in
+the sunlight against the deep blue sky, or the trunks and limbs of
+the few Scotch firs, tawny in violent light, or again, on the moor,
+the gale-bent larches which had such a look of life when the wind
+streamed in their young green, above the rusty black underboughs.  Or
+he would lie on the banks, gazing at the clusters of dog-violets, or
+up in the dead bracken, fingering the pink, transparent buds of the
+dewberry, while the cuckoos called and yafes laughed, or a lark, from
+very high, dripped its beads of song.  It was certainly different
+from any spring he had ever known, for spring was within him, not
+without.  In the daytime he hardly saw the family; and when Megan
+brought in his meals she always seemed too busy in the house or among
+the young things in the yard to stay talking long.  But in the
+evenings he installed himself in the window seat in the kitchen,
+smoking and chatting with the lame man Jim, or Mrs. Narracombe, while
+the girl sewed, or moved about, clearing the supper things away.  And
+sometimes, with the sensation a cat must feel when it purrs, he would
+become conscious that Megan's eyes--those dew-grey eyes--were fixed
+on him with a sort of lingering soft look which was strangely
+flattering.
+
+It was on Sunday week in the evening, when he was lying in the
+orchard listening to a blackbird and composing a love poem, that he
+heard the gate swing to, and saw the girl come running among the
+trees, with the red-cheeked, stolid Joe in swift pursuit.  About
+twenty yards away the chase ended, and the two stood fronting each
+other, not noticing the stranger in the grass--the boy pressing on,
+the girl fending him off.  Ashurst could see her face, angry,
+disturbed; and the youth's--who would have thought that red-faced
+yokel could look so distraught!  And painfully affected by that
+sight, he jumped up.  They saw him then.  Megan dropped her hands,
+and shrank behind a tree trunk; the boy gave an angry grunt, rushed
+at the bank, scrambled over and vanished.  Ashurst went slowly up to
+her.  She was standing quite still, biting her lip-very pretty, with
+her fine, dark hair blown loose about her face, and her eyes cast
+down.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he said.
+
+She gave him one upward look, from eyes much dilated; then, catching
+her breath, turned away.  Ashurst followed.
+
+"Megan!"
+
+But she went on; and taking hold of her arm, he turned her gently
+round to him.
+
+"Stop and speak to me."
+
+"Why do you beg my pardon?  It is not to me you should do that."
+
+"Well, then, to Joe."
+
+"How dare he come after me?"
+
+"In love with you, I suppose."
+
+She stamped her foot.
+
+Ashurst uttered a short laugh.  "Would you like me to punch his
+head?"
+
+She cried with sudden passion:
+
+"You laugh at me-you laugh at us!"
+
+He caught hold of her hands, but she shrank back, till her passionate
+little face and loose dark hair were caught among the pink clusters
+of the apple blossom.  Ashurst raised one of her imprisoned hands and
+put his lips to it.  He felt how chivalrous he was, and superior to
+that clod Joe--just brushing that small, rough hand with his mouth I
+Her shrinking ceased suddenly; she seemed to tremble towards him.  A
+sweet warmth overtook Ashurst from top to toe.  This slim maiden, so
+simple and fine and pretty, was pleased, then, at the touch of his
+lips!  And, yielding to a swift impulse, he put his arms round her,
+pressed her to him, and kissed her forehead.  Then he was frightened-
+-she went so pale, closing her eyes, so that the long, dark lashes
+lay on her pale cheeks; her hands, too, lay inert at her sides.  The
+touch of her breast sent a shiver through him.  "Megan!"  he sighed
+out, and let her go.  In the utter silence a blackbird shouted.  Then
+the girl seized his hand, put it to her cheek, her heart, her lips,
+kissed it passionately, and fled away among the mossy trunks of the
+apple trees, till they hid her from him.
+
+Ashurst sat down on a twisted old tree growing almost along the
+ground, and, all throbbing and bewildered, gazed vacantly at the
+blossom which had crowned her hair--those pink buds with one white
+open apple star.  What had he done?  How had he let himself be thus
+stampeded by beauty--pity--or--just the spring!  He felt curiously
+happy, all the same; happy and triumphant, with shivers running
+through his limbs, and a vague alarm.  This was the beginning of--
+what?  The midges bit him, the dancing gnats tried to fly into his
+mouth, and all the spring around him seemed to grow more lovely and
+alive; the songs of the cuckoos and the blackbirds, the laughter of
+the yaflies, the level-slanting sunlight, the apple blossom which had
+crowned her head!  He got up from the old trunk and strode out of the
+orchard, wanting space, an open sky, to get on terms with these new
+sensations.  He made for the moor, and from an ash tree in the hedge
+a magpie flew out to herald him.
+
+Of man--at any age from five years on--who can say he has never been
+in love?  Ashurst had loved his partners at his dancing class; loved
+his nursery governess; girls in school-holidays; perhaps never been
+quite out of love, cherishing always some more or less remote
+admiration.  But this was different, not remote at all.  Quite a new
+sensation; terribly delightful, bringing a sense of completed
+manhood.  To be holding in his fingers such a wild flower, to be able
+to put it to his lips, and feel it tremble with delight against them!
+What intoxication, and--embarrassment!  What to do with it--how meet
+her next time?  His first caress had been cool, pitiful; but the next
+could not be, now that, by her burning little kiss on his hand, by
+her pressure of it to her heart, he knew that she loved him.  Some
+natures are coarsened by love bestowed on them; others, like
+Ashurst's, are swayed and drawn, warmed and softened, almost exalted,
+by what they feel to be a sort of miracle.
+
+And up there among the tors he was racked between the passionate
+desire to revel in this new sensation of spring fulfilled within him,
+and a vague but very real uneasiness.  At one moment he gave himself
+up completely to his pride at having captured this pretty, trustful,
+dewy-eyed thing!  At the next he thought with factitious solemnity:
+'Yes, my boy!  But look out what you're doing!  You know what comes
+of it!'
+
+Dusk dropped down without his noticing--dusk on the carved, Assyrian-
+looking masses of the rocks.  And the voice of Nature said: "This is
+a new world for you!"  As when a man gets up at four o'clock and goes
+out into a summer morning, and beasts, birds, trees stare at him and
+he feels as if all had been made new.
+
+He stayed up there for hours, till it grew cold, then groped his way
+down the stones and heather roots to the road, back into the lane,
+and came again past the wild meadow to the orchard.  There he struck
+a match and looked at his watch.  Nearly twelve!  It was black and
+unstirring in there now, very different from the lingering, bird-
+befriended brightness of six hours ago!  And suddenly he saw this
+idyll of his with the eyes of the outer world--had mental vision of
+Mrs. Narracombe's snake-like neck turned, her quick dark glance
+taking it all in, her shrewd face hardening; saw the gipsy-like
+cousins coarsely mocking and distrustful; Joe stolid and furious;
+only the lame man, Jim, with the suffering eyes, seemed tolerable to
+his mind.  And the village pub!--the gossiping matrons he passed on
+his walks; and then--his own friends--Robert Carton's smile when he
+went off that morning ten days ago; so ironical and knowing!
+Disgusting!  For a minute he literally hated this earthy, cynical
+world to which one belonged, willy-nilly.  The gate where he was
+leaning grew grey, a sort of shimmer passed be fore him and spread
+into the bluish darkness. The moon!  He could just see it over the
+bank be hind; red, nearly round-a strange moon!  And turning away, he
+went up the lane which smelled of the night and cowdung and young
+leaves.  In the straw-yard he could see the dark shapes of cattle,
+broken by the pale sickles of their horns, like so many thin moons,
+fallen ends-up.  He unlatched the farm gate stealthily.  All was dark
+in the house.  Muffling his footsteps, he gained the porch, and,
+blotted against one of the yew trees, looked up at Megan's window.
+It was open.  Was she sleeping, or lying awake perhaps, disturbed--
+unhappy at his absence?  An owl hooted while he stood there peering
+up, and the sound seemed to fill the whole night, so quiet was all
+else, save for the never-ending murmur of the stream running below
+the orchard.  The cuckoos by day, and now the owls--how wonderfully
+they voiced this troubled ecstasy within him!  And suddenly he saw
+her at her window, looking out.  He moved a little from the yew tree,
+and whispered: "Megan!"  She drew back, vanished, reappeared, leaning
+far down.  He stole forward on the grass patch, hit his shin against
+the green-painted chair, and held his breath at the sound.  The pale
+blur of her stretched-down arm and face did not stir; he moved the
+chair, and noiselessly mounted it.  By stretching up his arm he could
+just reach.  Her hand held the huge key of the front door, and he
+clasped that burning hand with the cold key in it.  He could just see
+her face, the glint of teeth between her lips, her tumbled hair.  She
+was still dressed--poor child, sitting up for him, no doubt!  "Pretty
+Megan!"  Her hot, roughened fingers clung to his; her face had a
+strange, lost look.  To have been able to reach it--even with his
+hand!  The owl hooted, a scent of sweetbriar crept into his nostrils.
+Then one of the farm dogs barked; her grasp relaxed, she shrank back.
+
+"Good-night, Megan!"
+
+"Good-night, sir!"  She was gone!  With a sigh he dropped back to
+earth, and sitting on that chair, took off his boots.  Nothing for it
+but to creep in and go to bed; yet for a long while he sat unmoving,
+his feet chilly in the dew, drunk on the memory of her lost, half-
+smiling face, and the clinging grip of her burning fingers, pressing
+the cold key into his hand.
+
+
+
+
+5
+
+He awoke feeling as if he had eaten heavily overnight, instead of
+having eaten nothing.  And far off, unreal, seemed yesterday's
+romance!  Yet it was a golden morning.  Full spring had burst at
+last--in one night the "goldie-cups," as the little boys called them,
+seemed to have made the field their own, and from his window he could
+see apple blossoms covering the orchard as with a rose and white
+quilt.  He went down almost dreading to see Megan; and yet, when not
+she but Mrs. Narracombe brought in his breakfast, he felt vexed and
+disappointed.  The woman's quick eye and snaky neck seemed to have a
+new alacrity this morning.  Had she noticed?
+
+"So you an' the moon went walkin' last night, Mr. Ashurst!  Did ye
+have your supper anywheres?"
+
+Ashurst shook his head.
+
+"We kept it for you, but I suppose you was too busy in your brain to
+think o' such a thing as that?"
+
+Was she mocking him, in that voice of hers, which still kept some
+Welsh crispness against the invading burr of the West Country?  If
+she knew!  And at that moment he thought: 'No, no; I'll clear out.  I
+won't put myself in such a beastly false position.'
+
+But, after breakfast, the longing to see Megan began and increased
+with every minute, together with fear lest something should have been
+said to her which had spoiled everything.  Sinister that she had not
+appeared, not given him even a glimpse of her!  And the love poem,
+whose manufacture had been so important and absorbing yesterday
+afternoon under the apple trees, now seemed so paltry that he tore it
+up and rolled it into pipe spills.  What had he known of love, till
+she seized his hand and kissed it!  And now--what did he not know?
+But to write of it seemed mere insipidity!  He went up to his bedroom
+to get a book, and his heart began to beat violently, for she was in
+there making the bed.  He stood in the doorway watching; and
+suddenly, with turbulent joy, he saw her stoop and kiss his pillow,
+just at the hollow made by his head last night.
+
+How let her know he had seen that pretty act of devotion?  And yet,
+if she heard him stealing away, it would be even worse.  She took the
+pillow up, holding it as if reluctant to shake out the impress of his
+cheek, dropped it, and turned round.
+
+"Megan!"
+
+She put her hands up to her cheeks, but her eyes seemed to look right
+into him.  He had never before realised the depth and purity and
+touching faithfulness in those dew-bright eyes, and he stammered:
+
+"It was sweet of you to wait up for me last night."
+
+She still said nothing, and he stammered on:
+
+"I was wandering about on the moor; it was such a jolly night.  I--
+I've just come up for a book."
+
+Then, the kiss he had seen her give the pillow afflicted him with
+sudden headiness, and he went up to her.  Touching her eyes with his
+lips, he thought with queer excitement: 'I've done it!  Yesterday all
+was sudden--anyhow; but now--I've done it!' The girl let her forehead
+rest against his lips, which moved downwards till they reached hers.
+That first real lover's kiss-strange, wonderful, still almost
+innocent--in which heart did it make the most disturbance?
+
+"Come to the big apple tree to-night, after they've gone to bed.
+Megan-promise!"
+
+She whispered back: "I promise."
+
+Then, scared at her white face, scared at everything, he let her go,
+and went downstairs again.  Yes!  He had done it now!  Accepted her
+love, declared his own!  He went out to the green chair as devoid of
+a book as ever; and there he sat staring vacantly before him,
+triumphant and remorseful, while under his nose and behind his back
+the work of the farm went on.  How long he had been sitting in that
+curious state of vacancy he had no notion when he saw Joe standing a
+little behind him to the right.  The youth had evidently come from
+hard work in the fields, and stood shifting his feet, breathing
+loudly, his face coloured like a setting sun, and his arms, below the
+rolled-up sleeves of his blue shirt, showing the hue and furry sheen
+of ripe peaches.  His red lips were open, his blue eyes with their
+flaxen lashes stared fixedly at Ashurst, who said ironically:
+
+"Well, Joe, anything I can do for you?"
+
+"Yeas."
+
+"What, then?"
+
+"Yu can goo away from yere.  Us don' want yu."
+
+Ashurst's face, never too humble, assumed its most lordly look.
+
+"Very good of you, but, do you know, I prefer the others should speak
+for themselves."
+
+The youth moved a pace or two nearer, and the scent of his honest
+heat afflicted Ashurst's nostrils.
+
+"What d'yu stay yere for?"
+
+"Because it pleases me."
+
+"Twon't please yu when I've bashed yure head in!"
+
+"Indeed!  When would you like to begin that?"
+
+Joe answered only with the loudness of his breathing, but his eyes
+looked like those of a young and angry bull.  Then a sort of spasm
+seemed to convulse his face.
+
+"Megan don' want yu."
+
+A rush of jealousy, of contempt, and anger with this thick, loud-
+breathing rustic got the better of Ashurst's self-possession; he
+jumped up, and pushed back his chair.
+
+"You can go to the devil!"
+
+And as he said those simple words, he saw Megan in the doorway with a
+tiny brown spaniel puppy in her arms.  She came up to him quickly:
+
+"Its eyes are blue!"  she said.
+
+Joe turned away; the back of his neck was literally crimson.
+
+Ashurst put his finger to the mouth of the little brown bullfrog of a
+creature in her arms.  How cosy it looked against her!
+
+"It's fond of you already.  Ah I Megan, everything is fond of you."
+
+"What was Joe saying to you, please?"
+
+"Telling me to go away, because you didn't want me here."
+
+She stamped her foot; then looked up at Ashurst.  At that adoring
+look he felt his nerves quiver, just as if he had seen a moth
+scorching its wings.
+
+"To-night!"  he said.  "Don't forget!"
+
+"No."  And smothering her face against the puppy's little fat, brown
+body, she slipped back into the house.
+
+Ashurst wandered down the lane.  At the gate of the wild meadow he
+came on the lame man and his cows.
+
+"Beautiful day, Jim!"
+
+"Ah!  'Tes brave weather for the grass.  The ashes be later than th'
+oaks this year.  'When th' oak before th' ash---'"
+
+Ashurst said idly: "Where were you standing when you saw the gipsy
+bogie, Jim?"
+
+"It might be under that big apple tree, as you might say."
+
+"And you really do think it was there?"
+
+The lame man answered cautiously:
+
+"I shouldn't like to say rightly that 't was there.  'Twas in my mind
+as 'twas there."
+
+"What do you make of it?"
+
+The lame man lowered his voice.
+
+"They du zay old master, Mist' Narracombe come o' gipsy stock.  But
+that's tellin'.  They'm a wonderful people, yu know, for claimin'
+their own.  Maybe they knu 'e was goin', and sent this feller along
+for company.  That's what I've a-thought about it."
+
+"What was he like?"
+
+"'E 'ad 'air all over 'is face, an' goin' like this, he was, zame as
+if 'e 'ad a viddle.  They zay there's no such thing as bogies, but
+I've a-zeen the 'air on this dog standin' up of a dark naight, when I
+couldn' zee nothin', meself."
+
+"Was there a moon?"
+
+"Yeas, very near full, but 'twas on'y just risen, gold-like be'ind
+them trees."
+
+"And you think a ghost means trouble, do you?"
+
+The lame man pushed his hat up; his aspiring eyes looked at Ashurst
+more earnestly than ever.
+
+"'Tes not for me to zay that but 'tes they bein' so unrestin'like.
+There's things us don' understand, that's zartin, for zure.  There's
+people that zee things, tu, an' others that don't never zee nothin'.
+Now, our Joe--yu might putt anything under'is eyes an e'd never zee
+it; and them other boys, tu, they'm rattlin' fellers.  But yu take
+an' putt our Megan where there's suthin', she'll zee it, an' more tu,
+or I'm mistaken."
+
+"She's sensitive, that's why."
+
+"What's that?"
+
+"I mean, she feels everything."
+
+"Ah!  She'm very lovin'-'earted."
+
+Ashurst, who felt colour coming into his cheeks, held out his tobacco
+pouch.
+
+"Have a fill, Jim?"
+
+"Thank 'ee, sir.  She'm one in an 'underd, I think."
+
+"I expect so," said Ashurst shortly, and folding up his pouch, walked
+on.
+
+"Lovin'-hearted!  "Yes!  And what was he doing?  What were his
+intentions-as they say towards this loving-hearted girl?  The thought
+dogged him, wandering through fields bright with buttercups, where
+the little red calves were feeding, and the swallows flying high.
+Yes, the oaks were before the ashes, brown-gold already; every tree
+in different stage and hue.  The cuckoos and a thousand birds were
+singing; the little streams were very bright.  The ancients believed
+in a golden age, in the garden of the Hesperides!...  A queen wasp
+settled on his sleeve.  Each queen wasp killed meant two thousand
+fewer wasps to thieve the apples which would grow from that blossom
+in the orchard; but who, with love in his heart, could kill anything
+on a day like this?  He entered a field where a young red bull was
+feeding.  It seemed to Ashurst that he looked like Joe.  But the
+young bull took no notice of this visitor, a little drunk himself,
+perhaps, on the singing and the glamour of the golden pasture, under
+his short legs.  Ashurst crossed out unchallenged to the hillside
+above the stream.  From that slope a for mounted to its crown of
+rocks.  The ground there was covered with a mist of bluebells, and
+nearly a score of crab-apple trees were in full bloom.  He threw
+himself down on the grass.  The change from the buttercup glory and
+oak-goldened glamour of the fields to this ethereal beauty under the
+grey for filled him with a sort of wonder; nothing the same, save the
+sound of running water and the songs of the cuckoos.  He lay there a
+long time, watching the sunlight wheel till the crab-trees threw
+shadows over the bluebells, his only companions a few wild bees.  He
+was not quite sane, thinking of that morning's kiss, and of to-night
+under the apple tree.  In such a spot as this, fauns and dryads
+surely lived; nymphs, white as the crab-apple blossom, retired within
+those trees; fauns, brown as the dead bracken, with pointed ears, lay
+in wait for them.  The cuckoos were still calling when he woke, there
+was the sound of running water; but the sun had couched behind the
+tor, the hillside was cool, and some rabbits had come out.
+'Tonight!' he thought.  Just as from the earth everything was pushing
+up, unfolding under the soft insistent fingers of an unseen hand, so
+were his heart and senses being pushed, unfolded.  He got up and
+broke off a spray from a crab-apple tree.  The buds were like Megan--
+shell-like, rose-pink, wild, and fresh; and so, too, the opening
+flowers, white, and wild; and touching.  He put the spray into his
+coat.  And all the rush of the spring within him escaped in a
+triumphant sigh.  But the rabbits scurried away.
+
+
+
+
+6
+
+It was nearly eleven that night when Ashurst put down the pocket
+"Odyssey" which for half an hour he had held in his hands without
+reading, and slipped through the yard down to the orchard.  The moon
+had just risen, very golden, over the hill, and like a bright,
+powerful, watching spirit peered through the bars of an ash tree's
+half-naked boughs.  In among the apple trees it was still dark, and
+he stood making sure of his direction, feeling the rough grass with
+his feet.  A black mass close behind him stirred with a heavy
+grunting sound, and three large pigs settled down again close to each
+other, under the wall.  He listened.  There was no wind, but the
+stream's burbling whispering chuckle had gained twice its daytime
+strength.  One bird, he could not tell what, cried "Pippip," "Pip-
+pip," with perfect monotony; he could hear a night-Jar spinning very
+far off; an owl hooting.  Ashurst moved a step or two, and again
+halted, aware of a dim living whiteness all round his head.  On the
+dark unstirring trees innumerable flowers and buds all soft and
+blurred were being bewitched to life by the creeping moonlight.  He
+had the oddest feeling of actual companionship, as if a million white
+moths or spirits had floated in and settled between dark sky and
+darker ground, and were opening and shutting their wings on a level
+with his eyes.  In the bewildering, still, scentless beauty of that
+moment he almost lost memory of why he had come to the orchard.  The
+flying glamour which had clothed the earth all day had not gone now
+that night had fallen, but only changed into this new form.  He moved
+on through the thicket of stems and boughs covered with that live
+powdering whiteness, till he reached the big apple tree.  No
+mistaking that, even in the dark, nearly twice the height and size of
+any other, and leaning out towards the open meadows and the stream.
+Under the thick branches he stood still again, to listen.  The same
+sounds exactly, and a faint grunting from the sleepy pigs.  He put
+his hands on the dry, almost warm tree trunk, whose rough mossy
+surface gave forth a peaty scent at his touch.  Would she come--would
+she?  And among these quivering, haunted, moon-witched trees he was
+seized with doubts of everything!  All was unearthly here, fit for no
+earthly lovers; fit only for god and goddess, faun and nymph not for
+him and this little country girl.  Would it not be almost a relief if
+she did not come?  But all the time he was listening.  And still that
+unknown bird went "Pip-pip," "Pip-pip," and there rose the busy
+chatter of the little trout stream, whereon the moon was flinging
+glances through the bars of her tree-prison.  The blossom on a level
+with his eyes seemed to grow more living every moment, seemed with
+its mysterious white beauty more and more a part of his suspense.  He
+plucked a fragment and held it close--three blossoms.  Sacrilege to
+pluck fruit-tree blossom--soft, sacred, young blossom--and throw it
+away!  Then suddenly he heard the gate close, the pigs stirring again
+and grunting; and leaning against the trunk, he pressed his hands to
+its mossy sides behind him, and held his breath.  She might have been
+a spirit threading the trees, for all the noise she made!  Then he
+saw her quite close--her dark form part of a little tree, her white
+face part of its blossom; so still, and peering towards him.
+He whispered: "Megan!" and held out his hands. She ran forward,
+straight to his breast.  When he felt her heart beating against him,
+Ashurst knew to the full the sensations of chivalry and passion.
+Because she was not of his world, because she was so simple and young
+and headlong, adoring and defenceless, how could he be other than her
+protector, in the dark!  Because she was all simple Nature and
+beauty, as much a part of this spring night as was the living
+blossom, how should he not take all that she would give him how not
+fulfil the spring in her heart and his!  And torn between these two
+emotions he clasped her close, and kissed her hair.  How long they
+stood there without speaking he knew not.  The stream went on
+chattering, the owls hooting, the moon kept stealing up and growing
+whiter; the blossom all round them and above brightened in suspense
+of living beauty.  Their lips had sought each other's, and they did
+not speak.  The moment speech began all would be unreal!  Spring has
+no speech, nothing but rustling and whispering.  Spring has so much
+more than speech in its unfolding flowers and leaves, and the
+coursing of its streams, and in its sweet restless seeking!  And
+sometimes spring will come alive, and, like a mysterious Presence
+stand, encircling lovers with its arms, laying on them the fingers of
+enchantment, so that, standing lips to lips, they forget everything
+but just a kiss.  While her heart beat against him, and her lips
+quivered on his, Ashurst felt nothing but simple rapture--Destiny
+meant her for his arms, Love could not be flouted!  But when their
+lips parted for breath, division began again at once.  Only, passion
+now was so much the stronger, and he sighed:
+
+"Oh!  Megan!  Why did you come?"  She looked up, hurt, amazed.
+
+"Sir, you asked me to."
+
+"Don't call me 'sir,' my pretty sweet."  "What should I be callin"
+you?"
+
+"Frank."
+
+"I could not.  Oh, no!"
+
+"But you love me--don't you?"
+
+"I could not help lovin' you.  I want to be with you--that's all."
+
+"All!"
+
+So faint that he hardly heard, she whispered: "I shall die if I can't
+be with you."
+
+Ashurst took a mighty breath.
+
+"Come and be with me, then!"
+
+"Oh!"
+
+Intoxicated by the awe and rapture in that "Oh!" he went on,
+whispering:
+
+"We'll go to London.  I'll show you the world.
+
+
+And I will take care of you, I promise, Megan.  I'll never be a brute
+to you!"
+
+"If I can be with you-that is all."
+
+He stroked her hair, and whispered on:
+
+"To-morrow I'll go to Torquay and get some money, and get you some
+clothes that won't be noticed, and then we'll steal away.  And when
+we get to London, soon perhaps, if you love me well enough, we'll be
+married."
+
+He could feel her hair shiver with the shake of her head.
+
+"Oh, no!  I could not.  I only want to be with you!"
+
+Drunk on his own chivalry, Ashurst went on murmuring "It's I who am
+not good enough for you.  Oh! Megan, when did you begin to love me?"
+
+"When I saw you in the road, and you looked at me.  The first night I
+loved you; but I never thought you would want me."
+
+She slipped down suddenly to her knees, trying to kiss his feet.
+
+A shiver of horror went through Ashurst; he lifted her up bodily and
+held her fast--too upset to speak.
+
+She whispered: "Why won't you let me?"
+
+"It's I who will kiss your feet!"
+
+Her smile brought tears into his eyes.  The whiteness of her moonlit
+face so close to his, the faint pink of her opened lips, had the
+living unearthly beauty of the apple blossom.
+
+And then, suddenly, her eyes widened and stared past him painfully;
+she writhed out of his arms, and whispered: "Look!"
+
+Ashurst saw nothing but the brightened stream, the furze faintly
+gilded, the beech trees glistening, and behind them all the wide loom
+of the moonlit hill.  Behind him came her frozen whisper: "The gipsy
+bogie!"
+
+"Where?"
+
+"There--by the stone--under the trees!"
+
+Exasperated, he leaped the stream, and strode towards the beech
+clump.  Prank of the moonlight!  Nothing!  In and out of the boulders
+and thorn trees, muttering and cursing, yet with a kind of terror, he
+rushed and stumbled.  Absurd!  Silly!  Then he went back to the apple
+tree.  But she was gone; he could hear a rustle, the grunting of the
+pigs, the sound of a gate closing.  Instead of her, only this old
+apple tree!  He flung his arms round the trunk.  What a substitute
+for her soft body; the rough moss against his face--what a substitute
+for her soft cheek; only the scent, as of the woods, a little the
+same!  And above him, and around, the blossoms, more living, more
+moonlit than ever, seemed to glow and breathe.
+
+
+
+
+7
+
+Descending from the train at Torquay station, Ashurst wandered
+uncertainly along the front, for he did not know this particular
+queen of English watering places.  Having little sense of what he had
+on, he was quite unconscious of being remarkable among its
+inhabitants, and strode along in his rough Norfolk jacket, dusty
+boots, and battered hat, without observing that people gazed at him
+rather blankly.  He was seeking a branch of his London bank, and
+having found one, found also the first obstacle to his mood.  Did he
+know anyone in Torquay?  No.  In that case, if he would wire to his
+bank in London, they would be happy to oblige him on receipt of the
+reply.  That suspicious breath from the matter-of-fact world somewhat
+tarnished the brightness of his visions.  But he sent the telegram.
+
+Nearly opposite to the post office he saw a shop full of ladies'
+garments, and examined the window with strange sensations.  To have
+to undertake the clothing of his rustic love was more than a little
+disturbing.  He went in.  A young woman came forward; she had blue
+eyes and a faintly puzzled forehead.  Ashurst stared at her in
+silence.
+
+"Yes, sir?"
+
+"I want a dress for a young lady."
+
+The young woman smiled.  Ashurst frowned the peculiarity of his
+request struck him with sudden force.
+
+The young woman added hastily:
+
+"What style would you like--something modish?"
+
+"No.  Simple."
+
+"What figure would the young lady be?"
+
+"I don't know; about two inches shorter than you, I should say."
+
+"Could you give me her waist measurement?"
+
+Megan's waist!
+
+"Oh!  anything usual!"
+
+"Quite!"
+
+While she was gone he stood disconsolately eyeing the models in the
+window, and suddenly it seemed to him incredible that Megan--his
+Megan could ever be dressed save in the rough tweed skirt, coarse
+blouse, and tam-o'-shanter cap he was wont to see her in.  The young
+woman had come back with several dresses in her arms, and Ashurst
+eyed her laying them against her own modish figure.  There was one
+whose colour he liked, a dove-grey, but to imagine Megan clothed in
+it was beyond him.  The young woman went away, and brought some more.
+But on Ashurst there had now come a feeling of paralysis.  How
+choose?  She would want a hat too, and shoes, and gloves; and,
+suppose, when he had got them all, they commonised her, as Sunday
+clothes always commonised village folk!  Why should she not travel as
+she was?  Ah!  But conspicuousness would matter; this was a serious
+elopement.  And, staring at the young woman, he thought: 'I wonder if
+she guesses, and thinks me a blackguard?'
+
+"Do you mind putting aside that grey one for me?"  he said
+desperately at last.  "I can't decide now; I'll come in again this
+afternoon."
+
+The young woman sighed.
+
+"Oh!  certainly.  It's a very tasteful costume.  I don't think you'll
+get anything that will suit your purpose better."
+
+"I expect not," Ashurst murmured, and went out.
+
+Freed again from the suspicious matter-of-factness of the world, he
+took a long breath, and went back to visions.  In fancy he saw the
+trustful, pretty creature who was going to join her life to his; saw
+himself and her stealing forth at night, walking over the moor under
+the moon, he with his arm round her, and carrying her new garments,
+till, in some far-off wood, when dawn was coming, she would slip off
+her old things and put on these, and an early train at a distant
+station would bear them away on their honeymoon journey, till London
+swallowed them up, and the dreams of love came true.
+
+"Frank Ashurst!  Haven't seen you since Rugby, old chap!"
+
+Ashurst's frown dissolved; the face, close to his own, was blue-eyed,
+suffused with sun--one of those faces where sun from within and
+without join in a sort of lustre.  And he answered:
+
+"Phil Halliday, by Jove!"
+
+"What are you doing here?"
+
+"Oh!  nothing.  Just looking round, and getting some money.  I'm
+staying on the moor."
+
+"Are you lunching anywhere?  Come and lunch with us; I'm here with my
+young sisters.  They've had measles."
+
+Hooked in by that friendly arm Ashurst went along, up a hill, down a
+hill, away out of the town, while the voice of Halliday, redolent of
+optimism as his face was of sun, explained how "in this mouldy place
+the only decent things were the bathing and boating," and so on, till
+presently they came to a crescent of houses a little above and back
+from the sea, and into the centre one an hotel--made their way.
+
+"Come up to my room and have a wash.  Lunch'll be ready in a jiffy."
+
+Ashurst contemplated his visage in a looking-glass.  After his
+farmhouse bedroom, the comb and one spare shirt regime of the last
+fortnight, this room littered with clothes and brushes was a sort of
+Capua; and he thought: 'Queer--one doesn't realise But what--he did
+not quite know.
+
+When he followed Halliday into the sitting room for lunch, three
+faces, very fair and blue-eyed, were turned suddenly at the words:
+"This is Frank Ashurst my young sisters."
+
+Two were indeed young, about eleven and ten.  The third was perhaps
+seventeen, tall and fair-haired too, with pink-and-white cheeks just
+touched by the sun, and eyebrows, rather darker than the hair,
+running a little upwards from her nose to their outer points.  The
+voices of all three were like Halliday's, high and cheerful; they
+stood up straight, shook hands with a quick movement, looked at
+Ashurst critically, away again at once, and began to talk of what
+they were going to do in the afternoon.  A regular Diana and
+attendant nymphs!  After the farm this crisp, slangy, eager talk,
+this cool, clean, off-hand refinement, was queer at first, and then
+so natural that what he had come from became suddenly remote.  The
+names of the two little ones seemed to be Sabina and Freda; of the
+eldest, Stella.
+
+Presently the one called Sabina turned to him and said:
+
+"I say, will you come shrimping with us?--it's awful fun!"
+
+Surprised by this unexpected friendliness, Ashurst murmured:
+
+"I'm afraid I've got to get back this afternoon."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"Can't you put it off?"
+
+Ashurst turned to the new speaker, Stella, shook his head, and
+smiled.  She was very pretty!  Sabina said regretfully: "You might!"
+Then the talk switched off to caves and swimming.
+
+"Can you swim far?"
+
+"About two miles."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"I say!"
+
+"How jolly!"
+
+The three pairs of blue eyes, fixed on him, made him conscious of his
+new importance--The sensation was agreeable.  Halliday said:
+
+"I say, you simply must stop and have a bathe.  You'd better stay the
+night."
+
+"Yes, do!"'
+
+But again Ashurst smiled and shook his head.  Then suddenly he found
+himself being catechised about his physical achievements.  He had
+rowed--it seemed--in his college boat, played in his college football
+team, won his college mile; and he rose from table a sort of hero.
+The two little girls insisted that he must see "their" cave, and they
+set forth chattering like magpies, Ashurst between them, Stella and
+her brother a little behind.  In the cave, damp and darkish like any
+other cave, the great feature was a pool with possibility of
+creatures which might be caught and put into bottles.  Sabina and
+Freda, who wore no stockings on their shapely brown legs, exhorted
+Ashurst to join them in the middle of it, and help sieve the water.
+He too was soon bootless and sockless.  Time goes fast for one who
+has a sense of beauty, when there are pretty children in a pool and a
+young Diana on the edge, to receive with wonder anything you can
+catch!  Ashurst never had much sense of time.  It was a shock when,
+pulling out his watch, he saw it was well past three.  No cashing his
+cheque to-day-the bank would be closed before he could get there.
+Watching his expression, the little girls cried out at once:
+
+"Hurrah!  Now you'll have to stay!"
+
+Ashurst did not answer.  He was seeing again Megan's face, when at
+breakfast time he had whispered: "I'm going to Torquay, darling, to
+get everything; I shall be back this evening.  If it's fine we can go
+to-night.  Be ready."  He was seeing again how she quivered and hung
+on his words.  What would she think?  Then he pulled himself
+together, conscious suddenly of the calm scrutiny of this other young
+girl, so tall and fair and Diana-like, at the edge of the pool, of
+her wondering blue eyes under those brows which slanted up a little.
+If they knew what was in his mind--if they knew that this very night
+he had meant!  Well, there would be a little sound of disgust, and he
+would be alone in the cave.  And with a curious mixture of anger,
+chagrin, and shame, he put his watch back into his pocket and said
+abruptly:
+
+"Yes; I'm dished for to-day."
+
+"Hurrah!  Now you can bathe with us."
+
+It was impossible not to succumb a little to the contentment of these
+pretty children, to the smile on Stella's lips, to Halliday's
+"Ripping, old chap!  I can lend you things for the night!" But again
+a spasm of longing and remorse throbbed through Ashurst, and he said
+moodily:
+
+"I must send a wire!"
+
+The attractions of the pool palling, they went back to the hotel.
+Ashurst sent his wire, addressing it to Mrs. Narracombe: "Sorry,
+detained for the night, back to-morrow."  Surely Megan would
+understand that he had too much to do; and his heart grew lighter.
+It was a lovely afternoon, warm, the sea calm and blue, and swimming
+his great passion; the favour of these pretty children flattered him,
+the pleasure of looking at them, at Stella, at Halliday's sunny face;
+the slight unreality, yet extreme naturalness of it all--as of a last
+peep at normality before be took this plunge with Megan!  He got his
+borrowed bathing dress, and they all set forth.  Halliday and he
+undressed behind one rock, the three girls behind another.  He was
+first into the sea, and at once swam out with the bravado of
+justifying his self-given reputation.  When he turned he could see
+Halliday swimming along shore, and the girls flopping and dipping,
+and riding the little waves, in the way he was accustomed to despise,
+but now thought pretty and sensible, since it gave him the
+distinction of the only deep-water fish.  But drawing near, he
+wondered if they would like him, a stranger, to come into their
+splashing group; he felt shy, approaching that slim nymph.  Then
+Sabina summoned him to teach her to float, and between them the
+little girls kept him so busy that he had no time even to notice
+whether Stella was accustomed to his presence, till suddenly he heard
+a startled sound from her: She was standing submerged to the waist,
+leaning a little forward, her slim white arms stretched out and
+pointing, her wet face puckered by the sun and an expression of fear.
+
+"Look at Phil!  Is he all right?  Oh, look!"
+
+Ashurst saw at once that Phil was not all right.  He was splashing
+and struggling out of his depth, perhaps a hundred yards away;
+suddenly he gave a cry, threw up his arms, and went down.  Ashurst
+saw the girl launch herself towards him, and crying out: "Go back,
+Stella!  Go back!"  he dashed out.  He had never swum so fast, and
+reached Halliday just as he was coming up a second time.  It was a
+case of cramp, but to get him in was not difficult, for he did not
+struggle.  The girl, who had stopped where Ashurst told her to,
+helped as soon as he was in his depth, and once on the beach they sat
+down one on each side of him to rub his limbs, while the little ones
+stood by with scared faces.  Halliday was soon smiling.  It was--he
+said--rotten of him, absolutely rotten!  If Frank would give him an
+arm, he could get to his clothes all right now.  Ashurst gave him the
+arm, and as he did so caught sight of Stella's face, wet and flushed
+and tearful, all broken up out of its calm; and he thought: 'I called
+her Stella!  Wonder if she minded?'
+
+While they were dressing, Halliday said quietly "You saved my life,
+old chap!"
+
+"Rot!,"
+
+Clothed, but not quite in their right minds, they went up all
+together to the hotel and sat down to tea, except Halliday, who was
+lying down in his room.  After some slices of bread and jam, Sabina
+said:
+
+"I say, you know, you are a brick!"  And Freda chimed in:
+
+"Rather!"
+
+Ashurst saw Stella looking down; he got up in confusion, and went to
+the window.  From there he heard Sabina mutter: "I say, let's swear
+blood bond.  Where's your knife, Freda?"  and out of the corner of
+his eye could see each of them solemnly prick herself, squeeze out a
+drop of blood and dabble on a bit of paper.  He turned and made for
+the door.
+
+"Don't be a stoat!  Come back!"  His arms were seized; imprisoned
+between the little girls he was brought back to the table.  On it lay
+a piece of paper with an effigy drawn in blood, and the three names
+Stella Halliday, Sabina Halliday, Freda Halliday--also in blood,
+running towards it like the rays of a star.  Sabina said:
+
+"That's you.  We shall have to kiss you, you know."
+
+And Freda echoed:
+
+"Oh!  Blow--Yes!"
+
+Before Ashurst could escape, some wettish hair dangled against his
+face, something like a bite descended on his nose, he felt his left
+arm pinched, and other teeth softly searching his cheek.  Then he was
+released, and Freda said:
+
+"Now, Stella."
+
+Ashurst, red and rigid, looked across the table at a red and rigid
+Stella.  Sabina giggled; Freda cried:
+
+'Buck up--it spoils everything!"
+
+A queer, ashamed eagerness shot through Ashurst: then he said
+quietly:
+
+"Shut up, you little demons!"
+
+Again Sabina giggled.
+
+"Well, then, she can kiss her hand, and you can put it against your
+nose.  It is on one side!"
+
+To his amazement the girl did kiss her hand and stretch it out.
+Solemnly he took that cool, slim hand and laid it to his cheek.  The
+two little girls broke into clapping, and Freda said:
+
+"Now, then, we shall have to save your life at any time; that's
+settled.  Can I have another cup, Stella, not so beastly weak?"
+Tea was resumed, and Ashurst, folding up the paper, put it in his
+pocket.  The talk turned on the advantages of measles, tangerine
+oranges, honey in a spoon, no lessons, and so forth.  Ashurst
+listened, silent, exchanging friendly looks with Stella, whose face
+was again of its normal sun-touched pink and white.  It was soothing
+to be so taken to the heart of this jolly family, fascinating to
+watch their faces.  And after tea, while the two little girls pressed
+seaweed, he talked to Stella in the window seat and looked at her
+water-colour sketches.  The whole thing was like a pleasurable dream;
+time and incident hung up, importance and reality suspended.
+Tomorrow he would go back to Megan, with nothing of all this left
+save the paper with the blood of these children, in his pocket.
+Children!  Stella was not quite that--as old as Megan!  Her talk--
+quick, rather hard and shy, yet friendly--seemed to flourish on his
+silences, and about her there was something cool and virginal--a
+maiden in a bower.  At dinner, to which Halliday, who had swallowed
+too much sea-water, did not come, Sabina said:
+
+"I'm going to call you Frank."
+
+Freda echoed:
+
+"Frank, Frank, Franky."
+
+Ashurst grinned and bowed.
+
+"Every time Stella calls you Mr. Ashurst, she's got to pay a forfeit.
+It's ridiculous."
+
+Ashurst looked at Stella, who grew slowly red.  Sabina giggled; Freda
+cried:
+
+"She's 'smoking'--'smoking!'--Yah!"
+
+Ashurst reached out to right and left, and grasped some fair hair in
+each hand.
+
+"Look here," he said, "you two!  Leave Stella alone, or I'll tie you
+together!"
+
+Freda gurgled:
+
+"Ouch!  You are a beast!"
+
+Sabina murmured cautiously:
+
+"You call her Stella, you see!"
+
+"Why shouldn't I?  It's a jolly name!"
+
+"All right; we give you leave to!"
+
+Ashurst released the hair.  Stella!  What would she call him--after
+this?  But she called him nothing; till at bedtime he said,
+deliberately:
+
+"Good-night, Stella!"
+
+"Good-night, Mr.---- Good-night, Frank!  It was jolly of you, you
+know!"
+
+"Oh-that!  Bosh!"
+
+Her quick, straight handshake tightened suddenly, and as suddenly
+became slack.
+
+Ashurst stood motionless in the empty sitting-room.  Only last night,
+under the apple tree and the living blossom, he had held Megan to
+him, kissing her eyes and lips.  And he gasped, swept by that rush of
+remembrance.  To-night it should have begun-his life with her who
+only wanted to be with him!  And now, twenty-four hours and more must
+pass, because-of not looking at his watch!  Why had he made friends
+with this family of innocents just when he was saying good-bye to
+innocence, and all the rest of it?  'But I mean to marry her,' he
+thought; 'I told her so!'
+
+He took a candle, lighted it, and went to his bedroom, which was next
+to Halliday's.  His friend's voice called, as he was passing:
+
+"Is that you, old chap?  I say, come in."
+
+He was sitting up in bed, smoking a pipe and reading.
+
+"Sit down a bit."
+
+Ashurst sat down by the open window.
+
+"I've been thinking about this afternoon, you know," said Halliday
+rather suddenly.  "They say you go through all your past.  I didn't.
+I suppose I wasn't far enough gone."
+
+"What did you think of?"
+
+Halliday was silent for a little, then said quietly
+
+"Well, I did think of one thing--rather odd--of a girl at Cambridge
+that I might have--you know; I was glad I hadn't got her on my mind.
+Anyhow, old chap, I owe it to you that I'm here; I should have been
+in the big dark by now.  No more bed, or baccy; no more anything.  I
+say, what d'you suppose happens to us?"
+
+Ashurst murmured:
+
+"Go out like flames, I expect."
+
+"Phew!"
+
+"We may flicker, and cling about a bit, perhaps."
+
+"H'm! I think that's rather gloomy.  I say, I hope my young sisters
+have been decent to you?"
+
+"Awfully decent."
+
+Halliday put his pipe down, crossed his hands behind his neck, and
+turned his face towards the window.
+
+"They're not bad kids!"  he said.
+
+Watching his friend, lying there, with that smile, and the candle-
+light on his face, Ashurst shuddered.  Quite true!  He might have
+been lying there with no smile, with all that sunny look gone out for
+ever!  He might not have been lying there at all, but "sanded" at the
+bottom of the sea, waiting for resurrection on the ninth day, was it?
+And that smile of Halliday's seemed to him suddenly something
+wonderful, as if in it were all the difference between life and
+death--the little flame--the all!  He got up, and said softly:
+
+"Well, you ought to sleep, I expect.  Shall I blow out?"
+
+Halliday caught his hand.
+
+"I can't say it, you know; but it must be rotten to be dead.  Good-
+night, old boy!"
+
+Stirred and moved, Ashurst squeezed the hand, and went downstairs.
+The hall door was still open, and he passed out on to the lawn before
+the Crescent.  The stars were bright in a very dark blue sky, and by
+their light some lilacs had that mysterious colour of flowers by
+night which no one can describe.  Ashurst pressed his face against a
+spray; and before his closed eyes Megan started up, with the tiny
+brown spaniel pup against her breast.  "I thought of a girl that I
+might have you know.  I was glad I hadn't got her on my mind!"  He
+jerked his head away from the lilac, and began pacing up and down
+over the grass, a grey phantom coming to substance for a moment in
+the light from the lamp at either end.  He was with her again under
+the living, breathing white ness of the blossom, the stream
+chattering by, the moon glinting steel-blue on the bathing-pool; back
+in the rapture of his kisses on her upturned face of innocence and
+humble passion, back in the suspense and beauty of that pagan night.
+He stood still once more in the shadow of the lilacs.  Here the sea,
+not the stream, was Night's voice; the sea with its sigh and rustle;
+no little bird, no owl, no night-Jar called or spun; but a piano
+tinkled, and the white houses cut the sky with solid curve, and the
+scent from the lilacs filled the air.  A window of the hotel, high
+up, was lighted; he saw a shadow move across the blind.  And most
+queer sensations stirred within him, a sort of churning, and twining,
+and turning of a single emotion on itself, as though spring and love,
+bewildered and confused, seeking the way, were baffled.  This girl,
+who had called him Frank, whose hand had given his that sudden little
+clutch, this girl so cool and pure--what would she think of such
+wild, unlawful loving?  He sank down on the grass, sitting there
+cross-legged, with his back to the house, motionless as some carved
+Buddha.  Was he really going to break through innocence, and steal?
+Sniff the scent out of a wild flower, and--perhaps--throw it away?
+"Of a girl at Cambridge that I might have--you know!"  He put his
+hands to the grass, one on each side, palms downwards, and pressed;
+it was just warm still--the grass, barely moist, soft and firm and
+friendly.  'What am I going to do?' he thought.  Perhaps Megan was at
+her window, looking out at the blossom, thinking of him!  Poor little
+Megan!  'Why not?' he thought.  'I love her!  But do I really love
+her? or do I only want her because she is so pretty, and loves me?
+What am I going to do?'  The piano tinkled on, the stars winked; and
+Ashurst gazed out before him at the dark sea, as if spell-bound.  He
+got up at last, cramped and rather chilly.  There was no longer light
+in any window.  And he went in to bed.
+
+Out of a deep and dreamless sleep he was awakened by the sound of
+thumping on the door.  A shrill voice called:
+
+"Hi! Breakfast's ready."
+
+He jumped up.  Where was he--?  Ah!
+
+He found them already eating marmalade, and sat down in the empty
+place between Stella and Sabina, who, after watching him a little,
+said:
+
+"I say, do buck up; we're going to start at half-past nine."
+
+"We're going to Berry Head, old chap; you must come!"
+
+Ashurst thought: 'Come!  Impossible.  I shall be getting things and
+going back.'  He looked at Stella.  She said quickly:
+
+"Do come!"
+
+Sabina chimed in:
+
+"It'll be no fun without you."
+
+Freda got up and stood behind his chair.
+
+"You've got to come, or else I'll pull your hair!"
+
+Ashurst thought: 'Well--one day more--to think it over!  One day
+more!'  And he said:
+
+"All right!  You needn't tweak my mane!"
+
+"Hurrah!"
+
+At the station he wrote a second telegram to the farm, and then tore
+it up; he could not have explained why.  From Brixham they drove in a
+very little wagonette.  There, squeezed between Sabina and Freda,
+with his knees touching Stella's, they played "Up, Jenkins "; and the
+gloom he was feeling gave way to frolic.  In this one day more to
+think it over, he did not want to think!  They ran races, wrestled,
+paddled--for to-day nobody wanted to bathe--they sang catches, played
+games, and ate all they had brought.  The little girls fell asleep
+against him on the way back, and his knees still touched Stella's in
+the narrow wagonette.  It seemed incredible that thirty hours ago he
+had never set eyes on any of those three flaxen heads.  In the train
+he talked to Stella of poetry, discovering her favourites, and
+telling her his own with a pleasing sense of superiority; till
+suddenly she said, rather low:
+
+"Phil says you don't believe in a future life, Frank.  I think that's
+dreadful."
+
+Disconcerted, Ashurst muttered:
+
+"I don't either believe or not believe--I simply don't know."
+
+She said quickly:
+
+"I couldn't bear that.  What would be the use of living?"
+
+Watching the frown of those pretty oblique brows, Ashurst answered:
+
+"I don't believe in believing things because a one wants to."
+
+"But why should one wish to live again, if one isn't going to?"
+
+And she looked full at him.
+
+He did not want to hurt her, but an itch to dominate pushed him on to
+say:
+
+"While one's alive one naturally wants to go on living for ever;
+that's part of being alive.  But it probably isn't anything more."
+
+"Don't you believe in the Bible at all, then?"
+
+Ashurst thought: 'Now I shall really hurt her!'
+
+"I believe in the Sermon on the Mount, because it's beautiful and
+good for all time."
+
+"But don't you believe Christ was divine?"
+
+He shook his head.
+
+She turned her face quickly to the window, and there sprang into his
+mind Megan's prayer, repeated by little Nick: "God bless us all, and
+Mr. Ashes!"  Who else would ever say a prayer for him, like her who
+at this moment must be waiting--waiting to see him come down the
+lane?  And he thought suddenly: 'What a scoundrel I am!'
+
+All that evening this thought kept coming back; but, as is not
+unusual, each time with less poignancy, till it seemed almost a
+matter of course to be a scoundrel.  And--strange!--he did not know
+whether he was a scoundrel if he meant to go back to Megan, or if he
+did not mean to go back to her.
+
+They played cards till the children were sent off to bed; then Stella
+went to the piano.  From over on the window seat, where it was nearly
+dark, Ashurst watched her between the candles--that fair head on the
+long, white neck bending to the movement of her hands.  She played
+fluently, without much expression; but what a Picture she made, the
+faint golden radiance, a sort of angelic atmosphere hovering about
+her!  Who could have passionate thoughts or wild desires in the
+presence of that swaying, white-clothed girl with the seraphic head?
+She played a thing of Schumann's called "Warum?"  Then Halliday
+brought out a flute, and the spell was broken.  After this they made
+Ashurst sing, Stella playing him accompaniments from a book of
+Schumann songs, till, in the middle of "Ich grolle nicht," two small
+figures clad in blue dressing-gowns crept in and tried to conceal
+themselves beneath the piano.  The evening broke up in confusion, and
+what Sabina called "a splendid rag."
+
+That night Ashurst hardly slept at all.  He was thinking, tossing and
+turning.  The intense domestic intimacy of these last two days, the
+strength of this Halliday atmosphere, seemed to ring him round, and
+make the farm and Megan--even Megan--seem unreal.  Had he really made
+love to her--really promised to take her away to live with him?  He
+must have been bewitched by the spring, the night, the apple blossom!
+This May madness could but destroy them both!  The notion that he was
+going to make her his mistress--that simple child not yet eighteen--
+now filled him with a sort of horror, even while it still stung and
+whipped his blood.  He muttered to himself: "It's awful, what I've
+done--awful!"  And the sound of Schumann's music throbbed and mingled
+with his fevered thoughts, and he saw again Stella's cool, white,
+fair-haired figure and bending neck, the queer, angelic radiance
+about her.  'I must have been--I must be-mad!' he thought.  'What
+came into me?  Poor little Megan!'  "God bless us all, and Mr.
+Ashes!"  "I want to be with you--only to be with you!"  And burying
+his face in his pillow, he smothered down a fit of sobbing.  Not to
+go back was awful!  To go back--more awful still!
+
+Emotion, when you are young, and give real vent to it, loses its
+power of torture.  And he fell asleep, thinking: 'What was it--a few
+kisses--all forgotten in a month!'
+
+Next morning he got his cheque cashed, but avoided the shop of the
+dove-grey dress like the plague; and, instead, bought himself some
+necessaries.  He spent the whole day in a queer mood, cherishing a
+kind of sullenness against himself.  Instead of the hankering of the
+last two days, he felt nothing but a blank--all passionate longing
+gone, as if quenched in that outburst of tears.  After tea Stella put
+a book down beside him, and said shyly:
+
+"Have you read that, Frank?"
+
+It was Farrar's "Life of Christ."  Ashurst smiled.  Her anxiety about
+his beliefs seemed to him comic, but touching.  Infectious too,
+perhaps, for he began to have an itch to justify himself, if not to
+convert her.  And in the evening, when the children and Halliday were
+mending their shrimping nets, he said:
+
+"At the back of orthodox religion, so far as I can see, there's
+always the idea of reward--what you can get for being good; a kind of
+begging for favours.  I think it all starts in fear."
+
+She was sitting on the sofa making reefer knots with a bit of string.
+She looked up quickly:
+
+"I think it's much deeper than that."
+
+Ashurst felt again that wish to dominate.
+
+"You think so," he said; "but wanting the 'quid pro quo' is about the
+deepest thing in all of us!  It's jolly hard to get to the bottom of
+it!"
+
+She wrinkled her brows in a puzzled frown.
+
+"I don't think I understand."
+
+He went on obstinately:
+
+"Well, think, and see if the most religious people aren't those who
+feel that this life doesn't give them all they want.  I believe in
+being good because to be good is good in itself."
+
+"Then you do believe in being good?"
+
+How pretty she looked now--it was easy to be good with her!  And he
+nodded and said:
+
+"I say, show me how to make that knot!"
+
+With her fingers touching his, in manoeuvring the bit of string, he
+felt soothed and happy.  And when he went to bed he wilfully kept his
+thoughts on her, wrapping himself in her fair, cool sisterly
+radiance, as in some garment of protection.
+
+Next day he found they had arranged to go by train to Totnes, and
+picnic at Berry Pomeroy Castle.  Still in that resolute oblivion of
+the past, he took his place with them in the landau beside Halliday,
+back to the horses.  And, then, along the sea front, nearly at the
+turning to the railway station, his heart almost leaped into his
+mouth.  Megan--Megan herself!--was walking on the far pathway, in her
+old skirt and jacket and her tam-o'-shanter, looking up into the
+faces of the passers-by.  Instinctively he threw his hand up for
+cover, then made a feint of clearing dust out of his eyes; but
+between his fingers he could see her still, moving, not with her free
+country step, but wavering, lost-looking, pitiful-like some little
+dog which has missed its master and does not know whether to run on,
+to run back--where to run.  How had she come like this?--what excuse
+had she found to get away?--what did she hope for?  But with every
+turn of the wheels bearing him away from her, his heart revolted and
+cried to him to stop them, to get out, and go to her!  When the
+landau turned the corner to the station he could stand it no more,
+and opening the carriage door, muttered: "I've forgotten something!
+Go on--don't wait for me!  I'll join you at the castle by the next
+train!"  He jumped, stumbled, spun round, recovered his balance, and
+walked forward, while the carriage with the astonished Hallidays
+rolled on.
+
+>From the corner he could only just see Megan, a long way ahead now.
+He ran a few steps, checked himself, and dropped into a walk.  With
+each step nearer to her, further from the Hallidays, he walked more
+and more slowly.  How did it alter anything--this sight of her?  How
+make the going to her, and that which must come of it, less ugly?
+For there was no hiding it--since he had met the Hallidays he had
+become gradually sure that he would not marry Megan.  It would only
+be a wild love-time, a troubled, remorseful, difficult time--and
+then--well, then he would get tired, just because she gave him
+everything, was so simple, and so trustful, so dewy.  And dew--wears
+off!  The little spot of faded colour, her tam-o'-shanter cap,
+wavered on far in front of him; she was looking up into every face,
+and at the house windows.  Had any man ever such a cruel moment to go
+through?  Whatever he did, he felt he would be a beast.  And he
+uttered a groan which made a nursemaid turn and stare.  He saw Megan
+stop and lean against the sea-wall, looking at the sea; and he too
+stopped.  Quite likely she had never seen the sea before, and even in
+her distress could not resist that sight.  'Yes-she's seen nothing,'
+he thought; 'everything's before her.  And just for a few weeks'
+passion, I shall be cutting her life to ribbons.  I'd better go and
+hang myself rather than do it!'  And suddenly he seemed to see
+Stella's calm eyes looking into his, the wave of fluffy hair on her
+forehead stirred by the wind.  Ah! it would be madness, would mean
+giving up all that he respected, and his own self-respect.  He turned
+and walked quickly back towards the station.  But memory of that
+poor, bewildered little figure, those anxious eyes searching the
+passers-by, smote him too hard again, and once more he turned towards
+the sea.
+
+The cap was no longer visible; that little spot of colour had
+vanished in the stream of the noon promenaders.  And impelled by the
+passion of longing, the dearth which comes on one when life seems to
+be whirling something out of reach, he hurried forward.  She was
+nowhere to be seen; for half an hour he looked for her; then on the
+beach flung himself face downward in the sand.  To find her again he
+knew he had only to go to the station and wait till she returned from
+her fruitless quest, to take her train home; or to take train himself
+and go back to the farm, so that she found him there when she
+returned.  But he lay inert in the sand, among the indifferent groups
+of children with their spades and buckets.  Pity at her little figure
+wandering, seeking, was well-nigh merged in the spring-running of his
+blood; for it was all wild feeling now--the chivalrous part, what
+there had been of it, was gone.  He wanted her again, wanted her
+kisses, her soft, little body, her abandonment, all her quick, warm,
+pagan emotion; wanted the wonderful feeling of that night under the
+moonlit apple boughs; wanted it all with a horrible intensity, as the
+faun wants the nymph.  The quick chatter of the little bright trout-
+stream, the dazzle of the buttercups, the rocks of the old "wild
+men"; the calling of the cuckoos and yaffles, the hooting of the
+owls; and the red moon peeping out of the velvet dark at the living
+whiteness of the blossom; and her face just out of reach at the
+window, lost in its love-look; and her heart against his, her lips
+answering his, under the apple tree--all this besieged him.  Yet he
+lay inert.  What was it which struggled against pity and this
+feverish longing, and kept him there paralysed in the warm sand?
+Three flaxen heads--a fair face with friendly blue--grey eyes, a slim
+hand pressing his, a quick voice speaking his name--"So you do
+believe in being good?"  Yes, and a sort of atmosphere as of some old
+walled-in English garden, with pinks, and cornflowers, and roses, and
+scents of lavender and lilaccool and fair, untouched, almost holy--
+all that he had been brought up to feel was clean and good.  And
+suddenly he thought: 'She might come along the front again and see
+me!' and he got up and made his way to the rock at the far end of the
+beach.  There, with the spray biting into his face, he could think
+more coolly.  To go back to the farm and love Megan out in the woods,
+among the rocks, with everything around wild and fitting--that, he
+knew, was impossible, utterly.  To transplant her to a great town, to
+keep, in some little flat or rooms, one who belonged so wholly to
+Nature--the poet in him shrank from it.  His passion would be a mere
+sensuous revel, soon gone; in London, her very simplicity, her lack
+of all intellectual quality, would make her his secret plaything--
+nothing else.  The longer he sat on the rock, with his feet dangling
+over a greenish pool from which the sea was ebbing, the more clearly
+he saw this; but it was as if her arms and all of her were slipping
+slowly, slowly down from him, into the pool, to be carried away out
+to sea; and her face looking up, her lost face with beseeching eyes,
+and dark, wet hair-possessed, haunted, tortured him!  He got up at
+last, scaled the low rock-cliff, and made his way down into a
+sheltered cove.  Perhaps in the sea he could get back his control--
+lose this fever!  And stripping off his clothes, he swam out.  He
+wanted to tire himself so that nothing mattered and swam recklessly,
+fast and far; then suddenly, for no reason, felt afraid.  Suppose he
+could not reach shore again--suppose the current set him out--or he
+got cramp, like Halliday!  He turned to swim in.  The red cliffs
+looked a long way off.  If he were drowned they would find his
+clothes.  The Hallidays would know; but Megan perhaps never--they
+took no newspaper at the farm.  And Phil Halliday's words came back
+to him again: "A girl at Cambridge I might have   Glad I haven't got
+her on my mind!"  And in that moment of unreasoning fear he vowed he
+would not have her on his mind.  Then his fear left him; he swam in
+easily enough, dried himself in the sun, and put on his clothes.  His
+heart felt sore, but no longer ached; his body cool and refreshed.
+
+When one is as young as Ashurst, pity is not a violent emotion.  And,
+back in the Hallidays' sitting-room, eating a ravenous tea, he felt
+much like a man recovered from fever.  Everything seemed new and
+clear; the tea, the buttered toast and jam tasted absurdly good;
+tobacco had never smelt so nice.  And walking up and down the empty
+room, he stopped here and there to touch or look.  He took up
+Stella's work-basket, fingered the cotton reels and a gaily-coloured
+plait of sewing silks, smelt at the little bag filled with woodroffe
+she kept among them.  He sat down at the piano, playing tunes with
+one finger, thinking: 'To-night she'll play; I shall watch her while
+she's playing; it does me good to watch her.'  He took up the book,
+which still lay where she had placed it beside him, and tried to
+read.  But Megan's little, sad figure began to come back at once, and
+he got up and leaned in the window, listening to the thrushes in the
+Crescent gardens, gazing at the sea, dreamy and blue below the trees.
+A servant came in and cleared the tea away, and he still stood,
+inhaling the evening air, trying not to think.  Then he saw the
+Hallidays coming through the gate of the Crescent, Stella a little in
+front of Phil and the children, with their baskets, and instinctively
+he drew back.  His heart, too sore and discomfited, shrank from this
+encounter, yet wanted its friendly solace--bore a grudge against this
+influence, yet craved its cool innocence, and the pleasure of
+watching Stella's face.  From against the wall behind the piano he
+saw her come in and stand looking a little blank as though
+disappointed; then she saw him and smiled, a swift, brilliant smile
+which warmed yet irritated Ashurst.
+
+"You never came after us, Frank."
+
+"No; I found I couldn't."
+
+"Look!  We picked such lovely late violets!"  She held out a bunch.
+Ashurst put his nose to them, and there stirred within him vague
+longings, chilled instantly by a vision of Megan's anxious face
+lifted to the faces of the passers-by.
+
+He said shortly: "How jolly!"  and turned away.  He went up to his
+room, and, avoiding the children, who were coming up the stairs,
+threw himself on his bed, and lay there with his arms crossed over
+his face.  Now that he felt the die really cast, and Megan given up,
+he hated himself, and almost hated the Hallidays and their atmosphere
+of healthy, happy English homes.
+
+Why should they have chanced here, to drive away first love--to show
+him that he was going to be no better than a common seducer?  What
+right had Stella, with her fair, shy beauty, to make him know for
+certain that he would never marry Megan; and, tarnishing it all,
+bring him such bitterness of regretful longing and such pity?  Megan
+would be back by now, worn out by her miserable seeking--poor little
+thing!--expecting, perhaps, to find him there when she reached home.
+Ashurst bit at his sleeve, to stifle a groan of remorseful longing.
+He went to dinner glum and silent, and his mood threw a dinge even
+over the children.  It was a melancholy, rather ill tempered evening,
+for they were all tired; several times he caught Stella looking at
+him with a hurt, puzzled expression, and this pleased his evil mood.
+He slept miserably; got up quite early, and wandered out.  He went
+down to the beach.  Alone there with the serene, the blue, the sunlit
+sea, his heart relaxed a little.  Conceited fool--to think that Megan
+would take it so hard!  In a week or two she would almost have
+forgotten!  And he well, he would have the reward of virtue!  A good
+young man!  If Stella knew, she would give him her blessing for
+resisting that devil she believed in; and he uttered a hard laugh.
+But slowly the peace and beauty of sea and sky, the flight of the
+lonely seagulls, made him feel ashamed.  He bathed, and turned
+homewards.
+
+In the Crescent gardens Stella herself was sitting on a camp stool,
+sketching.  He stole up close behind.  How fair and pretty she was,
+bent diligently, holding up her brush, measuring, wrinkling her
+brows.
+
+He said gently:
+
+"Sorry I was such a beast last night, Stella."
+
+She turned round, startled, flushed very pink, and said in her quick
+way:
+
+"It's all right.  I knew there was something.  Between friends it
+doesn't matter, does it?"
+
+Ashurst answered:
+
+"Between friends--and we are, aren't we?"
+
+She looked up at him, nodded vehemently, and her upper teeth gleamed
+again in that swift, brilliant smile.
+
+Three days later he went back to London, travelling with the
+Hallidays.  He had not written to the farm.  What was there he could
+say?
+
+On the last day of April in the following year he and Stella were
+married....
+
+Such were Ashurst's memories, sitting against the wall among the
+gorse, on his silver-wedding day.  At this very spot, where he had
+laid out the lunch, Megan must have stood outlined against the sky
+when he had first caught sight of her.  Of all queer coincidences!
+And there moved in him a longing to go down and see again the farm
+and the orchard, and the meadow of the gipsy bogle.  It would not
+take long; Stella would be an hour yet, perhaps.
+
+How well he remembered it all--the little crowning group of pine
+trees, the steep-up grass hill behind!  He paused at the farm gate.
+The low stone house, the yew-tree porch, the flowering currants--not
+changed a bit; even the old green chair was out there on the grass
+under the window, where he had reached up to her that night to take
+the key.  Then he turned down the lane, and stood leaning on the
+orchard gate-grey skeleton of a gate, as then.  A black pig even was
+wandering in there among the trees.  Was it true that twenty-six
+years had passed, or had he dreamed and awakened to find Megan
+waiting for him by the big apple tree?  Unconsciously he put up his
+hand to his grizzled beard and brought himself back to reality.
+Opening the gate, he made his way down through the docks and nettles
+till he came to the edge, and the old apple tree itself.  Unchanged!
+A little more of the greygreen lichen, a dead branch or two, and for
+the rest it might have been only last night that he had embraced that
+mossy trunk after Megan's flight and inhaled its woody savour, while
+above his head the moonlit blossom had seemed to breathe and live.
+In that early spring a few buds were showing already; the blackbirds
+shouting their songs, a cuckoo calling, the sunlight bright and warm.
+Incredibly the same-the chattering trout-stream, the narrow pool he
+had lain in every morning, splashing the water over his flanks and
+chest; and out there in the wild meadow the beech clump and the stone
+where the gipsy bogie was supposed to sit.  And an ache for lost
+youth, a hankering, a sense of wasted love and sweetness, gripped
+Ashurst by the throat.  Surely, on this earth of such wild beauty,
+one was meant to hold rapture to one's heart, as this earth and sky
+held it!  And yet, one could not!
+
+He went to the edge of the stream, and looking down at the little
+pool, thought: 'Youth and spring!  What has become of them all, I
+wonder?'
+
+And then, in sudden fear of having this memory jarred by human
+encounter, he went back to the lane, and pensively retraced his steps
+to the crossroads.
+
+Beside the car an old, grey-bearded labourer was leaning on a stick,
+talking to the chauffeur.  He broke off at once, as though guilty of
+disrespect, and touching his hat, prepared to limp on down the lane.
+
+Ashurst pointed to the narrow green mound.  "Can you tell me what
+this is?"
+
+The old fellow stopped; on his face had come a look as though he were
+thinking: 'You've come to the right shop, mister!'
+
+"'Tes a grave," he said.
+
+"But why out here?"
+
+The old man smiled.  "That's a tale, as yu may say.  An' not the
+first time as I've a-told et--there's plenty folks asks 'bout that
+bit o' turf.  'Maid's Grave' us calls et, 'ereabouts."
+
+Ashurst held out his pouch.  "Have a fill?"
+
+The old man touched his hat again, and slowly filled an old clay
+pipe.  His eyes, looking upward out of a mass of wrinkles and hair,
+were still quite bright.
+
+"If yu don' mind, zurr, I'll zet down my leg's 'urtin' a bit today."
+And he sat down on the mound of turf.
+
+"There's always a flower on this grave.  An' 'tain't so very
+lonesome, neither; brave lot o' folks goes by now, in they new motor
+cars an' things--not as 'twas in th' old days.  She've a got company
+up 'ere.  'Twas a poor soul killed 'erself."
+
+"I see!" said Ashurst.  "Cross-roads burial.  I didn't know that
+custom was kept up."
+
+"Ah!  but 'twas a main long time ago.  Us 'ad a parson as was very
+God-fearin' then.  Let me see, I've a 'ad my pension six year come
+Michaelmas, an' I were just on fifty when t'appened.  There's none
+livin' knows more about et than what I du.  She belonged close 'ere;
+same farm as where I used to work along o' Mrs. Narracombe 'tes Nick
+Narracombe's now; I dus a bit for 'im still, odd times."
+
+Ashurst, who was leaning against the gate, lighting his pipe, left
+his curved hands before his face for long after the flame of the
+match had gone out.
+
+"Yes?"  he said, and to himself his voice sounded hoarse and queer.
+
+"She was one in an 'underd, poor maid!  I putts a flower 'ere every
+time I passes.  Pretty maid an' gude maid she was, though they
+wouldn't burry 'er up to th' church, nor where she wanted to be
+burried neither."  The old labourer paused, and put his hairy,
+twisted hand flat down on the turf beside the bluebells.
+
+"Yes?"  said Ashurst.
+
+"In a manner of speakin'," the old man went on, "I think as 'twas a
+love-story--though there's no one never knu for zartin.  Yu can't
+tell what's in a maid's 'ead but that's wot I think about it."  He
+drew his hand along the turf.  "I was fond o' that maid--don' know as
+there was anyone as wasn' fond of 'er.  But she was to lovin'-
+'earted--that's where 'twas, I think."  He looked up.  And Ashurst,
+whose lips were trembling in the cover of his beard, murmured again:
+"Yes?"
+
+"'Twas in the spring, 'bout now as 't might be, or a little later--
+blossom time--an' we 'ad one o' they young college gentlemen stayin'
+at the farm-nice feller tu, with 'is 'ead in the air.  I liked 'e
+very well, an' I never see nothin' between 'em, but to my thinkin' 'e
+turned the maid's fancy."  The old man took the pipe out of his
+mouth, spat, and went on:
+
+"Yu see, 'e went away sudden one day, an' never come back.  They got
+'is knapsack and bits o' things down there still.  That's what stuck
+in my mind--'is never sendin' for 'em.  'Is name was Ashes, or
+somethen' like that."
+
+"Yes?"  said Ashurst once more.
+
+The old man licked his lips.
+
+"'Er never said nothin', but from that day 'er went kind of dazed
+lukin'; didn'seem rightly therr at all.  I never knu a'uman creature
+so changed in me life--never.  There was another young feller at the
+farm--Joe Biddaford 'is name wer', that was praaperly sweet on 'er,
+tu; I guess 'e used to plague 'er wi 'is attentions.  She got to luke
+quite wild.  I'd zee her sometimes of an avenin' when I was bringin'
+up the calves; ther' she'd stand in th' orchard, under the big apple
+tree, lukin' straight before 'er.  'Well,' I used t'think, 'I dunno
+what 'tes that's the matter wi' yu, but yu'm lukin' pittiful, that yu
+be!'"
+
+The old man refit his pipe, and sucked at it reflectively.
+
+"Yes?"  said Ashurst.
+
+"I remembers one day I said to 'er: 'What's the matter, Megan?'--'er
+name was Megan David, she come from Wales same as 'er aunt, ol'
+Missis Narracombe.  'Yu'm frettin' about somethin'.  I says.  'No,
+Jim,' she says, 'I'm not frettin'.' 'Yes, yu be!' I says.  'No,' she
+says, and to tears cam' rollin' out.  'Yu'm cryin'--what's that,
+then?' I says.  She putts 'er 'and over 'er 'eart: 'It 'urts me,' she
+says; 'but 'twill sune be better,' she says.  'But if anything shude
+'appen to me, Jim, I wants to be burried under this 'ere apple tree.'
+I laughed.  'What's goin' to 'appen to yu?' I says; 'don't 'ee be
+fulish.' 'No,' she says, ' I won't be fulish.'  Well, I know what
+maids are, an' I never thought no more about et, till two days arter
+that, 'bout six in the avenin' I was comin' up wi' the calves, when I
+see somethin' dark lyin' in the strame, close to that big apple tree.
+I says to meself: 'Is that a pig-funny place for a pig to get to!'
+an' I goes up to et, an' I see what 'twas."
+
+The old man stopped; his eyes, turned upward, had a bright, suffering
+look.
+
+"'Twas the maid, in a little narrer pool ther' that's made by the
+stoppin' of a rock--where I see the young gentleman bathin' once or
+twice.  'Er was lyin' on 'er face in the watter.  There was a plant
+o' goldie-cups growin' out o' the stone just above 'er'ead.  An' when
+I come to luke at 'er face, 'twas luvly, butiful, so calm's a baby's-
+-wonderful butiful et was.  When the doctor saw 'er, 'e said: "Er
+culdn' never a-done it in that little bit o' watter ef' er 'adn't a-
+been in an extarsy.'  Ah! an' judgin' from 'er face, that was just
+'ow she was.  Et made me cry praaper-butiful et was!  'Twas June
+then, but she'd afound a little bit of apple-blossom left over
+somewheres, and stuck et in 'er 'air.  That's why I thinks 'er must
+abeen in an extarsy, to go to et gay, like that.  Why!  there wasn't
+more than a fute and 'arf o' watter.  But I tell 'ee one thing--that
+meadder's 'arnted; I knu et, an' she knu et; an' no one'll persuade
+me as 'tesn't.  I told 'em what she said to me 'bout bein' burried
+under th' apple tree.  But I think that turned 'em--made et luke to
+much 's ef she'd 'ad it in 'er mind deliberate; an' so they burried
+'er up 'ere.  Parson we 'ad then was very particular, 'e was."
+
+Again the old man drew his hand over the turf.
+
+"'Tes wonderful, et seems," he added slowly, "what maids 'll du for
+love.  She 'ad a lovin-'eart; I guess 'twas broken.  But us never knu
+nothin'!"
+
+He looked up as if for approval of his story, but Ashurst had walked
+past him as if he were not there.
+
+Up on the top of the hill, beyond where he had spread the lunch,
+over, out of sight, he lay down on his face.  So had his virtue been
+rewarded, and "the Cyprian," goddess of love, taken her revenge!  And
+before his eyes, dim with tears, came Megan's face with the sprig of
+apple blossom in her dark, wet hair.  'What did I do that was wrong?'
+he thought.  'What did I do?' But he could not answer.  Spring, with
+its rush of passion, its flowers and song-the spring in his heart and
+Megan's!  Was it just Love seeking a victim!  The Greek was right,
+then--the words of the "Hippolytus" as true to-day!
+
+    "For mad is the heart of Love,
+     And gold the gleam of his wing;
+     And all to the spell thereof
+     Bend when he makes his spring.
+     All life that is wild and young
+     In mountain and wave and stream
+     All that of earth is sprung,
+     Or breathes in the red sunbeam;
+     Yea, and Mankind.  O'er all a royal throne,
+     Cyprian, Cyprian, is thine alone!"
+
+The Greek was right!  Megan!  Poor little Megan--coming over the
+hill!  Megan under the old apple tree waiting and looking!  Megan
+dead, with beauty printed on her!
+
+A voice said:
+
+"Oh, there you are! Look !"
+
+Ashurst rose, took his wife's sketch, and stared at it in silence.
+
+"Is the foreground right, Frank?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"But there's something wanting, isn't there?"
+
+Ashurst nodded.  Wanting?  The apple tree, the singing, and the gold!
+
+And solemnly he put his lips to her forehead.  It was his silver-
+wedding day.
+
+1916
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE JURYMAN
+
+
+
+     "Don't you see, brother, I was reading yesterday the Gospel
+     about Christ, the little Father; how He suffered, how He walked
+     on the earth.  I suppose you have heard about it?"
+
+     "Indeed, I have," replied Stepanuitch; "but we are people in
+     darkness; we can't read."--TOLSTOI.
+
+
+Mr. Henry Bosengate, of the London Stock Exchange, seated himself in
+his car that morning during the great war with a sense of injury.
+Major in a Volunteer Corps; member of all the local committees;
+lending this very car to the neighbouring hospital, at times even
+driving it himself for their benefit; subscribing to funds, so far as
+his diminished income permitted--he was conscious of being an asset
+to the country, and one whose time could not be wasted with impunity.
+To be summoned to sit on a jury at the local assizes, and not even
+the grand jury at that!  It was in the nature of an outrage.
+
+Strong and upright, with hazel eyes and dark eyebrows, pinkish-brown
+cheeks, a forehead white, well-shaped, and getting high, with greyish
+hair glossy and well-brushed, and a trim moustache, he might have
+been taken for that colonel of Volunteers which indeed he was in a
+fair way of becoming.
+
+His wife had followed him out under the porch, and stood bracing her
+supple body clothed in lilac linen.  Red rambler roses formed a sort
+of crown to her dark head; her ivory-coloured face had in it just a
+suggestion of the Japanese.
+
+Mr. Bosengate spoke through the whirr of the engine:
+
+"I don't expect to be late, dear.  This business is ridiculous.
+There oughtn't to be any crime in these days."
+
+His wife--her name was Kathleen--smiled.  She looked very pretty and
+cool, Mr. Bosengate thought.  To him bound on this dull and stuffy
+business everything he owned seemed pleasant--the geranium beds
+beside the gravel drive, his long, red-brick house mellowing
+decorously in its creepers and ivy, the little clock-tower over
+stables now converted to a garage, the dovecote, masking at the other
+end the conservatory which adjoined the billiard-room.  Close to the
+red-brick lodge his two children, Kate and Harry, ran out from under
+the acacia trees, and waved to him, scrambling bare-legged on to the
+low, red, ivy-covered wall which guarded his domain of eleven acres.
+Mr. Bosengate waved back, thinking: 'Jolly couple--by Jove, they
+are!'  Above their heads, through the trees, he could see right away
+to some Downs, faint in the July heat haze.  And he thought: 'Pretty
+a spot as one could have got, so close to Town!'
+
+Despite the war he had enjoyed these last two years more than any of
+the ten since he built "Charmleigh" and settled down to semi-rural
+domesticity with his young wife.  There had been a certain piquancy,
+a savour added to existence, by the country's peril, and all the
+public service and sacrifice it demanded.  His chauffeur was gone,
+and one gardener did the work of three.  He enjoyed-positively
+enjoyed, his committee work; even the serious decline of business and
+increase of taxation had not much worried one continually conscious
+of the national crisis and his own part therein.  The country had
+wanted waking up, wanted a lesson in effort and economy; and the
+feeling that he had not spared himself in these strenuous times, had
+given a zest to those quiet pleasures of bed and board which, at his
+age, even the most patriotic could retain with a good conscience.  He
+had denied himself many things--new clothes, presents for Kathleen
+and the children, travel, and that pine-apple house which he had been
+on the point of building when the war broke out; new wine, too, and
+cigars, and membership of the two Clubs which he had never used in
+the old days.  The hours had seemed fuller and longer, sleep better
+earned--wonderful, the things one could do without when put to it!
+He turned the car into the high road, driving dreamily for he was in
+plenty of time.  The war was going pretty well now; he was no fool
+optimist, but now that conscription was in force, one might
+reasonably hope for its end within a year.  Then there would be a
+boom, and one might let oneself go a little.  Visions of theatres and
+supper with his wife at the Savoy afterwards, and cosy night drives
+back into the sweet-smelling country behind your own chauffeur once
+more teased a fancy which even now did not soar beyond the confines
+of domestic pleasures.  He pictured his wife in new dresses by Jay--
+she was fifteen years younger than himself, and "paid for dressing"
+as they said.  He had always delighted--as men older than their wives
+will--in the admiration she excited from others not privileged to
+enjoy her charms.  Her rather queer and ironical beauty, her cool
+irreproachable wifeliness, was a constant balm to him.  They would
+give dinner parties again, have their friends down from town, and he
+would once more enjoy sitting at the foot of the dinner table while
+Kathleen sat at the head, with the light soft on her ivory shoulders,
+behind flowers she had arranged in that original way of hers, and
+fruit which he had grown in his hot-houses; once more he would take
+legitimate interest in the wine he offered to his guests--once more
+stock that Chinese cabinet wherein he kept cigars.  Yes--there was a
+certain satisfaction in these days of privation, if only from the
+anticipation they created.
+
+The sprinkling of villas had become continuous on either side of the
+high road; and women going out to shop, tradesmen's boys delivering
+victuals, young men in khaki, began to abound.  Now and then a
+limping or bandaged form would pass--some bit of human wreckage; and
+Mr. Bosengate would think mechanically: 'Another of those poor
+devils!  Wonder if we've had his case before us!'
+
+Running his car into the best hotel garage of the little town, he
+made his way leisurely over to the court.  It stood back from the
+market-place, and was already lapped by a sea of persons having, as
+in the outer ring at race meetings, an air of business at which one
+must not be caught out, together with a soaked or flushed appearance.
+Mr. Bosengate could not resist putting his handkerchief to his nose.
+He had carefully drenched it with lavender water, and to this fact
+owed, perhaps, his immunity from the post of foreman on the jury--
+for, say what you will about the English, they have a deep instinct
+for affairs.
+
+He found himself second in the front row of the jury box, and through
+the odour of "Sanitas" gazed at the judge's face expressionless up
+there, for all the world like a bewigged bust.  His fellows in the
+box had that appearance of falling between two classes characteristic
+of jurymen.  Mr. Bosengate was not impressed.  On one side of him the
+foreman sat, a prominent upholsterer, known in the town as "Gentleman
+Fox."  His dark and beautifully brushed and oiled hair and moustache,
+his radiant linen, gold watch and chain, the white piping to his
+waistcoat, and a habit of never saying "Sir" had long marked him out
+from commoner men; he undertook to bury people too, to save them
+trouble; and was altogether superior.  On the other side Mr.
+Bosengate had one of those men, who, except when they sit on juries,
+are never seen without a little brown bag, and the appearance of
+having been interrupted in a drink.  Pale and shiny, with large loose
+eyes shifting from side to side, he had an underdone voice and uneasy
+flabby hands.  Mr. Bosengate disliked sitting next to him.  Beyond
+this commercial traveller sat a dark pale young man with spectacles;
+beyond him again, a short old man with grey moustache, mutton chops,
+and innumerable wrinkles; and the front row was completed by a
+chemist.  The three immediately behind, Mr. Bosengate did not
+thoroughly master; but the three at the end of the second row he
+learned in their order of an oldish man in a grey suit, given to
+winking; an inanimate person with the mouth of a moustachioed cod-
+fish, over whose long bald crown three wisps of damp hair were
+carefully arranged; and a dried, dapperish, clean-shorn man, whose
+mouth seemed terrified lest it should be surprised without a smile.
+Their first and second verdicts were recorded without the necessity
+for withdrawal, and Mr. Bosengate was already sleepy when the third
+case was called.  The sight of khaki revived his drooping attention.
+But what a weedy-looking specimen!  This prisoner had a truly
+nerveless pitiable dejected air.  If he had ever had a military
+bearing it had shrunk into him during his confinement.  His ill-
+shaped brown tunic, whose little brass buttons seemed trying to keep
+smiling, struck Mr. Bosengate as ridiculously short, used though he
+was to such things.  'Absurd,' he thought--'Lumbago!  Just where they
+ought to be covered!'  Then the officer and gentleman stirred in him,
+and he added to himself: 'Still, there must be some distinction
+made!'  The little soldier's visage had once perhaps been tanned, but
+was now the colour of dark dough; his large brown eyes with white
+showing below the iris, as so often in the eyes of very nervous
+people--wandered from face to face, of judge, counsel, jury, and
+public.  There were hollows in his cheeks, his dark hair looked damp;
+around his neck he wore a bandage.  The commercial traveller on Mr.
+Bosengate's left turned, and whispered: "Felo de se!  My hat! what a
+guy!"  Mr. Bosengate pretended not to hear--he could not bear that
+fellow!--and slowly wrote on a bit of paper: "Owen Lewis."  Welsh!
+Well, he looked it--not at all an English face.  Attempted suicide--
+not at all an English crime!  Suicide implied surrender, a putting-up
+of hands to Fate--to say nothing of the religious aspect of the
+matter.  And suicide in khaki seemed to Mr. Bosengate particularly
+abhorrent; like turning tail in face of the enemy; almost meriting
+the fate of a deserter.  He looked at the prisoner, trying not to
+give way to this prejudice.  And the prisoner seemed to look at him,
+though this, perhaps, was fancy.
+
+The Counsel for the prosecution, a little, alert, grey, decided man,
+above military age, began detailing the circumstances of the crime.
+Mr. Bosengate, though not particularly sensitive to atmosphere, could
+perceive a sort of current running through the Court.  It was as if
+jury and public were thinking rhythmically in obedience to the same
+unexpressed prejudice of which he himself was conscious.  Even the
+Caesar-like pale face up there, presiding, seemed in its ironic
+serenity responding to that current.
+
+"Gentlemen of the jury, before I call my evidence, I direct your
+attention to the bandage the accused is still wearing.  He gave
+himself this wound with his Army razor, adding, if I may say so,
+insult to the injury he was inflicting on his country.  He pleads not
+guilty; and before the magistrates he said that absence from his wife
+was preying on his mind"--the advocate's close lips widened--"Well,
+gentlemen, if such an excuse is to weigh with us in these days, I'm
+sure I don't know what's to happen to the Empire."
+
+'No, by George!' thought Mr. Bosengate.
+
+The evidence of the first witness, a room-mate who had caught the
+prisoner's hand, and of the sergeant, who had at once been summoned,
+was conclusive and he began to cherish a hope that they would get
+through without withdrawing, and he would be home before five.  But
+then a hitch occurred.  The regimental doctor failed to respond when
+his name was called; and the judge having for the first time that day
+showed himself capable of human emotion, intimated that he would
+adjourn until the morrow.
+
+Mr. Bosengate received the announcement with equanimity.  He would be
+home even earlier!  And gathering up the sheets of paper he had
+scribbled on, he put them in his pocket and got up.  The would-be
+suicide was being taken out of the court--a shambling drab figure
+with shoulders hunched.  What good were men like that in these days!
+What good!  The prisoner looked up.  Mr. Bosengate encountered in
+full the gaze of those large brown eyes, with the white showing
+underneath.  What a suffering, wretched, pitiful face!  A man had no
+business to give you a look like that!  The prisoner passed on down
+the stairs, and vanished.  Mr. Bosengate went out and across the
+market place to the garage of the hotel where he had left his car.
+The sun shone fiercely and he thought: 'I must do some watering in
+the garden.'  He brought the car out, and was about to start the
+engine, when someone passing said: 'Good evenin'.  Seedy-lookin'
+beggar that last prisoner, ain't he?  We don't want men of that
+stamp."  It was his neighbour on the jury, the commercial traveller,
+in a straw hat, with a little brown bag already in his hand and the
+froth of an interrupted drink on his moustache.  Answering curtly:
+"Good evening!" and thinking: 'Nor of yours, my friend!'  Mr.
+Bosengate started the car with unnecessary clamour.  But as if
+brought back to life by the commercial traveller's remark, the
+prisoner's figure seemed to speed along too, turning up at Mr.
+Bosengate his pitifully unhappy eyes.  Want of his wife!--queer
+excuse that for trying to put it out of his power ever to see her
+again!  Why!  Half a loaf, even a slice, was better than no bread.
+Not many of that neurotic type in the Army--thank Heaven!  The
+lugubrious figure vanished, and Mr. Bosengate pictured instead the
+form of his own wife bending over her "G3oire de Dijon roses" in the
+rosery, where she generally worked a little before tea now that they
+were short of gardeners.  He saw her, as often he had seen her, raise
+herself and stand, head to one side, a gloved hand on her slender
+hip, gazing as it were ironically from under drooped lids at buds
+which did not come out fast enough.  And the word 'Caline,' for he
+was something of a French scholar, shot through his mind: 'Kath3een-
+Caline!' If he found her there when he got in, he would steal up on
+the grass and--ah! but with great care not to crease her dress or
+disturb her hair!  'If only she weren't quite so self-contained,' he
+thought; 'It's like a cat you can't get near, not really near!'
+
+The car, returning faster than it had come down that morning, had
+already passed the outskirt villas, and was breasting the hill to
+where, among fields and the old trees, Charm3eigh lay apart from
+commoner life.  Turning into his drive, Mr. Bosengate thought with a
+certain surprise: 'I wonder what she does think of!  I wonder!'  He
+put his gloves and hat down in the outer hall and went into the
+lavatory, to dip his face in cool water and wash it with sweet-
+smelling soap--delicious revenge on the unclean atmosphere in which
+he had been stewing so many hours.  He came out again into the hall
+dazed by soap and the mellowed light, and a voice from half-way up
+the stairs said: "Daddy!  Look!"  His little daughter was standing up
+there with one hand on the banisters.  She scrambled on to them and
+came sliding down, her frock up to her eyes, and her holland knickers
+to her middle.  Mr. Bosengate said mildly:
+
+"Well, that's elegant!"
+
+"Tea's in the summer-house.  Mummy's waiting.  Come on!"
+
+With her hand in his, Mr. Bosengate went on, through the drawing-
+room, long and cool, with sun-blinds down, through the billiard-room,
+high and cool, through the conservatory, green and sweet-smelling,
+out on to the terrace and the upper lawn.  He had never felt such
+sheer exhilarated joy in his home surroundings, so cool, glistening
+and green under the July sun; and he said:
+
+"Well, Kit, what have you all been doing?"
+
+"I've fed my rabbits and Harry's; and we've been in the attic; Harry
+got his leg through the skylight."
+
+Mr. Bosengate drew in his breath with a hiss.
+
+"It's all right, Daddy; we got it out again, it's only grazed the
+skin.  And we've been making swabs--I made seventeen, Mummy made
+thirty-three, and then she went to the hospital.  Did you put many
+men in prison?"
+
+Mr. Bosengate cleared his throat.  The question seemed to him
+untimely.
+
+"Only two."
+
+"What's it like in prison, Daddy?"
+
+Mr. Bosengate, who had no more knowledge than his little daughter,
+replied in an absent voice:
+
+"Not very nice."
+
+They were passing under a young oak tree, where the path wound round
+to the rosery and summer-house.  Something shot down and clawed Mr.
+Bosengate's neck.  His little daughter began to hop and suffocate
+with laughter.
+
+"Oh, Daddy!  Aren't you caught!  I led you on purpose!"
+
+Looking up, Mr. Bosengate saw his small son lying along a low branch
+above him--like the leopard he was declaring himself to be (for fear
+of error), and thought blithely: 'What an active little chap it is!'
+"Let me drop on your shoulders, Daddy--like they do on the deer."
+
+"Oh, yes!  Do be a deer, Daddy!"
+
+Mr. Bosengate did not see being a deer; his hair had just been
+brushed.  But he entered the rosery buoyantly between his offspring.
+His wife was standing precisely as he had imagined her, in a pale
+blue frock open at the neck, with a narrow black band round the
+waist, and little accordion pleats below.  She looked her coolest.
+Her smile, when she turned her head, hardly seemed to take Mr.
+Bosengate seriously enough.  He placed his lips below one of her
+half-drooped eyelids.  She even smelled of roses.  His children began
+to dance round their mother, and Mr. Bosengate,--firmly held between
+them, was also compelled to do this, until she said:
+
+"When you've quite done, let's have tea!"
+
+It was not the greeting he had imagined coming along in the car.
+Earwigs were plentiful in the summer-house--used perhaps twice a
+year, but indispensable to every country residence--and Mr. Bosengate
+was not sorry for the excuse to get out again.  Though all was so
+pleasant, he felt oddly restless, rather suffocated; and lighting his
+pipe, began to move about among the roses, blowing tobacco at the
+greenfly; in war-time one was never quite idle!  And suddenly he
+said:
+
+"We're trying a wretched Tommy at the assizes."
+
+His wife looked up from a rose.
+
+"What for?"
+
+"Attempted suicide."
+
+"Why did he?"
+
+"Can't stand the separation from his wife."
+
+She looked at him, gave a low laugh, and said:
+
+"Oh dear!"
+
+Mr. Bosengate was puzzled.  Why did she laugh?  He looked round, saw
+that the children were gone, took his pipe from his mouth, and
+approached her.
+
+"You look very pretty," he said.  "Give me a kiss!"
+
+His wife bent her body forward from the waist, and pushed her lips
+out till they touched his moustache.  Mr. Bosengate felt a sensation
+as if he had arisen from breakfast, without having eaten marmalade.
+He mastered it, and said:
+
+"That jury are a rum lot."
+
+His wife's eyelids flickered.  "I wish women sat on juries."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"It would be an experience."
+
+Not the first time she had used that curious expression!  Yet her
+life was far from dull, so far as he could see; with the new
+interests created by the war, and the constant calls on her time made
+by the perfection of their home life, she had a useful and busy
+existence.  Again the random thought passed through him: 'But she
+never tells me anything!'  And suddenly that lugubrious khaki-clad
+figure started up among the rose bushes.  "We've got a lot to be
+thankful for!" he said abruptly.  "I must go to work!"  His wife,
+raising one eyebrow, smiled.  "And I to weep!"  Mr. Bosengate
+laughed--she had a pretty wit!  And stroking his comely moustache
+where it had been kissed, he moved out into the sunshine.  All the
+evening, throughout his labours, not inconsiderable, for this jury
+business had put him behind time, he was afflicted by that restless
+pleasure in his surroundings; would break off in mowing the lower
+lawn to look at the house through the trees; would leave his study
+and committee papers, to cross into the drawing-room and sniff its
+dainty fragrance; paid a special good-night visit to the children
+having supper in the schoolroom; pottered in and out from his
+dressing room to admire his wife while she was changing for dinner;
+dined with his mind perpetually on the next course; talked volubly of
+the war; and in the billiard room afterwards, smoking the pipe which
+had taken the place of his cigar, could not keep still, but roamed
+about, now in conservatory, now in the drawing-room, where his wife
+and the governess were still making swabs.  It seemed to him that he
+could not have enough of anything.  About eleven o'clock he strolled
+out beautiful night, only just dark enough--under the new arrangement
+with Time--and went down to the little round fountain below the
+terrace.  His wife was playing the piano.  Mr. Bosengate looked at
+the water and the flat dark water lily leaves which floated there;
+looked up at the house, where only narrow chinks of light showed,
+because of the Lighting Order.  The dreamy music  drifted out; there
+was a scent of heliotrope.  He moved a few steps back, and sat in the
+children's swing under an old lime tree.  Jolly--blissful--in the
+warm, bloomy dark!  Of all hours of the day, this before going to bed
+was perhaps the pleasantest.  He saw the light go up in his wife's
+bed room, unscreened for a full minute, and thought: 'Aha!  If I did
+my duty as a special, I should "strafe" her for that.'  She came to
+the window, her figure lighted, hands up to the back of her head, so
+that her bare arms gleamed.  Mr. Bosengate wafted her a kiss, knowing
+he could not be seen.  'Lucky chap!' he mused; 'she's a great joy!'
+Up went her arm, down came the blind the house was dark again.  He
+drew a long breath.  'Another ten minutes,' he thought, 'then I'll go
+in and shut up.  By Jove!  The limes are beginning to smell already!'
+And, the better to take in that acme of his well-being, he tilted the
+swing, lifted his feet from the ground, and swung himself toward the
+scented blossoms.  He wanted to whelm his senses in their perfume,
+and closed his eyes.  But instead of the domestic vision he expected,
+the face of the little Welsh soldier, hare-eyed, shadowy, pinched and
+dark and pitiful, started up with such disturbing vividness that he
+opened his eyes again at once.  Curse!  The fellow almost haunted
+one!  Where would he be now poor little devil!--lying in his cell,
+thinking--thinking of his wife!  Feeling suddenly morbid, Mr.
+Bosengate arrested the swing and stood up. Absurd!--all his well-
+being and mood of warm anticipation had deserted him!  'A d---d
+world!' he thought.  'Such a lot of misery!  Why should I have to sit
+in judgment on that poor beggar, and condemn him?'  He moved up on to
+the terrace and walked briskly, to rid himself of this disturbance
+before going in.  'That commercial traveller chap,' he thought, 'the
+rest of those fellows--they see nothing!'  And, abruptly turning up
+the three stone steps, he entered the conservatory, locked it, passed
+into the billiard room, and drank his barley water.  One of the
+pictures was hanging crooked; he went up to put it straight.  Still
+life.  Grapes and apples, and--lobsters!  They struck him as odd for
+the first time.  Why lobsters?  The whole picture seemed dead and
+oily.  He turned off the light, and went upstairs, passed his wife's
+door, into his own room, and undressed.  Clothed in his pyjamas he
+opened the door between the rooms.  By the light coming from his own
+he could see her dark head on the pillow.  Was she asleep?  No--not
+asleep, certainly.  The moment of fruition had come; the crowning of
+his pride and pleasure in his home.  But he continued to stand there.
+He had suddenly no pride, no pleasure, no desire; nothing but a sort
+of dull resentment against everything.  He turned back; shut the
+door, and slipping between the heavy curtains and his open window,
+stood looking out at the night.  'Full of misery!' he thought.  'Full
+of d---d misery!'
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+Filing into the jury box next morning, Mr. Bosengate collided
+slightly with a short juryman, whose square figure and square head of
+stiff yellow-red hair he had only vaguely noticed the day before.
+The man looked angry, and Mr. Bosengate thought: 'An ill-bred dog,
+that!'
+
+He sat down quickly, and, to avoid further recognition of his
+fellows, gazed in front of him.  His appearance on Saturdays was
+always military, by reason of the route march of his Volunteer Corps
+in the afternoon.  Gentleman Fox, who belonged to the corps too, was
+also looking square; but that commercial traveller on his other side
+seemed more louche, and as if surprised in immorality, than ever;
+only the proximity of Gentleman Fox on the other side kept Mr.
+Bosengate from shrinking.  Then he saw the prisoner being brought in,
+shadowy and dark behind the brightness of his buttons, and he
+experienced a sort of shock, this figure was so exactly that which
+had several times started up in his mind.  Somehow he had expected a
+fresh sight of the fellow to dispel and disprove what had been
+haunting him, had expected to find him just an outside phenomenon,
+not, as it were, a part of his own life.  And he gazed at the carven
+immobility of the judge's face, trying to steady himself, as a
+drunken man will, by looking at a light.  The regimental doctor,
+unabashed by the judge's comment on his absence the day before, gave
+his evidence like a man who had better things to do, and the case for
+the prosecution was forthwith rounded in by a little speech from
+counsel.  The matter--he said--was clear as daylight.  Those who wore
+His Majesty's uniform, charged with the responsibility and privilege
+of defending their country, were no more entitled to desert their
+regiments by taking their own lives than they were entitled to desert
+in any other way.  He asked for a conviction.  Mr. Bosengate felt a
+sympathetic shuffle passing through all feet; the judge was speaking:
+
+"Prisoner, you can either go into the witness box and make your
+statement on oath, in which case you may be cross-examined on it; or
+you can make your statement there from the dock, in which case you
+will not be cross-examined.  Which do you elect to do?"
+
+"From here, my lord."
+
+Seeing him now full face, and, as it might be, come to life in the
+effort to convey his feelings, Mr. Bosengate had suddenly a quite
+different impression of the fellow.  It was as if his khaki had
+fallen off, and he had stepped out of his own shadow, a live and
+quivering creature.  His pinched clean-shaven face seemed to have an
+irregular, wilder, hairier look, his large nervous brown eyes
+darkened and glowed; he jerked his shoulders, his arms, his whole
+body, like a man suddenly freed from cramp or a suit of armour.
+
+He spoke, too, in a quick, crisp, rather high voice, pinching his
+consonants a little, sharpening his vowels, like a true Welshman.
+
+"My lord and misters the jury," he said: "I was a hairdresser when
+the call came on me to join the army.  I had a little home and a
+wife.  I never thought what it would be like to be away from them, I
+surely never did; and I'm ashamed to be speaking it out like this--
+how it can squeeze and squeeze a man, how it can prey on your mind,
+when you're nervous like I am.  'Tis not everyone that cares for his
+home--there's lots o' them never wants to see their wives again.  But
+for me 'tis like being shut up in a cage, it is!"  Mr. Bosengate saw
+daylight between the skinny fingers of the man's hand thrown out with
+a jerk.  "I cannot bear it shut up away from wife and home like what
+you are in the army.  So when I took my razor that morning I was
+wild--an' I wouldn't be here now but for that man catching my hand.
+There was no reason in it, I'm willing to confess.  It was foolish;
+but wait till you get feeling like what I was, and see how it draws
+you.  Misters the jury, don't send me back to prison; it is worse
+still there.  If you have wives you will know what it is like for
+lots of us; only some is more nervous than others.  I swear to you,
+sirs, I could not help it---?'  Again the little man flung out his
+hand, his whole thin body shook and Mr. Bosengate felt the same
+sensation as when he drove his car over a dog--"Misters the jury, I
+hope you may never in your lives feel as I've been feeling."
+
+The little man ceased, his eyes shrank back into their sockets, his
+figure back into its mask of shadowy brown and gleaming buttons, and
+Mr. Bosengate was conscious that the judge was making a series of
+remarks; and, very soon, of being seated at a mahogany table in the
+jury's withdrawing room, hearing the, voice of the man with hair like
+an Irish terrier's saying: "Didn't he talk through his hat, that
+little blighter!"  Conscious, too, of the commercial traveller, still
+on his left--always on his left!--mopping his brow, and muttering:
+"Phew! It's hot in there to-day!"  while an effluvium, as of an
+inside accustomed to whisky came from him.  Then the man with the
+underlip and the three plastered wisps of hair said:
+
+"Don't know why we withdrew, Mr. Foreman!"
+
+Mr. Bosengate looked round to where, at the head of the table,
+Gentleman Fox sat, in defensive gentility and the little white piping
+to his waistcoat saying blandly:
+
+"I shall be happy to take the sense of the jury."
+
+There was a short silence, then the chemist murmured:
+
+"I should say he must have what they call claustrophobia."
+
+"Clauster fiddlesticks!  The feller's a shirker, that's all.  Missed
+his wife--pretty excuse!  Indecent, I call it!"
+
+The speaker was the little wire-haired man; and emotion, deep and
+angry, stirred in Mr. Bosengate.  That ill-bred little cur!  He
+gripped the edge of the table with both hands.
+
+"I think it's d-----d natural!"  he muttered.  But almost before the
+words had left his lips he felt dismay.  What had he said--he, nearly
+a colonel of volunteers--endorsing such a want of patriotism!  And
+hearing the commercial traveller murmuring: "'Ear, 'ear!"  he
+reddened violently.
+
+The wire-headed man said roughly:
+
+"There's too many of these blighted shirkers, and too much pampering
+of them."
+
+The turmoil in Mr. Bosengate increased; he remarked in an icy voice:
+
+"I agree to no verdict that'll send the man back to prison."
+
+At this a real tremor seemed to go round the table, as if they all
+saw themselves sitting there through lunch time.  Then the large
+grey-haired man given to winking, said:
+
+"Oh!  Come, sir--after what the judge said!  Come, sir!  What do you
+say, Mr. Foreman?"
+
+Gentleman Fox--as who should say 'This is excellent value, but I
+don't wish to press it on you!'--answered:
+
+"We are only concerned with the facts.  Did he or did he not try to
+shorten his life?"
+
+"Of course he did--said so himself," Mr. Bosengate heard the wire-
+haired man snap out, and from the following murmur of assent he alone
+abstained.  Guilty!  Well--yes!  There was no way out of admitting
+that, but his feelings revolted against handing "that poor little
+beggar" over to the tender mercy of his country's law.  His whole
+soul rose in arms against agreeing with that ill-bred little cur, and
+the rest of this job-lot.  He had an impulse to get up and walk out,
+saying: "Settle it your own way.  Good morning."
+
+"It seems, sir," Gentleman Fox was saying, "that we're all agreed to
+guilty, except yourself.  If you will allow me, I don't see how you
+can go behind what the prisoner himself admitted."
+
+Thus brought up to the very guns, Mr. Bosengate, red in the face,
+thrust his hands deep into the side pockets of his tunic, and,
+staring straight before him, said:
+
+"Very well; on condition we recommend him to mercy."
+
+"What do you say, gentlemen; shall we recommend him to mercy?"
+
+"'Ear, 'ear!" burst from the commercial traveller, and from the
+chemist came the murmur:
+
+"No harm in that."
+
+"Well, I think there is.  They shoot deserters at the front, and we
+let this fellow off.  I'd hang the cur."
+
+Mr. Bosengate stared at that little wire-haired brute.  "Haven't you
+any feeling for others?"  he wanted to say.  "Can't you see that this
+poor devil suffers tortures?"  But the sheer impossibility of doing
+this before ten other men brought a slight sweat out on his face and
+hands; and in agitation he smote the table a blow with his fist.  The
+effect was instantaneous.  Everybody looked at the wire-haired man,
+as if saying: "Yes, you've gone a bit too far there!"  The "little
+brute" stood it for a moment, then muttered surlily:
+
+"Well, commend 'im to mercy if you like; I don't care."
+
+"That's right; they never pay any attention to it," said the grey-
+haired man, winking heartily.  And Mr. Bosengate filed back with the
+others into court.
+
+But when from the jury box his eyes fell once more on the hare-eyed
+figure in the dock, he had his worst moment yet.  Why should this
+poor wretch suffer so--for no fault, no fault; while he, and these
+others, and that snapping counsel, and the Caesar-like judge up
+there, went off to their women and their homes, blithe as bees, and
+probably never thought of him again?  And suddenly he was conscious
+of the judge's voice:
+
+"You will go back to your regiment, and endeavour to serve your
+country with better spirit.  You may thank the jury that you are not
+sent to prison, and your good fortune that you were not at the front
+when you tried to commit this cowardly act.  You are lucky to be
+alive."
+
+A policeman pulled the little soldier by the arm; his drab figure
+with eyes fixed and lustreless, passed down and away.  From his very
+soul Mr. Bosengate wanted to lean out and say: "Cheer up, cheer up!
+I understand."
+
+It was nearly ten o'clock that evening before he reached home,
+motoring back from the route march.  His physical tiredness was
+abated, for he had partaken of a snack and a whisky and soda at the
+hotel; but mentally he was in a curious mood.  His body felt
+appeased, his spirit hungry.  Tonight he had a yearning, not for his
+wife's kisses, but for her understanding.  He wanted to go to her and
+say: "I've learnt a lot to-day-found out things I never thought of.
+Life's a wonderful thing, Kate, a thing one can't live all to
+oneself; a thing one shares with everybody, so that when another
+suffers, one suffers too.  It's come to me that what one has doesn't
+matter a bit--it's what one does, and how one sympathises with other
+people.  It came to me in the most extraordinary vivid way, when I
+was on that jury, watching that poor little rat of a soldier in his
+trap; it's the first time I've ever felt--the--the spirit of Christ,
+you know.  It's a wonderful thing, Kate--wonderful!  We haven't been
+close--really close, you and I, so that we each understand what the
+other is feeling.  It's all in that, you know; understanding--
+sympathy--it's priceless.  When I saw that poor little devil taken
+down and sent back to his regiment to begin his sorrows all over
+again--wanting his wife, thinking and thinking of her just as you
+know I would be thinking and wanting you, I felt what an awful
+outside sort of life we lead, never telling each other what we really
+think and feel, never being really close.  I daresay that little chap
+and his wife keep nothing from each other--live each other's lives.
+That's what we ought to do.  Let's get to feeling that what really
+matters is--understanding and loving, and not only just saying it as
+we all do, those fellows on the jury, and even that poor devil of a
+judge--what an awful life judging one's fellow-creatures
+
+When I left that poor little Tommy this morning, and ever since, I've
+longed to get back here quietly to you and tell you about it, and
+make a beginning.  There's something wonderful in this, and I want
+you to feel it as I do, because you mean such a lot to me."
+
+This was what he wanted to say to his wife, not touching, or kissing
+her, just looking into her eyes, watching them soften and glow as
+they surely must, catching the infection of his new ardour.  And he
+felt unsteady, fearfully unsteady with the desire to say it all as it
+should be said: swiftly, quietly, with the truth and fervour of his
+feeling.
+
+The hall was not lit up, for daylight still lingered under the new
+arrangement.  He went towards the drawing-room, but from the very
+door shied off to his study and stood irresolute under the picture of
+a "Man catching a flea" (Dutch school), which had come down to him
+from his father.  The governess would be in there with his wife!  He
+must wait.  Essential to go straight to Kathleen and pour it all out,
+or he would never do it.  He felt as nervous as an undergraduate
+going up for his viva' voce.  This thing was so big, so astoundingly
+and unexpectedly important.  He was suddenly afraid of his wife,
+afraid of her coolness and her grace, and that something Japanese
+about her--of all those attributes he had been accustomed to admire
+most; afraid, as it were, of her attraction.  He felt young to-night,
+almost boyish; would she see that he was not really fifteen years
+older than herself, and she not really a part of his collection, of
+all the admirable appointments of his home; but a companion spirit to
+one who wanted a companion badly.  In this agitation of his soul he
+could keep still no more than he could last night in the agitation of
+his senses; and he wandered into the dining-room.  A dainty supper
+was set out there, sandwiches, and cake, whisky and the cigarettes-
+even an early peach. Mr. Bosengate looked at this peach with sorrow
+rather than disgust.  The perfection of it was of a piece with all
+that had gone before this new and sudden feeling.  Its delicious
+bloom seemed to heighten his perception of the hedge around him, that
+hedge of the things he so enjoyed, carefully planted and tended these
+many years.  He passed it by uneaten, and went to the window.  Out
+there all was darkening, the fountain, the lime tree, the flower-
+beds, and the fields below, with the Jersey cows who would come to
+your call; darkening slowly, losing form, blurring into soft
+blackness, vanishing, but there none the less--all there--the hedge
+of his possessions.  He heard the door of the drawing-room open, the
+voices of his wife and the governess in the hall, going up to bed.
+If only they didn't look in here!  If only!  The voices ceased.  He
+was safe now--had but to follow in a few minutes, to make sure of
+Kathleen alone.  He turned round and stared down the length of the
+dark dining-room, over the rosewood table, to where in the mirror
+above the sideboard at the far end, his figure bathed, a stain, a
+mere blurred shadow; he made his way down to it along the table edge,
+and stood before himself as close as he could get.  His throat and
+the roof of his mouth felt dry with nervousness; he put out his
+finger and touched his face in the glass.  'You're an ass!' he
+thought.  'Pull yourself together, and get it over.  She will see; of
+course she will!'  He swallowed, smoothed his moustache, and walked
+out.  Going up the stairs, his heart beat painfully; but he was in
+for it now, and marched straight into her room.
+Dressed only in a loose blue wrapper, she was brushing her dark hair
+before the glass.  Mr. Bosengate went up to her and stood there
+silent, looking down.  The words he had thought of were like a swarm
+of bees buzzing in his head, yet not one would fly from between his
+lips.  His wife went on brushing her hair under the light which shone
+on her polished elbows.  She looked up at him from beneath one lifted
+eyebrow.
+
+"Well, dear--tired?"
+
+With a sort of vehemence the single word "No" passed out.  A faint, a
+quizzical smile flitted over her face; she shrugged her shoulders
+ever so gently.  That gesture--he had seen it before!  And in
+desperate desire to make her understand, he put his hand on her
+lifted arm.
+
+"Kathleen, stop--listen to me!"  His fingers tightened in his
+agitation and eagerness to make his great discovery known.  But
+before he could get out a word he became conscious of that cool round
+arm, conscious of her eyes half-closed, sliding round at him, of her
+half-smiling lips, of her neck under the wrapper.  And he stammered:
+
+"I want--I must--Kathleen, I---"
+
+She lifted her shoulders again in that little shrug.  "Yes--I know;
+all right!"
+
+A wave of heat and shame, and of God knows what came over Mr.
+Bosengate; he fell on his knees and pressed his forehead to her arm;
+and he was silent, more silent than the grave.  Nothing--nothing came
+from him but two long sighs.  Suddenly he felt her hand stroke his
+cheek--compassionately, it seemed to him.  She made a little movement
+towards him; her lips met his, and he remembered nothing but that....
+
+In his own room Mr. Bosengate sat at his wide open window, smoking a
+cigarette; there was no light.  Moths went past, the moon was
+creeping up.  He sat very calm, puffing the smoke out in to the night
+air.  Curious thing-life!  Curious world!  Curious forces in it--
+making one do the opposite of what one wished; always--always making
+one do the opposite, it seemed!  The furtive light from that creeping
+moon was getting hold of things down there, stealing in among the
+boughs of the trees.  'There's something ironical,' he thought,
+'which walks about.  Things don't come off as you think they will.  I
+meant, I tried but one doesn't change like that all of a sudden, it
+seems.  Fact is, life's too big a thing for one!  All the same, I'm
+not the man I was yesterday--not quite!'  He closed his eyes, and in
+one of those flashes of vision which come when the senses are at
+rest, he saw himself as it were far down below--down on the floor of
+a street narrow as a grave, high as a mountain, a deep dark slit of a
+street walking down there, a black midget of a fellow, among other
+black midgets--his wife, and the little soldier, the judge, and those
+jury chaps--fantoches straight up on their tiny feet, wandering down
+there in that dark, infinitely tall, and narrow street.  'Too much
+for one!' he thought; 'Too high for one--no getting on top of it.
+We've got to be kind, and help one another, and not expect too much,
+and not think too much.  That's--all!'  And, squeezing out his
+cigarette, he took six deep breaths of the night air, and got into
+bed.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+INDIAN SUMMER OF A FORSYTE
+
+                          "And Summer's lease hath all
+                                  too short a date."
+                                              --Shakespeare
+
+
+I
+
+In the last day of May in the early 'nineties, about six o'clock of
+the evening, old Jolyon Forsyte sat under the oak tree below the
+terrace of his house at Robin Hill.  He was waiting for the midges to
+bite him, before abandoning the glory of the afternoon.  His thin
+brown hand, where blue veins stood out, held the end of a cigar in
+its tapering, long-nailed fingers--a pointed polished nail had
+survived with him from those earlier Victorian days when to touch
+nothing, even with the tips of the fingers, had been so
+distinguished.  His domed forehead, great white moustache, lean
+cheeks, and long lean jaw were covered from the westering sunshine by
+an old brown Panama hat.  His legs were crossed; in all his attitude
+was serenity and a kind of elegance, as of an old man who every
+morning put eau de Cologne upon his silk handkerchief.  At his feet
+lay a woolly brown-and-white dog trying to be a Pomeranian--the dog
+Balthasar between whom and old Jolyon primal aver-sion had changed
+into attachment with the years.  Close to his chair was a swing, and
+on the swing was seated one of Holly's dolls --called 'Duffer Alice'-
+-with her body fallen over her legs and her doleful nose buried in a
+black petticoat.  She was never out of disgrace, so it did not matter
+to her how she sat.  Below the oak tree the lawn dipped down a bank,
+stretched to the fernery, and, beyond that refinement, became fields,
+dropping to the pond, the coppice, and the prospect 'Fine,
+remarkable'--at which Swithin Forsyte, from under this very tree, had
+stared five years ago when he drove down with Irene to look at the
+house.  Old Jolyon had heard of his brother's exploit--that drive
+which had become quite celebrated on Forsyte 'Change.' Swithin! And
+the fellow had gone and died, last November, at the age of only
+seventy-nine, renewing the doubt whether Forsytes could live for
+ever, which had first arisen when Aunt Ann passed away.  Died! and
+left only Jolyon and James, Roger and Nicholas and Timothy, Julia,
+Hester, Susan!  And old Jolyon thought: 'Eighty-five! I don't feel
+it--except when I get that pain.'
+
+His memory went searching.  He had not felt his age since he had
+bought his nephew Soames' ill-starred house and settled into it here
+at Robin Hill over three years ago.  It was as if he had been getting
+younger every spring, living in the country with his son and his
+grandchildren--June, and the little ones of the second marriage,
+Jolly and Holly; living down here out of the racket of London and the
+cackle of Forsyte 'Change,' free of his boards, in a delicious
+atmosphere of no work and all play, with plenty of occupation in the
+perfecting and mellowing of the house and its twenty acres, and in
+ministering to the whims of Holly and Jolly.  All the knots and
+crankiness, which had gathered in his heart during that long and
+tragic business of June, Soames, Irene his wife, and poor young
+Bosinney, had been smoothed out.  Even June had thrown off her
+melancholy at last--witness this travel in Spain she was taking now
+with her father and her stepmother.  Curiously perfect peace was left
+by their departure; blissful, yet blank, because his son was not
+there.  Jo was never anything but a comfort and a pleasure to him
+nowadays--an amiable chap; but women, somehow--even the best--got a
+little on one's nerves, unless of course one admired them.
+
+Far-off a cuckoo called; a wood-pigeon was cooing from the first
+elm-tree in the field, and how the daisies and buttercups had sprung
+up after the last mowing! The wind had got into the sou'-west, too--a
+delicious air, sappy! He pushed his hat back and let the sun fall on
+his chin and cheek.  Somehow, to-day, he wanted company wanted a
+pretty face to look at.  People treated the old as if they wanted
+nothing.  And with the un-Forsytean philosophy which ever intruded on
+his soul, he thought: 'One's never had enough'
+
+With a foot in the grave one'll want something, I shouldn't be
+surprised!'  Down here--away from the exigencies of affairs--his
+grandchildren, and the flowers, trees, birds of his little domain, to
+say nothing of sun and moon and stars above them, said, 'Open,
+sesame,' to him day and night.  And sesame had opened--how much,
+perhaps, he did not know.  He had always been responsive to what they
+had begun to call 'Nature,' genuinely, almost religiously responsive,
+though he had never lost his habit of calling a sunset a sunset and a
+view a view, however deeply they might move him.  But nowadays Nature
+actually made him ache, he appreciated it so.  Every one of these
+calm, bright, lengthening days, with Holly's hand in his, and the dog
+Balthasar in front looking studiously for what he never found, he
+would stroll, watching the roses open, fruit budding on the walls,
+sunlight brightening the oak leaves and saplings in the coppice,
+watching the water-lily leaves unfold and glisten, and the silvery
+young corn of the one wheat field; listening to the starlings and
+skylarks, and the Alderney cows chewing the cud, flicking slow their
+tufted tails; and every one of these fine days he ached a little from
+sheer love of it all, feeling perhaps, deep down, that he had not
+very much longer to enjoy it.  The thought that some day perhaps not
+ten years hence, perhaps not five--all this world would be taken away
+from him, before he had exhausted his powers of loving it, seemed to
+him in the nature of an injustice brooding over his horizon.  If
+anything came after this life, it wouldn't be what he wanted; not
+Robin Hill, and flowers and birds and pretty faces--too few, even
+now, of those about him! With the years his dislike of humbug had
+increased; the orthodoxy he had worn in the 'sixties, as he had worn
+side-whiskers out of sheer exuberance, had long dropped off, leaving
+him reverent before three things alone--beauty, upright conduct, and
+the sense of property; and the greatest of these now was beauty.  He
+had always had wide interests, and, indeed could still read The
+Tines, but he was liable at any moment to put it down if he heard a
+blackbird sing.  Upright conduct, property--somehow, they were
+tiring; the blackbirds and the sunsets never tired him, only gave him
+an uneasy feeling that he could not get enough of them.  Staring into
+the stilly radiance of the early evening and at the little gold and
+white flowers on the lawn, a thought came to him: This weather was
+like the music of 'Orfeo,' which he had recently heard at Covent
+Garden.  A beautiful opera, not like Meyerbeer, nor even quite
+Mozart, but, in its way, perhaps even more lovely; some-thing
+classical and of the Golden Age about it, chaste and mellow, and the
+Ravogli 'almost worthy of the old days'--highest praise he could
+bestow.  The yearning of Orpheus for the beauty he was losing, for
+his love going down to Hades, as in life love and beauty did go--the
+yearning which sang and throbbed through the golden music, stirred
+also in the lingering beauty of the world that evening.  And with the
+tip of his cork-soled, elastic-sided boot he involuntarily stirred
+the ribs of the dog Balthasar, caus-ing the animal to wake and attack
+his fleas; for though he was supposed to have none, nothing could
+persuade him of the fact.  When he had finished, he rubbed the place
+he had been scratching against his master's calf, and settled down
+again with his chin over the instep of the disturbing boot.  And into
+old Jolyon's mind came a sudden recollection--a face he had seen at
+that opera three weeks ago--Irene, the wife of his precious nephew
+Soames, that man of property! Though he had not met her since the day
+of  the 'At Home' in his old house at Stanhope Gate, which celebrated
+his granddaughter June's ill-starred engagement to young Bosinney, he
+had remembered her at once, for he had always admired her--a very
+pretty creature.  After the death of young Bosinney, whose mistress
+she had so reprehensibly become, he had heard that she had left
+Soames at once.  Goodness only knew what she had been doing since.
+That sight of her face--a side view--in the row in front, had been
+literally the only reminder these three years that she was still
+alive.  No one ever spoke of her.  And yet Jo had told him some-thing
+once--something which had upset him completely.  The boy had got it
+from George Forsyte, he believed, who had seen Bosinney in the fog
+the day he was run over--something which explained the young fellow's
+distress--an act of Soames towards his wife--a shocking act.  Jo had
+seen her, too, that afternoon, after the news was out, seen her for a
+moment, and his description had always lingered in old Jolyon's mind-
+-'wild and lost' he had called her.  And next day June had gone there
+bottled up her feelings and gone there, and the maid had cried and
+told her how her mistress had slipped out in the night and vanished.
+A tragic business altogether! One thing was certain--Soames had never
+been able to lay hands on her again.  And he was living at Brighton,
+and journeying up and down--a fitting fate, the man of property! For
+when he once took a dislike to anyone--as he had to his nephew--old
+Jolyon never got over it.  He remembered still the sense of relief
+with which he had heard the news of Irene's disappearance.  It had
+been shocking to think of her a prisoner in that house to which she
+must have wandered back, when Jo saw her, wandered back for a
+moment--like a wounded animal to its hole after seeing that news,
+'Tragic death of an Architect,' in the street.  Her face had struck
+him very much the other night--more beautiful than he had remem-
+bered, but like a mask, with something going on beneath it.  A young
+woman still--twenty-eight perhaps.  Ah, well! Very likely she had
+another lover by now.  But at this subversive thought--for married
+women should never love: once, even, had been too much--his instep
+rose, and with it the dog Balthasar's head.  The sagacious animal
+stood up and looked into old Jolyon's face.  'Walk?' he seemed to
+say; and old Jolyon answered: "Come on, old chap!"
+
+Slowly, as was their wont, they crossed among the constellations of
+buttercups and daisies, and entered the fernery.  This feature, where
+very little grew as yet, had been judiciously dropped below the level
+of the lawn so that it might come up again on the level of the other
+lawn and give the impression of irregularity, so important in
+horticulture.  Its rocks and earth were beloved of the dog Balthasar,
+who sometimes found a mole there.  Old Jolyon made a point of passing
+through it because, though it was not beautiful, he intended that it
+should be, some day, and he would think: 'I must get Varr to come
+down and look at it; he's better than Beech.' For plants, like houses
+and human complaints, required the best expert consideration.  It was
+inhabited by snails, and if accompanied by his grandchildren, he
+would point to one and tell them the story of the little boy who
+said: 'Have plummers got leggers, Mother?  'No, sonny.'  'Then darned
+if I haven't been and swallowed a snileybob.'  And when they skipped
+and clutched his hand, thinking of the snileybob going down the
+little boy's 'red lane,' his, eyes would twinkle.  Emerging from the
+fernery, he opened the wicket gate, which just there led into the
+first field, a large and park-like area, out of which, within brick
+walls, the vegetable garden had been carved.  Old Jolyon avoided
+this, which did not suit his mood, and made down the hill towards the
+pond.  Balthasar, who knew a water-rat or two, gambolled in front, at
+the gait which marks an oldish dog who takes the same walk every day.
+Arrived at the edge, old Jolyon stood, noting another water-lily
+opened since yesterday; he would show it to Holly to-morrow, when
+'his little sweet' had got over the upset which had followed on her
+eating a tomato at lunch--her little arrangements were very delicate.
+Now that Jolly had gone to school--his first term--Holly was with him
+nearly all day long, and he missed her badly.  He felt that pain too,
+which often bothered him now, a little dragging at his left side.  He
+looked back up the hill.  Really, poor young Bosinney had made an
+uncommonly good job of the house; he would have done very well for
+himself if he had lived!  And where was he now? Perhaps, still
+haunting this, the site of his last work, of his tragic love affair.
+Or was Philip Bosinney's spirit diffused in the general?  Who could
+say?  That dog was getting his legs muddy!  And he moved towards the
+coppice.  There had been the most delightful lot of bluebells, and--
+he knew where some still lingered like little patches of sky fallen
+irk between the trees, away out of the sun.  He passed the cow-houses
+and the hen-houses there installed, and pursued a path into the thick
+of the saplings, making for one of the bluebell plots.  Balthasar,
+preceding him once more, uttered a low growl.  Old Jolyon stirred him
+with his foot, but the dog remained motionless, just where there was
+no room to pass, and the hair rose slowly along the centre of his
+woolly back.  Whether from the growl and the look of the dog's
+stivered hair, or from the sensation which a man feels in a wood, old
+Jolyon also felt something move along his spine.  And then the path
+turned, and there was an old mossy log, and on it a woman sitting.
+Her face was turned away, and he had just time to think: 'She's
+trespassing--I must have a board put up!' before she turned.  Powers
+above!  The face he had seen at the opera--the very woman he had just
+been thinking of! In that confused moment he saw things blurred, as
+if a spirit--queer effect--the slant of sunlight perhaps on her
+violet-grey frock! And then she rose and stood smiling, her head a
+little to one side.  Old Jolyon thought: 'How pretty she is!' She did
+not speak, neither did he; and he realized why with a certain
+admiration.  She was here no doubt because of some memory, and did
+not mean to try and get out of it by vulgar explanation.
+
+"Don't let that dog touch your frock," he said; "he's got wet feet.
+Come here, you!"
+
+But the dog Balthasar went on towards the visitor, who put her hand
+down and stroked his head.  Old Jolyon said quickly:
+
+"I saw you at the opera the other night; you didn't notice me."
+
+"Oh, yes! I did."
+
+He felt a subtle flattery in that, as though she had added: 'Do you
+think one could miss seeing you?'
+
+"They're all in Spain," he remarked abruptly.  "I'm alone; I drove up
+for the opera.  The Ravogli's good.  Have you seen the cow-houses?"
+
+In a situation so charged with mystery and something very like
+emotion he moved instinctively towards that bit of property, and she
+moved beside him.  Her figure swayed faintly, like the best kind of
+French figures; her dress, too, was a sort of French grey.  He
+noticed two or three silver threads in her amber-coloured hair,
+strange hair with those dark eyes of hers, and that creamy-pale face.
+A sudden sidelong look from the velvety brown eyes disturbed him.  It
+seemed to come from deep and far, from another world almost, or at
+all events from some one not living very much in this.  And he said
+mechanically
+
+"Where are you living now?"
+
+"I have a little flat in Chelsea."
+
+He did not want to hear what she was doing, did not want to hear
+anything; but the perverse word came out:
+
+"Alone?"
+
+She nodded.  It was a relief to know that.  And it came into his mind
+that, but for a twist of fate, she would have been mistress of this
+coppice, showing these cow-houses to him, a visitor.
+
+"All Alderneys," he muttered; "they give the best milk.  This one's a
+pretty creature.  Woa, Myrtle!"
+
+The fawn-coloured cow, with eyes as soft and brown as Irene's own,
+was standing absolutely still, not having long been milked.  She
+looked round at them out of the corner of those lustrous, mild,
+cynical eyes, and from her grey lips a little dribble of saliva
+threaded its way towards the straw.  The scent of hay and vanilla and
+ammonia rose in the dim light of the cool cow-house; and old Jolyon
+said:
+
+"You must come up and have some dinner with me.  I'll send you home
+in the carriage."
+
+He perceived a struggle going on within her; natural, no doubt, with
+her memories.  But he wanted her company; a pretty face, a charming
+figure, beauty!  He had been alone all the afternoon.  Perhaps his
+eyes were wistful, for she answered: "Thank you, Uncle Jolyon.  I
+should like to."
+
+He rubbed his hands, and said:
+
+"Capital! Let's go up, then!" And, preceded by the dog Balthasar,
+they ascended through the field.  The sun was almost level in their
+faces now, and he could see, not only those silver threads, but
+little lines, just deep enough to stamp her beauty with a coin-like
+fineness--the special look of life unshared with others.  "I'll take
+her in by the terrace, "he thought: "I won't make a common visitor of
+her."
+
+"What do you do all day?" he said.
+
+"Teach music; I have another interest, too."
+
+"Work!" said old Jolyon, picking up the doll from off the swing, and
+smoothing its black petticoat.  "Nothing like it, is there?  I don't
+do any now.  I'm getting on.  What interest is that?"
+
+"Trying to help women who've come to grief."  Old Jolyon did not
+quite understand.  "To grief?" he repeated; then realised with a
+shock that she meant exactly what he would have meant himself if he
+had used that expression.  Assisting the Magdalenes of London!  What
+a weird and terrifying interest!  And, curiosity overcoming his
+natural shrinking, he asked:
+
+"Why? What do you do for them?"
+
+"Not much.  I've no money to spare.  I can only give sympathy and
+food sometimes."
+
+Involuntarily old Jolyon's hand sought his purse.  He said hastily:
+"How d'you get hold of them?"
+
+"I go to a hospital."
+
+"A hospital! Phew!"
+
+"What hurts me most is that once they nearly all had some sort of
+beauty."
+
+Old Jolyon straightened the doll.  "Beauty!" he ejaculated: "Ha! Yes!
+A sad business!" and he moved towards the house.  Through a French
+window, under sun-blinds not yet drawn up, he preceded her into the
+room where he was wont to study 'The Times' and the sheets of an
+agricultural magazine, with huge illustrations of mangold wurzels,
+and the like, which provided Holly with material for her paint brush.
+
+"Dinner's in half an hour.  You'd like to wash your hands!  I'll take
+you to June's room."
+
+He saw her looking round eagerly; what changes since she had last
+visited this house with her husband, or her lover, or both perhaps--
+he did not know, could not say!  All that was dark, and he wished to
+leave it so.  But what changes!  And in the hall he said:
+
+"My boy Jo's a painter, you know.  He's got a lot of taste.  It isn't
+mine, of course, but I've let him have his way."
+
+She was standing very still, her eyes roaming through the hall and
+music room, as it now was--all thrown into one, under the great
+skylight.  Old Jolyon had an odd impression of her.  Was she trying
+to conjure somebody from the shades of that space where the colouring
+was all pearl-grey and silver? He would have had gold himself; more
+lively and solid.  But Jo had French tastes, and it had come out
+shadowy like that, with an effect as of the fume of cigarettes the
+chap was always smoking, broken here and there by a little blaze of
+blue or crimson colour.  It was not his dream! Mentally he had hung
+this space with those gold-framed masterpieces of still and stiller
+life which he had bought in days when quantity was precious.  And now
+where were they?  Sold for a song!  That something which made him,
+alone among Forsytes, move with the times had warned him against the
+struggle to retain them.  But in his study he still had 'Dutch
+Fishing Boats at Sunset.'
+
+He began to mount the stairs with her, slowly, for he felt his side.
+
+"These are the bathrooms," he said, "and other arrangements.  I've
+had them tiled.  The nurseries are along there.  And this is Jo's and
+his wife's.  They all communicate.  But you remember, I expect."
+
+Irene nodded.  They passed on, up the gallery and entered a large
+room with a small bed, and several windows.
+
+"This is mine," he said.  The walls were covered with the photographs
+of children and watercolour sketches, and he added doubtfully:
+
+"These are Jo's.  The view's first-rate.  You can see the Grand Stand
+at Epsom in clear weather."
+
+The sun was down now, behind the house, and over the 'prospect' a
+luminous haze had settled, emanation of the long and prosperous day.
+Few houses showed, but fields and trees faintly glistened, away to a
+loom of downs.
+
+"The country's changing," he said abruptly, "but there it'll be when
+we're all gone.  Look at those thrushes--the birds are sweet here in
+the mornings.  I'm glad to have washed my hands of London."
+
+Her face was close to the window pane, and he was struck by its
+mournful look.  'Wish I could make her look happy!' he thought.  'A
+pretty face, but sad!'  And taking up his can of hot water he went
+out into the gallery.
+
+"This is June's room," he said, opening the next door and putting the
+can down; "I think you'll find everything." And closing the door
+behind her he went back to his own room.  Brushing his hair with his
+great ebony brushes, and dabbing his forehead with eau de Cologne, he
+mused.  She had come so strangely--a sort of visit-ation; mysterious,
+even romantic, as if his desire for company, for beauty, had been
+fulfilled by whatever it was which fulfilled that sort of thing.  And
+before the mirror he straightened his still upright figure, passed
+the brushes over his great white moustache, touched up his eyebrows
+with eau de Cologne, and rang the bell.
+
+"I forgot to let them know that I have a lady to dinner with me.  Let
+cook do something extra, and tell Beacon to have the landau and pair
+at half-past ten to drive her back to Town to-night.  Is Miss Holly
+asleep?"
+
+The maid thought not.  And old Jolyon, passing down the gallery,
+stole on tiptoe towards the nursery, and opened the door whose hinges
+he kept specially oiled that he might slip in and out in the evenings
+without being heard.
+
+But Holly was asleep, and lay like a miniature Madonna, of that type
+which the old painters could not tell from Venus, when they had
+completed her.  Her long dark lashes clung to her cheeks; on her face
+was perfect peace--her little arrangements were evidently all right
+again.  And old Jolyon, in the twilight of the room, stood adoring
+her!  It was so charming, solemn, and loving--that little face.  He
+had more than his share of the blessed capacity of living again in
+the young.  They were to him his future life--all of a future life
+that his fundamental pagan sanity perhaps admitted.  There she was
+with everything before her, and his blood--some of it--in her tiny
+veins.  There she was, his little companion, to be made as happy as
+ever he could make her, so that she knew nothing but love.  His heart
+swelled, and he went out, stilling the sound of his patent-leather
+boots.  In the corridor an eccentric notion attacked him: To think
+that children should come to that which Irene had told him she was
+helping!  Women who were all, once, little things like this one
+sleeping there!  'I must give her a cheque!' he mused; 'Can't bear to
+think of them!'  They had never borne reflecting on, those poor
+outcasts; wounding too deeply the core of true refinement hidden
+under layers of conformity to the sense of property--wounding too
+grievously the deepest thing in him--a love of beauty which could
+give him, even now, a flutter of the heart, thinking of his evening
+in the society of a pretty woman.  And he went downstairs, through
+the swinging doors, to the back regions.  There, in the wine-cellar,
+was a hock worth at least two pounds a bottle, a Steinberg Cabinet,
+better than any Johan-nisberg that ever went down throat; a wine of
+perfect bouquet, sweet as a nectarine--nectar indeed! He got a bottle
+out, handling it like a baby, and holding it level to the light, to
+look.  Enshrined in its coat of dust, that mellow coloured, slender--
+necked bottle gave him deep pleasure.  Three years to settle down
+again since the move from Town--ought to be in prime condition!
+Thirty-five years ago he had bought it--thank God he had kept his
+palate, and earned the right to drink it.  She would appreciate this;
+not a spice of acidity in a dozen.  He wiped the bottle, drew the
+cork with his own hands, put his nose down, inhaled its perfume, and
+went back to the music room.
+
+Irene was standing by the piano; she had taken off her hat and a lace
+scarf she had been wearing, so that her gold-coloured hair was
+visible, and the pallor of her neck.  In her grey frock she made a
+pretty picture for old Jolyon, against the rosewood of the piano.
+
+He gave her his arm, and solemnly they went.  The room, which had
+been designed to enable twenty-four people to dine in comfort, held
+now but a little round table.  In his present solitude the big
+dining-table oppressed old Jolyon; he had caused it to be removed
+till his son came back.  Here in the company of two really good
+copies of Raphael Madonnas he was wont to dine alone.  It was the
+only disconsolate hour of his day, this summer weather.  He had never
+been a large eater, like that great chap Swithin, or Sylvanus
+Heythorp, or Anthony Thornworthy, those cronies of past times; and to
+dine alone, overlooked by the Madonnas, was to him but a sorrowful
+occupation, which he got through quickly, that he might come to the
+more spiritual enjoyment of his coffee and cigar.  But this evening
+was a different matter! His eyes twinkled at her across the little
+table and he spoke of Italy and Switzerland, telling her stories of
+his travels there, and other experiences which he could no longer
+recount to his son and grand-daughter because they knew them.  This
+fresh audience was precious to him; he had never become one of those
+old men who ramble round and round the fields of reminiscence.
+Himself quickly fatigued by the insensitive, he instinctively avoided
+fatiguing others, and his natural flirtatiousness towards beauty
+guarded him specially in his relations with a woman.  He would have
+liked to draw her out, but though she murmured and smiled and seemed
+to be enjoying what he told her, he remained conscious of that
+mysterious remoteness which constituted half her fascination.  He
+could not bear women who threw their shoulders and eyes at you, and
+chattered away; or hard-mouthed women who laid down the law and knew
+more than you did.  There was only one quality in a woman that
+appealed to him--charm; and the quieter it was, the more he liked it.
+And this one had charm, shadowy as afternoon sunlight on those
+Italian hills and valleys he had loved.  The feeling, too, that she
+was, as it were, apart, cloistered, made her seem nearer to himself,
+a strangely desirable companion.  When a man is very old and quite
+out of the running, he loves to feel secure from the rivalries of
+youth, for he would still be first in the heart of beauty.  And he
+drank his hock, and watched her lips, and felt nearly young.  But the
+dog Balthasar lay watching her lips too, and despising in his heart
+the interruptions of their talk, and the tilting of those greenish
+glasses full of a golden fluid which was distasteful to him.
+
+The light was just failing when they went back into the music-room.
+And, cigar in mouth, old Jolyon said:
+
+"Play me some Chopin."
+
+By the cigars they smoke, and the composers they love, ye shall know
+the texture of men's souls.  Old Jolyon could not bear--a strong
+cigar or Wagner's music.  He loved Beethoven and Mozart, Handel and
+Gluck, and Schumann, and, for some occult reason, the operas of
+Meyerbeer; but of late years he had been seduced by Chopin, just as
+in painting he had succumbed to Botticelli.  In yielding to these
+tastes he had been conscious of divergence from the standard of the
+Golden Age.  Their poetry was not that of Milton and Byron and
+Tennyson; of Raphael and Titian; Mozart and Beethoven.  It was, as it
+were, behind a veil; their poetry hit no one in the face, but slipped
+its fingers under the ribs and turned and twisted, and melted up the
+heart.  And, never certain that this was healthy, he did not care a
+rap so long as he could see the pictures of the one or hear the music
+of the other.
+
+Irene sat down at the piano under the electric lamp festooned with
+pearl-grey, and old Jolyon, in an armchair, whence he could see her,
+crossed his legs and drew slowly at his cigar.  She sat a few moments
+with her hands on the keys, evidently searching her mind for what to
+give him.  Then she began and within old Jolyon there arose a
+sorrowful pleasure, not quite like anything else in the world.  He
+fell slowly into a trance, interrupted only by the movements of
+taking the cigar out of his mouth at long intervals, and replacing
+it.  She was there, and the hock within him, and the scent of
+tobacco; but there, too, was a world of sunshine lingering into
+moonlight, and pools with storks upon them, and bluish trees above,
+glowing with blurs of wine-red roses, and fields of lavender where
+milk-white cows were grazing, and a woman all shadowy, with dark eyes
+and a white neck, smiled, holding out her arms; and through air which
+was like music a star dropped and was caught on a cow's horn.  He
+opened his eyes.  Beautiful piece; she played well--the touch of an
+angel!  And he closed them again.  He felt mirac-ulously sad and
+happy, as one does, standing under a lime-tree in full honey flower.
+Not live one's own life again, but just stand there and bask in the
+smile of a woman's eyes, and enjoy the bouquet!  And he jerked his
+hand; the dog Balthasar had reached up and licked it.
+
+"Beautiful!" He said: "Go on--more Chopin!"
+
+She began to play again.  This time the resemblance between her and
+'Chopin' struck him.  The swaying he had noticed in her walk was in
+her playing too, and the Nocturne she had chosen and the soft
+darkness of her eyes, the light on her hair, as of moonlight from a
+golden moon.  Seductive, yes; but nothing of Delilah in her or in
+that music.  A long blue spiral from his cigar ascended and
+dispersed.  'So we go out!' he thought.  'No more beauty! Nothing?'
+
+Again Irene stopped.
+
+"Would you like some Gluck?  He used to write his music in a sunlit
+garden, with a bottle of Rhine wine beside him."
+
+"Ah!; yes.  Let's have 'Orfeo."' Round about him now were fields of
+gold and silver flowers, white forms swaying in the sunlight, bright
+birds flying to and fro.  All was summer.  Lingering waves of
+sweetness and regret flooded his soul.  Some cigar ash dropped, and
+taking out a silk handkerchief to brush it off, he inhaled a mingled
+scent as of snuff and eau de Cologne.  'Ah!' he thought, 'Indian
+summer--that's all!' and he said: "You haven't played me 'Che faro.'"
+
+She did not answer; did not move.  He was conscious of something--
+some strange upset.  Suddenly he saw her rise and turn away, and a
+pang of remorse shot through him.  What a clumsy chap!  Like Orpheus,
+she of course--she too was looking for her lost one in the hall of
+memory!  And disturbed to the heart, he got up from his chair.  She
+had gone to the great window at the far end.  Gingerly he followed.
+Her hands were folded over her breast; he could just see her cheek,
+very white.  And, quite emotionalized, he said:
+
+"There, there, my love!"  The words had escaped him mechanically, for
+they were those he used to Holly when she had a pain, but their
+effect was instantaneously distressing.  She raised her arms, covered
+her face with them, and wept.
+
+Old Jolyon stood gazing at her with eyes very deep from age.  The
+passionate shame she seemed feeling at her abandonment, so unlike the
+control and quietude of her whole presence was as if she had never
+before broken down in the presence of another being.
+
+"There, there--there, there!" he murmured, and putting his hand out
+reverently, touched her.  She turned, and leaned the arms which
+covered her face against him.  Old Jolyon stood very still, keeping
+one thin hand on her shoulder.  Let her cry her heart out--it would
+do her good.
+
+And the dog Balthasar, puzzled, sat down on his stern to examine
+them.
+
+The window was still open, the curtains had not been drawn, the last
+of daylight from without mingled with faint intrusion from the lamp
+within; there was a scent of new-mown grass.  With the wisdom of a
+long life old Jolyon did not speak.  Even grief sobbed itself out in
+time; only Time was good for sorrow--Time who saw the passing of each
+mood, each emotion in turn; Time the layer-to-rest.  There came into
+his mind the words: 'As panteth the hart after cooling streams'--but
+they were of no use to him.  Then, conscious of a scent of violets,
+he knew she was drying her eyes.  He put his chin forward, pressed
+his moustache against her forehead, and felt her shake with a
+quivering of her whole body, as of a tree which shakes itself free of
+raindrops.  She put his hand to her lips, as if saying: "All over
+now!  Forgive me!"
+
+The kiss filled him with a strange comfort; he led her back to where
+she had been so upset.  And the dog Balthasar, following, laid the
+bone of one of the cutlets they had eaten at their feet.
+
+Anxious to obliterate the memory of that emotion, he could think of
+nothing better than china; and moving with her slowly from cabinet to
+cabinet, he kept taking up bits of Dresden and Lowestoft and Chelsea,
+turning them round and round with his thin, veined hands, whose skin,
+faintly freckled, had such an aged look.
+
+"I bought this at Jobson's," he would say; "cost me thirty pounds.
+It's very old.  That dog leaves his bones all over the place.  This
+old 'ship-bowl' I picked up at the sale when that precious rip, the
+Marquis, came to grief.  But you don't remember.  Here's a nice piece
+of Chelsea.  Now, what would you say this was?"  And he was
+comforted, feeling that, with her taste, she was taking a real
+interest in these things; for, after all, nothing better composes the
+nerves than a doubtful piece of china.
+
+When the crunch of the carriage wheels was heard at last, he said
+
+"You must come again; you must come to lunch, then I can show you
+these by daylight, and my little sweet--she's a dear little thing.
+This dog seems to have taken a fancy to you."
+
+For Balthasar, feeling that she was about to leave, was rubbing his
+side against her leg.  Going out under the porch with her, he said:
+
+"He'll get you up in an hour and a quarter.  Take this for your
+protegees," and he slipped a cheque for fifty pounds into her hand.
+He saw her brightened eyes, and heard her murmur: "Oh Uncle Jolyon!"
+and a real throb of pleasure went through him.  That meant one or two
+poor creatures helped a little, and it meant that she would come
+again.  He put his hand in at the window and grasped hers once more.
+The carriage rolled away.  He stood looking at the moon and the
+shadows of the trees, and thought: 'A sweet night! She ...!'
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+Two days of rain, and summer set in bland and sunny.  Old Jolyon
+walked and talked with Holly.  At first he felt taller and full of a
+new vigour; then he felt restless.  Almost every afternoon they would
+enter the coppice, and walk as far as the log.  'Well, she's not
+there!' he would think, 'of course not!'  And he would feel a little
+shorter, and drag his feet walking up the hill home, with his hand
+clapped to his left side.  Now and then the thought would move in
+him: 'Did she come--or did I dream it?' and he would stare at space,
+while the dog Balthasar stared at him.  Of course she would not come
+again!  He opened the letters from Spain with less excitement.  They
+were not returning till July; he felt, oddly, that he could bear it.
+Every day at dinner he screwed up his eyes and looked at where she
+had sat.  She was not there, so he unscrewed his eyes again.
+
+On the seventh afternoon he thought: 'I must go up and get some
+boots.'  He ordered Beacon, and set out.  Passing from Putney towards
+Hyde Park he reflected: 'I might as well go to Chelsea and see her.'
+And he called out: "Just drive me to where you took that lady the
+other night."  The coachman turned his broad red face, and his juicy
+lips answered: "The lady in grey, sir?"
+
+"Yes, the lady in grey."  What other ladies were there!  Stodgy chap!
+
+The carriage stopped before a small three-storied block of flats,
+standing a little back from the river.  With a practised eye old
+Jolyon saw that they were cheap.  'I should think about sixty pound a
+year,'  he mused; and entering, he looked at the name-board.  The
+name 'Forsyte' was not on it, but against 'First Floor, Flat C' were
+the words: 'Mrs. Irene Heron.'  Ah! She had taken her maiden name
+again!  And somehow this pleased him.  He went upstairs slowly,
+feeling his side a little.  He stood a moment, before ringing, to
+lose the feeling of drag and fluttering there.  She would not be in!
+And then Boots!  The thought was black.  What did he want with boots
+at his age? He could not wear out all those he had.
+
+"Your mistress at home?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Say Mr. Jolyon Forsyte."
+
+"Yes, sir, will you come this way?"
+
+Old Jolyon followed a very little maid--not more than sixteen one
+would say--into a very small drawing-room where the sun-blinds were
+drawn.  It held a cottage piano and little else save a vague
+fragrance and good taste.  'He stood in the middle, with his top hat
+in his hand, and thought: 'I expect she's very badly off!' There was
+a mirror above the fireplace, and he saw himself reflected.  An
+old-looking chap!  He heard a rustle, and turned round.  She was so
+close that his moustache almost brushed her forehead, just under her
+hair.
+
+"I was driving up," he said.  "Thought I'd look in on you, and ask
+you how you got up the other night."
+
+And, seeing her smile, he felt suddenly relieved.  She was really
+glad to see him, perhaps.
+
+"Would you like to put on your hat and come for a drive in the Park?"
+
+But while she was gone to put her hat on, he frowned.  The Park!
+James and Emily!  Mrs. Nicholas, or some other member of his precious
+family would be there very likely, prancing up and down.  And they
+would go and wag their tongues about having seen him with her,
+afterwards.  Better not!  He did not wish to revive the echoes of the
+past on Forsyte 'Change.'  He removed a white hair from the lapel of
+his closely-buttoned-up frock coat, and passed his hand over his
+cheeks, moustache, and square chin.  It felt very hollow there under
+the cheekbones.  He had not been eating much lately--he had better
+get that little whippersnapper who attended Holly to give him a
+tonic.  But she had come back and when they were in the carriage, he
+said:
+
+"Suppose we go and sit in Kensington Gardens instead?" and added with
+a twinkle: "No prancing up and down there," as if she had been in the
+secret of his thoughts.
+
+Leaving the carriage, they entered those select precincts, and
+strolled towards the water.
+
+"You've gone back to your maiden name, I see," he said: "I'm not
+sorry."
+
+She slipped her hand under his arm: "Has June forgiven me, Uncle
+Jolyon?"
+
+He answered gently: "Yes--yes; of course, why not?"
+
+"And have you?"
+
+"I?  I forgave you as soon as I saw how the land really lay."  And
+perhaps he had; his instinct had always been to forgive the
+beautiful.
+
+She drew a deep breath.  "I never regretted--I couldn't.  Did you
+ever love very deeply, Uncle Jolyon?"
+
+At that strange question old Jolyon stared before him.  Had he?  He
+did not seem to remember that he ever had.  But he did not like to
+say this to the young woman whose hand was touching his arm, whose
+life was suspended, as it were, by memory of a tragic love.  And he
+thought: 'If I had met you when I was young I--I might have made a
+fool of myself, perhaps.'  And a longing to escape in generalities
+beset him.
+
+"Love's a queer thing," he said, "fatal thing often.  It was the
+Greeks--wasn't it?--made love into a goddess; they were right, I dare
+say, but then they lived in the Golden Age."
+
+"Phil adored them."
+
+Phil! The word jarred him, for suddenly--with his power to see all
+round a thing, he perceived why she was putting up with him like
+this.  She wanted to talk about her lover!  Well!  If it was any
+pleasure to her!  And he said: "Ah! There was a bit of the sculptor
+in him, I fancy."
+
+"Yes.  He loved balance and symmetry; he loved the whole-hearted way
+the Greeks gave themselves to art."
+
+Balance! The chap had no balance at all, if he remembered; as for
+symmetry--clean-built enough he was, no doubt; but those queer eyes
+of his, and high cheek-bones--Symmetry?
+
+"You're of the Golden Age, too, Uncle Jolyon.
+
+Old Jolyon looked round at her.  Was she chaffing him?  No, her eyes
+were soft as velvet.  Was she flattering him?  But if so, why?  There
+was nothing to be had out of an old chap like him.
+
+"Phil thought so.  He used to say: 'But I can never tell him that I
+admire him."'
+
+Ah! There it was again.  Her dead lover; her desire to talk of him!
+And he pressed her arm, half resentful of those memories, half
+grateful, as if he recognised what a link they were between herself
+and him.
+
+"He was a very talented young fellow," he murmured.  "It's hot; I
+feel the heat nowadays.  Let's sit down."
+
+They took two chairs beneath a chestnut tree whose broad leaves
+covered them from the peaceful glory of the afternoon.  A pleasure to
+sit there and watch her, and feel that she liked to be with him.  And
+the wish to increase that liking, if he could, made him go on:
+
+"I expect he showed you a side of him I never saw.  He'd be at his
+best with you.  His ideas of art were a little new--to me "--he had
+stiffed the word 'fangled.'
+
+"Yes: but he used to say you had a real sense of beauty."  Old Jolyon
+thought: 'The devil he did!' but answered with a twinkle: "Well, I
+have, or I shouldn't be sitting here with you."  She was fascinating
+when she smiled with her eyes, like that!
+
+"He thought you had one of those hearts that never grow old.  Phil
+had real insight."
+
+He was not taken in by this flattery spoken out of the past, out of a
+longing to talk of her dead lover--not a bit; and yet it was precious
+to hear, because she pleased his eyes and heart which quite true!--
+had never grown old.  Was that because--unlike her and her dead
+lover, he had never loved to desperation, had always kept his
+balance, his sense of symmetry.  Well! It had left him power, at
+eighty-four, to admire beauty.  And he thought, 'If I were a painter
+or a sculptor!  But I'm an old chap.  Make hay while the sun shines.'
+
+A couple with arms entwined crossed on the grass before them, at the
+edge of the shadow from their tree.  The sunlight fell cruelly on
+their pale, squashed, unkempt young faces.  "We're an ugly lot!" said
+old Jolyon suddenly.  "It amazes me to see how--love triumphs over
+that."
+
+"Love triumphs over everything!"
+
+"The young think so," he muttered.
+
+"Love has no age, no limit; and no death."
+
+With that glow in her pale face, her breast heaving, her eyes so
+large and dark and soft, she looked like Venus come to life!  But
+this extravagance brought instant reaction, and, twinkling, he said:
+"Well, if it had limits, we shouldn't be born; for by George! it's
+got a lot to put up with."
+
+Then, removing his top hat, he brushed it round with a cuff.  The
+great clumsy thing heated his forehead; in these days he often got a
+rush of blood to the head--his circulation was not what it had been.
+
+She still sat gazing straight before her, and suddenly she murmured:
+
+"It's strange enough that I'm alive."
+
+Those words of Jo's 'Wild and lost' came back to him.
+
+"Ah!" he said: "my son saw you for a moment--that day."
+
+"Was it your son? I heard a voice in the hall; I thought for a second
+it was--Phil."
+
+Old Jolyon saw her lips tremble.  She put her hand over them, took it
+away again, and went on calmly: "That night I went to the Embankment;
+a woman caught me by the dress.  She told me about herself.  When one
+knows that others suffer, one's ashamed."
+
+"One of those?"
+
+She nodded, and horror stirred within old Jolyon, the horror of one
+who has never known a struggle with desperation.  Almost against his
+will he muttered: "Tell me, won't you?"
+
+"I didn't care whether I lived or died.  When you're like that, Fate
+ceases to want to kill you.  She took care of me three days--she
+never left me.  I had no money.  That's why I do what I can for them,
+now."
+
+But old Jolyon was thinking: 'No money!'  What fate could compare
+with that?  Every other was involved in it.
+
+"I wish you had come to me," he said.  "Why didn't you?"  But Irene
+did not answer.
+
+"Because my name was Forsyte, I suppose?  Or was it June who kept you
+away?  How are you getting on now?"  His eyes involuntarily swept her
+body.  Perhaps even now she was--!  And yet she wasn't thin--not
+really!
+
+"Oh! with my fifty pounds a year, I make just enough."  The answer
+did not reassure him; he had lost confidence.  And that fellow
+Soames!  But his sense of justice stifled condemnation.  No, she
+would certainly have died rather than take another penny from him.
+Soft as she looked, there must be strength in her somewhere--strength
+and fidelity.  But what business had young Bosinney to have got run
+over and left her stranded like this!
+
+"Well, you must come to me now," he said, "for anything you want, or
+I shall be quite cut up."  And putting on his hat, he rose.  "Let's
+go and get some tea.  I told that lazy chap to put the horses up for
+an hour, and come for me at your place.  We'll take a cab presently;
+I can't walk as I used to."
+
+He enjoyed that stroll to the Kensington end of the gardens--the
+sound of her voice, the glancing of her eyes, the subtle beauty of a
+charming form moving beside him.  He enjoyed their tea at Ruffel's in
+the High Street, and came out thence with a great box of chocolates
+swung on his little finger.  He enjoyed the drive back to Chelsea in
+a hansom, smoking his cigar.  She had promised to come down next
+Sunday and play to him again, and already in thought he was plucking
+carnations and early roses for her to carry back to town.  It was a
+pleasure to give her a little pleasure, if it WERE pleasure from an
+old chap like him!  The carriage was already there when they arrived.
+Just like that fellow, who was always late when he was wanted!  Old
+Jolyon went in for a minute to say good-bye.  The little dark hall of
+the fiat was impregnated with a disagreeable odour of patchouli, and
+on a bench against the wall--its only furniture--he saw a figure
+sitting.  He heard Irene say softly: "Just one minute."  In the
+little drawing-room when the door was shut, he asked gravely: "One of
+your protegees?"
+
+"Yes.  Now thanks to you, I can do something for her."
+
+He stood, staring, and stroking that chin whose strength had
+frightened so many in its time.  The idea of her thus actually in
+contact with this outcast, grieved and frightened him.  What could
+she do for them?  Nothing.  Only soil and make trouble for herself,
+perhaps.  And he said: "Take care, my dear!  The world puts the worst
+construction on everything."
+
+"I know that."
+
+He was abashed by her quiet smile.  "Well then--Sunday," he murmured:
+"Good-bye."
+
+She put her cheek forward for him to kiss.
+
+"Good-bye," he said again; "take care of yourself."  And he went out,
+not looking towards the figure on the bench.  He drove home by way of
+Hammersmith; that he might stop at a place he knew of and tell them
+to send her in two dozen of their best Burgundy.  She must want
+picking-up sometimes!  Only in Richmond Park did he remember that he
+had gone up to order himself some boots, and was surprised that he
+could have had so paltry an idea.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+The little spirits of the past which throng an old man's days had
+never pushed their faces up to his so seldom as in the seventy hours
+elapsing before Sunday came.  The spirit of the future, with the
+charm of the unknown, put up her lips instead.  Old Jolyon was not
+restless now, and paid no visits to the log, because she was coming
+to lunch.  There is wonderful finality about a meal; it removes a
+world of doubts, for no one misses meals except for reasons beyond
+control.  He played many games with Holly on the lawn, pitching them
+up to her who was batting so as to be ready to bowl to Jolly in the
+holidays.  For she was not a Forsyte, but Jolly was--and Forsytes
+always bat, until they have resigned and reached the age of
+eighty-five.  The dog Balthasar, in attendance, lay on the ball as
+often as he could, and the page-boy fielded, till his face was like
+the harvest moon.  And because the time was getting shorter, each day
+was longer and more golden than the last.  On Friday night he took a
+liver pill, his side hurt him rather, and though it was not the liver
+side, there is no remedy like that.  Anyone telling him that he had
+found a new excitement in life and that excitement was not good for
+him, would have been met by one of those steady and rather defiant
+looks of his deep-set iron-grey eyes, which seemed to say: 'I know my
+own business best.'  He always had and always would.
+
+On Sunday morning, when Holly had gone with her governess to church,
+he visited the strawberry beds.  There, accompanied by the dog
+Balthasar, he examined the plants narrowly and succeeded in finding
+at least two dozen berries which were really ripe.  Stooping was not
+good for him, and he became very dizzy and red in the forehead.
+Having placed the strawberries in a dish on the dining-table, he
+washed his hands and bathed his forehead with eau de Cologne.  There,
+before the mirror, it occurred to him that he was thinner.  What a
+'threadpaper' he had been when he was young!  It was nice to be slim-
+-he could not bear a fat chap; and yet perhaps his cheeks were too
+thin!  She was to arrive by train at half-past twelve and walk up,
+entering from the road past Drage's farm at the far end of the
+coppice.  And, having looked into June's room to see that there was
+hot water ready, he set forth to meet her, leisurely, for his heart
+was beating.  The air smelled sweet, larks sang, and the Grand Stand
+at Epsom was visible.  A perfect day!  On just such a one, no doubt,
+six years ago, Soames had brought young Bosinney down with him to
+look at the site before they began to build.  It was Bosinney who had
+pitched on the exact spot for the house--as June had often told him.
+In these days he was thinking much about that young fellow, as if his
+spirit were really haunting the field of his last work, on the chance
+of seeing--her.  Bosinney--the one man who had possessed her heart,
+to whom she had given her whole self with rapture!  At his age one
+could not, of course, imagine such things, but there stirred in him a
+queer vague aching--as it were the ghost of an impersonal jealousy;
+and a feeling, too, more generous, of pity for that love so early
+lost.  All over in a few poor months!  Well, well!  He looked at his
+watch before entering the coppice--only a quarter past, twenty-five
+minutes to wait!  And then, turning the corner of the path, he saw
+her exactly where he had seen her the first time, on the log; and
+realised that she must have come by the earlier train to sit there
+alone for a couple of hours at least.  Two hours of her society
+missed!  What memory could make that log so dear to her?  His face
+showed what he was thinking, for she said at once:
+
+"Forgive me, Uncle Jolyon; it was here that I first knew."
+
+"Yes, yes; there it is for you whenever you like.  You're looking a
+little Londony; you're giving too many lessons."
+
+That she should have to give lessons worried him.  Lessons to a
+parcel of young girls thumping out scales with their thick fingers.
+
+"Where do you go to give them?" he asked.
+
+"They're mostly Jewish families, luckily."
+
+Old Jolyon stared; to all Forsytes Jews seem strange and doubtful.
+
+"They love music, and they're very kind."
+
+"They had better be, by George!"  He took her arm--his side always
+hurt him a little going uphill--and said:
+
+"Did you ever see anything like those buttercups?  They came like
+that in a night."
+
+Her eyes seemed really to fly over the field, like bees after the
+flowers and the honey.  "I wanted you to see them--wouldn't let them
+turn the cows in yet."  Then, remembering that she had come to talk
+about Bosinney, he pointed to the clock-tower over the stables:
+
+"I expect be wouldn't have let me put that there--had no notion of
+time, if I remember."
+
+But, pressing his arm to her, she talked of flowers instead, and he
+knew it was done that he might not feel she came because of her dead
+lover.
+
+"The best flower I can show you," he said, with a sort of triumph,
+"is my little sweet.  She'll be back from Church directly.  There's
+something about her which reminds me a little of you," and it did not
+seem to him peculiar that he had put it thus, instead of saying:
+"There's something about you which reminds me a little of her."  Ah!
+And here she was!
+
+Holly, followed closely by her elderly French governess, whose
+digestion had been ruined twenty-two years ago in the siege of
+Strasbourg, came rushing towards them from under the oak tree.  She
+stopped about a dozen yards away, to pat Balthasar and pretend that
+this was all she had in her mind.  Old Jolyon who knew better, said:
+
+"Well, my darling, here's the lady in grey I promised you."
+
+Holly raised herself and looked up.  He watched the two of them with
+a twinkle, Irene smiling, Holly beginning with grave inquiry, passing
+into a shy smile too, and then to something deeper.  She had a sense
+of beauty, that child--knew what was what!  He enjoyed the sight of
+the kiss between them.
+
+"Mrs. Heron, Mam'zelle Beauce.  Well, Mam'zelle--good sermon?"
+
+For, now that he had not much more time before him, the only part of
+the service connected with this world absorbed what interest in
+church remained to him.  Mam'zelle Beauce stretched out a spidery
+hand clad in a black kid glove--she had been in the best families--
+and the rather sad eyes of her lean yellowish face seemed to ask:
+"Are you well-brrred?" Whenever Holly or Jolly did anything
+unpleasing to her--a not uncommon occurrence he would say to them:
+"The little Tayleurs never did that--they were such well-brrred
+little children."  Jolly hated the little Tayleurs; Holly wondered
+dreadfully how it was she fell so short of them.  'A thin rum little
+soul,' old Jolyon thought her--Mam'zelle Beauce.
+
+Luncheon was a successful meal, the mushrooms which he himself had
+picked in the mushroom house, his chosen strawberries, and another
+bottle of the Steinberg cabinet filled him with a certain aromatic
+spirituality, and a conviction that he would have a touch of eczema
+to-morrow.
+
+After lunch they sat under the oak tree drinking Turkish coffee.  It
+was no matter of grief to him when Mademoiselle Beauce withdrew to
+write her Sunday letter to her sister, whose future had been
+endangered in the past by swallowing a pin--an event held up daily in
+warning to the children to eat slowly and digest what they had eaten.
+At the foot of the bank, on a carriage rug, Holly and the dog
+Balthasar teased and loved each other, and in the shade old Jolyon
+with his legs crossed and his cigar luxuriously savoured, gazed at
+Irene sitting in the swing.  A light, vaguely swaying, grey figure
+with a fleck of sunlight here and there upon it, lips just opened,
+eyes dark and soft under lids a little drooped.  She looked content;
+surely it did her good to come and see him!  The selfishness of age
+had not set its proper grip on him, for he could still feel pleasure
+in the pleasure of others, realising that what he wanted, though
+much, was not quite all that mattered.
+
+"It's quiet here," he said; "you mustn't come down if you find it
+dull.  But it's a pleasure to see you.  My little sweet's is the only
+face which gives me any pleasure, except yours."
+
+>From her smile he knew that she was not beyond liking to be
+appreciated, and this reassured him.  "That's not humbug," he said.
+"I never told a woman I admired her when I didn't.  In fact I
+don't know when I've told a woman I admired her, except my wife in
+the old days; and wives are funny."  He was silent, but resumed
+abruptly:
+
+"She used to expect me to say it more often than I felt it, and there
+we were."  Her face looked  mysteriously troubled, and, afraid that
+he had said something painful, he hurried on: "When my little sweet
+marries, I hope she'll find someone who knows what women feel.  I
+shan't be here to see it, but there's too much  topsy-turvydom in
+marriage; I don't want her to pitch up against that."  And, aware
+that he had made bad worse, he added: "That dog will scratch."
+
+A silence followed.  Of what was she thinking, this pretty creature
+whose life was spoiled; who had done with love, and yet was made for
+love?  Some day when he was gone, perhaps, she would find another
+mate--not so disorderly as that young fellow who had got himself run
+over.  Ah! but her husband?
+
+"Does Soames never trouble you?" he asked.
+
+She shook her head.  Her face had closed up  suddenly.  For all her
+softness there was something irreconcilable about her.  And a glimpse
+of light on the inexorable nature of sex antipathies strayed into a
+brain which, belonging to early Victorian civil-isation--so much
+older than this of his old age--had never thought about such
+primitive things.
+
+"That's a comfort," he said.  "You can see the Grand Stand to-day.
+Shall we take a turn round?"
+
+Through the flower and fruit garden, against whose high outer walls
+peach trees and nectarines were trained to the sun, through the
+stables, the vinery, the mushroom house, the asparagus beds, the
+rosery, the summer-house, he conducted her--even into the kitchen
+garden to see the tiny green peas which Holly loved to scoop out of
+their pods with her finger, and lick up from the palm of her little
+brown hand.  Many delightful things he showed her, while Holly and
+the dog Balthasar danced ahead, or came to them at intervals for
+attention.  It was one of the happiest afternoons he had ever spent,
+but it tired him and he was glad to sit down in the music room and
+let her give him tea.  A special little friend of Holly's had come
+in--a fair child with short hair like a boy's.  And the two sported
+in the distance, under the stairs, on the stairs, and up in the
+gallery.  Old Jolyon begged for Chopin.  She played studies,
+mazurkas, waltzes, till the two children, creeping near, stood at the
+foot of the piano their dark and golden heads bent forward,
+listening.  Old Jolyon watched.
+
+"Let's see you dance, you two!"
+
+Shyly, with a false start, they began.  Bobbing and circling,
+earnest, not very adroit, they went past and past his chair to the
+strains of that waltz.  He watched them and the face of her who was
+playing turned smiling towards those little dancers thinking:
+
+'Sweetest picture I've seen for ages.'
+
+A voice said:
+
+"Hollee! Mais enfin--quest-ce que tu fais la--danser, le dimanche!
+Viens, donc!"
+
+But the children came close to old Jolyon, knowing that he would save
+them, and gazed into a face which was decidedly 'caught out.'
+
+"Better the day, better the deed, Mam'zelle.  It's all my doing.
+Trot along, chicks, and have your tea."
+
+And, when they were gone, followed by the dog Balthasar, who took
+every meal, he looked at Irene with a twinkle and said:
+
+"Well, there we are! Aren't they sweet? Have you any little ones
+among your pupils?"
+
+"Yes, three--two of them darlings."
+
+"Pretty?"
+
+"Lovely!"
+
+Old Jolyon sighed; he had an insatiable appetite for the very young.
+"My little sweet," he said, "is devoted to music; she'll be a
+musician some day.  You wouldn't give me your opinion of her playing,
+I suppose?"
+
+"Of course I will."
+
+"You wouldn't like--" but he stifled the words "to give her lessons."
+The idea that she gave lessons was unpleasant to him; yet it would
+mean that he would see her regularly.  She left the piano and came
+over to his chair.
+
+"I would like, very much; but there is--June.  When are they coming
+back?"
+
+Old Jolyon frowned.  "Not till the middle of next month.  What does
+that matter?"
+
+"You said June had forgiven me; but she could never forget, Uncle
+Jolyon."
+
+Forget! She must forget, if he wanted her to.
+
+But as if answering, Irene shook her head.  "You know she couldn't;
+one doesn't forget."
+
+Always that wretched past! And he said with a sort of vexed finality:
+
+"Well, we shall see."
+
+He talked to her an hour or more, of the children, and a hundred
+little things, till the carriage came round to take her home.  And
+when she had gone he went back to his chair, and sat there smoothing
+his face and chin, dreaming over the day.
+
+That evening after dinner he went to his study and took a sheet of
+paper.  He stayed for some minutes without writing, then rose and
+stood under the masterpiece 'Dutch Fishing Boats at Sunset.'  He was
+not thinking of that picture, but of his life.  He was going to leave
+her something in his Will; nothing could so have stirred the stilly
+deeps of thought and memory.  He was going to leave her a portion of
+his wealth, of his aspirations, deeds, qualities, work--all that had
+made that wealth; going to leave her, too, a part of all he had
+missed in life, by his sane and steady pursuit of wealth.  All! What
+had he missed?  'Dutch Fishing Boats' responded blankly; he crossed
+to the French window, and drawing the curtain aside, opened it.  A
+wind had got up, and one of last year's oak leaves which had somehow
+survived the gardener's brooms, was dragging itself with a tiny
+clicking rustle along the stone terrace in the twilight.  Except for
+that it was very quiet out there, and he could smell the heliotrope
+watered not long since.  A bat went by.  A bird uttered its last
+'cheep.'  And right above the oak tree the first star shone.  Faust
+in the opera had bartered his soul for some fresh years of youth.
+Morbid notion!  No such bargain was possible, that was real tragedy!
+No making oneself new again for love or life or anything.  Nothing
+left to do but enjoy beauty from afar off while you could, and leave
+it something in your Will.  But how much? And, as if he could not
+make that calculation looking out into the mild freedom of the
+country night, he turned back and went up to the chimney-piece.
+There were his pet bronzes--a Cleopatra with the asp at her breast; a
+Socrates; a greyhound playing with her puppy; a strong man reining in
+some horses.  'They last!' he thought, and a pang went through his
+heart.  They had a thousand years of life before them!
+
+'How much?' Well! enough at all events to save her getting old before
+her time, to keep the lines out of her face as long as possible, and
+grey from soiling that bright hair.  He might live another five
+years.  She would be well over thirty by then.  'How much?'  She had
+none of his blood in her!  In loyalty to the tenor of his life for
+forty years and more, ever since he married and founded that
+mysterious thing, a family, came this warning thought--None of his
+blood, no right to anything!  It was a luxury then, this notion.  An
+extravagance, a petting of an old man's whim, one of those things
+done in dotage.  His real future was vested in those who had his
+blood, in whom he would live on when he was gone.  He turned away
+from the bronzes and stood looking at the old leather chair in which
+he had sat and smoked so many hundreds of cigars.  And suddenly he
+seemed to see her sitting there in her grey dress, fragrant, soft,
+dark-eyed, graceful, looking up at him.  Why! She cared nothing for
+him, really; all she cared for was that lost lover of hers.  But she
+was there, whether she would or no, giving him pleasure with her
+beauty and grace.  One had no right to inflict an old man's company,
+no right to ask her down to play to him and let him look at her--for
+no reward!  Pleasure must be paid for in this world.  'How much?'
+After all, there was plenty; his son and his three grandchildren
+would never miss that little lump.  He had made it himself, nearly
+every penny; he could leave it where he liked, allow himself this
+little pleasure.  He went back to the bureau.  'Well, I'm going to,'
+he thought, 'let them think what they like.  I'm going to!'  And he
+sat down.
+
+'How much?' Ten thousand, twenty thousand--how much? If only with his
+money he could buy one year, one month of youth.  And startled by
+that thought, he wrote quickly:
+
+
+'DEAR HERRING,--Draw me a codicil to this effect: "I leave to my
+niece Irene Forsyte, born Irene Heron, by which name she now goes,
+fifteen thousand pounds free of legacy duty."
+'Yours faithfully,
+'JOLYON FORSYTE.'
+
+
+When he had sealed and stamped the envelope, he went back to the
+window and drew in a long breath.  It was dark, but many stars shone
+now.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+He woke at half-past two, an hour which long experience had taught
+him brings panic intensity to all awkward thoughts.  Experience had
+also taught him that a further waking at the proper hour of eight
+showed the folly of such panic.  On this particular morning the
+thought which gathered rapid momentum was that if he became ill, at
+his age not improbable, he would not see her.  From this it was but a
+step to realisation that he would be cut off, too, when his son and
+June returned from Spain.  How could he justify desire for the
+company of one who had stolen--early morning does not mince words--
+June's lover?  That lover was dead; but June was a stubborn little
+thing; warm-hearted, but stubborn as wood, and--quite true--not one
+who forgot!  By the middle of next month they would be back.  He had
+barely five weeks left to enjoy the new interest which had come into
+what remained of his life.  Darkness showed up to him absurdly clear
+the nature of his feeling.  Admiration for beauty--a craving to see
+that which delighted his eyes.
+
+Preposterous, at his age! And yet--what other reason was there for
+asking June to undergo such painful reminder, and how prevent his son
+and his son's wife from thinking him very queer?  He would be reduced
+to sneaking up to London, which tired him; and the least
+indisposition would cut him off even from that.  He lay with eyes
+open, setting his jaw against the prospect, and calling himself an
+old fool, while his heart beat loudly, and then seemed to stop
+beating altogether.  He had seen the dawn lighting the window chinks,
+heard the birds chirp and twitter, and the cocks crow, before he fell
+asleep again, and awoke tired but sane.  Five weeks before he need
+bother, at his age an eternity!  But that early morning panic had
+left its mark, had slightly fevered the will of one who had always
+had his own way.  He would see her as often as he wished!  Why not go
+up to town and make that codicil at his solicitor's instead of
+writing about it; she might like to go to the opera!  But, by train,
+for he would not have that fat chap Beacon grinning behind his back.
+Servants were such fools; and, as likely as not, they had known all
+the past history of Irene and young Bosinney--servants knew
+everything, and suspected the rest.  He wrote to her that morning:
+
+
+"MY DEAR IRENE,--I have to be up in town to-morrow.  If you would
+like to have a look in at the opera, come and dine with me quietly
+...."
+
+But where?  It was decades since he had dined anywhere in London save
+at his Club or at a private house.  Ah! that new-fangled place close
+to Covent Garden....
+
+"Let me have a line to-morrow morning to the Piedmont Hotel whether
+to expect you there at 7 o'clock."
+"Yours affectionately,
+"JOLYON FORSYTE."
+
+
+She would understand that he just wanted to give her a little
+pleasure; for the idea that she should guess he had this itch to see
+her was instinctively unpleasant to him; it was not seemly that one
+so old should go out of his way to see beauty, especially in a woman.
+
+The journey next day, short though it was, and the visit to his
+lawyer's, tired him.  It was hot too, and after dressing for dinner
+he lay down on the sofa in his bedroom to rest a little.  He must
+have had a sort of fainting fit, for he came to himself feeling very
+queer; and with some difficulty rose and rang the bell.  Why! it was
+past seven!  And there he was and she would be waiting.  But suddenly
+the dizziness came on again, and he was obliged to relapse on the
+sofa.  He heard the maid's voice say:
+
+"Did you ring, sir?"
+
+"Yes, come here"; he could not see her clearly, for the cloud in
+front of his eyes.  "I'm not well, I want some sal volatile."
+
+"Yes, sir."  Her voice sounded frightened.
+
+Old Jolyon made an effort.
+
+"Don't go.  Take this message to my niece--a lady waiting in the
+hall--a lady in grey.  Say Mr. Forsyte is not well--the heat.  He is
+very sorry; if he is not down directly, she is not to wait dinner."
+
+When she was gone, he thought feebly: 'Why did I say a lady in grey--
+she may be in anything.  Sal volatile!'  He did not go off again, yet
+was not conscious of how Irene came to be standing beside him,
+holding smelling salts to his nose, and pushing a pillow up behind
+his head.  He heard her say anxiously: "Dear Uncle Jolyon, what is
+it?" was dimly conscious of the soft pressure of her lips on his
+hand; then drew a long breath of smelling salts, suddenly discovered
+strength in them, and sneezed.
+
+"Ha!" he said, "it's nothing.  How did you get here? Go down and
+dine--the tickets are on the dressing-table.  I shall be all right in
+a minute."
+
+He felt her cool hand on his forehead, smelled violets, and sat
+divided between a sort of pleasure and a determination to be all
+right.
+
+"Why! You are in grey!" he said.  "Help me up."  Once on his feet he
+gave himself a shake.
+
+"What business had I to go off like that!"  And he moved very slowly
+to the glass.  What a cadaverous chap!  Her voice, behind him,
+murmured:
+
+"You mustn't come down, Uncle; you must rest."
+
+"Fiddlesticks!  A glass of champagne'll soon set me to rights.  I
+can't have you missing the opera."
+
+But the journey down the corridor was troublesome.  What carpets they
+had in these newfangled places, so thick that you tripped up in them
+at every step! In the lift he noticed how concerned she looked, and
+said with the ghost of a twinkle:
+
+"I'm a pretty host."
+
+When the lift stopped he had to hold firmly to the seat to prevent
+its slipping under him; but after soup and a glass of champagne he
+felt much better, and began to enjoy an infirmity which had brought
+such solicitude into her manner towards him.
+
+"I should have liked you for a daughter," he said suddenly; and
+watching the smile in her eyes, went on:
+
+"You mustn't get wrapped up in the past at your time of life; plenty
+of that when you get to my age.  That's a nice dress--I like the
+style."
+
+"I made it myself."
+
+Ah! A woman who could make herself a pretty frock had not lost her
+interest in life.
+
+"Make hay while the sun shines," he said; "and drink that up.  I want
+to see some colour in your cheeks.  We mustn't waste life; it doesn't
+do.  There's a new Marguerite to-night; let's hope she won't be fat.
+And Mephisto--anything more dreadful than a fat chap playing the
+Devil I can't imagine."
+
+But they did not go to the opera after all, for in getting up from
+dinner the dizziness came over him again, and she insisted on his
+staying quiet and going to bed early.  When he parted from her at the
+door of the hotel, having paid the cabman to drive her to Chelsea, he
+sat down again for a moment to enjoy the memory of her words: "You
+are such a darling to me, Uncle Jolyon!"  Why! Who wouldn't be!  He
+would have liked to stay up another day and take her to the Zoo, but
+two days running of him would bore her to death.  No, he must wait
+till next Sunday; she had promised to come then.  They would settle
+those lessons for Holly, if only for a month.  It would be something.
+That little Mam'zelle Beauce wouldn't like it, but she would have to
+lump it.  And crushing his old opera hat against his chest he sought
+the lift.
+
+He drove to Waterloo next morning, struggling with a desire to say:
+'Drive me to Chelsea.'  But his sense of proportion was too strong.
+Besides, he still felt shaky, and did not want to risk another
+aberration like that of last night, away from home.  Holly, too, was
+expecting him, and what he had in his bag for her.  Not that there
+was any cupboard love in his little sweet--she was a bundle of
+affection.  Then, with the rather bitter cynicism of the old, he
+wondered for a second whether it was not cupboard love which made
+Irene put up with him.  No, she was not that sort either.  She had,
+if anything, too little notion of how to butter her bread, no sense
+of property, poor thing! Besides, he had not breathed a word about
+that codicil, nor should he--sufficient unto the day was the good
+thereof.
+
+In the victoria which met him at the station Holly was restraining
+the dog Balthasar, and their caresses made 'jubey' his drive home.
+All the rest of that fine hot day and most of the next he was content
+and peaceful, reposing in the shade, while the long lingering
+sunshine showered gold on the lawns and the flowers.  But on Thursday
+evening at his lonely dinner he began to count the hours; sixty-five
+till he would go down to meet her again in the little coppice, and
+walk up through the fields at her side.  He had intended to consult
+the doctor about his fainting fit, but the fellow would be sure to
+insist on quiet, no excitement and all that; and he did not mean to
+be tied by the leg, did not want to be told of an infirmity--if there
+were one, could not afford to hear of it at his time of life, now
+that this new interest had come.  And he carefully avoided making any
+mention of it in a letter to his son.  It would only bring them back
+with a run!  How far this silence was due to consideration for their
+pleasure, how far to regard for his own, he did not pause to
+consider.
+
+That night in his study he had just finished his cigar and was dozing
+off, when he heard the rustle of a gown, and was conscious of a scent
+of violets.  Opening his eyes he saw her, dressed in grey, standing
+by the fireplace, holding out her arms.  The odd thing was that,
+though those arms seemed to hold nothing, they were curved as if
+round someone's neck, and her own neck was bent back, her lips open,
+her eyes closed.  She vanished at once, and there were the
+mantelpiece and his bronzes.  But those bronzes and the mantelpiece
+had not been there when she was, only the fireplace and the wall!
+Shaken and troubled, he got up.  'I must take medicine,' he thought;
+'I can't be well.'  His heart beat too fast, he had an asthmatic
+feeling in the chest; and going to the window, he opened it to get
+some air.  A dog was barking far away, one of the dogs at Gage's farm
+no doubt, beyond the coppice.  A beautiful still night, but dark.  'I
+dropped off,' he mused, 'that's it!  And yet I'll swear my eyes were
+open!'  A sound like a sigh seemed to answer.
+
+"What's that?" he said sharply, "who's there?"
+
+Putting his hand to his side to still the beating of his heart, he
+stepped out on the terrace.  Something soft scurried by in the dark.
+"Shoo!"  It was that great grey cat.  'Young Bosinney was like a
+great cat!' he thought.  'It was him in there, that she--that she
+was--He's got her still!'  He walked to the edge of the terrace, and
+looked down into the darkness; he could just see the powdering of the
+daisies on the unmown lawn.  Here to-day and gone to-morrow!  And
+there came the moon, who saw all, young and old, alive and dead, and
+didn't care a dump!  His own turn soon.  For a single day of youth he
+would give what was left!  And he turned again towards the house.  He
+could see the windows of the night nursery up there.  His little
+sweet would be asleep.  'Hope that dog won't wake her!' he thought.
+'What is it makes us love, and makes us die!  I must go to bed.'
+
+And across the terrace stones, growing grey in the moonlight, he
+passed back within.
+
+How should an old man live his days if not in dreaming of his
+well-spent past? In that, at all events, there is no agitating
+warmth, only pale winter sunshine.  The shell can withstand the
+gentle beating of the dynamos of memory.  The present he should
+distrust; the future shun.  From beneath thick shade he should watch
+the sunlight creeping at his toes.  If there be sun of summer, let
+him not go out into it, mistaking it for the Indian-summer sun!  Thus
+peradventure he shall decline softly, slowly, imperceptibly, until
+impatient Nature clutches his wind-pipe and he gasps away to death
+some early morning before the world is aired, and they put on his
+tombstone: 'In the fulness of years!' yea!  If he preserve his
+principles in perfect order, a Forsyte may live on long after he is
+dead.
+
+Old Jolyon was conscious of all this, and yet there was in him that
+which transcended Forsyteism.  For it is written that a Forsyte shall
+not love beauty more than reason; nor his own way more than his own
+health.  And something beat within him in these days that with each
+throb fretted at the thinning shell.  His sagacity knew this, but it
+knew too that he could not stop that beating, nor would if he could.
+And yet, if you had told him he was living on his capital, he would
+have stared you down.  No, no; a man did not live on his capital; it
+was not done!  The shibboleths of the past are ever more real than
+the actualities of the present.  And he, to whom living on one's
+capital had always been anathema, could not have borne to have
+applied so gross a phrase to his own case.  Pleasure is healthful;
+beauty good to see; to live again in the youth of the young--and what
+else on earth was he doing!
+
+Methodically, as had been the way of his whole life, he now arranged
+his time.  On Tuesdays he journeyed up to town by train; Irene came
+and dined with him.  And they went to the opera.  On Thursdays he
+drove to town, and, putting that fat chap and his horses up, met her
+in Kensington Gardens, picking up the carriage after he had left her,
+and driving home again in time for dinner.  He threw out the casual
+formula that he had business in London on those two days.  On
+Wednesdays and Saturdays she came down to give Holly music lessons.
+The greater the pleasure he took in her society, the more
+scrupulously fastidious he became, just a matter-of-fact and friendly
+uncle.  Not even in feeling, really, was he more--for, after all,
+there was his age.  And yet, if she were late he fidgeted himself to
+death.  If she missed coming, which happened twice, his eyes grew sad
+as an old dog's, and he failed to sleep.
+
+And so a month went by--a month of summer in the fields, and in his
+heart, with summer's heat and the fatigue thereof.  Who could have
+believed a few weeks back that he would have looked forward to his
+son's and his grand-daughter's return with something like dread!
+There was such a delicious freedom, such recovery of that
+independence a man enjoys before he founds a family, about these
+weeks of lovely weather, and this new companionship with one who
+demanded nothing, and remained always a little unknown, retaining the
+fascination of mystery.  It was like a draught of wine to him who has
+been drinking water for so long that he has almost forgotten the stir
+wine brings to his blood, the narcotic to his brain.  The flowers
+were coloured brighter, scents and music and the sunlight had a
+living value--were no longer mere reminders of past enjoy-ment.
+There was something now to live for which stirred him continually to
+anticipation.  He lived in that, not in retrospection; the difference
+is considerable to any so old as he.  The pleasures of the table,
+never of much consequence to one naturally abstemious, had lost all
+value.  He ate little, without knowing what he ate; and every day
+grew thinner and more worn to look at.  He was again a 'threadpaper';
+and to this thinned form his massive forehead, with hollows at the
+temples, gave more dignity than ever.  He was very well aware that he
+ought to see the doctor, but liberty was too sweet.  He could not
+afford to pet his frequent shortness of breath and the pain in his
+side at the expense of liberty.  Return to the vegetable existence he
+had led among the agricultural journals with the life-size mangold
+wurzels, before this new attraction came into his life--no! He
+exceeded his allowance of cigars.  Two a day had always been his
+rule.  Now he smoked three and sometimes four--a man will when he is
+filled with the creative spirit.  But very often he thought: 'I must
+give up smoking, and coffee; I must give up rattling up to town.'
+But he did not; there was no one in any sort of authority to notice
+him, and this was a priceless boon.
+
+The servants perhaps wondered, but they were, naturally, dumb.
+Mam'zelle Beauce was too concerned with her own digestion, and too
+'wellbrrred' to make personal allusions.  Holly had not as yet an eye
+for the relative appearance of him who was her plaything and her god.
+It was left for Irene herself to beg him to eat more, to rest in the
+hot part of the day, to take a tonic, and so forth.  But she did not
+tell him that she was the a cause of his thinness--for one cannot see
+the havoc oneself is working.  A man of eighty-five has no passions,
+but the Beauty which produces passion works on in the old way, till
+death closes the eyes which crave the sight of Her.
+
+On the first day of the second week in July he received a letter from
+his son in Paris to say that they would all be back on Friday.  This
+had always been more sure than Fate; but, with the pathetic
+improvidence given to the old, that they may endure to the end, he
+had never quite admitted it.  Now he did, and something would have to
+be done.  He had ceased to be able to imagine life without this new
+interest, but that which is not imagined sometimes exists, as
+Forsytes are perpetually finding to their cost.  He sat in his old
+leather chair, doubling up the letter, and mumbling with his lips the
+end of an unlighted cigar.  After to-morrow his Tuesday expeditions
+to town would have to be abandoned.  He could still drive up,
+perhaps, once a week, on the pretext of seeing his man of business.
+But even that would be dependent on his health, for now they would
+begin to fuss about him.  The lessons!  The lessons must go on!  She
+must swallow down her scruples, and June must put her feelings in her
+pocket.  She had done so once, on the day after the news of
+Bosinney's death; what she had done then, she could surely do again
+now.  Four years since that injury was inflicted on her--not
+Christian to keep the memory of old sores alive.  June's will was
+strong, but his was stronger, for his sands were running out.  Irene
+was soft, surely she would do this for him, subdue her natural
+shrinking, sooner than give him pain!  The lessons must continue; for
+if they did, he was secure.  And lighting his cigar at last, he began
+trying to shape out how to put it to them all, and explain this
+strange intimacy; how to veil and wrap it away from the naked truth--
+that he could not bear to be deprived of the sight of beauty.  Ah!
+Holly!  Holly was fond of her, Holly liked her lessons.  She would
+save him--his little sweet!  And with that happy thought he became
+serene, and wondered what he had been worrying about so fearfully.
+He must not worry, it left him always curiously weak, and as if but
+half present in his own body.
+
+That evening after dinner he had a return of the dizziness, though he
+did not faint.  He would not ring the bell, because he knew it would
+mean a fuss, and make his going up on the morrow more conspicuous.
+When one grew old, the whole world was in conspiracy to limit
+freedom, and for what reason?--just to keep the breath in him a
+little longer.  He did not want it at such cost.  Only the dog
+Balthasar saw his lonely recovery from that weakness; anxiously
+watched his master go to the sideboard and drink some brandy, instead
+of giving him a biscuit.  When at last old Jolyon felt able to tackle
+the stairs he went up to bed.  And, though still shaky next morning,
+the thought of the evening sustained and strengthened him.  It was
+always such a pleasure to give her a good dinner--he suspected her of
+undereating when she was alone; and, at the opera to watch her eyes
+glow and brighten, the unconscious smiling of her lips.  She hadn't
+much pleasure, and this was the last time he would be able to give
+her that treat.  But when he was packing his bag he caught himself
+wishing that he had not the fatigue of dressing for dinner before
+him, and the exertion, too, of telling her about June's return.
+
+The opera that evening was 'Carmen,' and he chose the last entr'acte
+to break the news, instinctively putting it off till the latest
+moment.
+
+She took it quietly, queerly; in fact, he did not know how she had
+taken it before the wayward music lifted up again and silence became
+necessary.  The mask was down over her face, that mask behind which
+so much went on that he could not see.  She wanted time to think it
+over, no doubt!  He would not press her, for she would be coming to
+give her lesson to-morrow afternoon, and he should see her then when
+she had got used to the idea.  In the cab he talked only of the
+Carmen; he had seen better in the old days, but this one was not bad
+at all.  When he took her hand to say good-night, she bent quickly
+forward and kissed his forehead.
+
+"Good-bye, dear Uncle Jolyon, you have been so sweet to me."
+
+"To-morrow then," he said.  "Good-night.  Sleep well."  She echoed
+softly: "Sleep welll" and from the cab window, already moving away,
+he saw her face screwed round towards him, and her hand put out in a
+gesture which seemed to linger.
+
+He sought his room slowly.  They never gave him the same, and he
+could not get used to these 'spick-and-spandy' bedrooms with new
+furniture and grey-green carpets sprinkled all over with pink roses.
+He was wakeful and that wretched Habanera kept throbbing in his head.
+
+His French had never been equal to its words, but its sense he knew,
+if it had any sense, a gipsy thing--wild and unaccountable.  Well,
+there was in life something which upset all your care and plans--
+something which made men and women dance to its pipes.  And he lay
+staring from deep-sunk eyes into the darkness where the unaccountable
+held sway.  You thought you had hold of life, but it slipped away
+behind you, took you by the scruff of the neck, forced you here and
+forced you there, and then, likely as not, squeezed life out of you!
+It took the very stars like that, he shouldn't wonder, rubbed their
+noses together and flung them apart; it had never done playing its
+pranks.  Five million people in this great blunderbuss of a town, and
+all of them at the mercy of that Life-Force, like a lot of little
+dried peas hopping about on a board when you struck your fist on it.
+Ah, well! Himself would not hop much longer--a good long sleep would
+do him good!
+
+How hot it was up here!--how noisy! His forehead burned; she had
+kissed it just where he always worried; just there--as if she had
+known the very place and wanted to kiss it all away for him.  But,
+instead, her lips left a patch of grievous uneasiness.  She had never
+spoken in quite that voice, had never before made that lingering
+gesture or looked back at him as she drove away.
+
+He got out of bed and pulled the curtains aside; his room faced down
+over the river.  There was little air, but the sight of that breadth
+of water flowing by, calm, eternal, soothed him.  'The great thing,'
+he thought 'is not to make myself a nuisance.  I'll think of my
+little sweet, and go to sleep.'  But it was long before the heat and
+throbbing of the London night died out into the short slumber of the
+summer morning.  And old Jolyon had but forty winks.
+
+When he reached home next day he went out to the flower garden, and
+with the help of Holly, who was very delicate with flowers, gathered
+a great bunch of carnations.  They were, he told her, for 'the lady
+in grey'--a name still bandied between them; and he put them in a
+bowl in his study where he meant to tackle Irene the moment she came,
+on the subject of June and future lessons.  Their fragrance and
+colour would help.  After lunch he lay down, for he felt very tired,
+and the carriage would not bring her from the station till four
+o'clock.  But as the hour approached he grew restless, and sought the
+schoolroom, which overlooked the drive.  The sun-blinds were down,
+and Holly was there with Mademoiselle Beauce, sheltered from the heat
+of a stifling July day, attending to their silkworms.  Old Jolyon had
+a natural antipathy to these methodical creatures, whose heads and
+colour reminded him of elephants; who nibbled such quantities of
+holes in nice green leaves; and smelled, as he thought, horrid.  He
+sat down on a chintz-covered windowseat whence he could see the
+drive, and get what air there was; and the dog Balthasar who
+appreciated chintz on hot days, jumped up beside him.  Over the
+cottage piano a violet dust-sheet, faded almost to grey, was spread,
+and on it the first lavender, whose scent filled the room.  In spite
+of the coolness here, perhaps because of that coolness the beat of
+life vehemently impressed his ebbed-down senses.  Each sunbeam which
+came through the chinks had annoying brilliance; that dog smelled
+very strong; the lavender perfume was overpowering; those silkworms
+heaving up their grey-green backs seemed horribly alive; and Holly's
+dark head bent over them had a wonderfully silky sheen.  A marvellous
+cruelly strong thing was life when you were old and weak; it seemed
+to mock you with its multitude of forms and its beating vitality.  He
+had never, till those last few weeks, had this curious feeling of
+being with one half of him eagerly borne along in the stream of life,
+and with the other half left on the bank, watching that helpless
+progress.  Only when Irene was with him did he lose this double
+consciousness.
+
+Holly turned her head, pointed with her little brown fist to the
+piano--for to point with a finger was not 'well-brrred'--and said
+slyly:
+
+"Look at the 'lady in grey,' Gran; isn't she pretty to-day?"
+
+Old Jolyon's heart gave a flutter, and for a second the room was
+clouded; then it cleared, and he said with a twinkle:
+
+"Who's been dressing her up?"
+
+"Mam'zelle."
+
+"Hollee! Don't be foolish!"
+
+That prim little Frenchwoman!  She hadn't yet got over the music
+lessons being taken away from her.  That wouldn't help.  His little
+sweet was the only friend they had.  Well, they were her lessons.
+And he shouldn't budge shouldn't budge for anything.  He stroked the
+warm wool on Balthasar's head, and heard Holly say: "When mother's
+home, there won't be any changes, will there?  She doesn't like
+strangers, you know."
+
+The child's words seemed to bring the chilly atmosphere of opposition
+about old Jolyon, and disclose all the menace to his new-found
+freedom.  Ah! He would have to resign himself to being an old man at
+the mercy of care and love, or fight to keep this new and prized
+companionship; and to fight tired him to death.  But his thin, worn
+face hardened into resolution till it appeared all Jaw.  This was his
+house, and his affair; he should not budge!  He looked at his watch,
+old and thin like himself; he had owned it fifty years.  Past four
+already!  And kissing the top of Holly's head in passing, he went
+down to the hall.  He wanted to get hold of her before she went up to
+give her lesson.  At the first sound of wheels he stepped out into
+the porch, and saw at once that the victoria was empty.
+
+"The train's in, sir; but the lady 'asn't come."
+
+Old Jolyon gave him a sharp upward look, his eyes seemed to push away
+that fat chap's curiosity, and defy him to see the bitter
+disappointment he was feeling.
+
+"Very well," he said, and turned back into the house.  He went to his
+study and sat down, quivering like a leaf.  What did this mean? She
+might have lost her train, but he knew well enough she hadn't.
+'Good-bye, dear Uncle Jolyon.'  Why 'Good-bye' and not 'Good-night'?
+And that hand of hers lingering in the air.  And her kiss.  What did
+it mean?  Vehement alarm and irritation took possession of him.  He
+got up and began to pace the Turkey carpet, between window and wall.
+She was going to give him up!  He felt it for certain--and he
+defenceless.  An old man wanting to look on beauty!  It was
+ridiculous!  Age closed his mouth, paralysed his power to fight.  He
+had no right to what was warm and living, no right to anything but
+memories and sorrow.  He could not plead with her; even an old man
+has his dignity.  Defenceless!  For an hour, lost to bodily fatigue,
+he paced up and down, past the bowl of carnations he had plucked,
+which mocked him with its scent.  Of all things hard to bear, the
+prostration of will-power is hardest, for one who has always had his
+way.  Nature had got him in its net, and like an unhappy fish he
+turned and swam at the meshes, here and there, found no hole, no
+breaking point.  They brought him tea at five o'clock, and a letter.
+For a moment hope beat up in him.  He cut the envelope with the
+butter knife, and read:
+
+
+"DEAREST UNCLE JOLYON,--I can't bear to write anything that may
+disappoint you, but I was too cowardly to tell you last night.  I
+feel I can't come down and give Holly any more lessons, now that June
+is coming back.  Some things go too deep to be forgotten.  It has
+been such a joy to see you and Holly.  Perhaps I shall still see you
+sometimes when you come up, though I'm sure it's not good for you; I
+can see you are tiring yourself too much.  I believe you ought to
+rest quite quietly all this hot weather, and now you have your son
+and June coming back you will be so happy.  Thank you a million times
+for all your sweetness to me.
+
+"Lovingly your IRENE."
+
+
+So, there it was! Not good for him to have pleasure and what he
+chiefly cared about; to try and put off feeling the inevitable end of
+all things, the approach of death with its stealthy, rustling
+footsteps.  Not good for him!  Not even she could see how she was his
+new lease of interest in life, the incarnation of all the beauty he
+felt slipping from him.
+
+His tea grew cold, his cigar remained unlit; and up and down he
+paced, torn between his dignity and his hold on life.  Intolerable to
+be squeezed out slowly, without a say of your own, to live on when
+your will was in the hands of others bent on weighing you to the
+ground with care and love.  Intolerable!  He would see what telling
+her the truth would do--the truth that he wanted the sight of her
+more than just a lingering on.  He sat down at his old bureau and
+took a pen.  But he could not write.  There was some-thing revolting
+in having to plead like this; plead that she should warm his eyes
+with her beauty.  It was tantamount to confessing dotage.  He simply
+could not.  And instead, he wrote:
+
+
+"I had hoped that the memory of old sores would not be allowed to
+stand in the way of what is a pleasure and a profit to me and my
+little grand-daughter.  But old men learn to forego their whims; they
+are obliged to, even the whim to live must be foregone sooner or
+later; and perhaps the sooner the better.
+"My love to you,
+"JOLYON FORSYTE."
+
+
+'Bitter,' he thought, 'but I can't help it.  I'm tired.'  He sealed
+and dropped it into the box for the evening post, and hearing it fall
+to the bottom, thought: 'There goes all I've looked forward to!'
+
+That evening after dinner which he scarcely touched, after his cigar
+which he left half-smoked for it made him feel faint, he went very
+slowly upstairs and stole into the night-nursery.  He sat down on the
+window-seat.  A night-light was burning, and he could just see
+Holly's face, with one hand underneath the cheek.  An early
+cockchafer buzzed in the Japanese paper with which they had filled
+the grate, and one of the horses in the stable stamped restlessly.
+To sleep like that child!  He pressed apart two rungs of the venetian
+blind and looked out.  The moon was rising, blood-red.  He had never
+seen so red a moon.  The woods and fields out there were dropping to
+sleep too, in the last glimmer of the summer light.  And beauty, like
+a spirit, walked.  'I've had a long life,' he thought, 'the best of
+nearly everything.  I'm an ungrateful chap; I've seen a lot of beauty
+in my time.  Poor young Bosinney said I had a sense of beauty.
+There's a man in the moon to-night!'  A moth went by, another,
+another.  'Ladies in grey!'  He closed his eyes.  A feeling that he
+would never open them again beset him; he let it grow, let himself
+sink; then, with a shiver, dragged the lids up.  There was something
+wrong with him, no doubt, deeply wrong; he would have to have the
+doctor after all.  It didn't much matter now!  Into that coppice the
+moon-light would have crept; there would be shadows, and those
+shadows would be the only things awake.  No birds, beasts, flowers,
+insects; Just the shadows--moving; 'Ladies in grey!'  Over that log
+they would climb; would whisper together.  She and Bosinney!  Funny
+thought!  And the frogs and little things would whisper too!  How the
+clock ticked, in here!  It was all eerie-out there in the light of
+that red moon; in here with the little steady night-light and, the
+ticking clock and the nurse's dressing-gown hanging from the edge of
+the screen, tall, like a woman's figure.  'Lady in grey!'  And a very
+odd thought beset him: Did she exist?  Had she ever come at all?  Or
+was she but the emanation of all the beauty he had loved and must
+leave so soon?  The violet-grey spirit with the dark eyes and the
+crown of amber hair, who walks the dawn and the moonlight, and at
+blue-bell time?  What was she, who was she, did she exist?  He rose
+and stood a moment clutching the window-sill, to give him a sense of
+reality again; then began tiptoeing towards the door.  He stopped at
+the foot of the bed; and Holly, as if conscious of his eyes fixed on
+her, stirred, sighed, and curled up closer in defence.  He tiptoed on
+and passed out into the dark passage; reached his room, undressed at
+once, and stood before a mirror in his night-shirt.  What a
+scarecrow--with temples fallen in, and thin legs! His eyes resisted
+his own image, and a look of pride came on his face.  All was in
+league to pull him down, even his reflection in the glass, but he was
+not down--yet!  He got into bed, and lay a long time without
+sleeping, trying to reach resignation, only too well aware that
+fretting and disappointment were very bad for him.  He woke in the
+morning so unrefreshed and strengthIess that he sent for the doctor.
+After sounding him, the fellow pulled a face as long as your arm, and
+ordered him to stay in bed and give up smoking.  That was no
+hardship; there was nothing to get up for, and when he felt ill,
+tobacco always lost its savour.  He spent the morning languidly with
+the sun-blinds down, turning and re-turning The Times, not reading
+much, the dog Balthasar lying beside his bed.  With his lunch they
+brought him a telegram, running thus:
+
+
+'Your letter received coming down this afternoon will be with you at
+four-thirty.  Irene.'
+
+
+Coming down!  After all!  Then she did exist--and he was not
+deserted.  Coming down!  A glow ran through his limbs; his cheeks and
+forehead felt hot.  He drank his soup, and pushed the tray-table
+away, lying very quiet until they had removed lunch and left him
+alone; but every now and then his eyes twinkled.  Coming down!  His
+heart beat fast, and then did not seem to beat at all.  At three
+o'clock he got up and dressed deliberately, noiselessly.  Holly and
+Mam'zelle would be in the schoolroom, and the servants asleep after
+their dinner, he shouldn't wonder.  He opened his door cautiously,
+and went downstairs.  In the hall the dog Balthasar lay solitary,
+and, followed by him, old Jolyon passed into his study and out into
+the burning afternoon.  He meant to go down and meet her in the
+coppice, but felt at once he could not manage that in this heat.  He
+sat down instead under the oak tree by the swing, and the dog
+Balthasar, who also felt the heat, lay down beside him.  He sat there
+smiling.  What a revel of bright minutes!  What a hum of insects, and
+cooing of pigeons!  It was the quintessence of a summer day.  Lovely!
+And he was happy--happy as a sand-boy, what-ever that might be.  She
+was coming; she had not given him up!  He had everything in life he
+wanted--except a little more breath, and less weight--just here!  He
+would see her when she emerged from the fernery, come swaying just a
+little, a violet-grey figure passing over the daisies and dandelions
+and 'soldiers' on the lawn--the soldiers with their flowery crowns.
+He would not move, but she would come up to him and say: 'Dear Uncle
+Jolyon, I am sorry!' and sit in the swing and let him look at her and
+tell her that he had not been very well but was all right now; and
+that dog would lick her hand.  That dog knew his master was fond of
+her; that dog was a good dog.
+
+It was quite shady under the tree; the sun could not get at him, only
+make the rest of the world bright so that he could see the Grand
+Stand at Epsom away out there, very far, and the cows crop-ping the
+clover in the field and swishing at the flies with their tails.  He
+smelled the scent of limes, and lavender.  Ah!  that was why there
+was such a racket of bees.  They were excited--busy, as his heart was
+busy and excited.  Drowsy, too, drowsy and drugged on honey and
+happiness; as his heart was drugged and drowsy.  Summer--summer--they
+seemed saying; great bees and little bees, and the flies too!
+
+The stable clock struck four; in half an hour she would be here.  He
+would have just one tiny nap, because he had had so little sleep of
+late; and then he would be fresh for her, fresh for youth and beauty,
+coming towards him across the sunlit lawn--lady in grey!  And
+settling back in his chair he closed his eyes.  Some thistle-down
+came on what little air there was, and pitched on his moustache more
+white than itself.  He did not know; but his breathing stirred it,
+caught there.  A ray of sunlight struck through and lodged on his
+boot.  A bumble-bee alighted and strolled on the crown of his Panama
+hat.  And the delicious surge of slumber reached the brain beneath
+that hat, and the head swayed forward and rested on his breast.
+Summer--summer!  So went the hum.
+
+The stable clock struck the quarter past.  The dog Balthasar
+stretched and looked up at his master.  The thistledown no longer
+moved.  The dog placed his chin over the sunlit foot.  It did not
+stir.  The dog withdrew his chin quickly, rose, and leaped on old
+Jolyon's lap, looked in his face, whined; then, leaping down, sat on
+his haunches, gazing up.  And suddenly he uttered a long, long howl.
+
+But the thistledown was still as death, and the face of his old
+master.
+
+Summer--summer--summer!  The soundless footsteps on the grass!
+
+
+
+
+
+End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Five Tales, by John Galsworthy
+
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+Project Gutenberg Etext of Five Tales, by John Galsworthy
+#9 in our series by John Galsworthy
+
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+Title: Five Tales, by John Galsworthy
+
+Author: John Galsworthy
+
+Release Date: June, 2001 [Etext #2684]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[Most recently updated: December 9, 2001]
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+Edition: 11
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+Language: English
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+Project Gutenberg Etext of Five Tales, by John Galsworthy
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+*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.10/04/01*END*
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+
+This etext was produced by David Widger  <widger@cecomet.net>
+
+
+
+
+
+FIVE TALES
+
+by John Galsworthy
+
+
+
+
+"Life calls the tune, we dance."
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS:
+
+THE FIRST AND LAST
+A STOIC
+THE APPLE TREE
+THE JURYMAN
+INDIAN SUMMER OF A FORSYTE  [Also posted as Etext #2594]
+Contains:
+Indian Summer of a Forsyte
+In Chancery
+
+
+
+
+[In this 1919 edition of "Five Tales" the fifth tale was "Indian
+Summer of a Forsyte;" in later collections, "Indian Summer..." became
+the first section of the second volume of The Forsyte Saga]
+
+
+
+
+FIVE TALES
+
+"Life calls the tune, we dance."
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS:
+
+THE FIRST AND LAST
+A STOIC
+THE APPLE TREE
+THE JURYMAN
+INDIAN SUMMER OF A FORSYTE
+
+
+
+
+THE FIRST AND LAST
+
+"So the last shall be first, and the first last."--HOLY WRIT.
+
+
+
+
+It was a dark room at that hour of six in the evening, when just the
+single oil reading-lamp under its green shade let fall a dapple of
+light over the Turkey carpet; over the covers of books taken out of
+the bookshelves, and the open pages of the one selected; over the
+deep blue and gold of the coffee service on the little old stool with
+its Oriental embroidery.  Very dark in the winter, with drawn
+curtains, many rows of leather-bound volumes, oak-panelled walls and
+ceiling.  So large, too, that the lighted spot before the fire where
+he sat was just an oasis.  But that was what Keith Darrant liked,
+after his day's work--the hard early morning study of his "cases,"
+the fret and strain of the day in court; it was his rest, these two
+hours before dinner, with books, coffee, a pipe, and sometimes a nap.
+In red Turkish slippers and his old brown velvet coat, he was well
+suited to that framing of glow and darkness.  A painter would have
+seized avidly on his clear-cut, yellowish face, with its black
+eyebrows twisting up over eyes--grey or brown, one could hardly tell,
+and its dark grizzling hair still plentiful, in spite of those daily
+hours of wig.  He seldom thought of his work while he sat there,
+throwing off with practised ease the strain of that long attention to
+the multiple threads of argument and evidence to be disentangled--
+work profoundly interesting, as a rule, to his clear intellect,
+trained to almost instinctive rejection of all but the essential, to
+selection of what was legally vital out of the mass of confused
+tactical and human detail presented to his scrutiny; yet sometimes
+tedious and wearing.  As for instance to-day, when he had suspected
+his client of perjury, and was almost convinced that he must throw up
+his brief.  He had disliked the weak-looking, white-faced fellow from
+the first, and his nervous, shifty answers, his prominent startled
+eyes--a type too common in these days of canting tolerations and weak
+humanitarianism; no good, no good!
+
+Of the three books he had taken down, a Volume of Voltaire--curious
+fascination that Frenchman had, for all his destructive irony!--a
+volume of Burton's travels, and Stevenson's "New Arabian Nights," he
+had pitched upon the last.  He felt, that evening, the want of
+something sedative, a desire to rest from thought of any kind.  The
+court had been crowded, stuffy; the air, as he walked home, soft,
+sou'-westerly, charged with coming moisture, no quality of vigour in
+it; he felt relaxed, tired, even nervy, and for once the loneliness
+of his house seemed strange and comfortless.
+
+Lowering the lamp, he turned his face towards the fire.  Perhaps he
+would get a sleep before that boring dinner at the Tellasson's.  He
+wished it were vacation, and Maisie back from school.  A widower for
+many years, he had lost the habit of a woman about him; yet to-night
+he had a positive yearning for the society of his young daughter,
+with her quick ways, and bright, dark eyes.  Curious what perpetual
+need of a woman some men had!  His brother Laurence--wasted--all
+through women--atrophy of willpower!  A man on the edge of things;
+living from hand to mouth; his gifts all down at heel!  One would
+have thought the Scottish strain might have saved him; and yet, when
+a Scotsman did begin to go downhill, who could go faster?  Curious
+that their mother's blood should have worked so differently in her
+two sons.  He himself had always felt he owed all his success to it.
+
+His thoughts went off at a tangent to a certain issue troubling his
+legal conscience.  He had not wavered in the usual assumption of
+omniscience, but he was by no means sure that he had given right
+advice.  Well!  Without that power to decide and hold to decision in
+spite of misgiving, one would never have been fit for one's position
+at the Bar, never have been fit for anything.  The longer he lived,
+the more certain he became of the prime necessity of virile and
+decisive action in all the affairs of life.  A word and a blow--and
+the blow first!  Doubts, hesitations, sentiment the muling and puking
+of this twilight age--!  And there welled up on his handsome face a
+smile that was almost devilish--the tricks of firelight are so many!
+It faded again in sheer drowsiness; he slept....
+
+He woke with a start, having a feeling of something out beyond the
+light, and without turning his head said: "What's that?"  There came
+a sound as if somebody had caught his breath.  He turned up the lamp.
+
+"Who's there?"
+
+A voice over by the door answered:
+
+"Only I--Larry."
+
+Something in the tone, or perhaps just being startled out of sleep
+like this, made him shiver.  He said:
+
+"I was asleep.  Come in!"
+
+It was noticeable that he did not get up, or even turn his head, now
+that he knew who it was, but waited, his half-closed eyes fixed on
+the fire, for his brother to come forward.  A visit from Laurence was
+not an unmixed blessing.  He could hear him breathing, and became
+conscious of a scent of whisky.  Why could not the fellow at least
+abstain when he was coming here!  It was so childish, so lacking in
+any sense of proportion or of decency!  And he said sharply:
+
+"Well, Larry, what is it?"
+
+It was always something.  He often wondered at the strength of that
+sense of trusteeship, which kept him still tolerant of the troubles,
+amenable to the petitions of this brother of his; or was it just
+"blood" feeling, a Highland sense of loyalty to kith and kin; an old-
+time quality which judgment and half his instincts told him was
+weakness but which, in spite of all, bound him to the distressful
+fellow?  Was he drunk now, that he kept lurking out there by the
+door?  And he said less sharply:
+
+"Why don't you come and sit down?"
+
+He was coming now, avoiding the light, skirting along the walls just
+beyond the radiance of the lamp, his feet and legs to the waist
+brightly lighted, but his face disintegrated in shadow, like the face
+of a dark ghost.
+
+"Are you ill, man?"
+
+Still no answer, save a shake of that head, and the passing up of a
+hand, out of the light, to the ghostly forehead under the dishevelled
+hair.  The scent of whisky was stronger now; and Keith thought:
+
+'He really is drunk.  Nice thing for the new butler to see!  If he
+can't behave--'
+
+The figure against the wall heaved a sigh--so truly from an
+overburdened heart that Keith was conscious with a certain dismay of
+not having yet fathomed the cause of this uncanny silence.  He got
+up, and, back to the fire, said with a brutality born of nerves
+rather than design:
+
+"What is it, man?  Have you committed a murder, that you stand there
+dumb as a fish?"
+
+For a second no answer at all, not even of breathing; then, just the
+whisper:
+
+"Yes."
+
+The sense of unreality which so helps one at moments of disaster
+enabled Keith to say vigorously:
+
+"By Jove!  You have been drinking!"
+
+But it passed at once into deadly apprehension.
+
+"What do you mean?  Come here, where I can see you.  What's the
+matter with you, Larry?"
+
+With a sudden lurch and dive, his brother left the shelter of the
+shadow, and sank into a chair in the circle of light.  And another
+long, broken sigh escaped him.
+
+"There's nothing the matter with me, Keith!  It's true!"
+
+Keith stepped quickly forward, and stared down into his brother's
+face; and instantly he saw that it was true.  No one could have
+simulated the look in those eyes--of horrified wonder, as if they
+would never again get on terms with the face to which they belonged.
+To see them squeezed the heart-only real misery could look like that.
+Then that sudden pity became angry bewilderment.
+
+"What in God's name is this nonsense?"
+
+But it was significant that he lowered his voice; went over to the
+door, too, to see if it were shut.  Laurence had drawn his chair
+forward, huddling over the fire--a thin figure, a worn, high-
+cheekboned face with deep-sunk blue eyes, and wavy hair all ruffled,
+a face that still had a certain beauty.  Putting a hand on that lean
+shoulder, Keith said:
+
+"Come, Larry!  Pull yourself together, and drop exaggeration."
+
+"It's true; I tell you; I've killed a man."
+
+The noisy violence of that outburst acted like a douche.  What was
+the fellow about--shouting out such words!  But suddenly Laurence
+lifted his hands and wrung them.  The gesture was so utterly painful
+that it drew a quiver from Keith's face.
+
+"Why did you come here," he said, "and tell me this?"
+
+Larry's face was really unearthly sometimes, such strange gleams
+passed up on to it!
+
+"Whom else should I tell?  I came to know what I'm to do, Keith?
+Give myself up, or what?"
+
+At that sudden introduction of the practical Keith felt his heart
+twitch.  Was it then as real as all that?  But he said, very quietly:
+
+"Just tell me--How did it come about, this--affair?"
+
+That question linked the dark, gruesome, fantastic nightmare on to
+actuality.
+
+"When did it happen?"
+
+"Last night."
+
+In Larry's face there was--there had always been--something
+childishly truthful.  He would never stand a chance in court!  And
+Keith said:
+
+"How?  Where?  You'd better tell me quietly from the beginning.
+Drink this coffee; it'll clear your head."
+
+Laurence took the little blue cup and drained it.
+
+"Yes," he said.  "It's like this, Keith.  There's a girl I've known
+for some months now--"
+
+Women!  And Keith said between his teeth: "Well?"
+
+"Her father was a Pole who died over here when she was sixteen, and
+left her all alone.  A man called Walenn, a mongrel American, living
+in the same house, married her, or pretended to--she's very pretty,
+Keith--he left her with a baby six months old, and another coming.
+That one died, and she did nearly.  Then she starved till another
+fellow took her on.  She lived with him two years; then Walenn turned
+up again, and made her go back to him.  The brute used to beat her
+black and blue, all for nothing.  Then he left her again.  When I met
+her she'd lost her elder child, too, and was taking anybody who came
+along."
+
+He suddenly looked up into Keith's face.
+
+"But I've never met a sweeter woman, nor a truer, that I swear.
+Woman!  She's only twenty now!  When I went to her last night, that
+brute--that Walenn--had found her out again; and when he came for me,
+swaggering and bullying--Look!"--he touched a dark mark on his
+forehead--"I took his throat in my hands, and when I let go--"
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"Dead.  I never knew till afterwards that she was hanging on to him
+behind."
+
+Again he made that gesture-wringing his hands.
+
+In a hard voice Keith said:
+
+"What did you do then?"
+
+"We sat by it a long time.  Then I carried it on my back down the
+street, round a corner to an archway."
+
+"How far?"
+
+"About fifty yards."
+
+"Was anyone--did anyone see?"
+
+"No."
+
+"What time?"
+
+"Three."
+
+"And then?"
+
+"Went back to her."
+
+"Why--in Heaven's name?"
+
+"She was lonely and afraid; so was I, Keith."
+
+"Where is this place?"
+
+"Forty-two, Borrow Street, Soho."
+
+"And the archway?"
+
+"Corner of Glove Lane."
+
+"Good God!  Why--I saw it in the paper!"
+
+And seizing the journal that lay on his bureau, Keith read again that
+paragraph: "The body of a man was found this morning under an archway
+in Glove Lane, Soho.  From marks about the throat grave suspicions of
+foul play are entertained.  The body had apparently been robbed, and
+nothing was discovered leading to identification."
+
+It was real earnest, then.  Murder!  His own brother!  He faced round
+and said:
+
+"You saw this in the paper, and dreamed it.  Understand--you dreamed
+it!"
+
+The wistful answer came:
+
+"If only I had, Keith--if only I had!"
+
+In his turn, Keith very nearly wrung his hands.
+
+"Did you take anything from the--body?"
+
+"This dropped while we were struggling.",
+
+It was an empty envelope with a South American post-mark addressed:
+"Patrick Walenn, Simon's Hotel, Farrier Street, London." Again with
+that twitching in his heart, Keith said:
+
+"Put it in the fire."
+
+Then suddenly he stooped to pluck it out.  By that command--he had--
+identified himself with this--this--But he did not pluck it out.  It
+blackened, writhed, and vanished.  And once more he said:
+
+"What in God's name made you come here and tell me?"
+
+"You know about these things.  I didn't mean to kill him.  I love the
+girl.  What shall I do, Keith?
+
+"Simple!  How simple!  To ask what he was to do!  It was like Larry!
+And he said:
+
+"You were not seen, you think?"  "It's a dark street.  There was no
+one about."
+
+"When did you leave this girl the second time?"
+
+"About seven o'clock."
+
+"Where did you go?"
+
+"To my rooms."
+
+"In Fitzroy Street?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Did anyone see you come in?"
+
+"No."
+
+"What have you done since?"
+
+"Sat there."
+
+"Not been out?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Not seen the girl?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You don't know, then, what she's done since?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Would she give you away?"
+
+"Never."
+
+"Would she give herself away--hysteria?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Who knows of your relations with her?"
+
+"No one."
+
+"No one?"
+
+"I don't know who should, Keith."
+
+"Did anyone see you going in last night, when you first went to her?"
+
+"No.  She lives on the ground floor.  I've got keys."
+
+"Give them to me.  What else have you that connects you with her?"
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"In your rooms?"
+
+"No."
+
+"No photographs.  No letters?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Be careful."
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"No one saw you going back to her the second time?"
+
+"No."
+
+"No one saw you leave her in the morning?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You were fortunate.  Sit down again, man.  I must think."
+
+Think!  Think out this accursed thing--so beyond all thought, and all
+belief.  But he could not think.  Not a coherent thought would come.
+And he began again:
+
+"Was it his first reappearance with her?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"She told you so?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"How did he find out where she was?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"How drunk were you?"
+
+"I was not drunk."
+
+"How much had you drunk?"
+
+"About two bottles of claret--nothing."
+
+"You say you didn't mean to kill him?"
+
+"No-God knows!"
+
+"That's something."
+
+What made you choose the arch?"
+
+"It was the first dark place."
+
+"Did his face look as if he had been strangled?"
+
+"Don't!"
+
+"Did it?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Very disfigured?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Did you look to see if his clothes were marked?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Why not?  My God!  If you had done it!"
+
+"You say he was disfigured.  Would he be recognisable?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"When she lived with him last--where was that?"
+
+"I don't know for certain.  Pimlico, I think."
+
+"Not Soho?"
+
+"No."
+
+"How long has she been at the Soho place?"
+
+"Nearly a year."
+
+"Always the same rooms?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Is there anyone living in that house or street who would be likely
+to know her as his wife?"
+
+"I don't think so."
+
+"What was he?"
+
+"I should think he was a professional 'bully.'"
+
+"I see.  Spending most of his time abroad, then?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Do you know if he was known to the police?"
+
+"I haven't heard of it."
+
+"Now, listen, Larry.  When you leave here go straight home, and don't
+go out till I come to you, to-morrow morning.  Promise that!"
+
+"I promise."
+
+"I've got a dinner engagement.  I'll think this out.  Don't drink.
+Don't talk! Pull yourself together."
+
+"Don't keep me longer than you can help, Keith!"
+
+That white face, those eyes, that shaking hand!  With a twinge of
+pity in the midst of all the turbulence of his revolt, and fear, and
+disgust Keith put his hand on his brother's shoulder, and said:
+
+"Courage!"
+
+And suddenly he thought: 'My God!  Courage!  I shall want it all
+myself!'
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+Laurence Darrant, leaving his brother's house in the Adelphi, walked
+northwards, rapidly, slowly, rapidly again.  For, if there are men
+who by force of will do one thing only at a time, there are men who
+from lack of will do now one thing, now another; with equal
+intensity.  To such natures, to be gripped by the Nemesis which
+attends the lack of self-control is no reason for being more self-
+controlled.  Rather does it foster their pet feeling: "What matter?
+To-morrow we die!"  The effort of will required to go to Keith had
+relieved, exhausted and exasperated him.  In accordance with those
+three feelings was the progress of his walk.  He started from the
+door with the fixed resolve to go home and stay there quietly till
+Keith came.  He was in Keith's hands, Keith would know what was to be
+done.  But he had not gone three hundred yards before he felt so
+utterly weary, body and soul, that if he had but had a pistol in his
+pocket he would have shot himself in the street.  Not even the
+thought of the girl--this young unfortunate with her strange
+devotion, who had kept him straight these last five months, who had
+roused in him a depth of feeling he had never known before--would
+have availed against that sudden black defection.  Why go on--a waif
+at the mercy of his own nature, a straw blown here and there by every
+gust which rose in him?  Why not have done with it for ever, and take
+it out in sleep?
+
+He was approaching the fatal street, where he and the girl, that
+early morning, had spent the hours clutched together, trying in the
+refuge of love to forget for a moment their horror and fear.  Should
+he go in?  He had promised Keith not to.  Why had he promised?  He
+caught sight of himself in a chemist's lighted window.  Miserable,
+shadowy brute!  And he remembered suddenly a dog he had picked up
+once in the streets of Pera, a black-and-white creature--different
+from the other dogs, not one of their breed, a pariah of pariahs, who
+had strayed there somehow.  He had taken it home to the house where
+he was staying, contrary to all custom of the country; had got fond
+of it; had shot it himself, sooner than leave it behind again to the
+mercies of its own kind in the streets.  Twelve years ago!  And those
+sleevelinks made of little Turkish coins he had brought back for the
+girl at the hairdresser's in Chancery Lane where he used to get
+shaved--pretty creature, like a wild rose.  He had asked of her a
+kiss for payment.  What queer emotion when she put her face forward
+to his lips--a sort of passionate tenderness and shame, at the
+softness and warmth of that flushed cheek, at her beauty and trustful
+gratitude.  She would soon have given herself to him--that one!  He
+had never gone there again!  And to this day he did not know why he
+had abstained; to this day he did not know whether he were glad or
+sorry not to have plucked that rose.  He must surely have been very
+different then!  Queer business, life--queer, queer business!--to go
+through it never knowing what you would do next.  Ah! to be like
+Keith, steady, buttoned-up in success; a brass pot, a pillar of
+society!  Once, as a boy, he had been within an ace of killing Keith,
+for sneering at him.  Once in Southern Italy he had been near killing
+a driver who was flogging his horse.  And now, that darkfaced,
+swinish bully who had ruined the girl he had grown to love--he had
+done it!  Killed him!  Killed a man!
+
+He who did not want to hurt a fly.  The chemist's window comforted
+him with the sudden thought that he had at home that which made him
+safe, in case they should arrest him.  He would never again go out
+without some of those little white tablets sewn into the lining of
+his coat.  Restful, even exhilarating thought!  They said a man
+should not take his own life.  Let them taste horror--those glib
+citizens!  Let them live as that girl had lived, as millions lived
+all the world over, under their canting dogmas!  A man might rather
+even take his life than watch their cursed inhumanities.
+
+He went into the chemist's for a bromide; and, while the man was
+mixing it, stood resting one foot like a tired horse.  The "life" he
+had squeezed out of that fellow!  After all, a billion living
+creatures gave up life each day, had it squeezed out of them, mostly.
+And perhaps not one a day deserved death so much as that loathly
+fellow.  Life! a breath--aflame!  Nothing!  Why, then, this icy
+clutching at his heart?
+
+The chemist brought the draught.
+
+"Not sleeping, sir?"
+
+"No."
+
+The man's eyes seemed to say: 'Yes!  Burning the candle at both ends-
+I know!' Odd life, a chemist's; pills and powders all day long, to
+hold the machinery of men together!  Devilish odd trade!
+
+In going out he caught the reflection of his face in a mirror; it
+seemed too good altogether for a man who had committed murder.  There
+was a sort of brightness underneath, an amiability lurking about its
+shadows; how--how could it be the face of a man who had done what he
+had done?  His head felt lighter now, his feet lighter; he walked
+rapidly again.
+
+Curious feeling of relief and oppression all at once!  Frightful--to
+long for company, for talk, for distraction; and--to be afraid of it!
+The girl--the girl and Keith were now the only persons who would not
+give him that feeling of dread.  And, of those two--Keith was not...!
+Who could consort with one who was never wrong, a successful,
+righteous fellow; a chap built so that he knew nothing about himself,
+wanted to know nothing, a chap all solid actions?  To be a quicksand
+swallowing up one's own resolutions was bad enough!  But to be like
+Keith--all willpower, marching along, treading down his own feelings
+and weaknesses!  No!  One could not make a comrade of a man like
+Keith, even if he were one's brother?  The only creature in all the
+world was the girl.  She alone knew and felt what he was feeling;
+would put up with him and love him whatever he did, or was done to
+him.  He stopped and took shelter in a doorway, to light a cigarette.
+He had suddenly a fearful wish to pass the archway where he had
+placed the body; a fearful wish that had no sense, no end in view, no
+anything; just an insensate craving to see the dark place again.  He
+crossed Borrow Street to the little lane.  There was only one person
+visible, a man on the far side with his shoulders hunched against the
+wind; a short, dark figure which crossed and came towards him in the
+flickering lamplight.  What a face!  Yellow, ravaged, clothed almost
+to the eyes in a stubbly greyish growth of beard, with blackish
+teeth, and haunting bloodshot eyes.  And what a figure of rags--one
+shoulder higher than the other, one leg a little lame, and thin!  A
+surge of feeling came up in Laurence for this creature, more
+unfortunate than himself.  There were lower depths than his!
+
+"Well, brother," he said, "you don't look too prosperous!"
+
+The smile which gleamed out on the man's face seemed as unlikely as a
+smile on a scarecrow.
+
+"Prosperity doesn't come my way," he said in a rusty voice.  "I'm a
+failure--always been a failure.  And yet you wouldn't think it, would
+you?--I was a minister of religion once."
+
+Laurence held out a shilling.  But the man shook his head.
+
+"Keep your money," he said.  "I've got more than you to-day, I
+daresay.  But thank you for taking a little interest.  That's worth
+more than money to a man that's down."
+
+"You're right."
+
+"Yes," the rusty voice went on; "I'd as soon die as go on living as I
+do.  And now I've lost my self-respect.  Often wondered how long a
+starving man could go without losing his self-respect.  Not so very
+long.  You take my word for that."  And without the slightest change
+in the monotony of that creaking voice he added:
+
+"Did you read of the murder?  Just here.  I've been looking at the
+place."
+
+The words: 'So have I!' leaped up to Laurence's lips; he choked them
+down with a sort of terror.
+
+"I wish you better luck," he said.  "Goodnight!" and hurried away.  A
+sort of ghastly laughter was forcing its way up in his throat.  Was
+everyone talking of the murder he had committed?  Even the very
+scarecrows?
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+There are some natures so constituted that, due to be hung at ten
+o'clock, they will play chess at eight.  Such men invariably rise.
+They make especially good bishops, editors, judges, impresarios,
+Prime ministers, money-lenders, and generals; in fact, fill with
+exceptional credit any position of power over their fellow-men.  They
+have spiritual cold storage, in which are preserved their nervous
+systems.  In such men there is little or none of that fluid sense and
+continuity of feeling known under those vague terms, speculation,
+poetry, philosophy.  Men of facts and of decision switching
+imagination on and off at will, subordinating sentiment to reason...
+one does not think of them when watching wind ripple over cornfields,
+or swallows flying.
+
+Keith Darrant had need for being of that breed during his dinner at
+the Tellassons.  It was just eleven when he issued from the big house
+in Portland Place and refrained from taking a cab.  He wanted to walk
+that he might better think.  What crude and wanton irony there was in
+his situation!  To have been made father-confessor to a murderer, he-
+-well on towards a judgeship!  With his contempt for the kind of
+weakness which landed men in such abysses, he felt it all so sordid,
+so "impossible," that he could hardly bring his mind to bear on it at
+all.  And yet he must, because of two powerful instincts--self-
+preservation and blood-loyalty.
+
+The wind had still the sapping softness of the afternoon, but rain
+had held off so far.  It was warm, and he unbuttoned his fur
+overcoat.  The nature of his thoughts deepened the dark austerity of
+his face, whose thin, well-cut lips were always pressing together, as
+if, by meeting, to dispose of each thought as it came up.  He moved
+along the crowded pavements glumly.  That air of festive conspiracy
+which drops with the darkness on to lighted streets, galled him.  He
+turned off on a darker route.
+
+This ghastly business!  Convinced of its reality, he yet could not
+see it.  The thing existed in his mind, not as a picture, but as a
+piece of irrefutable evidence.  Larry had not meant to do it, of
+course.  But it was murder, all the same.  Men like Larry--weak,
+impulsive, sentimental, introspective creatures--did they ever mean
+what they did?  This man, this Walenn, was, by all accounts, better
+dead than alive; no need to waste a thought on him!  But, crime--the
+ugliness--Justice unsatisfied!  Crime concealed--and his own share in
+the concealment!  And yet--brother to brother!  Surely no one could
+demand action from him!  It was only a question of what he was going
+to advise Larry to do.  To keep silent, and disappear?  Had that a
+chance of success?  Perhaps if the answers to his questions had been
+correct.  But this girl!  Suppose the dead man's relationship to her
+were ferreted out, could she be relied on not to endanger Larry?
+These women were all the same, unstable as water, emotional,
+shiftless pests of society.  Then, too, a crime untracked, dogging
+all his brother's after life; a secret following him wherever he
+might vanish to; hanging over him, watching for some drunken moment,
+to slip out of his lips.  It was bad to think of.  A clean breast of
+it?  But his heart twitched within him.  "Brother of Mr. Keith
+Darrant, the wellknown King's Counsel"--visiting a woman of the town,
+strangling with his bare hands the woman's husband!  No intention to
+murder, but--a dead man!  A dead man carried out of the house, laid
+under a dark archway!  Provocation!  Recommended to mercy--penal
+servitude for life!  Was that the advice he was going to give Larry
+to-morrow morning?
+
+And he had a sudden vision of shaven men with clay-coloured features,
+run, as it were, to seed, as he had seen them once in Pentonville,
+when he had gone there to visit a prisoner.  Larry!  Whom, as a baby
+creature, he had watched straddling; whom, as a little fellow, he had
+fagged; whom he had seen through scrapes at college; to whom he had
+lent money time and again, and time and again admonished in his
+courses.  Larry!  Five years younger than himself; and committed to
+his charge by their mother when she died.  To become for life one of
+those men with faces like diseased plants; with no hair but a bushy
+stubble; with arrows marked on their yellow clothes!  Larry!  One of
+those men herded like sheep; at the beck and call of common men!  A
+gentleman, his own brother, to live that slave's life, to be ordered
+here and there, year after year, day in, day out.  Something snapped
+within him.  He could not give that advice.  Impossible!  But if not,
+he must make sure of his ground, must verify, must know.  This Glove
+Lane--this arch way?  It would not be far from where he was that very
+moment.  He looked for someone of whom to make enquiry.  A policeman
+was standing at the corner, his stolid face illumined by a lamp;
+capable and watchful--an excellent officer, no doubt; but, turning
+his head away, Keith passed him without a word.  Strange to feel that
+cold, uneasy feeling in presence of the law!  A grim little driving
+home of what it all meant!  Then, suddenly, he saw that the turning
+to his left was Borrow Street itself.  He walked up one side, crossed
+over, and returned.  He passed Number Forty-two, a small house with
+business names printed on the lifeless windows of the first and
+second floors; with dark curtained windows on the ground floor, or
+was there just a slink of light in one corner?  Which way had Larry
+turned?  Which way under that grisly burden?  Fifty paces of this
+squalid street-narrow, and dark, and empty, thank heaven!  Glove
+Lane!  Here it was!  A tiny runlet of a street.  And here--!  He had
+run right on to the arch, a brick bridge connecting two portions of a
+warehouse, and dark indeed.
+
+"That's right, gov'nor!  That's the place!"  He needed all his self-
+control to turn leisurely to the speaker.  "'Ere's where they found
+the body--very spot leanin' up 'ere.  They ain't got 'im yet.
+Lytest--me lord!"
+
+It was a ragged boy holding out a tattered yellowish journal.  His
+lynx eyes peered up from under lanky wisps of hair, and his voice had
+the proprietary note of one making "a corner" in his news.  Keith
+took the paper and gave him twopence.  He even found a sort of
+comfort in the young ghoul's hanging about there; it meant that
+others besides himself had come morbidly to look.  By the dim
+lamplight he read: "Glove Lane garrotting mystery.  Nothing has yet
+been discovered of the murdered man's identity; from the cut of his
+clothes he is supposed to be a foreigner."  The boy had vanished, and
+Keith saw the figure of a policeman coming slowly down this gutter of
+a street.  A second's hesitation, and he stood firm.  Nothing
+obviously could have brought him here save this "mystery," and he
+stayed quietly staring at the arch.  The policeman moved up abreast.
+Keith saw that he was the one whom he had passed just now.  He noted
+the cold offensive question die out of the man's eyes when they
+caught the gleam of white shirt-front under the opened fur collar.
+And holding up the paper, he said:
+
+"Is this where the man was found?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Still a mystery, I see?"
+
+"Well, we can't always go by the papers.  But I don't fancy they do
+know much about it, yet."
+
+"Dark spot.  Do fellows sleep under here?"
+
+The policeman nodded.  "There's not an arch in London where we don't
+get 'em sometimes."
+
+"Nothing found on him--I think I read?"
+
+"Not a copper.  Pockets inside out.  There's some funny characters
+about this quarter.  Greeks, Hitalians--all sorts."
+
+Queer sensation this, of being glad of a policeman's confidential
+tone!
+
+"Well, good-night!"
+
+"Good-night, sir.  Good-night!"
+
+He looked back from Borrow Street.  The policeman was still standing
+there holding up his lantern, so that its light fell into the
+archway, as if trying to read its secret.
+
+Now that he had seen this dark, deserted spot, the chances seemed to
+him much better.  "Pockets inside out!"  Either Larry had had
+presence of mind to do a very clever thing, or someone had been at
+the body before the police found it.  That was the more likely.  A
+dead backwater of a place.  At three o'clock--loneliest of all hours-
+-Larry's five minutes' grim excursion to and fro might well have
+passed unseen!  Now, it all depended on the girl; on whether Laurence
+had been seen coming to her or going away; on whether, if the man's
+relationship to her were discovered, she could be relied on to say
+nothing.  There was not a soul in Borrow Street now; hardly even a
+lighted window; and he took one of those rather desperate decisions
+only possible to men daily accustomed to the instant taking of
+responsibility.  He would go to her, and see for himself.  He came to
+the door of Forty-two, obviously one of those which are only shut at
+night, and tried the larger key.  It fitted, and he was in a gas-
+lighted passage, with an oil-clothed floor, and a single door to his
+left.  He stood there undecided.  She must be made to understand that
+he knew everything.  She must not be told more than that he was a
+friend of Larry's.  She must not be frightened, yet must be forced to
+give her very soul away.  A hostile witness--not to be treated as
+hostile--a matter for delicate handling!  But his knock was not
+answered.
+
+Should he give up this nerve-racking, bizarre effort to come at a
+basis of judgment; go away, and just tell Laurence that he could not
+advise him?  And then--what?  Something must be done.  He knocked
+again.  Still no answer.  And with that impatience of being thwarted,
+natural to him, and fostered to the full by the conditions of his
+life, he tried the other key.  It worked, and he opened the door.
+Inside all was dark, but a voice from some way off, with a sort of
+breathless relief in its foreign tones, said:
+
+"Oh!  then it's you, Larry!  Why did you knock?  I was so frightened.
+Turn up the light, dear.  Come in!"
+
+Feeling by the door for a switch in the pitch blackness he was
+conscious of arms round his neck, a warm thinly clad body pressed to
+his own; then withdrawn as quickly, with a gasp, and the most awful
+terror-stricken whisper:
+
+"Oh!  Who is it?"
+
+With a glacial shiver down his own spine, Keith answered
+
+"A friend of Laurence.  Don't be frightened!"
+
+There was such silence that he could hear a clock ticking, and the
+sound of his own hand passing over the surface of the wall, trying to
+find the switch.  He found it, and in the light which leaped up he
+saw, stiffened against a dark curtain evidently screening off a
+bedroom, a girl standing, holding a long black coat together at her
+throat, so that her face with its pale brown hair, short and square-
+cut and curling up underneath, had an uncanny look of being detached
+from any body.  Her face was so alabaster pale that the staring,
+startled eyes, dark blue or brown, and the faint rose of the parted
+lips, were like colour stainings on a white mask; and it had a
+strange delicacy, truth, and pathos, such as only suffering brings.
+Though not susceptible to aesthetic emotion, Keith was curiously
+affected.  He said gently:
+
+"You needn't be afraid.  I haven't come to do you harm--quite the
+contrary.  May I sit down and talk?"  And, holding up the keys, he
+added: "Laurence wouldn't have given me these, would he, if he hadn't
+trusted me?"
+
+Still she did not move, and he had the impression that he was looking
+at a spirit--a spirit startled out of its flesh.  Nor at the moment
+did it seem in the least strange that he should conceive such an odd
+thought.  He stared round the room--clean and tawdry, with its
+tarnished gilt mirror, marble-topped side-table, and plush-covered
+sofa.  Twenty years and more since he had been in such a place.  And
+he said:
+
+"Won't you sit down?  I'm sorry to have startled you."
+
+But still she did not move, whispering:
+
+"Who are you, please?"
+
+And, moved suddenly beyond the realm of caution by the terror in that
+whisper, he answered:
+
+"Larry's brother."
+
+She uttered a little sigh of relief which went to Keith's heart, and,
+still holding the dark coat together at her throat, came forward and
+sat down on the sofa.  He could see that her feet, thrust into
+slippers, were bare; with her short hair, and those candid startled
+eyes, she looked like a tall child.  He drew up a chair and said:
+
+"You must forgive me coming at such an hour; he's told me, you see."
+He expected her to flinch and gasp; but she only clasped her hands
+together on her knees, and said:
+
+"Yes?"
+
+Then horror and discomfort rose up in him, afresh.
+
+"An awful business!"
+
+Her whisper echoed him:
+
+"Yes, oh! yes!  Awful--it is awful!"
+
+And suddenly realising that the man must have fallen dead just where
+he was sitting, Keith became stock silent, staring at the floor.
+
+"Yes," she whispered; "Just there.  I see him now always falling!"
+
+How she said that!  With what a strange gentle despair!  In this girl
+of evil life, who had brought on them this tragedy, what was it which
+moved him to a sort of unwilling compassion?
+
+"You look very young," he said.
+
+"I am twenty."
+
+"And you are fond of--my brother?"
+
+"I would die for him."
+
+Impossible to mistake the tone of her voice, or the look in her eyes,
+true deep Slav eyes; dark brown, not blue as he had thought at first.
+It was a very pretty face--either her life had not eaten into it yet,
+or the suffering of these last hours had purged away those marks; or
+perhaps this devotion of hers to Larry.  He felt strangely at sea,
+sitting there with this child of twenty; he, over forty, a man of the
+world, professionally used to every side of human nature.  But he
+said, stammering a little:
+
+"I--I have come to see how far you can save him.  Listen, and just
+answer the questions I put to you."
+
+She raised her hands, squeezed them together, and murmured:
+
+"Oh!  I will answer anything."
+
+"This man, then--your--your husband--was he a bad man?"
+
+"A dreadful man."
+
+"Before he came here last night, how long since you saw him?"
+
+"Eighteen months."
+
+"Where did you live when you saw him last?"
+
+"In Pimlico."
+
+"Does anybody about here know you as Mrs. Walenn?"
+
+"No.  When I came here, after my little girl died, I came to live a
+bad life.  Nobody knows me at all.  I am quite alone."
+
+"If they discover who he was, they will look for his wife?"
+
+"I do not know.  He did not let people think I was married to him.  I
+was very young; he treated many, I think, like me."
+
+"Do you think he was known to the police?"
+
+She shook her head.  "He was very clever."
+
+"What is your name now?"
+
+"Wanda Livinska."
+
+"Were you known by that name before you were married?"
+
+"Wanda is my Christian name.  Livinska--I just call myself."
+
+"I see; since you came here."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Did my brother ever see this man before last night?"
+
+"Never."
+
+"You had told him about his treatment of you?"
+
+"Yes.  And that man first went for him."
+
+"I saw the mark.  Do you think anyone saw my brother come to you?"
+
+"I do not know.  He says not."
+
+"Can you tell if anyone saw him carrying the--the thing away?"
+
+"No one in this street--I was looking."
+
+"Nor coming back?"
+
+"No one."
+
+"Nor going out in the morning?"
+
+"I do not think it."
+
+
+"Have you a servant?"
+
+"Only a woman who comes at nine in the morning for an hour."
+
+"Does she know Larry?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Friends, acquaintances?"
+
+"No; I am very quiet.  And since I knew your brother, I see no one.
+Nobody comes here but him for a long time now."
+
+"How long?"
+
+"Five months."
+
+"Have you been out to-day?"
+
+"No."
+
+"What have you been doing?"
+
+"Crying."
+
+It was said with a certain dreadful simplicity, and pressing her
+hands together, she went on:
+
+"He is in danger, because of me.  I am so afraid for him."
+Holding up his hand to check that emotion, he said:
+
+"Look at me!"
+
+She fixed those dark eyes on him, and in her bare throat, from which
+the coat had fallen back, he could see her resolutely swallowing down
+her agitation.
+
+"If the worst comes to the worst, and this man is traced to you, can
+you trust yourself not to give my brother away?"
+
+Her eyes shone.  She got up and went to the fireplace:
+
+"Look!  I have burned all the things he has given me--even his
+picture.  Now I have nothing from him."
+
+Keith, too, got up.
+
+"Good!  One more question: Do the police know you, because--because
+of your life?"
+
+She shook her head, looking at him intently, with those mournfully
+true eyes.  And he felt a sort of shame.
+
+"I was obliged to ask.  Do you know where he lives?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You must not go there.  And he must not come to you, here."
+
+Her lips quivered; but she bowed her head.  Suddenly he found her
+quite close to him, speaking almost in a whisper:
+
+"Please do not take him from me altogether.  I will be so careful.  I
+will not do anything to hurt him; but if I cannot see him sometimes,
+I shall die.  Please do not take him from me."  And catching his hand
+between her own, she pressed it desperately.  It was several seconds
+before Keith said:
+
+"Leave that to me.  I will see him.  I shall arrange.  You must leave
+that to me."
+
+"But you will be kind?"
+
+He felt her lips kissing his hand.  And the soft moist touch sent a
+queer feeling through him, protective, yet just a little brutal,
+having in it a shiver of sensuality.  He withdrew his hand.  And as
+if warned that she had been too pressing, she recoiled humbly.  But
+suddenly she turned, and stood absolutely rigid; then almost
+inaudibly whispered: "Listen!  Someone out--out there!"  And darting
+past him she turned out the light.
+
+Almost at once came a knock on the door.  He could feel--actually
+feel the terror of this girl beside him in the dark.  And he, too,
+felt terror.  Who could it be?  No one came but Larry, she had said.
+Who else then could it be?  Again came the knock, louder!  He felt
+the breath of her whisper on his cheek: "If it is Larry!  I must
+open."  He shrank back against the wall; heard her open the door and
+say faintly: "Yes.  Please!  Who?"
+
+Light painted a thin moving line on the wall opposite, and a voice
+which Keith recognised answered:
+
+"All right, miss.  Your outer door's open here.  You ought to keep it
+shut after dark."
+
+God!  That policeman!  And it had been his own doing, not shutting
+the outer door behind him when he came in.  He heard her say timidly
+in her foreign voice: "Thank you, sir!" the policeman's retreating
+steps, the outer door being shut, and felt her close to him again.
+That something in her youth and strange prettiness which had touched
+and kept him gentle, no longer blunted the edge of his exasperation,
+now that he could not see her.  They were all the same, these women;
+could not speak the truth! And he said brusquely:
+
+"You told me they didn't know you!"
+
+Her voice answered like a sigh:
+
+"I did not think they did, sir.  It is so long I was not out in the
+town, not since I had Larry."
+
+The repulsion which all the time seethed deep in Keith welled up at
+those words.  His brother--son of his mother, a gentleman--the
+property of this girl, bound to her, body and soul, by this
+unspeakable event!  But she had turned up the light.  Had she some
+intuition that darkness was against her?  Yes, she was pretty with
+that soft face, colourless save for its lips and dark eyes, with that
+face somehow so touchingly, so unaccountably good, and like a
+child's.
+
+"I am going now," he said.  "Remember!  He mustn't come here; you
+mustn't go to him.  I shall see him to-morrow.  If you are as fond of
+him as you say--take care, take care!"
+
+She sighed out, "Yes! oh, yes!"  and Keith went to the door.  She was
+standing with her back to the wall, and to follow him she only moved
+her head--that dove-like face with all its life in eyes which seemed
+saying: 'Look into us; nothing we hide; all--all is there!'
+
+And he went out.
+
+In the passage he paused before opening the outer door.  He did not
+want to meet that policeman again; the fellow's round should have
+taken him well out of the street by now, and turning the handle
+cautiously, he looked out.  No one in sight.  He stood a moment,
+wondering if he should turn to right or left, then briskly crossed
+the street.  A voice to his right hand said:
+
+"Good-night, sir."
+
+There in the shadow of a doorway the policeman was standing.  The
+fellow must have seen him coming out!  Utterly unable to restrain a
+start, and muttering "Goodnight!"  Keith walked on rapidly:
+
+He went full quarter of a mile before he lost that startled and
+uneasy feeling in sardonic exasperation that he, Keith Darrant, had
+been taken for a frequenter of a lady of the town.  The whole thing--
+the whole thing!--a vile and disgusting business!  His very mind felt
+dirty and breathless; his spirit, drawn out of sheath, had slowly to
+slide back before he could at all focus and readjust his reasoning
+faculty.  Certainly, he had got the knowledge he wanted.  There was
+less danger than he thought.  That girl's eyes!  No mistaking her
+devotion.  She would not give Larry away.  Yes!  Larry must clear
+out--South America--the East--it did not matter.  But he felt no
+relief.  The cheap, tawdry room had wrapped itself round his fancy
+with its atmosphere of murky love, with the feeling it inspired, of
+emotion caged within those yellowish walls and the red stuff of its
+furniture.  That girl's face!  Devotion; truth, too, and beauty, rare
+and moving, in its setting of darkness and horror, in that nest of
+vice and of disorder!...  The dark archway; the street arab, with his
+gleeful: "They 'ain't got 'im yet!"; the feel of those bare arms
+round his neck; that whisper of horror in the darkness; above all,
+again, her child face looking into his, so truthful!  And suddenly he
+stood quite still in the street.  What in God's name was he about?
+What grotesque juggling amongst shadows, what strange and ghastly
+eccentricity was all this?  The forces of order and routine, all the
+actualities of his daily life, marched on him at that moment, and
+swept everything before them.  It was a dream, a nightmare not real!
+It was ridiculous!  That he--he should thus be bound up with things
+so black and bizarre!
+
+He had come by now to the Strand, that street down which every day he
+moved to the Law Courts, to his daily work; his work so dignified and
+regular, so irreproachable, and solid.  No!  The thing was all a
+monstrous nightmare!  It would go, if he fixed his mind on the
+familiar objects around, read the names on the shops, looked at the
+faces passing.  Far down the thoroughfare he caught the outline of
+the old church, and beyond, the loom of the Law Courts themselves.
+The bell of a fire-engine sounded, and the horses came galloping by,
+with the shining metal, rattle of hoofs and hoarse shouting.  Here
+was a sensation, real and harmless, dignified and customary!  A woman
+flaunting round the corner looked up at him, and leered out: "Good-
+night!"  Even that was customary, tolerable.  Two policemen passed,
+supporting between them a man the worse for liquor, full of fight and
+expletives; the sight was soothing, an ordinary thing which brought
+passing annoyance, interest, disgust.  It had begun to rain; he felt
+it on his face with pleasure--an actual thing, not eccentric, a thing
+which happened every day!
+
+He began to cross the street.  Cabs were going at furious speed now
+that the last omnibus had ceased to run; it distracted him to take
+this actual, ordinary risk run so often every day.  During that
+crossing of the Strand, with the rain in his face and the cabs
+shooting past, he regained for the first time his assurance, shook
+off this unreal sense of being in the grip of something, and walked
+resolutely to the corner of his home turning.  But passing into that
+darker stretch, he again stood still.  A policeman had also turned
+into that street on the other side.  Not--surely not!  Absurd!  They
+were all alike to look at--those fellows!  Absurd!  He walked on
+sharply, and let himself into his house.  But on his way upstairs he
+could not for the life of him help raising a corner of a curtain and
+looking from the staircase window.  The policeman was marching
+solemnly, about twenty-five yards away, paying apparently no
+attention to anything whatever.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+Keith woke at five o'clock, his usual hour, without remembrance.  But
+the grisly shadow started up when he entered his study, where the
+lamp burned, and the fire shone, and the coffee was set ready, just
+as when yesterday afternoon Larry had stood out there against the
+wall.  For a moment he fought against realisation; then, drinking off
+his coffee, sat down sullenly at the bureau to his customary three
+hours' study of the day's cases.
+
+Not one word of his brief could he take in.  It was all jumbled with
+murky images and apprehensions, and for full half an hour he suffered
+mental paralysis.  Then the sheer necessity of knowing something of
+the case which he had to open at half-past ten that morning forced
+him to a concentration which never quite subdued the malaise at the
+bottom of his heart.  Nevertheless, when he rose at half-past eight
+and went into the bathroom, he had earned his grim satisfaction in
+this victory of will-power.  By half-past nine he must be at Larry's.
+A boat left London for the Argentine to-morrow.  If Larry was to get
+away at once, money must be arranged for.  And then at breakfast he
+came on this paragraph in the paper:
+
+           "SOHO MURDER.
+
+"Enquiry late last night established the fact that the Police have
+discovered the identity of the man found strangled yesterday morning
+under an archway in Glove Lane.  An arrest has been made."
+
+By good fortune he had finished eating, for the words made him feel
+physically sick.  At this very minute Larry might be locked up,
+waiting to be charged-might even have been arrested before his own
+visit to the girl last night.  If Larry were arrested, she must be
+implicated.  What, then, would be his own position?  Idiot to go and
+look at that archway, to go and see the girl!  Had that policeman
+really followed him home?  Accessory after the fact!  Keith Darrant,
+King's Counsel, man of mark!  He forced himself by an effort, which
+had something of the heroic, to drop this panicky feeling.  Panic
+never did good.  He must face it, and see.  He refused even to hurry,
+calmly collected the papers wanted for the day, and attended to a
+letter or two, before he set out in a taxi-cab to Fitzroy Street.
+
+Waiting outside there in the grey morning for his ring to be
+answered, he looked the very picture of a man who knew his mind, a
+man of resolution.  But it needed all his will-power to ask without
+tremor: "Mr. Darrant in?"  to hear without sign of any kind the
+answer: "He's not up yet, sir."
+
+"Never mind; I'll go in and see him.  Mr. Keith Darrant."
+
+On his way to Laurence's bedroom, in the midst of utter relief, he
+had the self-possession to think: 'This arrest is the best thing that
+could have happened.  It'll keep their noses on a wrong scent till
+Larry's got away.  The girl must be sent off too, but not with him.'
+Panic had ended in quite hardening his resolution.  He entered the
+bedroom with a feeling of disgust.  The fellow was lying there, his
+bare arms crossed behind his tousled head, staring at the ceiling,
+and smoking one of many cigarettes whose ends littered a chair beside
+him, whose sickly reek tainted the air.  That pale face, with its
+jutting cheek-bones and chin, its hollow cheeks and blue eyes far
+sunk back--what a wreck of goodness!
+
+He looked up at Keith through the haze of smoke and said quietly:
+"Well, brother, what's the sentence?  'Transportation for life, and
+then to be fined forty pounds?'"
+
+The flippancy revolted Keith.  It was Larry all over!  Last night
+horrified and humble, this morning, "Don't care" and feather-headed.
+He said sourly:
+
+"Oh!  You can joke about it now?"
+
+Laurence turned his face to the wall.
+
+"Must."
+
+Fatalism!  How detestable were natures like that!
+
+"I've been to see her," he said.
+
+"You?"
+
+"Last night.  She can be trusted."
+
+Laurence laughed.
+
+"That I told you."
+
+"I had to see for myself.  You must clear out at once, Larry.  She
+can come out to you by the next boat; but you can't go together.
+Have you any money?"
+
+"No."
+
+"I can foot your expenses, and lend you a year's income in advance.
+But it must be a clean cut; after you get out there your whereabouts
+must only be known to me."
+
+A long sigh answered him.
+
+"You're very good to me, Keith; you've always been very good.  I
+don't know why."
+
+Keith answered drily
+
+"Nor I.  There's a boat to the Argentine tomorrow.  You're in luck;
+they've made an arrest.  It's in the paper."
+
+"What?"
+
+The cigarette end dropped, the thin pyjama'd figure writhed up and
+stood clutching at the bedrail.
+
+"What?"
+
+The disturbing thought flitted through Keith's brain: 'I was a fool.
+He takes it queerly; what now?'
+
+Laurence passed his hand over his forehead, and sat down on the bed.
+
+"I hadn't thought of that," he said; "It does me!"
+
+Keith stared.  In his relief that the arrested man was not Laurence,
+this had not occurred to him.  What folly!
+
+"Why?"  he said quickly; "an innocent man's in no danger.  They
+always get the wrong man first.  It's a piece of luck, that's all.
+It gives us time."
+
+How often had he not seen that expression on Larry's face, wistful,
+questioning, as if trying to see the thing with his--Keith's-eyes,
+trying to submit to better judgment?  And he said, almost gently
+
+"Now, look here, Larry; this is too serious to trifle with.  Don't
+worry about that.  Leave it to me.  Just get ready to be off'.  I'll
+take your berth and make arrangements.  Here's some money for kit.  I
+can come round between five and six, and let you know.  Pull yourself
+together, man.  As soon as the girl's joined you out there, you'd
+better get across to Chile, the further the better.  You must simply
+lose yourself: I must go now, if I'm to get to the Bank before I go
+down to the courts."  And looking very steadily at his brother, he
+added:
+
+"Come!  You've got to think of me in this matter as well as of
+yourself.  No playing fast and loose with the arrangements.
+Understand?"
+
+But still Larry gazed up at him with that wistful questioning, and
+not till he had repeated, "Understand?"  did he receive "Yes" for
+answer.
+
+Driving away, he thought: 'Queer fellow!  I don't know him, shall
+never know him!' and at once began to concentrate on the practical
+arrangements.  At his bank he drew out L400; but waiting for the
+notes to be counted he suffered qualms.  A clumsy way of doing
+things!  If there had been more time!  The thought: 'Accessory after
+the fact!' now infected everything.  Notes were traceable.  No other
+way of getting him away at once, though.  One must take lesser risks
+to avoid greater.  From the bank he drove to the office of the
+steamship line.  He had told Larry he would book his passage.  But
+that would not do!  He must only ask anonymously if there were
+accommodation.  Having discovered that there were vacant berths, he
+drove on to the Law Courts.  If he could have taken a morning off, he
+would have gone down to the police court and seen them charge this
+man.  But even that was not too safe, with a face so well known as
+his.  What would come of this arrest?  Nothing, surely!  The police
+always took somebody up, to keep the public quiet.  Then, suddenly,
+he had again the feeling that it was all a nightmare; Larry had never
+done it; the police had got the right man!  But instantly the memory
+of the girl's awe-stricken face, her figure huddling on the sofa, her
+words "I see him always falling!"  came back.  God!  What a business!
+
+He felt he had never been more clear-headed and forcible than that
+morning in court.  When he came out for lunch he bought the most
+sensational of the evening papers.  But it was yet too early for
+news, and he had to go back into court no whit wiser concerning the
+arrest.  When at last he threw off wig and gown, and had got through
+a conference and other necessary work, he went out to Chancery Lane,
+buying a paper on the way.  Then he hailed a cab, and drove once more
+to Fitzroy Street.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+Laurence had remained sitting on his bed for many minutes.  An
+innocent man in no danger!  Keith had said it--the celebrated lawyer!
+Could he rely on that?  Go out 8,000 miles, he and the girl, and
+leave a fellow-creature perhaps in mortal peril for an act committed
+by himself?
+
+In the past night he had touched bottom, as he thought: become ready
+to face anything.  When Keith came in he would without murmur have
+accepted the advice: "Give yourself up!"  He was prepared to pitch
+away the end of his life as he pitched from him the fag-ends of his
+cigarettes.  And the long sigh he had heaved, hearing of reprieve,
+had been only half relief.  Then, with incredible swiftness there had
+rushed through him a feeling of unutterable joy and hope.  Clean
+away--into a new country, a new life!  The girl and he!  Out there he
+wouldn't care, would rejoice even to have squashed the life out of
+such a noisome beetle of a man.  Out there!  Under a new sun, where
+blood ran quicker than in this foggy land, and people took justice
+into their own hands.  For it had been justice on that brute even
+though he had not meant to kill him.  And then to hear of this
+arrest!  They would be charging the man to-day.  He could go and see
+the poor creature accused of the murder he himself had committed!
+And he laughed.  Go and see how likely it was that they might hang a
+fellow-man in place of himself?  He dressed, but too shaky to shave
+himself, went out to a barber's shop.  While there he read the news
+which Keith had seen.  In this paper the name of the arrested man was
+given: "John Evan, no address."  To be brought up on the charge at
+Bow Street.  Yes!  He must go.  Once, twice, three times he walked
+past the entrance of the court before at last he entered and screwed
+himself away among the tag and bobtail.
+
+The court was crowded; and from the murmurs round he could tell that
+it was his particular case which had brought so many there.  In a
+dazed way he watched charge after charge disposed of with lightning
+quickness.  But were they never going to reach his business?  And
+then suddenly he saw the little scarecrow man of last night advancing
+to the dock between two policemen, more ragged and miserable than
+ever by light of day, like some shaggy, wan, grey animal, surrounded
+by sleek hounds.
+
+A sort of satisfied purr was rising all round; and with horror
+Laurence perceived that this--this was the man accused of what he
+himself had done--this queer, battered unfortunate to whom he had
+shown a passing friendliness.  Then all feeling merged in the
+appalling interest of listening.  The evidence was very short.
+Testimony of the hotel-keeper where Walenn had been staying, the
+identification of his body, and of a snake-shaped ring he had been
+wearing at dinner that evening.  Testimony of a pawnbroker, that this
+same ring was pawned with him the first thing yesterday morning by
+the prisoner.  Testimony of a policeman that he had noticed the man
+Evan several times in Glove Lane, and twice moved him on from
+sleeping under that arch.  Testimony of another policeman that, when
+arrested at midnight, Evan had said: "Yes; I took the ring off his
+finger.  I found him there dead ....  I know I oughtn't to have done
+it....  I'm an educated man; it was stupid to pawn the ring.  I found
+him with his pockets turned inside out."
+
+Fascinating and terrible to sit staring at the man in whose place he
+should have been; to wonder when those small bright-grey bloodshot
+eyes would spy him out, and how he would meet that glance.  Like a
+baited raccoon the little man stood, screwed back into a corner,
+mournful, cynical, fierce, with his ridged, obtuse yellow face, and
+his stubbly grey beard and hair, and his eyes wandering now and again
+amongst the crowd.  But with all his might Laurence kept his face
+unmoved.  Then came the word "Remanded"; and, more like a baited
+beast than ever, the man was led away.
+
+Laurence sat on, a cold perspiration thick on his forehead.  Someone
+else, then, had come on the body and turned the pockets inside out
+before John Evan took the ring.  A man such as Walenn would not be
+out at night without money.  Besides, if Evan had found money on the
+body he would never have run the risk of taking that ring.  Yes,
+someone else had come on the body first.  It was for that one to come
+forward, and prove that the ring was still on the dead man's finger
+when he left him, and thus clear Evan.  He clung to that thought; it
+seemed to make him less responsible for the little man's position; to
+remove him and his own deed one step further back.  If they found the
+person who had taken the money, it would prove Evan's innocence.  He
+came out of the court in a sort of trance.  And a craving to get
+drunk attacked him.  One could not go on like this without the relief
+of some oblivion.  If he could only get drunk, keep drunk till this
+business was decided and he knew whether he must give himself up or
+no.  He had now no fear at all of people suspecting him; only fear of
+himself--fear that he might go and give himself up.  Now he could see
+the girl; the danger from that was as nothing compared with the
+danger from his own conscience.  He had promised Keith not to see
+her.  Keith had been decent and loyal to him--good old Keith!  But he
+would never understand that this girl was now all he cared about in
+life; that he would rather be cut off from life itself than be cut
+off from her.  Instead of becoming less and less, she was becoming
+more and more to him--experience strange and thrilling!  Out of deep
+misery she had grown happy--through him; out of a sordid, shifting
+life recovered coherence and bloom, through devotion to him him, of
+all people in the world!  It was a miracle.  She demanded nothing of
+him, adored him, as no other woman ever had--it was this which had
+anchored his drifting barque; this--and her truthful mild
+intelligence, and that burning warmth of a woman, who, long treated
+by men as but a sack of sex, now loves at last.
+
+And suddenly, mastering his craving to get drunk, he made towards
+Soho.  He had been a fool to give those keys to Keith.  She must have
+been frightened by his visit; and, perhaps, doubly miserable since,
+knowing nothing, imagining everything!  Keith was sure to have
+terrified her.  Poor little thing!
+
+Down the street where he had stolen in the dark with the dead body on
+his back, he almost ran for the cover of her house.  The door was
+opened to him before he knocked, her arms were round his neck, her
+lips pressed to his.  The fire was out, as if she had been unable to
+remember to keep warm.  A stool had been drawn to the window, and
+there she had evidently been sitting, like a bird in a cage, looking
+out into the grey street.  Though she had been told that he was not
+to come, instinct had kept her there; or the pathetic, aching hope
+against hope which lovers never part with.
+
+Now that he was there, her first thoughts were for his comfort.  The
+fire was lighted.  He must eat, drink, smoke.  There was never in her
+doings any of the "I am doing this for you, but you ought to be doing
+that for me" which belongs to so many marriages, and liaisons.  She
+was like a devoted slave, so in love with the chains that she never
+knew she wore them.  And to Laurence, who had so little sense of
+property, this only served to deepen tenderness, and the hold she had
+on him.  He had resolved not to tell her of the new danger he ran
+from his own conscience.  But resolutions with him were but the
+opposites of what was sure to come; and at last the words:
+
+"They've arrested someone," escaped him.
+
+>From her face he knew she had grasped the danger at once; had divined
+it, perhaps, before he spoke.  But she only twined her arms round him
+and kissed his lips.  And he knew that she was begging him to put his
+love for her above his conscience.  Who would ever have thought that
+he could feel as he did to this girl who had been in the arms of
+many!  The stained and suffering past of a loved woman awakens in
+some men only chivalry; in others, more respectable, it rouses a
+tigerish itch, a rancorous jealousy of what in the past was given to
+others.  Sometimes it will do both.  When he had her in his arms he
+felt no remorse for killing the coarse, handsome brute who had ruined
+her.  He savagely rejoiced in it.  But when she laid her head in the
+hollow of his shoulder, turning to him her white face with the faint
+colour-staining on the parted lips, the cheeks, the eyelids; when her
+dark, wide-apart, brown eyes gazed up in the happiness of her
+abandonment--he felt only tenderness and protection.
+
+He left her at five o'clock, and had not gone two streets' length
+before the memory of the little grey vagabond, screwed back in the
+far corner of the dock like a baited raccoon, of his dreary, creaking
+voice, took possession of him again; and a kind of savagery mounted
+in his brain against a world where one could be so tortured without
+having meant harm to anyone.
+
+At the door of his lodgings Keith was getting out of a cab.  They
+went in together, but neither of them sat down; Keith standing with
+his back to the carefully shut door, Laurence with his back to the
+table, as if they knew there was a tug coming.  And Keith said:
+"There's room on that boat.  Go down and book your berth before they
+shut.  Here's the money!"
+
+"I'm going to stick it, Keith."
+
+Keith stepped forward, and put a roll of notes on the table.
+
+"Now look here, Larry.  I've read the police court proceedings.
+There's nothing in that.  Out of prison, or in prison for a few
+weeks, it's all the same to a night-bird of that sort.  Dismiss it
+from your mind--there's not nearly enough evidence to convict.  This
+gives you your chance.  Take it like a man, and make a new life for
+yourself."
+
+Laurence smiled; but the smile had a touch of madness and a touch of
+malice.  He took up the notes.
+
+"Clear out, and save the honour of brother Keith.  Put them back in
+your pocket, Keith, or I'll put them in the fire.  Come, take them!"
+And, crossing to the fire, he held them to the bars.  "Take them, or
+in they go!"
+
+Keith took back the notes.
+
+"I've still got some kind of honour, Keith; if I clear out I shall
+have none, not the rag of any, left.  It may be worth more to me than
+that--I can't tell yet--I can't tell."  There was a long silence
+before Keith answered.  "I tell you you're mistaken; no jury will
+convict.  If they did, a judge would never hang on it.  A ghoul who
+can rob a dead body ought to be in prison.  What he did is worse than
+what you did, if you come to that!"  Laurence lifted his face.
+"Judge not, brother," he said; "the heart is a dark well."  Keith's
+yellowish face grew red and swollen, as though he were mastering the
+tickle of a bronchial cough.  "What are you going to do, then?  I
+suppose I may ask you not to be entirely oblivious of our name; or is
+such a consideration unworthy of your honour?"  Laurence bent his
+head.  The gesture said more clearly than words: 'Don't kick a man
+when he's down!'
+
+"I don't know what I'm going to do--nothing at present.  I'm awfully
+sorry, Keith; awfully sorry."
+
+Keith looked at him, and without another word went out.
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+To any, save philosophers, reputation may be threatened almost as
+much by disgrace to name and family as by the disgrace of self.
+Keith's instinct was always to deal actively with danger.  But this
+blow, whether it fell on him by discovery or by confession, could not
+be countered.  As blight falls on a rose from who knows where, the
+scandalous murk would light on him.  No repulse possible!  Not even a
+wriggling from under!  Brother of a murderer hung or sent to penal
+servitude!  His daughter niece to a murderer!  His dead mother-a
+murderer's mother!  And to wait day after day, week after week, not
+knowing whether the blow would fall, was an extraordinarily atrocious
+penance, the injustice of which, to a man of rectitude, seemed daily
+the more monstrous.
+
+The remand had produced evidence that the murdered man had been
+drinking heavily on the night of his death, and further evidence of
+the accused's professional vagabondage and destitution; it was shown,
+too, that for some time the archway in Glove Lane had been his
+favourite night haunt.  He had been committed for trial in January.
+This time, despite misgivings, Keith had attended the police court.
+To his great relief Larry was not there.  But the policeman who had
+come up while he was looking at the archway, and given him afterwards
+that scare in the girl's rooms, was chief witness to the way the
+accused man haunted Glove Lane.  Though Keith held his silk hat high,
+he still had the uncomfortable feeling that the man had recognised
+him.
+
+His conscience suffered few, if any, twinges for letting this man
+rest under the shadow of the murder.  He genuinely believed that
+there was not evidence enough to convict; nor was it in him to
+appreciate the tortures of a vagabond shut up.  The scamp deserved
+what he had got, for robbing a dead body; and in any case such a
+scarecrow was better off in prison than sleeping out under archways
+in December.  Sentiment was foreign to Keith's character, and his
+justice that of those who subordinate the fates of the weak and
+shiftless to the needful paramountcy of the strong and well
+established.
+
+His daughter came back from school for the Christmas holidays.  It
+was hard to look up from her bright eyes and rosy cheeks and see this
+shadow hanging above his calm and ordered life, as in a glowing room
+one's eye may catch an impending patch of darkness drawn like a
+spider's web across a corner of the ceiling.
+
+On the afternoon of Christmas Eve they went, by her desire, to a
+church in Soho, where the Christmas Oratorio was being given; and
+coming away passed, by chance of a wrong turning, down Borrow Street.
+Ugh!  How that startled moment, when the girl had pressed herself
+against him in the dark, and her terror-stricken whisper: "Oh!  Who
+is it?"  leaped out before him!  Always that business--that ghastly
+business!  After the trial he would have another try to get them both
+away.  And he thrust his arm within his young daughter's, hurrying
+her on, out of this street where shadows filled all the winter air.
+
+But that evening when she had gone to bed he felt uncontrollably
+restless.  He had not seen Larry for weeks.  What was he about?  What
+desperations were hatching in his disorderly brain?  Was he very
+miserable; had he perhaps sunk into a stupor of debauchery?  And the
+old feeling of protectiveness rose up in him; a warmth born of long
+ago Christmas Eves, when they had stockings hung out in the night
+stuffed by a Santa Claus, whose hand never failed to tuck them up,
+whose kiss was their nightly waft into sleep.
+
+Stars were sparkling out there over the river; the sky frosty-clear,
+and black.  Bells had not begun to ring as yet.  And obeying an
+obscure, deep impulse, Keith wrapped himself once more into his fur
+coat, pulled a motoring cap over his eyes, and sallied forth.
+In the Strand he took a cab to Fitzroy Street.  There was no light in
+Larry's windows, and on a card he saw the words "To Let."  Gone!  Had
+he after all cleared out for good?  But how-without money?  And the
+girl?  Bells were ringing now in the silent frostiness.  Christmas
+Eve!  And Keith thought: 'If only this wretched business were off my
+mind!  Monstrous that one should suffer for the faults of others!'
+He took a route which led him past Borrow Street.  Solitude brooded
+there, and he walked resolutely down on the far side, looking hard at
+the girl's window.  There was a light.  The curtains just failed to
+meet, so that a thin gleam shone through.  He crossed; and after
+glancing swiftly up and down, deliberately peered in.
+
+He only stood there perhaps twenty seconds, but visual records
+gleaned in a moment sometimes outlast the visions of hours and days.
+The electric light was not burning; but, in the centre of the room
+the girl was kneeling in her nightgown before a little table on which
+were four lighted candles.  Her arms were crossed on her breast; the
+candle-light shone on her fair cropped hair, on the profile of cheek
+and chin, on her bowed white neck.  For a moment he thought her
+alone; then behind her saw his brother in a sleeping suit, leaning
+against the wall, with arms crossed, watching.  It was the expression
+on his face which burned the whole thing in, so that always
+afterwards he was able to see that little scene--such an expression
+as could never have been on the face of one even faintly conscious
+that he was watched by any living thing on earth. The whole of
+Larry's heart and feeling seemed to have come up out of him.
+Yearning, mockery, love, despair!  The depth of his feeling for this
+girl, his stress of mind, fears, hopes; the flotsam good and evil of
+his soul, all transfigured there, exposed and unforgettable.  The
+candle-light shone upward on to his face, twisted by the strangest
+smile; his eyes, darker and more wistful than mortal eyes should be,
+seemed to beseech and mock the white-clad girl, who, all unconscious,
+knelt without movement, like a carved figure of devotion.  The words
+seemed coming from his lips: "Pray for us!  Bravo!  Yes!  Pray for
+us!"  And suddenly Keith saw her stretch out her arms, and lift her
+face with a look of ecstasy, and Laurence starting forward.  What had
+she seen beyond the candle flames?  It is the unexpected which
+invests visions with poignancy.  Nothing more strange could Keith
+have seen in this nest of the murky and illicit.  But in sheer panic
+lest he might be caught thus spying he drew back and hurried on.
+So Larry was living there with her!  When the moment came he could
+still find him.
+
+Before going in, he stood full five minutes leaning on the terrace
+parapet before his house, gazing at the star-frosted sky, and the
+river cut by the trees into black pools, oiled over by gleams from
+the Embankment lamps.  And, deep down, behind his mere thoughts, he
+ached-somehow, somewhere ached.  Beyond the cage of all that he saw
+and heard and thought, he had perceived something he could not reach.
+But the night was cold, the bells silent, for it had struck twelve.
+Entering his house, he stole upstairs.
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+If for Keith those six weeks before the Glove Lane murder trial came
+on were fraught with uneasiness and gloom, they were for Laurence
+almost the happiest since his youth.  From the moment when he left
+his rooms and went to the girl's to live, a kind of peace and
+exaltation took possession of him.  Not by any effort of will did he
+throw off the nightmare hanging over him.  Nor was he drugged by
+love.  He was in a sort of spiritual catalepsy.  In face of fate too
+powerful for his will, his turmoil, anxiety, and even restlessness
+had ceased; his life floated in the ether of "what must come, will."
+Out of this catalepsy, his spirit sometimes fell headlong into black
+waters.  In one such whirlpool he was struggling on the night of
+Christmas Eve.  When the girl rose from her knees he asked her:
+
+"What did you see?"
+
+Pressing close to him, she drew him down on to the floor before the
+fire; and they sat, knees drawn up, hands clasped, like two children
+trying to see over the edge of the world.
+
+"It was the Virgin I saw.  She stood against the wall and smiled.  We
+shall be happy soon."
+
+"When we die, Wanda," he said, suddenly, "let it be together.  We
+shall keep each other warm, out there."
+
+Huddling to him she whispered: "Yes, oh, yes!  If you die, I could
+not go on living."
+
+It was this utter dependence on him, the feeling that he had rescued
+something, which gave him sense of anchorage.  That, and his buried
+life in the retreat of these two rooms.  Just for an hour in the
+morning, from nine to ten, the charwoman would come, but not another
+soul all day.  They never went out together.  He would stay in bed
+late, while Wanda bought what they needed for the day's meals; lying
+on his back, hands clasped behind his head, recalling her face, the
+movements of her slim, rounded, supple figure, robing itself before
+his gaze; feeling again the kiss she had left on his lips, the gleam
+of her soft eyes, so strangely dark in so fair a face.  In a sort of
+trance he would lie till she came back.  Then get up to breakfast
+about noon off things which she had cooked, drinking coffee.  In the
+afternoon he would go out alone and walk for hours, any where, so
+long as it was East.  To the East there was always suffering to be
+seen, always that which soothed him with the feeling that he and his
+troubles were only a tiny part of trouble; that while so many other
+sorrowing and shadowy creatures lived he was not cut off.  To go West
+was to encourage dejection.  In the West all was like Keith,
+successful, immaculate, ordered, resolute.  He would come back tired
+out, and sit watching her cook their little dinner.  The evenings
+were given up to love.  Queer trance of an existence, which both were
+afraid to break.  No sign from her of wanting those excitements which
+girls who have lived her life, even for a few months, are supposed to
+need.  She never asked him to take her anywhere; never, in word,
+deed, look, seemed anything but almost rapturously content.  And yet
+he knew, and she knew, that they were only waiting to see whether
+Fate would turn her thumb down on them.  In these days he did not
+drink.  Out of his quarter's money, when it came in, he had paid his
+debts--their expenses were very small.  He never went to see Keith,
+never wrote to him, hardly thought of him.  And from those dread
+apparitions--Walenn lying with the breath choked out of him, and the
+little grey, driven animal in the dock--he hid, as only a man can who
+must hide or be destroyed.  But daily he bought a newspaper, and
+feverishly, furtively scanned its columns.
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+Coming out of the Law Courts on the afternoon of January 28th, at the
+triumphant end of a desperately fought will case, Keith saw on a
+poster the words: "Glove Lane Murder: Trial and Verdict"; and with a
+rush of dismay he thought: 'Good God!  I never looked at the paper
+this morning!'  The elation which had filled him a second before, the
+absorption he had felt for two days now in the case so hardly won,
+seemed suddenly quite sickeningly trivial.  What on earth had he been
+doing to forget that horrible business even for an instant?  He stood
+quite still on the crowded pavement, unable, really unable, to buy a
+paper.  But his face was like a piece of iron when he did step
+forward and hold his penny out.  There it was in the Stop Press!
+"Glove Lane Murder.  The jury returned a verdict of Guilty.  Sentence
+of death was passed."
+
+His first sensation was simple irritation.  How had they come to
+commit such an imbecility?  Monstrous!  The evidence--!  Then the
+futility of even reading the report, of even considering how they had
+come to record such a verdict struck him with savage suddenness.
+There it was, and nothing he could do or say would alter it; no
+condemnation of this idiotic verdict would help reverse it.  The
+situation was desperate, indeed!  That five minutes' walk from the
+Law Courts to his chambers was the longest he had ever taken.
+
+Men of decided character little know beforehand what they will do in
+certain contingencies.  For the imaginations of decided people do not
+endow mere contingencies with sufficient actuality.  Keith had never
+really settled what he was going to do if this man were condemned.
+Often in those past weeks he had said to himself: "Of course, if they
+bring him in guilty, that's another thing!"  But, now that they had,
+he was beset by exactly the same old arguments and feelings, the same
+instincts of loyalty and protection towards Laurence and himself,
+intensified by the fearful imminence of the danger.  And yet, here
+was this man about to be hung for a thing he had not done!  Nothing
+could get over that!  But then he was such a worthless vagabond, a
+ghoul who had robbed a dead body.  If Larry were condemned in his
+stead, would there be any less miscarriage of justice?  To strangle a
+brute who had struck you, by the accident of keeping your hands on
+his throat a few seconds too long, was there any more guilt in that--
+was there even as much, as in deliberate theft from a dead man?
+Reverence for order, for justice, and established fact, will, often
+march shoulder to shoulder with Jesuitry in natures to whom success
+is vital.
+
+In the narrow stone passage leading to his staircase, a friend had
+called out: "Bravo, Darrant!  That was a squeak!  Congratulations!"
+And with a bitter little smile Keith thought: 'Congratulations!  I!'
+
+At the first possible moment the hurried back to the Strand, and
+hailing a cab, he told the man to put him down at a turning near to
+Borrow Street.
+
+It was the girl who opened to his knock.  Startled, clasping her
+hands, she looked strange to Keith in her black skirt and blouse of
+some soft velvety stuff the colour of faded roses.  Her round, rather
+long throat was bare; and Keith noticed fretfully that she wore gold
+earrings.  Her eyes, so pitch dark against her white face, and the
+short fair hair, which curled into her neck, seemed both to search
+and to plead.
+
+"My brother?"
+
+"He is not in, sir, yet."
+
+"Do you know where he is?"
+
+"No."
+
+"He is living with you here now?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Are you still as fond of him as ever, then?"
+
+With a movement, as though she despaired of words, she clasped her
+hands over her heart.  And he said:
+
+"I see."
+
+He had the same strange feeling as on his first visit to her, and
+when through the chink in the curtains he had watched her kneeling--
+of pity mingled with some faint sexual emotion.  And crossing to the
+fire he asked:
+
+"May I wait for him?"
+
+"Oh!  Please!  Will you sit down?"
+
+But Keith shook his head.  And with a catch in her breath, she said:
+
+"You will not take him from me.  I should die."
+
+He turned round on her sharply.
+
+"I don't want him taken from you.  I want to help you keep him.  Are
+you ready to go away, at any time?"
+
+"Yes.  Oh, yes!"
+
+"And he?"
+
+She answered almost in a whisper:
+
+"Yes; but there is that poor man."
+
+"That poor man is a graveyard thief; a hyena; a ghoul--not worth
+consideration."  And the rasp in his own voice surprised him.
+
+"Ah!" she sighed.  "But I am sorry for him.  Perhaps he was hungry.
+I have been hungry--you do things then that you would not.  And
+perhaps he has no one to love; if you have no one to love you can be
+very bad.  I think of him often--in prison."
+
+Between his teeth Keith muttered: "And Laurence?"
+
+"We do never speak of it, we are afraid."
+
+"He's not told you, then, about the trial?"
+
+Her eyes dilated.
+
+"The trial!  Oh!  He was strange last night.  This morning, too, he
+got up early.  Is it-is it over?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"What has come?"
+
+"Guilty."
+
+For a moment Keith thought she was going to faint.  She had closed
+her eyes, and swayed so that he took a step, and put his hands on her
+arms.
+
+"Listen!" he said.  "Help me; don't let Laurence out of your sight.
+We must have time.  I must see what they intend to do.  They can't be
+going to hang this man.  I must have time, I tell you.  You must
+prevent his giving himself up."
+
+She stood, staring in his face, while he still held her arms,
+gripping into her soft flesh through the velvety sleeves.
+
+"Do you understand?"
+
+"Yes-but if he has already!"
+
+Keith felt the shiver which ran through her.  And the thought rushed
+into his mind: 'My God!  Suppose the police come round while I'm
+here!'  If Larry had indeed gone to them!  If that Policeman who had
+seen him here the night after the murder should find him here again
+just after the verdict!  He said almost fiercely:
+
+"Can I trust you not to let Larry out of your sight?  Quick!
+Answer!"
+
+Clasping her hands to her breast, she answered humbly:
+
+"I will try."
+
+"If he hasn't already done this, watch him like a lynx!  Don't let
+him go out without you.  I'll come to-morrow morning early.  You're a
+Catholic, aren't you?  Swear to me that you won't let him do anything
+till he's seen me again."
+
+She did not answer, looking past him at the door; and Keith heard a
+key in the latch.  There was Laurence himself, holding in his hand a
+great bunch of pink lilies and white narcissi.  His face was pale and
+haggard.  He said quietly:
+
+"Hallo, Keith!"
+
+The girl's eyes were fastened on Larry's face; and Keith, looking
+from one to the other, knew that he had never had more need for
+wariness.
+
+"Have you seen?"  he said.
+
+Laurence nodded.  His expression, as a rule so tell-tale of his
+emotions, baffled Keith utterly.
+
+"Well?"
+
+"I've been expecting it."
+
+"The thing can't stand--that's certain.  But I must have time to look
+into the report.  I must have time to see what I can do.  D'you
+understand me, Larry--I must have time."  He knew he was talking at
+random.  The only thing was to get them away at once out of reach of
+confession; but he dared not say so.
+
+"Promise me that you'll do nothing, that you won't go out even till
+I've seen you to-morrow morning."
+
+Again Laurence nodded.  And Keith looked at the girl.  Would she see
+that he did not break that promise?  Her eyes were still fixed
+immovably on Larry's face.  And with the feeling that he could get no
+further, Keith turned to go.
+
+"Promise me," he said.
+
+Laurence answered: "I promise."
+
+He was smiling.  Keith could make nothing of that smile, nor of the
+expression in the girl's eyes.  And saying: "I have your promise, I
+rely on it!"  he went.
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+To keep from any woman who loves, knowledge of her lover's mood, is
+as hard as to keep music from moving the heart.  But when that woman
+has lived in suffering, and for the first time knows the comfort of
+love, then let the lover try as he may to disguise his heart--no use!
+Yet by virtue of subtler abnegation she will often succeed in keeping
+it from him that she knows.
+
+When Keith was gone the girl made no outcry, asked no questions,
+managed that Larry should not suspect her intuition; all that evening
+she acted as if she knew of nothing preparing within him, and through
+him, within herself.
+
+His words, caresses, the very zest with which he helped her to
+prepare the feast, the flowers he had brought, the wine he made her
+drink, the avoidance of any word which could spoil their happiness,
+all--all told her.  He was too inexorably gay and loving.  Not for
+her--to whom every word and every kiss had uncannily the desperate
+value of a last word and kiss--not for her to deprive herself of
+these by any sign or gesture which might betray her prescience.  Poor
+soul--she took all, and would have taken more, a hundredfold.  She
+did not want to drink the wine he kept tilting into her glass, but,
+with the acceptance learned by women who have lived her life, she did
+not refuse.  She had never refused him anything.  So much had been
+required of her by the detestable, that anything required by a loved
+one was but an honour.
+
+Laurence drank deeply; but he had never felt clearer, never seen
+things more clearly.  The wine gave him what he wanted, an edge to
+these few hours of pleasure, an exaltation of energy.  It dulled his
+sense of pity, too.  It was pity he was afraid of--for himself, and
+for this girl.  To make even this tawdry room look beautiful, with
+firelight and candlelight, dark amber wine in the glasses, tall pink
+lilies spilling their saffron, exuding their hot perfume he and even
+himself must look their best.  And with a weight as of lead on her
+heart, she managed that for him, letting him strew her with flowers
+and crush them together with herself.  Not even music was lacking to
+their feast.  Someone was playing a pianola across the street, and
+the sound, very faint, came stealing when they were silent--swelling,
+sinking, festive, mournful; having a far-off life of its own, like
+the flickering fire-flames before which they lay embraced, or the
+lilies delicate between the candles.  Listening to that music,
+tracing with his finger the tiny veins on her breast, he lay like one
+recovering from a swoon.  No parting.  None!  But sleep, as the
+firelight sleeps when flames die; as music sleeps on its deserted
+strings.
+
+And the girl watched him.
+
+It was nearly ten when he bade her go to bed.  And after she had gone
+obedient into the bedroom, he brought ink and paper down by the fire.
+The drifter, the unstable, the good-for-nothing--did not falter.  He
+had thought, when it came to the point, he would fail himself; but a
+sort of rage bore him forward.  If he lived on, and confessed, they
+would shut him up, take from him the one thing he loved, cut him off
+from her; sand up his only well in the desert.  Curse them!  And he
+wrote by firelight which mellowed the white sheets of paper; while,
+against the dark curtain, the girl, in her nightgown, unconscious of
+the cold, stood watching.
+
+Men, when they drown, remember their pasts.  Like the lost poet he
+had "gone with the wind."  Now it was for him to be true in his
+fashion.  A man may falter for weeks and weeks, consciously,
+subconsciously, even in his dreams, till there comes that moment when
+the only thing impossible is to go on faltering.  The black cap, the
+little driven grey man looking up at it with a sort of wonder--
+faltering had ceased!
+
+He had finished now, and was but staring into the fire.
+
+         "No more, no more, the moon is dead,
+          And all the people in it;
+          The poppy maidens strew the bed,
+          We'll come in half a minute."
+
+Why did doggerel start up in the mind like that?  Wanda!  The weed-
+flower become so rare he would not be parted from her!  The fire, the
+candles, and the fire--no more the flame and flicker!
+
+And, by the dark curtain, the girl watched.
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+Keith went, not home, but to his club; and in the room devoted to the
+reception of guests, empty at this hour, he sat down and read the
+report of the trial.  The fools had made out a case that looked black
+enough.  And for a long time, on the thick soft carpet which let out
+no sound of footfall, he paced up and down, thinking.  He might see
+the defending counsel, might surely do that as an expert who thought
+there had been miscarriage of justice.  They must appeal; a petition
+too might be started in the last event.  The thing could--must be put
+right yet, if only Larry and that girl did nothing!
+
+He had no appetite, but the custom of dining is too strong.  And
+while he ate, he glanced with irritation at his fellow-members.  They
+looked so at their ease.  Unjust--that this black cloud should hang
+over one blameless as any of them!  Friends, connoisseurs of such
+things--a judge among them--came specially to his table to express
+their admiration of his conduct of that will case.  Tonight he had
+real excuse for pride, but he felt none.  Yet, in this well-warmed
+quietly glowing room, filled with decorously eating, decorously
+talking men, he gained insensibly some comfort.  This surely was
+reality; that shadowy business out there only the drear sound of a
+wind one must and did keep out--like the poverty and grime which had
+no real existence for the secure and prosperous.  He drank champagne.
+It helped to fortify reality, to make shadows seem more shadowy.  And
+down in the smoking-room he sat before the fire, in one of those
+chairs which embalm after-dinner dreams.  He grew sleepy there, and
+at eleven o'clock rose to go home.  But when he had once passed down
+the shallow marble steps, out through the revolving door which let in
+no draughts, he was visited by fear, as if he had drawn it in with
+the breath of the January wind.  Larry's face; and the girl watching
+it!  Why had she watched like that?  Larry's smile; and the flowers
+in his hand?  Buying flowers at such a moment!  The girl was his
+slave-whatever he told her, she would do.  But she would never be
+able to stop him.  At this very moment he might be rushing to give
+himself up!
+
+His hand, thrust deep into the pocket of his fur coat, came in
+contact suddenly with something cold.  The keys Larry had given him
+all that time ago.  There they had lain forgotten ever since.  The
+chance touch decided him.  He turned off towards Borrow Street,
+walking at full speed.  He could but go again and see.  He would
+sleep better if he knew that he had left no stone unturned.  At the
+corner of that dismal street he had to wait for solitude before he
+made for the house which he now loathed with a deadly loathing.  He
+opened the outer door and shut it to behind him.  He knocked, but no
+one came.  Perhaps they had gone to bed.  Again and again he knocked,
+then opened the door, stepped in, and closed it carefully.  Candles
+lighted, the fire burning; cushions thrown on the floor in front of
+it and strewn with flowers!  The table, too, covered with flowers and
+with the remnants of a meal.  Through the half-drawn curtain he could
+see that the inner room was also lighted.  Had they gone out, leaving
+everything like this?  Gone out!  His heart beat.  Bottles! Larry had
+been drinking!
+
+Had it really come?  Must he go back home with this murk on him;
+knowing that his brother was a confessed and branded murderer?  He
+went quickly, to the half-drawn curtains and looked in.  Against the
+wall he saw a bed, and those two in it.  He recoiled in sheer
+amazement and relief.  Asleep with curtains undrawn, lights left on?
+Asleep through all his knocking!  They must both be drunk.  The blood
+rushed up in his neck.  Asleep!  And rushing forward again, he called
+out: "Larry!"  Then, with a gasp he went towards the bed.  "Larry!"
+No answer!  No movement!  Seizing his brother's shoulder, he shook it
+violently.  It felt cold.  They were lying in each other's arms,
+breast to breast, lips to lips, their faces white in the light
+shining above the dressing-table.  And such a shudder shook Keith
+that he had to grasp the brass rail above their heads.  Then he bent
+down, and wetting his finger, placed it close to their joined lips.
+No two could ever swoon so utterly as that; not even a drunken sleep
+could be so fast.  His wet finger felt not the faintest stir of air,
+nor was there any movement in the pulses of their hands.  No breath!
+No life!  The eyes of the girl were closed.  How strangely innocent
+she looked!  Larry's open eyes seemed to be gazing at her shut eyes;
+but Keith saw that they were sightless.  With a sort of sob he drew
+down the lids.  Then, by an impulse that he could never have
+explained, he laid a hand on his brother's head, and a hand on the
+girl's fair hair.  The clothes had fallen down a little from her bare
+shoulder; he pulled them up, as if to keep her warm, and caught the
+glint of metal; a tiny gilt crucifix no longer than a thumbnail, on a
+thread of steel chain, had slipped down from her breast into the
+hollow of the arm which lay round Larry's neck.  Keith buried it
+beneath the clothes and noticed an envelope pinned to the coverlet;
+bending down, he read: "Please give this at once to the police.--
+LAURENCE DARRANT."  He thrust it into his pocket.  Like elastic
+stretched beyond its uttermost, his reason, will, faculties of
+calculation and resolve snapped to within him.  He thought with
+incredible swiftness: 'I must know nothing of this.  I must go!'
+And, almost before he knew that he had moved, he was out again in the
+street.
+
+He could never have told of what he thought while he was walking
+home.  He did not really come to himself till he was in his study.
+There, with a trembling hand, he poured himself out whisky and drank
+it off.  If he had not chanced to go there, the charwoman would have
+found them when she came in the morning, and given that envelope to
+the police!  He took it out.  He had a right--a right to know what
+was in it!  He broke it open.
+
+"I, Laurence Darrant, about to die by my own hand, declare that this
+is a solemn and true confession.  I committed what is known as the
+Glove Lane Murder on the night of November the 27th last in the
+following way"--on and on to the last words--"We didn't want to die;
+but we could not bear separation, and I couldn't face letting an
+innocent man be hung for me.  I do not see any other way.  I beg that
+there may be no postmortem on our bodies.  The stuff we have taken is
+some of that which will be found on the dressing-table.  Please bury
+us together.
+
+"LAURENCE DARRANT.
+"January the 28th, about ten o'clock p.m."
+
+Full five minutes Keith stood with those sheets of paper in his hand,
+while the clock ticked, the wind moaned a little in the trees
+outside, the flames licked the logs with the quiet click and ruffle
+of their intense far-away life down there on the hearth.  Then he
+roused himself, and sat down to read the whole again.
+
+
+There it was, just as Larry had told it to him-nothing left out, very
+clear; even to the addresses of people who could identify the girl as
+having once been Walenn's wife or mistress.  It would convince.  Yes!
+It would convince.
+
+The sheets dropped from his hand.  Very slowly he was grasping the
+appalling fact that on the floor beside his chair lay the life or
+death of yet another man; that by taking this confession he had taken
+into his own hands the fate of the vagabond lying under sentence of
+death; that he could not give him back his life without incurring the
+smirch of this disgrace, without even endangering himself.  If he let
+this confession reach the authorities, he could never escape the
+gravest suspicion that he had known of the whole affair during these
+two months.  He would have to attend the inquest, be recognised by
+that policeman as having come to the archway to see where the body
+had lain, as having visited the girl the very evening after the
+murder.  Who would believe in the mere coincidence of such visits on
+the part of the murderer's brother.  But apart from that suspicion,
+the fearful scandal which so sensational an affair must make would
+mar his career, his life, his young daughter's life!  Larry's suicide
+with this girl would make sensation enough as it was; but nothing to
+that other.  Such a death had its romance; involved him in no way
+save as a mourner, could perhaps even be hushed up!  The other--
+nothing could hush that up, nothing prevent its ringing to the house-
+tops.  He got up from his chair, and for many minutes roamed the room
+unable to get his mind to bear on the issue. Images kept starting up
+before him.  The face of the man who handed him wig and gown each
+morning, puffy and curious, with a leer on it he had never noticed
+before; his young daughter's lifted eyebrows, mouth drooping, eyes
+troubled; the tiny gilt crucifix glinting in the hollow of the dead
+girl's arm; the sightless look in Larry's unclosed eyes; even his own
+thumb and finger pulling the lids down.  And then he saw a street and
+endless people passing, turning to stare at him.  And, stopping in
+his tramp, he said aloud: "Let them go to hell!  Seven days' wonder!"
+Was he not trustee to that confession!  Trustee!  After all he had
+done nothing to be ashamed of, even if he had kept knowledge dark.  A
+brother!  Who could blame him?  And he picked up those sheets of
+paper.  But, like a great murky hand, the scandal spread itself about
+him; its coarse malignant voice seemed shouting: "Paiper!...
+Paiper!... Glove Lane Murder!... Suicide and confession of brother of
+well-known K.C....  Well-known K.C.'s brother....  Murder and
+suicide.... Paiper!"  Was he to let loose that flood of foulness?
+Was he, who had done nothing, to smirch his own little daughter's
+life; to smirch his dead brother, their dead mother--himself, his own
+valuable, important future?  And all for a sewer rat!  Let him hang,
+let the fellow hang if he must!  And that was not certain.  Appeal!
+Petition!  He might--he should be saved!  To have got thus far, and
+then, by his own action, topple himself down!
+
+With a sudden darting movement he thrust the confession in among the
+burning coals.  And a smile licked at the folds in his dark face,
+like those flames licking the sheets of paper, till they writhed and
+blackened.  With the toe of his boot he dispersed their scorched and
+crumbling wafer.  Stamp them in!  Stamp in that man's life!  Burnt!
+No more doubts, no more of this gnawing fear!  Burnt?  A man--an
+innocent-sewer rat!  Recoiling from the fire he grasped his forehead.
+It was burning hot and seemed to be going round.
+
+Well, it was done!  Only fools without will or purpose regretted.
+And suddenly he laughed.  So Larry had died for nothing!  He had no
+will, no purpose, and was dead!  He and that girl might now have been
+living, loving each other in the warm night, away at the other end of
+the world, instead of lying dead in the cold night here!  Fools and
+weaklings regretted, suffered from conscience and remorse.  A man
+trod firmly, held to his purpose, no matter what!
+
+He went to the window and drew back the curtain.  What was that?  A
+gibbet in the air, a body hanging?  Ah!  Only the trees--the dark
+trees--the winter skeleton trees!  Recoiling, he returned to his
+armchair and sat down before the fire.  It had been shining like
+that, the lamp turned low, his chair drawn up, when Larry came in
+that afternoon two months ago.  Bah!  He had never come at all!  It
+was a nightmare.  He had been asleep.  How his head burned!  And
+leaping up, he looked at the calendar on his bureau.  "January the
+28th!"  No dream!  His face hardened and darkened.  On!  Not like
+Larry!  On!
+
+1914.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A STOIC
+
+I
+
+1
+
+         "Aequam memento rebus in arduis
+          Servare mentem:"--Horace.
+
+In the City of Liverpool, on a January day of 1905, the Board-room of
+"The Island Navigation Company" rested, as it were, after the labours
+of the afternoon.  The long table was still littered with the ink,
+pens, blotting-paper, and abandoned documents of six persons--a
+deserted battlefield of the brain.  And, lonely, in his chairman's
+seat at the top end old Sylvanus Heythorp sat, with closed eyes,
+still and heavy as an image.  One puffy, feeble hand, whose fingers
+quivered, rested on the arm of his chair; the thick white hair on his
+massive head glistened in the light from a green-shaded lamp.  He was
+not asleep, for every now and then his sanguine cheeks filled, and a
+sound, half sigh, half grunt, escaped his thick lips between a white
+moustache and the tiny tuft of white hairs above his cleft chin.
+Sunk in the chair, that square thick trunk of a body in short black-
+braided coat seemed divested of all neck.
+
+Young Gilbert Farney, secretary of "The Island Navigation Company,"
+entering his hushed Board-room, stepped briskly to the table,
+gathered some papers, and stood looking at his chairman.  Not more
+than thirty-five, with the bright hues of the optimist in his hair,
+beard, cheeks, and eyes, he had a nose and lips which curled
+ironically.  For, in his view, he was the Company; and its Board did
+but exist to chequer his importance.  Five days in the week for seven
+hours a day he wrote, and thought, and wove the threads of its
+business, and this lot came down once a week for two or three hours,
+and taught their grandmother to suck eggs.  But watching that red-
+cheeked, white-haired, somnolent figure, his smile was not so
+contemptuous as might have been expected.  For after all, the
+chairman was a wonderful old boy.  A man of go and insight could not
+but respect him.  Eighty!  Half paralysed, over head and ears in
+debt, having gone the pace all his life--or so they said!--till at
+last that mine in Ecuador had done for him--before the secretary's
+day, of course, but he had heard of it.  The old chap had bought it
+up on spec'--"de l'audace, toujours de l'audace," as he was so fond
+of saying--paid for it half in cash and half in promises, and then--
+the thing had turned out empty, and left him with L20,000 worth of
+the old shares unredeemed.  The old boy had weathered it out without
+a bankruptcy so far.  Indomitable old buffer; and never fussy like
+the rest of them!  Young Farney, though a secretary, was capable of
+attachment; and his eyes expressed a pitying affection.  The Board
+meeting had been long and "snadgy"--a final settling of that Pillin
+business.  Rum go the chairman forcing it on them like this!  And
+with quiet satisfaction the secretary thought 'And he never would
+have got it through if I hadn't made up my mind that it really is
+good business!'  For to expand the company was to expand himself.
+Still, to buy four ships with the freight market so depressed was a
+bit startling, and there would be opposition at the general meeting.
+Never mind!  He and the chairman could put it through--put it
+through.  And suddenly he saw the old man looking at him.
+
+Only from those eyes could one appreciate the strength of life yet
+flowing underground in that well-nigh helpless carcase--deep-coloured
+little blue wells, tiny, jovial, round windows.
+
+A sigh travelled up through layers of flesh, and he said almost
+inaudibly:
+
+"Have they come, Mr. Farney?"
+
+"Yes, sir.  I've put them in the transfer office; said you'd be with
+them in a minute; but I wasn't going to wake you."
+
+"Haven't been asleep.  Help me up."
+
+Grasping the edge of the table with his trembling hands, the old man
+pulled, and, with Farney heaving him behind, attained his feet.  He
+stood about five feet ten, and weighed fully fourteen stone; not
+corpulent, but very thick all through; his round and massive head
+alone would have outweighed a baby.  With eyes shut, he seemed to be
+trying to get the better of his own weight, then he moved with the
+slowness of a barnacle towards the door.  The secretary, watching
+him, thought: 'Marvellous old chap!  How he gets about by himself is
+a miracle!  And he can't retire, they say-lives on his fees!'
+
+But the chairman was through the green baize door.  At his tortoise
+gait he traversed the inner office, where the youthful clerks
+suspended their figuring--to grin behind his back--and entered the
+transfer office, where eight gentlemen were sitting.  Seven rose, and
+one did not.  Old Heythorp raised a saluting hand to the level of his
+chest and moving to an arm-chair, lowered himself into it.
+
+"Well, gentlemen?"
+
+One of the eight gentlemen got up again.
+
+"Mr. Heythorp, we've appointed Mr. Brownbee to voice our views.  Mr.
+Brownbee!"  And down he sat.
+
+Mr. Brownbee rose a stoutish man some seventy years of age, with
+little grey side whiskers, and one of those utterly steady faces only
+to be seen in England, faces which convey the sense of business from
+father to son for generations; faces which make wars, and passion,
+and free thought seem equally incredible; faces which inspire
+confidence, and awaken in one a desire to get up and leave the room.
+Mr. Brownbee rose, and said in a suave voice:
+
+"Mr. Heythorp, we here represent about L14,000.  When we had the
+pleasure of meeting you last July, you will recollect that you held
+out a prospect of some more satisfactory arrangement by Christmas.
+We are now in January, and I am bound to say we none of us get
+younger."
+
+>From the depths of old Heythorp a preliminary rumble came travelling,
+reached the surface, and materialised
+
+"Don't know about you--feel a boy, myself."
+
+The eight gentlemen looked at him.  Was he going to try and put them
+off again?  Mr. Brownbee said with unruffled calm:
+
+"I'm sure we're very glad to hear it.  But to come to the point.  We
+have felt, Mr. Heythorp, and I'm sure you won't think it
+unreasonable, that--er--bankruptcy would be the most satisfactory
+solution.  We have waited a long time, and we want to know definitely
+where we stand; for, to be quite frank, we don't see any prospect of
+improvement; indeed, we fear the opposite."
+
+"You think I'm going to join the majority."
+
+This plumping out of what was at the back of their minds produced in
+Mr. Brownbee and his colleagues a sort of chemical disturbance.  They
+coughed, moved their feet, and turned away their eyes, till the one
+who had not risen, a solicitor named Ventnor, said bluffly:
+
+"Well, put it that way if you like."
+
+Old Heythorp's little deep eyes twinkled.
+
+"My grandfather lived to be a hundred; my father ninety-six--both of
+them rips.  I'm only eighty, gentlemen; blameless life compared with
+theirs."
+
+"Indeed," Mr. Brownbee said, "we hope you have many years of this
+life before you."
+
+"More of this than of another."  And a silence fell, till old
+Heythorp added: "You're getting a thousand a year out of my fees.
+Mistake to kill the goose that lays the golden eggs.  I'll make it
+twelve hundred.  If you force me to resign my directorships by
+bankruptcy, you won't get a rap, you know."
+
+Mr. Brownbee cleared his throat:
+
+"We think, Mr. Heythorp, you should make it at least fifteen hundred.
+In that case we might perhaps consider--"
+
+Old Heythorp shook his head.
+
+"We can hardly accept your assertion that we should get nothing in
+the event of bankruptcy.  We fancy you greatly underrate the
+possibilities.  Fifteen hundred a year is the least you can do for
+us."
+
+"See you d---d first."
+
+Another silence followed, then Ventnor, the solicitor, said
+irascibly:
+
+"We know where we are, then."
+
+Brownbee added almost nervously:
+
+"Are we to understand that twelve hundred a year is your--your last
+word?"
+
+Old Heythorp nodded.  "Come again this day month, and I'll see what I
+can do for you;" and he shut his eyes.
+
+Round Mr. Brownbee six of the gentlemen gathered, speaking in low
+voices; Mr. Ventnor nursed a leg and glowered at old Heythorp, who
+sat with his eyes closed.  Mr. Brownbee went over and conferred with
+Mr. Ventnor, then clearing his throat, he said:
+
+"Well, sir, we have considered your proposal; we agree to accept it
+for the moment.  We will come again, as you suggest, in a month's
+time.
+
+"We hope that you will by then have seen your way to something more
+substantial, with a view to avoiding what we should all regret, but
+which I fear will otherwise become inevitable."
+
+Old Heythorp nodded.  The eight gentlemen took their hats, and went
+out one by one, Mr. Brownbee courteously bringing up the rear.
+
+The old man, who could not get up without assistance, stayed musing
+in his chair.  He had diddled 'em for the moment into giving him
+another month, and when that month was up-he would diddle 'em again!
+A month ought to make the Pillin business safe, with all that hung on
+it.  That poor funkey chap Joe Pillin!  A gurgling chuckle escaped
+his red lips.  What a shadow the fellow had looked, trotting in that
+evening just a month ago, behind his valet's announcement: "Mr.
+Pillin, sir."
+
+What a parchmenty, precise, thread-paper of a chap, with his bird's
+claw of a hand, and his muffled-up throat, and his quavery:
+
+"How do you do, Sylvanus?  I'm afraid you're not--"
+
+"First rate.  Sit down.  Have some port."
+
+"Port!  I never drink it.  Poison to me!  Poison!"
+
+"Do you good!"
+
+"Oh!  I know, that's what you always say."
+
+You've a monstrous constitution, Sylvanus.  If I drank port and
+smoked cigars and sat up till one o'clock, I should be in my grave
+to-morrow.  I'm not the man I was.  The fact is, I've come to see if
+you can help me.  I'm getting old; I'm growing nervous...."
+
+"You always were as chickeny as an old hen, Joe."
+
+"Well, my nature's not like yours.  To come to the point, I want to
+sell my ships and retire.  I need rest.  Freights are very depressed.
+I've got my family to think of."
+
+"Crack on, and go broke; buck you up like anything!"
+
+"I'm quite serious, Sylvanus."
+
+"Never knew you anything else, Joe."
+
+A quavering cough, and out it had come:
+
+"Now--in a word--won't your 'Island Navigation Company' buy my
+ships?"
+
+A pause, a twinkle, a puff of smoke.  "Make it worth my while!"  He
+had said it in jest; and then, in a flash, the idea had come to him.
+Rosamund and her youngsters!  What a chance to put something between
+them and destitution when he had joined the majority!  And so he
+said:" We don't want your silly ships."
+
+That claw of a hand waved in deprecation.  "They're very good ships--
+doing quite well.  It's only my wretched health.  If I were a strong
+man I shouldn't dream...."
+
+"What d'you want for'em?"  Good Lord!  how he jumped if you asked him
+a plain question.  The chap was as nervous as a guinea-fowl!
+
+"Here are the figures--for the last four years.  I think you'll agree
+that I couldn't ask less than seventy thousand."
+
+Through the smoke of his cigar old Heythorp had digested those
+figures slowly, Joe Pillin feeling his teeth and sucking lozenges the
+while; then he said:
+
+"Sixty thousand!  And out of that you pay me ten per cent., if I get
+it through for you.  Take it or leave it."
+
+"My dear Sylvanus, that's almost-cynical."
+
+"Too good a price--you'll never get it without me."
+
+"But a--but a commission!  You could never disclose it!"
+
+"Arrange that all right.  Think it over.  Freights'll go lower yet.
+Have some port."
+
+"No, no!  Thank you.  No!  So you think freights will go lower?"
+
+"Sure of it."
+
+"Well, I'll be going.  I'm sure I don't know.  It's--it's--I must
+think."
+
+"Think your hardest."
+
+"Yes, yes.  Good-bye.  I can't imagine how you still go on smoking
+those things and drinking port.
+
+"See you in your grave yet, Joe."  What a feeble smile the poor
+fellow had!  Laugh-he couldn't!  And, alone again, he had browsed,
+developing the idea which had come to him.
+
+Though, to dwell in the heart of shipping, Sylvanus Heythorp had
+lived at Liverpool twenty years, he was from the Eastern Counties, of
+a family so old that it professed to despise the Conquest.  Each of
+its generations occupied nearly twice as long as those of less
+tenacious men.  Traditionally of Danish origin, its men folk had as a
+rule bright reddish-brown hair, red cheeks, large round heads,
+excellent teeth and poor morals.  They had done their best for the
+population of any county in which they had settled; their offshoots
+swarmed.  Born in the early twenties of the nineteenth century,
+Sylvanus Heythorp, after an education broken by escapades both at
+school and college, had fetched up in that simple London of the late
+forties, where claret, opera, and eight per cent. for your money
+ruled a cheery roost.  Made partner in his shipping firm well before
+he was thirty, he had sailed with a wet sheet and a flowing tide;
+dancers, claret, Cliquot, and piquet; a cab with a tiger; some
+travel--all that delicious early-Victorian consciousness of nothing
+save a golden time.  It was all so full and mellow that he was forty
+before he had his only love affair of any depth--with the daughter of
+one of his own clerks, a liaison so awkward as to necessitate a
+sedulous concealment.  The death of that girl, after three years,
+leaving him a, natural son, had been the chief, perhaps the only
+real, sorrow of his life.  Five years later he married.  What for?
+God only knew! as he was in the habit of remarking.  His wife had
+been a hard, worldly, well-connected woman, who presented him with
+two unnatural children, a girl and a boy, and grew harder, more
+worldly, less handsome, in the process.  The migration to Liverpool,
+which took place when he was sixty and she forty-two, broke what she
+still had of heart, but she lingered on twelve years, finding solace
+in bridge, and being haughty towards Liverpool.  Old Heythorp saw her
+to her rest without regret.  He had felt no love for her whatever,
+and practically none for her two children--they were in his view
+colourless, pragmatical, very unexpected characters.  His son Ernest-
+-in the Admiralty--he thought a poor, careful stick.  His daughter
+Adela, an excellent manager, delighting in spiritual conversation and
+the society of tame men, rarely failed to show him that she
+considered him a hopeless heathen.  They saw as little as need be of
+each other.  She was provided for under that settlement he had made
+on her mother fifteen years ago, well before the not altogether
+unexpected crisis in his affairs.  Very different was the feeling he
+had bestowed on that son of his "under the rose."  The boy, who had
+always gone by his mother's name of Larne, had on her death been sent
+to some relations of hers in Ireland, and there brought up.  He had
+been called to the Dublin bar, and married, young, a girl half
+Cornish and half Irish; presently, having cost old Heythorp in all a
+pretty penny, he had died impecunious, leaving his fair Rosamund at
+thirty with a girl of eight and a boy of five.  She had not spent six
+months of widowhood before coming over from Dublin to claim the old
+man's guardianship.  A remarkably pretty woman, like a full-blown
+rose, with greenish hazel eyes, she had turned up one morning at the
+offices of "The Island Navigation Company," accompanied by her two
+children--for he had never divulged to them his private address.  And
+since then they had always been more or less on his hands, occupying
+a small house in a suburb of Liverpool.  He visited them there, but
+never asked them to the house in Sefton Park, which was in fact his
+daughter's; so that his proper family and friends were unaware of
+their existence.
+
+Rosamund Larne was one of those precarious ladies who make uncertain
+incomes by writing full-bodied storyettes.  In the most dismal
+circumstances she enjoyed a buoyancy bordering on the indecent; which
+always amused old Heythorp's cynicism.  But of his grandchildren
+Phyllis and Jock (wild as colts) he had become fond.  And this chance
+of getting six thousand pounds settled on them at a stroke had seemed
+to him nothing but heaven-sent.  As things were, if he "went off"--
+and, of course, he might at any moment, there wouldn't be a penny for
+them; for he would "cut up" a good fifteen thousand to the bad.  He
+was now giving them some three hundred a year out of his fees; and
+dead directors unfortunately earned no fees!  Six thousand pounds at
+four and a half per cent., settled so that their mother couldn't
+"blue it," would give them a certain two hundred and fifty pounds a
+year-better than beggary.  And the more he thought the better he
+liked it, if only that shaky chap, Joe Pillin, didn't shy off when
+he'd bitten his nails short over it!
+
+Four evenings later, the "shaky chap" had again appeared at his house
+in Sefton Park.
+
+"I've thought it over, Sylvanus.  I don't like it.
+
+"No; but you'll do it."
+
+"It's a sacrifice.  Fifty-four thousand for four ships--it means a
+considerable reduction in my income."
+
+"It means security, my boy."
+
+"Well, there is that; but you know, I really can't be party to a
+secret commission.  If it came out, think of my name and goodness
+knows what."
+
+"It won't come out."
+
+"Yes, yes, so you say, but--"
+
+"All you've got to do's to execute a settlement on some third parties
+that I'll name.  I'm not going to take a penny of it myself.  Get
+your own lawyer to draw it up and make him trustee.  You can sign it
+when the purchase has gone through.  I'll trust you, Joe.  What stock
+have you got that gives four and a half per cent.?"
+
+"Midland"
+
+"That'll do.  You needn't sell."
+
+"Yes, but who are these people?"
+
+"Woman and her children I want to do a good turn to."  What a face
+the fellow had made!  "Afraid of being connected with a woman, Joe?"
+
+"Yes, you may laugh--I am afraid of being connected with someone
+else's woman.  I don't like it--I don't like it at all.  I've not led
+your life, Sylvanus."
+
+"Lucky for you; you'd have been dead long ago.  Tell your lawyer it's
+an old flame of yours--you old dog!"
+
+"Yes, there it is at once, you see.  I might be subject to
+blackmail."
+
+"Tell him to keep it dark, and just pay over the income, quarterly."
+
+"I don't like it, Sylvanus--I don't like it."
+
+"Then leave it, and be hanged to you.  Have a cigar?"
+
+"You know I never smoke.  Is there no other way?"
+
+"Yes.  Sell stock in London, bank the proceeds there, and bring me
+six thousand pounds in notes.  I'll hold 'em till after the general
+meeting.  If the thing doesn't go through, I'll hand 'em back to
+you."
+
+"No; I like that even less."
+
+"Rather I trusted you, eh!"
+
+"No, not at all, Sylvanus, not at all.  But it's all playing round
+the law."
+
+"There's no law to prevent you doing what you like with your money.
+What I do's nothing to you.  And mind you, I'm taking nothing from
+it--not a mag.  You assist the widowed and the fatherless--just your
+line, Joe!"
+
+"What a fellow you are, Sylvanus; you don't seem capable of taking
+anything seriously."
+
+"Care killed the cat!"
+
+Left alone after this second interview he had thought: 'The beggar'll
+jump.'
+
+And the beggar had.  That settlement was drawn and only awaited
+signature.  The Board to-day had decided on the purchase; and all
+that remained was to get it ratified at the general meeting.  Let him
+but get that over, and this provision for his grandchildren made, and
+he would snap his fingers at Brownbee and his crew-the canting
+humbugs!  "Hope you have many years of this life before you!"  As if
+they cared for anything but his money--their money rather!  And
+becoming conscious of the length of his reverie, he grasped the arms
+of his chair, heaved at his own bulk, in an effort to rise, growing
+redder and redder in face and neck.  It was one of the hundred things
+his doctor had told him not to do for fear of apoplexy, the humbug!
+Why didn't Farney or one of those young fellows come and help him up?
+To call out was undignified.  But was he to sit there all night?
+Three times he failed, and after each failure sat motionless again,
+crimson and exhausted; the fourth time he succeeded, and slowly made
+for the office.  Passing through, he stopped and said in his extinct
+voice:
+
+"You young gentlemen had forgotten me."
+
+"Mr. Farney said you didn't wish to be disturbed, sir."
+
+"Very good of him.  Give me my hat and coat."
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Thank you.  What time is it?"
+
+"Six o'clock, sir."
+
+"Tell Mr. Farney to come and see me tomorrow at noon, about my speech
+for the general meeting."
+
+"Yes, Sir."
+
+"Good-night to you."
+
+"Good-night, Sir."
+
+At his tortoise gait he passed between the office stools to the door,
+opened it feebly, and slowly vanished.
+
+Shutting the door behind him, a clerk said:
+
+"Poor old chairman!  He's on his last!"
+
+Another answered:
+
+"Gosh!  He's a tough old hulk.  He'll go down fightin'."
+
+
+
+
+2
+
+Issuing from the offices of "The Island Navigation Company," Sylvanus
+Heythorp moved towards the corner whence he always took tram to
+Sefton Park.  The crowded street had all that prosperous air of
+catching or missing something which characterises the town where
+London and New York and Dublin meet.  Old Heythorp had to cross to
+the far side, and he sallied forth without regard to traffic.  That
+snail-like passage had in it a touch of the sublime; the old man
+seemed saying: "Knock me down and be d---d to you--I'm not going to
+hurry."  His life was saved perhaps ten times a day by the British
+character at large, compounded of phlegm and a liking to take
+something under its protection.  The tram conductors on that line
+were especially used to him, never failing to catch him under the
+arms and heave him like a sack of coals, while with trembling hands
+he pulled hard at the rail and strap.
+
+"All right, sir?"
+
+"Thank you."
+
+He moved into the body of the tram, where somebody would always get
+up from kindness and the fear that he might sit down on them; and
+there he stayed motionless, his little eyes tight closed.  With his
+red face, tuft of white hairs above his square cleft block of shaven
+chin, and his big high-crowned bowler hat, which yet seemed too petty
+for his head with its thick hair--he looked like some kind of an idol
+dug up and decked out in gear a size too small.
+
+One of those voices of young men from public schools and exchanges
+where things are bought and sold, said:
+
+"How de do, Mr. Heythorp?"
+
+Old Heythorp opened his eyes.  That sleek cub, Joe Pillin's son!
+What a young pup-with his round eyes, and his round cheeks, and his
+little moustache, his fur coat, his spats, his diamond pin!
+
+"How's your father?"  he said.
+
+"Thanks, rather below par, worryin' about his ships.  Suppose you
+haven't any news for him, sir?"
+
+Old Heythorp nodded.  The young man was one of his pet abominations,
+embodying all the complacent, little-headed mediocrity of this new
+generation; natty fellows all turned out of the same mould, sippers
+and tasters, chaps without drive or capacity, without even vices; and
+he did not intend to gratify the cub's curiosity.
+
+"Come to my house," he said; "I'll give you a note for him."
+
+"Tha-anks; I'd like to cheer the old man up."
+
+The old man!  Cheeky brat!  And closing his eyes he relapsed into
+immobility.  The tram wound and ground its upward way, and he mused.
+When he was that cub's age--twenty-eight or whatever it might be--he
+had done most things; been up Vesuvius, driven four-in-hand, lost his
+last penny on the Derby and won it back on the Oaks, known all the
+dancers and operatic stars of the day, fought a duel with a Yankee at
+Dieppe and winged him for saying through his confounded nose that Old
+England was played out; been a controlling voice already in his
+shipping firm; drunk five other of the best men in London under the
+table; broken his neck steeple-chasing; shot a burglar in the legs;
+been nearly drowned, for a bet; killed snipe in Chelsea; been to
+Court for his sins; stared a ghost out of countenance; and travelled
+with a lady of Spain.  If this young pup had done the last, it would
+be all he had; and yet, no doubt, he would call himself a "spark."
+
+The conductor touched his arm.
+
+"'Ere you are, sir."
+
+"Thank you."
+
+He lowered himself to the ground, and moved in the bluish darkness
+towards the gate of his daughter's house.  Bob Pillin walked beside
+him, thinking: 'Poor old josser, he is gettin' a back number!'  And
+he said: "I should have thought you ought to drive, sir.  My old
+guv'nor would knock up at once if he went about at night like this."
+
+The answer rumbled out into the misty air:
+
+"Your father's got no chest; never had."
+
+Bob Pillin gave vent to one of those fat cackles which come so
+readily from a certain type of man; and old Heythorp thought:
+
+'Laughing at his father!  Parrot!'
+
+They had reached the porch.
+
+A woman with dark hair and a thin, straight face and figure was
+arranging some flowers in the hall.  She turned and said:
+
+"You really ought not to be so late, Father!  It's wicked at this
+time of year.  Who is it--oh!  Mr. Pillin, how do you do?  Have you
+had tea?  Won't you come to the drawing-room; or do you want to see
+my father?"
+
+"Tha-anks!  I believe your father--"  And he thought: 'By Jove! the
+old chap is a caution!'  For old Heythorp was crossing the hall
+without having paid the faintest attention to his daughter.
+Murmuring again:
+
+"Tha-anks awfully; he wants to give me something," he followed.  Miss
+Heythorp was not his style at all; he had a kind of dread of that
+thin woman who looked as if she could never be unbuttoned.  They said
+she was a great churchgoer and all that sort of thing.
+
+In his sanctum old Heythorp had moved to his writing-table, and was
+evidently anxious to sit down.
+
+"Shall I give you a hand, sir?"
+
+Receiving a shake of the head, Bob Pillin stood by the fire and
+watched.  The old "sport" liked to paddle his own canoe.  Fancy
+having to lower yourself into a chair like that!  When an old Johnny
+got to such a state it was really a mercy when he snuffed out, and
+made way for younger men.  How his Companies could go on putting up
+with such a fossil for chairman was a marvel!  The fossil rumbled and
+said in that almost inaudible voice:
+
+"I suppose you're beginning to look forward to your father's shoes?"
+
+Bob Pillin's mouth opened.  The voice went on:
+
+"Dibs and no responsibility.  Tell him from me to drink port--add
+five years to his life."
+
+To this unwarranted attack Bob Pillin made no answer save a laugh; he
+perceived that a manservant had entered the room.
+
+"A Mrs. Larne, sir.  Will you see her?"
+
+At this announcement the old man seemed to try and start; then he
+nodded, and held out the note he had written.  Bob Pillin received it
+together with the impression of a murmur which sounded like: "Scratch
+a poll, Poll!"  and passing the fine figure of a woman in a fur coat,
+who seemed to warm the air as she went by, he was in the hall again
+before he perceived that he had left his hat.
+
+A young and pretty girl was standing on the bearskin before the fire,
+looking at him with round-eyed innocence.  He thought: 'This is
+better; I mustn't disturb them for my hat'; and approaching the fire,
+said:
+
+"Jolly cold, isn't it?"
+
+The girl smiled: "Yes-jolly."
+
+He noticed that she had a large bunch of violets at her breast, a lot
+of fair hair, a short straight nose, and round blue-grey eyes very
+frank and open.  "Er" he said, "I've left my hat in there."
+
+"What larks!"  And at her little clear laugh something moved within
+Bob Pillin.
+
+"You know this house well?"
+
+She shook her head.  "But it's rather scrummy, isn't it?"
+
+Bob Pillin, who had never yet thought so answered:
+
+"Quite O.K."
+
+The girl threw up her head to laugh again.  "O.K.?  What's that?"
+
+Bob Pillin saw her white round throat, and thought: 'She is a
+ripper!'  And he said with a certain desperation:
+
+"My name's Pillin.  Yours is Larne, isn't it?  Are you a relation
+here?"
+
+"He's our Guardy.  Isn't he a chook?"
+
+That rumbling whisper like "Scratch a Poll, Poll!"  recurring to Bob
+Pillin, he said with reservation:
+
+"You know him better than I do."  "Oh!  Aren't you his grandson, or
+something?"
+
+Bob Pillin did not cross himself.
+
+"Lord!  No!  My dad's an old friend of his; that's all."
+
+"Is your dad like him?"
+
+"Not much."
+
+"What a pity!  It would have been lovely if they'd been Tweedles."
+
+Bob Pillin thought: 'This bit is something new.  I wonder what her
+Christian name is.'  And he said:
+
+"What did your godfather and godmothers in your baptism---?"
+
+The girl laughed; she seemed to laugh at everything.
+
+"Phyllis."
+
+Could he say: "Is my only joy"?  Better keep it!  But-for what?  He
+wouldn't see her again if he didn't look out!  And he said:
+
+"I live at the last house in the park-the red one.  D'you know it?
+Where do you?"
+
+"Oh!  a long way--23, Millicent Villas.  It's a poky little house.  I
+hate it.  We have awful larks, though."
+
+"Who are we?"
+
+"Mother, and myself, and Jock--he's an awful boy.  You can't conceive
+what an awful boy he is.  He's got nearly red hair; I think he'll be
+just like Guardy when he gets old.  He's awful!"
+
+Bob Pillin murmured:
+
+"I should like to see him."
+
+"Would you?  I'll ask mother if you can.  You won't want to again; he
+goes off all the time like a squib."  She threw back her head, and
+again Bob Pillin felt a little giddy.  He collected himself, and
+drawled:
+
+"Are you going in to see your Guardy?"
+
+"No.  Mother's got something special to say.  We've never been here
+before, you see.  Isn't he fun, though?"
+
+"Fun!"
+
+"I think he's the greatest lark; but he's awfully nice to me.  Jock
+calls him the last of the Stoic'uns."
+
+A voice called from old Heythorp's den:
+
+"Phyllis!"  It had a particular ring, that voice, as if coming from
+beautifully formed red lips, of which the lower one must curve the
+least bit over; it had, too, a caressing vitality, and a kind of warm
+falsity.
+
+The girl threw a laughing look back over her shoulder, and vanished
+through the door into the room.
+
+Bob Pillin remained with his back to the fire and his puppy round
+eyes fixed on the air that her figure had last occupied.  He was
+experiencing a sensation never felt before.  Those travels with a
+lady of Spain, charitably conceded him by old Heythorp, had so far
+satisfied the emotional side of this young man; they had stopped
+short at Brighton and Scarborough, and been preserved from even the
+slightest intrusion of love.  A calculated and hygienic career had
+caused no anxiety either to himself or his father; and this sudden
+swoop of something more than admiration gave him an uncomfortable
+choky feeling just above his high round collar, and in the temples a
+sort of buzzing--those first symptoms of chivalry.  A man of the
+world does not, however, succumb without a struggle; and if his hat
+had not been out of reach, who knows whether he would not have left
+the house hurriedly, saying to himself: "No, no, my boy; Millicent
+Villas is hardly your form, when your intentions are honourable"?
+For somehow that round and laughing face, bob of glistening hair,
+those wide-opened grey eyes refused to awaken the beginnings of other
+intentions--such is the effect of youth and innocence on even the
+steadiest young men.  With a kind of moral stammer, he was thinking:
+'Can I--dare I offer to see them to their tram?  Couldn't I even nip
+out and get the car round and send them home in it?  No, I might miss
+them--better stick it out here!  What a jolly laugh!  What a tipping
+face--strawberries and cream, hay, and all that!  Millicent Villas!'
+And he wrote it on his cuff.
+
+The door was opening; he heard that warm vibrating voice: "Come
+along, Phyllis!"--the girl's laugh so high and fresh: "Right-o!
+Coming!"  And with, perhaps, the first real tremor he had ever known,
+he crossed to the front door.  All the more chivalrous to escort them
+to the tram without a hat!  And suddenly he heard: "I've got your
+hat, young man!"  And her mother's voice, warm, and simulating shock:
+"Phyllis, you awful gairl!  Did you ever see such an awful gairl;
+Mr.---"
+
+"Pillin, Mother."
+
+And then--he did not quite know how--insulated from the January air
+by laughter and the scent of fur and violets, he was between them
+walking to their tram.  It was like an experience out of the "Arabian
+Nights," or something of that sort, an intoxication which made one
+say one was going their way, though one would have to come all the
+way back in the same beastly tram.  Nothing so warming had ever
+happened to him as sitting between them on that drive, so that he
+forgot the note in his pocket, and his desire to relieve the anxiety
+of the "old man," his father.  At the tram's terminus they all got
+out.  There issued a purr of invitation to come and see them some
+time; a clear: "Jock'll love to see you!"  A low laugh: "You awful
+gairl!"  And a flash of cunning zigzagged across his brain.  Taking
+off his hat, he said:
+
+"Thanks awfully; rather!" and put his foot back on the step of the
+tram.  Thus did he delicately expose the depths of his chivalry!
+
+"Oh!  you said you were going our way!  What one-ers you do tell!
+Oh!"  The words were as music; the sight of those eyes growing
+rounder, the most perfect he had ever seen; and Mrs. Larne's low
+laugh, so warm yet so preoccupied, and the tips of the girl's fingers
+waving back above her head.  He heaved a sigh, and knew no more till
+he was seated at his club before a bottle of champagne.  Home!  Not
+he!  He wished to drink and dream.  "The old man" would get his news
+all right to-morrow!
+
+
+
+
+3
+
+The words: "A Mrs. Larne to see you, sir," had been of a nature to
+astonish weaker nerves.  What had brought her here?  She knew she
+mustn't come!  Old Heythorp had watched her entrance with cynical
+amusement.  The way she whiffed herself at that young pup in passing,
+the way her eyes slid round!  He had a very just appreciation of his
+son's widow; and a smile settled deep between his chin tuft and his
+moustache.  She lifted his hand, kissed it, pressed it to her
+splendid bust, and said:
+
+"So here I am at last, you see.  Aren't you surprised?"
+
+Old Heythorp, shook his head.
+
+"I really had to come and see you, Guardy; we haven't had a sight of
+you for such an age.  And in this awful weather!  How are you, dear
+old Guardy?"
+
+"Never better."  And, watching her green-grey eyes, he added:
+
+"Haven't a penny for you!"
+
+Her face did not fall; she gave her feather-laugh.
+
+"How dreadful of you to think I came for that!  But I am in an awful
+fix, Guardy."
+
+"Never knew you not to be."
+
+"Just let me tell you, dear; it'll be some relief.  I'm having the
+most terrible time."
+
+She sank into a low chair, disengaging an overpowering scent of
+violets, while melancholy struggled to subdue her face and body.
+
+"The most awful fix.  I expect to be sold up any moment.  We may be
+on the streets to-morrow.  I daren't tell the children; they're so
+happy, poor darlings.  I shall be obliged to take Jock away from
+school.  And Phyllis will have to stop her piano and dancing; it's an
+absolute crisis.  And all due to those Midland Syndicate people.
+I've been counting on at least two hundred for my new story, and the
+wretches have refused it."
+
+With a tiny handkerchief she removed one tear from the corner of one
+eye.  "It is hard, Guardy; I worked my brain silly over that story."
+
+>From old Heythorp came a mutter which sounded suspiciously like:
+
+"Rats!"
+
+Heaving a sigh, which conveyed nothing but the generosity of her
+breathing apparatus, Mrs. Larne went on:
+
+"You couldn't, I suppose, let me have just one hundred?"
+
+"Not a bob."
+
+She sighed again, her eyes slid round the room; then in her warm
+voice she murmured:
+
+"Guardy, you were my dear Philip's father, weren't you?  I've never
+said anything; but of course you were.  He was so like you, and so is
+Jock."
+
+Nothing moved in old Heythorp's face.  No pagan image consulted with
+flowers and song and sacrifice could have returned less answer.  Her
+dear Philip!  She had led him the devil of a life, or he was a
+Dutchman!  And what the deuce made her suddenly trot out the skeleton
+like this?  But Mrs. Larne's eyes were still wandering.
+
+"What a lovely house!  You know, I think you ought to help me,
+Guardy.  Just imagine if your grandchildren were thrown out into the
+street!"
+
+The old man grinned.  He was not going to deny his relationship--it
+was her look-out, not his.  But neither was he going to let her rush
+him.
+
+"And they will be; you couldn't look on and see it.  Do come to my
+rescue this once.  You really might do something for them."
+
+With a rumbling sigh he answered:
+
+"Wait.  Can't give you a penny now.  Poor as a church mouse."
+
+"Oh!  Guardy
+
+"Fact."
+
+Mrs. Larne heaved one of her most buoyant sighs.  She certainly did
+not believe him.
+
+"Well!" she said; "you'll be sorry when we come round one night and
+sing for pennies under your window.  Wouldn't you like to see
+Phyllis?  I left her in the hall.  She's growing such a sweet gairl.
+Guardy just fifty!"
+
+"Not a rap."
+
+Mrs. Larne threw up her hands.  "Well! You'll repent it.  I'm at my
+last gasp."  She sighed profoundly, and the perfume of violets
+escaped in a cloud; Then, getting up, she went to the door and
+called: "Phyllis!"
+
+When the girl entered old Heythorp felt the nearest approach to a
+flutter of the heart for many years.  She had put her hair up!  She
+was like a spring day in January; such a relief from that scented
+humbug, her mother.  Pleasant the touch of her lips on his forehead,
+the sound of her clear voice, the sight of her slim movements, the
+feeling that she did him credit--clean-run stock, she and that young
+scamp Jock--better than the holy woman, his daughter Adela, would
+produce if anyone were ever fool enough to marry her, or that
+pragmatical fellow, his son Ernest.
+
+And when they were gone he reflected with added zest on the six
+thousand pounds he was getting for them out of Joe Pillin and his
+ships.  He would have to pitch it strong in his speech at the general
+meeting.  With freights so low, there was bound to be opposition.  No
+dash nowadays; nothing but gabby caution!  They were a scrim-shanking
+lot on the Board--he had had to pull them round one by one--the deuce
+of a tug getting this thing through!  And yet, the business was sound
+enough.  Those ships would earn money, properly handled-good money
+
+His valet, coming in to prepare him for dinner, found him asleep.  He
+had for the old man as much admiration as may be felt for one who
+cannot put his own trousers on.  He would say to the housemaid Molly:
+"He's a game old blighter--must have been a rare one in his day.
+Cocks his hat at you, even now, I see!"  To which the girl, Irish and
+pretty, would reply: "Well, an' sure I don't mind, if it gives um a
+pleasure.  'Tis better anyway than the sad eye I get from herself."
+
+At dinner, old Heythorp always sat at one end of the rosewood table
+and his daughter at the other.  It was the eminent moment of the day.
+With napkin tucked high into his waistcoat, he gave himself to the
+meal with passion.  His palate was undimmed, his digestion
+unimpaired.  He could still eat as much as two men, and drink more
+than one.  And while he savoured each mouthful he never spoke if he
+could help it.  The holy woman had nothing to say that he cared to
+hear, and he nothing to say that she cared to listen to.  She had a
+horror, too, of what she called "the pleasures of the table"--those
+lusts of the flesh!  She was always longing to dock his grub, he
+knew.  Would see her further first!  What other pleasures were there
+at his age?  Let her wait till she was eighty.  But she never would
+be; too thin and holy!
+
+This evening, however, with the advent of the partridge she did
+speak.
+
+"Who were your visitors, Father?"
+
+Trust her for nosing anything out!  Fixing his little blue eyes on
+her, he mumbled with a very full mouth: "Ladies."
+
+"So I saw; what ladies?"
+
+He had a longing to say: 'Part of one of my families under the rose.'
+As a fact it was the best part of the only one, but the temptation to
+multiply exceedingly was almost overpowering.  He checked himself,
+however, and went on eating partridge, his secret irritation
+crimsoning his cheeks; and he watched her eyes, those cold precise
+and round grey eyes, noting it, and knew she was thinking: 'He eats
+too much.'
+
+She said: "Sorry I'm not considered fit to be told.  You ought not to
+be drinking hock."
+
+Old Heythorp took up the long green glass, drained it, and repressing
+fumes and emotion went on with his partridge.  His daughter pursed
+her lips, took a sip of water, and said:
+
+"I know their name is Larne, but it conveyed nothing to me; perhaps
+it's just as well."
+
+The old man, mastering a spasm, said with a grin:
+
+"My daughter-in-law and my granddaughter."
+
+"What!  Ernest married--Oh!  nonsense!"
+
+He chuckled, and shook his head.
+
+"Then do you mean to say, Father, that you were married before you
+married my mother?"
+
+"No."
+
+The expression on her face was as good as a play!
+
+She said with a sort of disgust: "Not married!  I see.  I suppose
+those people are hanging round your neck, then; no wonder you're
+always in difficulties.  Are there any more of them?"
+
+Again the old man suppressed that spasm, and the veins in his neck
+and forehead swelled alarmingly.  If he had spoken he would
+infallibly have choked.  He ceased eating, and putting his hands on
+the table tried to raise himself.  He could not and subsiding in his
+chair sat glaring at the stiff, quiet figure of his daughter.
+
+"Don't be silly, Father, and make a scene before Meller.  Finish your
+dinner."
+
+He did not answer.  He was not going to sit there to be dragooned and
+insulted!  His helplessness had never so weighed on him before.  It
+was like a revelation.  A log--that had to put up with anything!  A
+log!  And, waiting for his valet to return, he cunningly took up his
+fork.
+
+In that saintly voice of hers she said:
+
+"I suppose you don't realise that it's a shock to me.  I don't know
+what Ernest will think--"
+
+"Ernest be d---d."
+
+"I do wish, Father, you wouldn't swear."
+
+Old Heythorp's rage found vent in a sort of rumble.  How the devil
+had he gone on all these years in the same house with that woman,
+dining with her day after day!  But the servant had come back now,
+and putting down his fork he said:
+
+"Help me up!"
+
+The man paused, thunderstruck, with the souffle balanced.  To leave
+dinner unfinished--it was a portent!
+
+"Help me up!"
+
+"Mr. Heythorp's not very well, Meller; take his other arm."
+
+The old man shook off her hand.
+
+"I'm very well.  Help me up.  Dine in my own room in future."
+
+Raised to his feet, he walked slowly out; but in his sanctum he did
+not sit down, obsessed by this first overwhelming realisation of his
+helplessness.  He stood swaying a little, holding on to the table,
+till the servant, having finished serving dinner, brought in his
+port.
+
+"Are you waiting to sit down, sir?"
+
+He shook his head.  Hang it, he could do that for himself, anyway.
+He must think of something to fortify his position against that
+woman.  And he said:
+
+"Send me Molly!"
+
+"Yes, sir."  The man put down the port and went.
+
+Old Heythorp filled his glass, drank, and filled again.  He took a
+cigar from the box and lighted it.  The girl came in, a grey-eyed,
+dark-haired damsel, and stood with her hands folded, her head a
+little to one side, her lips a little parted.  The old man said:
+
+"You're a human being."
+
+"I would hope so, sirr."
+
+"I'm going to ask you something as a human being--not a servant--
+see?"
+
+"No, sirr; but I will be glad to do anything you like."
+
+"Then put your nose in here every now and then, to see if I want
+anything.  Meller goes out sometimes.  Don't say anything; Just put
+your nose in."
+
+"Oh!  an' I will; 'tis a pleasure 'twill be to do ut."
+
+He nodded, and when she had gone lowered himself into his chair with
+a sense of appeasement.  Pretty girl!  Comfort to see a pretty face-
+not a pale, peeky thing like Adela's.  His anger burned up anew.  So
+she counted on his helplessness, had begun to count on that, had she?
+She should see that there was life in the old dog yet!  And his
+sacrifice of the uneaten souffle, the still less eaten mushrooms, the
+peppermint sweet with which he usually concluded dinner, seemed to
+consecrate that purpose.  They all thought he was a hulk, without a
+shot left in the locker!  He had seen a couple of them at the Board
+that afternoon shrugging at each other, as though saying: 'Look at
+him!' And young Farney pitying him.  Pity, forsooth!  And that
+coarse-grained solicitor chap at the creditors' meeting curling his
+lip as much as to say: 'One foot in the grave!'  He had seen the
+clerks dowsing the glim of their grins; and that young pup Bob Pillin
+screwing up his supercilious mug over his dog-collar.  He knew that
+scented humbug Rosamund was getting scared that he'd drop off before
+she'd squeezed him dry.  And his valet was always looking him up and
+down queerly.  As to that holy woman--!  Not quite so fast!  Not
+quite so fast!  And filling his glass for the fourth time, he slowly
+sucked down the dark red fluid, with the "old boots" flavour which
+his soul loved, and, drawing deep at his cigar, closed his eyes.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+1
+
+The room in the hotel where the general meetings of "The Island
+Navigation Company" were held was nearly full when the secretary came
+through the door which as yet divided the shareholders from their
+directors.  Having surveyed their empty chairs, their ink and papers,
+and nodded to a shareholder or two, he stood, watch in hand,
+contemplating the congregation.  A thicker attendance than he had
+ever seen!  Due, no doubt, to the lower dividend, and this Pillin
+business.  And his tongue curled.  For if he had a natural contempt
+for his Board, with the exception of the chairman, he had a still
+more natural contempt for his shareholders.  Amusing spectacle when
+you came to think of it, a general meeting!  Unique!  Eighty or a
+hundred men, and five women, assembled through sheer devotion to
+their money.  Was any other function in the world so single-hearted.
+Church was nothing to it--so many motives were mingled there with
+devotion to one's soul.  A well-educated young man--reader of Anatole
+France, and other writers--he enjoyed ironic speculation.  What
+earthly good did they think they got by coming here?  Half-past two!
+He put his watch back into his pocket, and passed into the Board-
+room.
+
+There, the fumes of lunch and of a short preliminary meeting made
+cosy the February atmosphere.  By the fire four directors were
+conversing rather restlessly; the fifth was combing his beard; the
+chairman sat with eyes closed and red lips moving rhythmically in the
+sucking of a lozenge, the slips of his speech ready in his hand.  The
+secretary said in his cheerful voice: "Time, sir."
+
+Old Heythorp swallowed, lifted his arms, rose with help, and walked
+through to his place at the centre of the table.  The five directors
+followed.  And, standing at the chairman's right, the secretary read
+the minutes, forming the words precisely with his curling tongue.
+Then, assisting the chairman to his feet, he watched those rows of
+faces, and thought: 'Mistake to let them see he can't get up without
+help.  He ought to have let me read his speech--I wrote it.'
+
+The chairman began to speak:
+
+"It is my duty and my pleasure,' ladies and gentlemen, for the
+nineteenth consecutive year to present to you the directors' report
+and the accounts for the past twelve months.  You will all have had
+special notice of a measure of policy on which your Board has
+decided, and to which you will be asked to-day to give your
+adherence--to that I shall come at the end of my remarks...."
+
+"Excuse me, sir; we can't hear a word down here."
+
+'Ah!' thought the secretary, 'I was expecting that.'
+
+The chairman went on, undisturbed.  But several shareholders now
+rose, and the same speaker said testily: "We might as well go home.
+If the chairman's got no voice, can't somebody read for him?"
+
+The chairman took a sip of water, and resumed.  Almost all in the
+last six rows were now on their feet, and amid a hubbub of murmurs
+the chairman held out to the secretary the slips of his speech, and
+fell heavily back into his chair.
+
+The secretary re-read from the beginning; and as each sentence fell
+from his tongue, he thought: 'How good that is!'  'That's very
+clear!'  'A neat touch!'  'This is getting them.'  It seemed to him a
+pity they could not know it was all his composition.  When at last he
+came to the Pillin sale he paused for a second.
+
+"I come now to the measure of policy to which I made allusion at the
+beginning of my speech.  Your Board has decided to expand your
+enterprise by purchasing the entire fleet of Pillin & Co., Ltd.  By
+this transaction we become the owners of the four steamships Smyrna,
+Damascus, Tyre, and Sidon, vessels in prime condition with a total
+freight-carrying capacity of fifteen thousand tons, at the low
+inclusive price of sixty thousand pounds.  Gentlemen, de l'audace,
+toujours de l'audace!"--it was the chairman's phrase, his bit of the
+speech, and the secretary did it more than justice.  "Times are bad,
+but your Board is emphatically of the opinion that they are touching
+bottom; and this, in their view, is the psychological moment for a
+forward stroke.  They confidently recommend your adoption of their
+policy and the ratification of this purchase, which they believe
+will, in the not far distant future, substantially increase the
+profits of the Company."  The secretary sat down with reluctance.
+The speech should have continued with a number of appealing sentences
+which he had carefully prepared, but the chairman had cut them out
+with the simple comment: "They ought to be glad of the chance."  It
+was, in his view, an error.
+
+The director who had combed his beard now rose--a man of presence,
+who might be trusted to say nothing long and suavely.  While he was
+speaking the secretary was busy noting whence opposition was likely
+to come.  The majority were sitting owl-like-a good sign; but some
+dozen were studying their copies of the report, and three at least
+were making notes--Westgate, for, instance, who wanted to get on the
+Board, and was sure to make himself unpleasant--the time-honoured
+method of vinegar; and Batterson, who also desired to come on, and
+might be trusted to support the Board--the time-honoured method of
+oil; while, if one knew anything of human nature, the fellow who had
+complained that he might as well go home would have something
+uncomfortable to say.  The director finished his remarks, combed his
+beard with his fingers, and sat down.
+
+A momentary pause ensued.  Then Messieurs Westgate and Batterson rose
+together.  Seeing the chairman nod towards the latter, the secretary
+thought: 'Mistake!  He should have humoured Westgate by giving him
+precedence.'  But that was the worst of the old man, he had no notion
+of the suaviter in modo!  Mr. Batterson thus unchained--would like,
+if he might be so allowed, to congratulate the Board on having
+piloted their ship so smoothly through the troublous waters of the
+past year.  With their worthy chairman still at the helm, he had no
+doubt that in spite of the still low--he would not say falling-
+barometer, and the-er-unseasonable climacteric, they might rely on
+weathering the--er--he would not say storm.  He would confess that
+the present dividend of four per cent. was not one which satisfied
+every aspiration (Hear, hear!), but speaking for himself, and he
+hoped for others--and here Mr. Batterson looked round--he recognised
+that in all the circumstances it was as much as they had the right--
+er--to expect.  But following the bold but to his mind prudent
+development which the Board proposed to make, he thought that they
+might reasonably, if not sanguinely, anticipate a more golden future.
+("No, no!") A shareholder said, 'No, no!'  That might seem to
+indicate a certain lack of confidence in the special proposal before
+the meeting.  ("Yes!") From that lack of confidence he would like at
+once to dissociate himself.  Their chairman, a man of foresight and
+acumen, and valour proved on many a field and--er--sea, would not
+have committed himself to this policy without good reason.  In his
+opinion they were in safe hands, and he was glad to register his
+support of the measure proposed.  The chairman had well said in his
+speech: 'de l'audace, toujours de l'audace!'  Shareholders would
+agree with him that there could be no better motto for Englishmen.
+Ahem!
+
+Mr. Batterson sat down.  And Mr. Westgate rose: He wanted--he said--
+to know more, much more, about this proposition, which to his mind
+was of a very dubious wisdom....  'Ah!' thought the secretary, 'I
+told the old boy he must tell them more'....  To whom, for instance,
+had the proposal first been made?  To him!--the chairman said.  Good!
+But why were Pillins selling, if freights were to go up, as they were
+told?
+
+"Matter of opinion."
+
+"Quite so; and in my opinion they are going lower, and Pillins were
+right to sell.  It follows that we are wrong to buy."  ("Hear, hear!"
+"No, no!") "Pillins are shrewd people.  What does the chairman say?
+Nerves!  Does he mean to tell us that this sale was the result of
+nerves?"
+
+The chairman nodded.
+
+"That appears to me a somewhat fantastic theory; but I will leave
+that and confine myself to asking the grounds on which the chairman
+bases his confidence; in fact, what it is which is actuating the
+Board in pressing on us at such a time what I have no hesitation in
+stigmatising as a rash proposal.  In a word, I want light as well as
+leading in this matter."
+
+Mr. Westgate sat down.
+
+What would the chairman do now?  The situation was distinctly
+awkward--seeing his helplessness and the lukewarmness of the Board
+behind him.  And the secretary felt more strongly than ever the
+absurdity of his being an underling, he who in a few well-chosen
+words could so easily have twisted the meeting round his thumb.
+Suddenly he heard the long, rumbling sigh which preluded the
+chairman's speeches.
+
+"Has any other gentleman anything to say before I move the adoption
+of the report?"
+
+Phew!  That would put their backs up.  Yes, sure enough it had
+brought that fellow, who had said he might as well go home, to his
+feet!  Now for something nasty!
+
+"Mr. Westgate requires answering.  I don't like this business.  I
+don't impute anything to anybody; but it looks to me as if there were
+something behind it which the shareholders ought to be told.  Not
+only that; but, to speak frankly, I'm not satisfied to be ridden over
+roughshod in this fashion by one who, whatever he may have been in
+the past, is obviously not now in the prime of his faculties."
+
+With a gasp the secretary thought: 'I knew that was a plain-spoken
+man!'
+
+He heard again the rumbling beside him.  The chairman had gone
+crimson, his mouth was pursed, his little eyes were very blue.
+
+"Help me up," he said.
+
+The secretary helped him, and waited, rather breathless.
+
+The chairman took a sip of water, and his voice, unexpectedly loud,
+broke an ominous hush:
+
+"Never been so insulted in my life.  My best services have been at
+your disposal for nineteen years; you know what measure of success
+this Company has attained.  I am the oldest man here, and my
+experience of shipping is, I hope, a little greater than that of the
+two gentlemen who spoke last.  I have done my best for you, ladies
+and gentlemen, and we shall see whether you are going to endorse an
+indictment of my judgment and of my honour, if I am to take the last
+speaker seriously.  This purchase is for your good.  'There is a tide
+in the affairs of men'--and I for one am not content, never have
+been, to stagnate.  If that is what you want, however, by all means
+give your support to these gentlemen and have done with it.  I tell
+you freights will go up before the end of the year; the purchase is a
+sound one, more than a sound one--I, at any rate, stand or fall by
+it.  Refuse to ratify it, if you like; if you do, I shall resign."
+
+He sank back into his seat.  The secretary, stealing a glance,
+thought with a sort of enthusiasm: 'Bravo!  Who'd have thought he
+could rally his voice like that?  A good touch, too, that about his
+honour!  I believe he's knocked them.
+
+It's still dicky, though, if that fellow at the back gets up again;
+the old chap can't work that stop a second time.  'Ah! here was 'old
+Apple-pie' on his hind legs.  That was all right!
+
+"I do not hesitate to say that I am an old friend of the chairman; we
+are, many of us, old friends of the chairman, and it has been painful
+to me, and I doubt not to others, to hear an attack made on him.  If
+he is old in body, he is young in mental vigour and courage.  I wish
+we were all as young.  We ought to stand by him; I say, we ought to
+stand by him."  ("Hear, hear!  Hear, hear!") And the secretary
+thought: 'That's done it!' And he felt a sudden odd emotion, watching
+the chairman bobbing his body, like a wooden toy, at old Appleby; and
+old Appleby bobbing back.  Then, seeing a shareholder close to the
+door get up, thought: 'Who's that?  I know his face--Ah!  yes;
+Ventnor, the solicitor--he's one of the chairman's creditors that are
+coming again this afternoon.  What now?'
+
+"I can't agree that we ought to let sentiment interfere with our
+judgment in this matter.  The question is simply: How are our pockets
+going to be affected?  I came here with some misgivings, but the
+attitude of the chairman has been such as to remove them; and I shall
+support the proposition."  The secretary thought: 'That's all right--
+only, he said it rather queerly--rather queerly.'
+
+Then, after a long silence, the chairman, without rising, said:
+
+"I move the adoption of the report and accounts."
+
+"I second that."
+
+"Those in favour signify the same in the usual way.  Contrary?
+Carried."  The secretary noted the dissentients, six in number, and
+that Mr. Westgate did not vote.
+
+A quarter of an hour later he stood in the body of the emptying room
+supplying names to one of the gentlemen of the Press.  The
+passionless fellow said: "Haythorp, with an 'a'; oh!  an 'e'; he
+seems an old man.  Thank you.  I may have the slips?  Would you like
+to see a proof?  With an 'a' you said--oh!  an 'e.' Good afternoon!"
+And the secretary thought: 'Those fellows, what does go on inside
+them?  Fancy not knowing the old chairman by now!'...
+
+
+
+
+2
+
+Back in the proper office of "The Island Navigation Company" old
+Heythorp sat smoking a cigar and smiling like a purring cat.  He was
+dreaming a little of his triumph, sifting with his old brain, still
+subtle, the wheat from the chaff of the demurrers: Westgate--nothing
+in that--professional discontent till they silenced him with a place
+on the board--but not while be held the reins!  That chap at the
+back--an ill-conditioned fellow!  "Something behind!"  Suspicious
+brute!  There was something--but--hang it! they might think
+themselves lucky to get four ships at that price, and all due to him!
+It was on the last speaker that his mind dwelt with a doubt.  That
+fellow Ventnor, to whom he owed money--there had been something just
+a little queer about his tone--as much as to say, "I smell a rat."
+Well! one would see that at the creditors' meeting in half an hour.
+
+"Mr. Pillin, sir."
+
+"Show him in!"
+
+In a fur coat which seemed to extinguish his thin form, Joe Pillin
+entered.  It was snowing, and the cold had nipped and yellowed his
+meagre face between its slight grey whiskering.  He said thinly:
+
+"How are you, Sylvanus?  Aren't you perished in this cold?"
+
+"Warm as a toast.  Sit down.  Take off your coat."
+
+"Oh! I should be lost without it.  You must have a fire inside you.
+So-so it's gone through?"
+
+Old Heythorp nodded; and Joe Pillin, wandering like a spirit,
+scrutinised the shut door.  He came back to the table, and said in a
+low voice:
+
+"It's a great sacrifice."
+
+Old Heythorp smiled.
+
+"Have you signed the deed poll?"
+
+Producing a parchment from his pocket Joe Pillin unfolded it with
+caution to disclose his signature, and said:
+
+"I don't like it--it's irrevocable."
+
+A chuckle escaped old Heythorp.
+
+"As death."
+
+Joe Pillin's voice passed up into the treble clef.
+
+"I can't bear irrevocable things.  I consider you stampeded me,
+playing on my nerves."
+
+Examining the signatures old Heythorp murmured:
+
+"Tell your lawyer to lock it up.  He must think you a sad dog, Joe."
+
+"Ah!  Suppose on my death it comes to the knowledge of my wife!"
+
+"She won't be able to make it hotter for you than you'll be already."
+
+Joe Pillin replaced the deed within his coat, emitting a queer thin
+noise.  He simply could not bear joking on such subjects.
+
+"Well," he said, "you've got your way; you always do.  Who is this
+Mrs. Larne?  You oughtn't to keep me in the dark.  It seems my boy
+met her at your house.  You told me she didn't come there."
+
+Old Heythorp said with relish:
+
+"Her husband was my son by a woman I was fond of before I married;
+her children are my grandchildren.  You've provided for them.  Best
+thing you ever did."
+
+"I don't know--I don't know.  I'm sorry you told me.  It makes it all
+the more doubtful.  As soon as the transfer's complete, I shall get
+away abroad.  This cold's killing me.  I wish you'd give me your
+recipe for keeping warm."
+
+"Get a new inside."
+
+Joe Pillin regarded his old friend with a sort of yearning.  "And
+yet," he said, "I suppose, with your full-blooded habit, your life
+hangs by a thread, doesn't it?"
+
+"A stout one, my boy"
+
+"Well, good-bye, Sylvanus.  You're a Job's comforter; I must be
+getting home."  He put on his hat, and, lost in his fur coat, passed
+out into the corridor.  On the stairs he met a man who said:
+
+"How do you do, Mr. Pillin?  I know your son.  Been' seeing the
+chairman?  I see your sale's gone through all right.  I hope that'll
+do us some good, but I suppose you think the other way?"
+
+Peering at him from under his hat, Joe Pillin said:
+
+"Mr. Ventnor, I think?  Thank you!  It's very cold, isn't it?"  And,
+with that cautious remark, he passed on down.
+
+Alone again, old Heythorp thought: 'By George!  What a wavering,
+quavering, thread paper of a fellow!  What misery life must be to a
+chap like that!  He walks in fear--he wallows in it.  Poor devil!'
+And a curious feeling swelled his heart, of elation, of lightness
+such as he had not known for years.  Those two young things were safe
+now from penury-safe!  After dealing with those infernal creditors of
+his he would go round and have a look at the children.  With a
+hundred and twenty a year the boy could go into the Army--best place
+for a young scamp like that. The girl would go off like hot cakes, of
+course, but she needn't take the first calf that came along. As for
+their mother, she must look after herself; nothing under two thousand
+a year would keep her out of debt.  But trust her for wheedling and
+bluffing her way out of any scrape!  Watching his cigar-smoke curl
+and disperse he was conscious of the strain he had been under these
+last six weeks, aware suddenly of how greatly he had baulked at
+thought of to-day's general meeting. Yes!  It might have turned out
+nasty.  He knew well enough the forces on the Board, and off, who
+would be only too glad to shelve him.  If he were shelved here his
+other two Companies would be sure to follow suit, and bang would go
+every penny of his income--he would be a pauper dependant on that
+holy woman.  Well!  Safe now for another year if he could stave off
+these sharks once more.  It might be a harder job this time, but he
+was in luck--in luck, and it must hold.  And taking a luxurious pull
+at his cigar, he rang the handbell.
+
+"Bring 'em in here, Mr. Farney.  And let me have a cup of China tea
+as strong as you can make it."
+
+"Yes, sir.  Will you see the proof of the press report, or will you
+leave it to me?"
+
+"To you."
+
+"Yes, sir.  It was a good meeting, wasn't it?"
+
+Old Heythorp nodded.
+
+"Wonderful how your voice came back just at the right moment.  I was
+afraid things were going to be difficult.  The insult did it, I
+think.  It was a monstrous thing to say.  I could have punched his
+head."
+
+Again old Heythorp nodded; and, looking into the secretary's fine
+blue eyes, he repeated: "Bring 'em in."
+
+The lonely minute before the entrance of his creditors passed in the
+thought: 'So that's how it struck him!  Short shrift I should get if
+it came out.'
+
+The gentlemen, who numbered ten this time, bowed to their debtor,
+evidently wondering why the deuce they troubled to be polite to an
+old man who kept them out of their money.  Then, the secretary
+reappearing with a cup of China tea, they watched while their debtor
+drank it.  The feat was tremulous.  Would he get through without
+spilling it all down his front, or choking?  To those unaccustomed to
+his private life it was slightly miraculous.  He put the cup down
+empty, tremblingly removed some yellow drops from the little white
+tuft below his lip, refit his cigar, and said:
+
+"No use beating about the bush, gentlemen; I can offer you fourteen
+hundred a year so long as I live and hold my directorships, and not a
+penny more.  If you can't accept that, you must make me bankrupt and
+get about sixpence in the pound.  My qualifying shares will fetch a
+couple of thousand at market price.  I own nothing else.  The house I
+live in, and everything in it, barring my clothes, my wine, and my
+cigars, belong to my daughter under a settlement fifteen years old.
+My solicitors and bankers will give you every information.  That's
+the position in a nutshell."
+
+In spite of business habits the surprise of the ten gentlemen was
+only partially concealed.  A man who owed them so much would
+naturally say he owned nothing, but would he refer them to his
+solicitors and bankers unless he were telling the truth?  Then Mr.
+Ventnor said:
+
+"Will you submit your pass books?"
+
+"No, but I'll authorise my bankers to give you a full statement of my
+receipts for the last five years--longer, if you like."
+
+The strategic stroke of placing the ten gentlemen round the Board
+table had made it impossible for them to consult freely without being
+overheard, but the low-voiced transference of thought travelling
+round was summed up at last by Mr. Brownbee.
+
+"We think, Mr. Heythorp, that your fees and dividends should enable
+you to set aside for us a larger sum.  Sixteen hundred, in fact, is
+what we think you should give us yearly.  Representing, as we do,
+sixteen thousand pounds, the prospect is not cheering, but we hope
+you have some good years before you yet.  We understand your income
+to be two thousand pounds."
+
+Old Heythorp shook his head.  "Nineteen hundred and thirty pounds in
+a good year.  Must eat and drink; must have a man to look after me
+not as active as I was.  Can't do on less than five hundred pounds.
+Fourteen hundred's all I can give you, gentlemen; it's an advance of
+two hundred pounds.  That's my last word."
+
+The silence was broken by Mr. Ventnor.
+
+"And it's my last word that I'm not satisfied.  If these other
+gentlemen accept your proposition I shall be forced to consider what
+I can do on my own account."
+
+The old man stared at him, and answered:
+
+"Oh!  you will, sir; we shall see."
+
+The others had risen and were gathered in a knot at the end of the
+table; old Heythorp and Mr. Ventnor alone remained seated.  The old
+man's lower lip projected till the white hairs below stood out like
+bristles.  'You ugly dog,' he was thinking, 'you think you've got
+something up your sleeve.  Well, do your worst!'  The "ugly dog" rose
+abruptly and joined the others.  And old Heythorp closed his eyes,
+sitting perfectly still, with his cigar, which had gone out, sticking
+up between his teeth.  Mr. Brownbee turning to voice the decision
+come to, cleared his throat.
+
+"Mr. Heythorp," he said, "if your bankers and solicitors bear out
+your statements, we shall accept your offer faute de mieux, in
+consideration of your--" but meeting the old man's eyes, which said
+so very plainly: "Blow your consideration!" he ended with a stammer:
+"Perhaps you will kindly furnish us with the authorisation you spoke
+of?"
+
+Old Heythorp nodded, and Mr. Brownbee, with a little bow, clasped his
+hat to his breast and moved towards the door.  The nine gentlemen
+followed.  Mr. Ventnor, bringing up the rear, turned and looked back.
+But the old man's eyes were already closed again.
+
+The moment his creditors were gone, old Heythorp sounded the hand-
+bell.
+
+"Help me up, Mr. Farney.  That Ventnor--what's his holding?"
+
+"Quite small.  Only ten shares, I think."
+
+"Ah!  What time is it?"
+
+"Quarter to four, sir."
+
+"Get me a taxi."
+
+After visiting his bank and his solicitors he struggled once more
+into his cab and caused it to be driven towards Millicent Villas.  A
+kind of sleepy triumph permeated his whole being, bumped and shaken
+by the cab's rapid progress.  So!  He was free of those sharks now so
+long as he could hold on to his Companies; and he would still have a
+hundred a year or more to spare for Rosamund and her youngsters.  He
+could live on four hundred, or even three-fifty, without losing his
+independence, for there would be no standing life in that holy
+woman's house unless he could pay his own scot!  A good day's work!
+The best for many a long month!
+
+The cab stopped before the villa.
+
+
+
+
+3
+
+There are rooms which refuse to give away their owners, and rooms
+which seem to say: 'They really are like this.' Of such was Rosamund
+Larne's--a sort of permanent confession, seeming to remark to anyone
+who entered: 'Her taste?  Well, you can see--cheerful and exuberant;
+her habits--yes, she sits here all the morning in a dressing-gown,
+smoking cigarettes and dropping ink; kindly observe my carpet.
+Notice the piano--it has a look of coming and going, according to the
+exchequer.  This very deep-cushioned sofa is permanent, however; the
+water-colours on the walls are safe, too--they're by herself.  Mark
+the scent of mimosa--she likes flowers, and likes them strong.  No
+clock, of course.  Examine the bureau--she is obviously always
+ringing for "the drumstick," and saying: "Where's this, Ellen, and
+where's that?  You naughty gairl, you've been tidying."  Cast an eye
+on that pile of manuscript--she has evidently a genius for
+composition; it flows off her pen--like Shakespeare, she never blots
+a line.  See how she's had the electric light put in, instead of that
+horrid gas; but try and turn either of them on--you can't; last
+quarter isn't paid, of course; and she uses an oil lamp, you can tell
+that by the ceiling: The dog over there, who will not answer to the
+name of 'Carmen,' a Pekinese spaniel like a little Djin, all
+prominent eyes rolling their blacks, and no nose between--yes, Carmen
+looks as if she didn't know what was coming next; she's right--it's a
+pet-and-slap-again life!  Consider, too, the fittings of the tea-
+tray, rather soiled, though not quite tin, but I say unto you that no
+millionaire's in all its glory ever had a liqueur bottle on it.'
+
+When old Heythorp entered this room, which extended from back to
+front of the little house, preceded by the announcement "Mr.  Aesop,"
+it was resonant with a very clatter-bodandigo of noises, from Phyllis
+playing the Machiche; from the boy Jock on the hearthrug, emitting at
+short intervals the most piercing notes from an ocarina; from Mrs.
+Larne on the sofa, talking with her trailing volubility to Bob
+Pillin; from Bob Pillin muttering: "Ye-es!  Qui-ite!  Ye-es!" and
+gazing at Phyllis over his collar.  And, on the window-sill, as far
+as she could get from all this noise, the little dog Carmen was
+rolling her eyes.  At sight of their visitor Jock blew one rending
+screech, and bolting behind the sofa, placed his chin on its top, so
+that nothing but his round pink unmoving face was visible; and the
+dog Carmen tried to climb the blind cord.
+
+Encircled from behind by the arms of Phyllis, and preceded by the
+gracious perfumed bulk of Mrs. Larne, old Heythorp was escorted to
+the sofa.  It was low, and when he had plumped down into it, the boy
+Jock emitted a hollow groan.  Bob Pillin was the first to break the
+silence.
+
+"How are you, sir?  I hope it's gone through."
+
+Old Heythorp nodded.  His eyes were fixed on the liqueur, and Mrs.
+Larne murmured:
+
+"Guardy, you must try our new liqueur.  Jock, you awful boy, get up
+and bring Guardy a glass."
+
+The boy Jock approached the tea-table, took up a glass, put it to his
+eye and filled it rapidly.
+
+"You horrible boy, you could see that glass has been used."
+
+In a high round voice rather like an angel's, Jock answered:
+
+"All right, Mother; I'll get rid of it," and rapidly swallowing the
+yellow liquor, took up another glass.
+
+Mrs. Larne laughed.
+
+"What am I to do with him?"
+
+A loud shriek prevented a response.  Phyllis, who had taken her
+brother by the ear to lead him to the door, let him go to clasp her
+injured self.
+
+Bob Pillin went hastening towards her; and following the young man
+with her chin, Mrs. Larne said, smiling:
+
+"Aren't those children awful?  He's such a nice fellow.  We like him
+so much, Guardy."
+
+The old man grinned.  So she was making up to that young pup!
+Rosamund Larne, watching him, murmured:
+
+"Oh! Guardy, you're as bad as Jock.  He takes after you terribly.
+Look at the shape of his head.  Jock, come here!"  The innocent boy
+approached; with his girlish complexion, his flowery blue eyes, his
+perfect mouth, he stood before his mother like a large cherub.  And
+suddenly he blew his ocarina in a dreadful manner.  Mrs. Larne
+launched a box at his ears, and receiving the wind of it he fell
+prone.
+
+"That's the way he behaves.  Be off with you, you awful boy.  I want
+to talk to Guardy."
+
+The boy withdrew on his stomach, and sat against the wall cross-
+legged, fixing his innocent round eyes on old Heythorp.  Mrs. Larne
+sighed.
+
+"Things are worse and worse, Guardy.  I'm at my wits' end to tide
+over this quarter.  You wouldn't advance me a hundred on my new
+story?  I'm sure to get two for it in the end."
+
+The old man shook his head.
+
+"I've done something for you and the children," he said.  "You'll get
+notice of it in a day or two; ask no questions."
+
+"Oh!  Guardy!  Oh!  you dear!"  And her gaze rested on Bob Pillin,
+leaning over the piano, where Phyllis again sat.
+
+Old Heythorp snorted.  "What are you cultivating that young gaby for?
+She mustn't be grabbed up by any fool who comes along."
+
+Mrs. Larne murmured at once:
+
+"Of course, the dear gairl is much too young.  Phyllis, come and talk
+to Guardy!"
+
+When the girl was installed beside him on the sofa, and he had felt
+that little thrill of warmth the proximity of youth can bring, he
+said:
+
+"Been a good girl?"
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"Can't, when Jock's not at school.  Mother can't pay for him this
+term."
+
+Hearing his name, the boy Jock blew his ocarina till Mrs. Larne drove
+him from the room, and Phyllis went on:
+
+"He's more awful than anything you can think of.  Was my dad at all
+like him, Guardy?  Mother's always so mysterious about him.  I
+suppose you knew him well."
+
+Old Heythorp, incapable of confusion,  answered stolidly:
+
+"Not very."
+
+"Who was his father?  I don't believe even mother knows."
+
+"Man about town in my day."
+
+"Oh!  your day must have been jolly.  Did you wear peg-top trousers,
+and dundreary's?"
+
+Old Heythorp nodded.
+
+"What larks!  And I suppose you had lots of adventures with opera
+dancers and gambling.  The young men are all so good now."  Her eyes
+rested on Bob Pillin.  "That young man's a perfect stick of
+goodness."
+
+Old Heythorp grunted.
+
+"You wouldn't know how good he was," Phyllis went on musingly,
+"unless you'd sat next him in a tunnel.  The other day he had his
+waist squeezed and he simply sat still and did nothing.  And then
+when the tunnel ended, it was Jock after all, not me.  His face was--
+Oh!  ah!  ha!  ha!  Ah!  ha!"  She threw back her head, displaying
+all her white, round throat.  Then edging near, she whispered:
+
+"He likes to pretend, of course, that he's fearfully lively.  He's
+promised to take mother and me to the theatre and supper afterwards.
+Won't it be scrummy!  Only, I haven't anything to go in."
+
+Old Heythorp said: "What do you want?  Irish poplin?"
+
+Her mouth opened wide: "Oh!  Guardy!  Soft white satin!"
+
+"How many yards'll go round you?"
+
+"I should think about twelve.  We could make it ourselves.  You are a
+chook!"
+
+A scent of hair, like hay, enveloped him, her lips bobbed against his
+nose,--and there came a feeling in his heart as when he rolled the
+first sip of a special wine against his palate.  This little house
+was a rumty-too affair, her mother was a humbug, the boy a cheeky
+young rascal, but there was a warmth here he never felt in that big
+house which had been his wife's and was now his holy daughter's.  And
+once more he rejoiced at his day's work, and the success of his
+breach of trust, which put some little ground beneath these young
+feet, in a hard and unscrupulous world.  Phyllis whispered in his
+ear:
+
+"Guardy, do look; he will stare at me like that.  Isn't it awful--
+like a boiled rabbit?"
+
+Bob Pillin, attentive to Mrs. Larne, was gazing with all his might
+over her shoulder at the girl.  The young man was moonstruck, that
+was clear!  There was something almost touching in the stare of those
+puppy dog's eyes.  And he thought 'Young beggar--wish I were his
+age!'  The utter injustice of having an old and helpless body, when
+your desire for enjoyment was as great as ever!  They said a man was
+as old as he felt!  Fools!  A man was as old as his legs and arms,
+and not a  day younger.  He heard the girl beside him utter a
+discomfortable sound, and saw her face cloud as if tears were not far
+off; she jumped up, and going to the window, lifted the little dog
+and buried her face in its brown and white fur.  Old Heythorp
+thought: 'She sees that her humbugging mother is using her as a
+decoy.'  But she had come back, and the little dog, rolling its eyes
+horribly at the strange figure on the sofa, in a desperate effort to
+escape succeeded in reaching her shoulder, where it stayed perched
+like a cat, held by one paw and trying to back away into space.  Old
+Heythorp said abruptly:
+
+"Are you very fond of your mother?"
+
+"Of course I am, Guardy.  I adore her."
+
+"H'm!  Listen to me.  When you come of age or marry, you'll have a
+hundred and twenty a year of your own that you can't get rid of.
+Don't ever be persuaded into doing what you don't want.  And
+remember: Your mother's a sieve, no good giving her money; keep what
+you'll get for yourself--it's only a pittance, and you'll want it all
+--every penny."
+
+Phyllis's eyes had opened very wide; so that he wondered if she had
+taken in his words.
+
+"Oh!  Isn't money horrible, Guardy?"
+
+"The want of it."
+
+"No, it's beastly altogether.  If only we were like birds.  Or if one
+could put out a plate overnight, and have just enough in the morning
+to use during the day."
+
+Old Heythorp sighed.
+
+"There's only one thing in life that matters--independence.  Lose
+that, and you lose everything.  That's the value of money.  Help me
+up."
+
+Phyllis stretched out her hands, and the little dog, running down her
+back, resumed its perch on the window-sill, close to the blind cord.
+
+Once on his feet, old Heythorp said:
+
+"Give me a kiss.  You'll have your satin tomorrow."
+
+Then looking at Bob Pillin, he remarked:
+
+"Going my way?  I'll give you a lift."
+
+The young man, giving Phyllis one appealing look, answered dully:
+"Tha-anks!"  and they went out together to the taxi.  In that
+draughtless vehicle they sat, full of who knows what contempt of age
+for youth; and youth for age; the old man resenting this young pup's
+aspiration to his granddaughter; the young man annoyed that this old
+image had dragged him away before he wished to go.  Old Heythorp said
+at last:
+
+"Well?"
+
+Thus expected to say something, Bob Pillin muttered
+
+"Glad your meetin' went off well, sir.  You scored a triumph I should
+think."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Oh!  I don't know.  I thought you had a good bit of opposition to
+contend with."
+
+Old Heythorp looked at him.
+
+"Your grandmother!"  he said; then, with his habitual instinct of
+attack, added: "You make the most of your opportunities, I see."
+
+At this rude assault Bob Pillin's red-cheeked face assumed a certain
+dignity.  "I don't know what you mean, sir.  Mrs. Larne is very kind
+to me."
+
+"No doubt.  But don't try to pick the flowers."
+
+Thoroughly upset, Bob Pillin preserved a dogged silence.  This
+fortnight, since he had first met Phyllis in old Heythorp's hall, had
+been the most singular of his existence up to now.  He would never
+have believed that a fellow could be so quickly and completely
+bowled, could succumb without a kick, without even wanting to kick.
+To one with his philosophy of having a good time and never committing
+himself too far, it was in the nature of "a fair knock-out," and yet
+so pleasurable, except for the wear and tear about one's chances.  If
+only he knew how far the old boy really counted in the matter!  To
+say: "My intentions are strictly honourable" would be old-fashioned;
+besides--the old fellow might have no right to hear it.  They called
+him Guardy, but without knowing more he did not want to admit the old
+curmudgeon's right to interfere.
+
+"Are you a relation of theirs, sir?"
+
+Old Heythorp nodded.
+
+Bob Pillin went on with desperation:
+
+"I should like to know what your objection to me is."
+
+The old man turned his head so far as he was able; a grim smile
+bristled the hairs about his lips, and twinkled in his eyes.  What
+did he object to?  Why--everything!  Object to!  That sleek head,
+those puppy-dog eyes, fattish red cheeks, high collars, pearl pin,
+spats, and drawl-pah!  the imbecility, the smugness of his mug; no
+go, no devil in any of his sort, in any of these fish-veined,
+coddled-up young bloods, nothing but playing for safety!  And he
+wheezed out:
+
+"Milk and water masquerading as port wine."
+
+Bob Pillin frowned.
+
+It was almost too much for the composure even of a man of the world.
+That this paralytic old fellow should express contempt for his
+virility was really the last thing in jests.  Luckily he could not
+take it seriously.  But suddenly he thought: 'What if he really has
+the power to stop my going there, and means to turn them against me!'
+And his heart quailed.
+
+"Awfully sorry, sir," he said, "if you don't think I'm wild enough.
+Anything I can do for you in that line--"
+
+The old man grunted; and realising that he had been quite witty, Bob
+Pillin went on:
+
+"I know I'm not in debt, no entanglements, got a decent income,
+pretty good expectations and all that; but I can soon put that all
+right if I'm not fit without."
+
+It was perhaps his first attempt at irony, and he could not help
+thinking how good it was.
+
+But old Heythorp preserved a deadly silence.  He looked like a
+stuffed man, a regular Aunt Sally sitting there, with the fixed red
+in his cheeks, his stivered hair, square block of a body, and no neck
+that you could see-only wanting the pipe in his mouth!  Could there
+really be danger from such an old idol?  The idol spoke:
+
+"I'll give you a word of advice.  Don't hang round there, or you'll
+burn your fingers.  Remember me to your father.  Good-night!"
+
+The taxi had stopped before the house in Sefton Park.  An insensate
+impulse to remain seated and argue the point fought in Bob Pillin
+with an impulse to leap out, shake his fist in at the window, and
+walk off.  He merely said, however:
+
+"Thanks for the lift.  Good-night!"  And, getting out deliberately,
+he walked off.
+
+Old Heythorp, waiting for the driver to help him up, thought 'Fatter,
+but no more guts than his father!'
+
+In his sanctum he sank at once into his chair.  It was wonderfully
+still there every day at this hour; just the click of the coals, just
+the faintest ruffle from the wind in the trees of the park.  And it
+was cosily warm, only the fire lightening the darkness.  A drowsy
+beatitude pervaded the old man.  A good day's work!  A triumph--that
+young pup had said.  Yes!  Something of a triumph!  He had held on,
+and won.  And dinner to look forward to, yet.  A nap--a nap!  And
+soon, rhythmic, soft, sonorous, his breathing rose, with now and then
+that pathetic twitching of the old who dream.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+1
+
+When Bob Pillin emerged from the little front garden of 23, Millicent
+Villas ten days later, his sentiments were ravelled, and he could not
+get hold of an end to pull straight the stuff of his mind.
+
+He had found Mrs. Larne and Phyllis in the sitting-room, and Phyllis
+had been crying; he was sure she had been crying; and that memory
+still infected the sentiments evoked by later happenings.  Old
+Heythorp had said: "You'll burn your fingers."  The process had
+begun.  Having sent her daughter away on a pretext really a bit too
+thin, Mrs. Larne had installed him beside her scented bulk on the
+sofa, and poured into his ear such a tale of monetary woe and
+entanglement, such a mass of present difficulties and rosy prospects,
+that his brain still whirled, and only one thing emerged clearly-that
+she wanted fifty pounds, which she would repay him on quarter-day;
+for their Guardy had made a settlement by which, until the dear
+children came of age, she would have sixty pounds every quarter.  It
+was only a question of a few weeks; he might ask Messrs.  Scriven and
+Coles; they would tell him the security was quite safe.  He certainly
+might ask Messrs.  Scriven and Coles--they happened to be his
+father's solicitors; but it hardly seemed to touch the point.  Bob
+Pillin had a certain shrewd caution, and the point was whether he was
+going to begin to lend money to a woman who, he could see, might
+borrow up to seventy times seven on the strength of his infatuation
+for her daughter.  That was rather too strong!  Yet, if he didn't she
+might take a sudden dislike to him, and where would he be then?
+Besides, would not a loan make his position stronger?  And then--such
+is the effect of love even on the younger generation--that thought
+seemed to him unworthy.  If he lent at all, it should be from
+chivalry--ulterior motives might go hang!  And the memory of the
+tear-marks on Phyllis's pretty pale-pink cheeks; and her petulantly
+mournful: "Oh!  young man, isn't money beastly!" scraped his heart,
+and ravished his judgment.  All the same, fifty pounds was fifty
+pounds, and goodness knew how much more; and what did he know of Mrs.
+Larne, after all, except that she was a relative of old Heythorp's
+and wrote stories--told them too, if he was not mistaken?  Perhaps it
+would be better to see Scrivens'.  But again that absurd nobility
+assaulted him.  Phyllis!  Phyllis!  Besides, were not settlements
+always drawn so that they refused to form security for anything?
+Thus, hampered and troubled, he hailed a cab.  He was dining with the
+Ventnors on the Cheshire side, and would be late if he didn't get
+home sharp to dress.
+
+Driving, white-tied--and waist-coated, in his father's car, he
+thought with a certain contumely of the younger Ventnor girl, whom he
+had been wont to consider pretty before he knew Phyllis. And seated
+next her at dinner, he quite enjoyed his new sense of superiority to
+her charms, and the ease with which he could chaff and be agreeable.
+And all the time he suffered from the suppressed longing which
+scarcely ever left him now, to think and talk of Phyllis.  Ventnor's
+fizz was good and plentiful, his old Madeira absolutely first chop,
+and the only other man present a teetotal curate, who withdrew with
+the ladies to talk his parish shop.  Favoured by these circumstances,
+and the perception that Ventnor was an agreeable fellow, Bob Pillin
+yielded to his secret itch to get near the subject of his affections.
+
+"Do you happen," he said airily, "to know a Mrs. Larne--relative of
+old Heythorp's--rather a handsome woman-she writes stories."
+
+Mr. Ventnor shook his head.  A closer scrutiny than Bob Pillin's
+would have seen that he also moved his ears.
+
+"Of old Heythorp's?  Didn't know he had any, except his daughter, and
+that son of his in the Admiralty."
+
+Bob Pillin felt the glow of his secret hobby spreading within him.
+
+"She is, though--lives rather out of town; got a son and daughter.  I
+thought you might know her stories--clever woman."
+
+Mr. Ventnor smiled.  "Ah!" he said enigmatically, "these lady
+novelists!  Does she make any money by them?"
+
+Bob Pillin knew that to make money by writing meant success, but that
+not to make money by writing was artistic, and implied that you had
+private means, which perhaps was even more distinguished.  And he
+said:
+
+"Oh!  she has private means, I know."
+
+Mr. Ventnor reached for the Madeira.
+
+"So she's a relative of old Heythorp's," he said.  "He's a very old
+friend of your father's.  He ought to go bankrupt, you know."
+
+To Bob Pillin, glowing with passion and Madeira, the idea of
+bankruptcy seemed discreditable in connection with a relative of
+Phyllis.  Besides, the old boy was far from that!  Had he not just
+made this settlement on Mrs. Larne?  And he said:
+
+"I think you're mistaken.  That's of the past."
+
+Mr. Ventnor smiled.
+
+"Will you bet?"  he said.
+
+Bob Pillin also smiled.  "I should be bettin' on a certainty."
+
+Mr. Ventnor passed his hand over his whiskered face.  "Don't you
+believe it; he hasn't a mag to his name.  Fill your glass."
+
+Bob Pillin said, with a certain resentment:
+
+"Well, I happen to know he's just made a settlement of five or six
+thousand pounds.  Don't know if you call that being bankrupt."
+
+"What!  On this Mrs. Larne?"
+
+Confused, uncertain whether he had said something derogatory or
+indiscreet, or something which added distinction to Phyllis, Bob
+Pillin hesitated, then gave a nod.
+
+Mr. Ventnor rose and extended his short legs before the fire.
+
+"No, my boy," he said.  "No!"
+
+Unaccustomed to flat contradiction, Bob Pillin reddened.
+
+"I'll bet you a tenner.  Ask Scrivens."
+
+Mr. Ventnor ejaculated:
+
+"Scrivens---but they're not--" then, staring rather hard, he added:
+"I won't bet.  You may be right.  Scrivens are your father's
+solicitors too, aren't they?  Always been sorry he didn't come to me.
+Shall we join the ladies?"  And to the drawing-room he preceded a
+young man more uncertain in his mind than on his feet....
+
+Charles Ventnor was not one to let you see that more was going on
+within than met the eye.  But there was a good deal going on that
+evening, and after his conversation with young Bob he had occasion
+more than once to turn away and rub his hands together.  When, after
+that second creditors' meeting, he had walked down the stairway which
+led to the offices of "The Island Navigation Company," he had been
+deep in thought.  Short, squarely built, rather stout, with moustache
+and large mutton-chop whiskers of a red brown, and a faint floridity
+in face and dress, he impressed at first sight only by a certain
+truly British vulgarity.  One felt that here was a hail-fellow--well-
+met man who liked lunch and dinner, went to Scarborough for his
+summer holidays, sat on his wife, took his daughters out in a boat
+and was never sick.  One felt that he went to church every Sunday
+morning, looked upwards as he moved through life, disliked the
+unsuccessful, and expanded with his second glass of wine. But then a
+clear look into his well-clothed face and red-brown eyes would give
+the feeling: 'There's something fulvous here; he might be a bit too
+foxy.'  A third look brought the thought: 'He's certainly a bully.'
+He was not a large creditor of old Heythorp.  With interest on the
+original, he calculated his claim at three hundred pounds--unredeemed
+shares in that old Ecuador mine. But he had waited for his money
+eight years, and could never imagine how it came about that he had
+been induced to wait so long.  There had been, of course, for one who
+liked "big pots," a certain glamour about the personality of old
+Heythorp, still a bit of a swell in shipping circles, and a bit of an
+aristocrat in Liverpool.  But during the last year Charles Ventnor
+had realised that the old chap's star had definitely set--when that
+happens, of course, there is no more glamour, and the time has come
+to get your money.  Weakness in oneself and others is despicable!
+Besides, he had food for thought, and descending the stairs he chewed
+it: He smelt a rat--creatures for which both by nature and profession
+he had a nose.  Through Bob Pillin, on whom he sometimes dwelt in
+connection with his younger daughter, he knew that old Pillin and old
+Heythorp had been friends for thirty years and more.  That, to an
+astute mind, suggested something behind this sale.  The thought had
+already occurred to him when he read his copy of the report.  A
+commission would be a breach of trust, of course, but there were ways
+of doing things; the old chap was devilish hard pressed, and human
+nature was human nature!  His lawyerish mind habitually put two and
+two together.  The old fellow had deliberately appointed to meet his
+creditors again just after the general meeting which would decide the
+purchase--had said he might do something for them then.  Had that no
+significance?
+
+In these circumstances Charles Ventnor had come to the meeting with
+eyes wide open and mouth tight closed.  And he had watched.  It was
+certainly remarkable that such an old and feeble man, with no neck at
+all, who looked indeed as if he might go off with apoplexy any
+moment, should actually say that he "stood or fell" by this purchase,
+knowing that if he fell he would be a beggar.  Why should the old
+chap be so keen on getting it through?  It would do him personally no
+good, unless--Exactly!  He had left the meeting, therefore, secretly
+confident that old Heythorp had got something out of this transaction
+which would enable him to make a substantial proposal to his
+creditors.  So that when the old man had declared that he was going
+to make none, something had turned sour in his heart, and he had said
+to himself: "All right, you old rascal!  You don't know C. V."  The
+cavalier manner of that beggarly old rip, the defiant look of his
+deep little eyes, had put a polish on the rancour of one who prided
+himself on letting no man get the better of him.  All that evening,
+seated on one side of the fire, while Mrs. Ventnor sat on the other,
+and the younger daughter played Gounod's Serenade on the violin--he
+cogitated.  And now and again he smiled, but not too much.  He did
+not see his way as yet, but had little doubt that before long he
+would.  It would not be hard to knock that chipped old idol off his
+perch.  There was already a healthy feeling among the shareholders
+that he was past work and should be scrapped.  The old chap should
+find that Charles V. was not to be defied; that when he got his teeth
+into a thing, he did not let it go.  By hook or crook he would have
+the old man off his Boards, or his debt out of him as the price of
+leaving him alone.  His life or his money--and the old fellow should
+determine which.  With the memory of that defiance fresh within him,
+he almost hoped it might come to be the first, and turning to Mrs.
+Ventnor, he said abruptly:
+
+"Have a little dinner Friday week, and ask young Pillin and the
+curate."  He specified the curate, a tee-totaller, because he had two
+daughters, and males and females must be paired, but he intended to
+pack him off after dinner to the drawing-room to discuss parish
+matters while he and Bob Pillin sat over their wine.  What he
+expected to get out of the young man he did not as yet know.
+
+On the day of the dinner, before departing for the office, he had
+gone to his cellar.  Would three bottles of Perrier Jouet do the
+trick, or must he add one of the old Madeira?  He decided to be on
+the safe side.  A bottle or so of champagne went very little way with
+him personally, and young Pillin might be another.
+
+The Madeira having done its work by turning the conversation into
+such an admirable channel, he had cut it short for fear young Pillin
+might drink the lot or get wind of the rat.  And when his guests were
+gone, and his family had retired, he stood staring into the fire,
+putting together the pieces of the puzzle.  Five or six thousand
+pounds--six would be ten per cent. on sixty!  Exactly!  Scrivens--
+young Pillin had said!  But Crow & Donkin, not Scriven & Coles, were
+old Heythorp's solicitors.  What could that mean, save that the old
+man wanted to cover the tracks of a secret commission, and had
+handled the matter through solicitors who did not know the state of
+his affairs!  But why Pillin's solicitors?  With this sale just going
+through, it must look deuced fishy to them too.  Was it all a mare's
+nest, after all?  In such circumstances he himself would have taken
+the matter to a London firm who knew nothing of anybody.  Puzzled,
+therefore, and rather disheartened, feeling too that touch of liver
+which was wont to follow his old Madeira, he went up to bed and woke
+his wife to ask her why the dickens they couldn't always have soup
+like that!
+
+Next day he continued to brood over his puzzle, and no fresh light
+came; but having a matter on which his firm and Scrivens' were in
+touch, he decided to go over in person, and see if he could surprise
+something out of them.  Feeling, from experience, that any really
+delicate matter would only be entrusted to the most responsible
+member of the firm, he had asked to see Scriven himself, and just as
+he had taken his hat to go, he said casually:
+
+"By the way, you do some business for old Mr. Heythorp, don't you?"
+
+Scriven, raising his eyebrows a little, murmured: "Er--no," in
+exactly the tone Mr. Ventnor himself used when he wished to imply
+that though he didn't as a fact do business, he probably soon would.
+He knew therefore that the answer was a true one.  And non-plussed,
+he hazarded:
+
+"Oh!  I thought you did, in regard to a Mrs. Larne."
+
+This time he had certainly drawn blood of sorts, for down came
+Scriven's eyebrows, and he said:
+
+"Mrs. Larne--we know a Mrs. Larne, but not in that connection.  Why?"
+
+"Oh!  Young Pillin told me--"
+
+"Young Pillin?  Why, it's his---!"  A little pause, and then: "Old
+Mr. Heythorp's solicitors are Crow & Donkin, I believe."
+
+Mr. Ventnor held out his hand.  "Yes, yes," he said; "goodbye.  Glad
+to have got that matter settled up," and out he went, and down the
+street, important, smiling.  By George!  He had got it!  "It's his
+father"--Scriven had been going to say.  What a plant!  Exactly!  Oh!
+neat!  Old Pillin had made the settlement direct; and the solicitors
+were in the dark; that disposed of his difficulty about them.  No
+money had passed between old Pillin and old Heythorp not a penny.
+Oh!  neat!  But not neat enough for Charles Ventnor, who had that
+nose for rats.  Then his smile died, and with a little chill he
+perceived that it was all based on supposition--not quite good enough
+to go on!  What then?  Somehow he must see this Mrs. Larne, or
+better--old Pillin himself.  The point to ascertain was whether she
+had any connection of her own with Pillin.  Clearly young Pillin
+didn't know of it; for, according to him, old Heythorp had made the
+settlement.  By Jove!  That old rascal was deep--all the more
+satisfaction in proving that he was not as deep as C. V.  To unmask
+the old cheat was already beginning to seem in the nature of a public
+service.  But on what pretext could he visit Pillin?  A subscription
+to the Windeatt almshouses!  That would make him talk in self-defence
+and he would take care not to press the request to the actual point
+of getting a subscription.  He caused himself to be driven to the
+Pillin residence in Sefton Park.  Ushered into a room on the ground
+floor, heated in American fashion, Mr. Ventnor unbuttoned his coat.
+A man of sanguine constitution, he found this hot-house atmosphere a
+little trying.  And having sympathetically obtained Joe Pillin's
+reluctant refusal--Quite so!  One could not indefinitely extend one's
+subscriptions even for the best of causes!--he said gently:
+
+"By the way, you know Mrs. Larne, don't you?"
+
+The effect of that simple shot surpassed his highest hopes.  Joe
+Pillin's face, never highly coloured, turned a sort of grey; he
+opened his thin lips, shut them quickly, as birds do, and something
+seemed to pass with difficulty down his scraggy throat.  The hollows,
+which nerve exhaustion delves in the cheeks of men whose cheekbones
+are not high, increased alarmingly.  For a moment he looked deathly;
+then, moistening his lips, he said:
+
+"Larne--Larne?  No, I don't seem---"
+
+Mr. Ventnor, who had taken care to be drawing on his gloves,
+murmured:
+
+"Oh!  I thought--your son knows her; a relation of old Heythorp's,"
+and he looked up.
+
+Joe Pillin had his handkerchief to his mouth; he coughed feebly, then
+with more and more vigour:
+
+"I'm in very poor health," he said, at last.  "I'm getting abroad at
+once.  This cold's killing me.  What name did you say?"  And he
+remained with his handkerchief against his teeth.
+
+Mr. Ventnor repeated:
+
+"Larne.  Writes stories."
+
+Joe Pillin muttered into his handkerchief
+
+"Ali!  H'm!  No--I--no!  My son knows all sorts of people.  I shall
+have to try Mentone.  Are you going?  Good-bye!  Good-bye! I'm sorry;
+ah! ha!  My cough--ah! ha h'h'm!  Very distressing.  Ye-hes!  My
+cough-ah! ha h'h'm!  Most distressing.  Ye-hes!"
+
+Out in the drive Mr. Ventnor took a deep breath of the frosty air.
+Not much doubt now!  The two names had worked like charms.  This
+weakly old fellow would make a pretty witness, would simply crumple
+under cross-examination.  What a contrast to that hoary old sinner
+Heythorp, whose brazenness nothing could affect.  The rat was as
+large as life!  And the only point was how to make the best use of
+it.  Then--for his experience was wide--the possibility dawned on
+him, that after all, this Mrs. Larne might only have been old
+Pillin's mistress--or be his natural daughter, or have some other
+blackmailing hold on him.  Any such connection would account for his
+agitation, for his denying her, for his son's ignorance.  Only it
+wouldn't account for young Pillin's saying that old Heythorp had made
+the settlement.  He could only have got that from the woman herself.
+Still, to make absolutely sure, he had better try and see her.  But
+how?  It would never do to ask Bob Pillin for an introduction, after
+this interview with his father.  He would have to go on his own and
+chance it.  Wrote stories did she?  Perhaps a newspaper would know
+her address; or the Directory would give it--not a common name!  And,
+hot on the scent, he drove to a post office.  Yes, there it was,
+right enough!  "Larne, Mrs. R., 23, Millicent Villas."  And thinking
+to himself: 'No time like the present,' he turned in that direction.
+The job was delicate.  He must be careful not to do anything which
+might compromise his power of making public use of his knowledge.
+Yes-ticklish!  What he did now must have a proper legal bottom.
+Still, anyway you looked at it, he had a right to investigate a fraud
+on himself as a shareholder of "The Island Navigation Company," and a
+fraud on himself as a creditor of old Heythorp.  Quite!  But suppose
+this Mrs. Larne was really entangled with old Pillin, and the
+settlement a mere reward of virtue, easy or otherwise.  Well! in that
+case there'd be no secret commission to make public, and he needn't
+go further.  So that, in either event, he would be all right.  Only--
+how to introduce himself?  He might pretend he was a newspaper man
+wanting a story.  No, that wouldn't do!  He must not represent that
+he was what he was not, in case he had afterwards to justify his
+actions publicly, always a difficult thing, if you were not careful!
+At that moment there came into his mind a question Bob Pillin had
+asked the other night.  "By the way, you can't borrow on a
+settlement, can you?  Isn't there generally some clause against it?"
+Had this woman been trying to borrow from him on that settlement?
+But at this moment he reached the house, and got out of his cab still
+undecided as to how he was going to work the oracle.  Impudence,
+constitutional and professional, sustained him in saying to the
+little maid:
+
+"Mrs. Larne at home?  Say Mr. Charles Ventnor, will you?"
+
+His quick brown eyes took in the apparel of the passage which served
+for hall--the deep blue paper on the walls, lilac-patterned curtains
+over the doors, the well-known print of a nude young woman looking
+over her shoulder, and he thought: 'H'm!  Distinctly tasty!'  They
+noted, too, a small brown-and-white dog cowering in terror at the
+very end of the passage, and he murmured affably: "Fluffy!  Come
+here, Fluffy!" till Carmen's teeth chattered in her head.
+
+"Will you come in, sir?"
+
+Mr. Ventnor ran his hand over his whiskers, and, entering a room, was
+impressed at once by its air of domesticity.  On a sofa a handsome
+woman and a pretty young girl were surrounded by sewing apparatus and
+some white material.  The girl looked up, but the elder lady rose.
+
+Mr. Ventnor said easily
+
+"You know my young friend, Mr. Robert Pillin, I think."
+
+The lady, whose bulk and bloom struck him to the point of admiration,
+murmured in a full, sweet drawl:
+
+"Oh!  Ye-es.  Are you from Messrs. Scrivens?"
+
+With the swift reflection: 'As I thought!'  Mr. Ventnor answered:
+
+"Er--not exactly.  I am a solicitor though; came just to ask about a
+certain settlement that Mr. Pillin tells me you're entitled under."
+
+"Phyllis dear!"
+
+Seeing the girl about to rise from underneath the white stuff, Mr.
+Ventnor said quickly:
+
+"Pray don't disturb yourself--just a formality!"  It had struck him
+at once that the lady would have to speak the truth in the presence
+of this third party, and he went on: "Quite recent, I think.  This'll
+be your first interest-on six thousand pounds?  Is that right?"  And
+at the limpid assent of that rich, sweet voice, he thought: 'Fine
+woman; what eyes!'
+
+"Thank you; that's quite enough.  I can go to Scrivens for any
+detail.  Nice young fellow, Bob Pillin, isn't he?"  He saw the girl's
+chin tilt, and Mrs. Larne's full mouth curling in a smile.
+
+"Delightful young man; we're very fond of him."
+
+And he proceeded:
+
+"I'm quite an old friend of his; have you known him long?"
+
+"Oh! no.  How long, Phyllis, since we met him at Guardy's?  About a
+month.  But he's so unaffected--quite at home with us.  A nice
+fellow."
+
+Mr. Ventnor murmured:
+
+"Very different from his father, isn't he?"
+
+"Is he?  We don't know his father; he's a shipowner, I think."
+
+Mr. Ventnor rubbed his hands: "Ye-es," he said, "just giving up--a
+warm man.  Young Pillin's a lucky fellow--only son.  So you met him
+at old Mr. Heythorp's.  I know him too--relation of yours, I
+believe."
+
+"Our dear Guardy such a wonderful man."
+
+Mr. Ventnor echoed: "Wonderful--regular old Roman."
+
+"Oh! but he's so kind!"  Mrs. Larne lifted the white stuff: "Look
+what he's given this naughty gairl!"
+
+Mr. Ventnor murmured: "Charming! Charming!  Bob Pillin said, I think,
+that Mr. Heythorp was your settlor."
+
+One of those little clouds which visit the brows of women who have
+owed money in their time passed swiftly athwart Mrs. Larne's eyes.
+For a moment they seemed saying: 'Don't you want to know too much?'
+Then they slid from under it.
+
+"Won't you sit down?"  she said.  "You must forgive our being at
+work."
+
+Mr. Ventnor, who had need of sorting his impressions, shook his head.
+
+"Thank you; I must be getting on.  Then Messrs. Scriven can--a mere
+formality!  Goodbye!  Good-bye, Miss Larne.  I'm sure the dress will
+be most becoming."
+
+And with memories of a too clear look from the girl's eyes, of a warm
+firm pressure from the woman's hand, Mr. Ventnor backed towards the
+door and passed away just in time to avoid hearing in two voices:
+
+"What a nice lawyer!"
+
+"What a horrid man!"
+
+Back in his cab, he continued to rub his hands.  No, she didn't know
+old Pillin! That was certain; not from her words, but from her face.
+She wanted to know him, or about him, anyway.  She was trying to hook
+young Bob for that sprig of a girl--it was clear as mud.  H'm! it
+would astonish his young friend to hear that he had called.  Well,
+let it!  And a curious mixture of emotions beset Mr. Ventnor.  He saw
+the whole thing now so plainly, and really could not refrain from a
+certain admiration.  The law had been properly diddled!  There was
+nothing to prevent a man from settling money on a woman he had never
+seen; and so old Pillin's settlement could probably not be upset.
+But old Heythorp could.  It was neat, though, oh!  neat!  And that
+was a fine woman--remarkably!  He had a sort of feeling that if only
+the settlement had been in danger, it might have been worth while to
+have made a bargain--a woman like that could have made it worth
+while!  And he believed her quite capable of entertaining the
+proposition!  Her eye!  Pity--quite a pity!  Mrs. Ventnor was not a
+wife who satisfied every aspiration.  But alas! the settlement was
+safe.  This baulking of the sentiment of love, whipped up, if
+anything, the longing for justice in Mr. Ventnor.  That old chap
+should feel his teeth now.  As a piece of investigation it was not so
+bad--not so bad at all!  He had had a bit of luck, of course,--no,
+not luck--just that knack of doing the right thing at the right
+moment which marks a real genius for affairs.
+
+But getting into his train to return to Mrs. Ventnor, he thought: 'A
+woman like that would have been--!' And he sighed.
+
+
+
+
+2
+
+With a neatly written cheque for fifty pounds in his pocket Bob
+Pillin turned in at 23, Millicent Villas on the afternoon after Mr.
+Ventnor's visit.  Chivalry had won the day.  And he rang the bell
+with an elation which astonished him, for he knew he was doing a soft
+thing.
+
+"Mrs. Larne is out, sir; Miss Phyllis is at home."
+
+His heart leaped.
+
+"Oh-h!  I'm sorry.  I wonder if she'd see me?"
+
+The little maid answered
+
+"I think she's been washin' 'er'air, sir, but it may be dry be now.
+I'll see."
+
+Bob Pillin stood stock still beneath the young woman on the wall.  He
+could scarcely breathe.  If her hair were not dry--how awful!
+Suddenly he heard floating down a clear but smothered "Oh!
+Gefoozleme!"  and other words which he could not catch.  The little
+maid came running down.
+
+"Miss Phyllis says, sir, she'll be with you in a jiffy.  And I was to
+tell you that Master Jock is loose, sir."
+
+Bob Pillin answered "Tha-anks," and passed into the drawing-room.  He
+went to the bureau, took an envelope, enclosed the cheque, and
+addressing it: "Mrs. Larne," replaced it in his pocket.  Then he
+crossed over to the mirror.  Never till this last month had he really
+doubted his own face; but now he wanted for it things he had never
+wanted.  It had too much flesh and colour.  It did not reflect his
+passion.  This was a handicap.  With a narrow white piping round his
+waistcoat opening, and a buttonhole of tuberoses, he had tried to
+repair its deficiencies.  But do what he would, he was never easy
+about himself nowadays, never up to that pitch which could make him
+confident in her presence.  And until this month to lack confidence
+had never been his wont.  A clear, high, mocking voice said:
+
+"Oh-h!  Conceited young man!"
+
+And spinning round he saw Phyllis in the doorway.  Her light brown
+hair was fluffed out on her shoulders, so that he felt a kind of
+fainting-sweet sensation, and murmured inarticulately:
+
+"Oh!  I say--how jolly!"
+
+"Lawks!  It's awful!  Have you come to see mother?"
+
+Balanced between fear and daring, conscious of a scent of hay and
+verbena and camomile, Bob Pillin stammered:
+
+"Ye-es.  I--I'm glad she's not in, though."
+
+Her laugh seemed to him terribly unfeeling.
+
+"Oh!  oh!  Don't be foolish.  Sit down.  Isn't washing one's head
+awful?"
+
+Bob Pillin answered feebly:
+
+"Of course, I haven't much experience."
+
+Her mouth opened.
+
+"Oh!  You are--aren't you?"
+
+And he thought desperately: 'Dare I--oughtn't I--couldn't I somehow
+take'her hand or put my arm round her, or something?'  Instead, he
+sat very rigid at his end of the sofa, while she sat lax and lissom
+at the other, and one of those crises of paralysis which beset would-
+-be lovers fixed him to the soul.
+
+Sometimes during this last month memories of a past existence, when
+chaff and even kisses came readily to the lips, and girls were fair
+game, would make him think: 'Is she really such an innocent?  Doesn't
+she really want me to kiss her?'  Alas! such intrusions lasted but a
+moment before a blast of awe and chivalry withered them, and a
+strange and tragic delicacy--like nothing he had ever known--resumed
+its sway.  And suddenly he heard her say:
+
+"Why do you know such awful men?"
+
+"What?  I don't know any awful men."
+
+"Oh yes, you do; one came here yesterday; he had whiskers, and he was
+awful."
+
+"Whiskers?"  His soul revolted in disclaimer.  "I believe I only know
+one man with whiskers--a lawyer."
+
+"Yes--that was him; a perfectly horrid man.  Mother didn't mind him,
+but I thought he was a beast."
+
+"Ventnor!  Came here?  How d'you mean?"
+
+"He did; about some business of yours, too."  Her face had clouded
+over.  Bob Pillin had of late been harassed by the still-born
+beginning of a poem:
+
+         "I rode upon my way and saw
+          A maid who watched me from the door."
+
+It never grew longer, and was prompted by the feeling that her face
+was like an April day.  The cloud which came on it now was like an
+April cloud, as if a bright shower of rain must follow.  Brushing
+aside the two distressful lines, he said:
+
+"Look here, Miss Larne--Phyllis--look here!"
+
+"All right, I'm looking!"
+
+"What does it mean--how did he come?  What did he say?"
+
+She shook her head, and her hair quivered; the scent of camomile,
+verbena, hay was wafted; then looking at her lap, she muttered:
+
+"I wish you wouldn't--I wish mother wouldn't--I hate it.  Oh!  Money!
+Beastly--beastly!" and a tearful sigh shivered itself into Bob
+Pillin's reddening ears.
+
+"I say--don't!  And do tell me, because--"
+
+"Oh! you know."
+
+"I don't--I don't know anything at all.  I never---"
+
+Phyllis looked up at him.  "Don't tell fibs; you know mother's
+borrowing money from you, and it's hateful!"
+
+A desire to lie roundly, a sense of the cheque in his pocket, a
+feeling of injustice, the emotion of pity, and a confused and black
+astonishment about Ventnor, caused Bob Pillin to stammer:
+
+'Well, I'm d---d!" and to miss the look which Phyllis gave him
+through her lashes--a look saying:
+
+"Ah! that's better!"
+
+"I am d---d!  Look here!  D'you mean to say that Ventnor came here
+about my lending money?  I never said a word to him---"
+
+"There you see--you are lending!"
+
+He clutched his hair.
+
+"We've got to have this out," he added.
+
+"Not by the roots!  Oh! you do look funny.  I've never seen you with
+your hair untidy.  Oh! oh!"
+
+Bob Pillin rose and paced the room.  In the midst of his emotion he
+could not help seeing himself sidelong in the mirror; and on pretext
+of holding his head in both his hands, tried earnestly to restore his
+hair.  Then coming to a halt he said:
+
+"Suppose I am lending money to your mother, what does it matter?
+It's only till quarter-day.  Anybody might want money."
+
+Phyllis did not raise her face.
+
+"Why are you lending it?"
+
+"Because--because--why shouldn't I?"  and diving suddenly, he seized
+her hands.
+
+She wrenched them free; and with the emotion of despair, Bob Pillin
+took out the envelope.
+
+"If you like," he said, "I'll tear this up.  I don't want to lend it,
+if you don't want me to; but I thought--I thought--"  It was for her
+alone he had been going to lend this money!
+
+Phyllis murmured through her hair:
+
+"Yes!  You thought that I--that's what's so hateful!"
+
+Apprehension pierced his mind.
+
+"Oh!  I never--I swear I never--"
+
+"Yes, you did; you thought I wanted you to lend it."
+
+She jumped up, and brushed past him into the window.
+
+So she thought she was being used as a decoy!  That was awful--
+especially since it was true.  He knew well enough that Mrs. Larne
+was working his admiration for her daughter for all that it was
+worth.  And he said with simple fervour:
+
+"What rot!"  It produced no effect, and at his wits' end, he almost
+shouted: "Look, Phyllis!  If you don't want me to--here goes!"
+Phyllis turned.  Tearing the envelope across he threw the bits into
+the fire.  "There it is," he said.
+
+Her eyes grew round; she said in an awed voice: "Oh!"
+
+In a sort of agony of honesty he said:
+
+"It was only a cheque.  Now you've got your way."
+
+Staring at the fire she answered slowly:
+
+"I expect you'd better go before mother comes."
+
+Bob Pillin's mouth fell afar; he secretly agreed, but the idea of
+sacrificing a moment alone with her was intolerable, and he said
+hardily:
+
+"No, I shall stick it!"
+
+Phyllis sneezed.
+
+"My hair isn't a bit dry," and she sat down on the fender with her
+back to the fire.
+
+A certain spirituality had come into Bob Pillin's face.  If only he
+could get that wheeze off: "Phyllis is my only joy!" or even:
+"Phyllis--do you--won't you--mayn't I?"  But nothing came--nothing.
+
+And suddenly she said:
+
+"Oh! don't breathe so loud; it's awful!"
+
+"Breathe?  I wasn't!"
+
+"You were; just like Carmen when she's dreaming."
+
+He had walked three steps towards the door, before he thought: 'What
+does it matter?  I can stand anything from her; and walked the three
+steps back again.
+
+She said softly:
+
+"Poor young man!"
+
+He answered gloomily:
+
+"I suppose you realise that this may be the last time you'll see me?"
+
+"Why?  I thought you were going to take us to the theatre."
+
+"I don't know whether your mother will--after---"
+
+Phyllis gave a little clear laugh.
+
+"You don't know mother.  Nothing makes any difference to her."
+
+And Bob Pillin muttered:
+
+"I see."  He did not, but it was of no consequence.  Then the thought
+of Ventnor again ousted all others.  What on earth-how on earth!  He
+searched his mind for what he could possibly have said the other
+night.  Surely he had not asked him to do anything; certainly not
+given him their address.  There was something very odd about it that
+had jolly well got to be cleared up!  And he said:
+
+"Are you sure the name of that Johnny who came here yesterday was
+Ventnor?"
+
+Phyllis nodded.
+
+"And he was short, and had whiskers?"
+
+"Yes; red, and red eyes."
+
+He murmured reluctantly:
+
+"It must be him.  Jolly good cheek; I simply can't understand.  I
+shall go and see him.  How on earth did he know your address?"
+
+"I expect you gave it him."
+
+"I did not.  I won't have you thinking me a squirt."
+
+Phyllis jumped up.  "Oh!  Lawks!  Here's mother!"  Mrs. Larne was
+coming up the garden.  Bob Pillin made for the door.  "Good-bye," he
+said; "I'm going."  But Mrs. Larne was already in the hall.
+Enveloping him in fur and her rich personality, she drew him with her
+into the drawing-room, where the back window was open and Phyllis
+gone.
+
+"I hope," she said, "those naughty children have been making you
+comfortable.  That nice lawyer of yours came yesterday.  He seemed
+quite satisfied."
+
+Very red above his collar, Bob Pillin stammered:
+
+"I never told him to; he isn't my lawyer.  I don't know what it
+means."
+
+Mrs. Larne smiled.  "My dear boy, it's all right.  You needn't be so
+squeamish.  I want it to be quite on a business footing."
+
+Restraining a fearful inclination to blurt out: "It's not going to be
+on any footing!"  Bob Pillin mumbled: "I must go; I'm late."
+
+"And when will you be able---?"
+
+"Oh!  I'll--I'll send--I'll write.  Good-bye!"  And suddenly he found
+that Mrs. Larne had him by the lapel of his coat.  The scent of
+violets and fur was overpowering, and the thought flashed through
+him: 'I believe she only wanted to take money off old Joseph in the
+Bible.  I can't leave my coat in her hands!  What shall I do?'
+
+Mrs. Larne was murmuring:
+
+"It would be se sweet of you if you could manage it today"; and her
+hand slid over his chest.  "Oh!  You have brought your cheque-book--
+what a nice boy!"
+
+Bob Pillin took it out in desperation, and, sitting down at the
+bureau, wrote a cheque similar to that which he had torn and burned.
+A warm kiss lighted on his eyebrow, his head was pressed for a moment
+to a furry bosom; a hand took the cheque; a voice said: "How
+delightful!"  and a sigh immersed him in a bath of perfume.  Backing
+to the door, he gasped:
+
+"Don't mention it; and--and don't tell Phyllis, please.  Good-bye!"
+
+Once through the garden gate, he thought: 'By gum!  I've done it now.
+That Phyllis should know about it at all!  That beast Ventnor!'
+
+His face grew almost grim.  He would go and see what that meant
+anyway!
+
+
+
+
+3
+
+Mr. Ventnor had not left his office when his young friend's card was
+brought to him.  Tempted for a moment to deny his own presence, he
+thought: 'No!  What's the good?  Bound to see him some time!'  If he
+had not exactly courage, he had that peculiar blend of self-
+confidence and insensibility which must needs distinguish those who
+follow the law; nor did he ever forget that he was in the right.
+
+"Show him in!"  he said.
+
+He would be quite bland, but young Pillin might whistle for an
+explanation; he was still tormented, too, by the memory of rich
+curves and moving lips, and the possibilities of better
+acquaintanceship.
+
+While shaking the young man's hand his quick and fulvous eye detected
+at once the discomposure behind that mask of cheek and collar, and
+relapsing into one of those swivel chairs which give one an advantage
+over men more statically seated, he said:
+
+"You look pretty bobbish.  Anything I can do for you?"
+
+Bob Pillin, in the fixed chair of the consultor, nursed his bowler on
+his knee.
+
+"Well, yes, there is.  I've just been to see Mrs. Larne."
+
+Mr. Ventnor did not flinch.
+
+"Ah!  Nice woman; pretty daughter, too!"  And into those words he put
+a certain meaning.  He never waited to be bullied.  Bob Pillin felt
+the pressure of his blood increasing.
+
+"Look here, Ventnor," he said, "I want an explanation."
+
+"What of?"
+
+"Why, of your going there, and using my name, and God knows what."
+
+Mr. Ventnor gave his chair two little twiddles before he said
+
+"Well, you won't get it."
+
+Bob Pillin remained for a moment taken aback; then he muttered
+resolutely:
+
+"It's not the conduct of a gentleman."
+
+Every man has his illusions, and no man likes them disturbed.  The
+gingery tint underlying Mr. Ventnor's colouring overlaid it; even the
+whites of his eyes grew red."
+
+"Oh!"  he said; "indeed!  You mind your own business, will you?"
+
+"It is my business--very much so.  You made use of my name, and I
+don't choose---"
+
+"The devil you don't!  Now, I tell you what---"
+
+Mr. Ventnor leaned forward--"you'd better hold your tongue, and not
+exasperate me.  I'm a good-tempered man, but I won't stand your
+impudence."
+
+Clenching his bowler hat, and only kept in his seat by that sense of
+something behind, Bob Pillin ejaculated:
+
+"Impudence!  That's good--after what you did!  Look here, why did
+you?  It's so extraordinary!"
+
+Mr. Ventnor answered:
+
+"Oh! is it?  You wait a bit, my friend!"
+
+Still more moved by the mystery of this affair, Bob Pillin could only
+mutter:
+
+"I never gave you their address; we were only talking about old
+Heythorp."
+
+
+And at the smile which spread between Mr. Ventnor's whiskers, he
+jumped up, crying:
+
+"It's not the thing, and you're not going to put me off.  I insist on
+an explanation."
+
+Mr. Ventnor leaned back, crossing his stout legs, joining the tips of
+his thick fingers.  In this attitude he was always self-possessed.
+
+"You do--do you?"
+
+"Yes.  You must have had some reason."
+
+Mr. Ventnor gazed up at him.
+
+"I'll give you a piece of advice, young cock, and charge you nothing
+for it, too: Ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies.  And
+here's another: Go away before you forget yourself again."
+
+The natural stolidity of Bob Pilings face was only just proof against
+this speech.  He said thickly:
+
+"If you go there again and use my name, I'll Well, it's lucky for you
+you're not my age.  Anyway I'll relieve you of my acquaintanceship in
+future.  Good-evening!"  and he went to the door.  Mr. Ventnor had
+risen.
+
+"Very well," he said loudly.  "Good riddance!  You wait and see which
+boot the leg is on!"
+
+But Bob Pillin was gone, leaving the lawyer with a very red face, a
+very angry heart, and a vague sense of disorder in his speech.  Not
+only Bob Pillin, but his tender aspirations had all left him; he no
+longer dallied with the memory of Mrs. Larne, but like a man and a
+Briton thought only of how to get his own back, and punish evildoers.
+The atrocious words of his young friend, "It's not the conduct of a
+gentleman," festered in the heart of one who was made gentle not
+merely by nature but by Act of Parliament, and he registered a solemn
+vow to wipe the insult out, if not with blood, with verjuice.  It was
+his duty, and they should d---d well see him do it!
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+Sylvanus Heythorp seldom went to bed before one or rose before
+eleven.  The latter habit alone kept his valet from handing in the
+resignation which the former habit prompted almost every night.
+
+Propped on his pillows in a crimson dressing-gown, and freshly
+shaved, he looked more Roman than he ever did, except in his bath.
+Having disposed of coffee, he was wont to read his letters, and The
+Morning Post, for he had always been a Tory, and could not stomach
+paying a halfpenny for his news.  Not that there were many letters--
+when a man has reached the age of eighty, who should write to him,
+except to ask for money?
+
+It was Valentine's Day.  Through his bedroom window he could see the
+trees of the park, where the birds were in song, though he could not
+hear them.  He had never been interested in Nature--full-blooded men
+with short necks seldom are.
+
+This morning indeed there were two letters, and he opened that which
+smelt of something.  Inside was a thing like a Christmas card, save
+that the naked babe had in his hands a bow and arrow, and words
+coming out of his mouth: "To be your Valentine."  There was also a
+little pink note with one blue forget-me-not printed at the top.  It
+ran:
+
+"DEAREST GUARDY,--I'm sorry this is such a mangy little valentine; I
+couldn't go out to get it because I've got a beastly cold, so I asked
+Jock, and the pig bought this.  The satin is simply scrumptious.  If
+you don't come and see me in it some time soon, I shall come and show
+it to you.  I wish I had a moustache, because my top lip feels just
+like a matchbox, but it's rather ripping having breakfast in bed.
+Mr. Pillin's taking us to the theatre the day after to-morrow
+evening.  Isn't it nummy!  I'm going to have rum and honey for my
+cold.
+
+"Good-bye,
+"Your PHYLLIS."
+
+
+So this that quivered in his thick fingers, too insensitive to feel
+it, was a valentine for him!
+
+Forty years ago that young thing's grandmother had given him his
+last.  It made him out a very old chap!  Forty years ago!  Had that
+been himself living then?  And himself, who, as a youth came on the
+town in 'forty-five?  Not a thought, not a feeling the same!  They
+said you changed your body every seven years.  The mind with it, too,
+perhaps!  Well, he had come to the last of his bodies, now!  And that
+holy woman had been urging him to take it to Bath, with her face as
+long as a tea-tray, and some gammon from that doctor of his.  Too
+full a habit--dock his port--no alcohol--might go off in a coma any
+night!  Knock off not he!  Rather die any day than turn tee-totaller!
+When a man had nothing left in life except his dinner, his bottle,
+his cigar, and the dreams they gave him--these doctors forsooth must
+want to cut them off!  No, no!  Carpe diem! while you lived, get
+something out of it.  And now that he had made all the provision he
+could for those youngsters, his life was no good to any one but
+himself; and the sooner he went off the better, if he ceased to enjoy
+what there was left, or lost the power to say: "I'll do this and
+that, and you be jiggered!"  Keep a stiff lip until you crashed, and
+then go clean!  He sounded the bell beside him twice-for Molly, not
+his man.  And when the girl came in, and stood, pretty in her print
+frock, her fluffy over-fine dark hair escaping from under her cap, he
+gazed at her in silence.
+
+"Yes, sirr?"
+
+"Want to look at you, that's all."
+
+"Oh I an' I'm not tidy, sirr."
+
+"Never mind.  Had your valentine?"
+
+"No, sirr; who would send me one, then?"
+
+"Haven't you a young man?"
+
+"Well, I might.  But he's over in my country.
+
+"What d'you think of this?"
+
+He held out the little boy.
+
+The girl took the card and scrutinised it reverently; she said in a
+detached voice:
+
+"Indeed, an' ut's pretty, too."
+
+"Would you like it?"
+
+"Oh I if 'tis not taking ut from you."
+
+Old Heythorp shook his head, and pointed to the dressing-table.
+
+"Over there--you'll find a sovereign.  Little present for a good
+girl."
+
+She uttered a deep sigh.  "Oh!  sirr, 'tis too much; 'tis kingly."
+
+"Take it."
+
+She took it, and came back, her hands clasping the sovereign and the
+valentine, in an attitude as of prayer.
+
+The old man's gaze rested on her with satisfaction.
+
+"I like pretty faces--can't bear sour ones.  Tell Meller to get my
+bath ready."
+
+When she had gone he took up the other letter--some lawyer's writing,
+and opening it with the usual difficulty, read:
+
+"February 13, 1905.
+
+"SIR,--Certain facts having come to my knowledge, I deem it my duty
+to call a special meeting of the shareholders of 'The Island
+Navigation Coy.,' to consider circumstances in connection with the
+purchase of Mr. Joseph Pillin's fleet.  And I give you notice that at
+this meeting your conduct will be called in question.
+
+"I am, Sir,
+"Yours faithfully,
+
+"CHARLES VENTNOR.
+
+"SYLVANUS HEYTHORP, ESQ."
+
+
+Having read this missive, old Heythorp remained some minutes without
+stirring.  Ventnor!  That solicitor chap who had made himself
+unpleasant at the creditors' meetings!
+
+There are men whom a really bad bit of news at once stampedes out of
+all power of coherent thought and action, and men who at first simply
+do not take it in.  Old Heythorp took it in fast enough; coming from
+a lawyer it was about as nasty as it could be.  But, at once, with
+stoic wariness his old brain began casting round.  What did this
+fellow really know?  And what exactly could he do?  One thing was
+certain; even if he knew everything, he couldn't upset that
+settlement.  The youngsters were all right.  The old man grasped the
+fact that only his own position was at stake.  But this was enough in
+all conscience; a name which had been before the public fifty odd
+years--income, independence, more perhaps.  It would take little,
+seeing his age and feebleness, to make his Companies throw him over.
+But what had the fellow got hold of?  How decide whether or no to
+take notice; to let him do his worst, or try and get into touch with
+him?  And what was the fellow's motive?  He held ten shares!  That
+would never make a man take all this trouble, and over a purchase
+which was really first-rate business for the Company.  Yes!  His
+conscience was quite clean.  He had not betrayed his Company--on the
+contrary, had done it a good turn, got them four sound ships at a low
+price--against much opposition.  That he might have done the Company
+a better turn, and got the ships at fifty-four thousand, did not
+trouble him--the six thousand was a deuced sight better employed; and
+he had not pocketed a penny piece himself!  But the fellow's motive?
+Spite?  Looked like it.  Spite, because he had been disappointed of
+his money, and defied into the bargain!  H'm!  If that were so, he
+might still be got to blow cold again.  His eyes lighted on the pink
+note with the blue forget-me-not.  It marked as it were the high
+water mark of what was left to him of life; and this other letter in
+his hand-by Jove!  Low water mark!  And with a deep and rumbling sigh
+he thought: 'No, I'm not going to be beaten by this fellow.'
+
+"Your bath is ready, sir."
+
+Crumpling the two letters into the pocket of his dressing-gown, he
+said:
+
+"Help me up; and telephone to Mr. Farney to be good enough to come
+round." ....
+
+An hour later, when the secretary entered, his chairman was sitting
+by the fire perusing the articles of association.  And, waiting for
+him to look up, watching the articles shaking in that thick, feeble
+hand, the secretary had one of those moments of philosophy not too
+frequent with his kind.  Some said the only happy time of life was
+when you had no passions, nothing to hope and live for.  But did you
+really ever reach such a stage?  The old chairman, for instance,
+still had his passion for getting his own way, still had his
+prestige, and set a lot of store by it!  And he said:
+
+"Good morning, sir; I hope you're all right in this east wind.  The
+purchase is completed."
+
+"Best thing the company ever did.  Have you heard from a shareholder
+called Ventnor.  You know the man I mean?"
+
+"No, sir.  I haven't."
+
+"Well!  You may get a letter that'll make you open your eyes.  An
+impudent scoundrel!  Just write at my dictation."
+
+"February 14th, 1905.
+
+"CHARLES VENTNOR, Esq.
+
+"SIR,--I have your letter of yesterday's date, the contents of which
+I am at a loss to understand.  My solicitors will be instructed to
+take the necessary measures."
+
+'Phew What's all this about?' the secretary thought.
+
+"Yours truly...."
+
+"I'll sign."  And the shaky letters closed the page:
+
+"SYLVANUS HEYTHORP."
+
+
+"Post that as you go."
+
+"Anything else I can do for you, sir?"
+
+"Nothing, except to let me know if you hear from this fellow."
+
+When the secretary had gone the old man thought: 'So!  The ruffian
+hasn't called the meeting yet.  That'll bring him round here fast
+enough if it's his money he wants-blackmailing scoundrel!'
+
+"Mr. Pillin, sir; and will you wait lunch, or will you have it in the
+dining-room?"
+
+"In the dining-room."
+
+At sight of that death's-head of a fellow, old Heythorp felt a sort
+of pity.  He looked bad enough already--and this news would make him
+look worse.  Joe Pillin glanced round at the two closed doors.
+
+"How are you, Sylvanus?  I'm very poorly."  He came closer, and
+lowered his voice: "Why did you get me to make that settlement?  I
+must have been mad.  I've had a man called Ventnor--I didn't like his
+manner.  He asked me if I knew a Mrs. Larne."
+
+"Ha!  What did you say?"
+
+"What could I say?  I don't know her.  But why did he ask?"
+
+"Smells a rat."
+
+Joe Pillin grasped the edge of the table with both hands.
+
+"Oh!"  he murmured.  "Oh!  don't say that!"
+
+Old Heythorp held out to him the crumpled letter.
+
+When he had read it Joe Pillin sat down abruptly before the fire.
+
+"Pull yourself together, Joe; they can't touch you, and they can't
+upset either the purchase or the settlement.  They can upset me,
+that's all."
+
+Joe Pillin answered, with trembling lips:
+
+"How you can sit there, and look the same as ever!  Are you sure they
+can't touch me?"
+
+Old Heyworth nodded grimly.
+
+"They talk of an Act, but they haven't passed it yet.  They might
+prove a breach of trust against me.  But I'll diddle them.  Keep your
+pecker up, and get off abroad."
+
+"Yes, yes.  I must.  I'm very bad.  I was going to-morrow.  But I
+don't know, I'm sure, with this hanging over me.  My son knowing her
+makes it worse.  He picks up with everybody.  He knows this man
+Ventnor too.  And I daren't say anything to Bob.  What are you
+thinking of, Sylvanus?  You look very funny!"
+
+Old Heythorp seemed to rouse himself from a sort of coma.
+
+"I want my lunch," he said.  "Will you stop and have some?"
+
+Joe Pillin stammered out:
+
+"Lunch! I don't know when I shall eat again.  What are you going to
+do, Sylvanus?"
+
+"Bluff the beggar out of it."
+
+"But suppose you can't?"
+
+"Buy him off.  He's one--of my creditors."
+
+Joe Pillin stared at him afresh.  "You always had such nerve," he
+said yearningly.  "Do you ever wake up between two and four?  I do--
+and everything's black."
+
+"Put a good stiff nightcap on, my boy, before going to bed."
+
+"Yes; I sometimes wish I was less temperate.  But I couldn't stand
+it.  I'm told your doctor forbids you alcohol."
+
+"He does.  That's why I drink it."
+
+Joe Pillin, brooding over the fire, said: "This meeting--d'you think
+they mean to have it?  D'you think this man really knows?  If my name
+gets into the newspapers--" but encountering his old friend's deep
+little eyes, he stopped.  "So you advise me to get off to-morrow,
+then?"
+
+Old Heythorp nodded.
+
+"Your lunch is served, sir."
+
+Joe Pillin started violently, and rose.
+
+"Well, good-bye, Sylvanus-good-bye!  I don't suppose I shall be back
+till the summer, if I ever come back!"  He sank his voice: "I shall
+rely on you.  You won't let them, will you?"
+
+Old Heythorp lifted his hand, and Joe Pillin put into that swollen
+shaking paw his pale and spindly fingers.  "I wish I had your pluck,"
+he said sadly.  "Good-bye, Sylvanus," and turning, he passed out.
+
+Old Heythorp thought: 'Poor shaky chap.  All to pieces at the first
+shot!'  And, going to his lunch, ate more heavily than usual.
+
+
+
+
+2
+
+Mr. Ventnor, on reaching his office and opening his letters, found,
+as he had anticipated, one from "that old rascal."  Its contents
+excited in him the need to know his own mind.  Fortunately this was
+not complicated by a sense of dignity--he only had to consider the
+position with an eye on not being made to look a fool.  The point was
+simply whether he set more store by his money than by his desire for-
+-er--Justice.  If not, he had merely to convene the special meeting,
+and lay before it the plain fact that Mr. Joseph Pillin, selling his
+ships for sixty thousand pounds, had just made a settlement of six
+thousand pounds on a lady whom he did not know, a daughter, ward, or
+what-not--of the purchasing company's chairman, who had said,
+moreover, at the general meeting, that he stood or fell by the
+transaction; he had merely to do this, and demand that an explanation
+be required from the old man of such a startling coincidence.
+Convinced that no explanation would hold water, he felt sure that his
+action would be at once followed by the collapse, if nothing more, of
+that old image, and the infliction of a nasty slur on old Pillin and
+his hopeful son.  On the other hand, three hundred pounds was money;
+and, if old Heythorp were to say to him: "What do you want to make
+this fuss for--here's what I owe you!"  could a man of business and
+the world let his sense of justice--however he might itch to have it
+satisfied--stand in the way of what was after all also his sense of
+Justice?--for this money had been owing to him for the deuce of along
+time.  In this dilemma, the words:
+
+"My solicitors will be instructed" were of notable service in helping
+him to form a decision, for he had a certain dislike of other
+solicitors, and an intimate knowledge of the law of libel and
+slander; if by any remote chance there should be a slip between the
+cup and the lip, Charles Ventnor might be in the soup--a position
+which he deprecated both by nature and profession.  High thinking,
+therefore, decided him at last to answer thus:
+
+"February 19th, 1905.
+
+"SIR,--I have received your note.  I think it may be fair, before
+taking further steps in this matter, to ask you for a personal
+explanation of the circumstances to which I alluded.  I therefore
+propose with your permission to call on you at your private residence
+at five o'clock to-morrow afternoon.
+
+"Yours faithfully,
+
+"CHARLES VENTNOR.
+
+"SYLVANUS HEYTHORP, Esq."
+
+
+Having sent this missive, and arranged in his mind the damning, if
+circumstantial, evidence he had accumulated, he awaited the hour with
+confidence, for his nature was not lacking in the cock-surety of a
+Briton.  All the same, he dressed himself particularly well that
+morning, putting on a blue and white striped waistcoat which, with a
+cream-coloured tie, set off his fulvous whiskers and full blue eyes;
+and he lunched, if anything, more fully than his wont, eating a
+stronger cheese and taking a glass of special Club ale.  He took care
+to be late, too, to show the old fellow that his coming at all was in
+the nature of an act of grace.  A strong scent of hyacinths greeted
+him in the hall; and Mr. Ventnor, who was an amateur of flowers,
+stopped to put his nose into a fine bloom and think uncontrollably of
+Mrs. Larne.  Pity!  The things one had to give up in life--fine
+women--one thing and another.  Pity!  The thought inspired in him a
+timely anger; and he followed the servant, intending to stand no
+nonsense from this paralytic old rascal.
+
+The room he entered was lighted by a bright fire, and a single
+electric lamp with an orange shade on a table covered by a black
+satin cloth.  There were heavily gleaming oil paintings on the walls,
+a heavy old brass chandelier without candles, heavy dark red
+curtains, and an indefinable scent of burnt acorns, coffee, cigars,
+and old man.  He became conscious of a candescent spot on the far
+side of the hearth, where the light fell on old Heythorp's thick
+white hair.
+
+"Mr. Ventnor, sir."
+
+The candescent spot moved.  A voice said: "Sit down."
+
+Mr. Ventnor sat in an armchair on the opposite side of the fire; and,
+finding a kind of somnolence creeping over him, pinched himself.  He
+wanted all his wits about him.
+
+The old man was speaking in that extinct voice of his, and Mr.
+Ventnor said rather pettishly:
+
+"Beg pardon, I don't get you."
+
+Old Heythorp's voice swelled with sudden force:
+
+"Your letters are Greek to me."
+
+"Oh!  indeed, I think we can soon make them into plain English!"
+
+"Sooner the better."
+
+Mr. Ventnor passed through a moment of indecision.  Should he lay his
+cards on the table?  It was not his habit, and the proceeding was
+sometimes attended with risk.  The knowledge, however, that he could
+always take them up again, seeing there was no third person here to
+testify that he had laid them down, decided him, and he said:
+
+"Well, Mr. Heythorp, the long and short of the matter is this: Our
+friend Mr. Pillin paid you a commission of ten per cent. on the sale
+of his ships.  Oh! yes.  He settled the money, not on you, but on
+your relative Mrs. Larne and her children.  This, as you know, is a
+breach of trust on your part."
+
+The old man's voice: "Where did you get hold of that cock-and-bull
+story?"  brought him to his feet before the fire.
+
+"It won't do, Mr. Heythorp.  My witnesses are Mr. Pillin, Mrs. Larne,
+and Mr. Scriven."
+
+"What have you come here for, then--blackmail?"
+
+Mr. Ventnor straightened his waistcoat; a rush of conscious virtue
+had dyed his face.
+
+"Oh! you take that tone," he said, "do you?  You think you can ride
+roughshod over everything?  Well, you're very much mistaken.  I
+advise you to keep a civil tongue and consider your position, or I'll
+make a beggar of you.  I'm not sure this isn't a case for a
+prosecution!"
+
+"Gammon!"
+
+The choler in Charles Ventnor kept him silent for a moment; then he
+burst out:
+
+"Neither gammon nor spinach.  You owe me three hundred pounds, you've
+owed it me for years, and you have the impudence to take this
+attitude with me, have you?  Now, I never bluster; I say what I mean.
+You just listen to me.  Either you pay me what you owe me at once, or
+I call this meeting and make what I know public.  You'll very soon
+find out where you are.  And a good thing, too, for a more
+unscrupulous--unscrupulous---" he paused for breath.
+
+Occupied with his own emotion, he had not observed the change in old
+Heythorp's face.  The imperial on that lower lip was bristling, the
+crimson of those cheeks had spread to the roots of his white hair.
+He grasped the arms of his chair, trying to rise; his swollen hands
+trembled; a little saliva escaped one corner of his lips.  And the
+words came out as if shaken by his teeth:
+
+"So-so-you-you bully me!"
+
+Conscious that the interview had suddenly passed from the phase of
+negotiation, Mr. Ventnor looked hard at his opponent.  He saw nothing
+but a decrepit, passionate, crimson-faced old man at bay, and all the
+instincts of one with everything on his side boiled up in him.  The
+miserable old turkey-cock--the apoplectic image!  And he said:
+
+"And you'll do no good for yourself by getting into a passion.  At
+your age, and in your condition, I recommend a little prudence.  Now
+just take my terms quietly, or you know what'll happen.  I'm not to
+be intimidated by any of your airs."  And seeing that the old man's
+rage was such that he simply could not speak, he took the opportunity
+of going on: "I don't care two straws which you do--I'm out to show
+you who's master.  If you think in your dotage you can domineer any
+longer--well, you'll find two can play at that game.  Come, now,
+which are you going to do?"
+
+The old man had sunk back in his chair, and only his little deep-blue
+eyes seemed living.  Then he moved one hand, and Mr. Ventnor saw that
+he was fumbling to reach the button of an electric bell at the end of
+a cord.  'I'll show him,' he thought, and stepping forward, he put it
+out of reach.
+
+Thus frustrated, the old man remained-motionless, staring up.  The
+word "blackmail" resumed its buzzing in Mr. Ventnor's ears.  The
+impudence the consummate impudence of it from this fraudulent old
+ruffian with one foot in bankruptcy and one foot in the grave, if not
+in the dock.
+
+"Yes," he said, "it's never too late to learn; and for once you've
+come up against someone a leetle bit too much for you.  Haven't you
+now?  You'd better cry 'Peccavi.'"
+
+Then, in the deathly silence of the room, the moral force of his
+position, and the collapse as it seemed of his opponent, awakening a
+faint compunction, he took a turn over the Turkey carpet to readjust
+his mind.
+
+"You're an old man, and I don't want to be too hard on you.  I'm only
+showing you that you can't play fast and loose as if you were God
+Almighty any longer.  You've had your own way too many years.  And
+now you can't have it, see!"  Then, as the old man again moved
+forward in his chair, he added: "Now, don't get into a passion again;
+calm yourself, because I warn you--this is your last chance.  I'm a
+man of my word; and what I say, I do."
+
+By a violent and unsuspected effort the old man jerked himself up and
+reached the bell.  Mr. Ventnor heard it ring, and said sharply:
+
+"Mind you, it's nothing to me which you do.  I came for your own
+good.  Please yourself.  Well?"
+
+He was answered by the click of the door and the old man's husky
+voice:
+
+"Show this hound out!  And then come back!"
+
+Mr. Ventnor had presence of mind enough not to shake his fist.
+Muttering: "Very well, Mr. Heythorp!  Ah!  Very well!" he moved with
+dignity to the door.  The careful shepherding of the servant renewed
+the fire of his anger.  Hound!  He had been called a hound
+
+
+
+
+3
+
+After seeing Mr. Ventnor off the premises the man Meller returned to
+his master, whose face looked very odd--"all patchy-like," as he put
+it in the servants' hall, as though the blood driven to his head had
+mottled for good the snowy whiteness of the forehead.  He received
+the unexpected order:
+
+"Get me a hot bath ready, and put some pine stuff in it."
+
+When the old man was seated there, the valet asked:
+
+"How long shall I give you, sir?"
+
+"Twenty minutes."
+
+"Very good, sir."
+
+Lying in that steaming brown fragrant liquid, old Heythorp heaved a
+stertorous sigh.  By losing his temper with that ill-conditioned cur
+he had cooked his goose.  It was done to a turn; and he was a ruined
+man.  If only--oh! if only he could have seized the fellow by the
+neck and pitched him out of the room!  To have lived to be so spoken
+to; to have been unable to lift hand or foot, hardly even his voice--
+he would sooner have been dead!  Yes--sooner have been dead!  A dumb
+and measureless commotion was still at work in the recesses of that
+thick old body, silver-brown in the dark water, whose steam he drew
+deep into his wheezing lungs, as though for spiritual relief.  To be
+beaten by a cur like that!  To have that common cad of a pettifogging
+lawyer drag him down and kick him about; tumble a name which had
+stood high, in the dust!  The fellow had the power to make him a
+byword and a beggar!  It was incredible!  But it was a fact.  And to-
+morrow he would begin to do it--perhaps had begun already.  His tree
+had come down with a crash!  Eighty years-eighty good years!  He
+regretted none of them-regretted nothing; least of all this breach of
+trust which had provided for his grandchildren--one of the best
+things he had ever done.  The fellow was a cowardly hound, too!  The
+way he had snatched the bell-pull out of his reach-despicable cur!
+And a chap like that was to put "paid" to the account of Sylvanus
+Heythorp, to "scratch" him out of life--so near the end of
+everything, the very end!  His hand raised above the surface fell
+back on his stomach through the dark water, and a bubble or two rose.
+Not so fast--not so fast!  He had but to slip down a foot, let the
+water close over his head, and "Good-bye" to Master Ventnor's triumph
+Dead men could not be kicked off the Boards of Companies.  Dead men
+could not be beggared, deprived of their independence.  He smiled and
+stirred a little in the bath till the water reached the white hairs
+on his lower lip.  It smelt nice!  And he took a long sniff: He had
+had a good life, a good life!  And with the thought that he had it in
+his power at any moment to put Master Ventnor's nose out of joint--to
+beat the beggar after all, a sense of assuagement and well-being
+crept over him.  His blood ran more evenly again.  He closed his
+eyes.  They talked about an after-life--people like that holy woman.
+Gammon!  You went to sleep--a long sleep; no dreams.  A nap after
+dinner!  Dinner!  His tongue sought his palate!  Yes! he could eat a
+good dinner!  That dog hadn't put him off his stroke!  The best
+dinner he had ever eaten was the one he gave to Jack Herring,
+Chichester, Thornworthy, Nick Treffry and Jolyon Forsyte at Pole's.
+Good Lord!  In 'sixty--yes--'sixty-five?  Just before he fell in love
+with Alice Larne--ten years before he came to Liverpool.  That was a
+dinner!  Cost twenty-four pounds for the six of them--and Forsyte an
+absurdly moderate fellow.  Only Nick Treff'ry and himself had been
+three-bottle men!  Dead!  Every jack man of them.  And suddenly he
+thought: 'My name's a good one--I was never down before--never
+beaten!'
+
+A voice above the steam said:
+
+"The twenty minutes is up, sir."
+
+"All right; I'll get out.  Evening clothes."
+
+And Meller, taking out dress suit and shirt, thought: 'Now, what does
+the old bloomer want dressin' up again for; why can't he go to bed
+and have his dinner there?  When a man's like a baby, the cradle's
+the place for him.'....
+
+An hour later, at the scene of his encounter with Mr. Ventnor, where
+the table was already laid for dinner, old Heythorp stood and gazed.
+The curtains had been drawn back, the window thrown open to air the
+room, and he could see out there the shapes of the dark trees and a
+sky grape-coloured, in the mild, moist night.  It smelt good.  A
+sensuous feeling stirred in him, warm from his bath, clothed from
+head to foot in fresh garments.  Deuce of a time since he had dined
+in full fig!  He would have liked a woman dining opposite--but not
+the holy woman; no, by George!--would have liked to see light falling
+on a woman's shoulders once again, and a pair of bright eyes!  He
+crossed, snail-like, towards the fire.  There that bullying fellow
+had stood with his back to it--confound his impudence!--as if the
+place belonged to him.  And suddenly he had a vision of his three
+secretaries' faces--especially young Farney's as they would look,
+when the pack got him by the throat and pulled him down.  His co-
+directors, too! Old Heythorp!  How are the mighty fallen!  And that
+hound jubilant!
+
+His valet passed across the room to shut the window and draw the
+curtains.  This chap too!  The day he could no longer pay his wages,
+and had lost the power to say "Shan't want your services any more"--
+when he could no longer even pay his doctor for doing his best to
+kill him off!  Power, interest, independence, all--gone!  To be
+dressed and undressed, given pap, like a baby in arms, served as they
+chose to serve him, and wished out of the way--broken, dishonoured!
+
+By money alone an old man had his being!  Meat, drink, movement,
+breath!  When all his money was gone the holy woman would let him
+know it fast enough.  They would all let him know it; or if they
+didn't, it would be out of pity!  He had never been pitied yet--thank
+God!  And he said:
+
+"Get me up a bottle of Perrier Jouet.  What's the menu?"
+
+"Germane soup, sir; filly de sole; sweetbread; cutlet soubees, rum
+souffly."
+
+"Tell her to give me a hors d'oeuvre, and put on a savoury."
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+When the man had gone, he thought: 'I should have liked an oyster--
+too late now!' and going over to his bureau, he fumblingly pulled out
+the top drawer.  There was little in it--Just a few papers, business
+papers on his Companies, and a schedule of his debts; not even a copy
+of his will--he had not made one, nothing to leave!  Letters he had
+never kept.  Half a dozen bills, a few receipts, and the little pink
+note with the blue forget-me-not.  That was the lot!  An old tree
+gives up bearing leaves, and its roots dry up, before it comes down
+in a wind; an old man's world slowly falls away from him till he
+stands alone in the night.  Looking at the pink note, he thought:
+'Suppose I'd married Alice--a man never had a better mistress!'  He
+fumbled the drawer to; but still he strayed feebly about the room,
+with a curious shrinking from sitting down, legacy from the quarter
+of an hour he had been compelled to sit while that hound worried at
+his throat.  He was opposite one of the pictures now.  It gleamed,
+dark and oily, limning a Scots Grey who had mounted a wounded Russian
+on his horse, and was bringing him back prisoner from the Balaclava
+charge.  A very old friend--bought in 'fifty-nine.  It had hung in
+his chambers in the Albany--hung with him ever since.  With whom
+would it hang when he was gone?  For that holy woman would scrap it,
+to a certainty, and stick up some Crucifixion or other, some new-
+fangled high art thing!  She could even do that now if she liked--for
+she owned it, owned every mortal stick in the room, to the very glass
+he would drink his champagne from; all made over under the settlement
+fifteen years ago, before his last big gamble went wrong.  "De
+l'audace, toujours de l'audace!"  The gamble which had brought him
+down till his throat at last was at the mercy of a bullying hound.
+The pitcher and the well!  At the mercy---!  The sound of a popping
+cork dragged him from reverie.  He moved to his seat, back to the
+window, and sat down to his dinner.  By George!  They had got him an
+oyster!  And he said:
+
+"I've forgotten my teeth!"
+
+While the man was gone for them, he swallowed the oysters,
+methodically touching them one by one with cayenne, Chili vinegar,
+and lemon.  Ummm!  Not quite what they used to be at Pimm's in the
+best days, but not bad--not bad!  Then seeing the little blue bowl
+lying before him, he looked up and said:
+
+"My compliments to cook on the oysters.  Give me the champagne."  And
+he lifted his trembling teeth.  Thank God, he could still put 'em in
+for himself!  The creaming goldenish fluid from the napkined bottle
+slowly reached the brim of his glass, which had a hollow stem;
+raising it to his lips, very red between the white hairs above and
+below, he drank with a gurgling noise, and put the glass down-empty.
+Nectar!  And just cold enough!
+
+"I frapped it the least bit, sir."
+
+"Quite right.  What's that smell of flowers?"
+
+"It's from those 'yacinths on the sideboard, sir.  They come from
+Mrs. Larne, this afternoon."
+
+"Put 'em on the table.  Where's my daughter?"
+
+"She's had dinner, sir; goin' to a ball, I think."
+
+"A ball!"
+
+"Charity ball, I fancy, sir."
+
+"Ummm!  Give me a touch of the old sherry with the soup."
+
+"Yes, sir.  I shall have to open a bottle:"
+
+"Very well, then, do!"
+
+On his way to the cellar the man confided to Molly, who was carrying
+the soup:
+
+"The Gov'nor's going it to-night!  What he'll be like tomorrow I
+dunno."
+
+The girl answered softly:
+
+"Poor old man, let um have his pleasure."  And, in the hall, with the
+soup tureen against her bosom, she hummed above the steam, and
+thought of the ribbons on her new chemises, bought out of the
+sovereign he had given her.
+
+And old Heythorp, digesting his osyters, snuffed the scent of the
+hyacinths, and thought of the St. Germain, his favourite soup.  It
+would n't be first-rate, at this time of year--should be made with
+little young home-grown peas.  Paris was the place for it.  Ah!  The
+French were the fellows for eating, and--looking things in the face!
+Not hypocrites--not ashamed of their reason or their senses!
+
+The soup came in.  He sipped it, bending forward as far as he could,
+his napkin tucked in over his shirt-front like a bib.  He got the
+bouquet of that sherry to a T--his sense of smell was very keen to-
+night; rare old stuff it was--more than a year since he had tasted
+it--but no one drank sherry nowadays, hadn't the constitution for it!
+The fish came up, and went down; and with the sweetbread he took his
+second glass of champagne.  Always the best, that second glass--the
+stomach well warmed, and the palate not yet dulled.  Umm!  So that
+fellow thought he had him beaten, did he?  And he said suddenly:
+
+"The fur coat in the wardrobe, I've no use for it.  You can take it
+away to-night."
+
+With tempered gratitude the valet answered:
+
+"Thank you, sir; much obliged, I'm sure."  So the old buffer had
+found out there was moth in it!
+
+"Have I worried you much?"
+
+"No, sir; not at all, sir--that is, no more than reason."
+
+"Afraid I have.  Very sorry--can't help it.  You'll find that, when
+you get like me."
+
+"Yes, sir; I've always admired your pluck, sir.
+
+"Um!  Very good of you to say so."
+
+"Always think of you keepin' the flag flying', sir."
+
+Old Heythorp bent his body from the waist.
+
+"Much obliged to you."
+
+"Not at all, sir.  Cook's done a little spinach in cream with the
+soubees."
+
+"Ah!  Tell her from me it's a capital dinner, so far."
+
+"Thank you, sir."
+
+Alone again, old Heythorp sat unmoving, his brain just narcotically
+touched.  "The flag flyin'--the flag flyin'!"  He raised his glass
+and sucked.  He had an appetite now, and finished the three cutlets,
+and all the sauce and spinach.  Pity!  he could have managed a snipe
+fresh shot!  A desire to delay, to lengthen dinner, was strong upon
+him; there were but the souffle' and the savoury to come.  He would
+have enjoyed, too, someone to talk to.  He had always been fond of
+good company--been good company himself, or so they said--not that he
+had had a chance of late.  Even at the Boards they avoided talking to
+him, he had noticed for a long time.  Well!  that wouldn't trouble
+him again--he had sat through his last Board, no doubt.  They
+shouldn't kick him off, though; he wouldn't give them that pleasure--
+had seen the beggars hankering after his chairman's shoes too long.
+The souffle was before him now, and lifting his glass, he said:
+
+"Fill up."
+
+"These are the special glasses, sir; only four to the bottle."
+
+"Fill up."
+
+The servant filled, screwing up his mouth.
+
+Old Heythorp drank, and put the glass down empty with a sigh.  He had
+been faithful to his principles, finished the bottle before touching
+the sweet--a good bottle--of a good brand!  And now for the souffle!
+Delicious, flipped down with the old sherry!  So that holy woman was
+going to a ball, was she!  How deuced funny!  Who would dance with a
+dry stick like that, all eaten up with a piety which was just sexual
+disappointment?  Ah! yes, lots of women like that--had often noticed
+'em--pitied 'em too, until you had to do with them and they made you
+as unhappy as themselves, and were tyrants into the bargain.  And he
+asked:
+
+"What's the savoury?"
+
+"Cheese remmykin, sir."
+
+His favourite.
+
+"I'll have my port with it--the 'sixty-eight."  The man stood gazing
+with evident stupefaction.  He had not expected this.  The old man's
+face was very flushed, but that might be the bath.  He said feebly:
+
+"Are you sure you ought, sir?"
+
+"No, but I'm going to."
+
+"Would you mind if I spoke to Miss Heythorp, Sir?"
+
+"If you do, you can leave my service."
+
+"Well, Sir, I don't accept the responsibility."
+
+"Who asked you to?"
+
+"No, Sir...."
+
+"Well, get it, then; and don't be an ass."
+
+"Yes, Sir."  If the old man were not humoured he would have a fit,
+perhaps!
+
+And the old man sat quietly staring at the hyacinths.  He felt happy,
+his whole being lined and warmed and drowsed--and there was more to
+come!  What had the holy folk to give you compared with the comfort
+of a good dinner?  Could they make you dream, and see life rosy for a
+little?  No, they could only give you promissory notes which never
+would be cashed.  A man had nothing but his pluck--they only tried to
+undermine it, and make him squeal for help.  He could see his
+precious doctor throwing up his hands: "Port after a bottle of
+champagne--you'll die of it!"  And a very good death too--none
+better.  A sound broke the silence of the closed-up room.  Music?
+His daughter playing the piano overhead.  Singing too!  What a
+trickle of a voice!  Jenny Lind!  The Swedish nightingale--he had
+never missed the nights when she was singing--Jenny Lind!
+
+"It's very hot, sir.  Shall I take it out of the case?"
+
+Ah!  The ramequin!
+
+"Touch of butter, and the cayenne!"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+He ate it slowly, savouring each mouthful; had never tasted a better.
+With cheese--port!  He drank one glass, and said:
+
+"Help me to my chair."
+
+And settled there before the fire with decanter and glass and hand-
+bell on the little low table by his side, he murmured:
+
+"Bring coffee, and my cigar, in twenty minutes."
+
+To-night he would do justice to his wine, not smoking till he had
+finished.  As old Horace said:
+
+"Aequam memento rebus in arduis Servare mentem."
+
+And, raising his glass, he sipped slowly, spilling a drop or two,
+shutting his eyes.
+
+The faint silvery squealing of the holy woman in the room above, the
+scent of hyacinths, the drowse of the fire, on which a cedar log had
+just been laid, the feeling of the port soaking down into the
+crannies of his being, made up a momentary Paradise.  Then the music
+stopped; and no sound rose but the tiny groans of the log trying to
+resist the fire.  Dreamily he thought: 'Life wears you out--wears you
+out.  Logs on a fire!'  And he filled his glass again.  That fellow
+had been careless; there were dregs at the bottom of the decanter and
+he had got down to them!  Then, as the last drop from his tilted
+glass trickled into the white hairs on his chin, he heard the coffee
+tray put down, and taking his cigar he put it to his ear, rolling it
+in his thick fingers.  In prime condition!  And drawing a first
+whiff, he said:
+
+"Open that bottle of the old brandy in the sideboard."
+
+"Brandy, sir?  I really daren't, sir."
+
+"Are you my servant or not?"
+
+"Yes, sir, but---"
+
+A minute of silence, then the man went hastily to the sideboard, took
+out the bottle, and drew the cork.  The tide of crimson in the old
+man's face had frightened him.
+
+"Leave it there."
+
+The unfortunate valet placed the bottle on the little table.  'I'll
+have to tell her,' he thought; 'but if I take away the port decanter
+and the glass, it won't look so bad.' And, carrying them, he left the
+room.
+
+Slowly the old man drank his coffee, and the liqueur of brandy.  The
+whole gamut!  And watching his cigar-smoke wreathing blue in the
+orange glow, he smiled.  The last night to call his soul his own, the
+last night of his independence.  Send in his resignations to-morrow--
+not wait to be kicked off!  Not give that fellow a chance
+
+A voice which seemed to come from far off, said:
+
+"Father!  You're drinking brandy!  How can you--you know it's simple
+poison to you!"  A figure in white, scarcely actual, loomed up close.
+He took the bottle to fill up his liqueur glass, in defiance; but a
+hand in a long white glove, with another dangling from its wrist,
+pulled it away, shook it at him, and replaced it in the sideboard.
+And, just as when Mr. Ventnor stood there accusing him, a swelling
+and churning in his throat prevented him from speech; his lips moved,
+but only a little froth came forth.
+
+His daughter had approached again.  She stood quite close, in white
+satin, thin-faced, sallow, with eyebrows raised, and her dark hair
+frizzed--yes! frizzed--the holy woman!  With all his might he tried
+to say: 'So you bully me, do you--you bully me to-night!' but only
+the word "so" and a sort of whispering came forth.  He heard her
+speaking.  "It's no good your getting angry, Father.  After
+champagne--it's wicked!"  Then her form receded in a sort of rustling
+white mist; she was gone; and he heard the sputtering and growling of
+her taxi, bearing her to the ball.  So!  She tyrannised and bullied,
+even before she had him at her mercy, did she?  She should see!
+Anger had brightened his eyes; the room came clear again.  And slowly
+raising himself he sounded the bell twice, for the girl, not for that
+fellow Meller, who was in the plot.  As soon as her pretty black and
+white-aproned figure stood before him, he said:
+
+"Help me up."
+
+Twice her soft pulling was not enough, and he sank back.  The third
+time he struggled to his feet.
+
+"Thank you; that'll do."  Then, waiting till she was gone, he crossed
+the room, fumbled open the sideboard door, and took out the bottle.
+Reaching over the polished oak, he grasped a sherry glass; and
+holding the bottle with both hands, tipped the liquor into it, put it
+to his lips and sucked.  Drop by drop it passed over his palate mild,
+very old, old as himself, coloured like sunlight, fragrant.  To the
+last drop he drank it, then hugging the bottle to his shirt-front, he
+moved snail-like to his chair, and fell back into its depths.  For
+some minutes he remained there motionless, the bottle clasped to his
+chest, thinking: 'This is not the attitude of a gentleman.  I must
+put it down on the table-on the table;' but a thick cloud was between
+him and everything.  It was with his hands he would have to put the
+bottle on the table!  But he could not find his hands, could not feel
+them.  His mind see-sawed in strophe and antistrophe: "You can't
+move!"--"I will move!"  "You're beaten"--"I'm not beat."  "Give up"--
+"I won't."  That struggle to find his hands seemed to last for ever--
+he must find them!  After that--go down--all standing--after that!
+Everything round him was red.  Then the red cloud cleared just a
+little, and he could hear the clock--"tick-tick-tick"; a faint
+sensation spread from his shoulders down to his wrists, down his
+palms; and yes--he could feel the bottle!  He redoubled his struggle
+to get forward in his chair; to get forward and put the bottle down.
+It was not dignified like this!  One arm he could move now; but he
+could not grip the bottle nearly tight enough to put it down.
+Working his whole body forward, inch by inch, he shifted himself up
+in the chair till he could lean sideways, and the bottle, slipping
+down his chest, dropped slanting to the edge of the low stool-table.
+Then with all his might he screwed his trunk and arms an inch
+further, and the bottle stood.  He had done it--done it!  His lips
+twitched into a smile; his body sagged back to its old position.  He
+had done it!  And he closed his eyes ....
+
+At half-past eleven the girl Molly, opening the door, looked at him
+and said softly: "Sirr! there's some ladies, and a gentleman!"  But
+he did not answer.  And, still holding the door, she whispered out
+into the hall:
+
+"He's asleep, miss."
+
+A voice whispered back:
+
+"Oh!  Just let me go in, I won't wake him unless he does.  But I do
+want to show him my dress."
+
+The girl moved aside; and on tiptoe Phyllis passed in.  She walked to
+where, between the lamp-glow and the fire-glow, she was lighted up.
+White satin--her first low-cut dress--the flush of her first supper
+party--a gardenia at her breast, another in her fingers!  Oh!  what a
+pity he was asleep!  How red he looked!  How funnily old men
+breathed!  And mysteriously, as a child might, she whispered:
+
+"Guardy!"
+
+No answer!  And pouting, she stood twiddling the gardenia.  Then
+suddenly she thought: 'I'll put it in his buttonhole!  When he wakes
+up and sees it, how he'll jump!'
+
+And stealing close, she bent and slipped it in.  Two faces looked at
+her from round the door; she heard Bob Pillin's smothered chuckle;
+her mother's rich and feathery laugh.  Oh!  How red his forehead was!
+She touched it with her lips; skipped back, twirled round, danced
+silently a second, blew a kiss, and like quicksilver was gone.
+
+And the whispering, the chuckling, and one little out-pealing laugh
+rose in the hall.
+
+But the old man slept.  Nor until Meller came at his usual hour of
+half-past twelve, was it known that he would never wake.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE APPLE TREE
+
+
+              "The Apple-tree, the singing and the gold."
+               MURRAY'S "HIPPOLYTUS of EURIPIDES."
+
+In their silver-wedding day Ashurst and his wife were motoring along
+the outskirts of the moor, intending to crown the festival by
+stopping the night at Torquay, where they had first met.  This was
+the idea of Stella Ashurst, whose character contained a streak of
+sentiment.  If she had long lost the blue-eyed, flower-like charm,
+the cool slim purity of face and form, the apple-blossom colouring,
+which had so swiftly and so oddly affected Ashurst twenty-six years
+ago, she was still at forty-three a comely and faithful companion,
+whose cheeks were faintly mottled, and whose grey-blue eyes had
+acquired a certain fullness.
+
+It was she who had stopped the car where the common rose steeply to
+the left, and a narrow strip of larch and beech, with here and there
+a pine, stretched out towards the valley between the road and the
+first long high hill of the full moor.  She was looking for a place
+where they might lunch, for Ashurst never looked for anything; and
+this, between the golden furze and the feathery green larches
+smelling of lemons in the last sun of April--this, with a view into
+the deep valley and up to the long moor heights, seemed fitting to
+the decisive nature of one who sketched in water-colours, and loved
+romantic spots.  Grasping her paint box, she got out.
+
+"Won't this do, Frank?"
+
+Ashurst, rather like a bearded Schiller, grey in the wings, tall,
+long-legged, with large remote grey eyes which sometimes filled with
+meaning and became almost beautiful, with nose a little to one side,
+and bearded lips just open--Ashurst, forty-eight, and silent, grasped
+the luncheon basket, and got out too.
+
+"Oh! Look, Frank!  A grave!"
+
+By the side of the road, where the track from the top of the common
+crossed it at right angles and ran through a gate past the narrow
+wood, was a thin mound of turf, six feet by one, with a moorstone to
+the west, and on it someone had thrown a blackthorn spray and a
+handful of bluebells.  Ashurst looked, and the poet in him moved.  At
+cross-roads--a suicide's grave!  Poor mortals with their
+superstitions!  Whoever lay there, though, had the best of it, no
+clammy sepulchre among other hideous graves carved with futilities--
+just a rough stone, the wide sky, and wayside blessings!  And,
+without comment, for he had learned not to be a philosopher in the
+bosom of his family, he strode away up on to the common, dropped the
+luncheon basket under a wall, spread a rug for his wife to sit on--
+she would turn up from her sketching when she was hungry--and took
+from his pocket Murray's translation of the "Hippolytus."  He had
+soon finished reading of "The Cyprian" and her revenge, and looked at
+the sky instead.  And watching the white clouds so bright against the
+intense blue, Ashurst, on his silver-wedding day, longed for--he knew
+not what.  Maladjusted to life--man's organism!  One's mode of life
+might be high and scrupulous, but there was always an, undercurrent
+of greediness, a hankering, and sense of waste.  Did women have it
+too?  Who could tell?  And yet, men who gave vent to their appetites
+for novelty, their riotous longings for new adventures, new risks,
+new pleasures, these suffered, no doubt, from the reverse side of
+starvation, from surfeit.  No getting out of it--a maladjusted
+animal, civilised man!  There could be no garden of his choosing, of
+"the Apple-tree, the singing, and the gold," in the words of that
+lovely Greek chorus, no achievable elysium in life, or lasting haven
+of happiness for any man with a sense of beauty--nothing which could
+compare with the captured loveliness in a work of art, set down for
+ever, so that to look on it or read was always to have the same
+precious sense of exaltation and restful inebriety.  Life no doubt
+had moments with that quality of beauty, of unbidden flying rapture,
+but the trouble was, they lasted no longer than the span of a cloud's
+flight over the sun; impossible to keep them with you, as Art caught
+beauty and held it fast.  They were fleeting as one of the glimmering
+or golden visions one had of the soul in nature, glimpses of its
+remote and brooding spirit.  Here, with the sun hot on his face, a
+cuckoo calling from a thorn tree, and in the air the honey savour of
+gorse--here among the little fronds of the young fern, the starry
+blackthorn, while the bright clouds drifted by high above the hills
+and dreamy valleys here and now was such a glimpse.  But in a moment
+it would pass--as the face of Pan, which looks round the corner of a
+rock, vanishes at your stare.  And suddenly he sat up.  Surely there
+was something familiar about this view, this bit of common, that
+ribbon of road, the old wall behind him.  While they were driving he
+had not been taking notice--never did; thinking of far things or of
+nothing--but now he saw!  Twenty-six years ago, just at this time of
+year, from the farmhouse within half a mile of this very spot he had
+started for that day in Torquay whence it might be said he had never
+returned.  And a sudden ache beset his heart; he had stumbled on just
+one of those past moments in his life, whose beauty and rapture he
+had failed to arrest, whose wings had fluttered away into the
+unknown; he had stumbled on a buried memory, a wild sweet time,
+swiftly choked and ended.  And, turning on his face, he rested his
+chin on his hands, and stared at the short grass where the little
+blue milkwort was growing....
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+And this is what he remembered.
+
+On the first of May, after their last year together at college, Frank
+Ashurst and his friend Robert Garton were on a tramp.  They had
+walked that day from Brent, intending to make Chagford, but Ashurst's
+football knee had given out, and according to their map they had
+still some seven miles to go.  They were sitting on a bank beside
+the-road, where a track crossed alongside a wood, resting the knee
+and talking of the universe, as young men will.  Both were over six
+feet, and thin as rails; Ashurst pale, idealistic, full of absence;
+Garton queer, round-the-corner, knotted, curly, like some primeval
+beast.  Both had a literary bent; neither wore a hat.
+
+Ashurst's hair was smooth, pale, wavy, and had a way of rising on
+either side of his brow, as if always being flung back; Carton's was
+a kind of dark unfathomed mop.  They had not met a soul for miles.
+
+"My dear fellow," Garton was saying, "pity's only an effect of self-
+consciousness; it's a disease of the last five thousand years.  The
+world was happier without."
+
+Ashurst, following the clouds with his eyes, answered:
+
+"It's the pearl in the oyster, anyway."
+
+"My dear chap, all our modern unhappiness comes from pity.  Look at
+animals, and Red Indians, limited to feeling their own occasional
+misfortunes; then look at ourselves--never free from feeling the
+toothaches of others.  Let's get back to feeling for nobody, and have
+a better time."
+
+"You'll never practise that."
+
+Garton pensively stirred the hotch-potch of his hair.
+
+"To attain full growth, one mustn't be squeamish.  To starve oneself
+emotionally's a mistake.  All emotion is to the good--enriches life."
+
+"Yes, and when it runs up against chivalry?"
+
+"Ah!  That's so English!  If you speak of emotion the English always
+think you want something physical, and are shocked.  They're afraid
+of passion, but not of lust--oh, no!--so long as they can keep it
+secret."
+
+Ashurst did not answer; he had plucked a blue floweret, and was
+twiddling it against the sky.  A cuckoo began calling from a thorn
+tree.  The sky, the flowers, the songs of birds!  Robert was talking
+through his hat!  And he said:
+
+"Well, let's go on, and find some farm where we can put up."  In
+uttering those words, he was conscious of a girl coming down from the
+common just above them.  She was outlined against the sky, carrying a
+basket, and you could see that sky through the crook of her arm.  And
+Ashurst, who saw beauty without wondering how it could advantage him,
+thought: 'How pretty!'  The wind, blowing her dark frieze skirt
+against her legs, lifted her battered peacock tam-o'-shanter; her
+greyish blouse was worn and old, her shoes were split, her little
+hands rough and red, her neck browned.  Her dark hair waved untidy
+across her broad forehead, her face was short, her upper lip short,
+showing a glint of teeth, her brows were straight and dark, her
+lashes long and dark, her nose straight; but her grey eyes were the
+wonder-dewy as if opened for the first time that day.  She looked at
+Ashurst--perhaps he struck her as strange, limping along without a
+hat, with his large eyes on her, and his hair falling back.  He could
+not take off what was not on his head, but put up his hand in a
+salute, and said:
+
+"Can you tell us if there's a farm near here where we could stay the
+night?  I've gone lame."
+
+"There's only our farm near, sir."  She spoke without shyness, in a
+pretty soft crisp voice.
+
+"And where is that?"
+
+"Down here, sir."
+
+"Would you put us up?"
+
+"Oh!  I think we would."
+
+"Will you show us the way?"
+
+"Yes, Sir."
+
+He limped on, silent, and Garton took up the catechism.
+
+"Are you a Devonshire girl?"
+
+"No, Sir."
+
+"What then?"
+
+"From Wales."
+
+"Ah!  I thought you were a Celt; so it's not your farm?"
+
+"My aunt's, sir."
+
+"And your uncle's?"
+
+"He is dead."
+
+"Who farms it, then?"
+
+"My aunt, and my three cousins."
+
+"But your uncle was a Devonshire man?"
+
+"Yes, Sir."
+
+"Have you lived here long?"  "Seven years."
+
+"And how d'you like it after Wales?"  "I don't know, sir."
+
+"I suppose you don't remember?"  "Oh, yes!  But it is different."
+
+"I believe you!"
+
+Ashurst broke in suddenly: "How old are you?"
+
+"Seventeen, Sir."
+
+"And what's your name?"  "Megan David."
+
+"This is Robert Garton, and I am Frank Ashurst.  We wanted to get on
+to Chagford."
+
+"It is a pity your leg is hurting you."
+
+Ashurst smiled, and when he smiled his face was rather beautiful.
+
+Descending past the narrow wood, they came on the farm suddenly-a
+long, low, stone-built dwelling with casement windows, in a farmyard
+where pigs and fowls and an old mare were straying.  A short steep-up
+grass hill behind was crowned with a few Scotch firs, and in front,
+an old orchard of apple trees, just breaking into flower, stretched
+down to a stream and a long wild meadow.  A little boy with oblique
+dark eyes was shepherding a pig, and by the house door stood a woman,
+who came towards them.  The girl said:
+
+"It is Mrs. Narracombe, my aunt."
+
+"Mrs. Narracombe, my aunt," had a quick, dark eye, like a mother
+wild-duck's, and something of the same snaky turn about her neck.
+
+"We met your niece on the road," said Ashurst; "she thought you might
+perhaps put us up for the night."
+
+Mrs. Narracombe, taking them in from head to heel, answered:
+
+"Well, I can, if you don't mind one room.  Megan, get the spare room
+ready, and a bowl of cream.  You'll be wanting tea, I suppose."
+
+Passing through a sort of porch made by two yew trees and some
+flowering-currant bushes, the girl disappeared into the house, her
+peacock tam-o'-shanter bright athwart that rosy-pink and the dark
+green of the yews.
+
+"Will you come into the parlour and rest your leg?  You'll be from
+college, perhaps?"
+
+"We were, but we've gone down now."
+
+Mrs. Narracombe nodded sagely.
+
+The parlour, brick-floored, with bare table and shiny chairs and sofa
+stuffed with horsehair, seemed never to have been used, it was so
+terribly clean.  Ashurst sat down at once on the sofa, holding his
+lame knee between his hands, and Mrs. Narracombe gazed at him.  He
+was the only son of a late professor of chemistry, but people found a
+certain lordliness in one who was often so sublimely unconscious of
+them.
+
+"Is there a stream where we could bathe?"
+
+"There's the strame at the bottom of the orchard, but sittin' down
+you'll not be covered!"
+
+"How deep?"
+
+"Well, 'tis about a foot and a half, maybe."
+
+"Oh!  That'll do fine.  Which way?"
+
+"Down the lane, through the second gate on the right, an' the pool's
+by the big apple tree that stands by itself.  There's trout there, if
+you can tickle them."
+
+"They're more likely to tickle us!"
+
+Mrs. Narracombe smiled.  "There'll be the tea ready when you come
+back."
+
+The pool, formed by the damming of a rock, had a sandy bottom; and
+the big apple tree, lowest in the orchard, grew so close that its
+boughs almost overhung the water; it was in leaf, and all but in
+flower-its crimson buds just bursting.  There was not room for more
+than one at a time in that narrow bath, and Ashurst waited his turn,
+rubbing his knee and gazing at the wild meadow, all rocks and thorn
+trees and feld flowers, with a grove of beeches beyond, raised up on
+a flat mound.  Every bough was swinging in the wind, every spring
+bird calling, and a slanting sunlight dappled the grass.  He thought
+of Theocritus, and the river Cherwell, of the moon, and the maiden
+with the dewy eyes; of so many things that he seemed to think of
+nothing; and he felt absurdly happy.
+
+
+
+
+2
+
+During a late and sumptuous tea with eggs to it, cream and jam, and
+thin, fresh cakes touched with saffron, Garton descanted on the
+Celts.  It was about the period of the Celtic awakening, and the
+discovery that there was Celtic blood about this family had excited
+one who believed that he was a Celt himself.  Sprawling on a horse
+hair chair, with a hand-made cigarette dribbling from the corner of
+his curly lips, he had been plunging his cold pin-points of eyes into
+Ashurst's and praising the refinement of the Welsh.  To come out of
+Wales into England was like the change from china to earthenware!
+Frank, as a d---d Englishman, had not of course perceived the
+exquisite refinement and emotional capacity of that Welsh girl!  And,
+delicately stirring in the dark mat of his still wet hair, he
+explained how exactly she illustrated the writings of the Welsh bard
+Morgan-ap-Something in the twelfth century.
+
+Ashurst, full length on the horsehair sofa, and jutting far beyond
+its end, smoked a deeply-coloured pipe, and did not listen, thinking
+of the girl's face when she brought in a relay of cakes.  It had been
+exactly like looking at a flower, or some other pretty sight in
+Nature-till, with a funny little shiver, she had lowered her glance
+and gone out, quiet as a mouse.
+
+"Let's go to the kitchen," said Garton, "and see some more of her."
+
+The kitchen was a white-washed room with rafters, to which were
+attached smoked hams; there were flower-pots on the window-sill, and
+guns hanging on nails, queer mugs, china and pewter, and portraits of
+Queen Victoria.  A long, narrow table of plain wood was set with
+bowls and spoons, under a string of high-hung onions; two sheep-dogs
+and three cats lay here and there.  On one side of the recessed
+fireplace sat two small boys, idle, and good as gold; on the other
+sat a stout, light-eyed, red-faced youth with hair and lashes the
+colour of the tow he was running through the barrel of a gun; between
+them Mrs. Narracombe dreamily stirred some savoury-scented stew in a
+large pot.  Two other youths, oblique-eyed, dark-haired, rather sly-
+faced, like the two little boys, were talking together and lolling
+against the wall; and a short, elderly, clean-shaven man in
+corduroys, seated in the window, was conning a battered journal.  The
+girl Megan seemed the only active creature-drawing cider and passing
+with the jugs from cask to table.  Seeing them thus about to eat,
+Garton said:
+
+"Ah!  If you'll let us, we'll come back when supper's over," and
+without waiting for an answer they withdrew again to the parlour.
+But the colour in the kitchen, the warmth, the scents, and all those
+faces, heightened the bleakness of their shiny room, and they resumed
+their seats moodily.
+
+"Regular gipsy type, those boys.  There was only one Saxon--the
+fellow cleaning the gun.  That girl is a very subtle study
+psychologically."
+
+Ashurst's lips twitched.  Garton seemed to him an ass just then.
+Subtle study!  She was a wild flower.  A creature it did you good to
+look at.  Study!
+
+Garton went on:
+
+"Emotionally she would be wonderful.  She wants awakening."
+
+"Are you going to awaken her?"
+
+Garton looked at him and smiled.  'How coarse and English you are!'
+that curly smile seemed saying.
+
+And Ashurst puffed his pipe.  Awaken her! That fool had the best
+opinion of himself!  He threw up the window and leaned out.  Dusk had
+gathered thick.  The farm buildings and the wheel-house were all dim
+and bluish, the apple trees but a blurred wilderness; the air smelled
+of woodsmoke from the kitchen fire.  One bird going to bed later than
+the others was uttering a half-hearted twitter, as though surprised
+at the darkness.  From the stable came the snuffle and stamp of a
+feeding horse.  And away over there was the loom of the moor, and
+away and away the shy stars which had not as yet full light, pricking
+white through the deep blue heavens.  A quavering owl hooted.
+Ashurst drew a deep breath.  What a night to wander out in!  A
+padding of unshod hoofs came up the lane, and three dim, dark shapes
+passed--ponies on an evening march.  Their heads, black and fuzzy,
+showed above the gate.  At the tap of his pipe, and a shower of
+little sparks, they shied round and scampered.  A bat went fluttering
+past, uttering its almost inaudible "chip, chip."  Ashurst held out
+his hand; on the upturned palm he could feel the dew.  Suddenly from
+overhead he heard little burring boys' voices, little thumps of boots
+thrown down, and another voice, crisp and soft--the girl's putting
+them to bed, no doubt; and nine clear words "No, Rick, you can't have
+the cat in bed"; then came a skirmish of giggles and gurgles, a soft
+slap, a laugh so low and pretty that it made him shiver a little.  A
+blowing sound, and the glim of the candle which was fingering the
+dusk above, went out; silence reigned.  Ashurst withdrew into the
+room and sat down; his knee pained him, and his soul felt gloomy.
+
+"You go to the kitchen," he said; "I'm going to bed."
+
+
+
+
+3
+
+For Ashurst the wheel of slumber was wont to turn noiseless and slick
+and swift, but though he seemed sunk in sleep when his companion came
+up, he was really wide awake; and long after Carton, smothered in the
+other bed of that low-roofed room, was worshipping darkness with his
+upturned nose, he heard the owls.  Barring the discomfort of his
+knee, it was not unpleasant--the cares of life did not loom large in
+night watches for this young man.  In fact he had none; just enrolled
+a barrister, with literary aspirations, the world before him, no
+father or mother, and four hundred a year of his own.  Did it matter
+where he went, what he did, or when he did it?  His bed, too, was
+hard, and this preserved him from fever.  He lay, sniffing the scent
+of the night which drifted into the low room through the open
+casement close to his head.  Except for a definite irritation with
+his friend, natural when you have tramped with a man for three days,
+Ashurst's memories and visions that sleepless night were kindly and
+wistful and exciting.  One vision, specially clear and unreasonable,
+for he had not even been conscious of noting it, was the face of the
+youth cleaning the gun; its intent, stolid, yet startled uplook at
+the kitchen doorway, quickly shifted to the girl carrying the cider
+jug.  This red, blue-eyed, light-lashed, tow-haired face stuck as
+firmly in his memory as the girl's own face, so dewy and simple.  But
+at last, in the square of darkness through the uncurtained casement,
+he saw day coming, and heard one hoarse and sleepy caw.  Then
+followed silence, dead as ever, till the song of a blackbird, not
+properly awake, adventured into the hush.  And, from staring at the
+framed brightening light, Ashurst fell asleep.
+
+Next day his knee was badly swollen; the walking tour was obviously
+over.  Garton, due back in London on the morrow, departed at midday
+with an ironical smile which left a scar of irritation--healed the
+moment his loping figure vanished round the corner of the steep lane.
+All day Ashurst rested his knee, in a green-painted wooden chair on
+the patch of grass by the yew-tree porch, where the sunlight
+distilled the scent of stocks and gillyflowers, and a ghost of scent
+from the flowering-currant bushes.  Beatifically he smoked, dreamed,
+watched.
+
+A farm in spring is all birth-young things coming out of bud and
+shell, and human beings watching over the process with faint
+excitement feeding and tending what has been born.  So still the
+young man sat, that a mother-goose, with stately cross-footed waddle,
+brought her six yellow-necked grey-backed goslings to strop their
+little beaks against the grass blades at his feet.  Now and again
+Mrs. Narracombe or the girl Megan would come and ask if he wanted
+anything, and he would smile and say: "Nothing, thanks.  It's
+splendid here."  Towards tea-time they came out together, bearing a
+long poultice of some dark stuff in a bowl, and after a long and
+solemn scrutiny of his swollen knee, bound it on.  When they were
+gone, he thought of the girl's soft "Oh!"--of her pitying eyes, and
+the little wrinkle in her brow.  And again he felt that unreasoning
+irritation against his departed friend, who had talked such rot about
+her.  When she brought out his tea, he said:
+
+"How did you like my friend, Megan?"
+
+She forced down her upper lip, as if afraid that to smile was not
+polite.  "He was a funny gentleman; he made us laugh.  I think he is
+very clever."
+
+"What did he say to make you laugh?"
+
+"He said I was a daughter of the bards.  What are they?"
+
+"Welsh poets, who lived hundreds of years ago."
+
+"Why am I their daughter, please?"
+
+"He meant that you were the sort of girl they sang about."
+
+She wrinkled her brows.  "I think he likes to joke.  Am I?"
+
+"Would you believe me, if I told you?"
+
+"Oh, yes."
+
+"Well, I think he was right."
+
+She smiled.
+
+And Ashurst thought: 'You are a pretty thing!'
+
+"He said, too, that Joe was a Saxon type.  What would that be?"
+
+"Which is Joe?  With the blue eyes and red face?"
+
+"Yes.  My uncle's nephew."
+
+"Not your cousin, then?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Well, he meant that Joe was like the men who came over to England
+about fourteen hundred years ago, and conquered it."
+
+"Oh!  I know about them; but is he?"
+
+"Garton's crazy about that sort of thing; but I must say Joe does
+look a bit Early Saxon."
+
+"Yes."
+
+That "Yes" tickled Ashurst.  It was so crisp and graceful, so
+conclusive, and politely acquiescent in what was evidently.  Greek to
+her.
+
+"He said that all the other boys were regular gipsies.  He should not
+have said that.  My aunt laughed, but she didn't like it, of course,
+and my cousins were angry.  Uncle was a farmer--farmers are not
+gipsies.  It is wrong to hurt people."
+
+Ashurst wanted to take her hand and give it a squeeze, but he only
+answered:
+
+"Quite right, Megan.  By the way, I heard you putting the little ones
+to bed last night."
+
+She flushed a little.  "Please to drink your tea--it is getting cold.
+Shall I get you some fresh?"
+
+"Do you ever have time to do anything for yourself?"
+
+"Oh!  Yes."
+
+"I've been watching, but I haven't seen it yet."
+
+She wrinkled her brows in a puzzled frown, and her colour deepened.
+
+When she was gone, Ashurst thought: 'Did she think I was chaffing
+her?  I wouldn't for the world!' He was at that age when to some men
+"Beauty's a flower," as the poet says, and inspires in them the
+thoughts of chivalry.  Never very conscious of his surroundings, it
+was some time before he was aware that the youth whom Garton had
+called "a Saxon type" was standing outside the stable door; and a
+fine bit of colour he made in his soiled brown velvet-cords, muddy
+gaiters, and blue shirt; red-armed, red-faced, the sun turning his
+hair from tow to flax; immovably stolid, persistent, unsmiling he
+stood.  Then, seeing Ashurst looking at him, he crossed the yard at
+that gait of the young countryman always ashamed not to be slow and
+heavy-dwelling on each leg, and disappeared round the end of the
+house towards the kitchen entrance.  A chill came over Ashurst's
+mood.  Clods?  With all the good will in the world, how impossible to
+get on terms with them!  And yet--see that girl!  Her shoes were
+split, her hands rough; but--what was it?  Was it really her Celtic
+blood, as Garton had said?--she was a lady born, a jewel, though
+probably she could do no more than just read and write!
+
+The elderly, clean-shaven man he had seen last night in the kitchen
+had come into the yard with a dog, driving the cows to their milking.
+Ashurst saw that he was lame.
+
+"You've got some good ones there!"
+
+The lame man's face brightened.  He had the upward look in his eyes
+which prolonged suffering often brings.
+
+"Yeas; they'm praaper buties; gude milkers tu."
+
+"I bet they are."
+
+"'Ope as yure leg's better, zurr."
+
+"Thank you, it's getting on."
+
+The lame man touched his own: "I know what 'tes, meself; 'tes a main
+worritin' thing, the knee.  I've a-'ad mine bad this ten year."
+
+Ashurst made the sound of sympathy which comes so readily from those
+who have an independent income, and the lame man smiled again.
+
+"Mustn't complain, though--they mighty near 'ad it off."
+
+"Ho!"
+
+"Yeas; an' compared with what 'twas, 'tes almost so gude as nu."
+
+"They've put a bandage of splendid stuff on mine."
+
+"The maid she picks et.  She'm a gude maid wi' the flowers.  There's
+folks zeem to know the healin' in things.  My mother was a rare one
+for that.  'Ope as yu'll zune be better, zurr.  Goo ahn, therr!"
+
+Ashurst smiled.  "Wi' the flowers!"  A flower herself!
+
+That evening, after his supper of cold duck, junket, and cider, the
+girl came in.
+
+"Please, auntie says--will you try a piece of our Mayday cake?"
+
+"If I may come to the kitchen for it."
+
+"Oh, yes!  You'll be missing your friend."
+
+"Not I.  But are you sure no one minds?"
+
+"Who would mind?  We shall be very pleased."
+
+Ashurst rose too suddenly for his stiff knee, staggered, and
+subsided.  The girl gave a little gasp, and held out her hands.
+Ashurst took them, small, rough, brown; checked his impulse to put
+them to his lips, and let her pull him up.  She came close beside
+him, offering her shoulder.  And leaning on her he walked across the
+room.  That shoulder seemed quite the pleasantest thing he had ever
+touched.  But, he had presence of mind enough to catch his stick out
+of the rack, and withdraw his hand before arriving at the kitchen.
+
+That night he slept like a top, and woke with his knee of almost
+normal size.  He again spent the morning in his chair on the grass
+patch, scribbling down verses; but in the afternoon he wandered about
+with the two little boys Nick and Rick.  It was Saturday, so they
+were early home from school; quick, shy, dark little rascals of seven
+and six, soon talkative, for Ashurst had a way with children.  By
+four o'clock they had shown him all their methods of destroying life,
+except the tickling of trout; and with breeches tucked up, lay on
+their stomachs over the trout stream, pretending they had this
+accomplishment also.  They tickled nothing, of course, for their
+giggling and shouting scared every spotted thing away.  Ashurst, on a
+rock at the edge of the beech clump, watched them, and listened to
+the cuckoos, till Nick, the elder and less persevering, came up and
+stood beside him.
+
+"The gipsy bogle zets on that stone," he said.
+
+"What gipsy bogie?"
+
+"Dunno; never zeen 'e.  Megan zays 'e zets there; an' old Jim zeed 'e
+once.  'E was zettin' there naight afore our pony kicked--in father's
+'ead.  'E plays the viddle."
+
+"What tune does he play?"
+
+"Dunno."
+
+"What's he like?"
+
+"'E's black.  Old Jim zays 'e's all over 'air.  'E's a praaper bogle.
+'E don' come only at naight."  The little boy's oblique dark eyes
+slid round.  "D'yu think 'e might want to take me away?  Megan's
+feared of 'e."
+
+"Has she seen him?"
+
+"No.  She's not afeared o' yu."
+
+"I should think not.  Why should she be?"
+
+"She zays a prayer for yu."
+
+"How do you know that, you little rascal?"
+
+"When I was asleep, she said: 'God bless us all, an' Mr. Ashes.'  I
+yeard 'er whisperin'."
+
+"You're a little ruffian to tell what you hear when you're not meant
+to hear it!"
+
+The little boy was silent.  Then he said aggressively:
+
+"I can skin rabbets.  Megan, she can't bear skinnin' 'em.  I like
+blood."
+
+"Oh! you do; you little monster!"
+
+"What's that?"
+
+"A creature that likes hurting others."
+
+The little boy scowled.  "They'm only dead rabbets, what us eats."
+
+"Quite right, Nick.  I beg your pardon."
+
+"I can skin frogs, tu."
+
+But Ashurst had become absent.  "God bless us all, and Mr. Ashes!"
+And puzzled by that sudden inaccessibility, Nick ran back to the
+stream where the giggling and shouts again uprose at once.
+
+When Megan brought his tea, he said:
+
+"What's the gipsy bogle, Megan?"
+
+She looked up, startled.
+
+"He brings bad things."
+
+"Surely you don't believe in ghosts?"
+
+"I hope I will never see him."
+
+"Of course you won't.  There aren't such things.  What old Jim saw
+was a pony."
+
+"No!  There are bogies in the rocks; they are the men who lived long
+ago."
+
+"They aren't gipsies, anyway; those old men were dead long before
+gipsies came."
+
+She said simply: "They are all bad."
+
+"Why?  If there are any, they're only wild, like the rabbits.  The
+flowers aren't bad for being wild; the thorn trees were never
+planted--and you don't mind them.  I shall go down at night and look
+for your bogie, and have a talk with him."
+
+"Oh, no! Oh, no!"
+
+"Oh, yes!  I shall go and sit on his rock."
+
+She clasped her hands together: "Oh, please!"
+
+"Why!  What 'does it matter if anything happens to me?"
+
+She did not answer; and in a sort of pet he added:
+
+"Well, I daresay I shan't see him, because I suppose I must be off
+soon."
+
+"Soon?"
+
+"Your aunt won't want to keep me here."
+
+"Oh, yes!  We always let lodgings in summer."
+
+Fixing his eyes on her face, he asked:
+
+"Would you like me to stay?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I'm going to say a prayer for you to-night!"
+
+She flushed crimson, frowned, and went out of the room.  He sat,
+cursing himself, till his tea was stewed.  It was as if he had hacked
+with his thick boots at a clump of bluebells.  Why had he said such a
+silly thing?  Was he just a towny college ass like Robert Garton, as
+far from understanding this girl?
+
+Ashurst spent the next week confirming the restoration of his leg, by
+exploration of the country within easy reach.  Spring was a
+revelation to him this year.  In a kind of intoxication he would
+watch the pink-white buds of some backward beech tree sprayed up in
+the sunlight against the deep blue sky, or the trunks and limbs of
+the few Scotch firs, tawny in violent light, or again, on the moor,
+the gale-bent larches which had such a look of life when the wind
+streamed in their young green, above the rusty black underboughs.  Or
+he would lie on the banks, gazing at the clusters of dog-violets, or
+up in the dead bracken, fingering the pink, transparent buds of the
+dewberry, while the cuckoos called and yafes laughed, or a lark, from
+very high, dripped its beads of song.  It was certainly different
+from any spring he had ever known, for spring was within him, not
+without.  In the daytime he hardly saw the family; and when Megan
+brought in his meals she always seemed too busy in the house or among
+the young things in the yard to stay talking long.  But in the
+evenings he installed himself in the window seat in the kitchen,
+smoking and chatting with the lame man Jim, or Mrs. Narracombe, while
+the girl sewed, or moved about, clearing the supper things away.  And
+sometimes, with the sensation a cat must feel when it purrs, he would
+become conscious that Megan's eyes--those dew-grey eyes--were fixed
+on him with a sort of lingering soft look which was strangely
+flattering.
+
+It was on Sunday week in the evening, when he was lying in the
+orchard listening to a blackbird and composing a love poem, that he
+heard the gate swing to, and saw the girl come running among the
+trees, with the red-cheeked, stolid Joe in swift pursuit.  About
+twenty yards away the chase ended, and the two stood fronting each
+other, not noticing the stranger in the grass--the boy pressing on,
+the girl fending him off.  Ashurst could see her face, angry,
+disturbed; and the youth's--who would have thought that red-faced
+yokel could look so distraught!  And painfully affected by that
+sight, he jumped up.  They saw him then.  Megan dropped her hands,
+and shrank behind a tree trunk; the boy gave an angry grunt, rushed
+at the bank, scrambled over and vanished.  Ashurst went slowly up to
+her.  She was standing quite still, biting her lip-very pretty, with
+her fine, dark hair blown loose about her face, and her eyes cast
+down.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he said.
+
+She gave him one upward look, from eyes much dilated; then, catching
+her breath, turned away.  Ashurst followed.
+
+"Megan!"
+
+But she went on; and taking hold of her arm, he turned her gently
+round to him.
+
+"Stop and speak to me."
+
+"Why do you beg my pardon?  It is not to me you should do that."
+
+"Well, then, to Joe."
+
+"How dare he come after me?"
+
+"In love with you, I suppose."
+
+She stamped her foot.
+
+Ashurst uttered a short laugh.  "Would you like me to punch his
+head?"
+
+She cried with sudden passion:
+
+"You laugh at me-you laugh at us!"
+
+He caught hold of her hands, but she shrank back, till her passionate
+little face and loose dark hair were caught among the pink clusters
+of the apple blossom.  Ashurst raised one of her imprisoned hands and
+put his lips to it.  He felt how chivalrous he was, and superior to
+that clod Joe--just brushing that small, rough hand with his mouth I
+Her shrinking ceased suddenly; she seemed to tremble towards him.  A
+sweet warmth overtook Ashurst from top to toe.  This slim maiden, so
+simple and fine and pretty, was pleased, then, at the touch of his
+lips!  And, yielding to a swift impulse, he put his arms round her,
+pressed her to him, and kissed her forehead.  Then he was frightened-
+-she went so pale, closing her eyes, so that the long, dark lashes
+lay on her pale cheeks; her hands, too, lay inert at her sides.  The
+touch of her breast sent a shiver through him.  "Megan!"  he sighed
+out, and let her go.  In the utter silence a blackbird shouted.  Then
+the girl seized his hand, put it to her cheek, her heart, her lips,
+kissed it passionately, and fled away among the mossy trunks of the
+apple trees, till they hid her from him.
+
+Ashurst sat down on a twisted old tree growing almost along the
+ground, and, all throbbing and bewildered, gazed vacantly at the
+blossom which had crowned her hair--those pink buds with one white
+open apple star.  What had he done?  How had he let himself be thus
+stampeded by beauty--pity--or--just the spring!  He felt curiously
+happy, all the same; happy and triumphant, with shivers running
+through his limbs, and a vague alarm.  This was the beginning of--
+what?  The midges bit him, the dancing gnats tried to fly into his
+mouth, and all the spring around him seemed to grow more lovely and
+alive; the songs of the cuckoos and the blackbirds, the laughter of
+the yaflies, the level-slanting sunlight, the apple blossom which had
+crowned her head!  He got up from the old trunk and strode out of the
+orchard, wanting space, an open sky, to get on terms with these new
+sensations.  He made for the moor, and from an ash tree in the hedge
+a magpie flew out to herald him.
+
+Of man--at any age from five years on--who can say he has never been
+in love?  Ashurst had loved his partners at his dancing class; loved
+his nursery governess; girls in school-holidays; perhaps never been
+quite out of love, cherishing always some more or less remote
+admiration.  But this was different, not remote at all.  Quite a new
+sensation; terribly delightful, bringing a sense of completed
+manhood.  To be holding in his fingers such a wild flower, to be able
+to put it to his lips, and feel it tremble with delight against them!
+What intoxication, and--embarrassment!  What to do with it--how meet
+her next time?  His first caress had been cool, pitiful; but the next
+could not be, now that, by her burning little kiss on his hand, by
+her pressure of it to her heart, he knew that she loved him.  Some
+natures are coarsened by love bestowed on them; others, like
+Ashurst's, are swayed and drawn, warmed and softened, almost exalted,
+by what they feel to be a sort of miracle.
+
+And up there among the tors he was racked between the passionate
+desire to revel in this new sensation of spring fulfilled within him,
+and a vague but very real uneasiness.  At one moment he gave himself
+up completely to his pride at having captured this pretty, trustful,
+dewy-eyed thing!  At the next he thought with factitious solemnity:
+'Yes, my boy!  But look out what you're doing!  You know what comes
+of it!'
+
+Dusk dropped down without his noticing--dusk on the carved, Assyrian-
+looking masses of the rocks.  And the voice of Nature said: "This is
+a new world for you!"  As when a man gets up at four o'clock and goes
+out into a summer morning, and beasts, birds, trees stare at him and
+he feels as if all had been made new.
+
+He stayed up there for hours, till it grew cold, then groped his way
+down the stones and heather roots to the road, back into the lane,
+and came again past the wild meadow to the orchard.  There he struck
+a match and looked at his watch.  Nearly twelve!  It was black and
+unstirring in there now, very different from the lingering, bird-
+befriended brightness of six hours ago!  And suddenly he saw this
+idyll of his with the eyes of the outer world--had mental vision of
+Mrs. Narracombe's snake-like neck turned, her quick dark glance
+taking it all in, her shrewd face hardening; saw the gipsy-like
+cousins coarsely mocking and distrustful; Joe stolid and furious;
+only the lame man, Jim, with the suffering eyes, seemed tolerable to
+his mind.  And the village pub!--the gossiping matrons he passed on
+his walks; and then--his own friends--Robert Carton's smile when he
+went off that morning ten days ago; so ironical and knowing!
+Disgusting!  For a minute he literally hated this earthy, cynical
+world to which one belonged, willy-nilly.  The gate where he was
+leaning grew grey, a sort of shimmer passed be fore him and spread
+into the bluish darkness. The moon!  He could just see it over the
+bank be hind; red, nearly round-a strange moon!  And turning away, he
+went up the lane which smelled of the night and cowdung and young
+leaves.  In the straw-yard he could see the dark shapes of cattle,
+broken by the pale sickles of their horns, like so many thin moons,
+fallen ends-up.  He unlatched the farm gate stealthily.  All was dark
+in the house.  Muffling his footsteps, he gained the porch, and,
+blotted against one of the yew trees, looked up at Megan's window.
+It was open.  Was she sleeping, or lying awake perhaps, disturbed--
+unhappy at his absence?  An owl hooted while he stood there peering
+up, and the sound seemed to fill the whole night, so quiet was all
+else, save for the never-ending murmur of the stream running below
+the orchard.  The cuckoos by day, and now the owls--how wonderfully
+they voiced this troubled ecstasy within him!  And suddenly he saw
+her at her window, looking out.  He moved a little from the yew tree,
+and whispered: "Megan!"  She drew back, vanished, reappeared, leaning
+far down.  He stole forward on the grass patch, hit his shin against
+the green-painted chair, and held his breath at the sound.  The pale
+blur of her stretched-down arm and face did not stir; he moved the
+chair, and noiselessly mounted it.  By stretching up his arm he could
+just reach.  Her hand held the huge key of the front door, and he
+clasped that burning hand with the cold key in it.  He could just see
+her face, the glint of teeth between her lips, her tumbled hair.  She
+was still dressed--poor child, sitting up for him, no doubt!  "Pretty
+Megan!"  Her hot, roughened fingers clung to his; her face had a
+strange, lost look.  To have been able to reach it--even with his
+hand!  The owl hooted, a scent of sweetbriar crept into his nostrils.
+Then one of the farm dogs barked; her grasp relaxed, she shrank back.
+
+"Good-night, Megan!"
+
+"Good-night, sir!"  She was gone!  With a sigh he dropped back to
+earth, and sitting on that chair, took off his boots.  Nothing for it
+but to creep in and go to bed; yet for a long while he sat unmoving,
+his feet chilly in the dew, drunk on the memory of her lost, half-
+smiling face, and the clinging grip of her burning fingers, pressing
+the cold key into his hand.
+
+
+
+
+5
+
+He awoke feeling as if he had eaten heavily overnight, instead of
+having eaten nothing.  And far off, unreal, seemed yesterday's
+romance!  Yet it was a golden morning.  Full spring had burst at
+last--in one night the "goldie-cups," as the little boys called them,
+seemed to have made the field their own, and from his window he could
+see apple blossoms covering the orchard as with a rose and white
+quilt.  He went down almost dreading to see Megan; and yet, when not
+she but Mrs. Narracombe brought in his breakfast, he felt vexed and
+disappointed.  The woman's quick eye and snaky neck seemed to have a
+new alacrity this morning.  Had she noticed?
+
+"So you an' the moon went walkin' last night, Mr. Ashurst!  Did ye
+have your supper anywheres?"
+
+Ashurst shook his head.
+
+"We kept it for you, but I suppose you was too busy in your brain to
+think o' such a thing as that?"
+
+Was she mocking him, in that voice of hers, which still kept some
+Welsh crispness against the invading burr of the West Country?  If
+she knew!  And at that moment he thought: 'No, no; I'll clear out.  I
+won't put myself in such a beastly false position.'
+
+But, after breakfast, the longing to see Megan began and increased
+with every minute, together with fear lest something should have been
+said to her which had spoiled everything.  Sinister that she had not
+appeared, not given him even a glimpse of her!  And the love poem,
+whose manufacture had been so important and absorbing yesterday
+afternoon under the apple trees, now seemed so paltry that he tore it
+up and rolled it into pipe spills.  What had he known of love, till
+she seized his hand and kissed it!  And now--what did he not know?
+But to write of it seemed mere insipidity!  He went up to his bedroom
+to get a book, and his heart began to beat violently, for she was in
+there making the bed.  He stood in the doorway watching; and
+suddenly, with turbulent joy, he saw her stoop and kiss his pillow,
+just at the hollow made by his head last night.
+
+How let her know he had seen that pretty act of devotion?  And yet,
+if she heard him stealing away, it would be even worse.  She took the
+pillow up, holding it as if reluctant to shake out the impress of his
+cheek, dropped it, and turned round.
+
+"Megan!"
+
+She put her hands up to her cheeks, but her eyes seemed to look right
+into him.  He had never before realised the depth and purity and
+touching faithfulness in those dew-bright eyes, and he stammered:
+
+"It was sweet of you to wait up for me last night."
+
+She still said nothing, and he stammered on:
+
+"I was wandering about on the moor; it was such a jolly night.  I--
+I've just come up for a book."
+
+Then, the kiss he had seen her give the pillow afflicted him with
+sudden headiness, and he went up to her.  Touching her eyes with his
+lips, he thought with queer excitement: 'I've done it!  Yesterday all
+was sudden--anyhow; but now--I've done it!' The girl let her forehead
+rest against his lips, which moved downwards till they reached hers.
+That first real lover's kiss-strange, wonderful, still almost
+innocent--in which heart did it make the most disturbance?
+
+"Come to the big apple tree to-night, after they've gone to bed.
+Megan-promise!"
+
+She whispered back: "I promise."
+
+Then, scared at her white face, scared at everything, he let her go,
+and went downstairs again.  Yes!  He had done it now!  Accepted her
+love, declared his own!  He went out to the green chair as devoid of
+a book as ever; and there he sat staring vacantly before him,
+triumphant and remorseful, while under his nose and behind his back
+the work of the farm went on.  How long he had been sitting in that
+curious state of vacancy he had no notion when he saw Joe standing a
+little behind him to the right.  The youth had evidently come from
+hard work in the fields, and stood shifting his feet, breathing
+loudly, his face coloured like a setting sun, and his arms, below the
+rolled-up sleeves of his blue shirt, showing the hue and furry sheen
+of ripe peaches.  His red lips were open, his blue eyes with their
+flaxen lashes stared fixedly at Ashurst, who said ironically:
+
+"Well, Joe, anything I can do for you?"
+
+"Yeas."
+
+"What, then?"
+
+"Yu can goo away from yere.  Us don' want yu."
+
+Ashurst's face, never too humble, assumed its most lordly look.
+
+"Very good of you, but, do you know, I prefer the others should speak
+for themselves."
+
+The youth moved a pace or two nearer, and the scent of his honest
+heat afflicted Ashurst's nostrils.
+
+"What d'yu stay yere for?"
+
+"Because it pleases me."
+
+"Twon't please yu when I've bashed yure head in!"
+
+"Indeed!  When would you like to begin that?"
+
+Joe answered only with the loudness of his breathing, but his eyes
+looked like those of a young and angry bull.  Then a sort of spasm
+seemed to convulse his face.
+
+"Megan don' want yu."
+
+A rush of jealousy, of contempt, and anger with this thick, loud-
+breathing rustic got the better of Ashurst's self-possession; he
+jumped up, and pushed back his chair.
+
+"You can go to the devil!"
+
+And as he said those simple words, he saw Megan in the doorway with a
+tiny brown spaniel puppy in her arms.  She came up to him quickly:
+
+"Its eyes are blue!"  she said.
+
+Joe turned away; the back of his neck was literally crimson.
+
+Ashurst put his finger to the mouth of the little brown bullfrog of a
+creature in her arms.  How cosy it looked against her!
+
+"It's fond of you already.  Ah I Megan, everything is fond of you."
+
+"What was Joe saying to you, please?"
+
+"Telling me to go away, because you didn't want me here."
+
+She stamped her foot; then looked up at Ashurst.  At that adoring
+look he felt his nerves quiver, just as if he had seen a moth
+scorching its wings.
+
+"To-night!"  he said.  "Don't forget!"
+
+"No."  And smothering her face against the puppy's little fat, brown
+body, she slipped back into the house.
+
+Ashurst wandered down the lane.  At the gate of the wild meadow he
+came on the lame man and his cows.
+
+"Beautiful day, Jim!"
+
+"Ah!  'Tes brave weather for the grass.  The ashes be later than th'
+oaks this year.  'When th' oak before th' ash---'"
+
+Ashurst said idly: "Where were you standing when you saw the gipsy
+bogie, Jim?"
+
+"It might be under that big apple tree, as you might say."
+
+"And you really do think it was there?"
+
+The lame man answered cautiously:
+
+"I shouldn't like to say rightly that 't was there.  'Twas in my mind
+as 'twas there."
+
+"What do you make of it?"
+
+The lame man lowered his voice.
+
+"They du zay old master, Mist' Narracombe come o' gipsy stock.  But
+that's tellin'.  They'm a wonderful people, yu know, for claimin'
+their own.  Maybe they knu 'e was goin', and sent this feller along
+for company.  That's what I've a-thought about it."
+
+"What was he like?"
+
+"'E 'ad 'air all over 'is face, an' goin' like this, he was, zame as
+if 'e 'ad a viddle.  They zay there's no such thing as bogies, but
+I've a-zeen the 'air on this dog standin' up of a dark naight, when I
+couldn' zee nothin', meself."
+
+"Was there a moon?"
+
+"Yeas, very near full, but 'twas on'y just risen, gold-like be'ind
+them trees."
+
+"And you think a ghost means trouble, do you?"
+
+The lame man pushed his hat up; his aspiring eyes looked at Ashurst
+more earnestly than ever.
+
+"'Tes not for me to zay that but 'tes they bein' so unrestin'like.
+There's things us don' understand, that's zartin, for zure.  There's
+people that zee things, tu, an' others that don't never zee nothin'.
+Now, our Joe--yu might putt anything under'is eyes an e'd never zee
+it; and them other boys, tu, they'm rattlin' fellers.  But yu take
+an' putt our Megan where there's suthin', she'll zee it, an' more tu,
+or I'm mistaken."
+
+"She's sensitive, that's why."
+
+"What's that?"
+
+"I mean, she feels everything."
+
+"Ah!  She'm very lovin'-'earted."
+
+Ashurst, who felt colour coming into his cheeks, held out his tobacco
+pouch.
+
+"Have a fill, Jim?"
+
+"Thank 'ee, sir.  She'm one in an 'underd, I think."
+
+"I expect so," said Ashurst shortly, and folding up his pouch, walked
+on.
+
+"Lovin'-hearted!  "Yes!  And what was he doing?  What were his
+intentions-as they say towards this loving-hearted girl?  The thought
+dogged him, wandering through fields bright with buttercups, where
+the little red calves were feeding, and the swallows flying high.
+Yes, the oaks were before the ashes, brown-gold already; every tree
+in different stage and hue.  The cuckoos and a thousand birds were
+singing; the little streams were very bright.  The ancients believed
+in a golden age, in the garden of the Hesperides!...  A queen wasp
+settled on his sleeve.  Each queen wasp killed meant two thousand
+fewer wasps to thieve the apples which would grow from that blossom
+in the orchard; but who, with love in his heart, could kill anything
+on a day like this?  He entered a field where a young red bull was
+feeding.  It seemed to Ashurst that he looked like Joe.  But the
+young bull took no notice of this visitor, a little drunk himself,
+perhaps, on the singing and the glamour of the golden pasture, under
+his short legs.  Ashurst crossed out unchallenged to the hillside
+above the stream.  From that slope a for mounted to its crown of
+rocks.  The ground there was covered with a mist of bluebells, and
+nearly a score of crab-apple trees were in full bloom.  He threw
+himself down on the grass.  The change from the buttercup glory and
+oak-goldened glamour of the fields to this ethereal beauty under the
+grey for filled him with a sort of wonder; nothing the same, save the
+sound of running water and the songs of the cuckoos.  He lay there a
+long time, watching the sunlight wheel till the crab-trees threw
+shadows over the bluebells, his only companions a few wild bees.  He
+was not quite sane, thinking of that morning's kiss, and of to-night
+under the apple tree.  In such a spot as this, fauns and dryads
+surely lived; nymphs, white as the crab-apple blossom, retired within
+those trees; fauns, brown as the dead bracken, with pointed ears, lay
+in wait for them.  The cuckoos were still calling when he woke, there
+was the sound of running water; but the sun had couched behind the
+tor, the hillside was cool, and some rabbits had come out.
+'Tonight!' he thought.  Just as from the earth everything was pushing
+up, unfolding under the soft insistent fingers of an unseen hand, so
+were his heart and senses being pushed, unfolded.  He got up and
+broke off a spray from a crab-apple tree.  The buds were like Megan--
+shell-like, rose-pink, wild, and fresh; and so, too, the opening
+flowers, white, and wild; and touching.  He put the spray into his
+coat.  And all the rush of the spring within him escaped in a
+triumphant sigh.  But the rabbits scurried away.
+
+
+
+
+6
+
+It was nearly eleven that night when Ashurst put down the pocket
+"Odyssey" which for half an hour he had held in his hands without
+reading, and slipped through the yard down to the orchard.  The moon
+had just risen, very golden, over the hill, and like a bright,
+powerful, watching spirit peered through the bars of an ash tree's
+half-naked boughs.  In among the apple trees it was still dark, and
+he stood making sure of his direction, feeling the rough grass with
+his feet.  A black mass close behind him stirred with a heavy
+grunting sound, and three large pigs settled down again close to each
+other, under the wall.  He listened.  There was no wind, but the
+stream's burbling whispering chuckle had gained twice its daytime
+strength.  One bird, he could not tell what, cried "Pippip," "Pip-
+pip," with perfect monotony; he could hear a night-Jar spinning very
+far off; an owl hooting.  Ashurst moved a step or two, and again
+halted, aware of a dim living whiteness all round his head.  On the
+dark unstirring trees innumerable flowers and buds all soft and
+blurred were being bewitched to life by the creeping moonlight.  He
+had the oddest feeling of actual companionship, as if a million white
+moths or spirits had floated in and settled between dark sky and
+darker ground, and were opening and shutting their wings on a level
+with his eyes.  In the bewildering, still, scentless beauty of that
+moment he almost lost memory of why he had come to the orchard.  The
+flying glamour which had clothed the earth all day had not gone now
+that night had fallen, but only changed into this new form.  He moved
+on through the thicket of stems and boughs covered with that live
+powdering whiteness, till he reached the big apple tree.  No
+mistaking that, even in the dark, nearly twice the height and size of
+any other, and leaning out towards the open meadows and the stream.
+Under the thick branches he stood still again, to listen.  The same
+sounds exactly, and a faint grunting from the sleepy pigs.  He put
+his hands on the dry, almost warm tree trunk, whose rough mossy
+surface gave forth a peaty scent at his touch.  Would she come--would
+she?  And among these quivering, haunted, moon-witched trees he was
+seized with doubts of everything!  All was unearthly here, fit for no
+earthly lovers; fit only for god and goddess, faun and nymph not for
+him and this little country girl.  Would it not be almost a relief if
+she did not come?  But all the time he was listening.  And still that
+unknown bird went "Pip-pip," "Pip-pip," and there rose the busy
+chatter of the little trout stream, whereon the moon was flinging
+glances through the bars of her tree-prison.  The blossom on a level
+with his eyes seemed to grow more living every moment, seemed with
+its mysterious white beauty more and more a part of his suspense.  He
+plucked a fragment and held it close--three blossoms.  Sacrilege to
+pluck fruit-tree blossom--soft, sacred, young blossom--and throw it
+away!  Then suddenly he heard the gate close, the pigs stirring again
+and grunting; and leaning against the trunk, he pressed his hands to
+its mossy sides behind him, and held his breath.  She might have been
+a spirit threading the trees, for all the noise she made!  Then he
+saw her quite close--her dark form part of a little tree, her white
+face part of its blossom; so still, and peering towards him.
+He whispered: "Megan!" and held out his hands. She ran forward,
+straight to his breast.  When he felt her heart beating against him,
+Ashurst knew to the full the sensations of chivalry and passion.
+Because she was not of his world, because she was so simple and young
+and headlong, adoring and defenceless, how could he be other than her
+protector, in the dark!  Because she was all simple Nature and
+beauty, as much a part of this spring night as was the living
+blossom, how should he not take all that she would give him how not
+fulfil the spring in her heart and his!  And torn between these two
+emotions he clasped her close, and kissed her hair.  How long they
+stood there without speaking he knew not.  The stream went on
+chattering, the owls hooting, the moon kept stealing up and growing
+whiter; the blossom all round them and above brightened in suspense
+of living beauty.  Their lips had sought each other's, and they did
+not speak.  The moment speech began all would be unreal!  Spring has
+no speech, nothing but rustling and whispering.  Spring has so much
+more than speech in its unfolding flowers and leaves, and the
+coursing of its streams, and in its sweet restless seeking!  And
+sometimes spring will come alive, and, like a mysterious Presence
+stand, encircling lovers with its arms, laying on them the fingers of
+enchantment, so that, standing lips to lips, they forget everything
+but just a kiss.  While her heart beat against him, and her lips
+quivered on his, Ashurst felt nothing but simple rapture--Destiny
+meant her for his arms, Love could not be flouted!  But when their
+lips parted for breath, division began again at once.  Only, passion
+now was so much the stronger, and he sighed:
+
+"Oh!  Megan!  Why did you come?"  She looked up, hurt, amazed.
+
+"Sir, you asked me to."
+
+"Don't call me 'sir,' my pretty sweet."  "What should I be callin"
+you?"
+
+"Frank."
+
+"I could not.  Oh, no!"
+
+"But you love me--don't you?"
+
+"I could not help lovin' you.  I want to be with you--that's all."
+
+"All!"
+
+So faint that he hardly heard, she whispered: "I shall die if I can't
+be with you."
+
+Ashurst took a mighty breath.
+
+"Come and be with me, then!"
+
+"Oh!"
+
+Intoxicated by the awe and rapture in that "Oh!" he went on,
+whispering:
+
+"We'll go to London.  I'll show you the world.
+
+"And I will take care of you, I promise, Megan.  I'll never be a brute
+to you!"
+
+"If I can be with you--that is all."
+
+He stroked her hair, and whispered on:
+
+"To-morrow I'll go to Torquay and get some money, and get you some
+clothes that won't be noticed, and then we'll steal away.  And when
+we get to London, soon perhaps, if you love me well enough, we'll be
+married."
+
+He could feel her hair shiver with the shake of her head.
+
+"Oh, no!  I could not.  I only want to be with you!"
+
+Drunk on his own chivalry, Ashurst went on murmuring, "It's I who am
+not good enough for you.  Oh! Megan, when did you begin to love me?"
+
+"When I saw you in the road, and you looked at me.  The first night I
+loved you; but I never thought you would want me."
+
+She slipped down suddenly to her knees, trying to kiss his feet.
+
+A shiver of horror went through Ashurst; he lifted her up bodily and
+held her fast--too upset to speak.
+
+She whispered: "Why won't you let me?"
+
+"It's I who will kiss your feet!"
+
+Her smile brought tears into his eyes.  The whiteness of her moonlit
+face so close to his, the faint pink of her opened lips, had the
+living unearthly beauty of the apple blossom.
+
+And then, suddenly, her eyes widened and stared past him painfully;
+she writhed out of his arms, and whispered: "Look!"
+
+Ashurst saw nothing but the brightened stream, the furze faintly
+gilded, the beech trees glistening, and behind them all the wide loom
+of the moonlit hill.  Behind him came her frozen whisper: "The gipsy
+bogie!"
+
+"Where?"
+
+"There--by the stone--under the trees!"
+
+Exasperated, he leaped the stream, and strode towards the beech
+clump.  Prank of the moonlight!  Nothing!  In and out of the boulders
+and thorn trees, muttering and cursing, yet with a kind of terror, he
+rushed and stumbled.  Absurd!  Silly!  Then he went back to the apple
+tree.  But she was gone; he could hear a rustle, the grunting of the
+pigs, the sound of a gate closing.  Instead of her, only this old
+apple tree!  He flung his arms round the trunk.  What a substitute
+for her soft body; the rough moss against his face--what a substitute
+for her soft cheek; only the scent, as of the woods, a little the
+same!  And above him, and around, the blossoms, more living, more
+moonlit than ever, seemed to glow and breathe.
+
+
+
+
+7
+
+Descending from the train at Torquay station, Ashurst wandered
+uncertainly along the front, for he did not know this particular
+queen of English watering places.  Having little sense of what he had
+on, he was quite unconscious of being remarkable among its
+inhabitants, and strode along in his rough Norfolk jacket, dusty
+boots, and battered hat, without observing that people gazed at him
+rather blankly.  He was seeking a branch of his London bank, and
+having found one, found also the first obstacle to his mood.  Did he
+know anyone in Torquay?  No.  In that case, if he would wire to his
+bank in London, they would be happy to oblige him on receipt of the
+reply.  That suspicious breath from the matter-of-fact world somewhat
+tarnished the brightness of his visions.  But he sent the telegram.
+
+Nearly opposite to the post office he saw a shop full of ladies'
+garments, and examined the window with strange sensations.  To have
+to undertake the clothing of his rustic love was more than a little
+disturbing.  He went in.  A young woman came forward; she had blue
+eyes and a faintly puzzled forehead.  Ashurst stared at her in
+silence.
+
+"Yes, sir?"
+
+"I want a dress for a young lady."
+
+The young woman smiled.  Ashurst frowned the peculiarity of his
+request struck him with sudden force.
+
+The young woman added hastily:
+
+"What style would you like--something modish?"
+
+"No.  Simple."
+
+"What figure would the young lady be?"
+
+"I don't know; about two inches shorter than you, I should say."
+
+"Could you give me her waist measurement?"
+
+Megan's waist!
+
+"Oh!  anything usual!"
+
+"Quite!"
+
+While she was gone he stood disconsolately eyeing the models in the
+window, and suddenly it seemed to him incredible that Megan--his
+Megan could ever be dressed save in the rough tweed skirt, coarse
+blouse, and tam-o'-shanter cap he was wont to see her in.  The young
+woman had come back with several dresses in her arms, and Ashurst
+eyed her laying them against her own modish figure.  There was one
+whose colour he liked, a dove-grey, but to imagine Megan clothed in
+it was beyond him.  The young woman went away, and brought some more.
+But on Ashurst there had now come a feeling of paralysis.  How
+choose?  She would want a hat too, and shoes, and gloves; and,
+suppose, when he had got them all, they commonised her, as Sunday
+clothes always commonised village folk!  Why should she not travel as
+she was?  Ah!  But conspicuousness would matter; this was a serious
+elopement.  And, staring at the young woman, he thought: 'I wonder if
+she guesses, and thinks me a blackguard?'
+
+"Do you mind putting aside that grey one for me?"  he said
+desperately at last.  "I can't decide now; I'll come in again this
+afternoon."
+
+The young woman sighed.
+
+"Oh!  certainly.  It's a very tasteful costume.  I don't think you'll
+get anything that will suit your purpose better."
+
+"I expect not," Ashurst murmured, and went out.
+
+Freed again from the suspicious matter-of-factness of the world, he
+took a long breath, and went back to visions.  In fancy he saw the
+trustful, pretty creature who was going to join her life to his; saw
+himself and her stealing forth at night, walking over the moor under
+the moon, he with his arm round her, and carrying her new garments,
+till, in some far-off wood, when dawn was coming, she would slip off
+her old things and put on these, and an early train at a distant
+station would bear them away on their honeymoon journey, till London
+swallowed them up, and the dreams of love came true.
+
+"Frank Ashurst!  Haven't seen you since Rugby, old chap!"
+
+Ashurst's frown dissolved; the face, close to his own, was blue-eyed,
+suffused with sun--one of those faces where sun from within and
+without join in a sort of lustre.  And he answered:
+
+"Phil Halliday, by Jove!"
+
+"What are you doing here?"
+
+"Oh!  nothing.  Just looking round, and getting some money.  I'm
+staying on the moor."
+
+"Are you lunching anywhere?  Come and lunch with us; I'm here with my
+young sisters.  They've had measles."
+
+Hooked in by that friendly arm Ashurst went along, up a hill, down a
+hill, away out of the town, while the voice of Halliday, redolent of
+optimism as his face was of sun, explained how "in this mouldy place
+the only decent things were the bathing and boating," and so on, till
+presently they came to a crescent of houses a little above and back
+from the sea, and into the centre one an hotel--made their way.
+
+"Come up to my room and have a wash.  Lunch'll be ready in a jiffy."
+
+Ashurst contemplated his visage in a looking-glass.  After his
+farmhouse bedroom, the comb and one spare shirt regime of the last
+fortnight, this room littered with clothes and brushes was a sort of
+Capua; and he thought: 'Queer--one doesn't realise But what--he did
+not quite know.
+
+When he followed Halliday into the sitting room for lunch, three
+faces, very fair and blue-eyed, were turned suddenly at the words:
+"This is Frank Ashurst my young sisters."
+
+Two were indeed young, about eleven and ten.  The third was perhaps
+seventeen, tall and fair-haired too, with pink-and-white cheeks just
+touched by the sun, and eyebrows, rather darker than the hair,
+running a little upwards from her nose to their outer points.  The
+voices of all three were like Halliday's, high and cheerful; they
+stood up straight, shook hands with a quick movement, looked at
+Ashurst critically, away again at once, and began to talk of what
+they were going to do in the afternoon.  A regular Diana and
+attendant nymphs!  After the farm this crisp, slangy, eager talk,
+this cool, clean, off-hand refinement, was queer at first, and then
+so natural that what he had come from became suddenly remote.  The
+names of the two little ones seemed to be Sabina and Freda; of the
+eldest, Stella.
+
+Presently the one called Sabina turned to him and said:
+
+"I say, will you come shrimping with us?--it's awful fun!"
+
+Surprised by this unexpected friendliness, Ashurst murmured:
+
+"I'm afraid I've got to get back this afternoon."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"Can't you put it off?"
+
+Ashurst turned to the new speaker, Stella, shook his head, and
+smiled.  She was very pretty!  Sabina said regretfully: "You might!"
+Then the talk switched off to caves and swimming.
+
+"Can you swim far?"
+
+"About two miles."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"I say!"
+
+"How jolly!"
+
+The three pairs of blue eyes, fixed on him, made him conscious of his
+new importance--The sensation was agreeable.  Halliday said:
+
+"I say, you simply must stop and have a bathe.  You'd better stay the
+night."
+
+"Yes, do!"'
+
+But again Ashurst smiled and shook his head.  Then suddenly he found
+himself being catechised about his physical achievements.  He had
+rowed--it seemed--in his college boat, played in his college football
+team, won his college mile; and he rose from table a sort of hero.
+The two little girls insisted that he must see "their" cave, and they
+set forth chattering like magpies, Ashurst between them, Stella and
+her brother a little behind.  In the cave, damp and darkish like any
+other cave, the great feature was a pool with possibility of
+creatures which might be caught and put into bottles.  Sabina and
+Freda, who wore no stockings on their shapely brown legs, exhorted
+Ashurst to join them in the middle of it, and help sieve the water.
+He too was soon bootless and sockless.  Time goes fast for one who
+has a sense of beauty, when there are pretty children in a pool and a
+young Diana on the edge, to receive with wonder anything you can
+catch!  Ashurst never had much sense of time.  It was a shock when,
+pulling out his watch, he saw it was well past three.  No cashing his
+cheque to-day-the bank would be closed before he could get there.
+Watching his expression, the little girls cried out at once:
+
+"Hurrah!  Now you'll have to stay!"
+
+Ashurst did not answer.  He was seeing again Megan's face, when at
+breakfast time he had whispered: "I'm going to Torquay, darling, to
+get everything; I shall be back this evening.  If it's fine we can go
+to-night.  Be ready."  He was seeing again how she quivered and hung
+on his words.  What would she think?  Then he pulled himself
+together, conscious suddenly of the calm scrutiny of this other young
+girl, so tall and fair and Diana-like, at the edge of the pool, of
+her wondering blue eyes under those brows which slanted up a little.
+If they knew what was in his mind--if they knew that this very night
+he had meant!  Well, there would be a little sound of disgust, and he
+would be alone in the cave.  And with a curious mixture of anger,
+chagrin, and shame, he put his watch back into his pocket and said
+abruptly:
+
+"Yes; I'm dished for to-day."
+
+"Hurrah!  Now you can bathe with us."
+
+It was impossible not to succumb a little to the contentment of these
+pretty children, to the smile on Stella's lips, to Halliday's
+"Ripping, old chap!  I can lend you things for the night!" But again
+a spasm of longing and remorse throbbed through Ashurst, and he said
+moodily:
+
+"I must send a wire!"
+
+The attractions of the pool palling, they went back to the hotel.
+Ashurst sent his wire, addressing it to Mrs. Narracombe: "Sorry,
+detained for the night, back to-morrow."  Surely Megan would
+understand that he had too much to do; and his heart grew lighter.
+It was a lovely afternoon, warm, the sea calm and blue, and swimming
+his great passion; the favour of these pretty children flattered him,
+the pleasure of looking at them, at Stella, at Halliday's sunny face;
+the slight unreality, yet extreme naturalness of it all--as of a last
+peep at normality before be took this plunge with Megan!  He got his
+borrowed bathing dress, and they all set forth.  Halliday and he
+undressed behind one rock, the three girls behind another.  He was
+first into the sea, and at once swam out with the bravado of
+justifying his self-given reputation.  When he turned he could see
+Halliday swimming along shore, and the girls flopping and dipping,
+and riding the little waves, in the way he was accustomed to despise,
+but now thought pretty and sensible, since it gave him the
+distinction of the only deep-water fish.  But drawing near, he
+wondered if they would like him, a stranger, to come into their
+splashing group; he felt shy, approaching that slim nymph.  Then
+Sabina summoned him to teach her to float, and between them the
+little girls kept him so busy that he had no time even to notice
+whether Stella was accustomed to his presence, till suddenly he heard
+a startled sound from her: She was standing submerged to the waist,
+leaning a little forward, her slim white arms stretched out and
+pointing, her wet face puckered by the sun and an expression of fear.
+
+"Look at Phil!  Is he all right?  Oh, look!"
+
+Ashurst saw at once that Phil was not all right.  He was splashing
+and struggling out of his depth, perhaps a hundred yards away;
+suddenly he gave a cry, threw up his arms, and went down.  Ashurst
+saw the girl launch herself towards him, and crying out: "Go back,
+Stella!  Go back!"  he dashed out.  He had never swum so fast, and
+reached Halliday just as he was coming up a second time.  It was a
+case of cramp, but to get him in was not difficult, for he did not
+struggle.  The girl, who had stopped where Ashurst told her to,
+helped as soon as he was in his depth, and once on the beach they sat
+down one on each side of him to rub his limbs, while the little ones
+stood by with scared faces.  Halliday was soon smiling.  It was--he
+said--rotten of him, absolutely rotten!  If Frank would give him an
+arm, he could get to his clothes all right now.  Ashurst gave him the
+arm, and as he did so caught sight of Stella's face, wet and flushed
+and tearful, all broken up out of its calm; and he thought: 'I called
+her Stella!  Wonder if she minded?'
+
+While they were dressing, Halliday said quietly, "You saved my life,
+old chap!"
+
+"Rot!"
+
+Clothed, but not quite in their right minds, they went up all
+together to the hotel and sat down to tea, except Halliday, who was
+lying down in his room.  After some slices of bread and jam, Sabina
+said:
+
+"I say, you know, you are a brick!"  And Freda chimed in:
+
+"Rather!"
+
+Ashurst saw Stella looking down; he got up in confusion, and went to
+the window.  From there he heard Sabina mutter: "I say, let's swear
+blood bond.  Where's your knife, Freda?"  and out of the corner of
+his eye could see each of them solemnly prick herself, squeeze out a
+drop of blood and dabble on a bit of paper.  He turned and made for
+the door.
+
+"Don't be a stoat!  Come back!"  His arms were seized; imprisoned
+between the little girls he was brought back to the table.  On it lay
+a piece of paper with an effigy drawn in blood, and the three names
+Stella Halliday, Sabina Halliday, Freda Halliday--also in blood,
+running towards it like the rays of a star.  Sabina said:
+
+"That's you.  We shall have to kiss you, you know."
+
+And Freda echoed:
+
+"Oh!  Blow--Yes!"
+
+Before Ashurst could escape, some wettish hair dangled against his
+face, something like a bite descended on his nose, he felt his left
+arm pinched, and other teeth softly searching his cheek.  Then he was
+released, and Freda said:
+
+"Now, Stella."
+
+Ashurst, red and rigid, looked across the table at a red and rigid
+Stella.  Sabina giggled; Freda cried:
+
+"Buck up--it spoils everything!"
+
+A queer, ashamed eagerness shot through Ashurst: then he said
+quietly:
+
+"Shut up, you little demons!"
+
+Again Sabina giggled.
+
+"Well, then, she can kiss her hand, and you can put it against your
+nose.  It is on one side!"
+
+To his amazement the girl did kiss her hand and stretch it out.
+Solemnly he took that cool, slim hand and laid it to his cheek.  The
+two little girls broke into clapping, and Freda said:
+
+"Now, then, we shall have to save your life at any time; that's
+settled.  Can I have another cup, Stella, not so beastly weak?"
+Tea was resumed, and Ashurst, folding up the paper, put it in his
+pocket.  The talk turned on the advantages of measles, tangerine
+oranges, honey in a spoon, no lessons, and so forth.  Ashurst
+listened, silent, exchanging friendly looks with Stella, whose face
+was again of its normal sun-touched pink and white.  It was soothing
+to be so taken to the heart of this jolly family, fascinating to
+watch their faces.  And after tea, while the two little girls pressed
+seaweed, he talked to Stella in the window seat and looked at her
+water-colour sketches.  The whole thing was like a pleasurable dream;
+time and incident hung up, importance and reality suspended.
+Tomorrow he would go back to Megan, with nothing of all this left
+save the paper with the blood of these children, in his pocket.
+Children!  Stella was not quite that--as old as Megan!  Her talk--
+quick, rather hard and shy, yet friendly--seemed to flourish on his
+silences, and about her there was something cool and virginal--a
+maiden in a bower.  At dinner, to which Halliday, who had swallowed
+too much sea-water, did not come, Sabina said:
+
+"I'm going to call you Frank."
+
+Freda echoed:
+
+"Frank, Frank, Franky."
+
+Ashurst grinned and bowed.
+
+"Every time Stella calls you Mr. Ashurst, she's got to pay a forfeit.
+It's ridiculous."
+
+Ashurst looked at Stella, who grew slowly red.  Sabina giggled; Freda
+cried:
+
+"She's 'smoking'--'smoking!'--Yah!"
+
+Ashurst reached out to right and left, and grasped some fair hair in
+each hand.
+
+"Look here," he said, "you two!  Leave Stella alone, or I'll tie you
+together!"
+
+Freda gurgled:
+
+"Ouch!  You are a beast!"
+
+Sabina murmured cautiously:
+
+"You call her Stella, you see!"
+
+"Why shouldn't I?  It's a jolly name!"
+
+"All right; we give you leave to!"
+
+Ashurst released the hair.  Stella!  What would she call him--after
+this?  But she called him nothing; till at bedtime he said,
+deliberately:
+
+"Good-night, Stella!"
+
+"Good-night, Mr.----Good-night, Frank!  It was jolly of you, you
+know!"
+
+"Oh-that!  Bosh!"
+
+Her quick, straight handshake tightened suddenly, and as suddenly
+became slack.
+
+Ashurst stood motionless in the empty sitting-room.  Only last night,
+under the apple tree and the living blossom, he had held Megan to
+him, kissing her eyes and lips.  And he gasped, swept by that rush of
+remembrance.  To-night it should have begun-his life with her who
+only wanted to be with him!  And now, twenty-four hours and more must
+pass, because-of not looking at his watch!  Why had he made friends
+with this family of innocents just when he was saying good-bye to
+innocence, and all the rest of it?  'But I mean to marry her,' he
+thought; 'I told her so!'
+
+He took a candle, lighted it, and went to his bedroom, which was next
+to Halliday's.  His friend's voice called, as he was passing:
+
+"Is that you, old chap?  I say, come in."
+
+He was sitting up in bed, smoking a pipe and reading.
+
+"Sit down a bit."
+
+Ashurst sat down by the open window.
+
+"I've been thinking about this afternoon, you know," said Halliday
+rather suddenly.  "They say you go through all your past.  I didn't.
+I suppose I wasn't far enough gone."
+
+"What did you think of?"
+
+Halliday was silent for a little, then said quietly
+
+"Well, I did think of one thing--rather odd--of a girl at Cambridge
+that I might have--you know; I was glad I hadn't got her on my mind.
+Anyhow, old chap, I owe it to you that I'm here; I should have been
+in the big dark by now.  No more bed, or baccy; no more anything.  I
+say, what d'you suppose happens to us?"
+
+Ashurst murmured:
+
+"Go out like flames, I expect."
+
+"Phew!"
+
+"We may flicker, and cling about a bit, perhaps."
+
+"H'm! I think that's rather gloomy.  I say, I hope my young sisters
+have been decent to you?"
+
+"Awfully decent."
+
+Halliday put his pipe down, crossed his hands behind his neck, and
+turned his face towards the window.
+
+"They're not bad kids!"  he said.
+
+Watching his friend, lying there, with that smile, and the candle-
+light on his face, Ashurst shuddered.  Quite true!  He might have
+been lying there with no smile, with all that sunny look gone out for
+ever!  He might not have been lying there at all, but "sanded" at the
+bottom of the sea, waiting for resurrection on the ninth day, was it?
+And that smile of Halliday's seemed to him suddenly something
+wonderful, as if in it were all the difference between life and
+death--the little flame--the all!  He got up, and said softly:
+
+"Well, you ought to sleep, I expect.  Shall I blow out?"
+
+Halliday caught his hand.
+
+"I can't say it, you know; but it must be rotten to be dead.  Good-
+night, old boy!"
+
+Stirred and moved, Ashurst squeezed the hand, and went downstairs.
+The hall door was still open, and he passed out on to the lawn before
+the Crescent.  The stars were bright in a very dark blue sky, and by
+their light some lilacs had that mysterious colour of flowers by
+night which no one can describe.  Ashurst pressed his face against a
+spray; and before his closed eyes Megan started up, with the tiny
+brown spaniel pup against her breast.  "I thought of a girl that I
+might have you know.  I was glad I hadn't got her on my mind!"  He
+jerked his head away from the lilac, and began pacing up and down
+over the grass, a grey phantom coming to substance for a moment in
+the light from the lamp at either end.  He was with her again under
+the living, breathing white ness of the blossom, the stream
+chattering by, the moon glinting steel-blue on the bathing-pool; back
+in the rapture of his kisses on her upturned face of innocence and
+humble passion, back in the suspense and beauty of that pagan night.
+He stood still once more in the shadow of the lilacs.  Here the sea,
+not the stream, was Night's voice; the sea with its sigh and rustle;
+no little bird, no owl, no night-Jar called or spun; but a piano
+tinkled, and the white houses cut the sky with solid curve, and the
+scent from the lilacs filled the air.  A window of the hotel, high
+up, was lighted; he saw a shadow move across the blind.  And most
+queer sensations stirred within him, a sort of churning, and twining,
+and turning of a single emotion on itself, as though spring and love,
+bewildered and confused, seeking the way, were baffled.  This girl,
+who had called him Frank, whose hand had given his that sudden little
+clutch, this girl so cool and pure--what would she think of such
+wild, unlawful loving?  He sank down on the grass, sitting there
+cross-legged, with his back to the house, motionless as some carved
+Buddha.  Was he really going to break through innocence, and steal?
+Sniff the scent out of a wild flower, and--perhaps--throw it away?
+"Of a girl at Cambridge that I might have--you know!"  He put his
+hands to the grass, one on each side, palms downwards, and pressed;
+it was just warm still--the grass, barely moist, soft and firm and
+friendly.  'What am I going to do?' he thought.  Perhaps Megan was at
+her window, looking out at the blossom, thinking of him!  Poor little
+Megan!  'Why not?' he thought.  'I love her!  But do I really love
+her? or do I only want her because she is so pretty, and loves me?
+What am I going to do?'  The piano tinkled on, the stars winked; and
+Ashurst gazed out before him at the dark sea, as if spell-bound.  He
+got up at last, cramped and rather chilly.  There was no longer light
+in any window.  And he went in to bed.
+
+Out of a deep and dreamless sleep he was awakened by the sound of
+thumping on the door.  A shrill voice called:
+
+"Hi! Breakfast's ready."
+
+He jumped up.  Where was he--?  Ah!
+
+He found them already eating marmalade, and sat down in the empty
+place between Stella and Sabina, who, after watching him a little,
+said:
+
+"I say, do buck up; we're going to start at half-past nine."
+
+"We're going to Berry Head, old chap; you must come!"
+
+Ashurst thought: 'Come!  Impossible.  I shall be getting things and
+going back.'  He looked at Stella.  She said quickly:
+
+"Do come!"
+
+Sabina chimed in:
+
+"It'll be no fun without you."
+
+Freda got up and stood behind his chair.
+
+"You've got to come, or else I'll pull your hair!"
+
+Ashurst thought: 'Well--one day more--to think it over!  One day
+more!'  And he said:
+
+"All right!  You needn't tweak my mane!"
+
+"Hurrah!"
+
+At the station he wrote a second telegram to the farm, and then tore
+it up; he could not have explained why.  From Brixham they drove in a
+very little wagonette.  There, squeezed between Sabina and Freda,
+with his knees touching Stella's, they played "Up, Jenkins "; and the
+gloom he was feeling gave way to frolic.  In this one day more to
+think it over, he did not want to think!  They ran races, wrestled,
+paddled--for to-day nobody wanted to bathe--they sang catches, played
+games, and ate all they had brought.  The little girls fell asleep
+against him on the way back, and his knees still touched Stella's in
+the narrow wagonette.  It seemed incredible that thirty hours ago he
+had never set eyes on any of those three flaxen heads.  In the train
+he talked to Stella of poetry, discovering her favourites, and
+telling her his own with a pleasing sense of superiority; till
+suddenly she said, rather low:
+
+"Phil says you don't believe in a future life, Frank.  I think that's
+dreadful."
+
+Disconcerted, Ashurst muttered:
+
+"I don't either believe or not believe--I simply don't know."
+
+She said quickly:
+
+"I couldn't bear that.  What would be the use of living?"
+
+Watching the frown of those pretty oblique brows, Ashurst answered:
+
+"I don't believe in believing things because a one wants to."
+
+"But why should one wish to live again, if one isn't going to?"
+
+And she looked full at him.
+
+He did not want to hurt her, but an itch to dominate pushed him on to
+say:
+
+"While one's alive one naturally wants to go on living for ever;
+that's part of being alive.  But it probably isn't anything more."
+
+"Don't you believe in the Bible at all, then?"
+
+Ashurst thought: 'Now I shall really hurt her!'
+
+"I believe in the Sermon on the Mount, because it's beautiful and
+good for all time."
+
+"But don't you believe Christ was divine?"
+
+He shook his head.
+
+She turned her face quickly to the window, and there sprang into his
+mind Megan's prayer, repeated by little Nick: "God bless us all, and
+Mr. Ashes!"  Who else would ever say a prayer for him, like her who
+at this moment must be waiting--waiting to see him come down the
+lane?  And he thought suddenly: 'What a scoundrel I am!'
+
+All that evening this thought kept coming back; but, as is not
+unusual, each time with less poignancy, till it seemed almost a
+matter of course to be a scoundrel.  And--strange!--he did not know
+whether he was a scoundrel if he meant to go back to Megan, or if he
+did not mean to go back to her.
+
+They played cards till the children were sent off to bed; then Stella
+went to the piano.  From over on the window seat, where it was nearly
+dark, Ashurst watched her between the candles--that fair head on the
+long, white neck bending to the movement of her hands.  She played
+fluently, without much expression; but what a Picture she made, the
+faint golden radiance, a sort of angelic atmosphere hovering about
+her!  Who could have passionate thoughts or wild desires in the
+presence of that swaying, white-clothed girl with the seraphic head?
+She played a thing of Schumann's called "Warum?"  Then Halliday
+brought out a flute, and the spell was broken.  After this they made
+Ashurst sing, Stella playing him accompaniments from a book of
+Schumann songs, till, in the middle of "Ich grolle nicht," two small
+figures clad in blue dressing-gowns crept in and tried to conceal
+themselves beneath the piano.  The evening broke up in confusion, and
+what Sabina called "a splendid rag."
+
+That night Ashurst hardly slept at all.  He was thinking, tossing and
+turning.  The intense domestic intimacy of these last two days, the
+strength of this Halliday atmosphere, seemed to ring him round, and
+make the farm and Megan--even Megan--seem unreal.  Had he really made
+love to her--really promised to take her away to live with him?  He
+must have been bewitched by the spring, the night, the apple blossom!
+This May madness could but destroy them both!  The notion that he was
+going to make her his mistress--that simple child not yet eighteen--
+now filled him with a sort of horror, even while it still stung and
+whipped his blood.  He muttered to himself: "It's awful, what I've
+done--awful!"  And the sound of Schumann's music throbbed and mingled
+with his fevered thoughts, and he saw again Stella's cool, white,
+fair-haired figure and bending neck, the queer, angelic radiance
+about her.  'I must have been--I must be-mad!' he thought.  'What
+came into me?  Poor little Megan!'  "God bless us all, and Mr.
+Ashes!"  "I want to be with you--only to be with you!"  And burying
+his face in his pillow, he smothered down a fit of sobbing.  Not to
+go back was awful!  To go back--more awful still!
+
+Emotion, when you are young, and give real vent to it, loses its
+power of torture.  And he fell asleep, thinking: 'What was it--a few
+kisses--all forgotten in a month!'
+
+Next morning he got his cheque cashed, but avoided the shop of the
+dove-grey dress like the plague; and, instead, bought himself some
+necessaries.  He spent the whole day in a queer mood, cherishing a
+kind of sullenness against himself.  Instead of the hankering of the
+last two days, he felt nothing but a blank--all passionate longing
+gone, as if quenched in that outburst of tears.  After tea Stella put
+a book down beside him, and said shyly:
+
+"Have you read that, Frank?"
+
+It was Farrar's "Life of Christ."  Ashurst smiled.  Her anxiety about
+his beliefs seemed to him comic, but touching.  Infectious too,
+perhaps, for he began to have an itch to justify himself, if not to
+convert her.  And in the evening, when the children and Halliday were
+mending their shrimping nets, he said:
+
+"At the back of orthodox religion, so far as I can see, there's
+always the idea of reward--what you can get for being good; a kind of
+begging for favours.  I think it all starts in fear."
+
+She was sitting on the sofa making reefer knots with a bit of string.
+She looked up quickly:
+
+"I think it's much deeper than that."
+
+Ashurst felt again that wish to dominate.
+
+"You think so," he said; "but wanting the 'quid pro quo' is about the
+deepest thing in all of us!  It's jolly hard to get to the bottom of
+it!"
+
+She wrinkled her brows in a puzzled frown.
+
+"I don't think I understand."
+
+He went on obstinately:
+
+"Well, think, and see if the most religious people aren't those who
+feel that this life doesn't give them all they want.  I believe in
+being good because to be good is good in itself."
+
+"Then you do believe in being good?"
+
+How pretty she looked now--it was easy to be good with her!  And he
+nodded and said:
+
+"I say, show me how to make that knot!"
+
+With her fingers touching his, in manoeuvring the bit of string, he
+felt soothed and happy.  And when he went to bed he wilfully kept his
+thoughts on her, wrapping himself in her fair, cool sisterly
+radiance, as in some garment of protection.
+
+Next day he found they had arranged to go by train to Totnes, and
+picnic at Berry Pomeroy Castle.  Still in that resolute oblivion of
+the past, he took his place with them in the landau beside Halliday,
+back to the horses.  And, then, along the sea front, nearly at the
+turning to the railway station, his heart almost leaped into his
+mouth.  Megan--Megan herself!--was walking on the far pathway, in her
+old skirt and jacket and her tam-o'-shanter, looking up into the
+faces of the passers-by.  Instinctively he threw his hand up for
+cover, then made a feint of clearing dust out of his eyes; but
+between his fingers he could see her still, moving, not with her free
+country step, but wavering, lost-looking, pitiful-like some little
+dog which has missed its master and does not know whether to run on,
+to run back--where to run.  How had she come like this?--what excuse
+had she found to get away?--what did she hope for?  But with every
+turn of the wheels bearing him away from her, his heart revolted and
+cried to him to stop them, to get out, and go to her!  When the
+landau turned the corner to the station he could stand it no more,
+and opening the carriage door, muttered: "I've forgotten something!
+Go on--don't wait for me!  I'll join you at the castle by the next
+train!"  He jumped, stumbled, spun round, recovered his balance, and
+walked forward, while the carriage with the astonished Hallidays
+rolled on.
+
+>From the corner he could only just see Megan, a long way ahead now.
+He ran a few steps, checked himself, and dropped into a walk.  With
+each step nearer to her, further from the Hallidays, he walked more
+and more slowly.  How did it alter anything--this sight of her?  How
+make the going to her, and that which must come of it, less ugly?
+For there was no hiding it--since he had met the Hallidays he had
+become gradually sure that he would not marry Megan.  It would only
+be a wild love-time, a troubled, remorseful, difficult time--and
+then--well, then he would get tired, just because she gave him
+everything, was so simple, and so trustful, so dewy.  And dew--wears
+off!  The little spot of faded colour, her tam-o'-shanter cap,
+wavered on far in front of him; she was looking up into every face,
+and at the house windows.  Had any man ever such a cruel moment to go
+through?  Whatever he did, he felt he would be a beast.  And he
+uttered a groan which made a nursemaid turn and stare.  He saw Megan
+stop and lean against the sea-wall, looking at the sea; and he too
+stopped.  Quite likely she had never seen the sea before, and even in
+her distress could not resist that sight.  'Yes-she's seen nothing,'
+he thought; 'everything's before her.  And just for a few weeks'
+passion, I shall be cutting her life to ribbons.  I'd better go and
+hang myself rather than do it!'  And suddenly he seemed to see
+Stella's calm eyes looking into his, the wave of fluffy hair on her
+forehead stirred by the wind.  Ah! it would be madness, would mean
+giving up all that he respected, and his own self-respect.  He turned
+and walked quickly back towards the station.  But memory of that
+poor, bewildered little figure, those anxious eyes searching the
+passers-by, smote him too hard again, and once more he turned towards
+the sea.
+
+The cap was no longer visible; that little spot of colour had
+vanished in the stream of the noon promenaders.  And impelled by the
+passion of longing, the dearth which comes on one when life seems to
+be whirling something out of reach, he hurried forward.  She was
+nowhere to be seen; for half an hour he looked for her; then on the
+beach flung himself face downward in the sand.  To find her again he
+knew he had only to go to the station and wait till she returned from
+her fruitless quest, to take her train home; or to take train himself
+and go back to the farm, so that she found him there when she
+returned.  But he lay inert in the sand, among the indifferent groups
+of children with their spades and buckets.  Pity at her little figure
+wandering, seeking, was well-nigh merged in the spring-running of his
+blood; for it was all wild feeling now--the chivalrous part, what
+there had been of it, was gone.  He wanted her again, wanted her
+kisses, her soft, little body, her abandonment, all her quick, warm,
+pagan emotion; wanted the wonderful feeling of that night under the
+moonlit apple boughs; wanted it all with a horrible intensity, as the
+faun wants the nymph.  The quick chatter of the little bright trout-
+stream, the dazzle of the buttercups, the rocks of the old "wild
+men"; the calling of the cuckoos and yaffles, the hooting of the
+owls; and the red moon peeping out of the velvet dark at the living
+whiteness of the blossom; and her face just out of reach at the
+window, lost in its love-look; and her heart against his, her lips
+answering his, under the apple tree--all this besieged him.  Yet he
+lay inert.  What was it which struggled against pity and this
+feverish longing, and kept him there paralysed in the warm sand?
+Three flaxen heads--a fair face with friendly blue--grey eyes, a slim
+hand pressing his, a quick voice speaking his name--"So you do
+believe in being good?"  Yes, and a sort of atmosphere as of some old
+walled-in English garden, with pinks, and cornflowers, and roses, and
+scents of lavender and lilaccool and fair, untouched, almost holy--
+all that he had been brought up to feel was clean and good.  And
+suddenly he thought: 'She might come along the front again and see
+me!' and he got up and made his way to the rock at the far end of the
+beach.  There, with the spray biting into his face, he could think
+more coolly.  To go back to the farm and love Megan out in the woods,
+among the rocks, with everything around wild and fitting--that, he
+knew, was impossible, utterly.  To transplant her to a great town, to
+keep, in some little flat or rooms, one who belonged so wholly to
+Nature--the poet in him shrank from it.  His passion would be a mere
+sensuous revel, soon gone; in London, her very simplicity, her lack
+of all intellectual quality, would make her his secret plaything--
+nothing else.  The longer he sat on the rock, with his feet dangling
+over a greenish pool from which the sea was ebbing, the more clearly
+he saw this; but it was as if her arms and all of her were slipping
+slowly, slowly down from him, into the pool, to be carried away out
+to sea; and her face looking up, her lost face with beseeching eyes,
+and dark, wet hair-possessed, haunted, tortured him!  He got up at
+last, scaled the low rock-cliff, and made his way down into a
+sheltered cove.  Perhaps in the sea he could get back his control--
+lose this fever!  And stripping off his clothes, he swam out.  He
+wanted to tire himself so that nothing mattered and swam recklessly,
+fast and far; then suddenly, for no reason, felt afraid.  Suppose he
+could not reach shore again--suppose the current set him out--or he
+got cramp, like Halliday!  He turned to swim in.  The red cliffs
+looked a long way off.  If he were drowned they would find his
+clothes.  The Hallidays would know; but Megan perhaps never--they
+took no newspaper at the farm.  And Phil Halliday's words came back
+to him again: "A girl at Cambridge I might have   Glad I haven't got
+her on my mind!"  And in that moment of unreasoning fear he vowed he
+would not have her on his mind.  Then his fear left him; he swam in
+easily enough, dried himself in the sun, and put on his clothes.  His
+heart felt sore, but no longer ached; his body cool and refreshed.
+
+When one is as young as Ashurst, pity is not a violent emotion.  And,
+back in the Hallidays' sitting-room, eating a ravenous tea, he felt
+much like a man recovered from fever.  Everything seemed new and
+clear; the tea, the buttered toast and jam tasted absurdly good;
+tobacco had never smelt so nice.  And walking up and down the empty
+room, he stopped here and there to touch or look.  He took up
+Stella's work-basket, fingered the cotton reels and a gaily-coloured
+plait of sewing silks, smelt at the little bag filled with woodroffe
+she kept among them.  He sat down at the piano, playing tunes with
+one finger, thinking: 'To-night she'll play; I shall watch her while
+she's playing; it does me good to watch her.'  He took up the book,
+which still lay where she had placed it beside him, and tried to
+read.  But Megan's little, sad figure began to come back at once, and
+he got up and leaned in the window, listening to the thrushes in the
+Crescent gardens, gazing at the sea, dreamy and blue below the trees.
+A servant came in and cleared the tea away, and he still stood,
+inhaling the evening air, trying not to think.  Then he saw the
+Hallidays coming through the gate of the Crescent, Stella a little in
+front of Phil and the children, with their baskets, and instinctively
+he drew back.  His heart, too sore and discomfited, shrank from this
+encounter, yet wanted its friendly solace--bore a grudge against this
+influence, yet craved its cool innocence, and the pleasure of
+watching Stella's face.  From against the wall behind the piano he
+saw her come in and stand looking a little blank as though
+disappointed; then she saw him and smiled, a swift, brilliant smile
+which warmed yet irritated Ashurst.
+
+"You never came after us, Frank."
+
+"No; I found I couldn't."
+
+"Look!  We picked such lovely late violets!"  She held out a bunch.
+Ashurst put his nose to them, and there stirred within him vague
+longings, chilled instantly by a vision of Megan's anxious face
+lifted to the faces of the passers-by.
+
+He said shortly: "How jolly!"  and turned away.  He went up to his
+room, and, avoiding the children, who were coming up the stairs,
+threw himself on his bed, and lay there with his arms crossed over
+his face.  Now that he felt the die really cast, and Megan given up,
+he hated himself, and almost hated the Hallidays and their atmosphere
+of healthy, happy English homes.
+
+Why should they have chanced here, to drive away first love--to show
+him that he was going to be no better than a common seducer?  What
+right had Stella, with her fair, shy beauty, to make him know for
+certain that he would never marry Megan; and, tarnishing it all,
+bring him such bitterness of regretful longing and such pity?  Megan
+would be back by now, worn out by her miserable seeking--poor little
+thing!--expecting, perhaps, to find him there when she reached home.
+Ashurst bit at his sleeve, to stifle a groan of remorseful longing.
+He went to dinner glum and silent, and his mood threw a dinge even
+over the children.  It was a melancholy, rather ill tempered evening,
+for they were all tired; several times he caught Stella looking at
+him with a hurt, puzzled expression, and this pleased his evil mood.
+He slept miserably; got up quite early, and wandered out.  He went
+down to the beach.  Alone there with the serene, the blue, the sunlit
+sea, his heart relaxed a little.  Conceited fool--to think that Megan
+would take it so hard!  In a week or two she would almost have
+forgotten!  And he well, he would have the reward of virtue!  A good
+young man!  If Stella knew, she would give him her blessing for
+resisting that devil she believed in; and he uttered a hard laugh.
+But slowly the peace and beauty of sea and sky, the flight of the
+lonely seagulls, made him feel ashamed.  He bathed, and turned
+homewards.
+
+In the Crescent gardens Stella herself was sitting on a camp stool,
+sketching.  He stole up close behind.  How fair and pretty she was,
+bent diligently, holding up her brush, measuring, wrinkling her
+brows.
+
+He said gently:
+
+"Sorry I was such a beast last night, Stella."
+
+She turned round, startled, flushed very pink, and said in her quick
+way:
+
+"It's all right.  I knew there was something.  Between friends it
+doesn't matter, does it?"
+
+Ashurst answered:
+
+"Between friends--and we are, aren't we?"
+
+She looked up at him, nodded vehemently, and her upper teeth gleamed
+again in that swift, brilliant smile.
+
+Three days later he went back to London, travelling with the
+Hallidays.  He had not written to the farm.  What was there he could
+say?
+
+On the last day of April in the following year he and Stella were
+married....
+
+Such were Ashurst's memories, sitting against the wall among the
+gorse, on his silver-wedding day.  At this very spot, where he had
+laid out the lunch, Megan must have stood outlined against the sky
+when he had first caught sight of her.  Of all queer coincidences!
+And there moved in him a longing to go down and see again the farm
+and the orchard, and the meadow of the gipsy bogle.  It would not
+take long; Stella would be an hour yet, perhaps.
+
+How well he remembered it all--the little crowning group of pine
+trees, the steep-up grass hill behind!  He paused at the farm gate.
+The low stone house, the yew-tree porch, the flowering currants--not
+changed a bit; even the old green chair was out there on the grass
+under the window, where he had reached up to her that night to take
+the key.  Then he turned down the lane, and stood leaning on the
+orchard gate-grey skeleton of a gate, as then.  A black pig even was
+wandering in there among the trees.  Was it true that twenty-six
+years had passed, or had he dreamed and awakened to find Megan
+waiting for him by the big apple tree?  Unconsciously he put up his
+hand to his grizzled beard and brought himself back to reality.
+Opening the gate, he made his way down through the docks and nettles
+till he came to the edge, and the old apple tree itself.  Unchanged!
+A little more of the greygreen lichen, a dead branch or two, and for
+the rest it might have been only last night that he had embraced that
+mossy trunk after Megan's flight and inhaled its woody savour, while
+above his head the moonlit blossom had seemed to breathe and live.
+In that early spring a few buds were showing already; the blackbirds
+shouting their songs, a cuckoo calling, the sunlight bright and warm.
+Incredibly the same-the chattering trout-stream, the narrow pool he
+had lain in every morning, splashing the water over his flanks and
+chest; and out there in the wild meadow the beech clump and the stone
+where the gipsy bogie was supposed to sit.  And an ache for lost
+youth, a hankering, a sense of wasted love and sweetness, gripped
+Ashurst by the throat.  Surely, on this earth of such wild beauty,
+one was meant to hold rapture to one's heart, as this earth and sky
+held it!  And yet, one could not!
+
+He went to the edge of the stream, and looking down at the little
+pool, thought: 'Youth and spring!  What has become of them all, I
+wonder?'
+
+And then, in sudden fear of having this memory jarred by human
+encounter, he went back to the lane, and pensively retraced his steps
+to the crossroads.
+
+Beside the car an old, grey-bearded labourer was leaning on a stick,
+talking to the chauffeur.  He broke off at once, as though guilty of
+disrespect, and touching his hat, prepared to limp on down the lane.
+
+Ashurst pointed to the narrow green mound.  "Can you tell me what
+this is?"
+
+The old fellow stopped; on his face had come a look as though he were
+thinking: 'You've come to the right shop, mister!'
+
+"'Tes a grave," he said.
+
+"But why out here?"
+
+The old man smiled.  "That's a tale, as yu may say.  An' not the
+first time as I've a-told et--there's plenty folks asks 'bout that
+bit o' turf.  'Maid's Grave' us calls et, 'ereabouts."
+
+Ashurst held out his pouch.  "Have a fill?"
+
+The old man touched his hat again, and slowly filled an old clay
+pipe.  His eyes, looking upward out of a mass of wrinkles and hair,
+were still quite bright.
+
+"If yu don' mind, zurr, I'll zet down my leg's 'urtin' a bit today."
+And he sat down on the mound of turf.
+
+"There's always a flower on this grave.  An' 'tain't so very
+lonesome, neither; brave lot o' folks goes by now, in they new motor
+cars an' things--not as 'twas in th' old days.  She've a got company
+up 'ere.  'Twas a poor soul killed 'erself."
+
+"I see!" said Ashurst.  "Cross-roads burial.  I didn't know that
+custom was kept up."
+
+"Ah!  but 'twas a main long time ago.  Us 'ad a parson as was very
+God-fearin' then.  Let me see, I've a 'ad my pension six year come
+Michaelmas, an' I were just on fifty when t'appened.  There's none
+livin' knows more about et than what I du.  She belonged close 'ere;
+same farm as where I used to work along o' Mrs. Narracombe 'tes Nick
+Narracombe's now; I dus a bit for 'im still, odd times."
+
+Ashurst, who was leaning against the gate, lighting his pipe, left
+his curved hands before his face for long after the flame of the
+match had gone out.
+
+"Yes?"  he said, and to himself his voice sounded hoarse and queer.
+
+"She was one in an 'underd, poor maid!  I putts a flower 'ere every
+time I passes.  Pretty maid an' gude maid she was, though they
+wouldn't burry 'er up to th' church, nor where she wanted to be
+burried neither."  The old labourer paused, and put his hairy,
+twisted hand flat down on the turf beside the bluebells.
+
+"Yes?"  said Ashurst.
+
+"In a manner of speakin'," the old man went on, "I think as 'twas a
+love-story--though there's no one never knu for zartin.  Yu can't
+tell what's in a maid's 'ead but that's wot I think about it."  He
+drew his hand along the turf.  "I was fond o' that maid--don' know as
+there was anyone as wasn' fond of 'er.  But she was to lovin'-
+'earted--that's where 'twas, I think."  He looked up.  And Ashurst,
+whose lips were trembling in the cover of his beard, murmured again:
+"Yes?"
+
+"'Twas in the spring, 'bout now as 't might be, or a little later--
+blossom time--an' we 'ad one o' they young college gentlemen stayin'
+at the farm-nice feller tu, with 'is 'ead in the air.  I liked 'e
+very well, an' I never see nothin' between 'em, but to my thinkin' 'e
+turned the maid's fancy."  The old man took the pipe out of his
+mouth, spat, and went on:
+
+"Yu see, 'e went away sudden one day, an' never come back.  They got
+'is knapsack and bits o' things down there still.  That's what stuck
+in my mind--'is never sendin' for 'em.  'Is name was Ashes, or
+somethen' like that."
+
+"Yes?"  said Ashurst once more.
+
+The old man licked his lips.
+
+"'Er never said nothin', but from that day 'er went kind of dazed
+lukin'; didn'seem rightly therr at all.  I never knu a'uman creature
+so changed in me life--never.  There was another young feller at the
+farm--Joe Biddaford 'is name wer', that was praaperly sweet on 'er,
+tu; I guess 'e used to plague 'er wi 'is attentions.  She got to luke
+quite wild.  I'd zee her sometimes of an avenin' when I was bringin'
+up the calves; ther' she'd stand in th' orchard, under the big apple
+tree, lukin' straight before 'er.  'Well,' I used t'think, 'I dunno
+what 'tes that's the matter wi' yu, but yu'm lukin' pittiful, that yu
+be!'"
+
+The old man refit his pipe, and sucked at it reflectively.
+
+"Yes?"  said Ashurst.
+
+"I remembers one day I said to 'er: 'What's the matter, Megan?'--'er
+name was Megan David, she come from Wales same as 'er aunt, ol'
+Missis Narracombe.  'Yu'm frettin' about somethin'.  I says.  'No,
+Jim,' she says, 'I'm not frettin'.' 'Yes, yu be!' I says.  'No,' she
+says, and to tears cam' rollin' out.  'Yu'm cryin'--what's that,
+then?' I says.  She putts 'er 'and over 'er 'eart: 'It 'urts me,' she
+says; 'but 'twill sune be better,' she says.  'But if anything shude
+'appen to me, Jim, I wants to be burried under this 'ere apple tree.'
+I laughed.  'What's goin' to 'appen to yu?' I says; 'don't 'ee be
+fulish.' 'No,' she says, 'I won't be fulish.'  Well, I know what
+maids are, an' I never thought no more about et, till two days arter
+that, 'bout six in the avenin' I was comin' up wi' the calves, when I
+see somethin' dark lyin' in the strame, close to that big apple tree.
+I says to meself: 'Is that a pig-funny place for a pig to get to!'
+an' I goes up to et, an' I see what 'twas."
+
+The old man stopped; his eyes, turned upward, had a bright, suffering
+look.
+
+"'Twas the maid, in a little narrer pool ther' that's made by the
+stoppin' of a rock--where I see the young gentleman bathin' once or
+twice.  'Er was lyin' on 'er face in the watter.  There was a plant
+o' goldie-cups growin' out o' the stone just above 'er'ead.  An' when
+I come to luke at 'er face, 'twas luvly, butiful, so calm's a baby's
+--wonderful butiful et was.  When the doctor saw 'er, 'e said: 'Er
+culdn' never a-done it in that little bit o' watter ef' er 'adn't a-
+been in an extarsy.'  Ah! an' judgin' from 'er face, that was just
+'ow she was.  Et made me cry praaper-butiful et was!  'Twas June
+then, but she'd afound a little bit of apple-blossom left over
+somewheres, and stuck et in 'er 'air.  That's why I thinks 'er must
+abeen in an extarsy, to go to et gay, like that.  Why!  there wasn't
+more than a fute and 'arf o' watter.  But I tell 'ee one thing--that
+meadder's 'arnted; I knu et, an' she knu et; an' no one'll persuade
+me as 'tesn't.  I told 'em what she said to me 'bout bein' burried
+under th' apple tree.  But I think that turned 'em--made et luke to
+much 's ef she'd 'ad it in 'er mind deliberate; an' so they burried
+'er up 'ere.  Parson we 'ad then was very particular, 'e was."
+
+Again the old man drew his hand over the turf.
+
+"'Tes wonderful, et seems," he added slowly, "what maids 'll du for
+love.  She 'ad a lovin-'eart; I guess 'twas broken.  But us never knu
+nothin'!"
+
+He looked up as if for approval of his story, but Ashurst had walked
+past him as if he were not there.
+
+Up on the top of the hill, beyond where he had spread the lunch,
+over, out of sight, he lay down on his face.  So had his virtue been
+rewarded, and "the Cyprian," goddess of love, taken her revenge!  And
+before his eyes, dim with tears, came Megan's face with the sprig of
+apple blossom in her dark, wet hair.  'What did I do that was wrong?'
+he thought.  'What did I do?' But he could not answer.  Spring, with
+its rush of passion, its flowers and song-the spring in his heart and
+Megan's!  Was it just Love seeking a victim!  The Greek was right,
+then--the words of the "Hippolytus" as true to-day!
+
+    "For mad is the heart of Love,
+     And gold the gleam of his wing;
+     And all to the spell thereof
+     Bend when he makes his spring.
+     All life that is wild and young
+     In mountain and wave and stream
+     All that of earth is sprung,
+     Or breathes in the red sunbeam;
+     Yea, and Mankind.  O'er all a royal throne,
+     Cyprian, Cyprian, is thine alone!"
+
+The Greek was right!  Megan!  Poor little Megan--coming over the
+hill!  Megan under the old apple tree waiting and looking!  Megan
+dead, with beauty printed on her!
+
+A voice said:
+
+"Oh, there you are! Look !"
+
+Ashurst rose, took his wife's sketch, and stared at it in silence.
+
+"Is the foreground right, Frank?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"But there's something wanting, isn't there?"
+
+Ashurst nodded.  Wanting?  The apple tree, the singing, and the gold!
+
+And solemnly he put his lips to her forehead.  It was his silver-
+wedding day.
+
+1916
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE JURYMAN
+
+
+
+     "Don't you see, brother, I was reading yesterday the Gospel
+     about Christ, the little Father; how He suffered, how He walked
+     on the earth.  I suppose you have heard about it?"
+
+     "Indeed, I have," replied Stepanuitch; "but we are people in
+     darkness; we can't read."--TOLSTOI.
+
+
+Mr. Henry Bosengate, of the London Stock Exchange, seated himself in
+his car that morning during the great war with a sense of injury.
+Major in a Volunteer Corps; member of all the local committees;
+lending this very car to the neighbouring hospital, at times even
+driving it himself for their benefit; subscribing to funds, so far as
+his diminished income permitted--he was conscious of being an asset
+to the country, and one whose time could not be wasted with impunity.
+To be summoned to sit on a jury at the local assizes, and not even
+the grand jury at that!  It was in the nature of an outrage.
+
+Strong and upright, with hazel eyes and dark eyebrows, pinkish-brown
+cheeks, a forehead white, well-shaped, and getting high, with greyish
+hair glossy and well-brushed, and a trim moustache, he might have
+been taken for that colonel of Volunteers which indeed he was in a
+fair way of becoming.
+
+His wife had followed him out under the porch, and stood bracing her
+supple body clothed in lilac linen.  Red rambler roses formed a sort
+of crown to her dark head; her ivory-coloured face had in it just a
+suggestion of the Japanese.
+
+Mr. Bosengate spoke through the whirr of the engine:
+
+"I don't expect to be late, dear.  This business is ridiculous.
+There oughtn't to be any crime in these days."
+
+His wife--her name was Kathleen--smiled.  She looked very pretty and
+cool, Mr. Bosengate thought.  To him bound on this dull and stuffy
+business everything he owned seemed pleasant--the geranium beds
+beside the gravel drive, his long, red-brick house mellowing
+decorously in its creepers and ivy, the little clock-tower over
+stables now converted to a garage, the dovecote, masking at the other
+end the conservatory which adjoined the billiard-room.  Close to the
+red-brick lodge his two children, Kate and Harry, ran out from under
+the acacia trees, and waved to him, scrambling bare-legged on to the
+low, red, ivy-covered wall which guarded his domain of eleven acres.
+Mr. Bosengate waved back, thinking: 'Jolly couple--by Jove, they
+are!'  Above their heads, through the trees, he could see right away
+to some Downs, faint in the July heat haze.  And he thought: 'Pretty
+a spot as one could have got, so close to Town!'
+
+Despite the war he had enjoyed these last two years more than any of
+the ten since he built "Charmleigh" and settled down to semi-rural
+domesticity with his young wife.  There had been a certain piquancy,
+a savour added to existence, by the country's peril, and all the
+public service and sacrifice it demanded.  His chauffeur was gone,
+and one gardener did the work of three.  He enjoyed-positively
+enjoyed, his committee work; even the serious decline of business and
+increase of taxation had not much worried one continually conscious
+of the national crisis and his own part therein.  The country had
+wanted waking up, wanted a lesson in effort and economy; and the
+feeling that he had not spared himself in these strenuous times, had
+given a zest to those quiet pleasures of bed and board which, at his
+age, even the most patriotic could retain with a good conscience.  He
+had denied himself many things--new clothes, presents for Kathleen
+and the children, travel, and that pine-apple house which he had been
+on the point of building when the war broke out; new wine, too, and
+cigars, and membership of the two Clubs which he had never used in
+the old days.  The hours had seemed fuller and longer, sleep better
+earned--wonderful, the things one could do without when put to it!
+He turned the car into the high road, driving dreamily for he was in
+plenty of time.  The war was going pretty well now; he was no fool
+optimist, but now that conscription was in force, one might
+reasonably hope for its end within a year.  Then there would be a
+boom, and one might let oneself go a little.  Visions of theatres and
+supper with his wife at the Savoy afterwards, and cosy night drives
+back into the sweet-smelling country behind your own chauffeur once
+more teased a fancy which even now did not soar beyond the confines
+of domestic pleasures.  He pictured his wife in new dresses by Jay--
+she was fifteen years younger than himself, and "paid for dressing"
+as they said.  He had always delighted--as men older than their wives
+will--in the admiration she excited from others not privileged to
+enjoy her charms.  Her rather queer and ironical beauty, her cool
+irreproachable wifeliness, was a constant balm to him.  They would
+give dinner parties again, have their friends down from town, and he
+would once more enjoy sitting at the foot of the dinner table while
+Kathleen sat at the head, with the light soft on her ivory shoulders,
+behind flowers she had arranged in that original way of hers, and
+fruit which he had grown in his hot-houses; once more he would take
+legitimate interest in the wine he offered to his guests--once more
+stock that Chinese cabinet wherein he kept cigars.  Yes--there was a
+certain satisfaction in these days of privation, if only from the
+anticipation they created.
+
+The sprinkling of villas had become continuous on either side of the
+high road; and women going out to shop, tradesmen's boys delivering
+victuals, young men in khaki, began to abound.  Now and then a
+limping or bandaged form would pass--some bit of human wreckage; and
+Mr. Bosengate would think mechanically: 'Another of those poor
+devils!  Wonder if we've had his case before us!'
+
+Running his car into the best hotel garage of the little town, he
+made his way leisurely over to the court.  It stood back from the
+market-place, and was already lapped by a sea of persons having, as
+in the outer ring at race meetings, an air of business at which one
+must not be caught out, together with a soaked or flushed appearance.
+Mr. Bosengate could not resist putting his handkerchief to his nose.
+He had carefully drenched it with lavender water, and to this fact
+owed, perhaps, his immunity from the post of foreman on the jury--
+for, say what you will about the English, they have a deep instinct
+for affairs.
+
+He found himself second in the front row of the jury box, and through
+the odour of "Sanitas" gazed at the judge's face expressionless up
+there, for all the world like a bewigged bust.  His fellows in the
+box had that appearance of falling between two classes characteristic
+of jurymen.  Mr. Bosengate was not impressed.  On one side of him the
+foreman sat, a prominent upholsterer, known in the town as "Gentleman
+Fox."  His dark and beautifully brushed and oiled hair and moustache,
+his radiant linen, gold watch and chain, the white piping to his
+waistcoat, and a habit of never saying "Sir" had long marked him out
+from commoner men; he undertook to bury people too, to save them
+trouble; and was altogether superior.  On the other side Mr.
+Bosengate had one of those men, who, except when they sit on juries,
+are never seen without a little brown bag, and the appearance of
+having been interrupted in a drink.  Pale and shiny, with large loose
+eyes shifting from side to side, he had an underdone voice and uneasy
+flabby hands.  Mr. Bosengate disliked sitting next to him.  Beyond
+this commercial traveller sat a dark pale young man with spectacles;
+beyond him again, a short old man with grey moustache, mutton chops,
+and innumerable wrinkles; and the front row was completed by a
+chemist.  The three immediately behind, Mr. Bosengate did not
+thoroughly master; but the three at the end of the second row he
+learned in their order of an oldish man in a grey suit, given to
+winking; an inanimate person with the mouth of a moustachioed cod-
+fish, over whose long bald crown three wisps of damp hair were
+carefully arranged; and a dried, dapperish, clean-shorn man, whose
+mouth seemed terrified lest it should be surprised without a smile.
+Their first and second verdicts were recorded without the necessity
+for withdrawal, and Mr. Bosengate was already sleepy when the third
+case was called.  The sight of khaki revived his drooping attention.
+But what a weedy-looking specimen!  This prisoner had a truly
+nerveless pitiable dejected air.  If he had ever had a military
+bearing it had shrunk into him during his confinement.  His ill-
+shaped brown tunic, whose little brass buttons seemed trying to keep
+smiling, struck Mr. Bosengate as ridiculously short, used though he
+was to such things.  'Absurd,' he thought--'Lumbago!  Just where they
+ought to be covered!'  Then the officer and gentleman stirred in him,
+and he added to himself: 'Still, there must be some distinction
+made!'  The little soldier's visage had once perhaps been tanned, but
+was now the colour of dark dough; his large brown eyes with white
+showing below the iris, as so often in the eyes of very nervous
+people--wandered from face to face, of judge, counsel, jury, and
+public.  There were hollows in his cheeks, his dark hair looked damp;
+around his neck he wore a bandage.  The commercial traveller on Mr.
+Bosengate's left turned, and whispered: "Felo de se!  My hat! what a
+guy!"  Mr. Bosengate pretended not to hear--he could not bear that
+fellow!--and slowly wrote on a bit of paper: "Owen Lewis."  Welsh!
+Well, he looked it--not at all an English face.  Attempted suicide--
+not at all an English crime!  Suicide implied surrender, a putting-up
+of hands to Fate--to say nothing of the religious aspect of the
+matter.  And suicide in khaki seemed to Mr. Bosengate particularly
+abhorrent; like turning tail in face of the enemy; almost meriting
+the fate of a deserter.  He looked at the prisoner, trying not to
+give way to this prejudice.  And the prisoner seemed to look at him,
+though this, perhaps, was fancy.
+
+The Counsel for the prosecution, a little, alert, grey, decided man,
+above military age, began detailing the circumstances of the crime.
+Mr. Bosengate, though not particularly sensitive to atmosphere, could
+perceive a sort of current running through the Court.  It was as if
+jury and public were thinking rhythmically in obedience to the same
+unexpressed prejudice of which he himself was conscious.  Even the
+Caesar-like pale face up there, presiding, seemed in its ironic
+serenity responding to that current.
+
+"Gentlemen of the jury, before I call my evidence, I direct your
+attention to the bandage the accused is still wearing.  He gave
+himself this wound with his Army razor, adding, if I may say so,
+insult to the injury he was inflicting on his country.  He pleads not
+guilty; and before the magistrates he said that absence from his wife
+was preying on his mind"--the advocate's close lips widened--"Well,
+gentlemen, if such an excuse is to weigh with us in these days, I'm
+sure I don't know what's to happen to the Empire."
+
+'No, by George!' thought Mr. Bosengate.
+
+The evidence of the first witness, a room-mate who had caught the
+prisoner's hand, and of the sergeant, who had at once been summoned,
+was conclusive and he began to cherish a hope that they would get
+through without withdrawing, and he would be home before five.  But
+then a hitch occurred.  The regimental doctor failed to respond when
+his name was called; and the judge having for the first time that day
+showed himself capable of human emotion, intimated that he would
+adjourn until the morrow.
+
+Mr. Bosengate received the announcement with equanimity.  He would be
+home even earlier!  And gathering up the sheets of paper he had
+scribbled on, he put them in his pocket and got up.  The would-be
+suicide was being taken out of the court--a shambling drab figure
+with shoulders hunched.  What good were men like that in these days!
+What good!  The prisoner looked up.  Mr. Bosengate encountered in
+full the gaze of those large brown eyes, with the white showing
+underneath.  What a suffering, wretched, pitiful face!  A man had no
+business to give you a look like that!  The prisoner passed on down
+the stairs, and vanished.  Mr. Bosengate went out and across the
+market place to the garage of the hotel where he had left his car.
+The sun shone fiercely and he thought: 'I must do some watering in
+the garden.'  He brought the car out, and was about to start the
+engine, when someone passing said: "Good evenin'.  Seedy-lookin'
+beggar that last prisoner, ain't he?  We don't want men of that
+stamp."  It was his neighbour on the jury, the commercial traveller,
+in a straw hat, with a little brown bag already in his hand and the
+froth of an interrupted drink on his moustache.  Answering curtly:
+"Good evening!" and thinking: 'Nor of yours, my friend!'  Mr.
+Bosengate started the car with unnecessary clamour.  But as if
+brought back to life by the commercial traveller's remark, the
+prisoner's figure seemed to speed along too, turning up at Mr.
+Bosengate his pitifully unhappy eyes.  Want of his wife!--queer
+excuse that for trying to put it out of his power ever to see her
+again!  Why!  Half a loaf, even a slice, was better than no bread.
+Not many of that neurotic type in the Army--thank Heaven!  The
+lugubrious figure vanished, and Mr. Bosengate pictured instead the
+form of his own wife bending over her "Gloire de Dijon roses" in the
+rosery, where she generally worked a little before tea now that they
+were short of gardeners.  He saw her, as often he had seen her, raise
+herself and stand, head to one side, a gloved hand on her slender
+hip, gazing as it were ironically from under drooped lids at buds
+which did not come out fast enough.  And the word 'Caline,' for he
+was something of a French scholar, shot through his mind: 'Kathleen-
+Caline!'  If he found her there when he got in, he would steal up on
+the grass and--ah! but with great care not to crease her dress or
+disturb her hair!  'If only she weren't quite so self-contained,' he
+thought; 'It's like a cat you can't get near, not really near!'
+
+The car, returning faster than it had come down that morning, had
+already passed the outskirt villas, and was breasting the hill to
+where, among fields and the old trees, Charmleigh lay apart from
+commoner life.  Turning into his drive, Mr. Bosengate thought with a
+certain surprise: 'I wonder what she does think of!  I wonder!'  He
+put his gloves and hat down in the outer hall and went into the
+lavatory, to dip his face in cool water and wash it with sweet-
+smelling soap--delicious revenge on the unclean atmosphere in which
+he had been stewing so many hours.  He came out again into the hall
+dazed by soap and the mellowed light, and a voice from half-way up
+the stairs said: "Daddy!  Look!"  His little daughter was standing up
+there with one hand on the banisters.  She scrambled on to them and
+came sliding down, her frock up to her eyes, and her holland knickers
+to her middle.  Mr. Bosengate said mildly:
+
+"Well, that's elegant!"
+
+"Tea's in the summer-house.  Mummy's waiting.  Come on!"
+
+With her hand in his, Mr. Bosengate went on, through the drawing-
+room, long and cool, with sun-blinds down, through the billiard-room,
+high and cool, through the conservatory, green and sweet-smelling,
+out on to the terrace and the upper lawn.  He had never felt such
+sheer exhilarated joy in his home surroundings, so cool, glistening
+and green under the July sun; and he said:
+
+"Well, Kit, what have you all been doing?"
+
+"I've fed my rabbits and Harry's; and we've been in the attic; Harry
+got his leg through the skylight."
+
+Mr. Bosengate drew in his breath with a hiss.
+
+"It's all right, Daddy; we got it out again, it's only grazed the
+skin.  And we've been making swabs--I made seventeen, Mummy made
+thirty-three, and then she went to the hospital.  Did you put many
+men in prison?"
+
+Mr. Bosengate cleared his throat.  The question seemed to him
+untimely.
+
+"Only two."
+
+"What's it like in prison, Daddy?"
+
+Mr. Bosengate, who had no more knowledge than his little daughter,
+replied in an absent voice:
+
+"Not very nice."
+
+They were passing under a young oak tree, where the path wound round
+to the rosery and summer-house.  Something shot down and clawed Mr.
+Bosengate's neck.  His little daughter began to hop and suffocate
+with laughter.
+
+"Oh, Daddy!  Aren't you caught!  I led you on purpose!"
+
+Looking up, Mr. Bosengate saw his small son lying along a low branch
+above him--like the leopard he was declaring himself to be (for fear
+of error), and thought blithely: 'What an active little chap it is!'
+"Let me drop on your shoulders, Daddy--like they do on the deer."
+
+"Oh, yes!  Do be a deer, Daddy!"
+
+Mr. Bosengate did not see being a deer; his hair had just been
+brushed.  But he entered the rosery buoyantly between his offspring.
+His wife was standing precisely as he had imagined her, in a pale
+blue frock open at the neck, with a narrow black band round the
+waist, and little accordion pleats below.  She looked her coolest.
+Her smile, when she turned her head, hardly seemed to take Mr.
+Bosengate seriously enough.  He placed his lips below one of her
+half-drooped eyelids.  She even smelled of roses.  His children began
+to dance round their mother, and Mr. Bosengate,--firmly held between
+them, was also compelled to do this, until she said:
+
+"When you've quite done, let's have tea!"
+
+It was not the greeting he had imagined coming along in the car.
+Earwigs were plentiful in the summer-house--used perhaps twice a
+year, but indispensable to every country residence--and Mr. Bosengate
+was not sorry for the excuse to get out again.  Though all was so
+pleasant, he felt oddly restless, rather suffocated; and lighting his
+pipe, began to move about among the roses, blowing tobacco at the
+greenfly; in war-time one was never quite idle!  And suddenly he
+said:
+
+"We're trying a wretched Tommy at the assizes."
+
+His wife looked up from a rose.
+
+"What for?"
+
+"Attempted suicide."
+
+"Why did he?"
+
+"Can't stand the separation from his wife."
+
+She looked at him, gave a low laugh, and said:
+
+"Oh dear!"
+
+Mr. Bosengate was puzzled.  Why did she laugh?  He looked round, saw
+that the children were gone, took his pipe from his mouth, and
+approached her.
+
+"You look very pretty," he said.  "Give me a kiss!"
+
+His wife bent her body forward from the waist, and pushed her lips
+out till they touched his moustache.  Mr. Bosengate felt a sensation
+as if he had arisen from breakfast, without having eaten marmalade.
+He mastered it, and said:
+
+"That jury are a rum lot."
+
+His wife's eyelids flickered.  "I wish women sat on juries."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"It would be an experience."
+
+Not the first time she had used that curious expression!  Yet her
+life was far from dull, so far as he could see; with the new
+interests created by the war, and the constant calls on her time made
+by the perfection of their home life, she had a useful and busy
+existence.  Again the random thought passed through him: 'But she
+never tells me anything!'  And suddenly that lugubrious khaki-clad
+figure started up among the rose bushes.  "We've got a lot to be
+thankful for!" he said abruptly.  "I must go to work!"  His wife,
+raising one eyebrow, smiled.  "And I to weep!"  Mr. Bosengate
+laughed--she had a pretty wit!  And stroking his comely moustache
+where it had been kissed, he moved out into the sunshine.  All the
+evening, throughout his labours, not inconsiderable, for this jury
+business had put him behind time, he was afflicted by that restless
+pleasure in his surroundings; would break off in mowing the lower
+lawn to look at the house through the trees; would leave his study
+and committee papers, to cross into the drawing-room and sniff its
+dainty fragrance; paid a special good-night visit to the children
+having supper in the schoolroom; pottered in and out from his
+dressing room to admire his wife while she was changing for dinner;
+dined with his mind perpetually on the next course; talked volubly of
+the war; and in the billiard room afterwards, smoking the pipe which
+had taken the place of his cigar, could not keep still, but roamed
+about, now in conservatory, now in the drawing-room, where his wife
+and the governess were still making swabs.  It seemed to him that he
+could not have enough of anything.  About eleven o'clock he strolled
+out beautiful night, only just dark enough--under the new arrangement
+with Time--and went down to the little round fountain below the
+terrace.  His wife was playing the piano.  Mr. Bosengate looked at
+the water and the flat dark water lily leaves which floated there;
+looked up at the house, where only narrow chinks of light showed,
+because of the Lighting Order.  The dreamy music  drifted out; there
+was a scent of heliotrope.  He moved a few steps back, and sat in the
+children's swing under an old lime tree.  Jolly--blissful--in the
+warm, bloomy dark!  Of all hours of the day, this before going to bed
+was perhaps the pleasantest.  He saw the light go up in his wife's
+bed room, unscreened for a full minute, and thought: 'Aha!  If I did
+my duty as a special, I should "strafe" her for that.'  She came to
+the window, her figure lighted, hands up to the back of her head, so
+that her bare arms gleamed.  Mr. Bosengate wafted her a kiss, knowing
+he could not be seen.  'Lucky chap!' he mused; 'she's a great joy!'
+Up went her arm, down came the blind the house was dark again.  He
+drew a long breath.  'Another ten minutes,' he thought, 'then I'll go
+in and shut up.  By Jove!  The limes are beginning to smell already!'
+And, the better to take in that acme of his well-being, he tilted the
+swing, lifted his feet from the ground, and swung himself toward the
+scented blossoms.  He wanted to whelm his senses in their perfume,
+and closed his eyes.  But instead of the domestic vision he expected,
+the face of the little Welsh soldier, hare-eyed, shadowy, pinched and
+dark and pitiful, started up with such disturbing vividness that he
+opened his eyes again at once.  Curse!  The fellow almost haunted
+one!  Where would he be now poor little devil!--lying in his cell,
+thinking--thinking of his wife!  Feeling suddenly morbid, Mr.
+Bosengate arrested the swing and stood up. Absurd!--all his well-
+being and mood of warm anticipation had deserted him!  'A d---d
+world!' he thought.  'Such a lot of misery!  Why should I have to sit
+in judgment on that poor beggar, and condemn him?'  He moved up on to
+the terrace and walked briskly, to rid himself of this disturbance
+before going in.  'That commercial traveller chap,' he thought, 'the
+rest of those fellows--they see nothing!'  And, abruptly turning up
+the three stone steps, he entered the conservatory, locked it, passed
+into the billiard room, and drank his barley water.  One of the
+pictures was hanging crooked; he went up to put it straight.  Still
+life.  Grapes and apples, and--lobsters!  They struck him as odd for
+the first time.  Why lobsters?  The whole picture seemed dead and
+oily.  He turned off the light, and went upstairs, passed his wife's
+door, into his own room, and undressed.  Clothed in his pyjamas he
+opened the door between the rooms.  By the light coming from his own
+he could see her dark head on the pillow.  Was she asleep?  No--not
+asleep, certainly.  The moment of fruition had come; the crowning of
+his pride and pleasure in his home.  But he continued to stand there.
+He had suddenly no pride, no pleasure, no desire; nothing but a sort
+of dull resentment against everything.  He turned back; shut the
+door, and slipping between the heavy curtains and his open window,
+stood looking out at the night.  'Full of misery!' he thought.  'Full
+of d---d misery!'
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+Filing into the jury box next morning, Mr. Bosengate collided
+slightly with a short juryman, whose square figure and square head of
+stiff yellow-red hair he had only vaguely noticed the day before.
+The man looked angry, and Mr. Bosengate thought: 'An ill-bred dog,
+that!'
+
+He sat down quickly, and, to avoid further recognition of his
+fellows, gazed in front of him.  His appearance on Saturdays was
+always military, by reason of the route march of his Volunteer Corps
+in the afternoon.  Gentleman Fox, who belonged to the corps too, was
+also looking square; but that commercial traveller on his other side
+seemed more louche, and as if surprised in immorality, than ever;
+only the proximity of Gentleman Fox on the other side kept Mr.
+Bosengate from shrinking.  Then he saw the prisoner being brought in,
+shadowy and dark behind the brightness of his buttons, and he
+experienced a sort of shock, this figure was so exactly that which
+had several times started up in his mind.  Somehow he had expected a
+fresh sight of the fellow to dispel and disprove what had been
+haunting him, had expected to find him just an outside phenomenon,
+not, as it were, a part of his own life.  And he gazed at the carven
+immobility of the judge's face, trying to steady himself, as a
+drunken man will, by looking at a light.  The regimental doctor,
+unabashed by the judge's comment on his absence the day before, gave
+his evidence like a man who had better things to do, and the case for
+the prosecution was forthwith rounded in by a little speech from
+counsel.  The matter--he said--was clear as daylight.  Those who wore
+His Majesty's uniform, charged with the responsibility and privilege
+of defending their country, were no more entitled to desert their
+regiments by taking their own lives than they were entitled to desert
+in any other way.  He asked for a conviction.  Mr. Bosengate felt a
+sympathetic shuffle passing through all feet; the judge was speaking:
+
+"Prisoner, you can either go into the witness box and make your
+statement on oath, in which case you may be cross-examined on it; or
+you can make your statement there from the dock, in which case you
+will not be cross-examined.  Which do you elect to do?"
+
+"From here, my lord."
+
+Seeing him now full face, and, as it might be, come to life in the
+effort to convey his feelings, Mr. Bosengate had suddenly a quite
+different impression of the fellow.  It was as if his khaki had
+fallen off, and he had stepped out of his own shadow, a live and
+quivering creature.  His pinched clean-shaven face seemed to have an
+irregular, wilder, hairier look, his large nervous brown eyes
+darkened and glowed; he jerked his shoulders, his arms, his whole
+body, like a man suddenly freed from cramp or a suit of armour.
+
+He spoke, too, in a quick, crisp, rather high voice, pinching his
+consonants a little, sharpening his vowels, like a true Welshman.
+
+"My lord and misters the jury," he said: "I was a hairdresser when
+the call came on me to join the army.  I had a little home and a
+wife.  I never thought what it would be like to be away from them, I
+surely never did; and I'm ashamed to be speaking it out like this--
+how it can squeeze and squeeze a man, how it can prey on your mind,
+when you're nervous like I am.  'Tis not everyone that cares for his
+home--there's lots o' them never wants to see their wives again.  But
+for me 'tis like being shut up in a cage, it is!"  Mr. Bosengate saw
+daylight between the skinny fingers of the man's hand thrown out with
+a jerk.  "I cannot bear it shut up away from wife and home like what
+you are in the army.  So when I took my razor that morning I was
+wild--an' I wouldn't be here now but for that man catching my hand.
+There was no reason in it, I'm willing to confess.  It was foolish;
+but wait till you get feeling like what I was, and see how it draws
+you.  Misters the jury, don't send me back to prison; it is worse
+still there.  If you have wives you will know what it is like for
+lots of us; only some is more nervous than others.  I swear to you,
+sirs, I could not help it---?"  Again the little man flung out his
+hand, his whole thin body shook and Mr. Bosengate felt the same
+sensation as when he drove his car over a dog--"Misters the jury, I
+hope you may never in your lives feel as I've been feeling."
+
+The little man ceased, his eyes shrank back into their sockets, his
+figure back into its mask of shadowy brown and gleaming buttons, and
+Mr. Bosengate was conscious that the judge was making a series of
+remarks; and, very soon, of being seated at a mahogany table in the
+jury's withdrawing room, hearing the, voice of the man with hair like
+an Irish terrier's saying: "Didn't he talk through his hat, that
+little blighter!"  Conscious, too, of the commercial traveller, still
+on his left--always on his left!--mopping his brow, and muttering:
+"Phew! It's hot in there to-day!"  while an effluvium, as of an
+inside accustomed to whisky came from him.  Then the man with the
+underlip and the three plastered wisps of hair said:
+
+"Don't know why we withdrew, Mr. Foreman!"
+
+Mr. Bosengate looked round to where, at the head of the table,
+Gentleman Fox sat, in defensive gentility and the little white piping
+to his waistcoat saying blandly:
+
+"I shall be happy to take the sense of the jury."
+
+There was a short silence, then the chemist murmured:
+
+"I should say he must have what they call claustrophobia."
+
+"Clauster fiddlesticks!  The feller's a shirker, that's all.  Missed
+his wife--pretty excuse!  Indecent, I call it!"
+
+The speaker was the little wire-haired man; and emotion, deep and
+angry, stirred in Mr. Bosengate.  That ill-bred little cur!  He
+gripped the edge of the table with both hands.
+
+"I think it's d-----d natural!"  he muttered.  But almost before the
+words had left his lips he felt dismay.  What had he said--he, nearly
+a colonel of volunteers--endorsing such a want of patriotism!  And
+hearing the commercial traveller murmuring: "'Ear, 'ear!"  he
+reddened violently.
+
+The wire-headed man said roughly:
+
+"There's too many of these blighted shirkers, and too much pampering
+of them."
+
+The turmoil in Mr. Bosengate increased; he remarked in an icy voice:
+
+"I agree to no verdict that'll send the man back to prison."
+
+At this a real tremor seemed to go round the table, as if they all
+saw themselves sitting there through lunch time.  Then the large
+grey-haired man given to winking, said:
+
+"Oh!  Come, sir--after what the judge said!  Come, sir!  What do you
+say, Mr. Foreman?"
+
+Gentleman Fox--as who should say 'This is excellent value, but I
+don't wish to press it on you!'--answered:
+
+"We are only concerned with the facts.  Did he or did he not try to
+shorten his life?"
+
+"Of course he did--said so himself," Mr. Bosengate heard the wire-
+haired man snap out, and from the following murmur of assent he alone
+abstained.  Guilty!  Well--yes!  There was no way out of admitting
+that, but his feelings revolted against handing "that poor little
+beggar" over to the tender mercy of his country's law.  His whole
+soul rose in arms against agreeing with that ill-bred little cur, and
+the rest of this job-lot.  He had an impulse to get up and walk out,
+saying: "Settle it your own way.  Good morning."
+
+"It seems, sir," Gentleman Fox was saying, "that we're all agreed to
+guilty, except yourself.  If you will allow me, I don't see how you
+can go behind what the prisoner himself admitted."
+
+Thus brought up to the very guns, Mr. Bosengate, red in the face,
+thrust his hands deep into the side pockets of his tunic, and,
+staring straight before him, said:
+
+"Very well; on condition we recommend him to mercy."
+
+"What do you say, gentlemen; shall we recommend him to mercy?"
+
+"'Ear, 'ear!" burst from the commercial traveller, and from the
+chemist came the murmur:
+
+"No harm in that."
+
+"Well, I think there is.  They shoot deserters at the front, and we
+let this fellow off.  I'd hang the cur."
+
+Mr. Bosengate stared at that little wire-haired brute.  "Haven't you
+any feeling for others?"  he wanted to say.  "Can't you see that this
+poor devil suffers tortures?"  But the sheer impossibility of doing
+this before ten other men brought a slight sweat out on his face and
+hands; and in agitation he smote the table a blow with his fist.  The
+effect was instantaneous.  Everybody looked at the wire-haired man,
+as if saying: "Yes, you've gone a bit too far there!"  The "little
+brute" stood it for a moment, then muttered surlily:
+
+"Well, commend 'im to mercy if you like; I don't care."
+
+"That's right; they never pay any attention to it," said the grey-
+haired man, winking heartily.  And Mr. Bosengate filed back with the
+others into court.
+
+But when from the jury box his eyes fell once more on the hare-eyed
+figure in the dock, he had his worst moment yet.  Why should this
+poor wretch suffer so--for no fault, no fault; while he, and these
+others, and that snapping counsel, and the Caesar-like judge up
+there, went off to their women and their homes, blithe as bees, and
+probably never thought of him again?  And suddenly he was conscious
+of the judge's voice:
+
+"You will go back to your regiment, and endeavour to serve your
+country with better spirit.  You may thank the jury that you are not
+sent to prison, and your good fortune that you were not at the front
+when you tried to commit this cowardly act.  You are lucky to be
+alive."
+
+A policeman pulled the little soldier by the arm; his drab figure
+with eyes fixed and lustreless, passed down and away.  From his very
+soul Mr. Bosengate wanted to lean out and say: "Cheer up, cheer up!
+I understand."
+
+It was nearly ten o'clock that evening before he reached home,
+motoring back from the route march.  His physical tiredness was
+abated, for he had partaken of a snack and a whisky and soda at the
+hotel; but mentally he was in a curious mood.  His body felt
+appeased, his spirit hungry.  Tonight he had a yearning, not for his
+wife's kisses, but for her understanding.  He wanted to go to her and
+say: "I've learnt a lot to-day-found out things I never thought of.
+Life's a wonderful thing, Kate, a thing one can't live all to
+oneself; a thing one shares with everybody, so that when another
+suffers, one suffers too.  It's come to me that what one has doesn't
+matter a bit--it's what one does, and how one sympathises with other
+people.  It came to me in the most extraordinary vivid way, when I
+was on that jury, watching that poor little rat of a soldier in his
+trap; it's the first time I've ever felt--the--the spirit of Christ,
+you know.  It's a wonderful thing, Kate--wonderful!  We haven't been
+close--really close, you and I, so that we each understand what the
+other is feeling.  It's all in that, you know; understanding--
+sympathy--it's priceless.  When I saw that poor little devil taken
+down and sent back to his regiment to begin his sorrows all over
+again--wanting his wife, thinking and thinking of her just as you
+know I would be thinking and wanting you, I felt what an awful
+outside sort of life we lead, never telling each other what we really
+think and feel, never being really close.  I daresay that little chap
+and his wife keep nothing from each other--live each other's lives.
+That's what we ought to do.  Let's get to feeling that what really
+matters is--understanding and loving, and not only just saying it as
+we all do, those fellows on the jury, and even that poor devil of a
+judge--what an awful life judging one's fellow-creatures.
+
+"When I left that poor little Tommy this morning, and ever since, I've
+longed to get back here quietly to you and tell you about it, and
+make a beginning.  There's something wonderful in this, and I want
+you to feel it as I do, because you mean such a lot to me."
+
+This was what he wanted to say to his wife, not touching, or kissing
+her, just looking into her eyes, watching them soften and glow as
+they surely must, catching the infection of his new ardour.  And he
+felt unsteady, fearfully unsteady with the desire to say it all as it
+should be said: swiftly, quietly, with the truth and fervour of his
+feeling.
+
+The hall was not lit up, for daylight still lingered under the new
+arrangement.  He went towards the drawing-room, but from the very
+door shied off to his study and stood irresolute under the picture of
+a "Man catching a flea" (Dutch school), which had come down to him
+from his father.  The governess would be in there with his wife!  He
+must wait.  Essential to go straight to Kathleen and pour it all out,
+or he would never do it.  He felt as nervous as an undergraduate
+going up for his viva' voce.  This thing was so big, so astoundingly
+and unexpectedly important.  He was suddenly afraid of his wife,
+afraid of her coolness and her grace, and that something Japanese
+about her--of all those attributes he had been accustomed to admire
+most; afraid, as it were, of her attraction.  He felt young to-night,
+almost boyish; would she see that he was not really fifteen years
+older than herself, and she not really a part of his collection, of
+all the admirable appointments of his home; but a companion spirit to
+one who wanted a companion badly.  In this agitation of his soul he
+could keep still no more than he could last night in the agitation of
+his senses; and he wandered into the dining-room.  A dainty supper
+was set out there, sandwiches, and cake, whisky and the cigarettes-
+even an early peach. Mr. Bosengate looked at this peach with sorrow
+rather than disgust.  The perfection of it was of a piece with all
+that had gone before this new and sudden feeling.  Its delicious
+bloom seemed to heighten his perception of the hedge around him, that
+hedge of the things he so enjoyed, carefully planted and tended these
+many years.  He passed it by uneaten, and went to the window.  Out
+there all was darkening, the fountain, the lime tree, the flower-
+beds, and the fields below, with the Jersey cows who would come to
+your call; darkening slowly, losing form, blurring into soft
+blackness, vanishing, but there none the less--all there--the hedge
+of his possessions.  He heard the door of the drawing-room open, the
+voices of his wife and the governess in the hall, going up to bed.
+If only they didn't look in here!  If only!  The voices ceased.  He
+was safe now--had but to follow in a few minutes, to make sure of
+Kathleen alone.  He turned round and stared down the length of the
+dark dining-room, over the rosewood table, to where in the mirror
+above the sideboard at the far end, his figure bathed, a stain, a
+mere blurred shadow; he made his way down to it along the table edge,
+and stood before himself as close as he could get.  His throat and
+the roof of his mouth felt dry with nervousness; he put out his
+finger and touched his face in the glass.  'You're an ass!' he
+thought.  'Pull yourself together, and get it over.  She will see; of
+course she will!'  He swallowed, smoothed his moustache, and walked
+out.  Going up the stairs, his heart beat painfully; but he was in
+for it now, and marched straight into her room.
+Dressed only in a loose blue wrapper, she was brushing her dark hair
+before the glass.  Mr. Bosengate went up to her and stood there
+silent, looking down.  The words he had thought of were like a swarm
+of bees buzzing in his head, yet not one would fly from between his
+lips.  His wife went on brushing her hair under the light which shone
+on her polished elbows.  She looked up at him from beneath one lifted
+eyebrow.
+
+"Well, dear--tired?"
+
+With a sort of vehemence the single word "No" passed out.  A faint, a
+quizzical smile flitted over her face; she shrugged her shoulders
+ever so gently.  That gesture--he had seen it before!  And in
+desperate desire to make her understand, he put his hand on her
+lifted arm.
+
+"Kathleen, stop--listen to me!"  His fingers tightened in his
+agitation and eagerness to make his great discovery known.  But
+before he could get out a word he became conscious of that cool round
+arm, conscious of her eyes half-closed, sliding round at him, of her
+half-smiling lips, of her neck under the wrapper.  And he stammered:
+
+"I want--I must--Kathleen, I---"
+
+She lifted her shoulders again in that little shrug.  "Yes--I know;
+all right!"
+
+A wave of heat and shame, and of God knows what came over Mr.
+Bosengate; he fell on his knees and pressed his forehead to her arm;
+and he was silent, more silent than the grave.  Nothing--nothing came
+from him but two long sighs.  Suddenly he felt her hand stroke his
+cheek--compassionately, it seemed to him.  She made a little movement
+towards him; her lips met his, and he remembered nothing but that....
+
+In his own room Mr. Bosengate sat at his wide open window, smoking a
+cigarette; there was no light.  Moths went past, the moon was
+creeping up.  He sat very calm, puffing the smoke out in to the night
+air.  Curious thing-life!  Curious world!  Curious forces in it--
+making one do the opposite of what one wished; always--always making
+one do the opposite, it seemed!  The furtive light from that creeping
+moon was getting hold of things down there, stealing in among the
+boughs of the trees.  'There's something ironical,' he thought,
+'which walks about.  Things don't come off as you think they will.  I
+meant, I tried but one doesn't change like that all of a sudden, it
+seems.  Fact is, life's too big a thing for one!  All the same, I'm
+not the man I was yesterday--not quite!'  He closed his eyes, and in
+one of those flashes of vision which come when the senses are at
+rest, he saw himself as it were far down below--down on the floor of
+a street narrow as a grave, high as a mountain, a deep dark slit of a
+street walking down there, a black midget of a fellow, among other
+black midgets--his wife, and the little soldier, the judge, and those
+jury chaps--fantoches straight up on their tiny feet, wandering down
+there in that dark, infinitely tall, and narrow street.  'Too much
+for one!' he thought; 'Too high for one--no getting on top of it.
+We've got to be kind, and help one another, and not expect too much,
+and not think too much.  That's--all!'  And, squeezing out his
+cigarette, he took six deep breaths of the night air, and got into
+bed.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+INDIAN SUMMER OF A FORSYTE
+
+                          "And Summer's lease hath all
+                                  too short a date."
+                                              --Shakespeare
+
+
+I
+
+In the last day of May in the early 'nineties, about six o'clock of
+the evening, old Jolyon Forsyte sat under the oak tree below the
+terrace of his house at Robin Hill.  He was waiting for the midges to
+bite him, before abandoning the glory of the afternoon.  His thin
+brown hand, where blue veins stood out, held the end of a cigar in
+its tapering, long-nailed fingers--a pointed polished nail had
+survived with him from those earlier Victorian days when to touch
+nothing, even with the tips of the fingers, had been so
+distinguished.  His domed forehead, great white moustache, lean
+cheeks, and long lean jaw were covered from the westering sunshine by
+an old brown Panama hat.  His legs were crossed; in all his attitude
+was serenity and a kind of elegance, as of an old man who every
+morning put eau de Cologne upon his silk handkerchief.  At his feet
+lay a woolly brown-and-white dog trying to be a Pomeranian--the dog
+Balthasar between whom and old Jolyon primal aver-sion had changed
+into attachment with the years.  Close to his chair was a swing, and
+on the swing was seated one of Holly's dolls--called 'Duffer Alice'-
+-with her body fallen over her legs and her doleful nose buried in a
+black petticoat.  She was never out of disgrace, so it did not matter
+to her how she sat.  Below the oak tree the lawn dipped down a bank,
+stretched to the fernery, and, beyond that refinement, became fields,
+dropping to the pond, the coppice, and the prospect 'Fine,
+remarkable'--at which Swithin Forsyte, from under this very tree, had
+stared five years ago when he drove down with Irene to look at the
+house.  Old Jolyon had heard of his brother's exploit--that drive
+which had become quite celebrated on Forsyte 'Change.' Swithin! And
+the fellow had gone and died, last November, at the age of only
+seventy-nine, renewing the doubt whether Forsytes could live for
+ever, which had first arisen when Aunt Ann passed away.  Died! and
+left only Jolyon and James, Roger and Nicholas and Timothy, Julia,
+Hester, Susan!  And old Jolyon thought: 'Eighty-five! I don't feel
+it--except when I get that pain.'
+
+His memory went searching.  He had not felt his age since he had
+bought his nephew Soames' ill-starred house and settled into it here
+at Robin Hill over three years ago.  It was as if he had been getting
+younger every spring, living in the country with his son and his
+grandchildren--June, and the little ones of the second marriage,
+Jolly and Holly; living down here out of the racket of London and the
+cackle of Forsyte 'Change,' free of his boards, in a delicious
+atmosphere of no work and all play, with plenty of occupation in the
+perfecting and mellowing of the house and its twenty acres, and in
+ministering to the whims of Holly and Jolly.  All the knots and
+crankiness, which had gathered in his heart during that long and
+tragic business of June, Soames, Irene his wife, and poor young
+Bosinney, had been smoothed out.  Even June had thrown off her
+melancholy at last--witness this travel in Spain she was taking now
+with her father and her stepmother.  Curiously perfect peace was left
+by their departure; blissful, yet blank, because his son was not
+there.  Jo was never anything but a comfort and a pleasure to him
+nowadays--an amiable chap; but women, somehow--even the best--got a
+little on one's nerves, unless of course one admired them.
+
+Far-off a cuckoo called; a wood-pigeon was cooing from the first
+elm-tree in the field, and how the daisies and buttercups had sprung
+up after the last mowing! The wind had got into the sou'-west, too--a
+delicious air, sappy! He pushed his hat back and let the sun fall on
+his chin and cheek.  Somehow, to-day, he wanted company wanted a
+pretty face to look at.  People treated the old as if they wanted
+nothing.  And with the un-Forsytean philosophy which ever intruded on
+his soul, he thought: 'One's never had enough'
+
+With a foot in the grave one'll want something, I shouldn't be
+surprised!'  Down here--away from the exigencies of affairs--his
+grandchildren, and the flowers, trees, birds of his little domain, to
+say nothing of sun and moon and stars above them, said, 'Open,
+sesame,' to him day and night.  And sesame had opened--how much,
+perhaps, he did not know.  He had always been responsive to what they
+had begun to call 'Nature,' genuinely, almost religiously responsive,
+though he had never lost his habit of calling a sunset a sunset and a
+view a view, however deeply they might move him.  But nowadays Nature
+actually made him ache, he appreciated it so.  Every one of these
+calm, bright, lengthening days, with Holly's hand in his, and the dog
+Balthasar in front looking studiously for what he never found, he
+would stroll, watching the roses open, fruit budding on the walls,
+sunlight brightening the oak leaves and saplings in the coppice,
+watching the water-lily leaves unfold and glisten, and the silvery
+young corn of the one wheat field; listening to the starlings and
+skylarks, and the Alderney cows chewing the cud, flicking slow their
+tufted tails; and every one of these fine days he ached a little from
+sheer love of it all, feeling perhaps, deep down, that he had not
+very much longer to enjoy it.  The thought that some day perhaps not
+ten years hence, perhaps not five--all this world would be taken away
+from him, before he had exhausted his powers of loving it, seemed to
+him in the nature of an injustice brooding over his horizon.  If
+anything came after this life, it wouldn't be what he wanted; not
+Robin Hill, and flowers and birds and pretty faces--too few, even
+now, of those about him! With the years his dislike of humbug had
+increased; the orthodoxy he had worn in the 'sixties, as he had worn
+side-whiskers out of sheer exuberance, had long dropped off, leaving
+him reverent before three things alone--beauty, upright conduct, and
+the sense of property; and the greatest of these now was beauty.  He
+had always had wide interests, and, indeed could still read The
+Tines, but he was liable at any moment to put it down if he heard a
+blackbird sing.  Upright conduct, property--somehow, they were
+tiring; the blackbirds and the sunsets never tired him, only gave him
+an uneasy feeling that he could not get enough of them.  Staring into
+the stilly radiance of the early evening and at the little gold and
+white flowers on the lawn, a thought came to him: This weather was
+like the music of 'Orfeo,' which he had recently heard at Covent
+Garden.  A beautiful opera, not like Meyerbeer, nor even quite
+Mozart, but, in its way, perhaps even more lovely; some-thing
+classical and of the Golden Age about it, chaste and mellow, and the
+Ravogli 'almost worthy of the old days'--highest praise he could
+bestow.  The yearning of Orpheus for the beauty he was losing, for
+his love going down to Hades, as in life love and beauty did go--the
+yearning which sang and throbbed through the golden music, stirred
+also in the lingering beauty of the world that evening.  And with the
+tip of his cork-soled, elastic-sided boot he involuntarily stirred
+the ribs of the dog Balthasar, caus-ing the animal to wake and attack
+his fleas; for though he was supposed to have none, nothing could
+persuade him of the fact.  When he had finished, he rubbed the place
+he had been scratching against his master's calf, and settled down
+again with his chin over the instep of the disturbing boot.  And into
+old Jolyon's mind came a sudden recollection--a face he had seen at
+that opera three weeks ago--Irene, the wife of his precious nephew
+Soames, that man of property! Though he had not met her since the day
+of  the 'At Home' in his old house at Stanhope Gate, which celebrated
+his granddaughter June's ill-starred engagement to young Bosinney, he
+had remembered her at once, for he had always admired her--a very
+pretty creature.  After the death of young Bosinney, whose mistress
+she had so reprehensibly become, he had heard that she had left
+Soames at once.  Goodness only knew what she had been doing since.
+That sight of her face--a side view--in the row in front, had been
+literally the only reminder these three years that she was still
+alive.  No one ever spoke of her.  And yet Jo had told him some-thing
+once--something which had upset him completely.  The boy had got it
+from George Forsyte, he believed, who had seen Bosinney in the fog
+the day he was run over--something which explained the young fellow's
+distress--an act of Soames towards his wife--a shocking act.  Jo had
+seen her, too, that afternoon, after the news was out, seen her for a
+moment, and his description had always lingered in old Jolyon's mind-
+-'wild and lost' he had called her.  And next day June had gone there
+bottled up her feelings and gone there, and the maid had cried and
+told her how her mistress had slipped out in the night and vanished.
+A tragic business altogether! One thing was certain--Soames had never
+been able to lay hands on her again.  And he was living at Brighton,
+and journeying up and down--a fitting fate, the man of property! For
+when he once took a dislike to anyone--as he had to his nephew--old
+Jolyon never got over it.  He remembered still the sense of relief
+with which he had heard the news of Irene's disappearance.  It had
+been shocking to think of her a prisoner in that house to which she
+must have wandered back, when Jo saw her, wandered back for a
+moment--like a wounded animal to its hole after seeing that news,
+'Tragic death of an Architect,' in the street.  Her face had struck
+him very much the other night--more beautiful than he had remem-
+bered, but like a mask, with something going on beneath it.  A young
+woman still--twenty-eight perhaps.  Ah, well! Very likely she had
+another lover by now.  But at this subversive thought--for married
+women should never love: once, even, had been too much--his instep
+rose, and with it the dog Balthasar's head.  The sagacious animal
+stood up and looked into old Jolyon's face.  'Walk?' he seemed to
+say; and old Jolyon answered: "Come on, old chap!"
+
+Slowly, as was their wont, they crossed among the constellations of
+buttercups and daisies, and entered the fernery.  This feature, where
+very little grew as yet, had been judiciously dropped below the level
+of the lawn so that it might come up again on the level of the other
+lawn and give the impression of irregularity, so important in
+horticulture.  Its rocks and earth were beloved of the dog Balthasar,
+who sometimes found a mole there.  Old Jolyon made a point of passing
+through it because, though it was not beautiful, he intended that it
+should be, some day, and he would think: 'I must get Varr to come
+down and look at it; he's better than Beech.' For plants, like houses
+and human complaints, required the best expert consideration.  It was
+inhabited by snails, and if accompanied by his grandchildren, he
+would point to one and tell them the story of the little boy who
+said: 'Have plummers got leggers, Mother?  'No, sonny.'  'Then darned
+if I haven't been and swallowed a snileybob.'  And when they skipped
+and clutched his hand, thinking of the snileybob going down the
+little boy's 'red lane,' his, eyes would twinkle.  Emerging from the
+fernery, he opened the wicket gate, which just there led into the
+first field, a large and park-like area, out of which, within brick
+walls, the vegetable garden had been carved.  Old Jolyon avoided
+this, which did not suit his mood, and made down the hill towards the
+pond.  Balthasar, who knew a water-rat or two, gambolled in front, at
+the gait which marks an oldish dog who takes the same walk every day.
+Arrived at the edge, old Jolyon stood, noting another water-lily
+opened since yesterday; he would show it to Holly to-morrow, when
+'his little sweet' had got over the upset which had followed on her
+eating a tomato at lunch--her little arrangements were very delicate.
+Now that Jolly had gone to school--his first term--Holly was with him
+nearly all day long, and he missed her badly.  He felt that pain too,
+which often bothered him now, a little dragging at his left side.  He
+looked back up the hill.  Really, poor young Bosinney had made an
+uncommonly good job of the house; he would have done very well for
+himself if he had lived!  And where was he now? Perhaps, still
+haunting this, the site of his last work, of his tragic love affair.
+Or was Philip Bosinney's spirit diffused in the general?  Who could
+say?  That dog was getting his legs muddy!  And he moved towards the
+coppice.  There had been the most delightful lot of bluebells, and--
+he knew where some still lingered like little patches of sky fallen
+irk between the trees, away out of the sun.  He passed the cow-houses
+and the hen-houses there installed, and pursued a path into the thick
+of the saplings, making for one of the bluebell plots.  Balthasar,
+preceding him once more, uttered a low growl.  Old Jolyon stirred him
+with his foot, but the dog remained motionless, just where there was
+no room to pass, and the hair rose slowly along the centre of his
+woolly back.  Whether from the growl and the look of the dog's
+stivered hair, or from the sensation which a man feels in a wood, old
+Jolyon also felt something move along his spine.  And then the path
+turned, and there was an old mossy log, and on it a woman sitting.
+Her face was turned away, and he had just time to think: 'She's
+trespassing--I must have a board put up!' before she turned.  Powers
+above!  The face he had seen at the opera--the very woman he had just
+been thinking of! In that confused moment he saw things blurred, as
+if a spirit--queer effect--the slant of sunlight perhaps on her
+violet-grey frock! And then she rose and stood smiling, her head a
+little to one side.  Old Jolyon thought: 'How pretty she is!' She did
+not speak, neither did he; and he realized why with a certain
+admiration.  She was here no doubt because of some memory, and did
+not mean to try and get out of it by vulgar explanation.
+
+"Don't let that dog touch your frock," he said; "he's got wet feet.
+Come here, you!"
+
+But the dog Balthasar went on towards the visitor, who put her hand
+down and stroked his head.  Old Jolyon said quickly:
+
+"I saw you at the opera the other night; you didn't notice me."
+
+"Oh, yes! I did."
+
+He felt a subtle flattery in that, as though she had added: 'Do you
+think one could miss seeing you?'
+
+"They're all in Spain," he remarked abruptly.  "I'm alone; I drove up
+for the opera.  The Ravogli's good.  Have you seen the cow-houses?"
+
+In a situation so charged with mystery and something very like
+emotion he moved instinctively towards that bit of property, and she
+moved beside him.  Her figure swayed faintly, like the best kind of
+French figures; her dress, too, was a sort of French grey.  He
+noticed two or three silver threads in her amber-coloured hair,
+strange hair with those dark eyes of hers, and that creamy-pale face.
+A sudden sidelong look from the velvety brown eyes disturbed him.  It
+seemed to come from deep and far, from another world almost, or at
+all events from some one not living very much in this.  And he said
+mechanically
+
+"Where are you living now?"
+
+"I have a little flat in Chelsea."
+
+He did not want to hear what she was doing, did not want to hear
+anything; but the perverse word came out:
+
+"Alone?"
+
+She nodded.  It was a relief to know that.  And it came into his mind
+that, but for a twist of fate, she would have been mistress of this
+coppice, showing these cow-houses to him, a visitor.
+
+"All Alderneys," he muttered; "they give the best milk.  This one's a
+pretty creature.  Woa, Myrtle!"
+
+The fawn-coloured cow, with eyes as soft and brown as Irene's own,
+was standing absolutely still, not having long been milked.  She
+looked round at them out of the corner of those lustrous, mild,
+cynical eyes, and from her grey lips a little dribble of saliva
+threaded its way towards the straw.  The scent of hay and vanilla and
+ammonia rose in the dim light of the cool cow-house; and old Jolyon
+said:
+
+"You must come up and have some dinner with me.  I'll send you home
+in the carriage."
+
+He perceived a struggle going on within her; natural, no doubt, with
+her memories.  But he wanted her company; a pretty face, a charming
+figure, beauty!  He had been alone all the afternoon.  Perhaps his
+eyes were wistful, for she answered: "Thank you, Uncle Jolyon.  I
+should like to."
+
+He rubbed his hands, and said:
+
+"Capital! Let's go up, then!" And, preceded by the dog Balthasar,
+they ascended through the field.  The sun was almost level in their
+faces now, and he could see, not only those silver threads, but
+little lines, just deep enough to stamp her beauty with a coin-like
+fineness--the special look of life unshared with others.  "I'll take
+her in by the terrace, "he thought: "I won't make a common visitor of
+her."
+
+"What do you do all day?" he said.
+
+"Teach music; I have another interest, too."
+
+"Work!" said old Jolyon, picking up the doll from off the swing, and
+smoothing its black petticoat.  "Nothing like it, is there?  I don't
+do any now.  I'm getting on.  What interest is that?"
+
+"Trying to help women who've come to grief."  Old Jolyon did not
+quite understand.  "To grief?" he repeated; then realised with a
+shock that she meant exactly what he would have meant himself if he
+had used that expression.  Assisting the Magdalenes of London!  What
+a weird and terrifying interest!  And, curiosity overcoming his
+natural shrinking, he asked:
+
+"Why? What do you do for them?"
+
+"Not much.  I've no money to spare.  I can only give sympathy and
+food sometimes."
+
+Involuntarily old Jolyon's hand sought his purse.  He said hastily:
+"How d'you get hold of them?"
+
+"I go to a hospital."
+
+"A hospital! Phew!"
+
+"What hurts me most is that once they nearly all had some sort of
+beauty."
+
+Old Jolyon straightened the doll.  "Beauty!" he ejaculated: "Ha! Yes!
+A sad business!" and he moved towards the house.  Through a French
+window, under sun-blinds not yet drawn up, he preceded her into the
+room where he was wont to study 'The Times' and the sheets of an
+agricultural magazine, with huge illustrations of mangold wurzels,
+and the like, which provided Holly with material for her paint brush.
+
+"Dinner's in half an hour.  You'd like to wash your hands!  I'll take
+you to June's room."
+
+He saw her looking round eagerly; what changes since she had last
+visited this house with her husband, or her lover, or both perhaps--
+he did not know, could not say!  All that was dark, and he wished to
+leave it so.  But what changes!  And in the hall he said:
+
+"My boy Jo's a painter, you know.  He's got a lot of taste.  It isn't
+mine, of course, but I've let him have his way."
+
+She was standing very still, her eyes roaming through the hall and
+music room, as it now was--all thrown into one, under the great
+skylight.  Old Jolyon had an odd impression of her.  Was she trying
+to conjure somebody from the shades of that space where the colouring
+was all pearl-grey and silver? He would have had gold himself; more
+lively and solid.  But Jo had French tastes, and it had come out
+shadowy like that, with an effect as of the fume of cigarettes the
+chap was always smoking, broken here and there by a little blaze of
+blue or crimson colour.  It was not his dream! Mentally he had hung
+this space with those gold-framed masterpieces of still and stiller
+life which he had bought in days when quantity was precious.  And now
+where were they?  Sold for a song!  That something which made him,
+alone among Forsytes, move with the times had warned him against the
+struggle to retain them.  But in his study he still had 'Dutch
+Fishing Boats at Sunset.'
+
+He began to mount the stairs with her, slowly, for he felt his side.
+
+"These are the bathrooms," he said, "and other arrangements.  I've
+had them tiled.  The nurseries are along there.  And this is Jo's and
+his wife's.  They all communicate.  But you remember, I expect."
+
+Irene nodded.  They passed on, up the gallery and entered a large
+room with a small bed, and several windows.
+
+"This is mine," he said.  The walls were covered with the photographs
+of children and watercolour sketches, and he added doubtfully:
+
+"These are Jo's.  The view's first-rate.  You can see the Grand Stand
+at Epsom in clear weather."
+
+The sun was down now, behind the house, and over the 'prospect' a
+luminous haze had settled, emanation of the long and prosperous day.
+Few houses showed, but fields and trees faintly glistened, away to a
+loom of downs.
+
+"The country's changing," he said abruptly, "but there it'll be when
+we're all gone.  Look at those thrushes--the birds are sweet here in
+the mornings.  I'm glad to have washed my hands of London."
+
+Her face was close to the window pane, and he was struck by its
+mournful look.  'Wish I could make her look happy!' he thought.  'A
+pretty face, but sad!'  And taking up his can of hot water he went
+out into the gallery.
+
+"This is June's room," he said, opening the next door and putting the
+can down; "I think you'll find everything." And closing the door
+behind her he went back to his own room.  Brushing his hair with his
+great ebony brushes, and dabbing his forehead with eau de Cologne, he
+mused.  She had come so strangely--a sort of visit-ation; mysterious,
+even romantic, as if his desire for company, for beauty, had been
+fulfilled by whatever it was which fulfilled that sort of thing.  And
+before the mirror he straightened his still upright figure, passed
+the brushes over his great white moustache, touched up his eyebrows
+with eau de Cologne, and rang the bell.
+
+"I forgot to let them know that I have a lady to dinner with me.  Let
+cook do something extra, and tell Beacon to have the landau and pair
+at half-past ten to drive her back to Town to-night.  Is Miss Holly
+asleep?"
+
+The maid thought not.  And old Jolyon, passing down the gallery,
+stole on tiptoe towards the nursery, and opened the door whose hinges
+he kept specially oiled that he might slip in and out in the evenings
+without being heard.
+
+But Holly was asleep, and lay like a miniature Madonna, of that type
+which the old painters could not tell from Venus, when they had
+completed her.  Her long dark lashes clung to her cheeks; on her face
+was perfect peace--her little arrangements were evidently all right
+again.  And old Jolyon, in the twilight of the room, stood adoring
+her!  It was so charming, solemn, and loving--that little face.  He
+had more than his share of the blessed capacity of living again in
+the young.  They were to him his future life--all of a future life
+that his fundamental pagan sanity perhaps admitted.  There she was
+with everything before her, and his blood--some of it--in her tiny
+veins.  There she was, his little companion, to be made as happy as
+ever he could make her, so that she knew nothing but love.  His heart
+swelled, and he went out, stilling the sound of his patent-leather
+boots.  In the corridor an eccentric notion attacked him: To think
+that children should come to that which Irene had told him she was
+helping!  Women who were all, once, little things like this one
+sleeping there!  'I must give her a cheque!' he mused; 'Can't bear to
+think of them!'  They had never borne reflecting on, those poor
+outcasts; wounding too deeply the core of true refinement hidden
+under layers of conformity to the sense of property--wounding too
+grievously the deepest thing in him--a love of beauty which could
+give him, even now, a flutter of the heart, thinking of his evening
+in the society of a pretty woman.  And he went downstairs, through
+the swinging doors, to the back regions.  There, in the wine-cellar,
+was a hock worth at least two pounds a bottle, a Steinberg Cabinet,
+better than any Johan-nisberg that ever went down throat; a wine of
+perfect bouquet, sweet as a nectarine--nectar indeed! He got a bottle
+out, handling it like a baby, and holding it level to the light, to
+look.  Enshrined in its coat of dust, that mellow coloured, slender--
+necked bottle gave him deep pleasure.  Three years to settle down
+again since the move from Town--ought to be in prime condition!
+Thirty-five years ago he had bought it--thank God he had kept his
+palate, and earned the right to drink it.  She would appreciate this;
+not a spice of acidity in a dozen.  He wiped the bottle, drew the
+cork with his own hands, put his nose down, inhaled its perfume, and
+went back to the music room.
+
+Irene was standing by the piano; she had taken off her hat and a lace
+scarf she had been wearing, so that her gold-coloured hair was
+visible, and the pallor of her neck.  In her grey frock she made a
+pretty picture for old Jolyon, against the rosewood of the piano.
+
+He gave her his arm, and solemnly they went.  The room, which had
+been designed to enable twenty-four people to dine in comfort, held
+now but a little round table.  In his present solitude the big
+dining-table oppressed old Jolyon; he had caused it to be removed
+till his son came back.  Here in the company of two really good
+copies of Raphael Madonnas he was wont to dine alone.  It was the
+only disconsolate hour of his day, this summer weather.  He had never
+been a large eater, like that great chap Swithin, or Sylvanus
+Heythorp, or Anthony Thornworthy, those cronies of past times; and to
+dine alone, overlooked by the Madonnas, was to him but a sorrowful
+occupation, which he got through quickly, that he might come to the
+more spiritual enjoyment of his coffee and cigar.  But this evening
+was a different matter! His eyes twinkled at her across the little
+table and he spoke of Italy and Switzerland, telling her stories of
+his travels there, and other experiences which he could no longer
+recount to his son and grand-daughter because they knew them.  This
+fresh audience was precious to him; he had never become one of those
+old men who ramble round and round the fields of reminiscence.
+Himself quickly fatigued by the insensitive, he instinctively avoided
+fatiguing others, and his natural flirtatiousness towards beauty
+guarded him specially in his relations with a woman.  He would have
+liked to draw her out, but though she murmured and smiled and seemed
+to be enjoying what he told her, he remained conscious of that
+mysterious remoteness which constituted half her fascination.  He
+could not bear women who threw their shoulders and eyes at you, and
+chattered away; or hard-mouthed women who laid down the law and knew
+more than you did.  There was only one quality in a woman that
+appealed to him--charm; and the quieter it was, the more he liked it.
+And this one had charm, shadowy as afternoon sunlight on those
+Italian hills and valleys he had loved.  The feeling, too, that she
+was, as it were, apart, cloistered, made her seem nearer to himself,
+a strangely desirable companion.  When a man is very old and quite
+out of the running, he loves to feel secure from the rivalries of
+youth, for he would still be first in the heart of beauty.  And he
+drank his hock, and watched her lips, and felt nearly young.  But the
+dog Balthasar lay watching her lips too, and despising in his heart
+the interruptions of their talk, and the tilting of those greenish
+glasses full of a golden fluid which was distasteful to him.
+
+The light was just failing when they went back into the music-room.
+And, cigar in mouth, old Jolyon said:
+
+"Play me some Chopin."
+
+By the cigars they smoke, and the composers they love, ye shall know
+the texture of men's souls.  Old Jolyon could not bear--a strong
+cigar or Wagner's music.  He loved Beethoven and Mozart, Handel and
+Gluck, and Schumann, and, for some occult reason, the operas of
+Meyerbeer; but of late years he had been seduced by Chopin, just as
+in painting he had succumbed to Botticelli.  In yielding to these
+tastes he had been conscious of divergence from the standard of the
+Golden Age.  Their poetry was not that of Milton and Byron and
+Tennyson; of Raphael and Titian; Mozart and Beethoven.  It was, as it
+were, behind a veil; their poetry hit no one in the face, but slipped
+its fingers under the ribs and turned and twisted, and melted up the
+heart.  And, never certain that this was healthy, he did not care a
+rap so long as he could see the pictures of the one or hear the music
+of the other.
+
+Irene sat down at the piano under the electric lamp festooned with
+pearl-grey, and old Jolyon, in an armchair, whence he could see her,
+crossed his legs and drew slowly at his cigar.  She sat a few moments
+with her hands on the keys, evidently searching her mind for what to
+give him.  Then she began and within old Jolyon there arose a
+sorrowful pleasure, not quite like anything else in the world.  He
+fell slowly into a trance, interrupted only by the movements of
+taking the cigar out of his mouth at long intervals, and replacing
+it.  She was there, and the hock within him, and the scent of
+tobacco; but there, too, was a world of sunshine lingering into
+moonlight, and pools with storks upon them, and bluish trees above,
+glowing with blurs of wine-red roses, and fields of lavender where
+milk-white cows were grazing, and a woman all shadowy, with dark eyes
+and a white neck, smiled, holding out her arms; and through air which
+was like music a star dropped and was caught on a cow's horn.  He
+opened his eyes.  Beautiful piece; she played well--the touch of an
+angel!  And he closed them again.  He felt mirac-ulously sad and
+happy, as one does, standing under a lime-tree in full honey flower.
+Not live one's own life again, but just stand there and bask in the
+smile of a woman's eyes, and enjoy the bouquet!  And he jerked his
+hand; the dog Balthasar had reached up and licked it.
+
+"Beautiful!" He said: "Go on--more Chopin!"
+
+She began to play again.  This time the resemblance between her and
+'Chopin' struck him.  The swaying he had noticed in her walk was in
+her playing too, and the Nocturne she had chosen and the soft
+darkness of her eyes, the light on her hair, as of moonlight from a
+golden moon.  Seductive, yes; but nothing of Delilah in her or in
+that music.  A long blue spiral from his cigar ascended and
+dispersed.  'So we go out!' he thought.  'No more beauty! Nothing?'
+
+Again Irene stopped.
+
+"Would you like some Gluck?  He used to write his music in a sunlit
+garden, with a bottle of Rhine wine beside him."
+
+"Ah! yes.  Let's have 'Orfeo.'"  Round about him now were fields of
+gold and silver flowers, white forms swaying in the sunlight, bright
+birds flying to and fro.  All was summer.  Lingering waves of
+sweetness and regret flooded his soul.  Some cigar ash dropped, and
+taking out a silk handkerchief to brush it off, he inhaled a mingled
+scent as of snuff and eau de Cologne.  'Ah!' he thought, 'Indian
+summer--that's all!' and he said: "You haven't played me 'Che faro.'"
+
+She did not answer; did not move.  He was conscious of something--
+some strange upset.  Suddenly he saw her rise and turn away, and a
+pang of remorse shot through him.  What a clumsy chap!  Like Orpheus,
+she of course--she too was looking for her lost one in the hall of
+memory!  And disturbed to the heart, he got up from his chair.  She
+had gone to the great window at the far end.  Gingerly he followed.
+Her hands were folded over her breast; he could just see her cheek,
+very white.  And, quite emotionalized, he said:
+
+"There, there, my love!"  The words had escaped him mechanically, for
+they were those he used to Holly when she had a pain, but their
+effect was instantaneously distressing.  She raised her arms, covered
+her face with them, and wept.
+
+Old Jolyon stood gazing at her with eyes very deep from age.  The
+passionate shame she seemed feeling at her abandonment, so unlike the
+control and quietude of her whole presence was as if she had never
+before broken down in the presence of another being.
+
+"There, there--there, there!" he murmured, and putting his hand out
+reverently, touched her.  She turned, and leaned the arms which
+covered her face against him.  Old Jolyon stood very still, keeping
+one thin hand on her shoulder.  Let her cry her heart out--it would
+do her good.
+
+And the dog Balthasar, puzzled, sat down on his stern to examine
+them.
+
+The window was still open, the curtains had not been drawn, the last
+of daylight from without mingled with faint intrusion from the lamp
+within; there was a scent of new-mown grass.  With the wisdom of a
+long life old Jolyon did not speak.  Even grief sobbed itself out in
+time; only Time was good for sorrow--Time who saw the passing of each
+mood, each emotion in turn; Time the layer-to-rest.  There came into
+his mind the words: 'As panteth the hart after cooling streams'--but
+they were of no use to him.  Then, conscious of a scent of violets,
+he knew she was drying her eyes.  He put his chin forward, pressed
+his moustache against her forehead, and felt her shake with a
+quivering of her whole body, as of a tree which shakes itself free of
+raindrops.  She put his hand to her lips, as if saying: "All over
+now!  Forgive me!"
+
+The kiss filled him with a strange comfort; he led her back to where
+she had been so upset.  And the dog Balthasar, following, laid the
+bone of one of the cutlets they had eaten at their feet.
+
+Anxious to obliterate the memory of that emotion, he could think of
+nothing better than china; and moving with her slowly from cabinet to
+cabinet, he kept taking up bits of Dresden and Lowestoft and Chelsea,
+turning them round and round with his thin, veined hands, whose skin,
+faintly freckled, had such an aged look.
+
+"I bought this at Jobson's," he would say; "cost me thirty pounds.
+It's very old.  That dog leaves his bones all over the place.  This
+old 'ship-bowl' I picked up at the sale when that precious rip, the
+Marquis, came to grief.  But you don't remember.  Here's a nice piece
+of Chelsea.  Now, what would you say this was?"  And he was
+comforted, feeling that, with her taste, she was taking a real
+interest in these things; for, after all, nothing better composes the
+nerves than a doubtful piece of china.
+
+When the crunch of the carriage wheels was heard at last, he said
+
+"You must come again; you must come to lunch, then I can show you
+these by daylight, and my little sweet--she's a dear little thing.
+This dog seems to have taken a fancy to you."
+
+For Balthasar, feeling that she was about to leave, was rubbing his
+side against her leg.  Going out under the porch with her, he said:
+
+"He'll get you up in an hour and a quarter.  Take this for your
+protegees," and he slipped a cheque for fifty pounds into her hand.
+He saw her brightened eyes, and heard her murmur: "Oh Uncle Jolyon!"
+and a real throb of pleasure went through him.  That meant one or two
+poor creatures helped a little, and it meant that she would come
+again.  He put his hand in at the window and grasped hers once more.
+The carriage rolled away.  He stood looking at the moon and the
+shadows of the trees, and thought: 'A sweet night! She ...!'
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+Two days of rain, and summer set in bland and sunny.  Old Jolyon
+walked and talked with Holly.  At first he felt taller and full of a
+new vigour; then he felt restless.  Almost every afternoon they would
+enter the coppice, and walk as far as the log.  'Well, she's not
+there!' he would think, 'of course not!'  And he would feel a little
+shorter, and drag his feet walking up the hill home, with his hand
+clapped to his left side.  Now and then the thought would move in
+him: 'Did she come--or did I dream it?' and he would stare at space,
+while the dog Balthasar stared at him.  Of course she would not come
+again!  He opened the letters from Spain with less excitement.  They
+were not returning till July; he felt, oddly, that he could bear it.
+Every day at dinner he screwed up his eyes and looked at where she
+had sat.  She was not there, so he unscrewed his eyes again.
+
+On the seventh afternoon he thought: 'I must go up and get some
+boots.'  He ordered Beacon, and set out.  Passing from Putney towards
+Hyde Park he reflected: 'I might as well go to Chelsea and see her.'
+And he called out: "Just drive me to where you took that lady the
+other night."  The coachman turned his broad red face, and his juicy
+lips answered: "The lady in grey, sir?"
+
+"Yes, the lady in grey."  What other ladies were there!  Stodgy chap!
+
+The carriage stopped before a small three-storied block of flats,
+standing a little back from the river.  With a practised eye old
+Jolyon saw that they were cheap.  'I should think about sixty pound a
+year,'  he mused; and entering, he looked at the name-board.  The
+name 'Forsyte' was not on it, but against 'First Floor, Flat C' were
+the words: 'Mrs. Irene Heron.'  Ah! She had taken her maiden name
+again!  And somehow this pleased him.  He went upstairs slowly,
+feeling his side a little.  He stood a moment, before ringing, to
+lose the feeling of drag and fluttering there.  She would not be in!
+And then Boots!  The thought was black.  What did he want with boots
+at his age? He could not wear out all those he had.
+
+"Your mistress at home?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Say Mr. Jolyon Forsyte."
+
+"Yes, sir, will you come this way?"
+
+Old Jolyon followed a very little maid--not more than sixteen one
+would say--into a very small drawing-room where the sun-blinds were
+drawn.  It held a cottage piano and little else save a vague
+fragrance and good taste.  'He stood in the middle, with his top hat
+in his hand, and thought: 'I expect she's very badly off!' There was
+a mirror above the fireplace, and he saw himself reflected.  An
+old-looking chap!  He heard a rustle, and turned round.  She was so
+close that his moustache almost brushed her forehead, just under her
+hair.
+
+"I was driving up," he said.  "Thought I'd look in on you, and ask
+you how you got up the other night."
+
+And, seeing her smile, he felt suddenly relieved.  She was really
+glad to see him, perhaps.
+
+"Would you like to put on your hat and come for a drive in the Park?"
+
+But while she was gone to put her hat on, he frowned.  The Park!
+James and Emily!  Mrs. Nicholas, or some other member of his precious
+family would be there very likely, prancing up and down.  And they
+would go and wag their tongues about having seen him with her,
+afterwards.  Better not!  He did not wish to revive the echoes of the
+past on Forsyte 'Change.'  He removed a white hair from the lapel of
+his closely-buttoned-up frock coat, and passed his hand over his
+cheeks, moustache, and square chin.  It felt very hollow there under
+the cheekbones.  He had not been eating much lately--he had better
+get that little whippersnapper who attended Holly to give him a
+tonic.  But she had come back and when they were in the carriage, he
+said:
+
+"Suppose we go and sit in Kensington Gardens instead?" and added with
+a twinkle: "No prancing up and down there," as if she had been in the
+secret of his thoughts.
+
+Leaving the carriage, they entered those select precincts, and
+strolled towards the water.
+
+"You've gone back to your maiden name, I see," he said: "I'm not
+sorry."
+
+She slipped her hand under his arm: "Has June forgiven me, Uncle
+Jolyon?"
+
+He answered gently: "Yes--yes; of course, why not?"
+
+"And have you?"
+
+"I?  I forgave you as soon as I saw how the land really lay."  And
+perhaps he had; his instinct had always been to forgive the
+beautiful.
+
+She drew a deep breath.  "I never regretted--I couldn't.  Did you
+ever love very deeply, Uncle Jolyon?"
+
+At that strange question old Jolyon stared before him.  Had he?  He
+did not seem to remember that he ever had.  But he did not like to
+say this to the young woman whose hand was touching his arm, whose
+life was suspended, as it were, by memory of a tragic love.  And he
+thought: 'If I had met you when I was young I--I might have made a
+fool of myself, perhaps.'  And a longing to escape in generalities
+beset him.
+
+"Love's a queer thing," he said, "fatal thing often.  It was the
+Greeks--wasn't it?--made love into a goddess; they were right, I dare
+say, but then they lived in the Golden Age."
+
+"Phil adored them."
+
+Phil! The word jarred him, for suddenly--with his power to see all
+round a thing, he perceived why she was putting up with him like
+this.  She wanted to talk about her lover!  Well!  If it was any
+pleasure to her!  And he said: "Ah! There was a bit of the sculptor
+in him, I fancy."
+
+"Yes.  He loved balance and symmetry; he loved the whole-hearted way
+the Greeks gave themselves to art."
+
+Balance! The chap had no balance at all, if he remembered; as for
+symmetry--clean-built enough he was, no doubt; but those queer eyes
+of his, and high cheek-bones--Symmetry?
+
+"You're of the Golden Age, too, Uncle Jolyon."
+
+Old Jolyon looked round at her.  Was she chaffing him?  No, her eyes
+were soft as velvet.  Was she flattering him?  But if so, why?  There
+was nothing to be had out of an old chap like him.
+
+"Phil thought so.  He used to say: 'But I can never tell him that I
+admire him."'
+
+Ah! There it was again.  Her dead lover; her desire to talk of him!
+And he pressed her arm, half resentful of those memories, half
+grateful, as if he recognised what a link they were between herself
+and him.
+
+"He was a very talented young fellow," he murmured.  "It's hot; I
+feel the heat nowadays.  Let's sit down."
+
+They took two chairs beneath a chestnut tree whose broad leaves
+covered them from the peaceful glory of the afternoon.  A pleasure to
+sit there and watch her, and feel that she liked to be with him.  And
+the wish to increase that liking, if he could, made him go on:
+
+"I expect he showed you a side of him I never saw.  He'd be at his
+best with you.  His ideas of art were a little new--to me "--he had
+stiffed the word 'fangled.'
+
+"Yes: but he used to say you had a real sense of beauty."  Old Jolyon
+thought: 'The devil he did!' but answered with a twinkle: "Well, I
+have, or I shouldn't be sitting here with you."  She was fascinating
+when she smiled with her eyes, like that!
+
+"He thought you had one of those hearts that never grow old.  Phil
+had real insight."
+
+He was not taken in by this flattery spoken out of the past, out of a
+longing to talk of her dead lover--not a bit; and yet it was precious
+to hear, because she pleased his eyes and heart which quite true!--
+had never grown old.  Was that because--unlike her and her dead
+lover, he had never loved to desperation, had always kept his
+balance, his sense of symmetry.  Well! It had left him power, at
+eighty-four, to admire beauty.  And he thought, 'If I were a painter
+or a sculptor!  But I'm an old chap.  Make hay while the sun shines.'
+
+A couple with arms entwined crossed on the grass before them, at the
+edge of the shadow from their tree.  The sunlight fell cruelly on
+their pale, squashed, unkempt young faces.  "We're an ugly lot!" said
+old Jolyon suddenly.  "It amazes me to see how--love triumphs over
+that."
+
+"Love triumphs over everything!"
+
+"The young think so," he muttered.
+
+"Love has no age, no limit; and no death."
+
+With that glow in her pale face, her breast heaving, her eyes so
+large and dark and soft, she looked like Venus come to life!  But
+this extravagance brought instant reaction, and, twinkling, he said:
+"Well, if it had limits, we shouldn't be born; for by George! it's
+got a lot to put up with."
+
+Then, removing his top hat, he brushed it round with a cuff.  The
+great clumsy thing heated his forehead; in these days he often got a
+rush of blood to the head--his circulation was not what it had been.
+
+She still sat gazing straight before her, and suddenly she murmured:
+
+"It's strange enough that I'm alive."
+
+Those words of Jo's 'Wild and lost' came back to him.
+
+"Ah!" he said: "my son saw you for a moment--that day."
+
+"Was it your son? I heard a voice in the hall; I thought for a second
+it was--Phil."
+
+Old Jolyon saw her lips tremble.  She put her hand over them, took it
+away again, and went on calmly: "That night I went to the Embankment;
+a woman caught me by the dress.  She told me about herself.  When one
+knows that others suffer, one's ashamed."
+
+"One of those?"
+
+She nodded, and horror stirred within old Jolyon, the horror of one
+who has never known a struggle with desperation.  Almost against his
+will he muttered: "Tell me, won't you?"
+
+"I didn't care whether I lived or died.  When you're like that, Fate
+ceases to want to kill you.  She took care of me three days--she
+never left me.  I had no money.  That's why I do what I can for them,
+now."
+
+But old Jolyon was thinking: 'No money!'  What fate could compare
+with that?  Every other was involved in it.
+
+"I wish you had come to me," he said.  "Why didn't you?"  But Irene
+did not answer.
+
+"Because my name was Forsyte, I suppose?  Or was it June who kept you
+away?  How are you getting on now?"  His eyes involuntarily swept her
+body.  Perhaps even now she was--!  And yet she wasn't thin--not
+really!
+
+"Oh! with my fifty pounds a year, I make just enough."  The answer
+did not reassure him; he had lost confidence.  And that fellow
+Soames!  But his sense of justice stifled condemnation.  No, she
+would certainly have died rather than take another penny from him.
+Soft as she looked, there must be strength in her somewhere--strength
+and fidelity.  But what business had young Bosinney to have got run
+over and left her stranded like this!
+
+"Well, you must come to me now," he said, "for anything you want, or
+I shall be quite cut up."  And putting on his hat, he rose.  "Let's
+go and get some tea.  I told that lazy chap to put the horses up for
+an hour, and come for me at your place.  We'll take a cab presently;
+I can't walk as I used to."
+
+He enjoyed that stroll to the Kensington end of the gardens--the
+sound of her voice, the glancing of her eyes, the subtle beauty of a
+charming form moving beside him.  He enjoyed their tea at Ruffel's in
+the High Street, and came out thence with a great box of chocolates
+swung on his little finger.  He enjoyed the drive back to Chelsea in
+a hansom, smoking his cigar.  She had promised to come down next
+Sunday and play to him again, and already in thought he was plucking
+carnations and early roses for her to carry back to town.  It was a
+pleasure to give her a little pleasure, if it WERE pleasure from an
+old chap like him!  The carriage was already there when they arrived.
+Just like that fellow, who was always late when he was wanted!  Old
+Jolyon went in for a minute to say good-bye.  The little dark hall of
+the fiat was impregnated with a disagreeable odour of patchouli, and
+on a bench against the wall--its only furniture--he saw a figure
+sitting.  He heard Irene say softly: "Just one minute."  In the
+little drawing-room when the door was shut, he asked gravely: "One of
+your protegees?"
+
+"Yes.  Now thanks to you, I can do something for her."
+
+He stood, staring, and stroking that chin whose strength had
+frightened so many in its time.  The idea of her thus actually in
+contact with this outcast, grieved and frightened him.  What could
+she do for them?  Nothing.  Only soil and make trouble for herself,
+perhaps.  And he said: "Take care, my dear!  The world puts the worst
+construction on everything."
+
+"I know that."
+
+He was abashed by her quiet smile.  "Well then--Sunday," he murmured:
+"Good-bye."
+
+She put her cheek forward for him to kiss.
+
+"Good-bye," he said again; "take care of yourself."  And he went out,
+not looking towards the figure on the bench.  He drove home by way of
+Hammersmith; that he might stop at a place he knew of and tell them
+to send her in two dozen of their best Burgundy.  She must want
+picking-up sometimes!  Only in Richmond Park did he remember that he
+had gone up to order himself some boots, and was surprised that he
+could have had so paltry an idea.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+The little spirits of the past which throng an old man's days had
+never pushed their faces up to his so seldom as in the seventy hours
+elapsing before Sunday came.  The spirit of the future, with the
+charm of the unknown, put up her lips instead.  Old Jolyon was not
+restless now, and paid no visits to the log, because she was coming
+to lunch.  There is wonderful finality about a meal; it removes a
+world of doubts, for no one misses meals except for reasons beyond
+control.  He played many games with Holly on the lawn, pitching them
+up to her who was batting so as to be ready to bowl to Jolly in the
+holidays.  For she was not a Forsyte, but Jolly was--and Forsytes
+always bat, until they have resigned and reached the age of
+eighty-five.  The dog Balthasar, in attendance, lay on the ball as
+often as he could, and the page-boy fielded, till his face was like
+the harvest moon.  And because the time was getting shorter, each day
+was longer and more golden than the last.  On Friday night he took a
+liver pill, his side hurt him rather, and though it was not the liver
+side, there is no remedy like that.  Anyone telling him that he had
+found a new excitement in life and that excitement was not good for
+him, would have been met by one of those steady and rather defiant
+looks of his deep-set iron-grey eyes, which seemed to say: 'I know my
+own business best.'  He always had and always would.
+
+On Sunday morning, when Holly had gone with her governess to church,
+he visited the strawberry beds.  There, accompanied by the dog
+Balthasar, he examined the plants narrowly and succeeded in finding
+at least two dozen berries which were really ripe.  Stooping was not
+good for him, and he became very dizzy and red in the forehead.
+Having placed the strawberries in a dish on the dining-table, he
+washed his hands and bathed his forehead with eau de Cologne.  There,
+before the mirror, it occurred to him that he was thinner.  What a
+'threadpaper' he had been when he was young!  It was nice to be slim-
+-he could not bear a fat chap; and yet perhaps his cheeks were too
+thin!  She was to arrive by train at half-past twelve and walk up,
+entering from the road past Drage's farm at the far end of the
+coppice.  And, having looked into June's room to see that there was
+hot water ready, he set forth to meet her, leisurely, for his heart
+was beating.  The air smelled sweet, larks sang, and the Grand Stand
+at Epsom was visible.  A perfect day!  On just such a one, no doubt,
+six years ago, Soames had brought young Bosinney down with him to
+look at the site before they began to build.  It was Bosinney who had
+pitched on the exact spot for the house--as June had often told him.
+In these days he was thinking much about that young fellow, as if his
+spirit were really haunting the field of his last work, on the chance
+of seeing--her.  Bosinney--the one man who had possessed her heart,
+to whom she had given her whole self with rapture!  At his age one
+could not, of course, imagine such things, but there stirred in him a
+queer vague aching--as it were the ghost of an impersonal jealousy;
+and a feeling, too, more generous, of pity for that love so early
+lost.  All over in a few poor months!  Well, well!  He looked at his
+watch before entering the coppice--only a quarter past, twenty-five
+minutes to wait!  And then, turning the corner of the path, he saw
+her exactly where he had seen her the first time, on the log; and
+realised that she must have come by the earlier train to sit there
+alone for a couple of hours at least.  Two hours of her society
+missed!  What memory could make that log so dear to her?  His face
+showed what he was thinking, for she said at once:
+
+"Forgive me, Uncle Jolyon; it was here that I first knew."
+
+"Yes, yes; there it is for you whenever you like.  You're looking a
+little Londony; you're giving too many lessons."
+
+That she should have to give lessons worried him.  Lessons to a
+parcel of young girls thumping out scales with their thick fingers.
+
+"Where do you go to give them?" he asked.
+
+"They're mostly Jewish families, luckily."
+
+Old Jolyon stared; to all Forsytes Jews seem strange and doubtful.
+
+"They love music, and they're very kind."
+
+"They had better be, by George!"  He took her arm--his side always
+hurt him a little going uphill--and said:
+
+"Did you ever see anything like those buttercups?  They came like
+that in a night."
+
+Her eyes seemed really to fly over the field, like bees after the
+flowers and the honey.  "I wanted you to see them--wouldn't let them
+turn the cows in yet."  Then, remembering that she had come to talk
+about Bosinney, he pointed to the clock-tower over the stables:
+
+"I expect be wouldn't have let me put that there--had no notion of
+time, if I remember."
+
+But, pressing his arm to her, she talked of flowers instead, and he
+knew it was done that he might not feel she came because of her dead
+lover.
+
+"The best flower I can show you," he said, with a sort of triumph,
+"is my little sweet.  She'll be back from Church directly.  There's
+something about her which reminds me a little of you," and it did not
+seem to him peculiar that he had put it thus, instead of saying:
+"There's something about you which reminds me a little of her."  Ah!
+And here she was!
+
+Holly, followed closely by her elderly French governess, whose
+digestion had been ruined twenty-two years ago in the siege of
+Strasbourg, came rushing towards them from under the oak tree.  She
+stopped about a dozen yards away, to pat Balthasar and pretend that
+this was all she had in her mind.  Old Jolyon who knew better, said:
+
+"Well, my darling, here's the lady in grey I promised you."
+
+Holly raised herself and looked up.  He watched the two of them with
+a twinkle, Irene smiling, Holly beginning with grave inquiry, passing
+into a shy smile too, and then to something deeper.  She had a sense
+of beauty, that child--knew what was what!  He enjoyed the sight of
+the kiss between them.
+
+"Mrs. Heron, Mam'zelle Beauce.  Well, Mam'zelle--good sermon?"
+
+For, now that he had not much more time before him, the only part of
+the service connected with this world absorbed what interest in
+church remained to him.  Mam'zelle Beauce stretched out a spidery
+hand clad in a black kid glove--she had been in the best families--
+and the rather sad eyes of her lean yellowish face seemed to ask:
+"Are you well-brrred?" Whenever Holly or Jolly did anything
+unpleasing to her--a not uncommon occurrence he would say to them:
+"The little Tayleurs never did that--they were such well-brrred
+little children."  Jolly hated the little Tayleurs; Holly wondered
+dreadfully how it was she fell so short of them.  'A thin rum little
+soul,' old Jolyon thought her--Mam'zelle Beauce.
+
+Luncheon was a successful meal, the mushrooms which he himself had
+picked in the mushroom house, his chosen strawberries, and another
+bottle of the Steinberg cabinet filled him with a certain aromatic
+spirituality, and a conviction that he would have a touch of eczema
+to-morrow.
+
+After lunch they sat under the oak tree drinking Turkish coffee.  It
+was no matter of grief to him when Mademoiselle Beauce withdrew to
+write her Sunday letter to her sister, whose future had been
+endangered in the past by swallowing a pin--an event held up daily in
+warning to the children to eat slowly and digest what they had eaten.
+At the foot of the bank, on a carriage rug, Holly and the dog
+Balthasar teased and loved each other, and in the shade old Jolyon
+with his legs crossed and his cigar luxuriously savoured, gazed at
+Irene sitting in the swing.  A light, vaguely swaying, grey figure
+with a fleck of sunlight here and there upon it, lips just opened,
+eyes dark and soft under lids a little drooped.  She looked content;
+surely it did her good to come and see him!  The selfishness of age
+had not set its proper grip on him, for he could still feel pleasure
+in the pleasure of others, realising that what he wanted, though
+much, was not quite all that mattered.
+
+"It's quiet here," he said; "you mustn't come down if you find it
+dull.  But it's a pleasure to see you.  My little sweet's is the only
+face which gives me any pleasure, except yours."
+
+>From her smile he knew that she was not beyond liking to be
+appreciated, and this reassured him.  "That's not humbug," he said.
+"I never told a woman I admired her when I didn't.  In fact I
+don't know when I've told a woman I admired her, except my wife in
+the old days; and wives are funny."  He was silent, but resumed
+abruptly:
+
+"She used to expect me to say it more often than I felt it, and there
+we were."  Her face looked  mysteriously troubled, and, afraid that
+he had said something painful, he hurried on: "When my little sweet
+marries, I hope she'll find someone who knows what women feel.  I
+shan't be here to see it, but there's too much  topsy-turvydom in
+marriage; I don't want her to pitch up against that."  And, aware
+that he had made bad worse, he added: "That dog will scratch."
+
+A silence followed.  Of what was she thinking, this pretty creature
+whose life was spoiled; who had done with love, and yet was made for
+love?  Some day when he was gone, perhaps, she would find another
+mate--not so disorderly as that young fellow who had got himself run
+over.  Ah! but her husband?
+
+"Does Soames never trouble you?" he asked.
+
+She shook her head.  Her face had closed up  suddenly.  For all her
+softness there was something irreconcilable about her.  And a glimpse
+of light on the inexorable nature of sex antipathies strayed into a
+brain which, belonging to early Victorian civil-isation--so much
+older than this of his old age--had never thought about such
+primitive things.
+
+"That's a comfort," he said.  "You can see the Grand Stand to-day.
+Shall we take a turn round?"
+
+Through the flower and fruit garden, against whose high outer walls
+peach trees and nectarines were trained to the sun, through the
+stables, the vinery, the mushroom house, the asparagus beds, the
+rosery, the summer-house, he conducted her--even into the kitchen
+garden to see the tiny green peas which Holly loved to scoop out of
+their pods with her finger, and lick up from the palm of her little
+brown hand.  Many delightful things he showed her, while Holly and
+the dog Balthasar danced ahead, or came to them at intervals for
+attention.  It was one of the happiest afternoons he had ever spent,
+but it tired him and he was glad to sit down in the music room and
+let her give him tea.  A special little friend of Holly's had come
+in--a fair child with short hair like a boy's.  And the two sported
+in the distance, under the stairs, on the stairs, and up in the
+gallery.  Old Jolyon begged for Chopin.  She played studies,
+mazurkas, waltzes, till the two children, creeping near, stood at the
+foot of the piano their dark and golden heads bent forward,
+listening.  Old Jolyon watched.
+
+"Let's see you dance, you two!"
+
+Shyly, with a false start, they began.  Bobbing and circling,
+earnest, not very adroit, they went past and past his chair to the
+strains of that waltz.  He watched them and the face of her who was
+playing turned smiling towards those little dancers thinking:
+
+'Sweetest picture I've seen for ages.'
+
+A voice said:
+
+"Hollee! Mais enfin--quest-ce que tu fais la--danser, le dimanche!
+Viens, donc!"
+
+But the children came close to old Jolyon, knowing that he would save
+them, and gazed into a face which was decidedly 'caught out.'
+
+"Better the day, better the deed, Mam'zelle.  It's all my doing.
+Trot along, chicks, and have your tea."
+
+And, when they were gone, followed by the dog Balthasar, who took
+every meal, he looked at Irene with a twinkle and said:
+
+"Well, there we are! Aren't they sweet? Have you any little ones
+among your pupils?"
+
+"Yes, three--two of them darlings."
+
+"Pretty?"
+
+"Lovely!"
+
+Old Jolyon sighed; he had an insatiable appetite for the very young.
+"My little sweet," he said, "is devoted to music; she'll be a
+musician some day.  You wouldn't give me your opinion of her playing,
+I suppose?"
+
+"Of course I will."
+
+"You wouldn't like--" but he stifled the words "to give her lessons."
+The idea that she gave lessons was unpleasant to him; yet it would
+mean that he would see her regularly.  She left the piano and came
+over to his chair.
+
+"I would like, very much; but there is--June.  When are they coming
+back?"
+
+Old Jolyon frowned.  "Not till the middle of next month.  What does
+that matter?"
+
+"You said June had forgiven me; but she could never forget, Uncle
+Jolyon."
+
+Forget! She must forget, if he wanted her to.
+
+But as if answering, Irene shook her head.  "You know she couldn't;
+one doesn't forget."
+
+Always that wretched past! And he said with a sort of vexed finality:
+
+"Well, we shall see."
+
+He talked to her an hour or more, of the children, and a hundred
+little things, till the carriage came round to take her home.  And
+when she had gone he went back to his chair, and sat there smoothing
+his face and chin, dreaming over the day.
+
+That evening after dinner he went to his study and took a sheet of
+paper.  He stayed for some minutes without writing, then rose and
+stood under the masterpiece 'Dutch Fishing Boats at Sunset.'  He was
+not thinking of that picture, but of his life.  He was going to leave
+her something in his Will; nothing could so have stirred the stilly
+deeps of thought and memory.  He was going to leave her a portion of
+his wealth, of his aspirations, deeds, qualities, work--all that had
+made that wealth; going to leave her, too, a part of all he had
+missed in life, by his sane and steady pursuit of wealth.  All! What
+had he missed?  'Dutch Fishing Boats' responded blankly; he crossed
+to the French window, and drawing the curtain aside, opened it.  A
+wind had got up, and one of last year's oak leaves which had somehow
+survived the gardener's brooms, was dragging itself with a tiny
+clicking rustle along the stone terrace in the twilight.  Except for
+that it was very quiet out there, and he could smell the heliotrope
+watered not long since.  A bat went by.  A bird uttered its last
+'cheep.'  And right above the oak tree the first star shone.  Faust
+in the opera had bartered his soul for some fresh years of youth.
+Morbid notion!  No such bargain was possible, that was real tragedy!
+No making oneself new again for love or life or anything.  Nothing
+left to do but enjoy beauty from afar off while you could, and leave
+it something in your Will.  But how much? And, as if he could not
+make that calculation looking out into the mild freedom of the
+country night, he turned back and went up to the chimney-piece.
+There were his pet bronzes--a Cleopatra with the asp at her breast; a
+Socrates; a greyhound playing with her puppy; a strong man reining in
+some horses.  'They last!' he thought, and a pang went through his
+heart.  They had a thousand years of life before them!
+
+'How much?' Well! enough at all events to save her getting old before
+her time, to keep the lines out of her face as long as possible, and
+grey from soiling that bright hair.  He might live another five
+years.  She would be well over thirty by then.  'How much?'  She had
+none of his blood in her!  In loyalty to the tenor of his life for
+forty years and more, ever since he married and founded that
+mysterious thing, a family, came this warning thought--None of his
+blood, no right to anything!  It was a luxury then, this notion.  An
+extravagance, a petting of an old man's whim, one of those things
+done in dotage.  His real future was vested in those who had his
+blood, in whom he would live on when he was gone.  He turned away
+from the bronzes and stood looking at the old leather chair in which
+he had sat and smoked so many hundreds of cigars.  And suddenly he
+seemed to see her sitting there in her grey dress, fragrant, soft,
+dark-eyed, graceful, looking up at him.  Why! She cared nothing for
+him, really; all she cared for was that lost lover of hers.  But she
+was there, whether she would or no, giving him pleasure with her
+beauty and grace.  One had no right to inflict an old man's company,
+no right to ask her down to play to him and let him look at her--for
+no reward!  Pleasure must be paid for in this world.  'How much?'
+After all, there was plenty; his son and his three grandchildren
+would never miss that little lump.  He had made it himself, nearly
+every penny; he could leave it where he liked, allow himself this
+little pleasure.  He went back to the bureau.  'Well, I'm going to,'
+he thought, 'let them think what they like.  I'm going to!'  And he
+sat down.
+
+'How much?' Ten thousand, twenty thousand--how much? If only with his
+money he could buy one year, one month of youth.  And startled by
+that thought, he wrote quickly:
+
+
+'DEAR HERRING,--Draw me a codicil to this effect: "I leave to my
+niece Irene Forsyte, born Irene Heron, by which name she now goes,
+fifteen thousand pounds free of legacy duty."
+'Yours faithfully,
+'JOLYON FORSYTE.'
+
+
+When he had sealed and stamped the envelope, he went back to the
+window and drew in a long breath.  It was dark, but many stars shone
+now.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+He woke at half-past two, an hour which long experience had taught
+him brings panic intensity to all awkward thoughts.  Experience had
+also taught him that a further waking at the proper hour of eight
+showed the folly of such panic.  On this particular morning the
+thought which gathered rapid momentum was that if he became ill, at
+his age not improbable, he would not see her.  From this it was but a
+step to realisation that he would be cut off, too, when his son and
+June returned from Spain.  How could he justify desire for the
+company of one who had stolen--early morning does not mince words--
+June's lover?  That lover was dead; but June was a stubborn little
+thing; warm-hearted, but stubborn as wood, and--quite true--not one
+who forgot!  By the middle of next month they would be back.  He had
+barely five weeks left to enjoy the new interest which had come into
+what remained of his life.  Darkness showed up to him absurdly clear
+the nature of his feeling.  Admiration for beauty--a craving to see
+that which delighted his eyes.
+
+Preposterous, at his age! And yet--what other reason was there for
+asking June to undergo such painful reminder, and how prevent his son
+and his son's wife from thinking him very queer?  He would be reduced
+to sneaking up to London, which tired him; and the least
+indisposition would cut him off even from that.  He lay with eyes
+open, setting his jaw against the prospect, and calling himself an
+old fool, while his heart beat loudly, and then seemed to stop
+beating altogether.  He had seen the dawn lighting the window chinks,
+heard the birds chirp and twitter, and the cocks crow, before he fell
+asleep again, and awoke tired but sane.  Five weeks before he need
+bother, at his age an eternity!  But that early morning panic had
+left its mark, had slightly fevered the will of one who had always
+had his own way.  He would see her as often as he wished!  Why not go
+up to town and make that codicil at his solicitor's instead of
+writing about it; she might like to go to the opera!  But, by train,
+for he would not have that fat chap Beacon grinning behind his back.
+Servants were such fools; and, as likely as not, they had known all
+the past history of Irene and young Bosinney--servants knew
+everything, and suspected the rest.  He wrote to her that morning:
+
+
+"MY DEAR IRENE,--I have to be up in town to-morrow.  If you would
+like to have a look in at the opera, come and dine with me quietly
+...."
+
+But where?  It was decades since he had dined anywhere in London save
+at his Club or at a private house.  Ah! that new-fangled place close
+to Covent Garden....
+
+"Let me have a line to-morrow morning to the Piedmont Hotel whether
+to expect you there at 7 o'clock."
+"Yours affectionately,
+"JOLYON FORSYTE."
+
+
+She would understand that he just wanted to give her a little
+pleasure; for the idea that she should guess he had this itch to see
+her was instinctively unpleasant to him; it was not seemly that one
+so old should go out of his way to see beauty, especially in a woman.
+
+The journey next day, short though it was, and the visit to his
+lawyer's, tired him.  It was hot too, and after dressing for dinner
+he lay down on the sofa in his bedroom to rest a little.  He must
+have had a sort of fainting fit, for he came to himself feeling very
+queer; and with some difficulty rose and rang the bell.  Why! it was
+past seven!  And there he was and she would be waiting.  But suddenly
+the dizziness came on again, and he was obliged to relapse on the
+sofa.  He heard the maid's voice say:
+
+"Did you ring, sir?"
+
+"Yes, come here"; he could not see her clearly, for the cloud in
+front of his eyes.  "I'm not well, I want some sal volatile."
+
+"Yes, sir."  Her voice sounded frightened.
+
+Old Jolyon made an effort.
+
+"Don't go.  Take this message to my niece--a lady waiting in the
+hall--a lady in grey.  Say Mr. Forsyte is not well--the heat.  He is
+very sorry; if he is not down directly, she is not to wait dinner."
+
+When she was gone, he thought feebly: 'Why did I say a lady in grey--
+she may be in anything.  Sal volatile!'  He did not go off again, yet
+was not conscious of how Irene came to be standing beside him,
+holding smelling salts to his nose, and pushing a pillow up behind
+his head.  He heard her say anxiously: "Dear Uncle Jolyon, what is
+it?" was dimly conscious of the soft pressure of her lips on his
+hand; then drew a long breath of smelling salts, suddenly discovered
+strength in them, and sneezed.
+
+"Ha!" he said, "it's nothing.  How did you get here? Go down and
+dine--the tickets are on the dressing-table.  I shall be all right in
+a minute."
+
+He felt her cool hand on his forehead, smelled violets, and sat
+divided between a sort of pleasure and a determination to be all
+right.
+
+"Why! You are in grey!" he said.  "Help me up."  Once on his feet he
+gave himself a shake.
+
+"What business had I to go off like that!"  And he moved very slowly
+to the glass.  What a cadaverous chap!  Her voice, behind him,
+murmured:
+
+"You mustn't come down, Uncle; you must rest."
+
+"Fiddlesticks!  A glass of champagne'll soon set me to rights.  I
+can't have you missing the opera."
+
+But the journey down the corridor was troublesome.  What carpets they
+had in these newfangled places, so thick that you tripped up in them
+at every step! In the lift he noticed how concerned she looked, and
+said with the ghost of a twinkle:
+
+"I'm a pretty host."
+
+When the lift stopped he had to hold firmly to the seat to prevent
+its slipping under him; but after soup and a glass of champagne he
+felt much better, and began to enjoy an infirmity which had brought
+such solicitude into her manner towards him.
+
+"I should have liked you for a daughter," he said suddenly; and
+watching the smile in her eyes, went on:
+
+"You mustn't get wrapped up in the past at your time of life; plenty
+of that when you get to my age.  That's a nice dress--I like the
+style."
+
+"I made it myself."
+
+Ah! A woman who could make herself a pretty frock had not lost her
+interest in life.
+
+"Make hay while the sun shines," he said; "and drink that up.  I want
+to see some colour in your cheeks.  We mustn't waste life; it doesn't
+do.  There's a new Marguerite to-night; let's hope she won't be fat.
+And Mephisto--anything more dreadful than a fat chap playing the
+Devil I can't imagine."
+
+But they did not go to the opera after all, for in getting up from
+dinner the dizziness came over him again, and she insisted on his
+staying quiet and going to bed early.  When he parted from her at the
+door of the hotel, having paid the cabman to drive her to Chelsea, he
+sat down again for a moment to enjoy the memory of her words: "You
+are such a darling to me, Uncle Jolyon!"  Why! Who wouldn't be!  He
+would have liked to stay up another day and take her to the Zoo, but
+two days running of him would bore her to death.  No, he must wait
+till next Sunday; she had promised to come then.  They would settle
+those lessons for Holly, if only for a month.  It would be something.
+That little Mam'zelle Beauce wouldn't like it, but she would have to
+lump it.  And crushing his old opera hat against his chest he sought
+the lift.
+
+He drove to Waterloo next morning, struggling with a desire to say:
+'Drive me to Chelsea.'  But his sense of proportion was too strong.
+Besides, he still felt shaky, and did not want to risk another
+aberration like that of last night, away from home.  Holly, too, was
+expecting him, and what he had in his bag for her.  Not that there
+was any cupboard love in his little sweet--she was a bundle of
+affection.  Then, with the rather bitter cynicism of the old, he
+wondered for a second whether it was not cupboard love which made
+Irene put up with him.  No, she was not that sort either.  She had,
+if anything, too little notion of how to butter her bread, no sense
+of property, poor thing! Besides, he had not breathed a word about
+that codicil, nor should he--sufficient unto the day was the good
+thereof.
+
+In the victoria which met him at the station Holly was restraining
+the dog Balthasar, and their caresses made 'jubey' his drive home.
+All the rest of that fine hot day and most of the next he was content
+and peaceful, reposing in the shade, while the long lingering
+sunshine showered gold on the lawns and the flowers.  But on Thursday
+evening at his lonely dinner he began to count the hours; sixty-five
+till he would go down to meet her again in the little coppice, and
+walk up through the fields at her side.  He had intended to consult
+the doctor about his fainting fit, but the fellow would be sure to
+insist on quiet, no excitement and all that; and he did not mean to
+be tied by the leg, did not want to be told of an infirmity--if there
+were one, could not afford to hear of it at his time of life, now
+that this new interest had come.  And he carefully avoided making any
+mention of it in a letter to his son.  It would only bring them back
+with a run!  How far this silence was due to consideration for their
+pleasure, how far to regard for his own, he did not pause to
+consider.
+
+That night in his study he had just finished his cigar and was dozing
+off, when he heard the rustle of a gown, and was conscious of a scent
+of violets.  Opening his eyes he saw her, dressed in grey, standing
+by the fireplace, holding out her arms.  The odd thing was that,
+though those arms seemed to hold nothing, they were curved as if
+round someone's neck, and her own neck was bent back, her lips open,
+her eyes closed.  She vanished at once, and there were the
+mantelpiece and his bronzes.  But those bronzes and the mantelpiece
+had not been there when she was, only the fireplace and the wall!
+Shaken and troubled, he got up.  'I must take medicine,' he thought;
+'I can't be well.'  His heart beat too fast, he had an asthmatic
+feeling in the chest; and going to the window, he opened it to get
+some air.  A dog was barking far away, one of the dogs at Gage's farm
+no doubt, beyond the coppice.  A beautiful still night, but dark.  'I
+dropped off,' he mused, 'that's it!  And yet I'll swear my eyes were
+open!'  A sound like a sigh seemed to answer.
+
+"What's that?" he said sharply, "who's there?"
+
+Putting his hand to his side to still the beating of his heart, he
+stepped out on the terrace.  Something soft scurried by in the dark.
+"Shoo!"  It was that great grey cat.  'Young Bosinney was like a
+great cat!' he thought.  'It was him in there, that she--that she
+was--He's got her still!'  He walked to the edge of the terrace, and
+looked down into the darkness; he could just see the powdering of the
+daisies on the unmown lawn.  Here to-day and gone to-morrow!  And
+there came the moon, who saw all, young and old, alive and dead, and
+didn't care a dump!  His own turn soon.  For a single day of youth he
+would give what was left!  And he turned again towards the house.  He
+could see the windows of the night nursery up there.  His little
+sweet would be asleep.  'Hope that dog won't wake her!' he thought.
+'What is it makes us love, and makes us die!  I must go to bed.'
+
+And across the terrace stones, growing grey in the moonlight, he
+passed back within.
+
+How should an old man live his days if not in dreaming of his
+well-spent past? In that, at all events, there is no agitating
+warmth, only pale winter sunshine.  The shell can withstand the
+gentle beating of the dynamos of memory.  The present he should
+distrust; the future shun.  From beneath thick shade he should watch
+the sunlight creeping at his toes.  If there be sun of summer, let
+him not go out into it, mistaking it for the Indian-summer sun!  Thus
+peradventure he shall decline softly, slowly, imperceptibly, until
+impatient Nature clutches his wind-pipe and he gasps away to death
+some early morning before the world is aired, and they put on his
+tombstone: 'In the fulness of years!' yea!  If he preserve his
+principles in perfect order, a Forsyte may live on long after he is
+dead.
+
+Old Jolyon was conscious of all this, and yet there was in him that
+which transcended Forsyteism.  For it is written that a Forsyte shall
+not love beauty more than reason; nor his own way more than his own
+health.  And something beat within him in these days that with each
+throb fretted at the thinning shell.  His sagacity knew this, but it
+knew too that he could not stop that beating, nor would if he could.
+And yet, if you had told him he was living on his capital, he would
+have stared you down.  No, no; a man did not live on his capital; it
+was not done!  The shibboleths of the past are ever more real than
+the actualities of the present.  And he, to whom living on one's
+capital had always been anathema, could not have borne to have
+applied so gross a phrase to his own case.  Pleasure is healthful;
+beauty good to see; to live again in the youth of the young--and what
+else on earth was he doing!
+
+Methodically, as had been the way of his whole life, he now arranged
+his time.  On Tuesdays he journeyed up to town by train; Irene came
+and dined with him.  And they went to the opera.  On Thursdays he
+drove to town, and, putting that fat chap and his horses up, met her
+in Kensington Gardens, picking up the carriage after he had left her,
+and driving home again in time for dinner.  He threw out the casual
+formula that he had business in London on those two days.  On
+Wednesdays and Saturdays she came down to give Holly music lessons.
+The greater the pleasure he took in her society, the more
+scrupulously fastidious he became, just a matter-of-fact and friendly
+uncle.  Not even in feeling, really, was he more--for, after all,
+there was his age.  And yet, if she were late he fidgeted himself to
+death.  If she missed coming, which happened twice, his eyes grew sad
+as an old dog's, and he failed to sleep.
+
+And so a month went by--a month of summer in the fields, and in his
+heart, with summer's heat and the fatigue thereof.  Who could have
+believed a few weeks back that he would have looked forward to his
+son's and his grand-daughter's return with something like dread!
+There was such a delicious freedom, such recovery of that
+independence a man enjoys before he founds a family, about these
+weeks of lovely weather, and this new companionship with one who
+demanded nothing, and remained always a little unknown, retaining the
+fascination of mystery.  It was like a draught of wine to him who has
+been drinking water for so long that he has almost forgotten the stir
+wine brings to his blood, the narcotic to his brain.  The flowers
+were coloured brighter, scents and music and the sunlight had a
+living value--were no longer mere reminders of past enjoy-ment.
+There was something now to live for which stirred him continually to
+anticipation.  He lived in that, not in retrospection; the difference
+is considerable to any so old as he.  The pleasures of the table,
+never of much consequence to one naturally abstemious, had lost all
+value.  He ate little, without knowing what he ate; and every day
+grew thinner and more worn to look at.  He was again a 'threadpaper';
+and to this thinned form his massive forehead, with hollows at the
+temples, gave more dignity than ever.  He was very well aware that he
+ought to see the doctor, but liberty was too sweet.  He could not
+afford to pet his frequent shortness of breath and the pain in his
+side at the expense of liberty.  Return to the vegetable existence he
+had led among the agricultural journals with the life-size mangold
+wurzels, before this new attraction came into his life--no! He
+exceeded his allowance of cigars.  Two a day had always been his
+rule.  Now he smoked three and sometimes four--a man will when he is
+filled with the creative spirit.  But very often he thought: 'I must
+give up smoking, and coffee; I must give up rattling up to town.'
+But he did not; there was no one in any sort of authority to notice
+him, and this was a priceless boon.
+
+The servants perhaps wondered, but they were, naturally, dumb.
+Mam'zelle Beauce was too concerned with her own digestion, and too
+'wellbrrred' to make personal allusions.  Holly had not as yet an eye
+for the relative appearance of him who was her plaything and her god.
+It was left for Irene herself to beg him to eat more, to rest in the
+hot part of the day, to take a tonic, and so forth.  But she did not
+tell him that she was the a cause of his thinness--for one cannot see
+the havoc oneself is working.  A man of eighty-five has no passions,
+but the Beauty which produces passion works on in the old way, till
+death closes the eyes which crave the sight of Her.
+
+On the first day of the second week in July he received a letter from
+his son in Paris to say that they would all be back on Friday.  This
+had always been more sure than Fate; but, with the pathetic
+improvidence given to the old, that they may endure to the end, he
+had never quite admitted it.  Now he did, and something would have to
+be done.  He had ceased to be able to imagine life without this new
+interest, but that which is not imagined sometimes exists, as
+Forsytes are perpetually finding to their cost.  He sat in his old
+leather chair, doubling up the letter, and mumbling with his lips the
+end of an unlighted cigar.  After to-morrow his Tuesday expeditions
+to town would have to be abandoned.  He could still drive up,
+perhaps, once a week, on the pretext of seeing his man of business.
+But even that would be dependent on his health, for now they would
+begin to fuss about him.  The lessons!  The lessons must go on!  She
+must swallow down her scruples, and June must put her feelings in her
+pocket.  She had done so once, on the day after the news of
+Bosinney's death; what she had done then, she could surely do again
+now.  Four years since that injury was inflicted on her--not
+Christian to keep the memory of old sores alive.  June's will was
+strong, but his was stronger, for his sands were running out.  Irene
+was soft, surely she would do this for him, subdue her natural
+shrinking, sooner than give him pain!  The lessons must continue; for
+if they did, he was secure.  And lighting his cigar at last, he began
+trying to shape out how to put it to them all, and explain this
+strange intimacy; how to veil and wrap it away from the naked truth--
+that he could not bear to be deprived of the sight of beauty.  Ah!
+Holly!  Holly was fond of her, Holly liked her lessons.  She would
+save him--his little sweet!  And with that happy thought he became
+serene, and wondered what he had been worrying about so fearfully.
+He must not worry, it left him always curiously weak, and as if but
+half present in his own body.
+
+That evening after dinner he had a return of the dizziness, though he
+did not faint.  He would not ring the bell, because he knew it would
+mean a fuss, and make his going up on the morrow more conspicuous.
+When one grew old, the whole world was in conspiracy to limit
+freedom, and for what reason?--just to keep the breath in him a
+little longer.  He did not want it at such cost.  Only the dog
+Balthasar saw his lonely recovery from that weakness; anxiously
+watched his master go to the sideboard and drink some brandy, instead
+of giving him a biscuit.  When at last old Jolyon felt able to tackle
+the stairs he went up to bed.  And, though still shaky next morning,
+the thought of the evening sustained and strengthened him.  It was
+always such a pleasure to give her a good dinner--he suspected her of
+undereating when she was alone; and, at the opera to watch her eyes
+glow and brighten, the unconscious smiling of her lips.  She hadn't
+much pleasure, and this was the last time he would be able to give
+her that treat.  But when he was packing his bag he caught himself
+wishing that he had not the fatigue of dressing for dinner before
+him, and the exertion, too, of telling her about June's return.
+
+The opera that evening was 'Carmen,' and he chose the last entr'acte
+to break the news, instinctively putting it off till the latest
+moment.
+
+She took it quietly, queerly; in fact, he did not know how she had
+taken it before the wayward music lifted up again and silence became
+necessary.  The mask was down over her face, that mask behind which
+so much went on that he could not see.  She wanted time to think it
+over, no doubt!  He would not press her, for she would be coming to
+give her lesson to-morrow afternoon, and he should see her then when
+she had got used to the idea.  In the cab he talked only of the
+Carmen; he had seen better in the old days, but this one was not bad
+at all.  When he took her hand to say good-night, she bent quickly
+forward and kissed his forehead.
+
+"Good-bye, dear Uncle Jolyon, you have been so sweet to me."
+
+"To-morrow then," he said.  "Good-night.  Sleep well."  She echoed
+softly: "Sleep welll" and from the cab window, already moving away,
+he saw her face screwed round towards him, and her hand put out in a
+gesture which seemed to linger.
+
+He sought his room slowly.  They never gave him the same, and he
+could not get used to these 'spick-and-spandy' bedrooms with new
+furniture and grey-green carpets sprinkled all over with pink roses.
+He was wakeful and that wretched Habanera kept throbbing in his head.
+
+His French had never been equal to its words, but its sense he knew,
+if it had any sense, a gipsy thing--wild and unaccountable.  Well,
+there was in life something which upset all your care and plans--
+something which made men and women dance to its pipes.  And he lay
+staring from deep-sunk eyes into the darkness where the unaccountable
+held sway.  You thought you had hold of life, but it slipped away
+behind you, took you by the scruff of the neck, forced you here and
+forced you there, and then, likely as not, squeezed life out of you!
+It took the very stars like that, he shouldn't wonder, rubbed their
+noses together and flung them apart; it had never done playing its
+pranks.  Five million people in this great blunderbuss of a town, and
+all of them at the mercy of that Life-Force, like a lot of little
+dried peas hopping about on a board when you struck your fist on it.
+Ah, well! Himself would not hop much longer--a good long sleep would
+do him good!
+
+How hot it was up here!--how noisy! His forehead burned; she had
+kissed it just where he always worried; just there--as if she had
+known the very place and wanted to kiss it all away for him.  But,
+instead, her lips left a patch of grievous uneasiness.  She had never
+spoken in quite that voice, had never before made that lingering
+gesture or looked back at him as she drove away.
+
+He got out of bed and pulled the curtains aside; his room faced down
+over the river.  There was little air, but the sight of that breadth
+of water flowing by, calm, eternal, soothed him.  'The great thing,'
+he thought 'is not to make myself a nuisance.  I'll think of my
+little sweet, and go to sleep.'  But it was long before the heat and
+throbbing of the London night died out into the short slumber of the
+summer morning.  And old Jolyon had but forty winks.
+
+When he reached home next day he went out to the flower garden, and
+with the help of Holly, who was very delicate with flowers, gathered
+a great bunch of carnations.  They were, he told her, for 'the lady
+in grey'--a name still bandied between them; and he put them in a
+bowl in his study where he meant to tackle Irene the moment she came,
+on the subject of June and future lessons.  Their fragrance and
+colour would help.  After lunch he lay down, for he felt very tired,
+and the carriage would not bring her from the station till four
+o'clock.  But as the hour approached he grew restless, and sought the
+schoolroom, which overlooked the drive.  The sun-blinds were down,
+and Holly was there with Mademoiselle Beauce, sheltered from the heat
+of a stifling July day, attending to their silkworms.  Old Jolyon had
+a natural antipathy to these methodical creatures, whose heads and
+colour reminded him of elephants; who nibbled such quantities of
+holes in nice green leaves; and smelled, as he thought, horrid.  He
+sat down on a chintz-covered windowseat whence he could see the
+drive, and get what air there was; and the dog Balthasar who
+appreciated chintz on hot days, jumped up beside him.  Over the
+cottage piano a violet dust-sheet, faded almost to grey, was spread,
+and on it the first lavender, whose scent filled the room.  In spite
+of the coolness here, perhaps because of that coolness the beat of
+life vehemently impressed his ebbed-down senses.  Each sunbeam which
+came through the chinks had annoying brilliance; that dog smelled
+very strong; the lavender perfume was overpowering; those silkworms
+heaving up their grey-green backs seemed horribly alive; and Holly's
+dark head bent over them had a wonderfully silky sheen.  A marvellous
+cruelly strong thing was life when you were old and weak; it seemed
+to mock you with its multitude of forms and its beating vitality.  He
+had never, till those last few weeks, had this curious feeling of
+being with one half of him eagerly borne along in the stream of life,
+and with the other half left on the bank, watching that helpless
+progress.  Only when Irene was with him did he lose this double
+consciousness.
+
+Holly turned her head, pointed with her little brown fist to the
+piano--for to point with a finger was not 'well-brrred'--and said
+slyly:
+
+"Look at the 'lady in grey,' Gran; isn't she pretty to-day?"
+
+Old Jolyon's heart gave a flutter, and for a second the room was
+clouded; then it cleared, and he said with a twinkle:
+
+"Who's been dressing her up?"
+
+"Mam'zelle."
+
+"Hollee! Don't be foolish!"
+
+That prim little Frenchwoman!  She hadn't yet got over the music
+lessons being taken away from her.  That wouldn't help.  His little
+sweet was the only friend they had.  Well, they were her lessons.
+And he shouldn't budge shouldn't budge for anything.  He stroked the
+warm wool on Balthasar's head, and heard Holly say: "When mother's
+home, there won't be any changes, will there?  She doesn't like
+strangers, you know."
+
+The child's words seemed to bring the chilly atmosphere of opposition
+about old Jolyon, and disclose all the menace to his new-found
+freedom.  Ah! He would have to resign himself to being an old man at
+the mercy of care and love, or fight to keep this new and prized
+companionship; and to fight tired him to death.  But his thin, worn
+face hardened into resolution till it appeared all Jaw.  This was his
+house, and his affair; he should not budge!  He looked at his watch,
+old and thin like himself; he had owned it fifty years.  Past four
+already!  And kissing the top of Holly's head in passing, he went
+down to the hall.  He wanted to get hold of her before she went up to
+give her lesson.  At the first sound of wheels he stepped out into
+the porch, and saw at once that the victoria was empty.
+
+"The train's in, sir; but the lady 'asn't come."
+
+Old Jolyon gave him a sharp upward look, his eyes seemed to push away
+that fat chap's curiosity, and defy him to see the bitter
+disappointment he was feeling.
+
+"Very well," he said, and turned back into the house.  He went to his
+study and sat down, quivering like a leaf.  What did this mean? She
+might have lost her train, but he knew well enough she hadn't.
+'Good-bye, dear Uncle Jolyon.'  Why 'Good-bye' and not 'Good-night'?
+And that hand of hers lingering in the air.  And her kiss.  What did
+it mean?  Vehement alarm and irritation took possession of him.  He
+got up and began to pace the Turkey carpet, between window and wall.
+She was going to give him up!  He felt it for certain--and he
+defenceless.  An old man wanting to look on beauty!  It was
+ridiculous!  Age closed his mouth, paralysed his power to fight.  He
+had no right to what was warm and living, no right to anything but
+memories and sorrow.  He could not plead with her; even an old man
+has his dignity.  Defenceless!  For an hour, lost to bodily fatigue,
+he paced up and down, past the bowl of carnations he had plucked,
+which mocked him with its scent.  Of all things hard to bear, the
+prostration of will-power is hardest, for one who has always had his
+way.  Nature had got him in its net, and like an unhappy fish he
+turned and swam at the meshes, here and there, found no hole, no
+breaking point.  They brought him tea at five o'clock, and a letter.
+For a moment hope beat up in him.  He cut the envelope with the
+butter knife, and read:
+
+
+"DEAREST UNCLE JOLYON,--I can't bear to write anything that may
+disappoint you, but I was too cowardly to tell you last night.  I
+feel I can't come down and give Holly any more lessons, now that June
+is coming back.  Some things go too deep to be forgotten.  It has
+been such a joy to see you and Holly.  Perhaps I shall still see you
+sometimes when you come up, though I'm sure it's not good for you; I
+can see you are tiring yourself too much.  I believe you ought to
+rest quite quietly all this hot weather, and now you have your son
+and June coming back you will be so happy.  Thank you a million times
+for all your sweetness to me.
+
+"Lovingly your IRENE."
+
+
+So, there it was! Not good for him to have pleasure and what he
+chiefly cared about; to try and put off feeling the inevitable end of
+all things, the approach of death with its stealthy, rustling
+footsteps.  Not good for him!  Not even she could see how she was his
+new lease of interest in life, the incarnation of all the beauty he
+felt slipping from him.
+
+His tea grew cold, his cigar remained unlit; and up and down he
+paced, torn between his dignity and his hold on life.  Intolerable to
+be squeezed out slowly, without a say of your own, to live on when
+your will was in the hands of others bent on weighing you to the
+ground with care and love.  Intolerable!  He would see what telling
+her the truth would do--the truth that he wanted the sight of her
+more than just a lingering on.  He sat down at his old bureau and
+took a pen.  But he could not write.  There was some-thing revolting
+in having to plead like this; plead that she should warm his eyes
+with her beauty.  It was tantamount to confessing dotage.  He simply
+could not.  And instead, he wrote:
+
+
+"I had hoped that the memory of old sores would not be allowed to
+stand in the way of what is a pleasure and a profit to me and my
+little grand-daughter.  But old men learn to forego their whims; they
+are obliged to, even the whim to live must be foregone sooner or
+later; and perhaps the sooner the better.
+"My love to you,
+"JOLYON FORSYTE."
+
+
+'Bitter,' he thought, 'but I can't help it.  I'm tired.'  He sealed
+and dropped it into the box for the evening post, and hearing it fall
+to the bottom, thought: 'There goes all I've looked forward to!'
+
+That evening after dinner which he scarcely touched, after his cigar
+which he left half-smoked for it made him feel faint, he went very
+slowly upstairs and stole into the night-nursery.  He sat down on the
+window-seat.  A night-light was burning, and he could just see
+Holly's face, with one hand underneath the cheek.  An early
+cockchafer buzzed in the Japanese paper with which they had filled
+the grate, and one of the horses in the stable stamped restlessly.
+To sleep like that child!  He pressed apart two rungs of the venetian
+blind and looked out.  The moon was rising, blood-red.  He had never
+seen so red a moon.  The woods and fields out there were dropping to
+sleep too, in the last glimmer of the summer light.  And beauty, like
+a spirit, walked.  'I've had a long life,' he thought, 'the best of
+nearly everything.  I'm an ungrateful chap; I've seen a lot of beauty
+in my time.  Poor young Bosinney said I had a sense of beauty.
+There's a man in the moon to-night!'  A moth went by, another,
+another.  'Ladies in grey!'  He closed his eyes.  A feeling that he
+would never open them again beset him; he let it grow, let himself
+sink; then, with a shiver, dragged the lids up.  There was something
+wrong with him, no doubt, deeply wrong; he would have to have the
+doctor after all.  It didn't much matter now!  Into that coppice the
+moon-light would have crept; there would be shadows, and those
+shadows would be the only things awake.  No birds, beasts, flowers,
+insects; Just the shadows--moving; 'Ladies in grey!'  Over that log
+they would climb; would whisper together.  She and Bosinney!  Funny
+thought!  And the frogs and little things would whisper too!  How the
+clock ticked, in here!  It was all eerie-out there in the light of
+that red moon; in here with the little steady night-light and, the
+ticking clock and the nurse's dressing-gown hanging from the edge of
+the screen, tall, like a woman's figure.  'Lady in grey!'  And a very
+odd thought beset him: Did she exist?  Had she ever come at all?  Or
+was she but the emanation of all the beauty he had loved and must
+leave so soon?  The violet-grey spirit with the dark eyes and the
+crown of amber hair, who walks the dawn and the moonlight, and at
+blue-bell time?  What was she, who was she, did she exist?  He rose
+and stood a moment clutching the window-sill, to give him a sense of
+reality again; then began tiptoeing towards the door.  He stopped at
+the foot of the bed; and Holly, as if conscious of his eyes fixed on
+her, stirred, sighed, and curled up closer in defence.  He tiptoed on
+and passed out into the dark passage; reached his room, undressed at
+once, and stood before a mirror in his night-shirt.  What a
+scarecrow--with temples fallen in, and thin legs! His eyes resisted
+his own image, and a look of pride came on his face.  All was in
+league to pull him down, even his reflection in the glass, but he was
+not down--yet!  He got into bed, and lay a long time without
+sleeping, trying to reach resignation, only too well aware that
+fretting and disappointment were very bad for him.  He woke in the
+morning so unrefreshed and strengthless that he sent for the doctor.
+After sounding him, the fellow pulled a face as long as your arm, and
+ordered him to stay in bed and give up smoking.  That was no
+hardship; there was nothing to get up for, and when he felt ill,
+tobacco always lost its savour.  He spent the morning languidly with
+the sun-blinds down, turning and re-turning The Times, not reading
+much, the dog Balthasar lying beside his bed.  With his lunch they
+brought him a telegram, running thus:
+
+
+'Your letter received coming down this afternoon will be with you at
+four-thirty.  Irene.'
+
+
+Coming down!  After all!  Then she did exist--and he was not
+deserted.  Coming down!  A glow ran through his limbs; his cheeks and
+forehead felt hot.  He drank his soup, and pushed the tray-table
+away, lying very quiet until they had removed lunch and left him
+alone; but every now and then his eyes twinkled.  Coming down!  His
+heart beat fast, and then did not seem to beat at all.  At three
+o'clock he got up and dressed deliberately, noiselessly.  Holly and
+Mam'zelle would be in the schoolroom, and the servants asleep after
+their dinner, he shouldn't wonder.  He opened his door cautiously,
+and went downstairs.  In the hall the dog Balthasar lay solitary,
+and, followed by him, old Jolyon passed into his study and out into
+the burning afternoon.  He meant to go down and meet her in the
+coppice, but felt at once he could not manage that in this heat.  He
+sat down instead under the oak tree by the swing, and the dog
+Balthasar, who also felt the heat, lay down beside him.  He sat there
+smiling.  What a revel of bright minutes!  What a hum of insects, and
+cooing of pigeons!  It was the quintessence of a summer day.  Lovely!
+And he was happy--happy as a sand-boy, what-ever that might be.  She
+was coming; she had not given him up!  He had everything in life he
+wanted--except a little more breath, and less weight--just here!  He
+would see her when she emerged from the fernery, come swaying just a
+little, a violet-grey figure passing over the daisies and dandelions
+and 'soldiers' on the lawn--the soldiers with their flowery crowns.
+He would not move, but she would come up to him and say: 'Dear Uncle
+Jolyon, I am sorry!' and sit in the swing and let him look at her and
+tell her that he had not been very well but was all right now; and
+that dog would lick her hand.  That dog knew his master was fond of
+her; that dog was a good dog.
+
+It was quite shady under the tree; the sun could not get at him, only
+make the rest of the world bright so that he could see the Grand
+Stand at Epsom away out there, very far, and the cows crop-ping the
+clover in the field and swishing at the flies with their tails.  He
+smelled the scent of limes, and lavender.  Ah!  that was why there
+was such a racket of bees.  They were excited--busy, as his heart was
+busy and excited.  Drowsy, too, drowsy and drugged on honey and
+happiness; as his heart was drugged and drowsy.  Summer--summer--they
+seemed saying; great bees and little bees, and the flies too!
+
+The stable clock struck four; in half an hour she would be here.  He
+would have just one tiny nap, because he had had so little sleep of
+late; and then he would be fresh for her, fresh for youth and beauty,
+coming towards him across the sunlit lawn--lady in grey!  And
+settling back in his chair he closed his eyes.  Some thistle-down
+came on what little air there was, and pitched on his moustache more
+white than itself.  He did not know; but his breathing stirred it,
+caught there.  A ray of sunlight struck through and lodged on his
+boot.  A bumble-bee alighted and strolled on the crown of his Panama
+hat.  And the delicious surge of slumber reached the brain beneath
+that hat, and the head swayed forward and rested on his breast.
+Summer--summer!  So went the hum.
+
+The stable clock struck the quarter past.  The dog Balthasar
+stretched and looked up at his master.  The thistledown no longer
+moved.  The dog placed his chin over the sunlit foot.  It did not
+stir.  The dog withdrew his chin quickly, rose, and leaped on old
+Jolyon's lap, looked in his face, whined; then, leaping down, sat on
+his haunches, gazing up.  And suddenly he uttered a long, long howl.
+
+But the thistledown was still as death, and the face of his old
+master.
+
+Summer--summer--summer!  The soundless footsteps on the grass!
+
+
+
+
+End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Five Tales, by John Galsworthy
+
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