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diff --git a/27323-h/27323-h.htm b/27323-h/27323-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4adf1f4 --- /dev/null +++ b/27323-h/27323-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8523 @@ +<!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"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Bird of Paradise, by Ada Leverson</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} +h1 {line-height: 1.5em;} +h1.pg {line-height: 1em;} +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + text-indent: 1em; +} +p.cap {text-indent: 0em; padding-top: 1em;} +p.cap:first-letter { float: left; + margin: .1px 3px 0px 0; + padding: 0; + line-height: .9em; font-size: 300%;} + +hr { margin: 5em auto 3em auto; + height: 0px; + border-width: 0px 0 0 0; + border-style: solid; + border-color: transparent; + width: 80%; + clear: both; +} +hr.hr2a {margin: 5em auto 1em auto; height: 1px; border-width: 1px 0 0 0; border-color: #adadad; width: 200px;} +hr.hr2b {margin: 1em auto 5em auto; height: 1px; border-width: 1px 0 0 0; border-color: #adadad; width: 200px;} +hr.hr2 {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; width: 40%;} +hr.hr3 {margin: 5em auto 3em auto; width: 80%; height: 1px; border-width: 1px 0 0 0; border-color: #adadad;} + +table { + margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center; +} +td {vertical-align: top;} +.tdr {text-align: right; padding-right: 1em; text-indent: 0;} +.tdl {text-align: left; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;} +.tdr2 {text-align: right; padding-left: .5em; text-indent: 0; vertical-align: bottom;} + +.pagenum {/* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /*visibility: hidden;*/ + position: absolute; + left: 95%; + font-size: 10px; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + font-style: normal; + letter-spacing: normal; + text-indent: 0em; + text-align: right; + color: #999999; + background-color: #ffffff; +} /* page numbers */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} +.right {text-align: right; padding-right: 1em; margin: 0em auto 0em auto;} +.nb {margin-bottom: 0em;} +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.noi {text-indent: 0em;} + +.figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin: 10px 1px 0em 0em; padding: 0; text-align: left;} + +.none {display: none;} + +.block {text-align: center; margin: auto; width: 24em;} + +.mid {padding-left: 50%;} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.io { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3.5em; +} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + pre {font-size: 85%;} +// --> +/* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h1 class="pg">The Project Gutenberg eBook, Bird of Paradise, by Ada Leverson</h1> +<pre> +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 <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Bird of Paradise</p> +<p>Author: Ada Leverson</p> +<p>Release Date: November 24, 2008 [eBook #27323]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BIRD OF PARADISE***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h1>BIRD OF PARADISE<br /> + +<small><small><small>BY</small></small><br /> + +ADA LEVERSON</small></h1> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h5>Grant Richards Ltd.<br /> +1914</h5> + + + +<hr class="hr2a" /> + +<h2>TO<br /> +ERNEST</h2> + +<hr class="hr2b" /> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="contents" id="contents"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table summary="Table of Contents" style="width: 30em;"> +<colgroup> +<col width="10%" /> +<col width="80%" /> +<col width="10%" /> +</colgroup> +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2">Chapter</td> +<td class="tdr2">Page</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">I</td> +<td class="tdl">EXCUSES</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#I">9</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">II</td> +<td class="tdl"> LADY KELLYNCH</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#II">25</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">III</td> +<td class="tdl"> NIGEL</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#III">38</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">IV</td> +<td class="tdl"> RUPERT AT RUMPELMEYER’S</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#IV">49</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">V</td> +<td class="tdl"> A HAPPY HOME</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#V">63</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">VI</td> +<td class="tdl"> FUTURISM</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#VI">77</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">VII</td> +<td class="tdl"> RUSSIAN BALLET</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#VII">90</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">VIII</td> +<td class="tdl"> PERCY</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#VIII">95</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">IX</td> +<td class="tdl"> AN ANONYMOUS LETTER</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#IX">110</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">X</td> +<td class="tdl"> MASTER CLIFFORD KELLYNCH</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#X">120</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XI</td> +<td class="tdl"> A DISCOVERY</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XI">129</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XII</td> +<td class="tdl"> A LOVE SCENE</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XII">142</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XIII</td> +<td class="tdl"> RECONCILIATION</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XIII">150</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XIV</td> +<td class="tdl"> “TANGO”</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XIV">155</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XV</td> +<td class="tdl"> CLIFFORD’S HISTORICAL PLAY</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XV">163</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XVI</td> +<td class="tdl"> A SECOND PROPOSAL</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XVI">167</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XVII</td> +<td class="tdl"> MORE ABOUT RUPERT</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XVII">172</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XVIII</td> +<td class="tdl"> “A SPECIAL FAVOUR”</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XVIII">177</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XIX</td> +<td class="tdl"> A DEVOTED WIFE</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XIX">184</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XX</td> +<td class="tdl"> RUPERT AGAIN</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XX"> 192</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXI</td> +<td class="tdl"> THE HILLIERS’ ENTERTAINMENT</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXI">196</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXII</td> +<td class="tdl"> BERTHA AT HOME</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXII">202</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXIII</td> +<td class="tdl"> NIGEL’S LETTER</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXIII">205</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXIV</td> +<td class="tdl"> LADY KELLYNCH AT HOME</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXIV">210</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXV</td> +<td class="tdl"> MRS. PICKERING</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXV">219</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXVI</td> +<td class="tdl"> NEWS FROM VENICE</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXVI">227</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXVII</td> +<td class="tdl"> ANOTHER ANONYMOUS LETTER</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXVII">232</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXVIII</td> +<td class="tdl"> AN INTERVIEW</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXVIII">237</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXIX</td> +<td class="tdl"> NIGEL AND MARY</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXIX">245</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXX</td> +<td class="tdl"> MISS BELVOIR</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXX">256</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXXI</td> +<td class="tdl"> MARY’S PLAN</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXXI">263</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXXII</td> +<td class="tdl"> PRIVATE FIREWORKS AT THE PICKERINGS’</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXXII">267</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXXIII</td> +<td class="tdl"> NIGEL ABROAD</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXXIII">284</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXXIV</td> +<td class="tdl"> MOONA</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXXIV">289</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXXV</td> +<td class="tdl"> TWO WOMEN</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXXV">300</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXXVI</td> +<td class="tdl"> PLAIN SAILING</td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXXVI">313</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + + + + +<hr class="hr3" /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span><a name="I" id="I"></a>CHAPTER I<br /> +<br /> +EXCUSES</h2> + + +<p class="cap">POOR Madeline came into the room a little flustered and hustled, with +papers in her muff. She found Bertha looking lovely and serene as usual.</p> + +<p>Madeline Irwin was a modern-looking girl of twenty-three; tall, thin, +smart and just the right shape; not pretty, but very sympathetic, with +thick dark hair and strongly marked eyebrows, a rather long and narrow +face, delicately modelled, a clear white complexion, and soft, sincere +brown eyes.</p> + +<p>Bertha—Mrs. Percy Kellynch—was known as a beauty. She was indeed +improbably pretty, small, plump and very fair, with soft golden hair +that was silky and yet fluffy, perfectly regular little features, and a +kind of infantine sweetness, combined with an almost incredible +cleverness that was curious and fascinating. She was of a type remote +equally from the fashion-plate and the suffragette, and was so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> +physically attractive that one could hardly be near her without longing +to put out a finger and touch her soft, fair face or her soft hair; as +one would like to touch a kitten or a pretty child. And yet one felt +that it would not be an entirely safe thing to do; like the child or the +kitten she might scratch or run away. But it is probable that a large +average of her acquaintance had been weak enough—or strong enough—to +give way to the temptation and take the risk.</p> + +<p>This charming little creature sat in a room furnished in clear, pale +colours—that was pink, white and blonde like herself. Madeline sat down +without greeting her, saying in a scolding voice, as she rustled a +letter:</p> + +<p>“He’s refused again … more excuses … always, always excuses!”</p> + +<p>“Well, all the better; excuses are a form of compliment. I’d far rather +have a lot of apology and attenuation than utter coolness,” said Bertha +consolingly. She had a low, even voice, and rarely made a gesture. Her +animation was all in her eyes. They were long, bluish-grey, with dark +lashes, and very expressive.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you’d <i>like</i> a man to write and say that he couldn’t come to dinner +because it was his mother’s birthday, and he always dined with her on +that occasion, and besides he was in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> deep mourning, and had influenza, +and was going to the first night at the St. James’s, and was expecting +some old friends up from the country to stay with him, and would be out +of town shooting at the time?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly; so much inventive ingenuity is most flattering. Don’t you +think it’s better than to say on the telephone that he wouldn’t be able +to come that evening as he wouldn’t be able to; and then ring off?” said +Bertha.</p> + +<p>“Rupert would never do that! He’s intensely polite; politeness is +ingrained in his nature. I’m rather hopeless about it all; and yet when +I think how sometimes when I speak to him and he doesn’t answer but +gives that slight smile …”</p> + +<p>“How well I know that slight, superior smile—discouraging yet spurring +you on to further efforts! … Rupert—Rupert! What a name! How can +people be called Rupert? It isn’t done, you’re not living in a +<i>feuilleton</i>, you must change the man’s name, dear.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed I sha’n’t! Nonsense; it’s a beautiful name! Rupert Denison! It +suits him; it suits me. Bertha, you can’t deny it’s a handsome, noble +face, like a Vandyke portrait of Charles I, or one of those people in +the National Gallery. And he must take a certain amount of interest in +me, because he wants me to learn more, to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> be more cultured. He’s so +accomplished! He knows simply everything. The other day he sent me a +book about the early Italian masters.”</p> + +<p>“Did he, though? How jolly!”</p> + +<p>“A little volume of Browning, too—that tiny edition, beautifully +bound.”</p> + +<p>Bertha made an inarticulate sound.</p> + +<p>“And you know he found out my birthday, and sent me a few dark red roses +and Ruskin’s Stones of Venice.”</p> + +<p>“Nothing like being up to date,” said Bertha. “Right up to the day after +to-morrow! Rupert always is. How did he find out your birthday?”</p> + +<p>“How do you suppose?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t think. By looking in <i>Who’s Who?</i>—going to Somerset House or +the British Museum?”</p> + +<p>“How unkind you are! Of course not. No—I told him.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, I thought perhaps it was some ingenious plan like that. I should +think that’s the way he usually finds out things—by being told.”</p> + +<p>“Bertha, why do you sneer at him?”</p> + +<p>“Did I?—I didn’t mean to. Why does he behave like a belated +schoolmaster?”</p> + +<p>“Behave like a—oh, Bertha!”</p> + +<p>Madeline was trying to be offended, but she could not succeed. It was +nearly impossible to be angry with Bertha, when she was present.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> There +were many reasons for this. Bertha had a small arched mouth, teeth that +were tiny and white and marvellously regular, a dimple in her left +cheek, long eyelashes that gave a veiled look to the eyes, and a +generally very live-wax-dollish appearance which was exceedingly +disarming. There was a touch, too, of the china shepherdess about her. +But, of course, she was not really like a doll, nor remote from life; +she was very real, living and animated; though she had for the +connoisseur all the charm of an exquisite <i>bibelot</i> that is not for +sale.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Bertha was twenty-eight, but looked younger than her age. Madeline might +have been her senior. Under this peachlike appearance, and with the +premeditated <i>ïté</i> of her manner, she was always astonishing people +by her penetration and general ingenuity; she was at once very quick and +very deep—quick especially to perceive and enjoy incongruities, and +deep in understanding them; extremely observant, and not in the least +superficial. Almost her greatest interest was the study of character; +she had an intellectual passion for going below the surface, and finding +out the little <i>coins inédits</i> of the soul. She was rather unpractical, +but only in execution, and she had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> the gift of getting the practical +side of life well done for her, not letting it be neglected. Her +bonbonnière of a drawing-room seemed to be different from ordinary +rooms, though one hardly knew in what; partly from the absence of +superfluities; and somehow after many a triumph over the bewilderment of +a sulky yet dazzled decorator, Bertha had contrived, in baffling him, to +make the house look distinguished without being unconventional; dainty +without being artificial; she had made it suit her perfectly and, what +was more, the atmosphere was reposeful. Her husband always besought her +to do anything on earth she wished in her own home, rather in the same +way that one would give an intelligent canary <i>carte blanche</i> about the +decoration of what was supposed to be its cage.</p> + +<p>Percy Kellynch, the husband—he was spoken of as the husband (people +said: “Is that the husband?” or “What’s the husband like?”)—was a +rather serious-looking barrister with parliamentary ambitions, two mild +hobbies (which took the form of Tschaikowsky at the Queen’s Hall and +squash rackets at the Bath Club), a fine forehead, behind which there +was less doing than one would suppose, polished manners, an amiable +disposition and private means.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>For Madeline’s sake, Bertha was interested in Rupert Denison, and +determined to understand him. When she reached bedrock in her friends, +it was not unusual for her to grow tired of them. But she was gentle and +considerate even to the people who left her cold; and when she really +cared for anyone, she was loyal, passionate and extraordinarily +tenacious.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>“A schoolmaster!” repeated Madeline rather dismally. “Well! perhaps +there may be just a touch of that in Rupert. When I’m going to see him I +do feel rather nervous and a little as if I was going up for an exam.”</p> + +<p>“Well, let’s say a holiday tutor,” conceded Bertha. “He <i>is</i> so +educational!”</p> + +<p>“At any rate, he bothers about what I ought and oughtn’t to know; he +pays me <i>some</i> attention!”</p> + +<p>“The only modern thing about him is his paying you so little,” said +Bertha. “And, Madeline, we mustn’t forget that young men are very +difficult to get hold of nowadays—for girls. Everyone complains of it. +Formerly they wouldn’t dance, but they’d do everything else. Now, +dancing’s the only thing they will do. People are always making bitter +remarks to me about it. There’s not the slightest doubt that, except for +dancing, young men just now,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> somehow or other, are scarce, wild and +shy. And the funny thing is that they’ll two-step and one-step and +double-Boston and Tango the whole evening, but that’s practically all. +Oh, they’re most unsatisfactory! Lots of girls have told me so. And as +to proposals! Why, they’re the <i>rarest</i> thing! Even when the modern +young man is devoted you can’t be sure of serious intentions, except, of +course, in the Royal Family, or at the Gaiety.”</p> + +<p>“Well, <i>I</i> don’t care! I’m sure I don’t want all these silly dancing +young men. They bore me to death. Give me <i>culture</i>! and all that sort +of thing. Only—only Rupert! … Very often after he’s refused an +invitation, like this of mother’s, he’ll write and ask me to have tea +with him at Rumpelmeyer’s, or somewhere; and then he’ll talk and talk +the whole time about … oh, any general instructive subject.”</p> + +<p>“For instance?”</p> + +<p>“Oh … architecture!”</p> + +<p>“How inspiriting!”</p> + +<p>“But does it all mean anything, Bertha?”</p> + +<p>“I almost think it must,” she answered dreamily. “No man could take a +girl out to eat ices and talk of the cathedral at Rouen, or discuss +Pointed Gothic and Norman arches over tea and bread and butter, without +<i>some</i> intentions. It wouldn’t be human.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>“It’s quite true he always seems to take a good deal for granted,” +remarked Madeline.</p> + +<p>“But not enough.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly!”</p> + +<p>“Rupert would make a very good husband—if you could stand him,” said +Bertha meditatively; “he’s one of those thoroughly well-informed people +who never know what is going on.”</p> + +<p>“If I could <i>stand</i> him! Why, Bertha! I’d work my fingers to the bone, +and lay down my life for him!”</p> + +<p>“He doesn’t want your life, and, probably, not bony fingers either, but +he’ll want incense swung, <i>all</i> the time, remember; and always in front +of him only. He won’t be half as good-natured and indulgent as Percy.”</p> + +<p>“Of course, Percy’s very sweet, and kind and clever, and devoted to +you,” said Madeline, “but I always feel that it would have been more +your ideal to have married your first love, Nigel; and far more +romantic, too. He’s so good-looking and amusing, and how delightfully he +sings Debussy!”</p> + +<p>“Nigel! Oh, nonsense. There’s no one more really prosaic. Debussy, +indeed! I met him with his wife the other night at the opera and he +introduced us. My dear, she’s got flat red hair, an aigrette, a +turned-up nose, a receding<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> chin and long ear-rings; and she’s quite +young and very dowdy: the sort of dowdiness that’s rather smart. She +loathed me—that is to say, we took a mutual dislike, and a +determination never to meet again, so strong that it amounted to a kind +of friendship; we tacitly agreed to keep out of each other’s way. I +suppose there’s such a thing as a sort of comradeship in aversion,” +Bertha added thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Bertha, fancy anybody disliking you!”</p> + +<p>“It’s only because Nigel had told her, <i>in camera</i>, that he was in love +with me once, and that we were almost engaged.”</p> + +<p>“Did he say who broke it off?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I should think he told the truth—that he did—but he didn’t +mention the real reasons, that he was horribly hard up and saw a chance +of marrying an heiress. I daresay, too, that he said no other woman +would ever be quite the same to him again, for fear Mrs. Nigel should be +too pleased. Nigel is nice and amusing and he’s sometimes very useful. +He thinks he treated me badly, and really has got to appreciate me +since, and as he knows I’m utterly indifferent to him now, he’s devoted, +I mean as a friend—he’ll do anything on earth for me. He has absolutely +nothing to do, you see; it’s a kindness to employ him.”</p> + +<p>“What do you give him to do?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>“It depends. This time I’ve told him to get hold of Rupert and ask us +all three—I mean you, and me and Rupert—to dine and go to some play. +It would be so much less ceremonious than asking Rupert here, with +Percy.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, darling Bertha, you’re an angel! I always said Nigel was charming. +What about Mrs. Nigel, and Percy?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t worry; that shall be arranged. Their rights shall not be ignored, +nor their interests neglected! Percy’s little finger is worth all Nigel. +Still, Nigel has his good points; he might help us in this. There are so +many things he can do, he’s so <i>fin</i>—and adaptable, and diplomatic. +That young brother of his, Charlie, is in love with you, Madeline. Now, +he’s a boy who <i>could</i> marry, and who wants to. If you gave him only a +look of encouragement he would propose at once. And he has a good deal +of Nigel’s charm, though he’s not so clever, but he’s very much +steadier. Really, it’s a pity you don’t like him. I’m sorry.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I couldn’t,” said Madeline.</p> + +<p>“He’s quite a nice boy, too; and I know how much he likes you, from +Nigel.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I couldn’t!” Madeline repeated, shaking her head.</p> + +<p>Bertha seemed silently to assent.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>“And will dear Nigel ask me all the same to meet Rupert, Bertha?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes; we’ll arrange it to-day. Nigel’s delightfully prompt, and never +delays anything.”</p> + +<p>“And what will happen to Percy? You scarcely ever go out without him.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I can persuade Percy, for once, that he wants his mother to go with +him to the Queen’s Hall. And I’ll make Lady Kellynch think it’s rather a +shame of her to take my place; then she’ll enjoy it. We’ll arrange it +for next week. I’m expecting her this afternoon.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, are you? I’m always rather afraid she doesn’t like me,” said +Madeline pensively.</p> + +<p>“She doesn’t <i>dis</i>like you. She doesn’t dislike anybody; only, simply, +you don’t exist for her. My mother-in-law really believes that the whole +of humanity consists of her own family; first, her late husband; then +Percy, then Clifford, the boy at school, and, in a very slight degree, +me too, because I’m married to Percy. I do like Clifford, though he’s a +spoilt boy, and selfish. But he’s great fun. How his mother adores him! +I hope she won’t stay long to-day—Nigel will be here at six.”</p> + +<p>Madeline fell into a reverie, a sort of mental swoon. Then she suddenly +woke up and said with great animation,</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>—“No, I suppose I dare not hope it!—I believe I should expire with +joy!—but he <i>never</i> will! But if he <i>did</i> propose, how do you suppose +he’d do it, Bertha?”</p> + +<p>“Heaven knows—quote Browning, I suppose,” said Bertha, “I don’t often +meet that type. I can only guess. Do you care so much, Madeline?”</p> + +<p>“<i>Do</i> I care!”</p> + +<p>“And you believe it’s the real thing?”</p> + +<p>“I know it is—on my side; it’s incurable.”</p> + +<p>“Everyone says Rupert’s a good fellow, but he seems to me a little—what +shall I say?—too elaborate. Too urbane; too ornate. He expresses +himself so dreadfully well! I don’t believe he ever uses a shorter word +than <i>individuality</i>!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I don’t care what he is, I want him—I want him!” cried Madeline.</p> + +<p>“Well! I suppose you know what you want. It isn’t as though you were +always in love with somebody or other; as a rule, a girl of your age, if +she can’t have the person she wants, can be very quickly consoled if you +give her someone else instead. Now, you’ve never had even a fancy +before. <i>I</i> may not (I don’t) see the charm of Rupert, but it must be +there; probably there’s something in his temperament that’s needed by +yours—something that he can supply to you that no one else can. If you +really want him,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> you must have him, darling,” said Bertha, with +resolution. “You shall!”</p> + +<p>“How can you say that; how can you make him care for me if he doesn’t?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, but I shall. It’s certain; don’t worry; and do what I +tell you. Mind, I think that there are many other people far more +amusing, besides being better matches from the worldly point of +view—like Charlie Hillier, for instance—but the great thing is that +you care for your Rupert; and I don’t believe you’ll change.”</p> + +<p>They were never demonstrative to each other, and Madeline only looked at +her with trusting, beaming gratitude. Bertha was indeed convinced that +this mania for Rupert was the real thing; it would never fade from +fulfilment, nor even die if discouraged; it would always burn +unalterably bright.</p> + +<p>“Yes; yes, it shall be all right,” repeated Bertha.</p> + +<p>She spoke in a curious, reassuring tone that Madeline knew, and that +always impressed her.</p> + +<p>“Really? Yet you say they are so difficult nowadays!”</p> + +<p>“Well, the majority of the men in our set certainly don’t seem to be +exactly pining for hearth and home. Still, in some moods a man will +marry anyone who happens to be there.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>”“Then must I happen to be there? How can I?”</p> + +<p>Bertha laughed. There was a confidence without reservation between them, +notwithstanding a slight tinge of the histrionic in Madeline, which +occasionally irritated Bertha. But the real link was that they both +instinctively threw overboard all but the essential; they cared +comparatively little for most of the preoccupations and smaller +solicitudes of the women in their own leisured class. There was in +neither of them anything of the social snob or the narrow outlook of the +bourgeoise; they were free from pose, petty ambitions, or trivial +affectations.</p> + +<p>Madeline looked up to Bertha as a wonderful combination of kindness, +cleverness, beauty and knowledge of the world. Bertha felt that Madeline +was not quite so well equipped for dealing with life as she herself was; +there was a shade of protection in her friendship.</p> + +<p>Bertha was far more daring than Madeline, but her occasional +recklessness was only pluck and love of adventure; not imprudence; it +was always guided by reason and an instinctive sense of +self-preservation. She was a little experimental, that was all. Madeline +was more timid and sensitive; though not nearly so quick to see things +as Bertha she took them to heart more, far more;—was far less lively +and ironical.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>“Though I find Rupert dull, as I say, I believe he’s as good as gold, or +I wouldn’t try and help you. Now if he were a man like Nigel!—who’s +very much more fascinating and charming—I wouldn’t raise a finger, +because I know he’s fickle, dangerous and selfish, and wouldn’t make you +happy. Charlie would, though; I wish you liked Charlie. But one can’t +account for these things.”</p> + +<p>“Quite impossible,” Madeline said, shaking her head.</p> + +<p>“Well! It’s quite possible that Rupert would suit you best; and I +believe if you once got him he’d be all right. And you shall!” she +repeated.</p> + +<p>“<i>Thank</i> you!” said Madeline fervently, as if Bertha had promised her a +box of chocolates or a present of some kind.</p> + +<p>“Lady Kellynch!” announced the servant.</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span><a name="II" id="II"></a>CHAPTER II +<br /> +<br />LADY KELLYNCH</h2> + + +<p class="cap">A TALL, stately, handsome woman, slow and quiet in movement, dressed in +velvet and furs, came deliberately into the room. The magnificent, +imposing Lady Kellynch had that quiet dignity and natural ease and +distinction sometimes seen in the widow of a knight, but unknown amongst +the old aristocracy. It was generally supposed, or, at all events, +stated, that the late Sir Percy Kellynch had been knighted by mistake +for somebody else; through a muddle owing to somebody’s deafness. The +result was the same, since his demise left her with a handle to her +name, but no one to turn it (to quote the <i>mot</i> of a well-known wit), +and she looked, at the very least, like a peeress in her own right. +Indeed, she was the incarnation of what the romantic lower middle +classes imagine a great lady;—a dressmaker’s ideal of a duchess. She +had the same high forehead, without much thought<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> behind it, so +noticeable in her son Percy, and the same clearly cut features; and it +was true, as Bertha had said, that she firmly believed the whole of the +world, of the slightest importance, consisted of her late husband, +herself, her married son Percy, and her boy Clifford at school; the rest +of the universe was merely an audience, or a background, for this unique +family.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>If anyone spoke of a European crisis that was interesting the general +public, she would reply by saying what Percy thought about it; if a more +frivolous subject (such as <i>You Shut Up</i>, or some other popular Revue) +was mentioned, she would answer, reassuringly, that she knew Clifford +had a picture post-card of one of the performers, implying thereby that +it <i>must</i> be all right. She loved Bertha mildly, and with reservations, +because Percy loved her, and because Bertha wished her to; but she +really thought it would have been more suitable if Bertha had been a +little more colourless, a little plainer, a little stupider and more +ordinary; not that her attractions would ever cause any trouble to +Percy, but because it seemed as if a son of hers ought to have a wife to +throw him up more. Percy, however, had no idea that Bertha<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> was anything +but a good foil to him, intellectually—and, as I have said, he regarded +her (or believed he regarded her) a good deal like a pet canary.</p> + +<p>“Percy will soon be home, I suppose? To-day is not the day he goes to +the Queen’s Hall, is it?” asked Lady Kellynch, who thought any hall was +highly honoured by Percy’s presence, and very lucky to get it. She gave +a graceful but rather unrecognising bow to Madeline, whom she never knew +by sight. She really knew hardly anyone by sight except her sons; and +this was the more odd as she had a particularly large circle of +acquaintances, and made a point of accepting and returning every +invitation she received, invariably being amongst those present at every +possible form of entertainment, and punctiliously calling on people +afterwards. She was always mounting staircases, going up in lifts, and +driving about leaving cards, and was extremely hospitable and +superlatively social. Bertha always wondered at her gregariousness, +since one would fancy she could have got very little satisfaction in +continual intercourse with a crowd of people whom she forgot the instant +they were out of her sight. Lady Kellynch really knew people chiefly by +their telephone numbers and their days, when they had any. She would +say: “Mrs. So-and-so? Oh yes, six-three-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>seven-five Gerrard, at home on +Sundays,” but could rarely recollect anything else about her. She was at +once vague and precise, quite amiable, very sentimental and utterly +heartless; except to her sons.</p> + +<p>“No, Percy won’t be home till dinner-time. To-day he’s playing squash +rackets.”</p> + +<p>“That’s so like his father,” said Lady Kellynch admiringly. “He was +always so fond of sports, and devoted to music. When I say sports, to be +<i>strictly</i> accurate I don’t mean that he ever cared for rude, rough +games like football or anything cruel like hunting or shooting, but he +loved to look on at a game of cricket, and I’ve often been to Lord’s +with him.” She sighed. “Dominoes! he was wild about dominoes! I assure +you (dear Percy would remember), every evening after dinner he must have +his game of dominoes, and sometimes even after lunch.”</p> + +<p>“Dominoes, as you say, isn’t exactly a field sport,” sympathetically +agreed Bertha.</p> + +<p>“Quite so, dear. But, however, that was his favourite game. Then, did I +say just now he was fond of music? He didn’t care for the kind that +Percy likes, but he would rarely send a piano-organ away, and he even +encouraged the German bands. How fond he was of books too—and reading, +and that sort of thing!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> Percy gets his fondness for books from his +father. Clifford too is fond of books.”</p> + +<p>“He is indeed,” said Bertha; “he’s devoted to books. Last time I went to +see him, when he was at home for the holidays, I found among his books a +nice copy of ‘The New Arabian Nights.’ We hadn’t one in the house at the +time, and I asked him to lend it to me.”</p> + +<p>“Did you indeed?”</p> + +<p>Lady Kellynch looked a shade surprised, as if it had been rather a +liberty.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Bertha, laughing, and turning to Madeline, “what do you +think he said? ‘Bertha, I’m awfully sorry, but I make it a rule never to +lend books. I don’t approve of it—half the time they don’t come back, +and in fact—oh, I don’t think it’s a good plan. I never do it.’ I took +up the book and found written in it: ‘<i>To Bertha, with love from +Percy</i>.’ I said: ‘So you don’t approve of lending books. Do you see this +is my book?’ He looked at it and said solemnly: ‘Yes, so it is, but I +can’t let you have it. I’m in the middle of it. Besides—oh! anyhow, I +want it!’”</p> + +<p>Madeline and Bertha both laughed, saying that Clifford was really +magnificent for twelve years old.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>Lady Kellynch seemed astonished at their amusement. She only said: “Oh +yes; I know Clifford’s <i>most</i> particular about his books.”</p> + +<p>“And even about my books,” said Bertha.</p> + +<p>“Quite so, dear. They say in his report that he’s getting so orderly. +It’s a very good report this term—er—at least, very good on the +<i>whole</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, do let me see it.”</p> + +<p>“No, I don’t think I’ll show it you. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do, +I’ll read you some extracts from it, if you like.” She said this as if +it were an epic poem, and she was promising them a rare literary treat.</p> + +<p>She took something out of her bag. “I know he doesn’t work <i>very</i> hard +at school, but then the winter term is such a trying one; so cold for +them to get up in the morning, poor little darlings!”</p> + +<p>“Poor pets!” said Bertha.</p> + +<p>Lady Kellynch took it out, while the others looked away discreetly, as +she searched for suitable selections.</p> + +<p>After a rather long pause she read aloud, a little pompously and with +careful elocution:</p> + +<p>“‘<i>Doing fairly well in dictation, and becoming more accurate; in Latin +moderate, scarcely up to the level of the form. …</i>’”</p> + +<p>“Is it in blank verse?” asked Bertha.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>“Oh no! … Of course he’s in a very high form for his age.” She then +went on, after a longer pause: “‘<i>Music and dancing: music, rather weak +… dancing, a steady worker.</i>’ That’s very good, isn’t it? … +‘<i>Map-drawing: very slovenly.</i>’” (She read this rather proudly.) +“‘<i>Conduct: lethargic and unsteady; but a fair speller.</i>’ Excellent, +isn’t it? Of course they’re frightfully severe at that school. … Oh +yes, and there’s ‘<i>Bible good, but deficient in general knowledge. Has a +little ability, but rarely uses it. …</i>’ It’s dreadfully difficult to +please them, really! But I think it’s very satisfactory, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>Realising that Lady Kellynch had only read aloud the very best and most +brilliant extracts that she could find in the report—purple patches, as +one may say—Bertha gathered that it could hardly have been worse. So +she congratulated the mother warmly and cordially, and said how fond she +was of Clifford.</p> + +<p>“He will be home soon for the Easter holidays. You must let him come and +stay with us.”</p> + +<p>“It’s very kind of you, dear. Certainly he shall come, part of the time. +I can’t bear to part with him—especially at first. Yes—at first I feel +I never want him to leave me again! However, he enjoys himself so much +here that I like to send him to you towards the end. He looks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> upon +Bertha quite like a playmate,” she said to Madeline. Something about +Madeline reminded her of someone she had met.</p> + +<p>“I was at a dinner-party last night where I met a young man I saw here +once, who took you in to dinner. He knows Percy—he was at Balliol with +Percy—a Mr. Denison—Mr. Rupert Denison. He seemed inclined to be +rather intellectual. He talked to me a great deal about something—I +forget what; but I know it was some subject: something that Percy once +had to pass an examination in. … I can’t remember what it was. I used +to know his mother; Mrs. Denison—a charming woman! I’m afraid though +she didn’t leave him very well off. I wonder how he manages to make two +ends meet?”</p> + +<p>“He manages all right; he makes them lap over, I should think. Who did +he take to dinner?” Bertha asked this in Madeline’s interest.</p> + +<p>“Oh, a girl I don’t like at all, whom I often see about. She’s always +everywhere. I daresay you know her, a Miss Chivvey, a Miss Moona +Chivvey—a good family, the Chivveys of Warwickshire. But she’s rather +artistic-looking.” (Lady Kellynch lowered her voice as if she were +saying something improper:) “She has untidy hair and green beads round +her neck. I don’t like her—I don’t like her style at all.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>“I’ve heard him mention her,” said Madeline.</p> + +<p>“He talked to her a good deal in the evening, and he gave me the +impression that he was giving her some sort of lesson—a lecture on +architecture, or something. Well, dear, as Percy won’t be in yet, I +think I’d better go. I have a round of visits to pay.”</p> + +<p>“Percy is going to write to you. He wants you to go to a concert with +him. He particularly wants you to go.”</p> + +<p>Lady Kellynch brightened up. “Dear boy, does he? Of course I’ll go. +Well, good-bye, darling.”</p> + +<p>She swept from the room with the queenly grace and dignity that always +seemed a little out of proportion to the occasion—one expected her to +make a court curtsy, and go out backwards.</p> + +<p>“My mother-in-law really believes it matters whether she calls on people +or not,” said Bertha, in her low, even voice. “Isn’t it touching?”</p> + +<p>Madeline seized her hand.</p> + +<p>“Bertha, need I be frightened of Moona Chivvey? She’s a dangerous sort +of girl; she takes interest in all the things Rupert does: pictures, and +poetry and art needlework.”</p> + +<p>“Does Rupert really do art needlework? What a universal genius he is!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>“Don’t be absurd! I mean the things he understands. And she runs after +him, rather. Need I be afraid?”</p> + +<p>“No, you need not,” reassured Bertha. “I don’t think she sounds at all +violent. There’s a ring.”</p> + +<p>“Then I’ll go.”</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Almost immediately afterwards the servant announced “Mr. Nigel Hillier.”</p> + +<p>Nigel Hillier came in cheerily and gaily, brimming over with vitality +and in the highest spirits. At present he was like sunshine and fresh +air. There was a lurking danger that as he grew older he might become +breezy. But as yet there was no sign of a draught. He was just +delightfully exhilarating. He was not what women call handsome or +divine, but he was rather what men call a smart-looking chap: fair, with +bright blue eyes, and the most mischievous smile in London. He was +unusually rapid in thought, speech and movement, without being restless, +and his presence was an excellent cure for slackness, languor, +strenuousness or a morbid sense of duty.</p> + +<p>“You look as if you had only just got up,” remarked Bertha, as she gave +him her hand. “Not a bit as though you’d been through the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> fatigues and +worries and the heat and burden of the day.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that’s too bad!” he answered. “You know perfectly well I always get +up in time to see the glorious sunset! Why this reproach? I don’t know +that I’ve ever seen you very early in the day; I always regard you less +as a daughter of the morning than as a minion of the moon.”</p> + +<p>“How is Mrs. Hillier?” replied Bertha rather coldly.</p> + +<p>“All right—I promise I won’t. Mary? Why Mary is well—very well—but +just, perhaps, a teeny bit trying—just a shade wearing. No—no, I don’t +mean that. … Well, I’m at your service for the play and so on. Shall I +write to Rupert Denison and Miss Irwin? And will you all come and dine +with me, and where shall we go?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you think something thrilling and exciting and emotional—or, +perhaps, something light and frivolous?”</p> + +<p>“For Rupert I advise certainly the trivial, the flippant. It would have +a better effect. Why not go to the new Revue—‘<i>That will be +Fourpence</i>’—where they have the two young Simultaneous Dancers, the +Misses Zanie and Lunie Le Face—one, I fancy, is more simultaneous than +the other, I forget which. They<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> are delightful, and will wake Denison +up. In fact, I don’t know who they <i>wouldn’t</i> wake up, they make such a +row. They dance and sing, about Dixie and Honey and coons—and that sort +of thing. They sing quite well, too—I mean for them.”</p> + +<p>“But not for us? … No, I don’t want to take him with Madeline to +anything that could be called a music-hall—something more correct for a +<i>jeune fille</i> would be better. …”</p> + +<p>“To lead to a proposal, you mean. Well, we’d better fall back upon His +Majesty’s or Granville Barker. Poor Charlie! It’s hard lines on that +boy, Bertha—he’s really keen on Miss Irwin.”</p> + +<p>“I know; but what can we do? It’s Rupert Denison she cares about.”</p> + +<p>“Likes him, does she?” said Nigel.</p> + +<p>“Very much,” answered Bertha, who rarely used a strong expression, but +whose eyes made the words emphatic.</p> + +<p>Nigel whistled. “Oh, well, if it’s as bad as that!”</p> + +<p>“It is. Quite.”</p> + +<p>“Fancy! Lucky chap, old Rupert. Well, we must rush it through for them, +I suppose. About the play—you want something serious, what price +Shakespeare?”</p> + +<p>“No price. Let’s go to the Russian Ballet.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>“Capital!” cried Nigel, moving quickly to the telephone in case she +should change her mind; “and we’ll dine at the Carlton first. May I use +your telephone?”</p> + +<p>“Please!”</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span><a name="III" id="III"></a>CHAPTER III +<br /> +<br />NIGEL</h2> + + +<p class="cap">THE relation between Bertha and Nigel Hillier was a rather curious one. +He had met her when she was eighteen. The attraction had been sudden, +violent and mutual; and she was quite prepared to marry him against all +opposition. There had been a good deal in her own family, because Nigel +was what is euphemistically called without means, and she was the +daughter of a fashionable London vicar who, though distinguished for his +eloquence and extremely popular, successful and social, had a +comparatively small income and a positively large family. In a short +time Nigel—not Bertha—succumbed to the family opposition and the +general prudent disapproval of worldly friends. He wrote and told Bertha +that he was afraid after all they were right; persuaded to this view by +having meanwhile met the only daughter of a millionaire when staying for +a week-end at a country house.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> The girl had fallen in love with him, +and was practically independent.</p> + +<p>A few months after his gorgeous wedding, described and photographed with +the greatest enthusiasm in all the illustrated papers, Bertha married +Percy Kellynch, to the great satisfaction of her relations. Nigel was, +by then, a lost illusion, a disappointed ideal; she did not long resent +his defection and it cured her passion, but she despised him for what +she regarded as the baseness of his motive.</p> + +<p>She loved and looked up to Percy, but her marriage to him had not been +at the time one of romance—to her great regret. She would have liked it +to be, for she was one of those ardent souls to whom the glamour of love +was everything; she could never worship false gods. But Bertha had a +warm, grateful nature, and finding him even better than she expected, +her affection threw out roots and tendrils; became deeper and deeper; +her experience with Nigel had made her particularly appreciative of +Percy’s good qualities. She was expansive, affectionate and constant; +and she really cared far more about Percy now than she did when she +married him. And this, though she was quite aware that he was entirely +wanting in several things that she had particularly valued in Nigel (a +sense of humour for one), and that he had inherited<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> rather acutely the +depressing Kellynch characteristic of taking oneself seriously.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Percy, on the other hand, had been quite carried away by her rosebud +charm and prettiness, and he had continued to regard her as a pet and a +luxury (for he was pre-eminently one of that large class of people who +see only the obvious). But he had never realised her complexities, and +was quite unaware of her depth and strength of mind. He was proud of her +popularity, and had never known a jealous moment. Since they had never +had a shadow of a quarrel, theirs might certainly be described as a +happy marriage; although Bertha had always found it from the first +rather deficient in the elements of excitement and a little wanting in +fun.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Nigel, who had been in a frightful hole when he met the heiress, of +course made a point of discovering, as soon as all grinding money +troubles had been removed and agonising debts paid, that no material +things were capable of making him happy. The gratification to his vanity +of his big country house, and charming house in London and so forth, +amused him for a very short time. He became horribly bored, and when +Bertha married<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> Percy Kellynch, felt pained and particularly surprised +and disappointed in her. He had always believed her to be so superior to +other girls, so true and loyal! It was quite a disillusion; to think +that she could get over <i>him</i> so easily! Women usually took much longer +than that. However, he now despised himself even more as a fool than as +a coward for having given up Bertha, and not being of the type who +trouble to conceal their feelings in domestic life, he openly and +frankly showed to the unfortunate Mary that he knew he had made an +irrevocable mistake. This was the natural way of regaining his +self-respect, since he was under the deepest obligation to her. To add +to his annoyance, not long after the marriage he and his brother Charlie +came into a legacy from an unexpected and forgotten relative. He knew, +then, that if he had waited a little longer, (as she had wished), he +could, without sacrifice, have married Bertha; and so he was naturally +very angry with Mary.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Now that Bertha was beyond his reach she seemed to him the one desirable +thing in the world. For several years they hardly met; then Nigel +contrived that they should become friends again. Her feeling for him +could never be revived. His was far more vivid than formerly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> It was +fanned by her coolness, and was in a fair way to become an <i>idée fixe</i>, +for he was not material enough to live without some dream, some ideal, +and Bertha found him amusing. There always had been a certain mental +sympathy between them; in a sense (superficially and humorously), they +saw life very much from the same standpoint. With the instinctive tact +of the real lover of women he carefully concealed from her the secret +that made his home life miserable, instead of merely tedious. It was, +simply, that Mary was morbidly, madly jealous of him. He had shown far +too soon that he had married her for her money, and if he had convinced +her that she had bought him, it was perhaps natural in return that she +should wish for her money’s worth. The poor woman was passionately in +love with Nigel. She suspected him of infidelity, with and without +reason, morning, noon, and night; it was almost a monomania. They had +two children in the first and second years of the marriage. Nigel was +carelessly fond of them, but he regarded them rather as a private luxury +and resource of his wife, mistakenly thinking their society could fill +up all the gaps made by his rather frequent absences. Nigel knew better +than to complain of his wife, or to ask for sympathy from Bertha, for he +was certain that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> if she had the faintest idea of the jealousy, her door +would be closed to him.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Bertha was peculiarly kind, peculiarly full of sympathy for her own sex. +And yet she was not at all fond of the society of women, with few +exceptions; and she was often bored by the liking and admiration she +usually inspired in them. Something in her personality disarmed ordinary +jealousy, for though she was pretty and attractive, it was easy for +other women to see that she was not trying to attract. What the average +woman resents in another woman is not her involuntary charm; it is her +making use of it.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>With the casual indiscretion of the selfish man, Nigel, of course, told +his wife at length, early in the honeymoon, all about his romance with +Bertha. This Mary had never forgiven. Curiously, she minded more this +old innocent affair of ten years ago, which he had broken off for <i>her</i>, +than any of his flirtations since. Bertha had rightly guessed that, when +they met, Mary had taken a great dislike to her. But she had no idea +that Nigel’s wife was suspicious, nor that she seriously and bitterly +resented his visits. He never admitted them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> to Mary if he could help +it, for he had learnt by now to be so far considerate to her—or to +himself—that he would tell her fifty fibs in half-an-hour rather than +let out one annoying fact. Nigel saw—he was very quick in these +matters—that the only terms on which he could ever see anything of +Bertha were those of the intimate old brotherly friend; the slightest +look or suggestion of sentiment of any kind made her curl up and look +angry. She made it utterly impossible for him to make the slightest +allusion to the past. The friendliness had been growing to intimacy, and +Nigel believed that perhaps with time he might get back to the old +terms, or something like them. It was becoming the chief object of his +life. He was a keen sportsman, and the ambition of the hunter was added +to the longing of the lover. A born diplomatist, he had, of course, +easily made Percy like him immensely. But he hated Percy, and could +never forgive him for the unpardonable injury he had done to him, Nigel, +in consoling Bertha. Nigel could not bear to own, even to himself, that +Bertha was happy in her married life. Sometimes he would swear to +himself when he remembered that it was all his own doing, that she might +have been <i>his</i> wife. How coolly she had taken it! She had accepted it +at the time with calm acquiescence,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> and met him again with amiable +composure. Had she ever really forgiven him?</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>It had opened her eyes, had been a shock. She saw him now as the +shattered dream of her childish fancy, and she was thankful for her +escape. Yet deep down in her heart was a slight scar. It did not make +her hate Nigel, but apart from the fun and pleasantness of their +intercourse her real indifference to him was slightly tinged with +acidity: probably she would have been less sorry for him in any trouble +than for anybody else.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Bertha’s vanity was not a very vivid part of her, and it took only one +form. When she cared for anyone she was deeply (though not outwardly) +exacting; she wanted that person entirely. To say that the general +admiration she received gave her no pleasure would be an absurd +exaggeration; if she had suddenly lost it, she would have missed it very +much, no doubt. But after all, she valued it chiefly because she thought +it was good for Percy. Privately she was not satisfied that Percy valued +her enough. Had her many friends and acquaintances been told that the +chief wish of the pretty Mrs. Kellynch was the more complete and +absolute conquest of her own husband<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>—who seemed much more devoted than +most husbands—they would have been surprised, incredulous, perhaps even +a little shocked.</p> + +<p>Nigel had promised to use all the means at his disposal to help +Madeline. Bertha was anxious her friend should have what she had just +missed.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>“Well! Soon after the dinner I shall go and see Rupert in his rooms. I +shall get to know him well, and I shall gradually tell him about +Charlie, and how keen he is, and lead up to Miss Irwin, and say what a +charming girl she is, and all that sort of thing. Nothing makes so much +impression.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t make him jealous of Charlie,” said Bertha. “Anything that he +regarded as a slight I think would put an end to it. Rupert is not quite +a commonplace man.”</p> + +<p>“Jealous? Oh no, I should merely imply that Miss Madeline won’t have +anything to say to Charlie, and that I wonder why. But it can’t do him +any harm to know someone else wants her. My dear girl, a man understands +another man. That is where women are such fools. They think they know +more about men than men do, and that is why they are always being——” +He stopped.</p> + +<p>She smiled.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>“Oh no. I quite do you justice, Nigel. I am never above consulting you +on that sort of subject. I may know just a little bit more about men +than some women do, for one reason——”</p> + +<p>“And what is that? Because you attract them?”</p> + +<p>“No, that doesn’t help much. It’s because I have brothers, and they have +always confided in me without reserve. Oh! there was one more thing I +<i>may</i> have to ask you. I don’t want to, and I don’t like it at all, on +account of Mrs. Hillier; but still it might happen to be necessary. It’s +<i>just</i> possible I may ask you to flirt a little with a girl called Moona +Chivvey.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, <i>I</i> know her.” He smiled. “Of course I’d do anything for you, but +<i>that</i> would be about the hardest thing you could command.”</p> + +<p>“She’s not uninteresting,” said Bertha. “I shall find out how she stands +with Rupert, and I don’t think there’s much danger. But if it should be +required—well—you might go further and fare worse.”</p> + +<p>“I expect I should go further than Rupert,” murmured Nigel.</p> + +<p>“Nigel, <i>don’t</i> think I haven’t scruples about things. I have, very +much, but I know a good deal about Moona, and I really think that any +harmless thing we can do to remove obstacles for poor Madeline should be +done. I promised<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> Madeline. I shall be grateful if you’ll help, Nigel.”</p> + +<p>“There’s no question about it,” said Nigel. “Of course it must be rushed +through. And now I suppose you want me to go?”</p> + +<p>“Oh no! Please don’t! Percy will be here directly.”</p> + +<p>He got up.</p> + +<p>“Good-bye. I’ll ring you up to-morrow. It’s some little consolation for +being an idle man to have leisure to fulfil your commands.”</p> + +<p>She answered that he was very good and she was very pleased with him, +and he went away.</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>CHAPTER IV +<br /> +<br />RUPERT AT RUMPELMEYER’S</h2> + + +<p class="cap">AT a quarter to four precisely, in a heavy shower of rain, Madeline +sprang out of a taxicab in St. James’s Street, and tripped into +Rumpelmeyer’s. As it was pouring lavishly and she had no umbrella, she +hastily and enthusiastically overpaid the cabman, with a feeling of +superstition that it might bring her luck; besides, a few drops of rain, +she reflected, would ruin her smart new hat if she waited for change. It +was a very small hat, over her eyes, decorated with a very high feather, +in the form of a lightning-conductor. She was charmingly dressed in a +way that made her look very tall, slim and elegant. Her rather long, +sweet face was paler than usual, her sincere brown eyes brighter. She +had come to have tea with Rupert.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>From the back room, waiting for her, rose the worshipped hero. He was, +as she had described him, very much like a Vandyke<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> picture. He had +broad shoulders, and a thin waist, a pointed brown beard, regular +features, very large deep blue eyes, and an absurdly small mouth with +dazzling white teeth. If he was almost too well dressed—so well that +one turned round to look at his clothes—his distinguished manners and +<i>grand seigneur</i> air carried it off. One saw it was not the +over-dressing of the <i>nouveau riche</i>, but the rather old-world dandyism +of a past generation. This was the odder as the year was 1913, and he +was exactly thirty. He always wore a buttonhole—to-day it was made of +violets to match his violet socks—and invariably carried a black ebony +stick, with an ivory handle.</p> + +<p>With a quiet smile on his small mouth, he greeted and calmed the +agitated Madeline.</p> + +<p>She dropped her bag on the floor before she sat down, and when Rupert +picked it up for her she dropped it again on a plate of cream cakes. He +then took it and moved it to his side of the table.</p> + +<p>“I thought,” he said smoothly, in a rather low, soothing voice, “that +you’d like these cakes better than toast.”</p> + +<p>She eagerly assured him that he was right, though it happened to be +quite untrue.</p> + +<p>“And China tea, of <i>course</i>?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, of <i>course</i>!” She disliked it particularly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>“And now, tell me, how has life been treating you?” he asked, as he +looked first at her, and then with more eager interest at his pointed +polished finger-nails.</p> + +<p>Before she could answer, he went on:</p> + +<p>“And that book on architecture that I sent you—tell me, have you read +it?”</p> + +<p>“Every word.”</p> + +<p>This was perfectly true; she could have passed an examination in it.</p> + +<p>“That’s delightful. Then, now that you know something about it, I should +like very much to take you to Westminster Abbey or St. Paul’s, or to see +one of those really beautiful old cathedrals. … We must plan it out.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, please do. I revel in old things,” she said, thinking the remark +would please him.</p> + +<p>He arranged his buttonhole of Parma violets, then looked up at her, +smiling.</p> + +<p>“Do you mean that at your age you really appreciate the past?”</p> + +<p>“Indeed, I do.”</p> + +<p>“But you mustn’t live for it, you know—not over-value it. You must +never forget that, after all, the great charm of the past is that it is +over. One must live for the hour, for the moment. … You’ll remember +that, won’t you?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>“Oh yes, I <i>do</i>,” she said gratefully, taking a bite of cream cake.</p> + +<p>“What they call Futurism (I hope you understand) is absolute rubbish and +inconsistent nonsense. For this reason. It’s impossible to enjoy the +present or the future if you eliminate the past entirely, as the +so-called Futurists wish to do. Destruction of old associations and +treasures would ruin one’s sense of proportion; it’s worse than living +in the prehistoric. Besides, at least we know what <i>has</i> happened, and +what <i>is</i> happening, but we can’t possibly know what is <i>going</i> to be, +what the future holds for us; so what’s the point of thinking only of +that? Why should we live only for posterity, when, as the old joke says, +posterity has done nothing for us!”</p> + +<p>“Well, the truth is <i>I</i> always feel nothing matters except now,” said +Madeline candidly.</p> + +<p>He laughed. “And, in a way, you’re right; it’s all we’re quite sure of.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I’m afraid it is.”</p> + +<p>“By the way,” he said, dropping his instructive manner, “can you tell me +where you get your hats? Do you mind?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, of course I can; at several places. This one came from——” She +hesitated a moment.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>“Paquin?” he asked, in a low, mysterious voice.</p> + +<p>“Selfridge,” she replied.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I didn’t know you were a Selfridgette! But, please forgive my +asking, won’t you? Someone who didn’t seem to know … I mean, a friend +of mine. … Oh, well, I know you don’t mind telling me.”</p> + +<p>He looked hard at her hat, could find no fault with it. Evidently its +value was not diminished in his eyes. He was rather gratified that it +did not come from some impossibly costly place. This pleased her; it was +a good sign. Satisfaction at a moderate indication of economy suggested +serious intentions.</p> + +<p>“It suits you very well,” he went on, in his kind, approving way. “Now, +will you give me another cup of tea?”</p> + +<p>She poured it out rather shakily.</p> + +<p>“No sugar, please.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” She had already nervously dropped in about three lumps.</p> + +<p>“Oh well, never mind. … Yes, you’re looking charming, Madeline—it’s +absurd calling you Miss Irwin after knowing each other so long, isn’t +it?”</p> + +<p>She was so delighted that she almost thanked him for calling her by her +Christian name.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>“Do you know, Madeline,” he went on, “that, at times, you’re almost a +beauty.”</p> + +<p>She opened her mouth with surprise.</p> + +<p>“<i>Almost.</i> You were one evening—I forget which evening—you had +something gold in your hair, and you were quite Byzantine. And then, +again, a few days after I saw you, and—er—oh well, anyhow—you always +look nice.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose you mean,” she murmured, feeling shy at talking so much of +herself, “that most girls look best in the evening.”</p> + +<p>“There I venture to differ from you entirely. All girls, all women, look +their best in the afternoon. The hat is everything. Evening dress is the +most trying and unbecoming thing in the world; only the most perfect +beauties, who are also very young and fresh, can stand it. The most +becoming thing for a woman is either <i>négligé</i>, or a hat. You, +particularly, Madeline, look your best in the afternoon.”</p> + +<p>“I wish then that I lived in that land where it is always afternoon!” +she said, laughing.</p> + +<p>He gave his superior little smile. “The Lotus Eaters? Good. I didn’t +know you cared for Tennyson.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t,” she answered hastily, anxious to please.</p> + +<p>He raised his eyebrows. “Then you should. Have you a favourite poet, +Madeline?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>“Oh yes, of course—Swinburne.”</p> + +<p>She thought this a perfectly safe thing to say.</p> + +<p>“Strong meat for babes,” he of course replied, and then began to murmur +to himself: “<i>For a day and a night love sang to us, played with us.</i> +You think that beautiful, Madeline?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes. How beautifully you say it!”</p> + +<p>He laughed. “Quoting poetry at Rumpelmeyer’s! Well, perhaps no place is +quite prosaic where …”</p> + +<p>She looked up.</p> + +<p>He took another tea-cake.</p> + +<p>… “Where there’s anyone so interested, so intelligent as yourself.”</p> + +<p>He had returned to the indulgent, encouraging schoolmaster’s tone.</p> + +<p>“Do you know In the Orchard?” he went on, and murmured: “<i>Ah God, ah +God! that day should be so soon!</i> Well! May I smoke a cigarette?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, of <i>course</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Oh … Madeline!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mr. Denison?”</p> + +<p>“Who is Nigel Hillier?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t you know him?”</p> + +<p>“Of course I know him; we belong to the same club, and that sort of +thing, but that doesn’t tell me who he is.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>She was wondering what Rupert meant exactly by who, but supposed he was +speaking socially, so she said hesitatingly:</p> + +<p>“Well, Nigel Hillier … he married that Miss——”</p> + +<p>He interrupted her, putting up his hand rather like a policeman in the +traffic. “I know all about his marriage, my dear friend. I didn’t ask +you whom he married. Who <i>is</i> he?”</p> + +<p>“Bertha and Percy have known him all their lives—at least all Bertha’s +life.”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes. Then he’s a friend of Percy Kellynch? But that doesn’t tell me +what I want to know. WHO is he?”</p> + +<p>With a flash of inspiration she said:</p> + +<p>“Oh yes! Oh, he’s a <i>nephew</i> of Lord Wantage. He has no father and +mother, I believe. He and his brother Charlie——”</p> + +<p>“Ah yes, yes. It comes back to me now—I remember which Hilliers they +are. Well, Hillier has asked me to dine with him and go to the Russian +Ballet. Rather nice of him. I’m going, and—do you know why I accepted, +Madeline?”</p> + +<p>“You like the Russian Ballet.”</p> + +<p>“I was told that Mrs. Kellynch and <i>you</i> were to be of the party.”</p> + +<p>“I’m glad you’re going,” she answered. “Bertha’s so awfully kind——” +She stopped suddenly, as if she had made a <i>gaffe</i>.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>He smiled. “Really? And what has Bertha’s kindness to do with it?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, nothing. I mean she always takes me out wherever she can; she’s so +good-natured.”</p> + +<p>“She strikes me as being a very beautiful and brilliant person,” said +Rupert coldly. “Very wonderful—very delightful. … It appears that +Mrs. Hillier has influenza.”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes,” said Madeline quickly—too quickly.</p> + +<p>“You knew it? No; you thought that she probably <i>would</i> have,” said he, +laughing, as he struck a match. Then he leant back, smoking, with that +slow, subtle smile about nothing in particular that had a peculiar, +hypnotic effect upon Madeline.</p> + +<p>She adored him more and more every moment. She knew she was never at her +best in his company; he made her nervous, shy, and schoolgirlish, and so +modest that she seemed to be longing to ooze away, to eliminate herself +altogether. Then he said:</p> + +<p>“Well, Madeline, it wouldn’t be nice if I kept you too long away from +your mother—she won’t trust me with you again.”</p> + +<p>She jumped up.</p> + +<p>“Have I been too long?”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense, child,” he said. “But still——” With one look at the clock +he rather hurriedly gave her her belongings.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>“I’m going to put you into a nice taxi, and send you home. We shall meet +at Hillier’s dinner, that will be nice, and we shall see the wonderful +ballet together.”</p> + +<p>She murmured that it would be lovely.</p> + +<p>“I should like to drive you home,” he said rather half-heartedly, as +they stood at the door in the rain; “in fact, I should insist upon doing +so …”</p> + +<p>“Oh no!”</p> + +<p>… “But I have an appointment with a friend I’m expecting to call for +me here. Au revoir, then!”</p> + +<p>She went away happy, disturbed, anxious and delighted, as she always was +when she had seen him. She ran straight to her dressing-table, took off +her hat, put something gold in her hair and tried to look Byzantine.</p> + +<p>He returned to the little table. He had it cleared, and ordered fresh +tea and cakes. Then he took out his watch.</p> + +<p>In about twenty minutes, during which he grew rather nervous and +impatient, he rose and went to the door again to greet another guest, +who had been invited to tea an hour and a half later than Madeline.</p> + +<p>She also was a young girl, good-looking, very dark and rather inclined +to fullness in face and figure. When I say that she had handsome<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> +regular aquiline features, two thick curtains of black hair drawn over +her ears, from which depended long ear-rings of imitation coral, it +seems almost unnecessary to add (for this type of girl always dresses in +the same way) that she wore a flat violet felt hat, the back of which +touched her shoulders, a particularly tight dark blue serge coat and +skirt, a very low collar, and lisle thread stockings which showed above +low shiny shoes with white spats. In her hands she held a pair of new +white gloves, unworn.</p> + +<p>She bounced in with a good deal of <i>aplomb</i>, and, without apologising +for her lateness, began to chatter a little louder than most of the +people present, and with great confidence.</p> + +<p>“No, not China tea, thanks. I prefer Indian. Oh, not cream cakes; I hate +them. Can’t I have hot tea-cakes? Thanks. I’ve no idea what the time is. +I’ve been to Mimsie’s studio. She would insist on doing a drawing of me, +and I’m sitting to her”—she turned her face a little on one side—“like +this, you know.”</p> + +<p>“Is it like you, Miss Chivvey?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, good gracious, I hope not! At least I hope I’m not like <i>it</i>! I +don’t want to have a pretty picture, I’m sure. But Mimsie’s awfully +clever. It’s sure to be all right. Do you know her? I must take you to +her studio one day.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>“Thanks immensely,” said Rupert Denison, a little coolly. “But—it may +seem odd to you, but I haven’t the slightest desire to increase my +acquaintance at my age. In fact, do you know, I think I know quite +enough people—in every set,” he added.</p> + +<p>As he poured out some milk, she jumped and gave a little shriek.</p> + +<p>“Oh, <i>don’t</i> do that. I never take milk. What a bad memory you’ve got! +Funny place this, isn’t it?” She was looking round. “I don’t think I’ve +ever been here before.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you like the plan of it?” he said, looking round at the walls and +ceiling. “It may not be perfect, but really, for London, it isn’t bad. +It seems to me that anyone can see that it was designed by a gentleman.”</p> + +<p>“You mean anyone can see it’s not designed by an architect?” she asked, +with a laugh so loud that he raised a finger.</p> + +<p>He then carefully introduced the subject of hats and advised her to go, +for millinery, to Selfridge. They discussed it at length, and it was +settled by his offering her a hat as a birthday present. She accepted, +of course, with a loud laugh.</p> + +<p>Rupert, with his mania for educating and improving young people, had +begun, about a fortnight ago, trying to polish Miss Chivvey.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> But he had +his doubts as to its being possible; and he was, all the same, beginning +to be a little carried away. She was sometimes (he owned) amusing; and +it was unusual for him to be laughed at. How differently Madeline +regarded him!</p> + +<p>However, he drove Moona home to Camden Hill and promised to meet her and +help her to choose a hat.</p> + +<p>“But I sha’n’t let you interfere too much. What do men know of +millinery?” she asked contemptuously.</p> + +<p>“I am sure I know what would suit you,” he replied. “You see, you’re +very vivid, and very much alive; you stand out, so you really want, if I +may say so, attenuating, subduing, shading.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you would like me to put my head in a bag?”</p> + +<p>“No one would regret that more than I should.”</p> + +<p>“I foresee we’re going to quarrel about this hat,” she answered. “Now, +Mr. Denison, do let me explain to you, I don’t want anything <i>smart</i>. I +don’t want to look like <i>Paris Fashions</i>.”</p> + +<p>“No? What do you want to look like?”</p> + +<p>“Why, artistic, of course! What a blighter you are!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>Rupert winced at this vague accusation. They were nearly at her house +and he put his hand on hers in a way that was rather controlling than +caressing.</p> + +<p>“Let me have one little pleasure. Let me choose your hat myself,” he +said. He was terrified at the idea of what she might come out in on +artistic grounds. Then she would tell all her friends it was a present +from him! She had no sort of reticence.</p> + +<p>“Well, I suppose you must have your own way. Do you really know anything +about it?” she asked doubtfully.</p> + +<p>“Rather. Everything!”</p> + +<p>They arrived. She jumped out.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’ll ring you up and tell you when I can go there and meet you. +Good-bye! You <i>are</i> a nut!”</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span><a name="V" id="V"></a>CHAPTER V +<br /> +<br />A HAPPY HOME</h2> + + +<p class="cap">THE first six months after his marriage it used to give Nigel a thrill +of gratification and vanity to go home to his house, one of the finest +in Grosvenor Street, and splendidly kept up. Then he had suddenly grown +horribly sick of it, longed for freedom in a garret, and now he +associated it with no thrill of pride or pleasure, but with boredom, +depression, quarrels and lack of liberty. Liberty! Ah! That was it; that +was what he felt more than anything else. He had married for money +chiefly to <i>get</i> liberty. One was a slave, always in debt—but it was +much worse now. The master of the house lost all his vitality, gaiety +and air of command the moment he came into the hall.</p> + +<p>“Where’s Mrs. Hillier?”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Hillier is in the boudoir, sir.”</p> + +<p>The boudoir was a little pink and blue Louis Seize room on the ground +floor, opposite the dining-room. From the window Mary could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> watch for +Nigel. That was what she always did. She hardly ever did anything else. +Few women were so independent of such aids to idleness as light +literature (how heavy it generally is!), newspapers, needlework or a +piano. Few people indeed had such a concentrated interest in one +subject. She was sitting in an arm-chair, with folded hands, looking out +of the window. It was a point of vantage, whence she could see Nigel +arrive more quickly than from anywhere else.</p> + +<p>As soon as he caught the first glimpse of her at the window it began to +get on his nerves. It was maddening to be waited for. …</p> + +<p>“You’re five minutes late,” she said abruptly, as he came in. She always +spoke abruptly, even when she wanted to be most amiable. He was +determined not to be bad-tempered, and smiled good-naturedly.</p> + +<p>“Am I? So sorry.” He was very quick and rapid in every word and +movement, but soft and suave—never blunt, as she was.</p> + +<p>“Where have you been?”</p> + +<p>“I went to look at those pictures in Bond Street,” he replied, without a +moment’s hesitation.</p> + +<p>He had come straight from seeing Bertha—on the subject of Madeline and +Rupert—but he never thought of telling her that.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>“Oh! Why didn’t you take <i>me</i>?”</p> + +<p>“I really don’t know. I didn’t think of it, I suppose. We’ll go another +day.”</p> + +<p>He sat down opposite her and began to smoke a cigarette, having +permission always. She sat staring at him with clasped hands and eager +eyes.</p> + +<p>Bertha’s description of her as having flat red hair, a receding chin and +long ear-rings was impressionistically accurate. It was what one noticed +most. Mrs. Hillier was plain, and not at all pleasant-looking, though +she had a pretty figure, looked young, and might have been made +something of if she had had charm. There was something eager, sharp and +yet depressed about her, that might well be irritating.</p> + +<p>She got up and came and stood next to Nigel; playing with his tie, a +little trick which nearly drove him mad, but he was determined to hide +it. When he couldn’t bear it any longer he said: “That will do, dear.”</p> + +<p>She moved away.</p> + +<p>“How do you mean ‘that will do’?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing; only don’t fidget.”</p> + +<p>“You’re nervous, Nigel. You are always telling me not to fidget.”</p> + +<p>“Am I? Sorry. Where are the children?”</p> + +<p>“Never mind the children for a minute. They’re out with Mademoiselle.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>“Seen much of them to-day?”</p> + +<p>“They came in to lunch. No, I have <i>not</i>, as a matter of fact. Do you +expect me to spend my whole time with children of eight and nine?”</p> + +<p>He didn’t answer, but it was exactly what he really did expect, and +would have thought perfectly natural and suitable.</p> + +<p>“Some women,” continued Mary, “seem to care a great deal more for their +children than they do for their husbands. I’m <i>not</i> like that—I don’t +pretend to be.”</p> + +<p>Nigel already knew this, to his great regret.</p> + +<p>“I care more for you than I do for the children,” she repeated.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean by ‘Yes’?”</p> + +<p>“I was assenting: that’s all. I meant—that you’ve told me all this +before, my dear. Haven’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Do you object? Do you <i>mind</i> my caring more for you than for the +children?”</p> + +<p>“If I object to anything it’s only to your repeating yourself. I +mean—we’ve had all this; haven’t we?”</p> + +<p>“Nigel, are you trying to quarrel with me for loving you better than the +children?”</p> + +<p>Nigel turned pale with irritation but controlled himself and stood up +and looked out of the window.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>“Not in the least. It’s most flattering. I only don’t want to be told it +every time I see you. … I mean that of course I should think it +perfectly natural if you were fond of the children too.”</p> + +<p>“I <i>am</i> fond of them,” she answered, “but they are not everything to me. +They don’t fill up my whole time and all my thoughts. They won’t do +instead of you.”</p> + +<p>“No one suggested that, I think. Have you been for a drive to-day?”</p> + +<p>“No—I haven’t.”</p> + +<p>“What a funny woman you are, Mary! You might as well not have a motor +for all the use you make of it.”</p> + +<p>“I had nowhere to go.”</p> + +<p>He looked at some invitation cards on the mantelpiece. “Oh, my dear, +that’s absolute nonsense. You mean you don’t care to go anywhere. It +<i>is</i> extraordinary, how you drop people, Mary! When we first came to +this house we had a lot of parties and things. Now you never seem to +care for them.”</p> + +<p>“It’s quite true,” she answered. “We did have parties and things. They +made me miserable. I hated them.”</p> + +<p>“Rather odd; aren’t you?”</p> + +<p>“I hated them and loathed them,” she continued. “For it only meant there +were crowds of women who tried to flirt with you.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>“That’s an <i>idée fixe</i> of yours, my dear. Pure fancy, you know.”</p> + +<p>“Well; all I know is I hated to see you talking to the women who came +here. I tell you, quite frankly, <i>that’s</i> the reason why I’ve given up +accepting invitations and giving them. Of course, if you <i>insist</i>, I +will. I would do anything you told me.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, good God, no! Let’s cut out the parties, then. Don’t have them for +<i>me</i>! I thought it would be fun for you. … What <i>do</i> you do all day, +Mary, if I may ask? You never seem to have any shopping—or hobbies—or +anything that other women have to do.”</p> + +<p>“I do the housekeeping in the morning,” she said; “I see cook and look +after everything to make things as <i>you</i> like.”</p> + +<p>“And I’m sure you do it very well indeed. But it doesn’t take long; and +after that——?”</p> + +<p>“I sit in that chair looking out of the window for you.”</p> + +<p>He bit his lip impatiently, trying not to be irritable.</p> + +<p>“It’s very nice of you, Mary, I’m sure. But I do wish you wouldn’t!”</p> + +<p>“Why not? Don’t you <i>like</i> me to be waiting for you?”</p> + +<p>“No—I don’t. I should like to think you were enjoying yourself; having +a good time.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>“Well, I shouldn’t do it if you took me out with you always.”</p> + +<p>“My dear, I’m always delighted to take you with me, but I can’t take you +everywhere.”</p> + +<p>“Where can’t you take me?”</p> + +<p>“Well—to the club!” He smiled, and took up a newspaper.</p> + +<p>“I suppose you must go to your club sometimes,” she said rather +grudgingly. “But tell me, Nigel, would you like us to go in more for +society again as we used at first?”</p> + +<p>He thought a moment. There were more quarrels when they saw more +people—in fact, the fewer people they met the fewer subjects arose for +scenes.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he said, “suppose you give just one party this year. Just to +‘keep our circle together,’ as they say—then we can stop it again, if +you like.”</p> + +<p>“What sort of party?”</p> + +<p>“Any sort. Musical, if you like.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! that means having horrid singers and players, and performers! I +don’t like that set, Nigel.”</p> + +<p>“All right. Let’s give a dance. We’ve got a splendid floor.”</p> + +<p>“A <i>dance</i>? Oh no. I don’t dance; and I couldn’t bear to see you dancing +with anyone.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>“This is all very flattering, my dear, but you know you’re really rather +absurd. Girls wouldn’t be fighting to dance with an old married man like +me. Altogether,—the way you regard me,—the way you imagine I’m the +marked-down prey of every woman you know,—would be too comical if it +wasn’t so pathetic.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, really? So you say! You’re thirty-five;—you’re better-looking than +ever.”</p> + +<p>“Thanks. It’s very kind of you to think so.” He laughed rather +contemptuously. “What a fatuous idiot I should be if I believed you. +But—to go back to what we were talking about—it really is in a way +rather a pity you’re gradually dropping everybody like that. It seems to +me that one should either have a cosy, clever, interesting little set of +amusing and really intimate <i>friends</i>; or else, a large circle of +acquaintances; or both. I’m not speaking of parties, for me. No man of +course cares about all that sort of rot; it’s only for you; women like +going out as a rule.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t care much about the sort of society you introduced me to when +we first married. I didn’t like any of them much.”</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter with them?” he asked. He knew she had always felt +morbidly and bitterly out of it because she mistakenly believed that +everybody was interested in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> fact that her grandfather had made a +fortune in treacle, and that her husband was Lord Wantage’s nephew. As a +matter of fact, no one who came to the house cared in the slightest +degree about either of these circumstances (even if they knew them) but +merely wished candidly to enjoy themselves in a large, jolly, hospitable +house, owned by a very attractive man with a large number of amusing +friends and, apparently, a harmless and good-natured little wife. Mary +detested and soon put a stop to intimate or Bohemian friends who sat up +all night smoking, talking art or literature, or being musical; and she +managed rapidly to reduce their circle to a much smaller one at a much +greater distance. She had not a single intimate friend. With women she +only exchanged cards. “What’s wrong with them all?” Nigel repeated, for +he was beginning to lose patience.</p> + +<p>“Oh! their manners are all right. If you really want to know what I +think of the whole set—I mean that sort of half-clever, half-smart set +you were in—the barristers and writers, artists, sporting and gambling +men, and women mad on music and the theatre—well, it is that the men +are silly and frivolous, and the women horrid and—and <i>fast</i>! Some are +cold and just as hard as nails, others are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> positively <i>wicked</i>! I admit +most of the men have nice manners and the women are not stupid. They all +dress well.”</p> + +<p>Nigel was silent a moment.</p> + +<p>“Well, after all, if you don’t like them, why should you see them?” he +said, good-naturedly enough. He did not feel inclined to defend all his +acquaintances. “But may I ask, do you consider that this set, as you +call it, lead a <i>useless</i> life?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; of course I do.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! Good. That’s all I wanted to know.”</p> + +<p>“I see what you mean quite well,” she said, walking up and down the +room. “You think <i>I</i> lead a useless life—that I’m not accomplished or +literary or even domestic, or social. You think I lead an empty life +with all my money.”</p> + +<p>“Well, why shouldn’t you, if you like it? But I wish you enjoyed it +yourself more, that’s the point.”</p> + +<p>“I can never enjoy myself—if you want to know, Nigel—except when I’m +with you; and even then I’m often not happy, because I think you don’t +care to be with me.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mary! really! How awful you are! What rot all this is! I can’t say +more than that you can do whatever you like from morning to night, and +that I don’t wish to interfere with you in any possible way.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>“But I should like you to be <i>with</i> me more.”</p> + +<p>He restrained the obvious retort (that she didn’t make herself +agreeable).</p> + +<p>“Well, I <i>am</i> with you.” He humoured her gently.</p> + +<p>“Yes—at this moment.”</p> + +<p>“Aren’t we going to dine together?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, we are. But about an hour afterwards I know you’ll find some sort +of excuse either to go out, or to go into the library and read. Why +can’t you read while I’m looking at you? Why not?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t be always looking forward, meeting troubles half way,” he said +jokingly. “Perhaps I sha’n’t read.” Then, after a moment’s pause: +“Excuse my saying so, my dear, but if <i>you</i> sometimes read a book, or +the papers, or saw more people, you would have more to tell me when we +did meet, wouldn’t you?”</p> + +<p>“It doesn’t matter about that. You can tell me what you’ve been reading +or seeing. Who did you see at the picture gallery? Was Mrs. Kellynch +there?”</p> + +<p>“Look here”—he was looking at the paper—“would you like to go to the +opera after dinner? Let’s go one of these days soon.”</p> + +<p>“No; I shouldn’t like it at all.”</p> + +<p>He stared at her in surprise.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>“Why not, pray? I thought you enjoyed it the other night?”</p> + +<p>“<i>You</i> enjoyed it,” she replied.</p> + +<p>“I thought you seemed rather pleased with yourself when we went out, +with all your furs and tiaras and things. You looked very smart,” he +said pleasantly.</p> + +<p>“Well, I tell you I hated it, Nigel.”</p> + +<p>“And why?”</p> + +<p>Mary was at least candid, and she spoke bluntly.</p> + +<p>“Because we met Mrs. Kellynch; and you talked to her and seemed pleased +to see her.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, good heavens! I can hardly cut dead all the women I ever knew +before we were married.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think her pretty?” said Mary.</p> + +<p>“Yes, of course I do; and so does everyone. She is pretty. It’s a +well-known fact. But what does it matter? It’s of no interest to me.”</p> + +<p>“Are you sure it isn’t? Didn’t you tell me you were almost engaged +once?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, <i>do</i> let’s drop the prehistoric,” he entreated, appearing bored. +“Never mind about ancient history now. She’s married and seems very +happy.” (He stopped himself in time from saying like us.) “Kellynch is a +very good sort.”</p> + +<p>“Is he? Do you envy him?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>“Mary, really, don’t be absurd. Let me tell you that there’s not one man +in a hundred who could stand …” and he moved a step farther away.</p> + +<p>“Could stand what?” She came nearer to him. “My caring for you so much?”</p> + +<p>Half-a-minute passed in something near torture, as she played with his +tie again, and he controlled himself and spoke with a determinedly kind +smile.</p> + +<p>“Go along and dress for dinner,” he said.</p> + +<p>“What shall I wear?”</p> + +<p>“Oh! Your pretty yellow teagown,” he answered.</p> + +<p>She could not go out in that, he was reflecting, and if he suddenly +wanted to go for a walk——</p> + +<p>“Very well, Nigel. Oh, dear Nigel! I don’t mean to be disagreeable.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure you don’t,” he answered, “let’s leave it at that, my dear.”</p> + +<p>“All right,” she said smiling, and went away, with a rather coquettish +kiss of the hand to him.</p> + +<p>He opened the door and shut it after her, with gallant attention. Then +he threw up his arms with a despairing gesture.</p> + +<p>“My God! What a woman! Why—why was I such a fool? … How much longer +<i>can</i> I bear it?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>The Hilliers’ relatives and intimate friends often said cheerfully about +them: “Mary is very fond of Nigel, but she rather gets on his nerves.”</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>No one seemed yet to have discovered that there was a large double +tragedy in that simple, commonplace sentence.</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>CHAPTER VI +<br /> +<br />FUTURISM</h2> + + +<p class="cap">IT had long been Nigel’s dream, since he had practically given up all +hope of calm and peaceful happiness at home, to have, at least, a secret +sorrow that everyone knew of and sympathised with. And certain people +did feel for him, understanding the great worry of his wife’s morbid +jealousy. But the general public thought him extremely fortunate to have +married a woman—or rather a young girl—whose enormous wealth was only +equalled by her extraordinary devotion. Yet from the one person who +mattered, the look of tacit sympathy was denied him. How it would have +soothed him and made him absolutely happy! And Bertha was the only human +being who must never be allowed to know of his domestic troubles. She +was extremely proud, and it would have caused her great anger and pain +to think that after throwing her over (as he really had, for worldly +advantages), he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> should then want to come back, complain ungratefully of +the benefactress he had chosen and philander and amuse himself again. So +he had never referred to his unhappy life. His plan was deeper than +that. It was to appear merely the amusing friend, until by some chance, +he should feel his way to be more secure; to be, in fact, a kind of tame +cat, a <i>camarade</i>, useful, and intellectually sympathetic, unselfishly +devoted—until, perhaps, the time might come when she might find she +could not do without him. His calculations happened to be completely +wrong, but that, of course, he could not know. Like all collectors, +whether of women or of any other works of art or nature, although a +connoisseur, he did not quite recognise the exceptional when he met +it—his rules of life were too general. And his love for Bertha—what +word can one use but the word-of-all-work, love, which means so many +variations and shades, and complications of passion, sentiment, vanity +and attraction?—his love had greatly increased, was growing stronger: +sometimes he wondered whether it was the mere contradictory, defiant +obstinacy of the discouraged admirer; and, certainly, there was in his +devotion a strong infusion of a longing to score off his tyrannising +wife and the fortunate, amiable Percy. Nigel’s jealousy of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> Percy—and +not of Percy only, but in a less degree of most men Bertha knew—was not +very far behind his wife’s jealousy of him. A morbid propensity that +causes great suffering in domestic life is often curiously infectious to +the very person for whom it creates most suffering. Nigel sometimes +found himself positively imitating Mary in many little ways; watching, +and listening and asking indirect questions to find things out: if he +had dared he would have made Bertha a violent scene every time her +husband came into the house! He tried to hide it and had made Percy like +him. But Bertha could see perfectly well the tinge of jealousy for every +other friend of hers, and an inclination to crab and run down and sit +out, especially, any smart young man. This neither amused nor annoyed +her. She did not think about it.</p> + +<p>Nigel really felt, besides, that most cruel of all remorse—<i>selfish</i> +remorse, that he had cheated himself in having thrown over love for +money. For his was not, after all, a mere smug, second-rate nature which +gold, and what it meant, in however great quantities, could really ever +satisfy. Putting aside the fact that his wife irritated him nearly to +madness, even if he had been allowed to live alone, and perfectly +free,—wealth and its gratifications would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> never have made him happy. +He had mistaken himself in a passing fit of despair and cupidity, aided +by the torturing agonies of being deeply in debt all round, and the +ghastly fear of a social smash.</p> + +<p>He had a longing to feel at ease; he had a love of pleasure, too, of +freedom, of idleness; and the sort of talent that consists in +brilliantly describing what one could do and what one would like to do: +in sketching schemes, verbally—literary, financial, artistic, no matter +what—with so much charm, such aplomb that everyone believed in him, and +enjoyed to hear his projects, but he had not either the genius that +compels its owner to work nor the steadiness, the determination of +character that makes a man a successful drudge, who gets there in the +end.</p> + +<p>Nigel is being rather severely analysed. But let it be understood that +with it all, besides having very great charm of look and manner, wit and +high spirits, in certain ways he was quite a good fellow: he had no +sneers for the more fortunate, no envy, nothing petty: he was +warm-hearted, generous even—when it did not cross some desire of his; +lavish with money, both on himself and on anyone who aided his pleasure, +and quite kind and tender-hearted in that he couldn’t bear to see +anyone<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> suffer—even Mary, with whom, as a matter of fact, he was very +weak.</p> + +<p>The saint thinks only of the claims of others: the criminal solely of +his own. Between these extremes, there are, obviously, countless shades. +Unfortunately, Nigel had this in common with the worst; that when he +really wanted anything, everything had to go to the wall: all rights of +others, principles and pity were forgotten, everything was thrown +over—everyone pushed out of the way. He became unscrupulous. So when he +had required money he threw over his first love who, he knew, adored +him; now when he found out the mistake and was seriously in love with +Bertha, he would have thrown over anything on earth to get her, and +admired himself for doing it. He thought himself now noble-spirited and +sporting. He would have run away with her at any moment, even if he +thought they would have two or three hundred a year to live on, or +nothing at all. Not only that, he would have been devoted to her and +worshipped her and never reproached her—and been faithful to her +too—until he fell in love with someone else, which might, or might not +have happened.</p> + +<p>Often he wondered why he cared so much more for Bertha now that she was +twenty-eight than when she was eighteen. Perhaps she had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> really +increased in charm: certainly she had in magnetism and in knowledge of +the world, and she was just as attractive, a sweet little creature whom +one wanted to protect and yet whom, in a way, one could lean on and rely +on, too. She was so subtle, so strangely wise and sensible—she seemed +to know everything while having the naïve, unconscious air of a person +who knows next to nothing. And all these gifts she used—for what? She +made Percy happy, she was charming and kind, clear-sighted, indulgent +(if a little cynical), and always amusing; full of dash and spirit, and +yet with the most feminine softness, and above all that invaluable +instinct, always, for doing and saying the right thing … and (he knew +instinctively) a genius for love. …</p> + +<p>Yes, he thought, she was an extraordinary woman! There was nobody like +her: in his opinion she was thrown away on Percy. But <i>she</i> did not +think so, and he envied, hated the husband, with an absurd +bitterness—envied him for several reasons, but chiefly because Nigel +had now developed what had been in abeyance at the time of their +youthful engagement—that real sensuous discrimination, which has +comparatively little to do with taste for beauty, that power of +weighing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> amorous values, given only to the authentic Sybarite.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>On the day arranged for the Russian Ballet party, Nigel made an excuse +for seeing Bertha to arrange tactics with regard to Rupert and Madeline. +She told him she was expecting the Futurist painter, the Italian, +Semolini, but she received him first.</p> + +<p>“About Rupert, now,” said Nigel. “Isn’t it odd?—I always think of +Rupert with a rapier concealed somewhere about his person. Ruperts and +rapiers are inseparably associated in my mind. Well—shall I, after +supper, drive back with Rupert and praise up Miss Irwin—or not?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, if you think it is a good thing.”</p> + +<p>“<i>If</i> I think it’s a good thing! Nothing in the world has such a good +effect on a man as the admiration of another man for the girl he +admires.”</p> + +<p>“But don’t do too much digging in the ribs—don’t overdo it. Rupert, +though he doesn’t carry a rapier, isn’t quite a modern cynical man, and +with all his affectations I believe he has a very sweet nature. He’ll be +good to Madeline—I want her to be happy.”</p> + +<p>“Well, at any rate, if she likes him she may as well have her fling at +him,” said Nigel carelessly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>Bertha looked annoyed.</p> + +<p>“That isn’t the point only—silly! If she liked <i>you</i> ever so much and +you were free, do you suppose I would take her side—help her?”</p> + +<p>“I hope not,” said Nigel insinuatingly, suddenly changing his seat to +one close to Bertha.</p> + +<p>She looked calmly away, as if bored.</p> + +<p>He saw it was the wrong tone and stood up, with his back to the +mantelpiece, looking at her.</p> + +<p>“I like your frock, Bertha.”</p> + +<p>She looked down at it.</p> + +<p>“You have an extraordinary air of not knowing what you have got on. I +never saw a woman look so unconscious of her dress. There’s a good deal +of the art that conceals art about it, I fancy. Your clothes are +attractive—in an impressionist way!”</p> + +<p>“The only thing I think of about my dresses, is that they should make +people admire me—not my dressmaker,” said Bertha candidly. “I don’t +care for much variety, and I leave real smartness to Madeline and the +other tall, slim girls. My figure is so wrong! How dare I be short and +tiny, and yet not thin, nowadays?”</p> + +<p>“You’re exquisite—at least in my opinion. I’ve never been an admirer of +the lamp-post as the type of a woman’s figure.”</p> + +<p>She looked bored again. “Oh, please don’t! I don’t care what you +like—so long as you like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> Mary, who was very graceful and <i>chic</i>, I +thought, the other night at the opera.”</p> + +<p>It was Nigel’s turn to look bored.</p> + +<p>“Yes. … What is this chap like, this Semolini man?”</p> + +<p>“He’s not like anything. He’s a nice little thing.”</p> + +<p>“Signor Semolini,” announced the servant.</p> + +<p>A very small, very brown young man came in, clean-shaven, with large +bright blue eyes, black hair, and a single eyeglass with a black ribbon.</p> + +<p>They greeted him cordially, convinced him that he was welcome, made him +feel at home, gave him tea. It was his first visit, but no one was ever +shy long with Bertha. He soon began chattering very volubly in a sort of +English, which, if not exactly broken, was decidedly cracked.</p> + +<p>“I like those things of yours—at the gallery, I mean,” said Nigel +patronisingly. He was always patronising to all artists, even when he +didn’t know them, as in this case, to be cranks. “I think they’re +top-hole; simply <i>awfully</i> good, I thought. I didn’t quite understand +them, though, I admit.”</p> + +<p>“But you saw ze idea?”</p> + +<p>“What idea?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>“Why, the simultaneity of the plastic states of mind in the art? That is +our intoxicating object, you know.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that! Ah, yes—yes, quite so. I thought it was that.” Nigel looked +knowing, and shook his head wisely.</p> + +<p>Under this treatment the young Italian became very animated.</p> + +<p>“You were right! You see, it is ze expansion of coloured forms in space, +combined with the co-penetration of plastic masses which forms what we +call futurism.”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, of course,” said Nigel. “It would be. I mean to +say—well!—almost anyone would guess that, wouldn’t they?”</p> + +<p>Semolini turned to Bertha, talking more and more quickly, and +gesticulating with a little piece of bread and butter in his right hand. +“It is ze entire liberation from the laws of logical perspective that +makes movement—the Orphic cubism—if you will allow me to say so!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, certainly,” smiled Bertha. “<i>Do</i> say so!”</p> + +<p>“Orphic cubism! I say! Isn’t that a bit strong before a lady?” murmured +Nigel.</p> + +<p>Semolini laughed heartily without understanding a word, and continued to +address himself to Bertha, whose eyes looked sympathetic.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> “It is +painting, pure painting—painting new masses with elements borrowed +chiefly from the reality of mental vision!” cried the artist.</p> + +<p>“Funny! Just what I was going to say!” said Nigel.</p> + +<p>Bertha contented herself with encouraging smiles.</p> + +<p>The young Italian was due to lecture on his views, and had to leave. At +least three appointments were made with him, none of which Nigel had the +slightest intention of keeping—to “go into the matter more +thoroughly”—then Semolini vanished, charmed with his reception.</p> + +<p>“Good heavens! will someone take me away and serve me up on a cold +plate?” said Nigel, directly he had gone. “Look here, Bertha, is the +chap off his head, a fraud, or serious?”</p> + +<p>“Awfully serious. Are you going to see him to look into the matter?”</p> + +<p>“I <i>think</i> not,” said Nigel, “at least I don’t want to see his pictures, +face to face, until I’ve insured my life. I must think of my widow and +the children.”</p> + +<p>Here Nigel’s young brother, Charlie, arrived. He was a slimmer, younger, +but less good-looking edition of Nigel. He had just come down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> from +Oxford, was pleasant, gentle, and appeared to be trying to repress a +natural inclination to be a nut. He called on Bertha in the hope of +seeing Madeline.</p> + +<p>“I say, the Futurist chap has just been here,” said Nigel to Charlie.</p> + +<p>“Good! What’s he like?”</p> + +<p>“A little bit of all right. Frightfully fascinating, as girls say,” said +Nigel.</p> + +<p>“He’s not so bad,” said Bertha mildly.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t he? I’ve seen the pictures. But what <i>is</i> he like? The sort of +chap you’d like to be seen with?” asked the young man.</p> + +<p>“Well—not acutely,” replied Nigel.</p> + +<p>“Very dark, is he? quite black?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Good teeth?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, several.”</p> + +<p>“Clean-shaven?”</p> + +<p>“Not very.”</p> + +<p>There was a pause.</p> + +<p>“But is he really an Italian?” asked Charlie.</p> + +<p>“Shouldn’t think so,” said Nigel carelessly.</p> + +<p>“What then?” asked Bertha, laughing.</p> + +<p>“Scotch, probably.”</p> + +<p>“Very likely, if he’s clever. They say all the clever people come from +Scotland,” Charlie remarked.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>“And the cleverer they are, the sooner they come, I suppose,” said +Bertha. “Fancy the MacFuturist in a kilt!”</p> + +<p>“But where does he come from … where does he really live?” continued +Charlie, who seemed to have a special, suspicious curiosity on the +subject.</p> + +<p>“Rapallo,” said Bertha.</p> + +<p>“Where’s that?”</p> + +<p>“The first turning to the left on the map as you go to Monte Carlo,” +said Nigel.</p> + +<p>“But what <i>did</i> he say—was he very odd and peculiar?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, he carried on like one o’clock about Futurism,” said Bertha.</p> + +<p>“I thought every moment would be my next,” said Nigel.</p> + +<p>“What nonsense you’re both talking,” said Bertha.</p> + +<p>“Yes, and if Charlie thinks he’s going to sit me out by asking +questions, he’s jolly well mistaken,” Nigel said. “Look here, old chap, +Bertha’s going out. I know she wants to get into her glad raiment. I’ll +drop you.”</p> + +<p>“Right-o!” said Charlie, jumping up.</p> + +<p>They took their leave. Bertha looked amused.</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>CHAPTER VII +<br /> +<br />RUSSIAN BALLET</h2> + + +<p class="cap">ARRANGEMENTS had been made that Mrs. Nigel Hillier was to have a little +dinner at home for her mother (with whom Nigel was not supposed to be on +terms); and she and her parent were to go to the St. James’s Theatre, +for which two stalls had been purchased. Nigel pretended he was dining +with an old friend at the club.</p> + +<p>Coming in brightly, but, as usual, losing half his personality in the +hall, he found Mary at seven o’clock sitting in the little boudoir, in +the usual arm-chair, looking our for him, not, apparently, thinking of +dressing for dinner.</p> + +<p>“Hallo, Mary!” he said. “Hadn’t you better get ready for your mother?”</p> + +<p>“No,” she responded rather coldly and bitingly, “I’ve put mother off.”</p> + +<p>He glanced at her with self-control. She looked, he thought, far more +bitter than usual.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>“That’s a pity, because you will be alone—dear. Besides, the stalls +will be wasted.”</p> + +<p>“No, they won’t,” she said. “You’ll stay at home with me, and take me to +the St. James’s. You can easily put off your man at the club.” She +looked him full in the eyes.</p> + +<p>Colour rose to his face and then faded away.</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry, my dear, but that’s impossible.”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t impossible—you mean you don’t want to do it. … Oh, do +please—please, Nigel!” She came towards him and played with his +tie—the trick of hers that he hated most.</p> + +<p>She mistook his silence, which was hesitation as to what plan to adopt, +for vacillation, and thought she was going to win. …</p> + +<p>“Oh, ’oo will, ’oo will!” she exclaimed, with a rather sickly imitation +of a spoilt child, with her head on one side. It was a pose that did not +suit her in any way.</p> + +<p>He drew back; the shiny red hair gave him a feeling of positive nausea. +She was attempting to defeat him—she was trying to be coquettish—poor +thing! … She suspected something; she hadn’t put off her mother for +nothing. … He was going to the Russian Ballet with Bertha—how could +he leave Bertha in the lurch? With Madeline and Rupert, too—what harm +was there in it? (The fact that he heartily<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> wished there <i>was</i> had +really nothing to do with the point.)</p> + +<p>Husbands and wives usually know when opposition is useless. Mary +privately gave it up when she heard Nigel speak firmly and quickly—not +angrily.</p> + +<p>“I’ve made the arrangement now, and I can’t back out.”</p> + +<p>“And what about me?” she said, in a shrill voice.</p> + +<p>He went out of the room hastily, saying:</p> + +<p>“I can’t help it now; if you alter your arrangements at the last +minute—stop at home and read a book, or take some friend to the St. +James’s.”</p> + +<p>He ran upstairs like a hunted hare; he was afraid of being late. He had +got his table at the Carlton.</p> + +<p>Left alone in the boudoir, a terrible expression came over Mary’s face. +She said to herself quite loudly:</p> + +<p>“He is not going to the club; he’d give it up if he were. It’s something +about that woman. …”</p> + +<p>A wave of hysteria came over her, also a half-hearted hope of succeeding +still by a new kind of scene. …</p> + +<p>There were two large china pots on the mantelpiece; she threw them, +first one, then the other, at the half-open door, smashing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> them to +atoms. Excited at her own violence, she ran upstairs screaming, +regardless of appearance:</p> + +<p>“You sha’n’t go! You sha’n’t go! I hate you. I’ll kill myself. +Oh—oh—oh! Nigel! Nigel!”</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>At eight to the minute Nigel in the Palm Court received Bertha Kellynch +dressed in black, Madeline in white, and Rupert Denison with a little +mauve orchid in his buttonhole.</p> + +<p>The dinner, subtly ordered, was a complete success, and Madeline Irwin +was in a dream of happiness, but Bertha was sorry to see that Nigel, who +was usually remarkably moderate in the matter of champagne, and to-night +drank even less than usual, had the whole evening a trembling hand. Even +at the ballet, where he was more than usually ready to enjoy every shade +of the enjoyable, he was not quite free from nervous agitation. He did +not drive Rupert home, but let Rupert drop him in Grosvenor Street at +twelve-thirty—for a slight supper was inevitable and Rupert had taken +them to the Savoy.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Mrs. Hillier was in bed and asleep. The maid said she had been ill and +excited. The maid, frightened, had sent for the doctor. His remedy had +succeeded in calming her.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>The next day Mary seemed subdued, and was amiable. Both ignored the +quarrel. Nigel believed it would not occur again. He thought his +firmness had won and that she was defeated. He did not understand her.</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII +<br /> +<br />PERCY</h2> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 8px;"> +<img src="images/quote.png" width="8" height="7" alt="Open quote" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="cap">I’VE had such a lovely letter from Rupert, Bertha. I’m so excited, I +can’t read it almost!”</p> + +<p>Bertha held out her hand. Madeline was looking agitated.</p> + +<p>“He says,” said Madeline, looking closely at the letter in her +short-sighted way, “that he wishes he could burn me like spice on the +altar of a life-long friendship! Fancy!”</p> + +<p>“Rather indefinite, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but listen!” And Madeline read aloud eagerly: “<i>Yesterday evening +was perfect: but to-day and for several days I shall be unable to see +you. Why is a feast day always followed by a fast?</i>”</p> + +<p>“Is it Doncaster to-morrow?” asked Bertha.</p> + +<p>“Don’t be absurd, that’s nothing to do with it. Listen to this. <i>What a +curiously interesting nature you have! Am I not right when I say that I +fancy in time, as you develop and grow older, you may look at life eye +to eye with me?</i>”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span>“Madeline dear, <i>please</i> don’t mistake that for a proposal. I assure you +that it isn’t one.”</p> + +<p>Madeline looked up sharply. “Who said it was? But, anyhow, it shows +interest. He must be rather keen—I mean interested—in me. It’s all +very well to say it means nothing, but for a man nowadays to sit down +and write a long letter all about nothing at all, it must have some +significance. Look how easily he might have rung up! I know you’re +afraid of encouraging me too much, and it’s very kind of you—but I must +confess I <i>do</i> think that letters mean a great deal. Think of the +trouble he’s taken. And there’s a great deal about himself in it, too.”</p> + +<p>“Of course, Madeline, I don’t deny that it does show interest, and he +probably must be a little in love with someone—perhaps with himself—to +write a letter about nothing. As you say, it’s unusual nowadays. But you +mustn’t forget that, though Rupert’s young, he belongs to the ’95 +period. Things were very different then. People thought nothing of +writing a long letter; and a telegram about nothing was considered quite +advanced and American.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, bother!” said Madeline, “I hate being told about the period he +belongs to. It makes it seem like ancient history. Listen to what he +says about you—such lovely things! ‘<i>Mrs. Kellynch is a delightful +contrast to you, and is all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> that is charming and brilliant, in a +different way. Is she not one of those (alas, too few) who are always +followed by the flutes of the pagan world?</i>’”</p> + +<p>“That’s really very sweet of him. I say, I wonder what it means +exactly?”</p> + +<p>“I have no idea. But it just shows, doesn’t it?”</p> + +<p>With a satisfied smile, Madeline put the letter away. Bertha did not +press to see it, but remarked: “I see he didn’t sign himself very +affectionately. Evidently there’s nothing compromising in the letter.”</p> + +<p>“Why do you say that?”</p> + +<p>“Because you put it away. Otherwise you would have shown it to me. +Nobody cares to show an uncompromising love-letter—with a lukewarm +signature.”</p> + +<p>“At any rate,” said Madeline, gliding over the point and leaving the +letter in its cover, “your taking us out last night was a very great +help. I feel I’ve made progress; he thinks more of me.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I thought it would be a good thing to do. Now you’d better not +answer the letter, and please don’t show any anxiety if you don’t see +him for a little while, either.”</p> + +<p>“I sha’n’t be a bit anxious, Bertha, especially if it’s only racing, or +something of that sort.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> Or, in fact, anything, unless I get afraid he’s +seeing Miss Chivvey. Do you ever think that Rupert still takes an +interest in Miss Chivvey?”</p> + +<p>“A little, but I don’t think it matters. I think she’s needed as a +contrast to you. She surprises and shocks him, and that amuses him, but +she isn’t his real taste. I don’t think Miss Chivvey’s dangerous, +seriously. She uses cheap scent.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” cried Madeline, delighted. “There’s nothing so awful as cheap +scent!”</p> + +<p>“Except expensive scent, because it’s stronger,” said Bertha.</p> + +<p>Madeline looked at her admiringly.</p> + +<p>“How extraordinary you are, Bertha! It’s wonderfully sweet of you to +take such an interest in my wretched little romance. You might have so +many of your own, if you cared to.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, but I don’t care to. I’m rather exacting in a way, but I don’t want +variety. I’ve no desire for an audience. I don’t want a little of +everybody. All I want is the whole of one person.”</p> + +<p>“Is that all! Well, you’ve got it,” replied Madeline.</p> + +<p>“I hope so,” she answered, rather seriously. “I’m not altogether +satisfied. I can’t settle down to the idea of a dull, humdrum sort<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> of +life—and of Percy’s being fond of me casually.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, good gracious, I’m sure he isn’t casual! What a strange idea of +yours!”</p> + +<p>“I hope I’m wrong. I believe I want something that’s very nearly +impossible. I’ve always had a sort of ideal or dream of making an +ordinary average married life into a romance.”</p> + +<p>“Well, and can’t it be?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t really see why it shouldn’t. But there’s no doubt there are +immense difficulties in the way. It seems to be necessary, first of all, +for there to be not only one exceptional temperament, but two. And +that’s a good deal to expect. Of course, the obvious danger is the +probability of people getting tired of anything they’ve got. I’m afraid +that’s human nature. The toys the children see in the shop-window always +seem much less wonderful when they’re home in the nursery. As a brother +of mine used to say a little vulgarly, ‘You don’t run after an omnibus +when once you’ve caught it.’”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps not.”</p> + +<p>“As soon as you belong to a person, obviously, Madeline, they don’t +value you <i>quite</i> in the same kind of way. The glamour seems to go.”</p> + +<p>“But you don’t want necessarily always to be <i>run after</i>, surely? You +want to be treasured and valued—all that sort of thing.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>“Yes, I know! But my ideal would be that there should be just as much +excitement and romance and <i>fun</i> after marriage as before—if it were +possible.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, good heavens, Bertha! then, if one were to go by that horrible +theory of your brother’s, one ought never to marry the person one loves, +if one wants to keep them.”</p> + +<p>“No, in theory, one ought not. But then, where are you if he goes and +marries someone else? After all, you’d rather he got tired of <i>you</i> than +of the other person! Wouldn’t you prefer he should make <i>your</i> life +miserable than any other woman’s? Besides, one must take a risk. It’s +worth it.”</p> + +<p>“I should think it is, indeed!” cried Madeline. “Why, I would marry +Rupert if I thought I should never see him again after a month or +two—if I knew for a fact he would get tired of me!”</p> + +<p>“Of course you would, and quite right too. But remember people are not +all alike. There are any number of men who are absolutely incapable of +being really in love with anyone who belongs to them. They simply can’t +help it. It’s the instinct of the chase. And it’s mere waste of time and +energy to attempt to change them.”</p> + +<p>“Are you speaking of men or husbands?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>“Either, really. But don’t let’s forget that there are a great many +others, on the other hand, who care for nothing and no one who isn’t +their own. Collectors, rather than hunters. Surely you’ve noticed that, +Madeline? It’s a passion for property. The kind of man who thinks <i>his</i> +house, <i>his</i> pictures, <i>his</i> cook, even his mother, everything connected +with him must be better than the possessions of anyone else. Well, this +kind of man is quite capable of remaining very devoted to his own wife, +and in love with her, if she’s only decently nice to him; and even if +she’s not. I mean the sort of man one sometimes sees at a party, +pointing out some utterly insignificant person there, and declaring that +Gladys or Jane, or whoever it is, takes the shine out of everyone else, +and that there’s no one else in the room to touch her. His wife, of +course. I don’t mean out of devotion—that’s another, finer +temperament—but simply and solely because she belongs to him.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Bertha, I don’t care what his reason is, I <i>like</i> that man!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, rather! So do I. And very often he’s not a bit appreciated; though +he would be by us. Perhaps the most usual case of all is for the +husband, if he’s married for love, to remain in love for the first two +or three years, and for the love then to turn gradually into a warm +friendship,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> or even a deep affection, which may go on growing +deeper—it’s only the romance and the glamour and sparkle that seems to +go—the excitement. And that’s such a pity. I can’t help thinking in +many cases it really needn’t be. More often than not, I believe, it’s +the woman’s mistake. Just at first, she’s liable to take too much +advantage of the new sort of power she feels.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean, Bertha, that the woman generally doesn’t take enough +trouble with the house to make it pleasant for him at home—and all +that?”</p> + +<p>“I <i>didn’t</i> mean that, though it might be so. But sometimes it’s just +the other way. More often than not she takes a great deal too much +trouble about the home, and bothers him about it. There’s far too much +domesticity. It’s like playing at houses at first, but soon it grows +tedious. At any rate the whole thing is worth studying very deeply. I +can tell you I haven’t given it up yet.”</p> + +<p>“You? Oh, Bertha, I can’t think what fault you have to find. You, as you +say, certainly are exacting.”</p> + +<p>“I blame myself, solely. I feel that, somehow or other, I’ve allowed +things to get too prosaic. Percy takes everything for granted: +everything goes on wheels. Of course, if I were satisfied to settle down +at twenty-eight with complete<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> contentment at the prospect of a humdrum +existence, it would be all right; but I’m not. In another few years +Percy will be getting on very well as a barrister, taking himself +seriously, and regarding me just as part of the furniture at home. You +know he always calls me a canary; that shows his point of view. Well, +then, he might get a little interested in a wilder kind of bird, and I +shouldn’t like it!”</p> + +<p>“What would your idea be, then? Would you flirt to make him jealous?”</p> + +<p>“No, I certainly shouldn’t. That’s frightfully obvious and common. If I +ever did flirt, it wouldn’t be for such a silly reason as that. It would +be for my own amusement and for nothing else, but I don’t think I ever +shall. I think it’s a fatal mistake for a woman to lower herself in any +way in the other person’s eyes. Her lasting hold and best one, is that +he must think her perfection; it’s the safest link with a really nice +man. Anyone can be worse than you are, but it’s not easy when you take +the line that none can be <i>better</i>! because no one else is going to try! +But if, after all, he still gets tired of her, as they sometimes do, +well—it’s very hard—but I am afraid she must manage badly.”</p> + +<p>“I never should have dreamed you thought of all these things, Bertha. +You seem so serene and happy.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>“I am. It’s the one subject I ever worry about. I’m always prepared for +the worst.”</p> + +<p>“And I’m quite sure you’ve no cause to be. Why not wait till trouble +comes?” suggested Madeline.</p> + +<p>“Why, then it would be too late. No, I want to ward it off long before +there’s any danger.”</p> + +<p>“I think it’s very unlike you—almost morbid—bothering about +possibilities that will never happen.”</p> + +<p>“I daresay it is, in a way. But, you know, I fancy I’ve second sight +sometimes. What I feel with us is that things are too smooth, too calm, +a little dull. Something ought to happen.”</p> + +<p>“You’re looking so pretty, too,” said Madeline rather irrelevantly.</p> + +<p>“I’m glad to hear it; but I only want one person to think so.”</p> + +<p>“But it’s obvious that he does; he’s very proud of you.”</p> + +<p>“I sometimes think he’s too much accustomed to me. He takes me as a +matter of course.”</p> + +<p>“If that is so, I daresay you’ll be able to alter matters,” said +Madeline, getting up to go.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I daresay I shall; it only needs a little readjusting,” Bertha +said.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>They shook hands in cordial fashion. They did not belong to the gushing +school, and, notwithstanding their really deep mutual affection, neither +would ever have dreamed of kissing the other.</p> + +<p>As soon as Madeline had gone Bertha went and looked steadily and +seriously in the glass, for some considerable time. She thought on the +whole that it was true that she was looking pretty: on this subject she +was perfectly calm, cool and unbiassed, as if judging the appearance of +a stranger. For, though she naturally liked to be admired, as all women +do, she was entirely without that fluffy sort of vanity, that weak +conceit, so indulgent to itself, that makes nearly all pretty women +incapable of perceiving when they are beginning to go off, or unwilling +to own it to themselves.</p> + +<p>The one person for whose admiration and interest she cared for more and +more, her Percy, she fancied was growing rather cooler. This crumpled +rose-leaf distressed her extremely.</p> + +<p>At this moment he arrived home. She heard his voice and his step, and +waited for him to come up, with an increasing vividness of colour and +expression, with a look of excited animation, that in so sophisticated a +woman was certainly, after ten years, a remarkable tribute to a +husband.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>Percy, who was never very quick, was this evening much longer coming +upstairs than usual. He was looking at the letters in the hall. With his +long, legal-looking, handsome face, his even features, his fine figure +and his expression of mild self-control, and the large, high brow, he +had a certain look of importance. He appeared to have more personality +then he really had. His manner was impressive, even when one knew—as +Bertha certainly did—that he was the mildest, the most amiable and +good-natured of serious barristers.</p> + +<p>With one of those impulses that are almost impossible to account for, +Percy took one of the letters up before the others. It was directed in +type. He half opened it, then put it in his pocket. He felt anxious to +read it; for some quite inexplicable reason he felt there was something +about it momentous, and of interest. It was not a circular, or a bill. +It made him feel uncomfortable. After waiting a moment he opened it and +read part of it. Then he replaced it in his pocket, and ran up to his +room, taking the other unopened letters with him.</p> + +<p>“Percy!” called Bertha, as he passed the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>“I shall be down in a few minutes,” he called out.</p> + +<p>He went upstairs and shut himself into his room.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>She also felt unaccountably uncomfortable and anxious, as if something +had happened, or was going to happen. Why was Percy so long?</p> + +<p>When he came down at last she gave him his tea and a cigarette and +noticed, or perhaps imagined, that he looked different from usual. He +was pale. Yes, he was distinctly a little pale. Poor Percy!</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Instead of telling him he was not looking very well, and asking him what +was the matter, complaining that he had not taken any notice of her, or +behaving otherwise idiotically, after the usual fashion of affectionate +wives, she remained silent, and waited till he seemed more as usual.</p> + +<p>Then he said: “Has anyone been here to-day?”</p> + +<p>“No one but Madeline. She’s only just gone.”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes—been out at all?”</p> + +<p>“I went out this morning for a little while.”</p> + +<p>He seemed absent.</p> + +<p>“You enjoyed yourself last night, didn’t you?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, it was rather fun. Yet, somehow, the Russian Ballet never +leaves me in good spirits for the next day. It doesn’t really leave a +pleasant impression somehow—an agreeable flavour.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>“Doesn’t it—why?”</p> + +<p>“One wants to see it, one is interested, from curiosity, and then, +afterwards, there’s a sort of Dead Sea-fruitish, sour-grapes, +autumn-leaves, sort of feeling! It’s too remote from real life and yet +it hasn’t an uplifting effect. At any rate it always depresses me.”</p> + +<p>He gave her a rather searching look, and then said:</p> + +<p>“Did Hillier like it?”</p> + +<p>“I think he enjoys everything. He’s always so cheery.”</p> + +<p>“And to-night we’re dining at home?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, I hope so. We’ll have a quiet evening.”</p> + +<p>After a moment Percy said, in a slightly constrained way:</p> + +<p>“I think I shall have to go out for half-an-hour. I want to see a man at +the club.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, must you? But it’s raining so much. Why don’t you ring him up and +ask him to come here?”</p> + +<p>She was anxious not to betray a womanish fear that he might be getting +influenza, as she knew that nothing would annoy him so much as bothering +about him.</p> + +<p>“No; I must go out.”</p> + +<p>She dropped the subject. He took up a new book she had been reading and +talked about it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> somewhat pompously and at great length. The whole time +it struck her he was not like himself. Something was wrong. He was +either worried, or going to be ill. He had either a temper or a +temperature. But she did not refer to it. Dinner was sometimes a good +cure for such indispositions.</p> + +<p>He continued to make conversation in a slightly formal way until he went +out. After he had gone she observed to herself that his manner had +varied from polite absent-mindedness to slight irritability. He had gone +out without telling her anything about his plans. He had not even kissed +her.</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span><a name="IX" id="IX"></a>CHAPTER IX +<br /> +<br />AN ANONYMOUS LETTER</h2> + + +<p class="cap">MRS. HILLIER habitually had breakfast in her own room, for no particular +reason, but because Nigel encouraged her in this luxurious manner of +beginning the day. He said a woman ought not to have to come down until +the day had been a little warmed, and got ready for her; that she should +have time to choose her clothes to harmonise with her moods—time, after +a look at the weather, and hearing the news of the day, to settle on +what the moods should be. For a man, on the contrary, he thought it +ridiculous and weakly idle—indolent in a way not suited to a man. A +man, according to Nigel, ought no more to have his breakfast in bed than +to come down with a bow of blue ribbon in his hair, or to go and lie +down before dressing for a dinner-party.</p> + +<p>However, one morning it darted suddenly into Mary’s head that Nigel, on +going downstairs to breakfast, while she did not, had nearly an hour<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> to +himself. What a horrible idea! What injustice to her! And it occurred to +her that for years she had never seen Nigel open his letters. She had, +indeed, not the slightest idea what his manner at breakfast was like. +Was this fair? He always managed to get out of any invitation to the +country which included them both.</p> + +<p>As soon as she had thought of this, she rang for her maid, and dressed +in the wildest hurry, as though she had to catch a train: leaving her +tray on the little table untouched, the maid running after her to fasten +hooks, and buttons, to stick in pins, and tie ribbons, as though they +were playing a game.</p> + +<p>Mary won. She was flying out of the room when the maid ran after her, +saying:</p> + +<p>“Madame, your tortoiseshell comb is falling out of your hair; won’t you +let me finish dressing it?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t worry, Searle. What <i>does</i> it matter?”</p> + +<p>She flew downstairs.</p> + +<p>Nigel looked up with that intense surprise that no one can succeed in +disguising as the acutest pleasure.</p> + +<p>“Well, by Jove,” he said, in his quick way, which was so cool and casual +that it almost had the effect of a drawl. He looked at her closely, and +said reassuringly:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>“After all, it may not be true; and if it is, it may be for the best.”</p> + +<p>“What may not be true, Nigel. What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“Why, this sudden bad news.”</p> + +<p>“What news? There is no news.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t there? By Jove, this is splendid! Just come down to have +breakfast with me, then! Capital. What will you have, dear?”</p> + +<p>He rang the bell.</p> + +<p>“Are you sorry to see me?” she asked, darting looks at the envelopes by +his plate, looks that were almost sharp enough to open them.</p> + +<p>“Sorry to see you? Don’t be absurd! Your comb’s falling into the sugar +basin, and I shouldn’t think it would improve the taste of the coffee. +Look out! Help! Saved! Mary dear, why don’t you do your hair?”</p> + +<p>“I was afraid you might go out before I came down.”</p> + +<p>“Why, I’m not going out for ages, yet.”</p> + +<p>He gave her his letters in their envelopes, with a half-smile.</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to see them,” she said. “Why do you pass me the letters, +as though you thought I came down for that?”</p> + +<p>Nigel pretended not to hear. He opened the newspaper.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span>“I thought,” she went on, “it seemed rather a shame that I should always +have breakfast upstairs, and leave you alone, without anyone to keep you +company.”</p> + +<p>“Awfully kind of you, but, really, I don’t mind a bit.”</p> + +<p>He gave a quick look round the room. He had again that curious, bitter +sensation of being trapped. Was he now not even going to have this +pleasant morning hour to himself?</p> + +<p>Probably there was not a prettier room in London than this one. It had +the pale pink and green, blue and mauve colouring of spring flowers; the +curved shapes of the dainty artificial creatures who lived for fine and +trivial pleasure only; the best Louis Quinze decoration. And to-day it +was a lovely day; and the warm west wind blew in the breath of the pink +and blue hyacinths in the window-boxes. There was that pleasant gay +buzzing sound of London in June outside in Grosvenor Street: the growing +hum of the season, that made one feel right in it, even if one wasn’t. +Everything was peacefully happy, harsh and hard things seemed unreal; +the world seemed made for birds and butterflies, light sentiment, +colour, perfume and gay music. In this London life seemed like a Watteau +picture.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>Nigel saw that he had never yet realised why he was so fond of this +room, where he always had breakfast. It was because there he was free, +and alone.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Now he was determined that there should be no quarrelling to-day. It is +only fair to Nigel to say that he was always quite determined to keep +away the quarrels; and fought against them. Placed as they were, with +such infinitely more possibilities of happiness than nine <i>ménages</i> out +of ten—though leaving out unfortunately one, and that the most +important part—love—it was terrible that they should quarrel. He was +so easy-going, so ready to ignore her faults, to make the best of things +as they were. And she liked to quarrel, merely because it made her, for +the time, of importance to him. In fact, being madly in love with him, +and both wildly and stupidly jealous, to get up a quarrel was almost the +only satisfaction she ever had, the only effect she ever produced now.</p> + +<p>Since the other evening, when she had behaved with entire want of +self-control, or, perhaps, rather with a kind of instinctive +premeditated hysteria, she appeared to recognise that manner had not +been a real success. She had tried, at all costs, to prevent him going +to the theatre, and had failed.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span>The next day they ignored the trouble; and for some time afterwards she +seemed pleasanter, while he was kind and attentive, believing she had +really forgotten her grievance.</p> + +<p>On the contrary, it was more firmly fixed in her mind than before. She +was absolutely determined that, on no excuse whatever, should he +continue to see Bertha Kellynch.</p> + +<p>She had found out that the host of the evening at the ballet had been +Rupert Denison, and that Madeline Irwin, Bertha and Nigel were the +guests. For more than a week Mary had entirely given up the quarrelsome +and nagging mood, so that Nigel believed she no longer had this absurd +fancy about Bertha. As a matter of fact, for the first time, she had +really been dissembling, had spent a good deal of time and money in +finding out how both Bertha and Nigel spent their time. What little she +had found out had given her an entirely false impression, and that had +resulted in a very desperate determination. She meant to carry it out +this morning. But she wanted to talk a little more to Nigel first.</p> + +<p>“Nigel dear, you know what you said the other evening about giving +parties?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve been thinking, perhaps, dear, you’re right. I find I’ve dropped +nearly all your old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> friends. I think we’d better give one big party—a +reception, I think. Our drawing-room has never been seen yet.”</p> + +<p>Nigel looked up, really pleased to see her taking a more normal sort of +interest in her existence.</p> + +<p>“By Jove! I am glad. That’s capital! Yes, of course. To start with we’ll +give an At Home, as they call ’em.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think there ought to be any sort of entertainment, Nigel?”</p> + +<p>“Well, just as you like. You said you didn’t want music. … How would +it be to have a band to play the whole evening?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, that would do very well. Oh, and, Nigel! I find I’ve been so +careless and forgotten all the addresses and lost the cards of people +that we used to know. I shall want someone to help me.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I suppose Mademoiselle won’t do.”</p> + +<p>“Oh no, she’s no use. I shall engage a typewriter to go through the list +with me and send out cards.”</p> + +<p>“Right-o! good idea.”</p> + +<p>He was quite surprised and satisfied, and thought to himself how wise it +was of him the other day to ignore the absurd fit of excitement when she +had smashed the vases. Certainly she had been better ever since.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>“You’d like me to help you with the list, wouldn’t you, dear?” he said +presently.</p> + +<p>She gave him a sharp look.</p> + +<p>“I suppose we’d better ask everybody we know to this sort of thing,” she +said.</p> + +<p>“Your mother and I are not on the best of terms, I’m afraid. But you +must be sure to ask her, and we’ll make it up.”</p> + +<p>Nigel thought to himself that really would be only fair, considering +that he had practically and ingeniously invented the quarrel on purpose; +in order that he could have an excuse to go out when Mary’s mother came +to see her. But, really, Nigel liked her personally and knew that she +liked him, and that she was not without sympathy for anyone who had to +live with her daughter.</p> + +<p>“I suppose you’ll want me to ask the Kellynches?” asked Mary, in a +rather low voice.</p> + +<p>“It would look natural if you did. But, really, I have seen so little of +them for the last few years that you can please yourself about it.”</p> + +<p>“You’ve accepted several invitations from them,” said Mary, in rather a +cutting tone. “Perhaps it would be as well to return them.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think I’ve ever dined there,” said Nigel casually.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>“Didn’t you meet them that night at the Russian Ballet? Don’t deny it! I +know you all went to supper at the Savoy.”</p> + +<p>“Who’s denying it! You know that Denison asked me to supper at the +Savoy, and that Madeline Irwin was there, and Mrs. Kellynch.”</p> + +<p>“Quite a nice little <i>partie carrée</i>,” said Mary, unable to keep up her +plan of self-control, and speaking in a trembling voice.</p> + +<p>“Now, Mary, don’t be absurd! You know it’s hardly usual for a bachelor +like Rupert to ask three women or three men to supper!”</p> + +<p>“I suppose he drove Miss Irwin home?” said Mary, commanding herself as +well as she could.</p> + +<p>“No, he didn’t. Why should he? Mrs. Kellynch who is Madeline’s intimate +friend, naturally drove Miss Irwin home in her car. And Rupert, who +lives near here, dropped me. It was some little time ago, by the way, +but I remember it quite well. Nice feller Rupert—we ought to ask him, +too.”</p> + +<p>“All right, dear.”</p> + +<p>They parted amiably.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>An hour later Mary was going through her lists of cards and addresses +with the typewriter when she suddenly said:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>“Oh, Miss Wilson, I’m writing a sort of story. And it’s to be told in a +series of letters.”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes.”</p> + +<p>“Will you please take this down. This is the address: Percy Kellynch, +Esq., 100 Sloane Street. It begins like this: ‘Dear Mr. Kellynch——’” +…</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span><a name="X" id="X"></a>CHAPTER X +<br /> +<br />MASTER CLIFFORD KELLYNCH</h2> + + +<p class="cap">LADY KELLYNCH was in the room she usually chose for sitting in for any +length of time, when her son, Clifford (twelve years old), was at home +for the holidays.</p> + +<p>A widow, handsome and excessively dignified, as I have mentioned, with +her prim notions, she was essentially like the old-fashioned idea of an +old maid. As her fine house was very perfectly and meticulously +furnished, she treated the presence of Clifford as an outrage in any +room but this particularly practical and saddle-bag old apartment, where +there was still a corner with a little low chair in it, and boxes full +of toys and other things, which were not only far outgrown by Clifford, +but which were absolutely never seen nowadays at all, and would be +considered far behindhand as amusements for a child of four.</p> + +<p>This extra, additional child, born eighteen years after his brother, and +just before the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> death of his father, was still looked upon by Lady +Kellynch as a curious mixture of an unexpected blessing, an unnecessary +nuisance, and a pleasant surprise. She was always delighted to see him +when he first came home from school, but he was very soon allowed to go +and stay with Bertha and Percy. Bertha adored him and delighted in him +in reality; Lady Kellynch worshipped him in theory, but though she +hardly knew it herself, his presence absolutely interfered with all her +plans about nothing, spoilt her little arrangements for order, and +jarred on the clockwork regularity of her life, especially in her +moments of sentiment.</p> + +<p>He was a very good-looking boy, with smooth black hair and regular +features like his brother, Percy. Perhaps because he was, according to +his mother’s view, very much advanced for his age, he regarded her +rather as a backward child, to whom it would be highly desirable, but +unfortunately practically impossible, to explain life as it is now +lived.</p> + +<p>Lady Kellynch was doing a peculiar little piece of bead embroidery. She +did it every day for ten minutes after lunch with a look at Clifford +every now and then, occasionally counting her beads, as if she was not +altogether quite sure whether or not he ate them when she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> wasn’t +looking. This was the moment that she always chose to have conversation +with him, so as to learn to know his character. A couple of suitable +books, “The Jungle Book,” and “Eric, or Little by Little,” were placed +on a low table by Clifford’s side; but, as a matter of fact, he was +reading <i>The English Review</i>.</p> + +<p>“Clifford darling!”</p> + +<p>He put the magazine down, shoving a newspaper over it.</p> + +<p>“Well, mother?”</p> + +<p>“Tell me something about your life at school, darling.”</p> + +<p>He glanced at the ceiling, then looked down for inspiration.</p> + +<p>“How do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“Well, haven’t you any nice little friends at school, Clifford—any +favourites?”</p> + +<p>He smiled.</p> + +<p>“Oh, good Lord, mother, of course I haven’t! People don’t have little +friends. I don’t know what you mean.”</p> + +<p>She looked rather pained.</p> + +<p>“No friends! Oh, dear, dear, dear! But are there no nice boys that you +like?”</p> + +<p>“No. Most of them are awful rotters.”</p> + +<p>She put down her beads.</p> + +<p>“Clifford! I’m shocked to hear this. Rotters! I suppose that’s one of +your school expressions<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>—you mean no nice boys? Poor little fellow! I +shall make a note of that.”</p> + +<p>He looked up, rather frightened.</p> + +<p>“What on earth for?”</p> + +<p>“Why, I shall certainly speak to your master about it. Oh! to think that +you haven’t got a single friend in the school! <i>All</i> bad boys! There +must be something wrong somewhere!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, mummy, for goodness sake don’t speak to anybody about it. If you +say a word, I tell you, I sha’n’t go back to school. I never heard of +such a thing! I didn’t say they were all bad boys—rot! No. Some of them +aren’t so bad.”</p> + +<p>“Well, tell me about one—if it’s only one, Clifford.”</p> + +<p>He thought a moment.</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid you’ll go writing to the master, as you call it, and get me +expelled for telling tales, or something.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, my darling, of course I won’t! Poor boy! tell me about this one.”</p> + +<p>“There’s one chap who’s fairly decent, a chap called Pickering.”</p> + +<p>“To think,” she murmured to herself, stroking her transformation, and +shaking her head, “to think there should be only one boy fairly decent +in all that enormous school!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>“Oh, well! <i>he’s</i> simply <i>frightfully</i> decent, as a matter of fact. +Pickering fairly takes it. He’s top-hole. There’s nothing he can’t do.”</p> + +<p>“What does he do, darling?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I can’t exactly explain. He’s a bit of all right. It’s frightfully +smart to be seen with him.”</p> + +<p>Lady Kellynch looked surprised at this remark.</p> + +<p>“Clifford—really! I’d no idea you had these social views. Of course +you’re quite right, dear. I’ve always been in favour of your being +friends with little gentlemen. But I shouldn’t like you to be at +all—what is called a snob. So long as he <i>is</i> a little gentleman, of +course, that’s everything.”</p> + +<p>Clifford laughed.</p> + +<p>“I never said Pickering was a gentleman! big or little! You don’t +understand, mother. I mean it’s smart to be seen with him because—oh! I +can’t explain. He’s all right.”</p> + +<p>His mother thought for a little while, then, having heard that it is +right to encourage school friendships at home, so as to know under what +influence your boy got, she said:</p> + +<p>“Would you like, dear, to have this young Master Pickering to tea here +one day?”</p> + +<p>He looked up, and round the room.</p> + +<p>“Oh no, mother; I shouldn’t care for him to come here.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>“Why not, dear?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I can’t explain exactly; it isn’t the sort of place for him.”</p> + +<p>Lady Kellynch was positively frightened to ask why, for fear her boy +should show contempt for his own home, so she didn’t go into the matter, +but remarked:</p> + +<p>“I should think a beautiful house in Onslow Square, with a garden like +this, was just the thing for a boy to like.”</p> + +<p>He shook his head with a humorous expression of contempt.</p> + +<p>“Pickering wouldn’t go into a <i>Square</i> garden, mother!”</p> + +<p>She waited a moment, wondering what shaped garden was suited to him, +what form of pleasaunce was worthy of the presence of this exceptional +boy, and then said, trying to ascertain the point of view:</p> + +<p>“Would you take him to see Percy?”</p> + +<p>He brightened up directly.</p> + +<p>“Percy! Oh yes, rather. I’d like him to see Bertha. I shall ask her to +let me take him one day.”</p> + +<p>Lady Kellynch felt vaguely pained, and envious and jealous, but on +reflection realised to herself that probably the wonderful Pickering +would be a very great nuisance, and make a noise, and create general +untidiness and confusion,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> in which Bertha was quite capable of taking +part; so she said:</p> + +<p>“Do so, if you like, dear. You’re going to see Bertha soon, aren’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I’m going to see her to-day.” He quickly put <i>The English Review</i> +under the cushion, sitting on it as he saw his mother look up from her +work.</p> + +<p>“Bertha’s all right; she’s pretty too.”</p> + +<p>“She’s very good and kind to you, I must say,” said Lady Kellynch. “As +they have asked you so often, I think I should like you to pay her a +nice little attention to-day, dear. Take her a pretty basket of +flowers.”</p> + +<p>Clifford’s handsome dark face became overclouded with boredom.</p> + +<p>“Oh, good Lord, mother! can’t you telephone to a florist and have it +sent to her, if she’s <i>got</i> to have vegetables?”</p> + +<p>“But surely, dear, it would be nicer for you to take it.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, mother, it would be awful rot, carting about floral tribs in a taxi +all over London.”</p> + +<p>“Floral tribs? What are floral tribs? Oh, tributes! I see! In a taxi! +No. I never dreamt of your doing such a thing. Ridiculous extravagance! +Go from Kensington to Sloane Street in a taxi!”</p> + +<p>“How did you suppose I’d take it, then?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>“I supposed you’d walk,” said Lady Kellynch, in a frightened voice.</p> + +<p>“Walk! Great Scott! Walk with a basket of flowers! What next! I didn’t +know you were bringing me up as a messenger-boy. No, mother, I’m too old +to be a boy scout, or anything of that sort. What have you got Warden +for? Why don’t you send the footman? But far the most sensible way is to +ring up the place itself, and give the order.”</p> + +<p>“No, dear,” said Lady Kellynch, rather crushed. She had pictured his +entrance with some beautiful flowers to please his sister-in-law. “Never +mind; it doesn’t matter.”</p> + +<p>“Mind you,” said the spoilt boy, standing up, and looking at himself in +the glass. “Mind you I should be awfully glad to give Bertha anything +she likes. I don’t mind. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll call in at +that place in Bond Street, and get her some chocolates.”</p> + +<p>“Charbonnel and Walker’s, I suppose you mean,” said his mother.</p> + +<p>He smiled.</p> + +<p>“They’ll do. Pickering says his brother, who’s an artist, is going to do +a historical picture for next year’s Academy on the subject of ‘The +First Meeting between Charbonnel and Walker.’”</p> + +<p>She looked bewildered.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>“Just as you like, my dear. Take her some bonbons if you prefer it. +Wait! One moment, Clifford. Bertha hates sweets. She never touches +them.”</p> + +<p>“It doesn’t matter,” he answered. “I do.”</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span><a name="XI" id="XI"></a>CHAPTER XI +<br /> +<br />A DISCOVERY</h2> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 8px;"> +<img src="images/quote.png" width="8" height="7" alt="Open quote" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="cap">COME in, old boy!”</p> + +<p>Bertha was lying on the sofa reading a large book. She didn’t put down +either her little feet or the book when her young brother-in-law came +in.</p> + +<p>He also had a book in his pocket, which he took out. Then he produced a +box in silver paper.</p> + +<p>“For you,” he remarked, and then immediately cut the blue ribbon with a +penknife and proceeded to begin the demolition of the chocolates.</p> + +<p>“A present for me?” said Bertha.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said, taking a second one rather quickly and glancing at the +second row.</p> + +<p>“I’m so glad you’ve got me the kind you like. I hope you’ve got those +with the burnt almonds that you’re so particularly fond of?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, rather!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>“Thanks. That was nice and thoughtful of you; I know they’re your +favourite sort.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, they are.”</p> + +<p>“And what I always think is so nice about you, Clifford,” Bertha went +on, “is that you’re so truly thoughtful. I mean, you never forget your +own tastes. You really take trouble to get yourself any little thing you +like. You put yourself out.”</p> + +<p>“Oh—I——”</p> + +<p>“Oh no, I’m not flattering you; I really mean it. You’re such a nice +thoughtful boy. I’ve seen you take a lot of trouble, rather than deprive +yourself of anything you cared for.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Bertha!”</p> + +<p>“Are you going to stay long to-day?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I am,” said Clifford, taking up the book he had brought with him. +“As long as I can.”</p> + +<p>“Oh.”</p> + +<p>“How long can I?”</p> + +<p>“Till dinner, or till anyone turns up that I want to talk to.”</p> + +<p>“Right-o! But you can send me into another room. I needn’t go home, need +I?”</p> + +<p>She laughed.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you silly boy! Of course not.”</p> + +<p>“I say, have you seen my report?” he asked gravely.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>“Some of it. Your mother read out little bits.”</p> + +<p>“Which little bits?” he asked rather anxiously.</p> + +<p>“Oh, the worst of course!” said Bertha. “The purple patches! You’re a +credit to the family, I don’t think!”</p> + +<p>“She asked me who was my nicest little friend at school,” said Clifford.</p> + +<p>“And what did you say?”</p> + +<p>“I told her about Pickering. I say, Bertha, … can I bring Pickering +here?”</p> + +<p>“Of course you can.”</p> + +<p>“May I give him a regular sort of invitation from you, then?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, rather. Tell him that I and Percy ask him to come and live here +from to-morrow morning for the rest of his natural life. Or, if that +doesn’t seem cordial enough, we’ll adopt him as our only son.”</p> + +<p>“Oh no! I think that’s too much.”</p> + +<p>“Is it? Well, make it from to-morrow afternoon. Or perhaps we’d better +not be effusive; it wouldn’t look well. So, instead of that, I’ll invite +him to go to the Zoological Gardens on Sunday fortnight for an hour, and +you and he can have buns and tea at your own expense there. That’s not +too hospitable and gushing, is it?”</p> + +<p>He laughed.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>“You do look smart, Bertha!” he remarked. “Your shoes are always so +frightfully right. I say, can’t you tell mother to wear the same sort of +shoes? And tell her to look narrower, and not have such high collars.”</p> + +<p>“My dear boy, your mother dresses beautifully,” said Bertha. “What do +you want her to look like?”</p> + +<p>“I should like her to look like some of those little cards on cigarette +boxes, or like a picture post-card, if you want to know,” he admitted +candidly.</p> + +<p>“That’s absurd, Cliff.”</p> + +<p>“But, Bertha, some of the fellows’ mothers do.”</p> + +<p>“Remember your mother is <i>Percy’s</i> mother, too.”</p> + +<p>“Pickering’s mother doesn’t look much older than you,” he replied.</p> + +<p>“Oh—what a horrid woman!”</p> + +<p>He smiled. “Why do you call her a horrid woman? For not looking older +than you?”</p> + +<p>“Oh! tell her to mind her own business, and not go interfering with me. +I shall look whatever age I choose without consulting her!” Bertha +pretended to pout and be offended, and went on reading for a little +while.</p> + +<p>He took another chocolate and turned a page.</p> + +<p>She did not ask to see the book.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>“That’s what I call so jolly about you,” presently said Clifford. “When +I come to see you, you don’t keep asking me questions, or giving me +things, or advice, or anything. You do what you like, and I do what I +like—I mean to say, we both do just what we like.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; that’s the way to be pleasant companions,” said Bertha. “I go your +way, and you go mine.”</p> + +<p>“How’s Percy?” the boy asked presently.</p> + +<p>“Percy’s the same as usual. Only I fancy he seems a little depressed.”</p> + +<p>Presently Clifford looked up and said:</p> + +<p>“Anyway, you’ll think it over, Bertha; and see what you decide to do +about asking Pickering?”</p> + +<p>“Rather!” said Bertha, turning a page absently. “He’s rather a wonderful +chap, then?”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t he!”</p> + +<p>“What sort?”</p> + +<p>“What <i>sort</i>?” cried Clifford, dropping his book. “Why, Bertha, I was +<i>with</i> him, <i>actually with him</i>, when he went into the country post +office and asked the woman if she would let him have small change for +ten shillings, and he found he hadn’t the half-sovereign then, but would +pay her when he didn’t see her again! And then he said if she wouldn’t +do that, he’d<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> like to buy some stamps, and asked if she’d show him some +to choose from. And then he said—I saw him do it—’I’ll take those two +in the middle—I like the colour.’ When she said they were fivepence he +said that was too expensive, and he couldn’t run to it. And then he +wanted to buy some sweets—they sell everything at those country +shops—and she wrapped some up for him, and then he said he hadn’t got a +penny, and would she put it down to Lord Arthur’s account—that’s an +uncle of his who didn’t know anything about it, and hadn’t got any +account. And when she refused, fancy, Bertha! he asked if she’d take +stamps, as she seemed fond of them, and when she said she would, he +stamped twice on the floor and ran out of the shop, and I ran after him. +She <i>was</i> angry!”</p> + +<p>“He seems a useful boy.”</p> + +<p>“Rather! His people are frightfully rich, you know,” went on Clifford. +“When they tease him about it at school, he says he’s never allowed to +use the same motor twice, and that they’re made of solid gold! He chaffs +everybody.”</p> + +<p>Clifford murmured on rather disjointedly, and Bertha read without +listening much, occasionally making some remark, when the telephone +rang.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>Bertha had an extension on the little table next to her sofa.</p> + +<p>“Shall I go?” asked Clifford.</p> + +<p>“No. Just to the other end of the room.”</p> + +<p>He obeyed, and fell into the depths of a fat arm-chair.</p> + +<p>“That you, Nigel? How is it all going on? Madeline hasn’t heard from him +lately—not for ages.”</p> + +<p>“Quite so,” answered Nigel’s voice. “I’ve found out something I want you +to know. It isn’t really serious—at least I’m pretty sure I can put it +right, but I’d like to see you about it; it wouldn’t take you a moment.”</p> + +<p>“But is it a thing that may make any difference?” she asked rather +anxiously.</p> + +<p>“No. Not if it’s taken in time,” he answered.</p> + +<p>“Oh, can’t you ’phone about it, Nigel?”</p> + +<p>“Not very well, my dear. It really wouldn’t take you a minute to hear +about it <i>viva voce</i>.”</p> + +<p>“But you can’t keep on calling every day!” cried Bertha, exasperated.</p> + +<p>“Quite so. Couldn’t you go in for a few minutes to-morrow morning at the +Grosvenor Gallery in Bond Street? Say at about eleven or twelve? I won’t +keep you five minutes, I promise, and you can tell me if you approve of +my plan.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span>“Very well, I’ll do that. Quarter-past eleven,” added Bertha.</p> + +<p>“Only one thing, Bertha, don’t tell anyone—not a soul.”</p> + +<p>“Why not?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll explain when I see you. But you mustn’t mention it. It’s +nothing—two seconds.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, all right! But why so many mysteries? You might just as well tell +me now on the telephone.”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid I can’t; I have to show you a letter.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose Rupert has been seeing Moona Chivvey again? Is that it?”</p> + +<p>“Well, yes. But that’s not all. Not a word to Madeline! Isn’t it +curious, Bertha, troubles about women are always the same. Either <i>they</i> +want <i>you</i> to marry <i>them,</i> or <i>they</i> won’t marry <i>you</i>!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, really? Good-bye.”</p> + +<p>“How brilliant you’re looking, Bertha! You’ve got your hair done in that +mysterious new way again.”</p> + +<p>“How on <i>earth</i> can you know through the telephone?”</p> + +<p>“Why, easily. By your voice. You talk in a different way—to suit it.”</p> + +<p>“Do I? How funny! Good-bye.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>Ten minutes later Percy came in.</p> + +<p>He seemed pleased to see his young brother.</p> + +<p>“What’s that book you’ve brought, Cliff?”</p> + +<p>“It’s ‘The New Arabian Nights.’”</p> + +<p>Percy laughed.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, I know—the copy I gave Bertha. Have you decided to let her +have it back on mature consideration?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I say, Percy! Come off the roof, there’s a good chap,” said the +boy, blushing a little.</p> + +<p>“I think I shall have to take a holiday from chambers to-morrow,” Percy +said. “Shall we take him out to lunch, Bertha?”</p> + +<p>“By all means; or, at any rate, you take him, Percy.”</p> + +<p>“Are you engaged in the morning?” he asked her very quickly.</p> + +<p>“I ought to look in at my dressmaker’s for a minute,” she said, feeling +angry with Nigel that he had made her promise to conceal even a few +minutes of her day.</p> + +<p>No more was said on the subject.</p> + +<p>Presently, Percy went upstairs to his room and turned the key. He then +took out of a drawer and placed in front of him, in their order, three +rather curious-looking letters, written in typewriting on ordinary plain +white notepaper. The first two, both of which began “<i>Dear Mr. +Kellynch</i>,” were four pages long,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> and gave some information in somewhat +mysterious terms. The third one had no beginning, and merely mentioned +an hour and a place where, he was told, he would find his wife on the +following morning, if he wished to do so, in the company of an +individual with the initials N. H. The letter further advised him to go +there and find her and take steps to put a stop to the proceedings which +had been watched for some time by somebody who signed the letter “your +true and reliable friend.”</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>The right thing to do, according to all unwritten laws of the conduct of +a gentleman, would be to destroy such communications and at once forget +them. To show them to her, Percy felt, would be degrading to himself and +to such a woman as his wife, whom he now realised he placed on a +pedestal. The idea of seeing the pedestal rock seemed to take the earth +from under his feet. But not only that, he now felt that, though he +hadn’t known it, he loved her, not with a mild, half-patronising +affection, but with the maddening jealousy of a lover in the most +passionate stage of love. A man placed in his position nearly always +thinks that it is the idea of being deceived that hurts the most. +Particularly when the object of suspicion is his wife. Now he knew it +was not that; he could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> forgive the deception; but he couldn’t bear to +think that any other man could think of her from that point of view at +all. And if he found that the mere facts stated in the three letters +were true, even if the inferences suggested were utterly false, he had +made up his mind what to do. He would go and see Nigel on the subject, +forbid him the house, saying that too frequent visits had caused talk, +and never mention the subject to Bertha. That was his present plan. +Perhaps it would not be possible to carry it out, but that was his idea.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>The fact that Bertha had been vague about her morning engagement—for it +was really unlike her not to seem pleased at the idea of spending the +whole day with him and the little brother—so agonised Percy that he +pretended to have a headache and saw practically nothing of Bertha till +the next day. He said then that he would go to chambers, meet Clifford +at Prince’s and come home after lunch and take Bertha out somewhere. +This was to leave her perfectly free, so that she need not alter any +arrangements. He wished to see what she would do.</p> + +<p>It was a glorious morning, and Percy felt rather mean and miserable and +unlike the day as he left the house.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>Bertha was already dressed, looking deliciously fresh and pink, and +sparkling and fair as the sunshine. A second of acute physical jealousy +made him remark rather bitterly before he left that her hat was a little +bit striking, wasn’t it? Upon which she at once, in her good-tempered, +amiable way (only too delighted that he should have noticed anything in +her toilette even to object to it), plucked the white feather out of the +black hat and put a little coat on over her dress, so as to look less +noticeable.</p> + +<p>At a quarter past eleven Percy paid his shilling at the gallery, walked +in, looking slowly at the drawings on the walls in the narrow passage +that led to the rooms.</p> + +<p>The moment he reached the first door on the left-hand side, which was +open, he saw through it, exactly opposite to him, seated on a sofa, +Bertha, looking up and chattering to Nigel Hillier, who was looking down +in a protecting manner, and listening with great interest to her +conversation.</p> + +<p>Neither of them saw him.</p> + +<p>The pain of finding one part of the letter true was so startling and +terrible that he dared not look another moment; a second more, and he +might have made a scandal, perhaps for ever after to be regretted, and +possibly entirely groundless.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>He walked straight out of the gallery again, and drove to Sloane Street +in a taxi. During the drive he felt extraordinary sensations. He +remembered an occasion when he had been to a dentist as a little boy, +and the strange new suffering it had caused him. Then he thought that +when he got home, he would feel better. Instead of that the sight of the +familiar house was unbearable agony; he could not endure to go into it; +he drove back again to the club of which both he and Nigel were members, +and where Nigel was generally to be found before lunch. There he tried +to wait and master himself a little; it was peculiar torture to have +left them there now. He felt he would like to go back to the gallery and +at least spoil their morning. But that, his sound sense told him, would +be a mistake. He would wait there till Nigel came in.</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span><a name="XII" id="XII"></a>CHAPTER XII +<br /> +<br />A LOVE SCENE</h2> + + +<p class="cap">PERCY waited on and on, minute after minute, half-hour after half-hour, +reading the morning papers, staring with apparent deep interest at the +pictures in the weekly journals—rather depressing foreshortened +snapshots of society at racecourses. These people, caught unawares, +seemed to be all feet and parasols, or smiles and muffs. Then, feeling +rather exhausted, he ordered a drink, and forgot it, and smoked a +cigarette. When he saw anyone he knew, he put on an absent-minded air, +and avoided the friend’s eye. He looked at his watch as if in sudden +anxiety, and found that it was half-past one. This was the time he was +to meet his little brother at Prince’s. He made inquiries and found that +Nigel was expected to lunch at the club. It was horrible! He could not +leave the boy at the restaurant waiting for him, and he was not up to +the mark either, at the moment, for seeing Nigel Hillier; he felt as if +the top of his head<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> had been smashed in. Yet his common-sense and +reasoning power gradually prevailed over his emotion. And as he sat +there, Percy changed his mind.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>At first he had thought it would be cowardly to her to attack his wife +on the subject; it was the man with whom he should quarrel. And now it +seemed to him different. His point of view altered. It seemed only fair +now to give Bertha herself a chance of explaining matters. Thinking of +her fresh, frank expression that morning, and looking back, he began to +have, by some sort of second sight, a vision of his own stupid +injustice. No! he must have been wrong! Nigel may have been a scoundrel, +or—anything—but it couldn’t be Bertha’s fault. She may have been +imprudent, out of pure innocence; that was all.</p> + +<p>He got up, and now he decided to take his brother out to lunch, and then +go back and talk to Bertha.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>During the noisy, crowded lunch at Prince’s, which entertained the boy +so much that there was no necessity for the elder brother to talk, Percy +came to a firm decision.</p> + +<p>He would never tell Bertha anything at all about the anonymous letters.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>He would tell her that he had seen her this morning at the gallery—as +if by accident; but he would frankly admit a jealousy, even a suspicion +of Nigel.</p> + +<p>He would ask Bertha in so many words not to see Nigel again.</p> + +<p>If she would agree to this, and if she were as affectionate as formerly, +what did the rest matter? The letters must have been slanders; who +<i>could</i> have written them? But, after all, what did it matter? If Bertha +consented to do as he asked, they were untrue, and that was everything. +He and Bertha would drop Hillier, and he would put the whole horrible +business behind him; he would wipe it out, and forget it. The mere +thought of such joy made him tremble … it seemed too glorious to be +real, and as they approached the house again he began to believe in it.</p> + +<p>Clifford had thoroughly enjoyed himself. He felt quite grown-up as he +parted with Percy at Sloane Street, and drove home, singing to himself +the refrain of Pickering’s favourite song: “How much wood would a +woodchuck chuck, if a woodchuck would chuck wood?”</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>“Percy, what is the matter?” Bertha asked anxiously, as she looked at +him.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>He had gone through a great deal that morning and looked rather worn +out. … He spoke in a lower voice than usual.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Bertha,” he said, “I have something to tell you.”</p> + +<p>She waited, then, at a pause, said, rather pathetically:</p> + +<p>“Oh, Percy, do tell me what it is? I’ve felt so worried about you +lately. You seem to be changed. … I have felt very pained and hurt. +Tell me what it is.”</p> + +<p>Percy looked at her. She was looking sweet, anxious and sincere. She +leant forward, holding out her little hand. … If this was not genuine, +then nothing on earth ever could be!</p> + +<p>“Tell me, Percy,” she repeated, looking up at him, as he stood by the +fire, with that little movement of her fair head that he used to say was +like a canary.</p> + +<p>Percy looked down at her; all his imposingness, all his air of +importance, and his occasional tinge of pompousness, had entirely +vanished. He was simple, angry and unhappy.</p> + +<p>“I found I hadn’t got to go to chambers early this morning after all, so +I walked down Bond Street. I went into the Grosvenor Gallery. I saw you +there. … It seemed very strange you hadn’t told me. Why didn’t you? +Why<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> didn’t you? Bertha, don’t tell me anything that isn’t true!”</p> + +<p>Her eyes sparkled. She stood up beaming radiant joy. She went to him +impulsively; everything was all right; he was jealous!</p> + +<p>“Oh, Percy! I can explain it all.”</p> + +<p>Hastily, eagerly, impulsively, with the most obvious honesty and +frankness, she told him of how Nigel had promised to help her with +Madeline, of how he had planned with her to make Madeline happy; she +told him of the variable and unaccountable conduct of Rupert Denison to +Madeline, of his marked attention at one moment, his coldness at +another. Foolishly, she had been led to believe that Nigel could make +things all right. Now this morning Nigel had asked her to meet him to +tell her that Rupert had been seen choosing hats for another girl. +Bertha was in doubt whether she ought to tell Madeline, and make her try +and cure her devotion. And Bertha had thought it all the kinder of Nigel +because his brother, Charlie, was very much in love with her.</p> + +<p>Percy stopped her in the middle of the story. He could take no sort of +interest in it at present. He was much too happy and relieved; he was in +the seventh heaven.</p> + +<p>“Yes … yes … all right, dear. Only you oughtn’t to have made an +appointment with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> him. Only promise that never again—— You see, things +can be misconstrued. And, anyhow, I don’t like to see you with Nigel +Hillier. Frankly, I can’t stand it. You’ll make this sacrifice for +me—if it is one, Bertha?”</p> + +<p>He had quite decided to conceal all about the letters.</p> + +<p>“Indeed, indeed I will; and I know I was wrong,” she said. “I mean it’s +no good trying to help people too much. They must play their own game. +You understand, don’t you? Nigel was only to show me a letter he had +written inviting the other girl to lunch—to take her away from Rupert. +But it’s all nonsense, and I’ll have nothing more to do with it.”</p> + +<p>“Then that’s all right,” said Percy, sitting down, with a great sigh of +relief.</p> + +<p>“You didn’t really think for a moment, seriously, that I ever—that I +didn’t—oh, you never stopped knowing how much I love you?” she asked, +with tears in her eyes.</p> + +<p>Percy said that he had not exactly thought that. Also, he was not +jealous—that was not the word—he merely wished her to promise never to +see or speak to Nigel again as long as they lived, and never to +recognise him if she met him: that was all. He was perfectly +reasonable.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span>“It’s perhaps a little bit difficult in some ways, dearest. But I +promise you faithfully to do my very, very best. And this I absolutely +swear—I will never see him without your approving and knowing all about +it. But as I shouldn’t exactly like him to think you thought anything—I +mean—I think you must leave it a little to me—to my tact, to get rid +of him; and trust me. And I want you to know that I shouldn’t care if I +never saw him again. I don’t even like him. And I really don’t think he +cares for me; I’m quite certain it’s your fancy.”</p> + +<p>“Can you give me your word of honour that he never——”</p> + +<p>“Never, by word or look,” answered Bertha.</p> + +<p>“That’s all right,” said Percy.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Bertha sat on the arm of his chair and leant her head against his +shoulder.</p> + +<p>At that moment he thought he had never known what happiness was before.</p> + +<p>Then she said:</p> + +<p>“It’s all right now, then, Percy? That was all, and the cloud’s gone?”</p> + +<p>“Quite, absolutely,” he answered, mentally tearing the letters into +little bits.</p> + +<p>Then she said:</p> + +<p>“Percy, of course you never really thought … you never could think +that I meant to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> deceive you in any way. … But supposing Nigel had had +any treacherous ideas—let us say, supposing that Nigel, though he’s +married, and all that—suppose you found out that he had liked me, and +wanted to spoil our happiness? … I mean, suppose you found out that he +had been making love to me? … What would you have done?”</p> + +<p>“I should have killed him,” replied Percy. Could a man have said +anything that would please a woman as much as this primitive assertion?</p> + +<p>Bertha threw her arms round his neck. She was perfectly happy. He was in +love with her.</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span><a name="XIII" id="XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII +<br /> +<br />RECONCILIATION</h2> + + +<p class="cap">BERTHA decided it was better to curtail Nigel’s visits and make them +fewer gradually; she had quite convinced Percy of her sincerity, and he +also had come to the conclusion that it would be foolish and <i>infra dig</i> +to let the jealousy be suspected. He trusted her again now; and they +were both deeply and intensely happy. Being ashamed of the letters, +Percy said nothing about them; in a day or two he had come to the +conclusion that he would leave it entirely to Bertha’s tact.</p> + +<p>“All I ask is,” he said, “that you will see him as little and as seldom +as you can, without making too much fuss about it, or letting him know +what I thought.”</p> + +<p>“And I promise to do that,” she said. “I long never to see him again. +It’s only on account of Madeline I wanted to have one more little talk +with him—about her and Rupert. After that I’ll manage without him, I +assure<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> you. I swear not to give him anything more to do for me. But +what I can’t understand, dear, is what put the idea into your head.”</p> + +<p>“Never mind. You were seeing him too often. And, remember, I know that +he was in love with you once and wanted to marry you.”</p> + +<p>“But, dear boy, that was ten years ago, and he married somebody else.”</p> + +<p>“Which he may regret by now. Well, I trust all to your tact, Bertha.”</p> + +<p>“He’s coming to-day,” Bertha said. “And then I’m going to make him +understand I no longer want his help.”</p> + +<p>“Right.”</p> + +<p>Percy went out, looking very happy. He did not forget to kiss her now, +and he himself had sent the large basket of flowers that Nigel nearly +fell over when he came in the afternoon.</p> + +<p>“A new admirer?” asked Nigel.</p> + +<p>“No, an old one. So you say that you met Rupert buying a hat for Miss +Chivvey, and saw them the next day walking together, and she was wearing +it.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. And, as I told you, I thought this rather serious, so I wrote and +invited the young lady to lunch with me.”</p> + +<p>“Did she accept?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>“That is what I’ve come to tell you about to-day. She was engaged, but +asked me to invite her another time.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly. Now, Nigel, I want to tell you something. I think I’ve been +doing wrong intriguing for Madeline, and it hasn’t been fair to her +really. I’ve decided to tell her what you told me about Rupert, and then +leave things to take their course. And I oughtn’t to countenance asking +the other girl to lunch. It was horrid of me—I’m ashamed of myself, +both on account of her and of Mary. Don’t do it; I’d rather not.”</p> + +<p>Nigel looked up at her sharply.</p> + +<p>“Do these sudden and violent scruples mean simply that you don’t want me +any more?”</p> + +<p>“A little,” she replied.</p> + +<p>“I’ve noticed you’ve seemed very cold and unkind to me the last week or +so,” he said. “You seem to be trying to change our relations.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see why we should have any relations,” answered Bertha. “After +all, I know instinctively that Mary doesn’t like me.”</p> + +<p>“What in heaven’s name does that matter?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“A good deal to me.”</p> + +<p>There was a moment’s silence.</p> + +<p>Nigel looked surprised and more hurt than she would have expected. Then +he said:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>“All right, Bertha. I hope I can take a hint. I won’t bother you any +more. I won’t try to help you in anything till you ask me.”</p> + +<p>She was silent.</p> + +<p>Then he went on:</p> + +<p>“Might I venture to ask whether you suspect I’ve been making the most of +our plans for Madeline to see as much of you as I could?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I didn’t say that.”</p> + +<p>“If you had, perhaps you would have been right,” he said, but seeing her +annoyed expression he changed his tone, and said:</p> + +<p>“No, my dear, truly I only wanted to do a good turn for you and your +friend. It’s off now, that’s all. I sha’n’t interfere again.”</p> + +<p>He stood up.</p> + +<p>She hesitated for one moment.</p> + +<p>“Do you think Rupert has not been sincere with Madeline?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t say. I wouldn’t go so far as that. I think he varies—likes the +contrast between the two. But if he decides to marry, I don’t think he’d +propose to Miss Chivvey. Well, good-bye. I won’t call again till you ask +me.”</p> + +<p>Her look of obvious relief as she smilingly held out her hand piqued him +into saying:</p> + +<p>“I see you want your time to yourself more. Before I go, will you answer +me one little question?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>“Of course I will.”</p> + +<p>He still held her hand. She took it away.</p> + +<p>“What is the question?”</p> + +<p>“Who sent you those flowers, Bertha?”</p> + +<p>“Have you any right to ask?”</p> + +<p>“I think so—as an old friend. They’re compromisingly large, and there’s +a strange mixture of orchids and forget-me-nots, roses and gardenias +that I don’t quite like. It looks like somebody almost wildly +lavish—not anxious to show off his taste, but sincerely throwing his +whole soul into the basket.”</p> + +<p>She laughed, pleased.</p> + +<p>“Who sent you the flowers, Bertha?”</p> + +<p>He was standing up by the door.</p> + +<p>“Percy,” she answered.</p> + +<p>“Oh!”</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span><a name="XIV" id="XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV +<br /> +<br />“TANGO”</h2> + + +<p class="cap">MADELINE had taken the gossip about Rupert and Miss Chivvey very +bravely, but very seriously. It pained her terribly, but she was +grateful to Bertha for telling her.</p> + +<p>A fortnight passed, during which she heard nothing from Rupert, and then +one morning, the day after a dance, she called to see Bertha.</p> + +<p>Percy had had no more anonymous letters, and Nigel had remained away. He +was deeply grateful, for he supposed Bertha had managed with perfect +tact to stop the talk without giving herself away, or making him +ridiculous.</p> + +<p>Bertha had never looked happier in her life. She was sitting smiling to +herself, apparently in a dream, when her friend came in.</p> + +<p>“Bertha,” she said, “I have some news. I danced the tango with Nigel’s +brother Charlie last night, and at the end—he really does dance +divinely—what do you think happened? I had gone there perfectly +miserable, for I had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> seen and heard nothing of Mr. Denison except that +one letter after the Ballet—and then Charlie proposed to me, and I +accepted him, like in a book!”</p> + +<p>Bertha took her hand.</p> + +<p>“My dear Madeline, how delightful! This is what I’ve always wanted. It’s +so utterly satisfactory in every way.”</p> + +<p>“I know, and he is a darling boy. I was very frank with him, Bertha. I +didn’t say I was in love with him, and he said he would teach me to be.”</p> + +<p>“It’s frightfully satisfactory,” continued Bertha. “Tell me Madeline, +what made you change like this?”</p> + +<p>“Well, dear, I’ve been getting so unhappy: I feel Rupert has been simply +playing with me. I heard the other day that <i>they</i> were dining out alone +together—I mean Rupert and that girl. I don’t blame him, Bertha. It was +I, in a sense, who threw myself at his head. I admired and liked him and +gradually let myself go and get silly about him. But this last week I’ve +been pulling myself together and seeing how hopeless it was, and just as +I’d begun to conquer my feeling—to fight it down—then this nice dear +boy, so frank and straightforward and sincere, came along, and—oh! I +thought I should like it. To stop at home with mother<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> after my sort of +disappointment seemed too flat and miserable: I couldn’t bear it. Now I +shall have an object in life. But, Bertha,” continued Madeline, putting +her head on her shoulder, “I’ve been absolutely frank, you know.”</p> + +<p>“I guessed you would be; it was like you. But I hope you didn’t say too +much to Charlie. It would be a pity to cloud his pleasure and spoil the +sparkle of the fun. By the time you’re choosing carpets together and +receiving your third cruet-stand you will have forgotten such a person +as Rupert Denison exists—except as a man who played a sort of +character-part in the curtain-raiser of your existence.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I hope so. But I did tell Charlie I was not in love with him, and +he said he would try to make me.”</p> + +<p>“I only hope that you’re not doing it so that your mother should ask +Rupert to the wedding? Not that I myself sha’n’t enjoy that.”</p> + +<p>“Honestly, Bertha, I don’t think so. More than anything it’s because I +want an object in life.”</p> + +<p>“Here’s a letter from Nigel,” said Bertha. “I expect he’ll be making +this an excuse to drop in again.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; but you mustn’t tease Percy, because everything happened just as +you wanted it to,” said Madeline. “I really was surprised at how<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> +suddenly and determinedly Charlie began again. He had seemed almost to +give me up. He dances the tango so beautifully; I think it all came +through that. We got on so splendidly at tango teas. At any rate, but +for that I shouldn’t have seen him so often.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a tango marriage,” said Bertha.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Bertha strongly suspected a little manœuvring of Nigel’s in the +course of the last fortnight, but did not realise how much there had +been of it. The day Bertha had practically said he was not to interfere +any longer, Nigel thoroughly realised that Percy must be jealous. He was +wildly annoyed at this, since it would be a great obstacle, besides +proving Percy was in love, but he saw the urgency of falling in at once +with her wish; not opposing it, being absolutely obedient to it. This +was not the moment to push himself forward—to show his feelings. Tact +and diplomacy must be used. Of course, he had not the faintest notion +about Mary and her letters, but merely thought that a sudden relapse of +conjugal affection on Percy’s side—confound him!—and an attack of +unwonted jealousy had made Percy say something to Bertha to cause her +coldness.</p> + +<p>He remained away, but he thought of more than one plan to regain the old +intimacy.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span>Quite unscrupulously he played several little tricks, at least he made +several remarks about one to the other, to make the apparently +hesitating Rupert more interested in Miss Chivvey and less so in +Madeline, while he urged his brother Charlie on, and insisted on his +continuing his court. The result was quicker than he had expected, and +after a very little diplomacy Charlie had found Madeline willing to +accept him. As Madeline was to Bertha just like a sister, it was natural +that they should meet again now, and in this letter Nigel asked +permission to call and have a chat.</p> + +<p>Bertha agreed, for although she was slightly on her guard against the +possibility of his wishing to flirt, she had not the faintest idea, as I +have said, of Nigel’s determined resolve.</p> + +<p>Nigel had been fairly unhappy of late. Caring very little for any of his +other friends, and having this <i>idée fixe</i> about Bertha—which became +much stronger at the opposition and the idea of Percy’s jealousy—he +moped a good deal and had spent more time than usual with Mary. Nigel +was one of those very rare men, who are becoming rarer and rarer, who, +having passed the age of thirty-five, still regard love as the principal +object of life. That Nigel did so was what made him so immensely popular +with women as a rule. Women feel instinctively<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> when this is so, and the +man who makes sport, ambition or art his first interest, and women, and +romance in general, a mere secondary pleasure, is never regarded with +nearly the same favour as the man who values women chiefly, even though +that very man is naturally far less reliable in his affection and almost +invariably deceives them. To be placed in the background of life is what +the average woman dislikes the most; she would rather be of the first +importance as a woman even if she knows she has many rivals.</p> + +<p>Bertha was exceptional, in that she did not care for the Don Juan type +of man, but was rather inclined to despise him. She would far rather +have ambition, business, art, duty, any other object in life as her +rival, than another woman.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Percy received no more of the singular typewritten letters. He kept +those that he had locked up in a box. Mary had grown a little frightened +at the apparent success of those she sent. She never heard anything +about them, but she knew that Nigel had not been seeing Bertha since the +note about the picture gallery. She began to be happier again. Nigel was +a great deal more at home, though not more affectionate. And Mary was +one of those women, by no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> means infrequent, who are fairly satisfied if +they can, by hook or by crook, by any trick or any tyranny, keep the man +they care for somehow under the same roof with them—if only his body is +in the house, even if they know it is against his will, and that his +soul is far away. She would far rather that his desire was elsewhere, if +only <i>he</i> were positively present—the one dread, really, being that he +should be enjoying himself with anyone else. Mary preferred a thousand +times a silent, sulky evening with Nigel going up to his room about the +same time that she went to hers, than, as he used to be when they were +first married, gay, affectionate and caressing to her, and then going +out. She would gladly make him a kind of prisoner, even at the cost of +making him almost dislike her, rather than give him his freedom—even to +please him—a freedom which included the possibility of his seeing +Bertha again.</p> + +<p>Although she was unjust and mistaken in her facts, it was, of course, a +correct instinct that made her aware that Bertha was the great +attraction—the one real object of passion in Nigel’s life. But she was +incapable of believing that Bertha did not care for him, that if she had +she would never have flirted with the husband of another woman. Merely +because Bertha was pretty and admired, Mary, with her strange<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> +narrow-minded bitterness, took it for granted that it was impossible +that she could be also a delicately scrupulous, generous, and +high-minded creature. But just as passion will make one singularly +quick-sighted, it can also make one dense and stupid. Considering that +Mary was madly in love with her own husband, it was absurd she should +suppose it impossible that Bertha should take the slightest interest in +hers. Of course Mary had heard that they were very devoted—if she had +not, what would have been the use of writing the letters?—but she chose +to believe that it was only on the husband’s side, and that Bertha must +of necessity be, of course, sly and deceitful. She hated Bertha +violently, and yet she was by nature the kindest of women; only this one +mania of hers completely altered her, and made her bitter, wild, hard +and unscrupulous, stupid and clever, cowardly and reckless. A woman’s +jealousy of another woman is always sufficiently dreadful, but when the +object of jealousy is hers by legal right, when the sense of personal +property is added to it, then it is one of the most terrible and +unreasonable things in nature.</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span><a name="XV" id="XV"></a>CHAPTER XV +<br /> +<br />CLIFFORD’S HISTORICAL PLAY</h2> + + +<p class="cap">BERTHA was sitting with her little brother-in-law. She was to give him +half-an-hour, after which she expected a visit from Nigel.</p> + +<p>“What on earth is it, old boy?”</p> + +<p>She saw he had some rather untidy papers in his hand and was looking +extremely self-conscious, so she spoke kindly and encouragingly.</p> + +<p>“Well, I daresay you noticed, Bertha, in my report, that history was +very good.”</p> + +<p>“I think I did,” she said gravely. “If I recollect right the report +said: ‘History nearly up to the level of the form.’”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I say, was that all? Gracious! Well, anyhow, I’ve read a lot of +history, and I’m fearfully keen about it. And, I say, my idea was, you +see, I thought I’d write a historical play.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! what a splendid idea!” cried Bertha, jumping up, looking very +pleased, but serious. “Have you got it there, Cliff?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>“Yes. Well, as a matter of fact, I have got a bit of it here.”</p> + +<p>“Are you going to let me read it?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t think you can,” he answered rather naïvely. “It’s not +quite clean enough; but I’ll read a bit of it to you, if you don’t mind. +Er—you see—it’s about Mary.”</p> + +<p>“Which Mary?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Bertha! what a question! As if I’d write about William and Mary, +or—er—er—I beg your pardon—I mean the other Mary. No, Mary, Queen of +Scots, is the only one who’s any good for a play.”</p> + +<p>“Well, go on, Clifford.”</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s a little about”—he spoke in a low, gruff voice—“at least +partly about hawking. You know, the thing historical people used to +do—on their wrists.”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, I know, I know! I beg your pardon, Clifford.”</p> + +<p>“With birds, you know,” he went on. “Oh, and I wanted to ask you, what +time of the year <i>do</i> people hawk?”</p> + +<p>“What time of the year? Oh, well, I should think almost any time, pretty +well, whenever they liked, or whenever it was the fashion.”</p> + +<p>“I see.” He made a note. “Well, I hope you won’t be fearfully bored, +Bertha.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>“I say, Cliff, don’t apologise so much. Get on with it.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you see, it’s a scene at a country inn to begin with.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, I see. Yes, it would be,” she murmured.</p> + +<p>“At a country inn, and this is how it begins. It’s at a country inn, you +see. ‘Scene: a country inn. The mistress of the inn, a buxom-looking +woman of middle age, is being busy about the inn. It is a country inn. +She is making up the fire, polishing tankards, etc., drawing ale, etc. +On extreme L. of stage is seated, near a tankard, a youth of some +nineteen summers, who is sitting facing the audience, chin dropped, and +apparently wrapped in thought.’”</p> + +<p>“Excuse me a moment, old chap, but that sounds as if his chin was +wrapped in thought.”</p> + +<p>“So it does; I’ll change that. Thanks awfully for telling me, Bertha.”</p> + +<p>“Not at all, dear.”</p> + +<p>“But it is frightfully decent of you.”</p> + +<p>“All right. Get on.”</p> + +<p>“‘At the back of the stage R. are seated two men; one of some eight and +twenty summers the other of some six and twenty years old. They are +seated in the corners of the stage and in apparently earnest +conversation.’ (Now the dialogue begins, Bertha, listen):</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>“‘<span class="smcap">Youth:</span> Are you there, mistress? Is my ale nigh on ready? Zounds, I’m +mighty thirsty, I am.’</p> + +<p>“‘<span class="smcap">Mistress:</span> Ay, ay, great Scot! here’s your ale. You can’t expect to be +served before the quality.’”</p> + +<p>“What did Pickering think of this?” interrupted Bertha.</p> + +<p>“Pickering! Oh! I wouldn’t show it to a chap like that. At any rate, not +unless you think it’s all right, Bertha.”</p> + +<p>“Why, my dear boy, you’d better tell me the plot, I think, before you +read me any more.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Nigel Hillier,” announced the servant.</p> + +<p>Nigel sprang brightly in (just a little agitated though he managed to +hide it), Bertha took her toes off the sofa, Clifford took up his play +and shoved it into his pocket with a slight scowl.</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span><a name="XVI" id="XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI +<br /> +<br />A SECOND PROPOSAL</h2> + + +<p class="cap">THE day after Madeline’s engagement two letters were handed to her. One +in Charlie’s handwriting, short and affectionate; full of the exuberance +of the newly affianced, touchingly happy. The other one she opened, +feeling somewhat moved, as she recognised the handwriting of Rupert +Denison. To her utter astonishment she found it was four sheets of his +exquisite little handwriting, and it began thus:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“<span class="smcap">My dear, my very dear Madeline</span>,—The last note I had from you—now +nearly a month ago—came to me like a gift of silver roses. I did +not answer it, but during the dark days in which I have not seen +you, I have been learning to know myself. You wondered, perhaps, how +I was occupied, why you did not hear from me again—at least I hope +you did. (“I didn’t, for I knew only too well,” Madeline murmured to +herself.) Now I have learnt to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> understand myself. Sometimes almost +inhumanly poetic you have seemed to me, and others; when I +remembered your simple refined beauty you suggested the homelike +atmosphere that is my dream.”</p></div> + +<p>She started and went on reading.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Madeline, do you understand, all this time, though perhaps I hardly +knew it myself, I loved you. I love you and shall never change. It +is my instinct to adore the admirable, and I know now that you are +the most adorable of creatures. No words can describe your +wonderfulness, so I send you my heart instead.</p> + +<p class="nb">“I think, dear, our life together will be a very beautiful one. It +will be a great joy to me to lead you into beautiful paths. How glad +I shall be to see the bright look of your eyes, when you greet me +after this letter! What a perfect companion you will be! Write at +once. I have much more to say when we meet. When shall this be? Your +ever devoted and idolising</p> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">“Rupert.</span></p> + +<p>“<i>P.S.</i>—I propose not to make our engagement public quite yet, but +to keep our happiness to ourselves for a few weeks, and be married +towards the end of the summer. What do you say, my precious +Madeline?”</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>Madeline was at once delighted and horrified. How characteristic the +letter was! Why had she not waited? There was no doubt about it, she had +made a mistake. Rupert was the man she loved—notwithstanding his taking +everything so for granted. Charlie must be sacrificed. But she must tell +Rupert what had happened, of course.</p> + +<p>After sending a telegram to Rupert asking him to meet her at a picture +gallery, for she could not bear asking him to call until everything was +settled up, the bewildered girl rushed off to see Bertha.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Bertha took in the situation at once. Madeline had only accepted Charlie +in despair, thinking and believing that Rupert cared for another girl. +It was madness, equally unfair to herself and to Charlie, to go on with +the marriage now. Bertha quite agreed, though she grieved for the boy, +and regretted how things had turned. … But, after all, Madeline cared +for Rupert and she could not be expected to throw away her happiness now +it was offered to her.</p> + +<p>Bertha advised complete frankness all round. The only thing at which she +hesitated a little was Madeline’s intention of telling of her engagement +to Rupert. She feared a little the effect on the complicated subtlety of +that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> conscientious young man. … However, it was to be.</p> + +<p>Fortunately no one as yet knew of the engagement except the very nearest +relatives. Madeline’s mother would only regret bitterly that Madeline +could not accept them both, it being very rare nowadays for two +agreeable and eligible young men to propose to one girl in two days.</p> + +<p>Nigel was furious and had no patience with these choppings and +changings, as he called them.</p> + +<p>Charlie took it bravely and wrote Madeline a very generous and noble +letter, which touched her, but it did not alter her intention. She had +just received it when she went to meet Rupert.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>The day which had dragged on with extraordinary excitement and with what +seemed curious length had just declined in that hour between six and +seven when the vitality seems to become somewhat lowered; when it is +neither day nor evening, the stimulation of tea is over and one has not +begun to dress for dinner.</p> + +<p>At this strange moment Madeline burst in again on Bertha and said:</p> + +<p>“Bertha, isn’t it terrible! I’ve told him everything and he refuses me. +He’s sent me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> back. He says if I’m engaged to Charlie it’s my duty to +marry him. He’s fearfully hurt with me and shocked at my conduct to +Charlie. Oh, it’s too dreadful; I’m heartbroken!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, what an irritating creature!” cried Bertha. “It’s just the sort of +thing he would do. I’d better see him at once, Madeline.”</p> + +<p>“You can’t; he’s going to Venice to-night,” said Madeline, and burst +into tears.</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span><a name="XVII" id="XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII +<br /> +<br />MORE ABOUT RUPERT</h2> + + +<p class="cap">RUPERT had gone through a great many changes during the last few weeks. +He had begun to grow rather captivated by Miss Chivvey and in his +efforts to polish, refine and educate her had become rather carried away +himself. But towards the end she began to show signs of rebellion; she +was bored, though impressed. He took her to a serious play and explained +it all the time, during which she openly yawned. Finally, when she +insisted on his seeing a statuette made of her by her artistic friend, +an ignorant, pretentious little creature, known as Mimsie, they +positively had a quarrel.</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t care what you say; I think it’s very pretty,” when Rupert +pointed out faults that a child could easily have seen.</p> + +<p>“So it may be, my dear child—not that I think it is. But it’s +absolutely without merit; it’s very very bad. It could hardly be worse. +If she went all over London I doubt if she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> could find a more ridiculous +thing calling itself a work of art. Can’t you see it’s like those little +figures they used to have on old-fashioned Twelfth Cakes, made of +sugar.”</p> + +<p>“No, I can’t. Shut up! I mayn’t know quite so much as you, but ever +since I was a child everybody’s always said I was very artistic.”</p> + +<p>They were sitting in her mother’s drawing-room in Camden Hill. Rupert +glanced round it: it was a deplorable example of misdirected aims and +mistaken ambitions; a few yards of beaded curtains which separated it +from another room gratified Moona with the satisfactory sensation that +her surroundings were Oriental. As a matter of fact, the decoration was +so commonplace and vulgar that to attempt to describe it would be +painful to the writer whilst having no sort of effect on the reader, +since it was almost indescribable. From the decorative point of view, +the room was the most unmeaning of failures, the most complete of +disasters.</p> + +<p>Rupert had hoped, nevertheless, to cultivate her taste, and educate her +generally. He was most anxious of all to explain to her that, so far +from being artistic, she was the most pretentious of little Philistines. +Why, indeed, should she be anything else? It was the most<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> irritating +absurdity that she should think she was, or wish to be.</p> + +<p>Rupert was growing weary of this, and beginning to think his object was +hopeless.</p> + +<p>A certain amount of excitement that she had created in him by her +brusque rudeness, her high spirits, even the jarring of her loud laugh, +was beginning to lose its effect; or rather the effect was changed. +Instead of attracting, it irritated him.</p> + +<p>About another small subject they had a quarrel—she was beginning to +order him about, to regard him as her young man, her property—and was +getting accustomed to what had surprised her at first—that he didn’t +make love to her. She had ordered him to take her somewhere and he had +refused on the ground that he wanted to stop at home and think!</p> + +<p>She let herself go, and when Moona Chivvey lost her temper it was not +easily forgotten. She insulted him, called him a blighter, a silly ass, +a mass of affectation.</p> + +<p>He accepted it with gallant irony, bowing with a chivalrous humility +that drove her nearly mad, but he never spoke to her again.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Perhaps nothing less than this violent scene would have shaken Rupert +into examining his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> own feelings, and with a tremendous rebound he saw +that he was in love with Madeline, and decided to marry her at once. How +delighted the dear child would be!</p> + +<p>He had seen very little of her lately, and he appreciated her all the +more.</p> + +<p>In her was genuine desire for culture; longing to learn; real refinement +and intelligence, charm and grace, if not exactly beauty. Ah, those +sweet, sincere brown eyes! Rupert would live to see her all she should +be, and there was not the slightest doubt about her happiness with him. +It never occurred to him for a single moment that anyone else could have +been trying to take his place. Far less still that she should have +thought of listening to any other man on earth but himself. When she +came and told him all that had happened, the shock was great. He had +never cared for her so much. But he declined to allow her to break her +engagement; she could not play fast and loose with this unfortunate +young man, Charlie Hillier, and although she declared, with tears, that +she should break it off in any case, and never see him again, Rupert +kept to his resolution, and started for Paris that night.</p> + +<p>In answer to one more passionate and pathetic letter from her, he +consented to write to her as a friend in a fortnight, but he said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> she +must have known her own mind when she accepted Charlie.</p> + +<p>Rupert clearly felt that he had been very badly treated; he said he +never would have thought it of her; it was practically treachery.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>When he went away he felt very tired, and had had enough, for the +present, at any rate, of all girls and their instruction. Girls were +fools.</p> + +<p>He looked forward to the soothing consolations of the gaieties of Paris. +He was not the first to believe that he could leave all his troubles and +tribulations this side of the Channel.</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span><a name="XVIII" id="XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII +<br /> +<br />“A SPECIAL FAVOUR”</h2> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 8px;"> +<img src="images/quote.png" width="8" height="7" alt="Open quote" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="cap">I ADMIRE Madeline’s conduct very much. I think it was splendid how she +stood up to all the reproaches, and even ridicule; she told me that she +had once, and only once, in her life been untrue to herself (she meant +in accepting Charlie), and since then she has spoken the absolute truth +to everybody about it all. She has been very plucky, and very +straightforward, and only good can come of it. Honesty and pluck, +especially for a girl—it’s made so difficult for girls—they’re the +finest things in the world, <i>I</i> think.”</p> + +<p>Bertha was speaking to Nigel.</p> + +<p>He had remained away for what seemed to him an extraordinarily long +time. He was afraid that she was slipping out of his life, without even +noticing it. Stopping away until she missed him was a complete failure, +since she <i>didn’t</i> miss him. And the day was approaching for the party +Mary had consented to give.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> He knew that Bertha had accepted but was +afraid she didn’t mean to come. That would be too sickening! To have all +that worry with Mary, all that silly trouble and fuss for a foolish +entertainment that he detested, all for nothing at all! And Mary was +secretly enjoying the fact that she felt absolutely certain Percy would +never let her come to Nigel’s house. She did not suppose Percy had +guessed the writer of the letters; but he must have thought his wife was +talked about, and some effect certainly they had had; for in the last +few weeks, she happened to know for a fact, Nigel had neither called on +or met Mrs. Kellynch. This afternoon she knew nothing of, for her +suspicions were beginning to fade, and she was not, at present, having +him followed. Nigel had taken his chance and dropped in to tea and found +luck was on his side—Bertha had just come in from a drive with +Madeline.</p> + +<p>“It’s all very well,” he answered, “to say you admire her conduct, her +bravery, and all that! Whom had she to fight against? Only her mother, +whom she isn’t a bit afraid of, and Charlie, who, poor chap, is more +afraid of her. The engagement wasn’t even public before she broke it +off.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; but, Nigel, it was very frank of her to tell everything so openly +to Charlie. And now,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> poor girl, she’s very unhappy, but very +courageous—she’s absolutely resolved never to marry. She says she’s +lost her Rupert by her own faults, and it serves her right.”</p> + +<p>“And suppose Rupert goes teaching English to an Italian girl at Venice, +or gives her history lessons, or anything? Now he’s once thought of +marrying, he may marry his third pupil. Wouldn’t Charlie have a chance +then?”</p> + +<p>“Never, unfortunately,” Bertha replied.</p> + +<p>“Do you think she’d wait on the chance that Rupert might have a +divorce?”</p> + +<p>“Nigel, how horrid you are to sneer like that. You never appreciated +Madeline!”</p> + +<p>“I think I did, my dear, considering I was especially keen on her +marrying my brother, even when I knew she liked somebody else.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that was only for him.”</p> + +<p>“Or, perhaps, do you think a little for me? I might have felt if my +brother married your greatest friend that we were sort of relations,” he +said, with a laugh.</p> + +<p>Bertha glanced at the clock.</p> + +<p>“You can’t send me away just this minute,” he said. “You like honesty +and frankness, and I’ve honestly come to ask you—are you coming to my +party?”</p> + +<p>Bertha paused a moment.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span>“Why?” she said. “Do you very particularly want me to?”</p> + +<p>“Very. And I’ll tell you the reason. It’s to please Mary.”</p> + +<p>“Why should Mary care?”</p> + +<p>“Bertha, I give you my word that she’ll be terribly disappointed and +offended if you don’t. And”—he waited a moment—“I hardly know how to +explain—it’ll do me harm if you don’t come—you and Percy. I can’t +exactly explain. Do me this good turn, Bertha. A special favour, won’t +you?”</p> + +<p>He was artfully trying to suggest what he supposed to be the exact +contrary to the fact. He knew Mary would be wild with joy if Bertha did +not come, though he had no idea how extremely astonished and furious she +would be if she should arrive, considering she had accepted. Of course +in reality Mary thought nothing of the acceptance. She was both certain +and determined that her “door would not be darkened” by Bertha’s +presence.</p> + +<p>Bertha had not intended to go since she saw Percy’s pleasure and relief +at the cessation of the intimacy. But now? After all, Percy couldn’t +mind going in with her for a few minutes if she begged him.</p> + +<p>“If you tell me it’ll do you a good turn, Nigel—but I don’t +understand!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span>“Do you wish me to explain?”</p> + +<p>“No, I don’t. I’ll take your word. But all the more I don’t want you to +be always calling. I’m afraid Mary doesn’t like me.”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t that exactly.”</p> + +<p>Bertha thought of her own happiness with Percy. Her warm, kind heart +made her say gently:</p> + +<p>“Nigel, I hope you’re nice and considerate to Mary? You make her happy?”</p> + +<p>“Doesn’t this look like it?” he answered. “She’ll be in a state if you +don’t turn up.” He sighed. “I’ve never said a word about it, but she’s +rather trying and tiresome if you want to know.”</p> + +<p>“Then I’m very, very sorry for her,” said Bertha, “and you can’t do +enough for her. … Why, with those lovely children I’m sure she’d be +ideally happy if——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you think, of course, it’s my fault. It never occurs to you whether +I’m happy!”</p> + +<p>A look from her which she tried to repress reminded him of his +deliberate choice. He thought the time had come to make her a little +sorry for him, knowing her extreme tenderness of heart. He spoke in a +lower voice, and looked away.</p> + +<p>“If I’m sometimes a bit miserable, it serves me right.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span>“Be good to her,” said Bertha.</p> + +<p>“I’ll do anything on earth you’ll tell me.”</p> + +<p>“What are the children’s names?”</p> + +<p>“Nigel and Marjorie.”</p> + +<p>“Darling pets, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it extraordinary, Bertha,” he said. “I’ve no right to say it to +you, but that’s my great trouble.”</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“She doesn’t care much about them.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe it,” said Bertha, shaking her head. “It’s you who are +mistaken.”</p> + +<p>“Am I?”</p> + +<p>“Nigel, remember, I know you pretty well.”</p> + +<p>“And you think I’m trying to make you sorry for me?”</p> + +<p>“I won’t say that. But you ought to be happy, and so ought your wife.”</p> + +<p>He spoke in a different tone, with his usual cheery smile.</p> + +<p>“Well, if you will grace our entertainment, I promise we will be happy. +Do come, Bertha!” He was taking all this trouble simply so as not to +have a boring evening at his own home!</p> + +<p>“Very well, Nigel,” she answered, with a kind, frank smile. “I’ll come. +Lately Percy’s had so much work that in the evenings he hasn’t been very +keen on going out to parties.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span>“And you don’t go without him?” he asked with curiosity.</p> + +<p>“No. Aren’t I unfashionable?”</p> + +<p>“You’re delightful.”</p> + +<p>“Good-bye,” she said, holding out her hand.</p> + +<p>He took it, and held it, saying:</p> + +<p>“And now I sha’n’t see you again until a few minutes at the party, and +heaven knows when after that.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll bring Madeline. Shall I?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, do. It’ll be <i>some</i> party, as the Americans say, and Charlie +won’t be there.”</p> + +<p>“Good-bye again.”</p> + +<p>“What are you going to wear?” he asked, in his old, brotherly voice, +lingering by the door.</p> + +<p>“Salmon-coloured chiffon with a mayonnaise sash,” she answered, fairly +pushing him out of the room. “Do go.”</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span><a name="XIX" id="XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX +<br /> +<br />A DEVOTED WIFE</h2> + + +<p class="cap">TO anyone who knew Percy Kellynch and his wife, it would have been a +matter of some surprise to observe the extreme enthusiasm and devotion +that she showed for him. He was an excellent fellow, and had many good +qualities, but he was not mentally by any means anything at all +extraordinary; she was a very much more highly organised being in every +possible way than he was. Percy was exceedingly kind and straight, yet +there were, doubtless, many thousands of men exactly like him in +England. In his rather simple and commonplace point of view he was, +perhaps more like an ordinary English soldier than a barrister. He did +not worship false gods, but, not being a soldier, and having perhaps +learnt more of life in some respects than they generally do, he was +inclined to be rather surprised at his own cleverness. In a quiet way he +had a high opinion of himself. He had been disposed to be a superior +young<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> man at twenty, and now, at thirty, he was not without a tinge of +self-satisfaction, even pompousness. That his quickly discerning, subtle +little wife should like and appreciate his good qualities; that she +should, being of an affectionate nature, value him, was not surprising; +but that, with her sense of humour and remarkable quickness, even depth +of intellect, she should absolutely worship and adore him—for it +amounted to that—was rather a matter of astonishment. But it must be +remembered that her first love, Nigel Hillier, when she was eighteen, +was, obviously, just exactly what one would have expected to dazzle +her—quick, lively, fascinating and witty—this early romance had been a +terrible disappointment. Bertha had bravely been prepared to wait for +years, or to marry him on the moment; she had not the faintest idea that +the money difficulties would be used to put an end to it on <i>his</i> side. +When he had broken it off, saying that he feared her father was right, +and that it was for her sake, she was terribly pained, seeing at once +that his love was not of the same quality as hers. But when, in less +than a week after that, he told her of his other engagement, it very +nearly broke her heart, as the phrase goes. Yet she cured herself; and +considering how young she was, she had an astonishing power of +self-control;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> she was almost cured of her love, if not her grief, in a +fortnight! She accepted Percy at the time without romance, though with a +great liking, and looking up to him with a certain trust, but very soon +the good qualities, in which he differed so remarkably from Nigel, and +even the points in which he was deficient and in which Nigel excelled, +made her care for him more. As the years went on, Bertha, who could do +nothing by halves, began to adore Percy more and more. She thought +absolutely nothing of Nigel at all, so very little that she had let him +dangle about without a thought of the past, being under the impression +that he was contented in his married life. When he began again to find +excuses to see her, and to start a sort of friendship, she did not +discourage it, for the very reason that she wanted him to see that +chapter in her life was absolutely closed and forgotten.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>His extreme desire that she should come to their entertainment, his +various implications—that Mary should think there was something in it +if she didn’t come—then this new suggestion that he was not happy at +home, and, on looking back, Percy’s extraordinary behaviour, suddenly +made her see things in a different light. She saw that Nigel probably +now imagined himself<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> in love with her, and that it was not entirely +Percy’s imagination; that it was even more necessary than she had +thought to put an end to the friendship. It made her furious when she +thought of it—the selfishness, the treachery—meanly to throw her over +because Mary was rich, and afterwards to try and come back and spoil +both their homes in amusing himself by a romance with her. Even if +Bertha had not cared for her husband, Nigel would have been the very +last man in the world she could have looked upon from that point of +view. Amusing as he was, she never thought of him without a slightly +contemptuous smile. And she loved Percy so very much; he was so entirely +without self-interest: he might have a certain amount of harmless +vanity, but he was purely unworldly, generous, broadminded and good, and +his own advantage was the very last thing that ever entered his head.</p> + +<p>Until the trouble about Nigel she had feared he was growing cold, but +Percy’s conduct on that subject had thoroughly satisfied her. He had +been very jealous but kind to her: he trusted and believed in her when +she was frank, and he certainly seemed more in love with her than ever. +Percy was so reliable, so true and <i>real</i>. She took up the dignified, +charmingly flattered photograph of him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>. … What a noble forehead! What +a beautiful figure he had! And though he seemed so calm and so cold, he +was passionate and could be violent. His intellect was not above the +average, but his power of emotion most certainly was. … Dear Percy!</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>And now she had promised to go to Nigel’s house, she would get Percy to +agree that evening.</p> + +<p>Bertha told him of Nigel’s visit, and of the request.</p> + +<p>He frowned.</p> + +<p>“You’ve accepted, and that’s enough. I suppose you had to say you were +going. You can easily write Mrs. Hillier an excuse the next day. Dozens +of people will do it.”</p> + +<p>“Percy, I want to go.”</p> + +<p>He looked up angrily and in surprise.</p> + +<p>“You want to go? You certainly can’t. I don’t wish it. Why, remember +what you promised. Is this infernal intimacy beginning again?”</p> + +<p>“Percy, to-day is only the third time I’ve seen him since we talked +about it! And I hadn’t the faintest idea he was coming to-day. I was +surprised and annoyed to see him. Since Madeline broke it off with +Charlie, we’ve heard nothing about them. Don’t you believe me?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span>“Naturally, I do. But it’s a very odd thing a man should call here, and +beg you to promise to come to his wife’s party! Isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps it is. We stopped seeing him so suddenly, you see.”</p> + +<p>“What’s that got to do with it?” said Percy, with angry impatience. The +typewritten letters were torturing him. He had long been ashamed of not +having shown them to Bertha, and made a clean breast of it. It was +another reason why he hated Nigel and wanted the whole subject +absolutely put aside and forgotten.</p> + +<p>“In my opinion it suggests a very curious relation his coming here +to-day like this. Not on your side, dear,” he continued gently, putting +his hand on hers. “But, if you don’t mind my saying so, you don’t know +very much of the world, dear little Bertha, and in your innocence you +are liable to be imprudent.”</p> + +<p>This was Percy’s mistaken view of Bertha, but she did not dislike it. +She was so determined now to be completely open that she did not try to +put him off, and said candidly:</p> + +<p>“It may be perfectly true that he’s rather more anxious for me to be at +the party than he need be. But, after all, there’s not much harm in +that, Percy. All I want is to go in with you for twenty minutes or +half-an-hour, and then go away quite quickly. After that, if you like,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +I’ll give you my word of honour not to see him again.”</p> + +<p>“What’s the object of it? No, I’m hanged if I go to that man’s house.”</p> + +<p>“I promised as a special favour that I’d go.”</p> + +<p>“But what’s the reason? Why is he so desperate you should be seen +there?”</p> + +<p>Percy frowned and thought a moment.</p> + +<p>“Has his wife—do you think it’s been noticed he doesn’t come here so +often?”</p> + +<p>“It may have been. He didn’t say so.”</p> + +<p>“Then it’s damned impertinence of him to dare to come and ask you. Why +should I take you there to make things comfortable with him and his +wife?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Percy!”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to have anything to do with them,” Percy repeated, +frowning angrily at her.</p> + +<p>She paused and said sweetly:</p> + +<p>“Don’t look worried, darling. Won’t you anyhow think it over for a day +or two?”</p> + +<p>Percy thought. He was a lawyer and it struck him that if the letters +were to be really ignored it might be better for them to go in and be +seen at the party, and if Bertha promised never to see him again, he +knew she was telling the truth. But it was hard; it jarred on him.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span>“We’ll leave the subject for a few days, Bertha,” he said. “I’ll think +it over. But what I decide then must be final.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, Percy. … I’ve got <i>such</i> a lovely new dress! Pale primrose +colour.”</p> + +<p>“The dress I saw you trying on? The canary dress?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“No. I’m hanged if you’ll wear that there!” he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>Bertha went into fits of laughter.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Percy, <i>how</i> sweet of you to say that! You’re becoming a regular +jealous husband, do you know? Darling! How delightful!”</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span><a name="XX" id="XX"></a>CHAPTER XX +<br /> +<br />RUPERT AGAIN</h2> + + +<p class="cap">AFTER the first reaction, Rupert felt, of course, to a certain extent, +relieved and grateful to think that he was not engaged to Madeline. +Undoubtedly, had he cared for her as she did for him, he would not have +declined to marry her because of her accepting Charlie, more or less out +of pique, or in despair. Yet, after having once really proposed he felt +his emotions stirred, and almost as soon as he had sent her back (so to +speak) to Charlie, he began to regret it—he began to be unhappy. <i>Au +fond</i> he knew she would break it off with Charlie now, and would wait +vaguely in hope for him. At first to recover from the intense annoyance +of the whole thing, he thought he would, before Venice, go in a little +for the gaieties of Paris. Rupert was still young enough to believe that +the things presented to him as gaiety must necessarily be gay. A certain +delicacy prevented his telling Madeline this now; though formerly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> when +he had been to Paris, especially when he had had no intention of +accepting any Parisian opportunities of amusement, he had often rubbed +it in to her about the dazzling and dangerous charms of the gay city’s +dissipations, at which she was suitably impressed. But a nicer feeling +made him now wish her to think of him as gliding down the lagoons of +Venice, and dreaming of what might have been.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Madeline herself was really entirely without hope. She was certain she +had lost all the prestige that she had had in his eyes; and she thought +that she thoroughly deserved what had happened. She resolved to remain +unmarried, and try to do good. Though she was hurt, and thought it +showed how much less was Rupert’s love than hers, still she respected +him and admired him all the more for refusing to take her after +accepting Charlie. She did not see that Rupert was a little too serious +to be taken quite seriously.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Her mother added immensely to her depression. Mrs. Irwin was a woman who +detested facts, so much so that she thought statistics positively +indecent (though she would never have used the expression). When she was +told there were more women than men in England,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> she would bite her lips +and change the subject. She had had all the Victorian intense desire to +see her daughter married young, and all the Victorian almost absurd +delicacy in pretending she didn’t. When, in one week, her only +daughter—a girl who was not remarkably pretty, and had only a little +money—should have proposals from no less than two attractive and +eligible young men and should have muddled it up so badly that, though +she had been prepared to accept both of them, she was now unable to +marry either, her mother was, naturally, pained and disgusted.</p> + +<p>Madeline, who was usually gentle and amiable to her, in this case spoke +with a violence and determination that left no possible hope of her +returning to Charlie Hillier. She left Mrs. Irwin nothing to do but to +put on an air of refined resignation, of having neuralgia, which she now +called neuritis, because Madeline had annoyed her so much, and of +behaving, when Madeline sat with her, as much as possible like a person +who was somewhere else.</p> + +<p>Bertha was Madeline’s only consolation and resource. Bertha took life +with such delightful coolness.</p> + +<p>“How would you advise me to behave to him, if it <i>had</i> come off—I mean +if I <i>had</i> married Rupert?” Madeline asked Bertha.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span>She was fond of these problematical speculations.</p> + +<p>“I should say be an angel, if he deserved it, or a devil if he +appreciated it. Then—now and then—be non-existent, charming and +indifferent, when you wanted to hedge—when there was no particular +response. You’ll go with me to the Hilliers’ party, won’t you, as +Charlie will be away?”</p> + +<p>“Of course I will—if you like. But will Percy go—and let you go?”</p> + +<p>“He says he won’t, but I think he will,” she replied.</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span><a name="XXI" id="XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI +<br /> +<br />THE HILLIERS’ ENTERTAINMENT</h2> + + +<p class="cap">NO more had been said between them about the Hilliers’ party; and Percy +began to hope that it would be dropped. But on the morning Bertha asked +him if he would like to take her out to dinner first with Madeline; +assuming that, as he had said no more about it, he intended to go.</p> + +<p>With those letters upstairs in the box, how could he?</p> + +<p>“I simply can’t,” he answered. “I don’t wish to go to that man’s house.”</p> + +<p>“Then must I take Madeline alone?” said Bertha. “In all these years, +Percy, I don’t think I’ve ever been to a party without you.”</p> + +<p>“And I don’t see why you should begin now,” he answered.</p> + +<p>“But, Percy, I want to go. Only for a few minutes.”</p> + +<p>“I’d much rather you didn’t.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span>Bertha thought this tyrannical. She had promised Nigel, because he had +implied to her that it would get him out of the domestic difficulty.</p> + +<p>“Oh, do, Percy dear. It’s treating me as if you didn’t trust me. After +all … if you like I’ll swear to arrange never to see Nigel again.”</p> + +<p>“I wish you would.”</p> + +<p>“It’s only because I think it would look marked.”</p> + +<p>Percy thought there was something in that, and he didn’t dislike the +idea of proving to the person, whoever it was, that had written the +letters, how little effect they had had. Yet, they had left a tinge of +jealousy that would easily be roused again, especially at her +insistence. He noticed that she didn’t make the fact that she was +chaperoning Madeline an excuse, as most women would have done. She was +frank about it. Still, he tried once more.</p> + +<p>“I don’t want you to go.”</p> + +<p>“But I want to.”</p> + +<p>She was not particularly fond of opposition, and began to look annoyed. +She thought Percy was beginning to sit on her a little too much.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he said, “I shall not dine out with you and Madeline first: I +don’t care to. But I’ll hire an electric motor for you at eleven, and it +shall fetch you at twelve-thirty. If<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> Madeline doesn’t want to come +then, she can easily go back alone. It isn’t far for her.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, she won’t want to stop any longer than that.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, very well, we’ll leave it like that. I shall dine at the club.”</p> + +<p>“It’s unkind of you. I believe you don’t want to see me start.”</p> + +<p>“You’re quite right. I hate the idea of your appearing there in your +lovely new dress. I suppose you want to wear it?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I don’t care in the least,” she answered, “if you’d rather not.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, hang it! Wear what you like,” he answered rather crossly.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>She did not see him again before she started, and, naturally, being a +woman, she put on the new dress.</p> + +<p>It was pale yellow, and she knew Percy would have liked it and would +have called her a canary.</p> + +<p>She went out, not in the best of tempers, and Madeline also, though +looking very charming, did not look forward to the entertainment, and +was thinking, with rather an aching heart, of Rupert in the lagoons of +Venice.</p> + +<p>The Hilliers’ house was arranged with the utmost gorgeousness. Nigel +felt a little return<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> of his pride in it to-night. It was covered all +over with rambler roses, and looked magnificent. There was such a crowd +that Nigel hoped to get a little talk alone with Bertha, but feared she +would not come. He was agreeably surprised to see her arrive alone with +Madeline.</p> + +<p>It so happened that Mary was not in the room when they were announced, +and very soon Nigel managed to take her down, first into the +refreshment-room, and then into the boudoir, which had been arranged +with draperies and shaded lights.</p> + +<p>“I just want to have a few words with you,” he said, and got her into a +little corner.</p> + +<p>There was a heavy scent of roses; the music sounded faintly.</p> + +<p>“Bertha!” he said. “It was too sweet of you to come. I shall never +forget it. You don’t know how miserable I am.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, rubbish!” she answered. “You’ve no earthly reason to be. I wish you +wouldn’t talk nonsense.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve never seen you look so lovely.”</p> + +<p>“I shall go away if you talk like that. Can’t you see I don’t like it?”</p> + +<p>“I wonder Percy allowed you to come alone, looking like that.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span>“I came because I promised,” she said. “You made me think, in some +mysterious way, it would be a good thing for you. But after what you +said about Mary, I want this to be distinctly understood: you are not to +come and see me any more. Nothing in the world I should loathe so much +as to be the cause of any trouble.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, my dear, but that you never could,” he answered quickly.</p> + +<p>“I hope not, and I’m not going to risk it. You chose your life, Nigel, +and you have every reason to be happy.”</p> + +<p>“Have I? You don’t know.”</p> + +<p>“Think of your children. I haven’t got that pleasure, and yet I’m +happy.”</p> + +<p>“Are you madly in love with Percy?” he asked, with a smile.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I am,” she answered.</p> + +<p>At this moment a small crowd of people came in at the door. Mary, who +was with them, looked hurriedly round the room, and seeing Bertha and +Nigel in the corner, called him, taking no notice of her.</p> + +<p>Bertha half rose, intending to go and shake hands with her, and Nigel +quickly went to meet her, but Bertha paused, thinking Mary looked +strange. She was very pale, and the white dress she wore made her look +paler against her dull red hair. She wore a tiara,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> which seemed a +little crooked, and her hair was disarranged. She was pale and +trembling, but spoke in a loud voice that Bertha could hear. Within two +yards of her, she said to Nigel, gesticulating with a feather fan:</p> + +<p>“If you don’t make that woman go away at once, I shall make a public +scene!”</p> + +<p>Bertha started up and looked at her in astonishment.</p> + +<p>Mary, glaring at her, and still talking loudly, allowed Nigel to lead +her out of the room.</p> + +<p>He then came back.</p> + +<p>“I think my wife’s gone mad! Forgive her. She’s ill, or something.”</p> + +<p>“I’m going now at once,” said Bertha calmly. “Have a cab called for me, +and let Madeline know that the motor will be here for her at half-past +twelve. Leave me now—I don’t want anything.”</p> + +<p>“For God’s sake forgive me. She’s off her head,” said Nigel +incoherently.</p> + +<p>At her wish he ran upstairs.</p> + +<p>Bertha got her cloak, and telling a friend she met that she was going on +to a dance, she got into a taxi and went home.</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span><a name="XXII" id="XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII +<br /> +<br />BERTHA AT HOME</h2> + + +<p class="cap">BERTHA drove back, furiously angry, principally with Nigel, whom she +also pitied a little. It could be no joke to live with a woman like his +wife. But he should not have deceived Bertha; he should have let her +know; he should not have induced her to come against Percy’s wish, at +the risk of being insulted.</p> + +<p>She was not anxious about Madeline, knowing that that sensible young +lady would go to her own home when the carriage came, and that she could +explain matters to her the next morning. Madeline was not <i>une faiseuse +d’embarras</i>.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Bertha had brought her key as Percy had promised to wait up for her; the +servants were to be allowed to go to bed. It was not long after twelve; +she saw a light in the library and went in, fully intending to tell +Percy everything.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>She found him sitting by the fire, with a book. He had fallen asleep. +She watched him for some moments, and she thought he looked pale and a +little worried. … How wilful, how foolish it had been of her to go to +the party without him! What did it matter? How trivial to insist on her +own way! How ungrateful! For lately Percy had been devoted. And how +lucky she was that he should care for her so much, after all these +years.</p> + +<p>As Bertha watched, she felt that strange suffering which is always the +other side of intense love—the reverse of the medal of the ecstasy of +passion—and she thought she would tell him nothing about it. Why should +he be hurt, annoyed, and humiliated? It would spoil all the pleasure of +her coming back so early—the unexpected delightful time they might +have. … In this Bertha committed an error of judgment, for she forgot +that he would probably hear of the scene some time or other, and would +attach more importance to it than if she told him now.</p> + +<p>“Percy,” she whispered.</p> + +<p>He woke up.</p> + +<p>“You already! Why, it’s only twelve o’clock! Oh, dear, how good of you +to come so early.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>“I didn’t enjoy myself a bit,” she murmured. “I’ll never go out without +you again. Do forgive me for going!”</p> + +<p>“How is it you didn’t enjoy it?”</p> + +<p>“Because you hadn’t seen me in my new dress. Do I look like a canary?”</p> + +<p>“No,” he said. “Let me look at you. No, you’re not a canary—you’re a +Bird of Paradise.”</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span><a name="XXIII" id="XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII +<br /> +<br />NIGEL’S LETTER</h2> + + +<p class="cap">NEXT morning, as Bertha expected, Madeline came round to see her early. +She brought with her a note. She said that Nigel had implored her to +give it to her friend from him. He had put Madeline in the carriage, and +had seemed greatly distressed. He told the girl that his wife had been +ill lately and was not quite herself, and he feared she had offended +Bertha.</p> + +<p>“She certainly behaved like a lunatic,” Bertha said, as she took the +letter.</p> + +<p>“Did you tell Percy?”</p> + +<p>“As a matter of fact, no.”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t he wonder at your coming home so early?”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid I pretended I rushed back to please him. Was it wrong of me? +I’m afraid it was.”</p> + +<p>“I believe in frankness with people you can trust. And remember, quite a +little while ago, Bertha, you were worried and depressed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> because you +thought Percy was becoming a little casual and like an ordinary husband, +and now, you naughty child, that he’s been so <i>empressé</i> and +affectionate, and jealous and attentive and everything that you +like—now you first insist on going to a party when he doesn’t wish it, +and then you come home and tell him stories about it.”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid I was wrong; but it was to spare him annoyance. Besides, I +daresay I was weak. It was so delightful giving him a pleasant +surprise.”</p> + +<p>She read the letter.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Forgive me for asking your friend to give you this note—I only did +it because I feared in writing to you to refer to what happened. Is +it asking too much, Bertha, to beg you not to resent it? Not to hate +me for to-night? Think of my shame and misery about it—to think I +had pressed and begged you to come to be insulted in my house. You +see now what I have tried to conceal. I am utterly miserable. My +wife is terrible and impossible. Seeing you occasionally had been my +one joy—my only consolation. And only to-night—before—you had +been telling me not to come and see you any more. Now I feel our +friendship is all over. I could not expect you to see me again. You<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> +are such an angel, that you will, if I ask you, I believe, try to +wipe out from your memory this horrible evening! I would rather have +died than it should have happened. Of course, you see now that by +instinct Mary guessed right—I mean in knowing my feeling for +you—though heaven knows I haven’t deserved this. She’s screaming +for me, and I must stop. All I ask is, don’t hate me! I’m so +miserable when I think that you, beautiful angel as you are, might +have belonged to me. I doubt if I shall be able to live this life +much longer.</p> + +<p class="nb">“In humblest apology, and with that deep feeling that writing can +never express, your idolising</p> + +<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Nigel</span>.</p> + +<p>“<i>P.S.</i>—I ought not to have written that. But I fear so much that I +may not see you again, and that this may be my last letter, and I +feel I would like you to know honestly all I feel for you. But words +may not bear such burdens. Send me one word, only one word of +pardon.”</p></div> + +<p>Bertha was obviously shocked and surprised at this letter. She folded it +up, looking grave. Then she said to Madeline:</p> + +<p>“What a very extraordinary thing it has been that both Mary and Percy +have been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> suspicious and jealous of Nigel and myself, while there’s +been absolutely nothing in it!”</p> + +<p>“But they both felt by instinct, perhaps, that that was no fault of +his,” returned Madeline.</p> + +<p>“I have no sympathy with him,” said Bertha, who seemed for her quite +hard. “If he does like me, all the more he ought to have kept away. +Besides, it’s only because he wants to be amused! What right has he to +make his wife unhappy, when he deliberately chose her, and to be +willing—if he is willing—to smash up my happiness with Percy?”</p> + +<p>“Of course that’s horrid of him,” said Madeline; “but somehow I do think +his wife is rather awful; I think she might do anything. But won’t you +answer his letter?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; I think I’d better write him a line,” said Bertha.</p> + +<p>She sat down and wrote:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Hillier</span>,—Pray don’t think again of the unpleasant little +incident.</p> + +<p>“I have already forgotten it.</p> + +<p>“I think that if you will make your children the interest of your +life—though it’s very impertinent of me to say so—happiness must +come of it.</p> + +<p class="nb">“Good-bye. Yours very sincerely,</p> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap mid">“Bertha Kellynch</span>”</p> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span>“I’ve written,” said Bertha, “what I wouldn’t mind either Percy or Mary +seeing.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure you have, dear. But Percy would rather you didn’t write at +all.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps. But I think it’s right. Besides, otherwise, he might write +again, or even call.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, that’s true.”</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span><a name="XXIV" id="XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV +<br /> +<br />LADY KELLYNCH AT HOME</h2> + + +<p class="cap">ALTHOUGH Lady Kellynch was a widow, and had had two sons (at the unusual +interval of eighteen years), there was something curiously old-maidish +about her—I should say that she had a set of qualities that were +formerly known by that expression, as there are no such things nowadays +as old maids and maiden aunts as contrasted to British matrons. There +are merely married or unmarried women. And Lady Kellynch belonged to a +long-forgotten type; she was no suffragette; politics did not touch her, +and at fifty-four she did not regard herself as the modern middle-aged +woman does. It never occurred to her for a moment, for example, to have +lessons in the Tango or to learn ski-ing or any other winter sports, in +a white jersey and cap. She was not seen clinging to the arm of a +professor of roller-skating, nor did she go to fancy-dress balls as +Folly or Romeo, as a Pierrette or Joan of Arc, as many<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> of her +contemporaries loved to do. She dressed magnificently and in the fashion +of the day, and yet she always remained and looked extremely +old-fashioned; and though she would wear her hats as they were made +nowadays, her hair then had a look that did not go with it; no +hairdresser or milliner could ever induce her to do it in a style later +than 1887. The larger number of women have had some period of their +lives when the fashion has happened to suit them, or when, for some +reason or another, they have had a special success, and most of these +cling fondly to that epoch. Lady Kellynch never got away from 1887 and +the time of Queen Victoria’s first Jubilee. All the fads of the hour +seemed to have passed over her since then, from bicycling to flying, +from classical dancing or ragtime to enthusiasm about votes for women; +the various movements had passed over her without leaving any hurt or +effect. Lady Kellynch had had a success in 1887; she cherished tenderly +a photograph of herself in an enormous bustle, with an impossibly small +waist, a thick high fringe over her eyes, and a tight dog-collar. The +bald bare look about the ears, and the extraordinary figure resembling a +switchback made her look very much older then than she did now. But more +than one smart young soldier (now,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> probably, steady retired generals, +who passed their time saying that the country was going to the dogs), an +attaché long since married and sunk into domestic life, and one or two +other men had greatly admired her; she had had her little dignified +flirtations, much as she adored the late Sir Percy Kellynch; her +portrait had been painted by Herkomer, and the Prince of Wales (as he +then was) had looked at her through his opera glass during the +performance of Gounod’s <i>Romeo and Juliet</i>. These were things not to be +forgotten. When her husband died, Percy married and Clifford went to +school, and Lady Kellynch was left alone in her big house in South +Kensington, she became again what I call old-maidish. She had a hundred +little rules and fussy little arrangements, of which the slightest +disorganisation drove her to distraction. She had long consultations +every day with the cook at nine o’clock as to what was to be done with +what was left. She liked to be domestic, and would stand over the man +who was cleaning the windows and tell him how to do it. Certain things +she liked to do herself.</p> + +<p>In the drawing-room was a chandelier of the seventies, beautiful in its +way, though out of date, and she used to take the lustres down and +polish them with her own fingers, taking a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> great pride in doing this +herself. She cared really for no one in the world but her two sons, but +she was extremely fond, in her own way, of society and of receiving. She +did not keep open house, and hers was not by any means casual +hospitality. She hated anyone to call upon her unexpected and uninvited, +except on the first and third Thursday of every month. She was very much +surprised that in the rush of the present day people had a way of +forgetting these days and calling on others. The first Thursday was +peculiarly ill-treated and ignored, and preparations on that day were +often wasted, while on the second Thursday she would come home and find +a quantity of cards, belonging to more or less smart, if dull, people +who had left them, with a sigh of relief at their mistake.</p> + +<p>Lady Kellynch was good-natured in a cold kind of way, and even lavish; +yet she had her queer, petty economies, and was always talking about a +mysterious feat that she spoke of as <i>keeping the books down</i>, and was +also fond of discovering tiny little dressmakers who used to be with +some celebrated one and had now set up for themselves.</p> + +<p>Lady Kellynch was very kind to these little dressmakers—she spoke of +them as if they were minute to the point of being midgets or +dwarfs—she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> was really rather the curse of their lives, and after a +while they would have been glad to dispense with her custom. She wanted +them to do impossibilities, such as making her look exactly as she did +at Queen Victoria’s first Jubilee (the time when she was so much admired +and had such a success), and yet making her look up-to-date now, without +any of the horrid fast modern style.</p> + +<p>When Clifford was at home things were considerably turned upside down, +and when the time of his holidays drew to an end she was conscious of +being relieved.</p> + +<p>It was the first Thursday, and Lady Kellynch was at home. A day or two +before Clifford had spent a day with Pickering and his mother. She had +told him he might ask the boy to tea.</p> + +<p>“Mother,” said Clifford, who had received a note, “Pickering can’t come +to-day.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, indeed—what a pity.”</p> + +<p>She was really rather glad. Boys at an At Home were a bore and ate all +the cake.</p> + +<p>“Er—no—he can’t come. But, I say, you won’t mind, will you?—his +mother’s coming.”</p> + +<p>“His mother!” exclaimed Lady Kellynch, rather surprised.</p> + +<p>“Er—yes—I asked her. I thought, perhaps, you wouldn’t mind. She wants +to know you.”</p> + +<p>“Really? It’s very kind of her, I’m sure.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>“You see, in a way, though she’s awfully rich—I suppose she’s a bit of +a—you know what I mean—a sort of a <i>nouveau riche</i>. She wants to visit +a few decent people, especially not too young.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, indeed!”</p> + +<p>“She says it’ll sort of pose her, and help her to get into society.”</p> + +<p>“What curious things to say to a boy.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, she’s awfully jolly, mother. She says everything that comes into +her head. She’s ripping—I do like her.”</p> + +<p>“Who was she?” asked his mother, with a rather chilling accent.</p> + +<p>“I’m sure I don’t know who she was,” said the boy. “I can tell you who +she is: she’s the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.”</p> + +<p>“Good gracious me!”</p> + +<p>“We had awful larks,” went on Clifford. “She played with us and +Pickering’s kiddy sister. We danced the Tango and had charades. You +can’t think what fun it was. And we had tableaux. Mrs. Pickering and I +did a lovely tableau, ‘Death in the Desert.’ She fell down dead +suddenly, on the sand, you know, and I was a vulture. I’m an awfully +good vulture. And I vultured about and hopped round her for some +considerable time.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>“Horrible!” cried Lady Kellynch. “Revolting! What an unpleasant subject +for a game.”</p> + +<p>“It wasn’t a game: it was a proper tableau: we had a curtain and all +that sort of thing. They said I made a capital vulture. I pecked at Mrs. +Pickering. It was a great success.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me! Was it indeed? Well, if this lady’s coming, you’d better go +and wash your hands,” said Lady Kellynch, who felt a disposition to snub +Clifford on the subject.</p> + +<p>“Of course I will! I say, mother, what cakes have you got?”</p> + +<p>“Really, Clifford, I think you can leave that to me.”</p> + +<p>“They have jolly little <i>foie gras</i> sandwiches at the Pickerings.”</p> + +<p>“I daresay they have.”</p> + +<p>“Can I go and tell cook to make some?”</p> + +<p>“Most certainly not, Clifford!” cried the indignant mother.</p> + +<p>“But if there aren’t any, she might miss them,” said Clifford.</p> + +<p>“She will probably enjoy the change.”</p> + +<p>“You can’t think how pretty she is! I say, mother.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, dear.”</p> + +<p>“I say, can’t you have fur put round the edge of your shoes!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span>“Fur round the edge of my shoes!” she repeated in a hollow voice.</p> + +<p>He twisted his hands together self-consciously.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Pickering had an awful ripping violet sort of dress, and violet +satin boots with fur round the edge. … I noticed them when we played +’Death in the Desert.’ I thought they were rather pretty.”</p> + +<p>“Extremely bad style, I should think. At any rate, not the sort of thing +that I should dream of wearing. Now get along.”</p> + +<p>Clifford went down to the kitchen and worried the cook with descriptions +of the gorgeous cakes he had seen at the Pickerings till she said that +his ma had better accept her notice, and engage the Pickerings’ cook +instead.</p> + +<p>“Orders from you, Master Clifford, I will not take. And now you’ve got +it straight. <i>For grars</i> in the afternoon is a thing I don’t hold with +and never would hold with, and I’ve lived in the best families. There’s +some nice sandwiches made of <i>gentlemen’s relish</i> made of Blootes’ +paste, your ma’s always ’ad since I’ve been here; it’s done for her and +the best families I’ve lived in. <i>Fors grars</i> is served at the end of +dinner with apsia and jelly, or else in one of them things with crust on +the top<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> and truffles. But for tea I consider it quite out of place.”</p> + +<p>She went on to say that if she couldn’t have her kitchen to herself +without the young gentlemen of the house putting their oar in, she would +leave that day month.</p> + +<p>Clifford fled, frightened, and tidied himself.</p> + +<p>At about five, when two or three old cronies of Lady Kellynch’s were +sitting round, talking about the royal family, a gigantic motor, painted +white, came to the door, and Mrs. Pickering was announced.</p> + +<p>She was very young and very pretty. Her hair was the very brightest +gold, and she had rather too much mauve and too much smile; she almost +curtsied to her hostess, and instantly gave that lady the impression +that she must have been not so very long ago the principal boy at some +popular pantomime.</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span><a name="XXV" id="XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV +<br /> +<br />MRS. PICKERING</h2> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 8px;"> +<img src="images/quote.png" width="8" height="7" alt="Open quote" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="cap">OUR boys are such very great friends—I really felt I must know you!” +cried Mrs. Pickering in the most cordial way. She spoke with a very +slight Cockney accent. She bristled with aigrettes and sparkled with +jewels. Her bodice was cut very low, her sleeves very short, and her +white gloves came over the braceleted elbows. She wore a very high, +narrow turban, green satin shoes and stockings, and altogether was +dressed rather excessively; she looked like one of Louis Bauer’s +drawings in <i>Punch</i>. She was certainly most striking in appearance, and +a little alarming in a quiet room, but most decidedly pretty and with a +very pleasant smile.</p> + +<p>Lady Kellynch received her with great courtesy, but was not sufficiently +adaptable and subtle to conceal at once the fact that Mrs. Pickering’s +general appearance and manner had completely taken her breath away. +Also, she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> was annoyed that Lady Gertrude Münster was there to-day. Lady +Gertrude was one of her great cards. She was a clever, glib, +battered-looking, elderly woman, who, since her husband had once been at +the Embassy in Vienna, had assumed a slight foreign accent; it was meant +to be Austrian but sounded Scotch. Lady Gertrude looked rather muffled +and seemed to have more thick veils and feather boas on than was +necessary for the time of the year. She was an old friend of Lady +Kellynch’s, and they detested each other, but never missed an +opportunity of meeting, chiefly in order to impress each other, in one +way or another, or cause each other envy or annoyance.</p> + +<p>Lady Kellynch was always very specially careful whom she asked, or +allowed, to meet Lady Gertrude. She had wanted Bertha particularly +to-day and was vexed at this unexpected arrival.</p> + +<p>“Your daughter-in-law, my dear?” asked Lady Gertrude, in a surprised +tone, putting up her long tortoiseshell glass.</p> + +<p>“Oh <i>dear</i>, no, Gertrude! Surely you know Bertha by sight! I never had +the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Pickering before.”</p> + +<p>“Charmed to meet you,” said Mrs. Pickering again, giving a kind of +curtsy and smiling at Lady Gertrude. “Ah, there’s my little friend!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> +Well, Cliff, didn’t we have fun the other day? Eustace was sorry he +couldn’t come to-day. We had the greatest larks, Lady Kellynch! I play +with the kids just like one of themselves. We’ve got a great big room +fixed up on purpose for Cissie and Eustace to romp. We haven’t been +there very long yet, Lady Kellynch. You know that big corner house in +Hamilton Place leading into Park Lane. My husband thinks there’s nothing +good enough for the children. If it comes to that, he thinks there’s +nothing good enough for me.” She giggled. “He gave me this emerald +brooch only this morning. ‘Oh, Tom,’ I said, ‘what a silly you are. You +don’t want to make a fuss about birthdays now we’re getting on.’ But he +is silly about me! It’s a nice little thing, isn’t it?” she said, +showing it to Lady Gertrude, who put up her glass to examine it.</p> + +<p>“Lady Gertrude Münster—Mrs. Pickering,” said Lady Kellynch. “Some tea?”</p> + +<p>“Thanks, no tea. It’s a pretty little thing, isn’t it, Lady Münster?”</p> + +<p>“Rather nice. Are they real?” asked Lady Gertrude.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pickering laughed very loudly. “You’re getting at me. I shouldn’t +be so pleased with it if it came out of a cracker! But what I always say +about presents, Lady Kellynch, is, it isn’t<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> so much the kind thought, +it’s the value of the gift I look at. No, I meant——”</p> + +<p>“What you said, I suppose,” said Lady Gertrude, who was rather enjoying +herself, as she saw her hostess was irritated.</p> + +<p>“Whoever’s that pretty picture over there?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pickering got up and went to look at the piano.</p> + +<p>Lady Kellynch still retained (with several other <i>passé</i> fashions) the +very South Kensington custom of covering up her large piano with a +handsome piece of Japanese embroidery, which was caught up at intervals +into bunchy bits of drapery, fastened by pots of flowers with sashes +round their necks and with a very large number of dark photographs in +frames, so very artistic in their heavy shading that one saw only a +gleam of light occasionally on the tip of the nose or the back of the +neck—all the rest in shadow—all with very large dashing signatures +slanting across the corners, chiefly of former dim social celebrities or +present well-known obscurities. The photograph she was looking at now +was a pretty one of Bertha.</p> + +<p>“Ah, that is my daughter-in-law.”</p> + +<p>Lady Kellynch pointed it out to Lady Gertrude.</p> + +<p>“This <i>is</i> pretty—what you can see of it.”</p> + +<p>“Here she is herself.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span>Bertha came in.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Pickering—Mrs. Percy Kellynch.”</p> + +<p>The hostess gave Bertha an imploring look. She took in the situation at +a glance and drew Mrs. Pickering a little aside, where Lady Gertrude +could not listen to her piercing Cockney accent.</p> + +<p>Clifford joined the group.</p> + +<p>If Lady Kellynch had been, almost against her will, reminded by +something in her visitor of a pantomime, Bertha saw far more. She was +convinced at once that the rich eldest son of Pickering, the Jam King, +had been dazzled and carried away, some fourteen years ago, and bestowed +his enormous fortune and himself, probably against his family’s wish, on +a little provincial chorus girl. Her cheery determination to get on, and +an evident sense of humour, made Bertha like her, in spite of her +snobbishness and her manner. She was a change, at least, to meet here, +and when Mrs. Pickering produced her card, which she did to everyone to +whom she spoke, Bertha promised to call and asked her also. Of course +one would have to be a shade careful whom one asked to meet her, but +probably it would be a jolly house to go to. And nowadays! Still, Bertha +was a little surprised that Clifford was so infatuated with the mother +of his friend. She forgot that at twelve years old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> one is not +fastidious; the taste is crude. If he admired Bertha’s fair hair, he +thought Mrs. Pickering’s brilliant gold curls still prettier. Besides, +Mrs. Pickering petted and made much of him, and was very kind.</p> + +<p>She stayed much too long for a first visit, and as she went of course +produced another card, saying to the muffled lady:</p> + +<p>“Pleased to have met you, Lady Münster. I hope you’ll call and see our +new house. We’re going to give a ball soon. We’re entertaining this +season.”</p> + +<p>“She certainly is,” murmured Lady Gertrude. Then, as she left: “My dear, +where do you pick up your extraordinary friends?”</p> + +<p>This was a particularly nasty one for Lady Kellynch, who made such a +point of her exclusiveness.</p> + +<p>“Clifford is responsible for this, I think,” said Bertha. “The boys are +at the same school, and they’ve been very kind to him. I think she’s +very amusing, and a good sort.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, quite a character! She told me she met her husband at Blackpool. He +fell in love with her when she was playing Prince Charming in No. 2 B +Company on tour with the pantomime <i>Little Miss Muffet</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Just what one would have thought!” said Lady Kellynch, rather +tragically.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span>“I’ve come to ask you if you’ll go with Percy to the Queen’s Hall +to-morrow,” Bertha said. “He wants you to come so much.”</p> + +<p>The mother delightedly consented.</p> + +<p>“Curious fad that is the mania for serious music,” said Lady Gertrude. +“You don’t share your husband’s taste for it, it seems?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I do, really. But it’s such a treat for him to take his mother +out!” said Bertha tactfully.</p> + +<p>“I say, Bertha, may I come back with you? I’m going back to school next +week.”</p> + +<p>“Of course you shall, if your mother likes.”</p> + +<p>His mother was glad to agree. She did not feel inclined to discuss Mrs. +Pickering with the boy that evening.</p> + +<p>“Try and make him see what an awful woman she is,” she murmured.</p> + +<p>“I will; but it isn’t dangerous,” laughed Bertha. “Madeline is spending +the evening with me to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, that nice quiet girl. By the way, do you know, I heard she was +engaged to young Charles Hillier. And then somewhere else I was told it +was Mr. Rupert Denison.”</p> + +<p>“It’s neither,” calmly replied Bertha, “But I believe each of them +proposed to her.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span>“Is that a fact? Dear me! Just fancy her refusing them both! What a +grief for poor Mrs. Irwin!”</p> + +<p>Bertha laughed as she remembered that as a matter of fact Madeline had +accepted both, within two days.</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span><a name="XXVI" id="XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI +<br /> +<br />NEWS FROM VENICE</h2> + + +<p class="cap">MADELINE was sitting one afternoon with her mother in their little +Chippendale flat, all inlaid mahogany and old-fashioned chintz, china in +cabinets, and miniatures on crimson velvet; it was so perfectly in +keeping that the very parlourmaid’s cap looked Chippendale, and it +somehow suggested Hugh Thomson’s illustrations to Jane Austen’s books. +Mrs. Irwin and Madeline were not, however, in the least degree like Miss +Austen’s heroines and their mothers, except that Mrs. Irwin, though very +thin and elegant, had this one resemblance to the immortal Mrs. Bennet +in “Pride and Prejudice”: “the serious object of her life was to get her +daughter married; its solace, gossiping and news.” Also she had much of +the same querulousness, and complained every night of nerves, and each +morning of insomnia.</p> + +<p>Madeline was reading John Addington Symonds’ Renaissance and everything +that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> she could get on the subject of Italian history and cinquecento +art. These studies she pursued still as a sort of monument to Rupert, or +as a link with him. And to-day, as she was waiting for Bertha to call +and take her out, she received a letter from him, from Venice.</p> + +<p>It was one of his long, friendly, cultured letters; making no allusion +to any thoughts of becoming more than friends to each other, and no +reference to the interlude of his proposal, or the episode of her +engagement to Charlie. This memory seemed to have faded away, and he +wrote in his old instructive way a long letter in his pretty little +handwriting, speaking of gondoliers, Savonarola, hotels, pictures, +lagoons, fashions and the weather. This last, he declared to be so +unbearable that he thought of coming back to London before very long. He +asked for an answer to his letter, and wished to know what she was +reading, what concerts she had been to, and whether she had seen the +exhibition at the Goupil Gallery.</p> + +<p>But though it took her back to long before the period of his +love-letter, and he appeared to wish the whole affair to be forgotten, +it gave her considerable satisfaction. He wanted to hear of her, and, +what was more, he was coming back. Of course Mrs. Irwin saw that the +letter was from him, and she remarked that she had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> always said everyone +had a right to their own letters, and that after twenty-one, nowadays, +she supposed girls could do exactly what they liked, which she thought +was only fair; that mothers, very rightly, hardly counted in the present +day, were regarded as nobody, and were treated with no confidence of any +kind, of which she thoroughly approved; that Madeline’s new coat and +skirt suited her very badly and did not fit; and that grey had never +been her colour.</p> + +<p>Madeline’s reply to this was to place the long letter into her mother’s +hand.</p> + +<p>Having read it, Mrs. Irwin said she did not wish to force anybody’s +confidence, and she was evidently disappointed at its contents. However, +she advised her daughter to answer without loss of time.</p> + +<p>The conversation was interrupted by Bertha’s arrival.</p> + +<p>“You know my brother-in-law, Clifford?” she said. “The funny boy has +‘littery’ tastes and began writing an historical play! But he got tired +of it and now he’s taken to writing verses. I’ve brought you one of his +poems; they’re so funny I thought it would amuse you. Fancy if a brother +of Percy’s should grow up to be a ‘littery gent’. I suspect it to be +addressed to the mother of his beloved friend, Pickering. He is devoted +to her.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span>“Where are you going to-day?” inquired Mrs. Irwin.</p> + +<p>“I’m taking Madeline to see Miss Belvoir. She has rather amusing +afternoons. Her brother, Fred Belvoir, whom she lives with, is a curious +sort of celebrity. When he went down from Oxford they had a sort of +funeral procession because he was so popular. He’s known on every +race-course; he’s a great hunting man, an authority on musical comedy, +and is literary too—he writes for <i>Town Topics</i>. Miss Belvoir is the +most good-natured woman in the world, and so intensely hospitable that +she asks everyone to lunch or dinner the first time she meets them, and +sometimes without having been introduced, and she asks everyone to bring +their friends. They have a charming flat on the Thames Embankment and a +dear little country house called The Lurch, where her brother often +leaves her. They’re mad on private theatricals, too, and are always +dressing up.”</p> + +<p>“It sounds rather fun,” said Madeline.</p> + +<p>“Not very exclusive,” suggested her mother.</p> + +<p>“No, not a bit. But it’s great fun,” said Bertha, “and I’ve heard people +say that you can be as exclusive as you like at Miss Belvoir’s by +bringing your own set and talking only to them. People who go to her +large parties often don’t know her by sight; she’s so lost in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> +crowd, and she never remembers anybody, or knows them again. To be ever +so little artistic is a sufficient passport to be asked to the +Belvoirs’. In fact if a brother-in-law of a friend of yours once sent an +article to a magazine which was not inserted, or if your second cousin +once met Tree at a party, and was not introduced to him, that is quite +sufficient to make you a welcome guest there. Now that my little +brother-in-law has written a poem, I shall have a <i>raison d’ê</i> in +being there. You’ll see, Madeline, you’ll enjoy yourself.”</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span><a name="XXVII" id="XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII +<br /> +<br />ANOTHER ANONYMOUS LETTER</h2> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 8px;"> +<img src="images/quote.png" width="8" height="7" alt="Open quote" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="cap">OH, Bertha, I’ve heard from Rupert again,” said Madeline, as they drove +along.</p> + +<p>“I saw you’d had a letter from that talented young cul-de-sac,” replied +Bertha.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing. I didn’t mean anything. I like to tease you, and you must +confess that he’s the sort of man—well, nothing ever seems to get much +forrarder with him! What does he say?”</p> + +<p>“It’s just the sort of letter he wrote long before he ever dreamt of +proposing to me.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I think that’s rather a good sign. He’s reassumed his early +manner. I believe he’s going to work his way up all over again—all +through the beaten paths, and ignore the incident that hurt his vanity, +and then propose again. We may have rather fun here to-day. Sometimes +there are only a few fly-blown celebrities, and sometimes there are very +new beginners without a future, debutantes who will never <i>débuter</i>, +singers who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> can’t sing, actors who never have any engagements, and +editors who are just thinking of bringing out a paper. Miss Belvoir +collects people who are unknown but prominent, noticeable and yet +obscure. Here we are.”</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>While Bertha and Madeline were being entertained in Miss Belvoir’s +drawing-room something more serious was happening to Percy.</p> + +<p>The day after the Hilliers’ party Nigel had a terrible quarrel with his +wife, and he threatened that if she ever again lost her self-control and +disgraced him or herself by anything in the way of a scene, that he +would leave her and never come back. This really frightened her, for she +knew she had behaved unpardonably. She would not have minded so very +much if he had gone away for a little while, but how was she to prevent +the Kellynches going to the same place—even travelling with him? She +had been amazed to see Bertha. At the time she sent the letters there +had certainly been a marked change, a new movement, as she thought. They +had had an effect, without a doubt, though how or what she hardly knew, +but she supposed she had roused Percy’s suspicions and he had stopped +the meetings. And then Mrs. Kellynch calmly came<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> to the party without +her husband, which seemed to prove she knew nothing of the letters, and +disappeared at once with Nigel into the shaded conversation-room, +snatching her host and openly flirting with him in the most marked way! +It had been too much for her self-restraint. But now Mary saw she had +gone too far. Her open fury had been less successful than her secret +intriguing, so she apologised most humbly, entreated him to forgive her, +and even swore never to interfere again. He was to be quite free. He +might see Mrs. Kellynch whenever he liked. But all this was, of course, +too late for Nigel, since Bertha herself had declined to see him again, +and Mary resolved to start afresh. Probably the husband had lost his +suspicions and they must be roused again. If only Bertha had told him +all that had happened at the party, and if only Percy had frankly shown +her the letters and concealed nothing from her, there would have been no +more trouble. But each of them, from mistaken reasons, had concealed +these facts from the other. So, within a week of the entertainment, when +he had been so enchanted with her coming home early, Percy received +another shock, another warning anonymous letter.</p> + +<p>It told him that his wife had made herself so conspicuous with Nigel +Hillier that the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> hostess had requested her to leave, also that their +meetings and their intrigue were the talk of London. He was again +advised to put a stop to it, but was not this time given any day and +hour or place to find them.</p> + +<p>This time Percy said nothing to his wife. He made up his mind to have it +out, for several reasons, with Nigel. Though he was angry and jealous, +he now did not believe for a moment that Bertha was in any way to blame, +but simply that Nigel must be paying her marked attention, and whatever +the cause of the talk he was determined to stop it.</p> + +<p>He thought for some time about where he could have an interview with +Nigel. He could not ask him to his own house, nor could he go and see +him at Grosvenor Street. His former idea of talking at the club he saw +to be impossible.</p> + +<p>He sat down and wrote:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="nb">“<span class="smcap">Dear Hillier</span>,—I want to have a talk with you. Will you come and +see me at my chambers at four o’clock the day after to-morrow? No. 7 +Essex Court, Temple. Yours sincerely,</p> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">“Percival Kellynch</span>.”<br /> +</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span>Nigel was amazed to receive this, and rather alarmed too. It was about a +week since he had had Bertha’s little letter, but he had made no attempt +to see her since.</p> + +<p>He answered immediately that he would call at the time appointed and +passed a very restless day and night beforehand.</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span><a name="XXVIII" id="XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII +<br /> +<br />AN INTERVIEW</h2> + + +<p class="cap">NIGEL, filled with curiosity, and rather anxious, arrived punctually to +the moment. He was shown into Percy’s chambers by a stout and +prosperous-looking middle-aged clerk, with a gold watch-chain.</p> + +<p>He waited there for some minutes, walking slowly up and down the room +and examining it. It was a very dull, serious room, almost depressing. +On the large table lay bulbous important-looking briefs, tied up with +red tape. Framed caricatures of judges and eminent barristers from +<i>Vanity Fair</i> hung round the walls. The furniture was scarce, large and +heavy. On the mantelpiece was a framed photograph with a closed leather +cover. It looked interesting and expensive, and Nigel with his quick +movements had the curiosity to go across the room to open it. It +contained two lovely photographs of Bertha: one in furs and a hat, the +other in evening dress. It irritated<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> Nigel. … A sound of footsteps +gave him only just time to close it with a spring, and sit down.</p> + +<p>Percy came in looking as Nigel had never seen him look before. There had +been an unimportant case in court, but he had been unable to get away +before. He was so orderly as a rule that he detested keeping anybody +waiting. He looked flushed and hurried, and his black smooth hair was +extraordinarily rough and wild. Of course, Nigel remembered, he had just +taken off his wig. There was a red line on his forehead, the mark left +by this ornament. The effect made him look like a different person. He +threw off his coat and spoke seriously and rather formally.</p> + +<p>“Sorry, Hillier. Delayed in court. Hope I haven’t kept you?”</p> + +<p>“It doesn’t matter in the least,” Nigel answered in his cheery way.</p> + +<p>Nigel was looking exceedingly at ease, and happy, though the manner was +really assumed to-day. He was very smartly dressed, with light gloves +and a buttonhole of violets, and looked a gay contrast to Percy, with +his unusually rough hair and solemn expression.</p> + +<p>“I was very interested. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a barrister’s +chambers before. Jolly rooms you’ve got here. What a charming place<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> the +Temple is. … Well! I’ve been simply dying of curiosity,” he went on, +with a pleasant smile.</p> + +<p>“Sit down,” said Percy. “Have a cigarette?”</p> + +<p>Nigel lighted up. Percy did not.</p> + +<p>“It’s not very pleasant what I want to say to you. It’s simply that I +don’t want you to come to our house any more.”</p> + +<p>Nigel looked surprised and coloured slightly.</p> + +<p>“And may I ask your reason?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see why I should give it, but I will. I don’t wish you to see +my wife any more.”</p> + +<p>“This is very extraordinary, Kellynch! Why?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve reason to believe that your old friendship has been the cause of +some talk—some scandal. I don’t like it. I won’t have it, and that’s +sufficient. I insist on you avoiding her in future.”</p> + +<p>Nigel stared blankly.</p> + +<p>“I can only agree of course. I’ll do just as you tell me. But I think, +as we’ve known each other so long, that it would be only fair for you to +tell me what is your reason for thinking this.”</p> + +<p>Nigel walked up and down the room, turned suddenly and said: “What has +put this idea into your head?”</p> + +<p>Percy hesitated a moment.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span>“I’ll tell you if you like. But, mind, I want no explanations. I needn’t +say,” he glanced at the closed photograph, “that I could have no doubt +of any kind. … But I have a right to choose my friends and my wife’s +also.”</p> + +<p>“She doesn’t object?”</p> + +<p>Percy frowned and looked him straight in the face.</p> + +<p>“I undertake to say she will not object. We’ll make this conversation as +short as we can. You’ve asked me my reason and I’ll give it you. I’ve +had a series of extraordinary anonymous letters concerning you.”</p> + +<p>Nigel stared, horrified.</p> + +<p>“She knows nothing about it,” continued Percy, “and I attach no +importance to them, except, as I say, they show that your acquaintance +must have been misconstrued, and I won’t have a shadow … on her.”</p> + +<p>“This is rather hard on me, Kellynch. However, I have the satisfaction +of knowing my conscience is absolutely clear, and of course, I’ll do +just as you wish. Have you any objection to showing me the letters?”</p> + +<p>After a moment’s pause, Percy said:</p> + +<p>“No. I don’t know that I have. I’ve got them here. I meant to shove them +in the fire, but I’ll let you read them first, if you like.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span>He went to a drawer, unlocked it, gave Nigel the letters, and watched +him while he read them.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>The moment Nigel glanced at them he knew they were written by Mary. He +remembered by the dates when she had had the typewriter; he remembered, +even, seeing some of the white notepaper. He read them all. Then he +looked up and said:</p> + +<p>“Kellynch, it’s good of you to show these to me. I’m sorry to say I know +who wrote them. The earlier ones telling of the appointments are all +perfectly true, but entirely misrepresented. They can all be explained.”</p> + +<p>“I understand that,” said Percy. “Of course the suggestion and the +impression the writer tries to give are absolutely false.”</p> + +<p>“Quite so. May I burn the letters now?”</p> + +<p>There was a fire and Nigel threw them into it. He saw no point in +keeping them to confront Mary with. She would confess anyhow.</p> + +<p>“May I ask one thing more?”</p> + +<p>“My wife knows nothing about them,” repeated Percy.</p> + +<p>Nigel thought what a pity that was. If she had, she would not have come +to the party; things might have been tided over. But now. … He had no +hope of the wish of his life, he was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> as furious as a spoilt child who +is deprived of a favourite toy—or, rather, disappointed of all hopes of +getting one. He became more and more angry with Percy and longed to +annoy him. The fellow was too satisfied—too lucky—he had everything +too much his own way!</p> + +<p>“May I ask one thing?” said Nigel, as the letters were burning and he +gave them one last irritated touch with the poker, “may I ask, does this +affair give you the impression that I—only I naturally—had +any—er—motives in trying to see Mrs. Kellynch often? If I may put it +plainly, did you think I cared for her in a way that I had no right to?”</p> + +<p>“To tell you the honest truth,” said Percy, “as I choose to be frank +with you, I won’t say you had … motives, but I have the impression +that you—er—admire her too much.”</p> + +<p>Nigel waited a moment.</p> + +<p>“And there you are perfectly right, Kellynch.”</p> + +<p>Percy started up, looking a little pale.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Nigel had got a little of his revenge.</p> + +<p>He had annoyed the comfortable Percy.</p> + +<p>“But let me say that all this time I have never, never shown it by word +or look. Our talks were almost entirely about Madeline Irwin and my +brother, or about Rupert Denison. Your wife is so exceedingly kind and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> +good that she wished to see Miss Madeline as happy as herself.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, I know all that,” said Percy impatiently.</p> + +<p>“I shall follow your wishes to the very letter,” said Nigel. “You see +how very open I’ve been. How will you explain to her that I drop your +acquaintance?”</p> + +<p>“I think I shall tell her now,” said Percy, “that I had received a +letter and that I’ve seen you. But I shall tell her we parted the best +of friends, and nothing must be done, above all things, to annoy or +agitate her.”</p> + +<p>He looked at the closed leather case again.</p> + +<p>“Just now I want to take special care of her. I daresay she won’t notice +not meeting you, as we’re not going out in the evening the rest of the +season nor entertaining.”</p> + +<p>Nigel looked amazed. An idea occurred to him that caused him absurd +mortification. It dawned upon his mind that perhaps Bertha was going to +have her wish. If so, he would be forgotten more completely than ever.</p> + +<p>“Forgive me for asking, Kellynch. I think you’ve been very good to me, +really. I trust your wife is not ill?”</p> + +<p>“Ill?—oh dear, no.”</p> + +<p>Percy smiled a smile that to Nigel seemed maddeningly complacent. “She +merely wants<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> a little care for a time. We shall go to the country very +early this year. As a matter of fact, it’s something she’s very pleased +about.” He stopped.</p> + +<p>Nigel gave a pale smile. Percy was too irritating!</p> + +<p>“Well, you were right not to worry her about the letters. I’m very sorry +for the whole thing. I think it’s been hard on me, Kellynch.”</p> + +<p>He stood up.</p> + +<p>“Good-bye, Hillier!”</p> + +<p>Nigel held out his hand; Percy shook it coldly.</p> + +<p>As he went to the door, taking up his hat and stick, Nigel said:</p> + +<p>“I sincerely hope you won’t miss me!”</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span><a name="XXIX" id="XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX +<br /> +<br />NIGEL AND MARY</h2> + + +<p class="cap">NIGEL rushed back. On his way, he decided that he had got a real excuse +for a holiday; he had every right to go away for a time from such a +wife; and he found himself thinking chiefly about where he would go and +how he would amuse himself. If the husband had only known it, Bertha had +already, if not exactly forbidden him the house, discouraged his +calling, almost as distinctly, though more kindly, than Percy did. +Still, if Percy had not given him that piece of information, he would +have remained in London, and left it to chance that they might meet +again somehow. He was such an optimist, and was really so very much in +love with her. Curious that this news of Bertha should annoy and should +excite him so much! Why, it seemed to him to be a matter of more +importance and far more interest than in his own wife’s case. That he +had taken quite as a matter of course, an ordinary everyday occurrence<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> +“which would give her something to do.” He was really disappointed when +he found that Mary did not absorb herself in her children, and found she +was only anxious—foolishly anxious—that he should not think that they +could take his place as companions.</p> + +<p>Nigel was affectionate by nature, and if Mary had insisted on that +note—if she had made him proud of his children, encouraged his +affection for them, if she had played the madonna—his affection for her +would have been immensely increased. She would have had a niche in his +heart—a respect and tenderness, even if she had never been able to make +him entirely faithful, which, perhaps, only one woman could have done. +But, instead of that, Mary had been jealous and silly and violently +exacting. She wished him to be her slave and under her thumb, and yet +she wanted him to be her lover. Every word she had ever spoken, +everything she had ever done since their marriage had had the exact +contrary effect of what she desired. She had sent him further and +further away from her. That she knew he had married her for her money +embittered her and yet made her tyrannical. She wanted to take advantage +of that fact, in a way that no man could endure. Yet she was to be +pitied. Anyone so exacting must be terribly unhappy.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span>It was not in Nigel, either, to care long for anyone who cared for him +so much. And even if Bertha, who was now his ideal and his dream, had +been as devoted to him as Mary, and shown it in anything like the same +sort of way, he would in time have become cool and ceased to appreciate +her. He thought now that he would always adore her, and yet, when they +had been actually engaged, it had been he who had allowed it to lapse. +He might think that he cared for her far more now and understood her +better, and now no worldly object would induce him to give up the +possibility of their passing their lives together. And yet the fact +remained. She had loved him as a girl—worshipped him. But he had broken +it off. So now that he has lost all hope of his wish, he does not, +strictly speaking, deserve any sympathy; yet all emotional suffering +appeals to one’s pity rather than to one’s sense of justice. And Nigel +was miserable.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>The letter Bertha had sent him the other day, though it put an end to +their meeting, had a sort of fragrance; a tender kindness about it. He +could make himself believe that she also was a little sorry. Perhaps she +did it more from motives of duty than from her own wish; something about +it left a little glamour, and he had still hope that somehow or other<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> +circumstances might alter so much that even so they might be friends +again. But now! it was very different. Percy’s quiet satisfaction showed +that they were on the most perfect terms, and he could imagine Bertha’s +delight—her high spirits—and her charming little ways of showing her +pleasure. It forced itself on his mind against his will, that she was +very much in love with Percy after all these ten years, difficult as it +seemed to him to realise it.</p> + +<p>So they were hardly going out any more! So they were going to the +country early to have a sort of second honeymoon! It seemed to him that +after ten years of gay camaraderie they were now suddenly going to +behave like lovers, like a newly married young couple.</p> + +<p>How sickening it was, and how absorbed she would be now! People always +made much more of an event like that when it happened after some years. +Personally he tried to think it made him like her less, at any rate it +seemed to make her far more removed from him. But all the real +estrangement had been caused undoubtedly by his wife.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>On the whole, to be just, that pompous ass, as he called him, Percy +Kellynch, had really behaved very well. He had accused Nigel of nothing; +he had suggested nothing about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> his wife, who was still, evidently, on a +pedestal; he had really done the right thing and been considerate to her +in the highest degree. Any man who cared for his wife would have +naturally requested him, Nigel, to keep away. And it was really decent, +frightfully decent of him, to let him see the letters, really kind and +fair. Of course what put old Percy in a good temper, in spite of all, +was this news, and, no doubt, Bertha was being angelic to him.</p> + +<p>Nigel made up his mind to try and throw it off. But he couldn’t do it by +staying with his wife.</p> + +<p>To look at her would be agonising now.</p> + +<p>Still he made up his mind he would be calm, he would not be unkind to +her; he would be firm, and, as far as possible, have no sort of scene.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>When he went in, she was sitting in the boudoir looking out of the +window as usual. She saw him before he came in. It was not six o’clock +yet and quite light.</p> + +<p>“Well, Nigel darling?” She ran up to him.</p> + +<p>He moved away.</p> + +<p>“Please don’t, Mary. I’ve got something serious to speak to you about.”</p> + +<p>She turned pale, guiltily.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span>“What is it? What on earth is it?”</p> + +<p>“You shall hear. Shall we talk about it now, or wait till after dinner? +I think I’d rather wait. I’ve got a bit of a headache.”</p> + +<p>“After dinner, then,” murmured Mary.</p> + +<p>This was very unlike her. Had she had nothing on her conscience, nothing +she was afraid of, she would never have ceased questioning and worrying +him to get it all out of him.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>He went up to his room, and asked her to leave him, and this she +actually did. She wanted time to think!</p> + +<p>With the weak good nature that was in Nigel, curiously side by side with +a certain cruel hardness, he now felt a little sorry for her. It must be +awful to be waiting like this. And she really had been in the wrong. It +was an appalling thing to do—mad, hysterical, dangerous. It might have +caused far more trouble than it had! Suppose Percy had believed it all!</p> + +<p>Nigel thought of scandals, divorces, all sorts of things. Yes, after +all, Kellynch had really been kind; and clever. He was not a bad sort. +Then Nigel found that last little letter of Bertha’s. How sweet it was! +But he saw through it now, that she was deeply happy and didn’t want to +be bothered with him. She forgave the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> scene his wife had made at the +party, as not one woman in a hundred would do—but she didn’t want him. +The moment she realised that he wanted to flirt with her, that there was +even a chance of his loving her, she was simply bored. Yes, that was +it—gay, amusing, witty, attractive Nigel bored her! Dull, serious, +conventional Percy did not! She was in love with him.</p> + +<p>In books and plays it was always the other way: it was the husband that +was the bore; but romances and comedies are often far away from life. +Curious as it seemed, this was life, and Nigel realised it. He destroyed +her letter and went down to dinner.</p> + +<p>They were quiet at dinner, talked a little only for the servants. Nigel +asked about the little girl.</p> + +<p>“How’s Marjorie getting on with her music lessons?”</p> + +<p>Mary answered in a low voice that the teacher thought she had talent. +…</p> + +<p>They were left alone.</p> + +<p>“Well, what is it, Nigel?” She spoke in querulous, frightened voice.</p> + +<p>They were sitting in the boudoir again. Coffee had been left on the +table.</p> + +<p>Nigel lighted a cigarette.</p> + +<p>He was still a little sorry for her. Then he said:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span>“Look here, Mary, I’m sorry to say I’ve found out you’ve been doing a +very terrible thing! I ask you not to deny it, because I know it. The +only chance of our ever being in peace together again, or in peace at +all, is for you to speak the truth.”</p> + +<p>She did not answer.</p> + +<p>“I’ve forgiven heaps of things—frightful tempers, mad suspicions, that +disgraceful scene you made at our party—but I always thought you were +honourable and truthful. What you’ve done is very dishonourable. Don’t +make it worse by denying it.” He paused. “You have written five +anonymous letters, dictated in typewriting, about me and Mrs. Kellynch +to her husband. I don’t know what you thought, but you certainly tried +to give the impression that our harmless conversations meant something +more. That there was an intrigue going on. Did you really think this, +may I ask?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I did,” she said, in a low voice, looking down.</p> + +<p>“Well, first allow me to assure you that you are entirely wrong. It was +completely false. Can’t you see now how terrible it was to suggest these +absolute lies as facts to her husband? Did you write the letters?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I did; I was in despair. I couldn’t think of anything else to stop +it.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span>Nigel gave a sigh of relief.</p> + +<p>“Thank God you’ve admitted it, Mary. I’m glad of that. At least if we +have the truth between us, we know where we are.”</p> + +<p>“Did she—did she—tell you?”</p> + +<p>“She knows nothing whatever about it,” said Nigel. “She has never been +told, and never will be. You need worry no more about the letters. Her +husband gave them to me this afternoon, and I destroyed them before him. +And he doesn’t know who wrote them.”</p> + +<p>Nigel forgot that he had told Percy or did not choose to say.</p> + +<p>“They’re completely wiped out, and will be forgotten by the person to +whom you sent them. The whole affair is cleared up and finished and +regarded as an unfortunate act of folly.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Nigel!” Mary burst into tears. “You’re very good.”</p> + +<p>“Now listen, Mary … I can’t endure to stay with you any more at +present.”</p> + +<p>“What!” she screamed.</p> + +<p>“If I continue this existence with you I shall grow to hate it. I wish +to go away for a time.”</p> + +<p>“You want to leave me!”</p> + +<p>“Unless I go now for a time to try and get over this act of yours, I +tell you frankly that I shall leave you altogether.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span>He spoke sternly.</p> + +<p>“If you will have the decency not to oppose my wishes, I will go away +for six or seven weeks, and when I come back we’ll try and take up our +life again a little differently. You must be less jealous and exacting +and learn to control yourself. I will then try to forget and we’ll try +to get on better together. But I must go. My nerves won’t stand it any +longer.”</p> + +<p>She sobbed, leaning her head on the back of an arm-chair.</p> + +<p>“If you agree to this without the slightest objection,” said Nigel, “I +will come and join you and the children somewhere in the first week in +August. Till then I’m going abroad, but I don’t exactly know where. You +shall have my address, and, of course, I shall write. I may possibly go +to Venice. I have a friend there.”</p> + +<p>She still said nothing, but cried bitterly. She was in despair at the +idea of his leaving her, but secretly felt she might have been let off +less lightly.</p> + +<p>One thing Nigel resolved. He would not let her know he had been +forbidden the house. She would be too pleased at having succeeded. But +he said:</p> + +<p>“One thing you may as well know, I shall see nothing more of the +Kellynches, because<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> they are going into the country in a few days. They +have had no quarrel, they are perfectly devoted to each other, and she +has not the faintest idea of it. So you see you haven’t done the harm, +or caused the pain you tried to, except to me. I was ashamed when I +saw——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Nigel, forgive me! I am sorry! Don’t go away!”</p> + +<p>“Unless I go away now, I shall go altogether. Don’t cry. Try to cheer +up!”</p> + +<p>With these words he left the room.</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span><a name="XXX" id="XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX +<br /> +<br />MISS BELVOIR</h2> + + +<p class="cap">WE left Bertha and Madeline in the lift going up to call on Miss +Belvoir. This lady was sitting by the fire, holding a screen. She came +forward and greeted them with great cordiality. She was a small, dark, +amiable-looking woman about thirty. Her hair and eyes were of a +blackness one rarely sees, her complexion was clear and bright, her +figure extremely small and trim. Without being exactly pretty, she was +very agreeable to the eye, and also had the attraction of looking +remarkably different from other people. Indeed her costume was so +uncommon as to be on the verge of eccentricity. Her face had a slightly +Japanese look, and she increased this effect by wearing a gown of which +a part was decidedly Japanese. In fact it was a kimono covered with +embroidery in designs consisting of a flight of storks, some +chrysanthemums, and a few butterflies, in the richest shades of blue. In +the left-hand corner were two little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> yellow men fighting with a sword +in each hand; otherwise it was all blue. It was almost impossible to +keep one’s eyes from this yellow duel; the little embroidered figures +looked so fierce and emotional and appeared to be enjoying themselves so +much.</p> + +<p>The room in which Miss Belvoir received her friends was very large, long +and low, and had a delightful view of the river from the Embankment. It +was a greyish afternoon, vague and misty, and one saw from the windows +views that looked exactly like pictures by Whistler. The room was +furnished in a Post-Impressionist style, chiefly in red, black and +brown; the colours were all plain—that is to say, there were no designs +except on the ceiling, which was cosily covered with large, brilliantly +tinted, life-sized parrots.</p> + +<p>Miss Belvoir’s brother, Fred, often declared that when he came home +late, which he generally did—between six and nine in the morning were +his usual hours—he always had to stop himself from getting a gun, and +he was afraid that some day he might lose his self-control and be +tempted to shoot the parrots. He was an excellent shot.</p> + +<p>The room was full of low bookcases crammed with books, and large fat +cushions on the floor. They looked extremely comfortable, but as a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> +matter of fact nobody ever liked sitting on them. When English people +once overcame their natural shyness so far as to sit down on them, they +were afraid they would never be able to get up again.</p> + +<p>Three or four people were dotted about the room, but no one had ventured +on the cushions. There was one young lady whose hair was done in the +early Victorian style, parted in the middle, with bunches of curls each +side. As far as her throat she appeared to be strictly a Victorian—very +English, about 1850—but from that point she suddenly became Oriental, +and for the rest was dressed principally in what looked like beaded +curtains.</p> + +<p>Leaning on the mantelpiece and smoking a cigarette with great ease of +manner was a striking and agreeable-looking young man, about eight and +twenty, whom Miss Belvoir introduced as Mr. Bevan Fairfield. He was fair +and good-looking, very dandified in dress, and with a rather humorously +turned-up nose and an excessively fluent way of speaking.</p> + +<p>“I was just scolding Miss Belvoir,” he said, “when you came in. She’s +been playing me the trick she’s always playing. She gets me here under +the pretext that some celebrity’s coming and then they don’t turn up. +Signor Semolini, the Futurist, I was asked to meet. And then she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> gets a +telegram—or says she does—that he can’t come. Very odd, very curious, +they never can come—at any rate when I’m here. Some people would rather +say, ‘Fancy, I was asked to Miss Belvoir’s the other day to meet +Semolini, only he didn’t turn up,’ than not say anything at all. Some +people think it’s a distinction not to have met Semolini at Miss +Belvoir’s.”</p> + +<p>“It’s quite a satisfactory distinction,” remarked Bertha. “Semolini has +been to see us once, but he really isn’t very interesting.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, but still you’re able to say that. I sha’n’t be able to say, ‘I met +Semolini the other day, and, do you know, he’s such a disappointment.’”</p> + +<p>“Well, I couldn’t help it, Bevan,” murmured Miss Belvoir, smiling.</p> + +<p>“No, I know you couldn’t help it. Of course you couldn’t help it. That’s +just it—you never expected the man. I went to lunch with another liar +last week—I beg your pardon, Miss Belvoir—who asked me to meet Dusé. +She was so sorry she couldn’t come at the last minute. She sent a +telegram. Well, all I ask is, let me see the telegram.”</p> + +<p>“But you couldn’t; he ’phoned,” objected Miss Belvoir.</p> + +<p>“So you <i>say</i>,” returned the young man, as he passed a cup of tea to +Bertha.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span>“Will you have China tea and lemon and be smart, or India tea and milk +and sugar and enjoy it? I don’t mind owning that I like stewed tea—I +like a nice comfortable washer-woman’s cup of tea myself. Well, I +suppose we’re all going to the Indian ball at the Albert Hall. What are +you all going as? I suppose Miss Belvoir’s going as a nautch-girl, or a +naughty girl or something.”</p> + +<p>“I’m going as a Persian dancer,” said Miss Belvoir.</p> + +<p>“I’m not going as anything,” said Bertha. “I hate fancy balls. One takes +such a lot of trouble and then people look only at their own dresses. If +you want to dress up for yourself, you’d enjoy it just as much if you +dressed up alone, I think.”</p> + +<p>“Well, of course it’s not so much fun for women,” said Mr. Fairfield. +“You are always more or less in fancy dress; it’s no change for you. But +for us it is fun. The last one I went to I had a great success as a +forget-me-not. Miss Belvoir and I met an elephant, an enormous creature, +galumphing along, knocking everybody down, and wasn’t it clever of me? I +recognised it! ‘Good heavens!’ I exclaimed, ‘this must be the +Mitchells!’ And so it turned out to be. Mr. Mitchell was one leg, Mrs. +Mitchell the other, two others were their great friends<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> and their +little nephew was the trunk. Frightfully uncomfortable, but they did +attract a great deal of attention. They nearly died of the stuffiness, +but they took a prize. My friend Linsey usually takes a prize, though he +always contrives some agonising torture for himself. The last time he +was a letter-box, and he was simply dying of thirst and unable to move. +I saved his life by pouring some champagne down the slit for the +letters, on the chance. Another friend of mine who was dressed in a real +suit of armour had to be lifted into the taxi, and when he arrived home +he couldn’t get out. When he at last persuaded the cabman to carry him +to his door—it was six o’clock in the morning—the man said, ‘Oh, never +mind, sir, we’ve had gentlemen worse than this!’ And the poor fellow +hadn’t had a single drop or crumb the whole evening, because his visor +was down and he couldn’t move his arm to lift it up. If you went as +anything, Mrs. Kellynch, you ought to be a China Shepherdess. I never +saw anyone so exactly like one.”</p> + +<p>“And what ought I to go as?” asked Madeline.</p> + +<p>“You would look your best as a Florentine page,” replied Mr. Fairfield. +“Or both of you would look very nice as late Italians.”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid we shall be late Englishwomen unless we go now,” said +Bertha. “I can<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> only stay a very few minutes to-day, Miss Belvoir.”</p> + +<p>They persuaded her to remain a little longer, and Mr. Fairfield +continued to chatter on during the remainder of their visit. He did not +succeed in persuading them to join in making up the party for the Indian +ball.</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span><a name="XXXI" id="XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI +<br /> +<br />MARY’S PLAN</h2> + + +<p class="cap">MARY was so terrified that Nigel might keep his threat altogether and +really leave her permanently that she made less opposition than he +expected. She felt instinctively that it was her only chance of getting +him back. She could see when he really meant a thing, and this time it +was evident he intended to follow out his scheme, and she could not help +reflecting that it might have been very much worse. How much more angry +many husbands might have been! On the whole she had been let off fairly +lightly. There was this much of largeness in Nigel’s nature that he +could not labour a point, or nag, or scold, or bully. He was really +shocked and disgusted, besides being very angry at what she had done, +and he did not at all like to dwell on it. He was even grateful that she +spared him discussions of the subject, and sincerely thankful that she +had admitted it. All men with any generosity in their temperament<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> are +disarmed by frankness, and most irritated by untruth. He wondered at her +daring, and when she humbly owned she saw how dreadful it was—that she +saw it in the right light and would never be tempted to do anything of +the sort again—he was glad to forgive her. But he wanted to go away and +forget it, and he certainly made up his mind to make the whole affair an +excuse for having more freedom. He had never been away without her for +more than a day, and he looked forward to it with great pleasure. He +determined to let his journey help to cure him of his passion for +Bertha, though it seemed at present an almost impossible task.</p> + +<p>He was resolved to strike when the iron was hot, and to get away while +she was in this docile mood. She was gentle and quiet and seemed very +unhappy, but made no objections to his plans; she would not, perhaps, +have minded his leaving her for a day or two, since she felt +uncomfortable and in the wrong, but she dreaded his being away for +weeks. He said he would join Rupert at Venice; and this she rather +preferred, as Rupert was known to be a quiet, steady, studious young +man.</p> + +<p>But when the last moment came and the packed trunks were put on the cab, +he had said good-bye to her and the children and that last terrible bang +of the hall door resounded in her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> heart, she could not look out of the +window in her usual place. She had felt the agony known to all loving +hearts, the conviction that a traveller is already at a distance before +he goes. He is no longer with her when his thoughts are with stations +and tickets—indeed the real parting is long before he starts. Then the +unconscious sparkle of pleasure in his eyes as he imagines himself away! +He had gone already before he went; she did not want to see the last of +him. She went up to her room and locked the door, and threw herself on +the sofa in a terrible fit of despair and jealousy. Jealousy still, that +was her great fear of his going away. He would forget her and be +unfaithful, she thought. …</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>She suffered terribly that evening, and the next day resolved to take a +somewhat singular step. If she had been doing Bertha an injustice, as it +seemed, if Bertha was not seeing him at all, why should she not go and +see her? She felt instinctively that besides getting the truth out of +her, and perhaps apologising for what had happened at the party, Bertha +might give her some advice. Everyone said she was so kind and clever. +She decided not to write, but she rang up on the telephone and asked if +Bertha would receive her at three o’clock. She felt<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> a strange +curiosity, a longing to see her. She received the answer, Mrs. Kellynch +would be delighted to see her at any time in the afternoon.</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span><a name="XXXII" id="XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII +<br /> +<br />PRIVATE FIREWORKS AT THE PICKERINGS’</h2> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 8px;"> +<img src="images/quote.png" width="8" height="7" alt="Open quote" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="cap">I SAY, Clifford, when is your birthday?” This momentous question was +asked of Clifford with the liveliest interest by Cissy Pickering, a +remarkably pretty little girl of about his own age.</p> + +<p>They were in the gigantic and gorgeous apartment set apart as a playroom +for the young Pickerings in Hamilton Place, Park Lane, and arranged +partly as a gymnasium—it had all the necessities—partly as a +schoolroom. It contained a magnificent dolls’ house fitted up with Louis +Quinze furniture and illuminated with real electric light; a miniature +motor car in which two small people could drive themselves with +authentic petrol round and round the polished floor; a mechanical +rocking-horse; a miniature billiard-table and croquet set; a gramophone; +cricket on the hearth, roller-skates; a pianola, and countless other +luxuries.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span>Decorated by illustrations of fairy tales on the walls, it was +altogether a delightful room; made for all a child could want.</p> + +<p>It is all very well to say that children are happier with mud pies and +rag dolls than with these elaborate delights. There may be something in +this theory, but when their amusements are carried to such a point of +luxurious and imaginative perfection it certainly gives them great and +even unlimited enjoyment at the time. Whether such indulgence and +realisation of youthful dreams have a good effect on the character in +later life is a different question. At any rate, to go to tea with the +Pickerings was the dream of all their young friends and gave them much +to think of and long for, while it gave to the young host and hostess +immense gratification and material pride.</p> + +<p>“My birthday? Oh, I don’t know—oh, it’s on the twenty-seventh May,” +said Clifford, who was far more shy of the young lady than of her +mother.</p> + +<p>“Fancy! Just fancy! and mine’s on the twenty-eighth June! <i>Isn’t</i> it +funny!”</p> + +<p>Cissy was surprised at almost everything. It added to her popularity.</p> + +<p>“Not particularly.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Clifford!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span>“You must be born some time or other, I mean,” he said, wriggling his +head and twisting his feet, as he did when he felt embarrassed. Miss +Pickering made him feel embarrassed because she asked so many direct +personal questions, seemed so interested and surprised at everything, +and volunteered so much private—but, it seemed to him, +unimportant—information.</p> + +<p>“My name is Cecilia Muriel Margaret Pickering. My birthday’s on the +twenty-eighth June, and Eustace’s birthday is on the fifteenth February. +Isn’t it funny?”</p> + +<p>“No, not at all,” said Clifford.</p> + +<p>“His name is Eustace Henry John Pickering, after father. At least John’s +after father and Henry’s after grandpapa—I mean, mummy’s father, you +know. Eustace is just a fancy name—a name mummy thought of. Do you like +it?”</p> + +<p>“Not much.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Clifford! Why not?”</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s rather a queer name.”</p> + +<p>“Do you call him Eustace?”</p> + +<p>“I call him Pickering, of course,” said Clifford. “At school we don’t +know each other’s Christian names.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! … Did you know mine before you came here, Clifford?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span>“No. I only knew he had a kiddy sister, but he didn’t tell me your +name.”</p> + +<p>She looked rather crushed. Cissy was a lovely child with golden hair, +parted on one side, and a dainty white and pink dress like a doll. Cissy +was in love with Clifford, but Clifford was in love with her mother. +This simple nursery tragedy may sound strange, but as a matter of fact +it is a kind of thing that happens every day. Similar complications are +to be found in almost every schoolroom.</p> + +<p>“I hope you don’t mind my saying that,” said Clifford, who began to be +sorry for her. “About your being a kid. It doesn’t matter a bit—for a +girl.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Clifford! No, I don’t mind.” She smiled at him, consoled. “Eustace +will soon be home. He’s gone to get something.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, good.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mind his not being here yet?”</p> + +<p>“No, not a bit.”</p> + +<p>“You told me you had something to show me,” said the little girl. +“You’ve been writing poetry. I <i>should</i> so like to see it.”</p> + +<p>He blushed and said: “I’ve brought it. But I don’t think it’s any good. +I don’t think I’ll show it to you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, please, please, <i>please</i>, do!”</p> + +<p>“You’ll go telling everyone. Girls always do.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span>“I promise, I <i>swear</i> I won’t! Not a soul. Not even mummy. I never tell +Eustace’s secrets.”</p> + +<p>“I should think not! Now mind you don’t, then. Will you, Cissy?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, do go on, dear Clifford; because when Eustace is here we shall have +to play games—’Happy Families’ or something—and I sha’n’t have another +chance. I believe he’s got some joke on. I hear you’ve written a play. +Have you?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I began an historical play,” said Clifford, who was beginning to +think a little sister with proper respect for one might be rather a +luxury, “but I chucked it. I found it was rather slow. So then I tried +to write a poem. But I’m not going to grow up and be one of those rotten +poets with long hair, that you read of. Don’t think that.”</p> + +<p>“Aren’t you? Oh, that’s right. What are you going to be, Clifford?”</p> + +<p>“Oh! I think I shall be an inventor or an explorer, and go out after the +North or South Pole, or shoot lions.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! How splendid! Won’t you take me? I’d <i>love</i> to come!”</p> + +<p>He smiled. “It wouldn’t do for girls.”</p> + +<p>“But I sha’n’t be a girl then. I’ll be grown-up. <i>Do</i> let me come!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span>“We’ll see. Don’t bother.”</p> + +<p>“Well! Show me the poem,” she said, for she already had the instinct to +see that it pleased him and interested him much more to show her what he +was doing at present than to make promises and plans about her future.</p> + +<p>They went and sat on the delightful wide-cushioned window-seat. Clifford +pulled out of his pocket a crumpled paper, covered with pencil marks. He +curled himself up, and Cissy curled herself up beside him and looked +over his shoulder.</p> + +<p>He began: “I’m afraid this one’s no use—no earthly—— I say, Cissy, +take your hair out of my eyes.”</p> + +<p>She shook it back and sat a little farther off, with her eyes and mouth +open as he read in a rather gruff voice:</p> + +<p>“Sonnet.”</p> + +<p>“What’s a sonnet, Clifford?”</p> + +<p>He was rather baffled. “This is.”</p> + +<p>He went on:</p> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="io">“‘<i>The day when first I saw</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Her standing by the door,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>I was taken by surprise</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>By her pretty blue eyes,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And then I thought her hair</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>So very fair</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>That I felt inclined to sing</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>About Mrs. Pickering.</i>’”<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span>“Lovely! How beautiful!” exclaimed Cissy, like a true woman. “But Mrs. +Pickering! Fancy! Does it mean mummy?”</p> + +<p>“Why, yes. As a matter of fact it certainly <i>does</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Clifford! <i>How</i> clever! How splendid! But mustn’t she know it?”</p> + +<p>“Oh no. I’d rather not. At any rate, not now.”</p> + +<p>“I wish it was to me!” exclaimed the child. “Then you needn’t be so shy +about it. Why don’t you change it to me? Look here—like this. Say:</p> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="io">“‘<i>I felt inclined to sing</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>About Cissy Pickering.</i>’<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p class="noi">Cissy instead of <i>Mrs.</i>!”</p> + +<p>“Oh no, my dear. That wouldn’t do at all. It isn’t done. You can’t alter +a sonnet to another person. If it came to that I’d sooner write one to +you as well, some time or another, when you’re older.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, <i>do</i>, <i>dear</i> Cliff! I <i>should</i> love it.”</p> + +<p>“All right. Perhaps I will some day. But, you see, just now I want to do +the one about <i>her</i>.”</p> + +<p>“It’s very nice and polite of you,” she said in a doubting voice. “But +you said you’d done some more.”</p> + +<p>“Rather. So I have. You mustn’t think it’s cheek, you know, if I call +your mother by her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> Christian name in the poetry. It’s only for the +rhyme.”</p> + +<p>Blushing and apologetically he read aloud in his gruff, shy voice:</p> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="io">“‘<i>Geraldine, Geraldine,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>She has the nicest face I have ever seen,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>She did not say</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Until the other day</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>That I might call her Geraldine,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And I think she is like a Queen.</i>’<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>“As a matter of fact she never said it at all,” said the boy, folding it +up. “That’s only because it’s poetry. And I only used her name for the +rhyme.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I see. You’re very clever!”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you see any faults in it? I wish you’d tell me straight out +exactly what you think, if you see anything wrong,” said Clifford, like +all young writers who think they are pining for criticism but are really +yearning for praise. “I would like,” he said, “for you to find any fault +you possibly could! Say exactly what you really mean.”</p> + +<p>He really thought he meant it.</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t see <i>one</i> fault! I think it’s perfect,” replied Cissy, +like all intelligent women in love with the writer. Her instinct warned +her against finding any fault. Had she found any it would have been the +only thing Clifford would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> have thought she happened to be wrong about. +As it was, his opinion of her judgment and general mental capacity went +up enormously, and he decided that she was a very clever kid. A decent +little girl too, and not at all bad looking.</p> + +<p>“But aren’t they a little short, Cissy?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps they are. But you can easily make them longer, can’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, rather, of course I can.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you want mummy to see them?”</p> + +<p>“Oh no, I don’t think I do; wouldn’t she laugh at me?”</p> + +<p>“Oh no, I’m sure she wouldn’t, Clifford. She’s coming to have tea with +us to-night.”</p> + +<p>“Well, mind you don’t tell,” he said threateningly.</p> + +<p>“Of course, I won’t. You can trust me. I say, Clifford.”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“What do you think I used to want to do?”</p> + +<p>“Haven’t the slightest idea.”</p> + +<p>She hesitated a moment. “Shall I tell you?”</p> + +<p>“If you like.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I used to want to marry Henry Ainley!”</p> + +<p>“Did you, though,” said Clifford, not very interested.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span>“Yes. But I don’t now.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you, though?”</p> + +<p>“No, not the least bit.”</p> + +<p>“Did he want to marry you?” asked Clifford. This idea occurred to him as +being conversational, but he was still not interested.</p> + +<p>“Oh, good gracious, no!” she exclaimed. “Of course not! rather not! Why, +he doesn’t know me. And if he did he would think I was a little girl.”</p> + +<p>“Well, so you are,” said Clifford.</p> + +<p>“I know. Shall I tell you why I don’t want to marry Henry Ainley any +more?”</p> + +<p>“You can if you want to.” These matrimonial schemes seemed to bore him, +but he thought he ought to endure them as a matter of fair play, as she +had listened to his poetry.</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t care so much about marrying him now, because I should +like to marry you!”</p> + +<p>“Me! Oh, good Lord, I don’t want to be engaged, thanks.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Clifford, do!”</p> + +<p>“None of the chaps at school are engaged. It isn’t done. Being engaged +is rot. Pickering isn’t engaged.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; but I don’t see why we shouldn’t,” she said, pouting.</p> + +<p>“Well, I do, and I sha’n’t be.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span>“But mightn’t you later on, when we’re older?” she implored.</p> + +<p>“Why, no, I shouldn’t think so. Why, your mother would be very angry. +You’re only twelve. You’re not out. You can’t be engaged before you’re +out. Your mother would think it awful cheek of me.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I won’t say anything more about it now,” she said. “But, +Clifford, will you, <i>perhaps</i>, <i>when</i> I am out?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, good Lord! What utter bosh. How do I know what I’ll do when you’re +out?”</p> + +<p>She began to look tearful.</p> + +<p>“Oh, well, all right. I’ll see. Perhaps I may. Mind, I don’t promise.”</p> + +<p>He was thinking that if he refused her irrevocably and unconditionally +he might not be asked to the house again. And he liked going on account +of Pickering, Mrs. Pickering, and the house.</p> + +<p>“Look here,” he said after a moment’s pause. “Let’s forget all about +this. I don’t think your mother would like it.”</p> + +<p>“You think so much of my mother,” she answered.</p> + +<p>“Well, I should think so, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, Clifford, I love her, of course.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, don’t you want me to like her?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes; but not much more than me.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span>“Oh, well, I can’t help that,” he said very decidedly.</p> + +<p>She looked subdued.</p> + +<p>“Then you do like me a little bit too, Clifford?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, of course. I say, don’t worry.”</p> + +<p>“All right, I beg your pardon, Clifford. … Oh, there’s Eustace!”</p> + +<p>His step was heard. When his friends were there his sister called him +Pickering, not to be out of it.</p> + +<p>“Won’t you kiss me to show you’re not cross with me, Clifford?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, if you like, my dear. But we’re not engaged, you know.”</p> + +<p>“Right-o,” she answered.</p> + +<p>He kissed her hurriedly and Eustace came in. Eustace was a big dark thin +boy of fourteen, not good-looking or like his sister in any way, but +with a very pleasant humorous expression. He was remarkably clever at +school, and his reports were, with regard to work, quite unusually high. +Conduct was not so satisfactory, though he was popular both with boys +and masters. His two hobbies were chemistry and practical jokes. +Unfortunately the clear distinction between the two was not always +sufficiently marked; the one merged too frequently into the other. Hence +occasional trouble.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span>Eustace had his arms full of parcels, which looked rather exciting. He +informed his delighted sister and friend that they were going to have +private fireworks on the balcony.</p> + +<p>“Gracious, how ripping!” cried Clifford. “But it isn’t the fifth of +November.”</p> + +<p>“Who on earth ever said it was?”</p> + +<p>“Is it anybody’s birthday?” asked Cissy.</p> + +<p>“I daresay,” said Pickering. “Sure to be.”</p> + +<p>“But you don’t know that it’s anybody’s birthday for a fact, do you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do. It’s a dead cert that it’s somebody’s. Somebody’s born every +day. It’s probably several people’s birthday.”</p> + +<p>“But you don’t know whose?”</p> + +<p>“No. I don’t know whose and I don’t want to; what does it matter? Who +cares?”</p> + +<p>They both laughed heartily. It was so like Pickering! That was Pickering +all over to give an exhibition of fireworks in honour of the birthday of +somebody he didn’t know anything about, or in honour of its not being +the fifth November.</p> + +<p>“But will mummy mind? Won’t she be afraid?”</p> + +<p>“She won’t mind, because she won’t know. And she won’t be afraid because +she and father are going out to dinner and they won’t hear anything +about it until all the danger’s over.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> I’ve got rockets and Bengal +lights and all sorts of things here.”</p> + +<p>“But suppose they catch fire to the curtains on the balcony and we have +a fire-escape here,” suggested Cissy.</p> + +<p>“Well, and wouldn’t that be ripping?”</p> + +<p>They admitted that it would.</p> + +<p>“Have you ever been down a fire-escape, Clifford?” asked Pickering.</p> + +<p>“Me? Down a fire-escape? Wait a minute, let me think. No, no. Now I come +to think of it, upon my word, I don’t think I ever have. Not down a +<i>fire-escape</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, I thought not,” said Pickering knowingly, as if he had spent his +life doing nothing else. “No, you wouldn’t have.”</p> + +<p>“Well, have you?”</p> + +<p>“Me?” said Pickering. “Well, I don’t know that I have, <i>exactly</i>. But I +know all about it. Besides I once drove to a fire with one of the +firemen. It was jolly.”</p> + +<p>“But you’re not going to give a fire-escape performance to-night, are +you? I thought you were only going to have fireworks.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, of course, that’s all, and there’s no danger really. How surprised +the people in the street will be when they see those ripping rockets go +whizzing up! I daresay we shall have a crowd round us.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span>“But I say, Eustace. Won’t mummy say it’s <i>vulgar</i>?”</p> + +<p>“What’s vulgar?”</p> + +<p>“Why, to have fireworks. She says we oughtn’t to attract too much +attention and do anything ostentatious. She often says so.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, my dear, that’s all right. These are <i>private</i> fireworks! No one +will know about it.”</p> + +<p>“But you’ll have to tell Wenham,” said Cissy.</p> + +<p>Wenham was a confidential butler who helped Pickering out of many +scrapes.</p> + +<p>“Of course I shall tell Wenham; at least, I shall as soon as they have +started. Now shut up about it. Here’s mummy.”</p> + +<p>Pretty Mrs. Pickering joined them at tea, played games with them—they +did some delightful charades—and amused them and herself until it was +time for her to go and dress for dinner, leaving Clifford more enchanted +with her than ever.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>About a quarter to eight the children had the house more or less to +themselves. Cissy’s governess had a holiday and the aged nurse (who had +no sort of control over Pickering) was the only person there who had +even a shadow of authority. She was to see that Cissy didn’t play wild +games, and went to bed at half-past eight, but as a matter of fact the +aged nurse<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> did neither. Cissy stayed with the boys as long as they +would allow her. At last the joyous moment arrived, they went on the +balcony and Pickering started his first rocket. Cissy, a little +frightened, clung to Clifford.</p> + +<p>“Suppose we have a crowd round the house,” she murmured.</p> + +<p>“You see how easy it is,” Pickering said. “Anyone with a little sense +can do it. Now! Now, Cissy! get out of the way!”</p> + +<p>They waited and waited. But, alas! nothing happened. He tried again and +yet again, but it turned out a failure, the sort of tragedy that is more +disappointing than any danger or even any accident. … It fell +completely flat.</p> + +<h3>*</h3> + +<p>There must have been something the matter with the infernal fireworks. +It couldn’t have been Pickering not knowing how to do them.</p> + +<p>That was impossible, simply because Pickering always knew how to do +everything.</p> + +<p>The wretched man who sold them to him must have cheated.</p> + +<p>It was a terrible <i>fiasco</i>. Not a single one of the rotten things went +off. The most awful thing happened that could happen in life. After +great fear, hope, suspense, excitement and joy, <i>the squibs were damp</i>!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span>Nothing went off. Nothing happened. As to the Bengal fire, nothing was +ever seen of it but some damp paper and a very horrible scent.</p> + +<p>Certainly there was no vulgarity about it, no ostentation, except the +perfume. The fireworks were as private as they could possibly be!</p> + +<p>“At any rate,” said Cissy, trying to console her guest, “perhaps it’s +better than if the house had caught fire and we had all been burnt up!”</p> + +<p>They weren’t so very sure. It wouldn’t have been so flat.</p> + +<p>Then Pickering made an attempt to imply that the whole thing was simply +a practical joke of his.</p> + +<p>“Well, if it is,” said Clifford to himself, “by Jove, if it is—it’s the +greatest success I’ve ever seen in my life!”</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span><a name="XXXIII" id="XXXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII +<br /> +<br />NIGEL ABROAD</h2> + + +<p class="cap">NIGEL “ran across” Rupert in Paris—Englishmen who are acquainted with +each other always do meet in Paris—and they agreed to dine together. +Each was pleased to see the other, not so much for each other’s own +sake, but for the pleasure of associations. The sight of Rupert reminded +Nigel of one of the pleasantest evenings in his life—that evening they +had spent at the Russian Ballet. Bertha had sat next to him. Bertha had +been delightful. She had looked lovely and laughed at his jokes, and had +been all brightness and amiability—it had been before the first shadow, +the first thought of <i>è pensée</i> had risen in her mind to cloud her +light heart. And he at that time, with what he saw now to be his dense +stupidity, had believed that she was beginning to like him, that she was +even on the way to get to care for him in time if he managed with great +tact and did not annoy Percy nor seem wanting in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> deference for him, and +above all if he did not give it away about Mary’s jealousy. He always +knew that if Bertha once learnt that, it would be fatal to his hopes. +She was never to know it.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>And now everything had come out, everything had gone wrong in the most +horrible, hideous way. It had all gone off like young Pickering’s +fireworks. When he remembered that dreadful scene at the party it made +him shudder. How hopelessly stupid he had been to persuade her to come! +How could he have been so idiotic? Looking at Rupert reminded him of the +delightful little meetings and talks he had had with Bertha about him +and Madeline. How charmingly grateful and delighted she had been at his +offering to help her and smooth away the difficulties by diplomacy. And +this was how he had done it! Madeline was now engaged to nobody.</p> + +<p>Bertha knew all about the jealousy and had been exposed to insults. And +Percy knew even more about it than she did. Talk of diplomacy! Nigel +must have been indeed a poor diplomatist, since, without having ever +done the slightest harm or indeed really said a word of love to Bertha, +he had yet brought her husband down upon him, forbidding him the house +and sending him to the devil. That was diplomacy,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> wasn’t it? and as to +success, she regarded him with indifference bordering on aversion and +was clearly madly in love with that dull uninteresting Percy. All (Nigel +admitted), all his own stupidity. Whether or not wickedness is punished +in another world, there can be no doubt that stupidity and folly is most +decidedly punished in this.</p> + +<p>But then, could he help it that Mary went behind his back and wrote the +most dreadful letters, that she had this terrible mania for writing +letters? But if he had been so very clever and diplomatic he would +somehow or another have prevented it. Oh yes, there was no doubt he was +a fool, and he had without doubt been made supremely ridiculous. He was +well aware that he was ridiculous.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Rupert Denison liked Nigel, but he had no idea how intimate he was with +Nigel. In other words he hadn’t the faintest idea how well Nigel knew +him. And this is a case which happens every day owing to the present +custom of confidential gossip; and is too frequently rather unfairly +arranged through the intimate friendship of women. For example, +Madeline, regarding Bertha as the most confidential of sisters, told her +every little thing, showed her every letter, and had no shadow of a +secret from her in word<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span> or thought. Bertha was almost equally confiding +except than an older married woman is never quite so frank with a girl +friend—there must always be certain reservations. Bertha was an +intimate friend of Nigel and practically told <i>him</i> every little +thing—he was “the sort of man you could tell everything to,” he was +interested, amused, and gave excellent advice. The result was obvious; +very little about Rupert and his private romance with Madeline was +unrevealed to Nigel.</p> + +<p>Nigel felt inclined to smile when he remembered all he had heard. +Rupert, on the other hand, was not “the sort of man you could tell +everything to”; he therefore had no confidential women friends and knew +nothing at all about Nigel. For all he knew, he was just as much as ever +<i>l’ami de la maison</i> at Percy’s house.</p> + +<p>At the very end of the dinner, which was a very pleasant one, during +which Nigel had been sparkling and Rupert a little quiet, Nigel suddenly +“felt it in his bones,” as Bertha used to say—dear Bertha, she used to +declare that her bones were so peculiarly and remarkably sensitive to +anything of interest—Nigel felt, as I say, Rupert was longing to talk +about Madeline.</p> + +<p>He therefore led the conversation to her, remarked how quiet she had +been of late, and told him various things about her.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span>“Did she ever mention me?” asked Rupert, as he looked down at his +wineglass.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, rather.”</p> + +<p>“What did she say?”</p> + +<p>“She said,” replied Nigel, “that she was jolly glad she never saw you +now and that you were a silly rotter!”</p> + +<p>“I recognise Miss Madeline’s style,” replied Rupert with a smile, as he +rose from the table.</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span><a name="XXXIV" id="XXXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV +<br /> +<br />MOONA</h2> + + +<p class="cap">LIKE all cultivated people, particularly those who attach much +importance to pleasure and amusement, variety, art, and the play, Nigel +was very fond of Paris; it always pleased him to go there; and yet he +doubted if he were quite as fond of it in reality as he was in theory. +The best acting, the best cooking, the best millinery in the world was +to be found in Paris; and yet Nigel wasn’t sure that he didn’t enjoy +those things more when he got them in London—that he enjoyed French +cooking best in an English restaurant, and even a French play at an +English theatre. Certainly Paris was the centre of art. Nigel was fond +of pictures, and he amused himself more with a few young French artists +whom he happened to know living here than with anybody else in the city; +and yet when he went back to London he sometimes felt that the +recollection of it, the chatter of studios, the slang of the critics, +even the whole sense and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span> sound of Paris gave him a little the +recollection as of a huge cage of monkeys. Like most modern Englishmen, +he talked disparagingly about British hypocrisy, Anglo-Saxon humbug, +English stiffness and London fog; and yet, after all, he missed and +valued these very things. Wasn’t the fog and the hypocrisy—one was the +symbol of the other—weren’t all these things the very charm of London? +Fog and hypocrisy—that is to say, shadow, convention, decency—these +were the very things that lent to London its poetry and romance.</p> + +<p>Everything in Paris, it was true, was picturesque, everything had colour +and form, everything made a picture. But it was all too obvious; +everything was all there ready for one’s amusement, ready for one’s +pleasure. People were too obliging, too willing. And the men! Well, +Nigel was far more of a <i>viveur</i>, of a lover of pleasure than +ninety-nine Englishmen out of a hundred, yet he found too much of that +point of view among the men he came across in Paris. From boys to old +gentlemen, from the artists to a certain set among the <i>haute +finance</i>—of whom he had some acquaintances—from the sporting young +sprig of the Faubourg to the son of the sham jeweller in the Rue de +Rivoli—all, without a single exception, seemed to think of nothing else +but pleasure, in other words, of <i>les<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span> petites femmes</i>. For that—paying +attention more or less serious to <i>les petites femmes</i>—seemed the one +real idea of pleasure. Of this point of view Nigel certainly grew very +tired, and he marvelled at the wonderful energy, the unflagging interest +in the same eternal subject.</p> + +<p>They said, and of course thought, that there was nothing so charming as +a French woman, particularly the Parisienne; but, except on one point, +he was not entirely inclined to agree. This point was their dress. Their +dress was delightful, their fashion was an art, and it had great, real +charm. In whatever walk of life they were placed they were always +exquisitely dressed. Nigel appreciated this sartorial gift, it was an +art he understood and that amused, but weren’t they on the whole—also +in every walk of life—a little too much arranged, overdone, too much +<i>maquillées</i>; weren’t their faces too white, their lips too red, their +hats too new? They knew how to put on their clothes to perfection, but +he was not sure that he didn’t prefer these beautiful clothes not quite +so well put on; he thought he liked to see the pretty French dress put +on a little wrong on a pretty Englishwoman; and then he thought of +Bertha, of course. Nowhere in Paris was there anything quite like +Bertha, that pink and white English complexion, that abundant fair hair, +the natural flower-like look.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span>Of course Bertha was unusually clever, lively and charming; she was not +stiff or prim, she was very exceptional, but distinctly English, and he +admired her more than all the Parisiennes in the world. Besides, he +thought, one got very tired of them. When they <i>were bourgeoises</i> they +were so extremely <i>bourgeoises</i>; when they were smart they were so +excessively <i>snob</i>. Perhaps it was through having seen a good deal of +them for a little while that he met a compatriot of his with unexpected +gratification.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>He was walking with one of his artist friends on the boulevard when, to +his great surprise, the artist was stopped by a young lady walking alone +who evidently knew him. She was dressed in a very tight blue serge coat +and skirt, she had black bandeaux of hair over her ears, from which +depended imitation coral ear-rings. She had shoes with white spats, and +a very small hat squashed over her eyes. She did not look in the least +French. He knew her at once. It was the girl whose artistic education +Rupert had at one time undertaken. It was Moona Chivvey.</p> + +<p>“Ah! Miss Chivvey! What a pleasure! And what are you doing here?”</p> + +<p>She replied that she and her friend, Mimsie Sutton, had taken a little +studio and were studying art together with a number of other<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span> English +and American girls with a great artist.</p> + +<p>Nigel’s friend left his arm and went away. Nigel strolled on with Miss +Chivvey.</p> + +<p>“And are you here quite alone with no chaperon,” asked Nigel, with that +momentary sort of brotherly feeling of being shocked that an Englishman +nearly always feels when he sees a compatriot behaving unconventionally +in a foreign land.</p> + +<p>“Chaperon! Oh! come off the roof,” replied the young lady in her +boisterous manner, which he saw had not at all toned down. “Of course +I’m being chaperoned by Miss Sutton. I’m staying with Mimsie. Mother +couldn’t come, and didn’t want me to come, but there’s no hope of +learning art in London; it’s simply <i>hopeless</i>. You see we’re serious, +Mr. Hillier, we’re studying really hard. We’re going to do big things. +Mimsie’s a genius. I’m not; but I’m industrious. I’m a tremendous +worker. Oh, I shall do something yet!”</p> + +<p>She was full of fire and enthusiasm, and continued to give him an +immense quantity of information. He listened with interest and thought +it rather touching. Of course she was genuine and believed in herself; +equally, of course, she had no sort of talent. She was in a position in +which no girl in her own class could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span> be placed who was not English, +except an American, and then it wouldn’t be the same thing. No doubt she +knew thoroughly well how to take care of herself, and most likely there +was no need, even, that she should. Still, he thought it was rather +pathetic that she should leave her parents and a thoroughly comfortable +home in Camden Hill, in order to live in a wretchedly uncomfortable +studio—he was sure it was wretchedly uncomfortable—and have a dull +life with other depressing girls—all for the cultivation of a gift that +was purely imaginary.</p> + +<p>“You must come and dine with me to-night, won’t you, Miss Chivvey?”</p> + +<p>She was rather pretty, rather amusing, and she was English. He liked +talking English again.</p> + +<p>“Well, I should like to very much, Mr. Hillier. Is your wife here?”</p> + +<p>“No; she’s going to Felixtowe in a week or two with the children, and +I’m going to join her there. I’m quite alone, so you must take pity on +me. Must we have your friend Miss Sutton too?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Oh no—I don’t think it’s necessary; it will be a change to go out +without her. You see, here I am a worker and a Bohemian,” she explained. +“I don’t go in for chaperons. I’m not social here!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span>“Besides, I’m English. You’re all right with me,” he returned in his +most charming way. “Have you many English friends here?”</p> + +<p>He wanted to find out whether she was seeing Rupert; he soon discovered +she was not, and he determined not to tell her of the presence of that +young man. They might make it up, and Nigel thought it would be far +better for Rupert to come back to Madeline. He was sure she was his real +taste. And he still wanted to please Bertha.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>They dined in a small but particularly excellent restaurant. She seemed +to enjoy herself immensely, and grew every moment more confidential. +Nigel tried not to flirt. He had no intention of doing so, and, had they +met in London, would not have dreamt of such a thing; but meeting an +English girl placed as she was gave a tinge of adventure and romance to +his taking her out.</p> + +<p>She told him she had no flirtations and cared for no man in the world. +He then led the conversation gradually to Rupert Denison. It did not +take long for her to work herself up to give him a somewhat highly +coloured version of their quarrel, which amused him. It ended with “and +so I never saw him again.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span>“I can’t see that you have any real grievance, I must say. He seems to +have been very nice to you, taken you out a great deal, and gone to see +you pretty often. Did he not make love to you?”</p> + +<p>“Never, never, never,” she replied. “He was just like a brother, or, +rather, a sort of schoolmaster.”</p> + +<p>“Then I believe that’s what made you angry,” he replied.</p> + +<p>“Indeed it isn’t. At any rate, if it was a little, I assure you I’m not +in love with him.”</p> + +<p>He laughed, teased her about it, and now he found that she wished to go +home. Feeling he ought not to take advantage of her position here, he +was exceedingly respectful, and drove her to her flat, not before she +had consented to dine and go to the theatre with him the next day.</p> + +<p>“That sort of girl is rather difficult to understand,” he thought, as he +drove away from the studio. “Perhaps now she’s thinking me a fool as she +thought Rupert.”</p> + +<p>However, he remembered <i>he</i> was married. He looked forward to the next +evening with interest. At least Miss Chivvey was different from other +people. One wasn’t quite sure of her, and that fact had its attraction. +She was really very good-looking too, very young, had beautiful eyes and +teeth, and the high spirits of youth<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> and health and enthusiasm. Pity +she thought she could draw. How much better if she had gone in for +first-rate plain cooking! He was sure she could learn that—if it was +really plain.</p> + +<p>Next day he sent her a few flowers. After all, an Englishman must be +gallant to his country-woman; but the next evening he thought she met +him with a slightly cooler air and even with a little embarrassment. +This melted away before the end of the evening.</p> + +<p>He then took her to the theatre in a little box. He was careful to +choose a piece that he would have taken his own sister to see, but he +forgot that he would not have let his own sister go to see it with a +married man and no chaperon.</p> + +<p>His manner was becoming a shade more tender than was necessary, and he +was sitting perhaps a shade nearer to her than was absolutely required, +when, looking up, he saw two young men in the stalls, one of whom was +looking at him and his companion with very great interest through an +opera-glass. It was Rupert.</p> + +<p>Moona had not seen him, and Nigel now became aware of a distinct anxiety +that she should not. He was rather sorry he had come: it might give +Rupert a mistaken impression. It was not right to compromise her. He +would explain, of course, the next day. But it was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> annoying to have to +explain, and he would have explained anyhow. Nigel greatly disliked +getting the credit, or, rather, the discredit, of something he did not +deserve.</p> + +<p>He pretended to be bored with the play, and persuaded her to come and +have an ice at a quiet and respectable place before she saw Rupert. She +went in high spirits and great innocence.</p> + +<p>When they left Nigel said: “Do you know that I oughtn’t to have taken +you there to-night? It was wrong of me. If anyone had seen us there they +would probably have mistaken our relations.”</p> + +<p>She gave her boisterous laugh and said: “I see. Well, you would have had +all the credit and none of the trouble.”</p> + +<p>“You mean,” he replied, “that I should have had all the infamy and none +of the satisfaction.”</p> + +<p>As they drove to the studio he took her hand and said: “One kiss.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly not,” she replied, taking it away. “Certainly not. Do you +want me to be sorry I came out with you?”</p> + +<p>“I should like you to be glad,” he replied. “Never mind, Miss Chivvey, +forgive me. I won’t ask you out again.”</p> + +<p>“Why not? Haven’t I been nice?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span>“Very nice. Too nice, too charming, too dangerous.” He kissed her hand +respectfully. “Good-bye. I’m angry with myself.”</p> + +<p>“Never mind, I’ll forgive you,” she laughed flippantly.</p> + +<p>He drove away. Yes, one loses one’s bearings travelling about alone, +taking <i>jeunes filles</i> to the theatre who live alone in Paris, say +anything, have no chaperons, and are prudes all the time.</p> + +<p>“Confound it. I’ve made a fool of myself. But I must go and see Rupert.”</p> + +<p>He lunched with that young man that day and told him word for word what +had passed, even to the incident in the cab.</p> + +<p>He need not have been so expansive nor have humbled himself so much.</p> + +<p>Rupert had not for a moment misconstrued their presence at the theatre.</p> + +<p>Also he was not in the least surprised about the incident in the cab.</p> + +<p>Rupert was on the whole irritating. Nigel was glad to leave him.</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span><a name="XXXV" id="XXXV"></a>CHAPTER XXXV +<br /> +<br />TWO WOMEN</h2> + + +<p class="cap">BERTHA was very much surprised at Mary’s wishing to see her. She thought +it most extraordinary and was much inclined to refuse, remembering the +strangely insulting way Mary had behaved at her party. Nigel had +apologised indeed; had implored for forgiveness; and she had written to +say it was forgotten. But it is not an easy thing to forget.</p> + +<p>Percy had given a mild version of his interview with Nigel. He had also +told her now about the destroyed letters. Bertha was certainly vexed +that she had not been told before. It would have, at least, prevented +her going to the party. However, she was soon tired of the subject and +agreed with Percy not to mention it again. Bertha was, as she said +herself, nothing of a harpist. She could not go on playing on one +string. She made up her mind to forget it. She had begun to do so when +Mary’s telephone message reached her.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span>Bertha was sitting by the fire when Mary was shown in. She looked at her +most serene, her calmest and prettiest. It was not in her nature to bear +malice nor even to be angry for more than a few hours about anything. By +the end of that time she was always inclined to see the humorous side of +anything, and to see that it was of less importance than appeared. She +had already laughed several times to herself at the mere thought of the +absurdity of a hostess asking one to her house and then behaving as Mary +had done. Also she saw a comic—though pathetic—side to the typewritten +letters. But it was painful, too, and she would very much rather have +avoided this visit from Mrs. Hillier. It must be embarrassing for her, +at least, and could hardly be other than disagreeable.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Mary came in looking very pale and rather untidy. In the excitement of +her mind and her general perturbation she had come out with two +left-handed gloves, and during the whole of her visit endeavoured to +force a left hand into a right-hand glove. It was maddening to watch +her.</p> + +<p>Just as she started to go to see Bertha, poor Mary had gone to her +toilet-table and put what she supposed to be powder lavishly on her nose +without again looking in the glass. It was red<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> rouge—the reddest and +brightest. Although she afterwards rubbed a little of it off, she never +saw herself in the glass again before starting. The result of this was +to give her that touch of the grotesque that is so fatal to any scene of +a serious nature but that in this case appealed to Bertha’s kindness and +sympathy rather than her sense of humour.</p> + +<p>“How are you, Mrs. Hillier? I have really hardly met you to speak to +until to-day.”</p> + +<p>“Good-morning, Mrs. Kellynch. … It was kind of you to let me come.”</p> + +<p>Mary sat down awkwardly and began to put her left hand into the +right-hand glove. She sat near the light, and Bertha saw that she had +been covering her face with what she supposed to be powder, but what was +nothing else than carmine.</p> + +<p>Should she tell her?</p> + +<p>Could she let her remain in ignorance of this until afterwards? She +would find it out when she went home.</p> + +<p>“I want to speak to you very much, Mrs. Kellynch. … It is very +awkward, but I feel I must.”</p> + +<p>“Have some tea first,” said Bertha, and while she poured it out and +passed it to Mrs. Hillier she felt she could no longer leave her in +ignorance of her appearance.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span>She pointed to the silver looking-glass that stood on a small table, and +said: “Mrs. Hillier, just look at that. I fancy you’ve put something on +your face by mistake. Do forgive me!”</p> + +<p>Mary gave a shriek.</p> + +<p>“Good heavens, how horrible! I must have put rouge on instead of powder! +I look like a comic actor!”</p> + +<p>Both of them laughed, and this rather cleared the air.</p> + +<p>“It was very good of you to tell me,” said Mary. “Thank you. It’s so +like me! When I’m agitated I become too appallingly absent-minded for +words. That’s the sort of thing I do. How you must sneer—I mean, laugh +at me, Mrs. Kellynch!”</p> + +<p>“Indeed not! What an idea. It could happen to anyone.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I came to see you for two reasons. One is this: Mrs. Kellynch, I +want to beg your pardon. I’m very, very sorry.”</p> + +<p>“For what, Mrs. Hillier?”</p> + +<p>“For many things. I was horribly rude—I behaved shamefully at my party +the other day. I must have been mad. I was so miserable.” She said this +in a low voice.</p> + +<p>Bertha held out her hand. The poor girl—she was not much more—looked +so miserable, and had just looked so absurd! It must have been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> such a +humiliation to know that one had called on one’s rival got up like a +comedian—a singer of comic songs at the Pavilion.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Hillier, don’t say any more. I quite forgive you, and will not +think of it again. Don’t let us talk of it any more. Have some more +tea?”</p> + +<p>“No, thank you, Mrs. Kellynch. This isn’t all. I have something else to +tell you, and then I want, if I may, to consult you. I did a dreadful, +dreadful thing! I don’t know how I could! Oh, when I see you—when I +look at you and see how sweet and kind you are——”</p> + +<p>Bertha, terrified that Mary would begin to cry and get hysterical, tried +to stop her.</p> + +<p>“Don’t, Mrs. Hillier. Don’t tell me any more. It might—I guess what you +are going to say—I know it might have caused great trouble. But it +didn’t. So never mind. You were upset—didn’t think.”</p> + +<p>“Oh no, Mrs. Kellynch; you must let me confess it. I sha’n’t be at peace +till I do. I want to tell—my husband—that I confessed and apologised. +I actually wrote——”</p> + +<p>“Really, all this is unnecessary. You are giving us both unnecessary +pain,” said Bertha. “I know it—I guess it. Won’t you leave it at that? +All traces of—the trouble were destroyed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span> and, if you want to be kind +to me now, you’ll not speak of it any more.”</p> + +<p>Mary had begun to cry, but she controlled herself, seeing it would +please Bertha best.</p> + +<p>“Very well, I’ll say no more. Only do, <i>do</i> try to forgive me.”</p> + +<p>“I do with all my heart.”</p> + +<p>“Then you’re angelic. Thank you.” After a moment’s pause, Mary put away +her handkerchief.</p> + +<p>“Have a cigarette,” suggested Bertha, who hardly knew what to do to +compose her agitated visitor.</p> + +<p>“No, no, thank you. Mrs. Kellynch, may I really ask you a great, <i>great</i> +favour?”</p> + +<p>“Please do.”</p> + +<p>“May I consult you? I’m <i>so</i> miserable—I’m wretched. Nigel has gone +away and left me!”</p> + +<p>“Gone away.”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“But he’ll come back? Surely, he means to come back?”</p> + +<p>“I <i>hope</i> so. But he never left me before. Never since we have been +married! And I am miserable. What shall I do—what can I do to make him +fond of me?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span>This pathetic question brought tears to Bertha’s eyes. She was truly +sorry for the poor little creature.</p> + +<p>“Is he angry with you then?”</p> + +<p>“He’s not exactly angry, now. He has been very kind. He has behaved +beautifully. But he said he must go away for a time, and when he came +back he would not refer to—to the subject of our quarrel again.”</p> + +<p>“Well, that’s all right then. There is no cause for being unhappy. It’s +nothing his going away for a week or two.”</p> + +<p>“He says six weeks. Six long, dreadful weeks!”</p> + +<p>“Even <i>six</i> weeks—it’s nothing. After, you’ll both be much happier, I’m +sure,” said Bertha consolingly. “Sometimes there is a sort of strain and +a change is needed. It will be all right.”</p> + +<p>“But, Mrs. Kellynch, you don’t know—you don’t understand. I have always +been so terribly, madly jealous. I have worried him into it. You see—I +can’t help it, I love him so much! I do love him. You can’t imagine what +it is!”</p> + +<p>“Indeed I can!” cried Bertha. “I care <i>quite</i> as much for Percy. You +can’t think how much.”</p> + +<p>“Really and truly? But that’s so different, because <i>he</i> cares quite as +much for you.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed, I hope so,” said Bertha seriously.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span>“Yes. But Nigel doesn’t—he’s kind, but I don’t think he cares much +about me. What shall I do?”</p> + +<p>Bertha paused, deeply sorry. Then she said:</p> + +<p>“Nonsense! Of course he does, but you—if you’ll excuse my saying +so—you seem to worry him, to bother him with imaginary grievances, with +unjust suspicious. What man will bear that?”</p> + +<p>“Then will you tell me what to do?” she asked, like a child.</p> + +<p>“First, don’t beg him to come back. Write kindly, unselfishly, +cheerfully.”</p> + +<p>“Cheerfully! Oh, I can’t.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; you must if you want it to be all right. What man wants to be +deluged with tears and complaints? Dear Mrs. Hillier, I’m speaking as a +genuine friend. I’m speaking frankly. I’m advising you as I would my own +sister. Write to him cheerily, and take an interest in his doings, but +not <i>too</i> great. Show less curiosity. Above all, no jealousy, no +suspicions. It’s the worst thing in the world.”</p> + +<p>“Is it? Go on, dear Mrs. Kellynch. Tell me more.”</p> + +<p>“Talk of the children—show interest in them—make him proud of them. +There you have an advantage no other woman has. You’re the mother of his +children.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span>“Does he care for that?”</p> + +<p>“Of course he does—and he will more, if you do. Show an interest and a +pride in it, and you will be what no one else can be to him.”</p> + +<p>Mary thought, and seemed to see it. “Go on, go on!” she said, putting +out her hand.</p> + +<p>“Dear Mrs. Hillier, I have envied you so for that! All these years, I’ve +never had that great happiness. At last”—she paused—“I’ll tell you, if +you care to know—at last, after ten years, I am going to have my wish.”</p> + +<p>“Really! And you are pleased?”</p> + +<p>“I’m divinely happy, delighted!”</p> + +<p>“Then I’m very glad for you, Mrs. Kellynch. But can’t you +imagine—you’re so pretty and charming and good-tempered and clever. I’m +none of all these things. I’m not pretty, and I’m very bad-tempered and +terribly jealous by nature and not clever.”</p> + +<p>“You are his wife and he chose you. And he is a charming, pleasant man. +You ought to be very happy together.”</p> + +<p>“To tell the truth—I don’t mind what I tell you—I feel you’re kind and +good and sincere—I have always had a horrible feeling that he married +me—because—because he was hard up. And I had money! And yet——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mrs. Hillier, don’t talk nonsense! It’s dreadful of you to say so. +You ought to be very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span> glad to be able to have everything you want, +without having to consider for your children. It’s a great thing, I +assure you, to have no money troubles. It’s another very big reason for +you and Nigel to be happy. You don’t know what it is. It’s agony! I do, +because before I was married I was one of a very large family, and my +father was a very popular preacher and all that, but it was a terrible +struggle. To send the boys to public schools and Oxford, the girls had +to be really dreadfully pinched! And always worries about bills! I was +brought up in that atmosphere, and I know that to be entirely free from +it is a most enormous relief and comfort. You will probably never know +how fortunate you are.”</p> + +<p>“You are right. Of course Nigel is not the man to endure money troubles +well.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly. Well, now, can’t you see that you’ve every possible chance of +happiness together?”</p> + +<p>“May I call you Bertha?” answered Mary. “You’ve been a real angel to me, +I might have expected you to refuse to see me, or at least to be cold +and unkind—and instead you’re as sorry as you can be for me and want to +see me happy! You are sweet.”</p> + +<p>“Of course I’d like to see you happy,” said Bertha. “You understand now +that I also care<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span> for my husband? You’re not the only one in the world, +though I admit we’re rather exceptions nowadays!”</p> + +<p>“Yes; and I thought because you were so pretty and sweet that you <i>must</i> +be a flirt—at the very least.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t say I’m not, all the same. But I would never wish to interfere +with other people’s happiness.”</p> + +<p>“I sometimes think it might be better if I were a little of a flirt,” +sighed Mary. “But I can’t—it’s not my nature—or, rather, I’m too busy +always looking after Nigel!”</p> + +<p>“Well, don’t do that so much and he’ll look after you all the more. Show +interest in your appearance and society—let him be proud of you—and +<i>don’t</i> be afraid of being fond of the children!”</p> + +<p>“I’m really tremendously fond of them,” said Mary. “Only I was always so +afraid he would think they would do instead of him! I have such a horror +of his sending me off with them and thinking they will fill up all my +life, while he was living like a gay bachelor! And when he was very +sweet to them I really was jealous of them!”</p> + +<p>“But all this is absurd. If you show your affection for them he will +love you far more, and when <i>he</i> is devoted to them it shows he’s<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span> +devoted to you. Don’t be foolish, Mrs. Hillier, you have had a sort of +crisis. Do let it end there. Let things be different. He will be +delighted to see you cheerful and jolly again. It’s all in your own +hands, really.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you. It was a shame to bother you.”</p> + +<p>She got up to go.</p> + +<p>“May I tell you, later on … how things are? I shall follow your advice +<i>exactly</i>!”</p> + +<p>Mary was looking at her now in a kind of worshipping gratitude and +trust.</p> + +<p>“Yes, do. But I know it will be all right. Only be a little patient just +now. … He will miss you awfully, I know,” said Bertha, smiling.</p> + +<p>“Oh! Will he <i>really</i>? How <i>sweet</i> of you to say that! Good-bye, Bertha. +Dear Bertha, you have been kind. I’m <i>so</i> sorry.” Tears came to her eyes +again, but as she passed the little mirror she began to laugh. “To think +I should have come to see you for the first time got up like a dame in a +pantomime. How grotesque!”</p> + +<p>They both laughed. Laughter altered and improved Mary wonderfully. It +was a faculty she never exercised. She was always much too serious.</p> + +<p>“Do you know, I haven’t one woman friend,” said Mary.</p> + +<p>“Yes, you have, <i>now</i>.” Bertha pressed her hand.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span>“Good-bye! … Oh, Bertha, do you <i>really</i> think he’ll miss me?”</p> + +<p>“Of course he will! Awfully!”</p> + +<p>“Thanks. Good-bye!”</p> + +<h3>*</h3> + +<p>“Poor girl!” Bertha said to herself as Mary left the house.</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span><a name="XXXVI" id="XXXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI +<br /> +<br />PLAIN SAILING</h2> + + +<p class="cap">WHETHER or not it was through meeting Nigel, at any rate, Rupert became +exceedingly anxious to see Madeline again. It would have happened +anyhow, but perhaps a little more slowly, since Nigel’s rapid views may +have had some influence on that more deliberate young man.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>However that may be, in the early autumn Madeline, almost overcome with +joy, was married to her adored and cultured instructor. She always +remained his painstaking pupil; and he seemed highly gratified with her +general progress; while she continued to be equally pleased with his +mode of instruction and anxious not to neglect her education in any way.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>When Nigel joined his wife he found her decidedly improved. Perhaps he +really had missed the fact that he was of far more importance<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span> to her +than to anyone else in the world. She never conquered her jealousy; but +she learnt to conceal it, and thus to keep the peace; the children +became gradually a source of mutual interest that was a real tie between +them; in fact it grew in time into a positive hobby and a cause of so +much pride and satisfaction as to be rather a bore to many of their +friends.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>I find I am finishing my story in a manner no less strange than +unconventional nowadays: I am leaving no less than three almost +perfectly happy couples! If this is a strain on the imagination of the +reader, let it be remembered that they had all had their troubles and +storms before they reached this point of smooth water.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Nigel, of course, deserved his peace and comfort the least. Percy, +however, with his squash rackets and afternoon concerts (which, however, +he grew to neglect in order to be more with Bertha), was the least +interesting of all my heroes. Yet Bertha remained, I must admit, of all +my heroines, by far the most in love.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span></p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BIRD OF PARADISE***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 27323-h.txt or 27323-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/7/3/2/27323">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/3/2/27323</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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