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diff --git a/2771-h/2771-h.htm b/2771-h/2771-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2b77052 --- /dev/null +++ b/2771-h/2771-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11829 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Island Pharisees, by John Galsworthy + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd7; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 2em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Island Pharisees, by John Galsworthy + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Island Pharisees + +Author: John Galsworthy + +Release Date: June 14, 2006 [EBook #2771] +Last Updated: February 18, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ISLAND PHARISEES *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE ISLAND PHARISEES + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By John Galsworthy + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “But this is a worshipful society” + KING JOHN +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART1"> <big><b>PART I</b></big> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART2"> <big><b>PART II</b></big> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PREFACE + </h2> + <p> + Each man born into the world is born like Shelton in this book—to go + a journey, and for the most part he is born on the high road. At first he + sits there in the dust, with his little chubby hands reaching at nothing, + and his little solemn eyes staring into space. As soon as he can toddle, + he moves, by the queer instinct we call the love of life, straight along + this road, looking neither to the right nor left, so pleased is he to + walk. And he is charmed with everything—with the nice flat road, all + broad and white, with his own feet, and with the prospect he can see on + either hand. The sun shines, and he finds the road a little hot and dusty; + the rain falls, and he splashes through the muddy puddles. It makes no + matter—all is pleasant; his fathers went this way before him; they + made this road for him to tread, and, when they bred him, passed into his + fibre the love of doing things as they themselves had done them. So he + walks on and on, resting comfortably at nights under the roofs that have + been raised to shelter him, by those who went before. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly one day, without intending to, he notices a path or opening in + the hedge, leading to right or left, and he stands, looking at the + undiscovered. After that he stops at all the openings in the hedge; one + day, with a beating heart, he tries one. + </p> + <p> + And this is where the fun begins. + </p> + <p> + Out of ten of him that try the narrow path, nine of him come back to the + broad road, and, when they pass the next gap in the hedge, they say: + “No, no, my friend, I found you pleasant for a while, but after + that-ah! after that! The way my fathers went is good enough for me, and it + is obviously the proper one; for nine of me came back, and that poor silly + tenth—I really pity him!” + </p> + <p> + And when he comes to the next inn, and snuggles in his well-warmed, bed, + he thinks of the wild waste of heather where he might have had to spend + the night alone beneath the stars; nor does it, I think, occur to him that + the broad road he treads all day was once a trackless heath itself. + </p> + <p> + But the poor silly tenth is faring on. It is a windy night that he is + travelling through a windy night, with all things new around, and nothing + to help him but his courage. Nine times out of ten that courage fails, and + he goes down into the bog. He has seen the undiscovered, and—like + Ferrand in this book—the undiscovered has engulfed him; his spirit, + tougher than the spirit of the nine that burned back to sleep in inns, was + yet not tough enough. The tenth time he wins across, and on the traces he + has left others follow slowly, cautiously—a new road is opened to + mankind! A true saying goes: Whatever is, is right! And if all men from + the world's beginning had said that, the world would never have + begun—at all. Not even the protoplasmic jelly could have commenced + its journey; there would have been no motive force to make it start. + </p> + <p> + And so, that other saying had to be devised before the world could set up + business: Whatever is, is wrong! But since the Cosmic Spirit found that + matters moved too fast if those that felt “All things that are, are + wrong” equalled in number those that felt “All things that + are, are right,” It solemnly devised polygamy (all, be it said, in a + spiritual way of speaking); and to each male spirit crowing “All + things that are, are wrong” It decreed nine female spirits clucking + “All things that are, are right.” The Cosmic Spirit, who was + very much an artist, knew its work, and had previously devised a quality + called courage, and divided it in three, naming the parts spiritual, + moral, physical. To all the male-bird spirits, but to no female + (spiritually, not corporeally speaking), It gave courage that was + spiritual; to nearly all, both male and female, It gave courage that was + physical; to very many hen-bird spirits It gave moral courage too. But, + because It knew that if all the male-bird spirits were complete, the + proportion of male to female—one to ten—would be too great, + and cause upheavals, It so arranged that only one in ten male-bird spirits + should have all three kinds of courage; so that the other nine, having + spiritual courage, but lacking either in moral or in physical, should fail + in their extensions of the poultry-run. And having started them upon these + lines, it left them to get along as best they might. + </p> + <p> + Thus, in the subdivision of the poultry-run that we call England, the + proportion of the others to the complete male-bird spirit, who, of course, + is not infrequently a woman, is ninety-nine to one; and with every Island + Pharisee, when he or she starts out in life, the interesting question + ought to be, “Am I that one?” Ninety very soon find out that + they are not, and, having found it out, lest others should discover, they + say they are. Nine of the other ten, blinded by their spiritual courage, + are harder to convince; but one by one they sink, still proclaiming their + virility. The hundredth Pharisee alone sits out the play. + </p> + <p> + Now, the journey of this young man Shelton, who is surely not the + hundredth Pharisee, is but a ragged effort to present the working of the + truth “All things that are, are wrong,” upon the truth “All + things that are, are right.” + </p> + <p> + The Institutions of this country, like the Institutions of all other + countries, are but half-truths; they are the working daily clothing of the + nation; no more the body's permanent dress than is a baby's + frock. Slowly but surely they wear out, or are outgrown; and in their + fashion they are always thirty years at least behind the fashions of those + spirits who are concerned with what shall take their place. The conditions + that dictate our education, the distribution of our property, our marriage + laws, amusements, worship, prisons, and all other things, change + imperceptibly from hour to hour; the moulds containing them, being + inelastic, do not change, but hold on to the point of bursting, and then + are hastily, often clumsily, enlarged. The ninety desiring peace and + comfort for their spirit, the ninety of the well-warmed beds, will have it + that the fashions need not change, that morality is fixed, that all is + ordered and immutable, that every one will always marry, play, and worship + in the way that they themselves are marrying, playing, worshipping. They + have no speculation, and they hate with a deep hatred those who speculate + with thought. This is the function they were made for. They are the dough, + and they dislike that yeasty stuff of life which comes and works about in + them. The Yeasty Stuff—the other ten—chafed by all things that + are, desirous ever of new forms and moulds, hate in their turn the + comfortable ninety. Each party has invented for the other the hardest + names that it can think of: Philistines, Bourgeois, Mrs. Grundy, Rebels, + Anarchists, and Ne'er-do-weels. So we go on! And so, as each of us + is born to go his journey, he finds himself in time ranged on one side or + on the other, and joins the choruses of name-slingers. + </p> + <p> + But now and then—ah! very seldom—we find ourselves so near + that thing which has no breadth, the middle line, that we can watch them + both, and positively smile to see the fun. + </p> + <p> + When this book was published first, many of its critics found that Shelton + was the only Pharisee, and a most unsatisfactory young man—and so, + no doubt, he is. Belonging to the comfortable ninety, they felt, in fact, + the need of slinging names at one who obviously was of the ten. Others of + its critics, belonging to the ten, wielded their epithets upon Antonia, + and the serried ranks behind her, and called them Pharisees; as dull as + ditch-water—and so, I fear, they are. + </p> + <p> + One of the greatest charms of authorship is the privilege it gives the + author of studying the secret springs of many unseen persons, of analysing + human nature through the criticism that his work evokes—criticism + welling out of the instinctive likings or aversions, out of the very fibre + of the human being who delivers it; criticism that often seems to leap out + against the critic's will, startled like a fawn from some deep bed, + of sympathy or of antipathy. And so, all authors love to be abused—as + any man can see. + </p> + <p> + In the little matter of the title of this book, we are all Pharisees, + whether of the ninety or the ten, and we certainly do live upon an Island. + JOHN GALSWORTHY. + </p> + <p> + January 1, 1908 + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART1" id="link2H_PART1"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART I + </h2> + <h3> + THE TOWN + </h3> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <h3> + SOCIETY + </h3> + <p> + A quiet, well-dressed man named Shelton, with a brown face and a short, + fair beard, stood by the bookstall at Dover Station. He was about to + journey up to London, and had placed his bag in the corner of a + third-class carriage. + </p> + <p> + After his long travel, the flat-vowelled voice of the bookstall clerk + offering the latest novel sounded pleasant—pleasant the independent + answers of a bearded guard, and the stodgy farewell sayings of a man and + wife. The limber porters trundling their barrows, the greyness of the + station and the good stolid humour clinging to the people, air, and + voices, all brought to him the sense of home. Meanwhile he wavered between + purchasing a book called Market Hayborough, which he had read and would + certainly enjoy a second time, and Carlyle's French Revolution, + which he had not read and was doubtful of enjoying; he felt that he ought + to buy the latter, but he did not relish giving up the former. While he + hesitated thus, his carriage was beginning to fill up; so, quickly buying + both, he took up a position from which he could defend his rights. “Nothing,” + he thought, “shows people up like travelling.” + </p> + <p> + The carriage was almost full, and, putting his bag, up in the rack, he + took his seat. At the moment of starting yet another passenger, a girl + with a pale face, scrambled in. + </p> + <p> + “I was a fool to go third,” thought Shelton, taking in his + neighbours from behind his journal. + </p> + <p> + They were seven. A grizzled rustic sat in the far corner; his empty pipe, + bowl downwards, jutted like a handle from his face, all bleared with the + smear of nothingness that grows on those who pass their lives in the + current of hard facts. Next to him, a ruddy, heavy-shouldered man was + discussing with a grey-haired, hatchet-visaged person the condition of + their gardens; and Shelton watched their eyes till it occurred to him how + curious a look was in them—a watchful friendliness, an allied + distrust—and that their voices, cheerful, even jovial, seemed to be + cautious all the time. His glance strayed off, and almost rebounded from + the semi-Roman, slightly cross, and wholly self-complacent face of a stout + lady in a black-and-white costume, who was reading the Strand Magazine, + while her other, sleek, plump hand, freed from its black glove, and + ornamented with a thick watch-bracelet, rested on her lap. A younger, + bright-cheeked, and self-conscious female was sitting next her, looking at + the pale girl who had just got in. + </p> + <p> + “There's something about that girl,” thought Shelton, + “they don't like.” Her brown eyes certainly looked + frightened, her clothes were of a foreign cut. Suddenly he met the glance + of another pair of eyes; these eyes, prominent and blue, stared with a + sort of subtle roguery from above a thin, lopsided nose, and were at once + averted. They gave Shelton the impression that he was being judged, and + mocked, enticed, initiated. His own gaze did not fall; this sanguine face, + with its two-day growth of reddish beard, long nose, full lips, and irony, + puzzled him. “A cynical face!” he thought, and then, “but + sensitive!” and then, “too cynical,” again. + </p> + <p> + The young man who owned it sat with his legs parted at the knees, his + dusty trouser-ends and boots slanting back beneath the seat, his yellow + finger-tips crisped as if rolling cigarettes. A strange air of detachment + was about that youthful, shabby figure, and not a scrap of luggage filled + the rack above his head. + </p> + <p> + The frightened girl was sitting next this pagan personality; it was + possibly the lack of fashion in his looks that caused, her to select him + for her confidence. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” she asked, “do you speak French?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly.” + </p> + <p> + “Then can you tell me where they take the tickets? + </p> + <p> + “The young man shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said he, “I am a foreigner.” + </p> + <p> + The girl sighed. + </p> + <p> + “But what is the matter, ma'moiselle?” + </p> + <p> + The girl did not reply, twisting her hands on an old bag in her lap. + Silence had stolen on the carriage—a silence such as steals on + animals at the first approach of danger; all eyes were turned towards the + figures of the foreigners. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” broke out the red-faced man, “he was a bit + squiffy that evening—old Tom.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” replied his neighbour, “he would be.” + </p> + <p> + Something seemed to have destroyed their look of mutual distrust. The + plump, sleek hand of the lady with the Roman nose curved convulsively; and + this movement corresponded to the feeling agitating Shelton's heart. + It was almost as if hand and heart feared to be asked for something. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said the girl, with a tremble in her voice, + “I am very unhappy; can you tell me what to do? I had no money for a + ticket.” + </p> + <p> + The foreign youth's face flickered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” he said; “that might happen to anyone, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “What will they do to me?” sighed the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Don't lose courage, ma'moiselle.” The young man + slid his eyes from left to right, and rested them on Shelton. “Although + I don't as yet see your way out.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, monsieur!” sighed the girl, and, though it was clear that + none but Shelton understood what they were saying, there was a chilly + feeling in the carriage. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could assist you,” said the foreign youth; “unfortunately——” + he shrugged his shoulders, and again his eyes returned to Shelton. + </p> + <p> + The latter thrust his hand into his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “Can I be of any use?” he asked in English. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, sir; you could render this young lady the greatest + possible service by lending her the money for a ticket.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton produced a sovereign, which the young man took. Passing it to the + girl, he said: + </p> + <p> + “A thousand thanks—'voila une belle action'.” + </p> + <p> + The misgivings which attend on casual charity crowded up in Shelton's + mind; he was ashamed of having them and of not having them, and he stole + covert looks at this young foreigner, who was now talking to the girl in a + language that he did not understand. Though vagabond in essence, the + fellow's face showed subtle spirit, a fortitude and irony not found + upon the face of normal man, and in turning from it to the other + passengers Shelton was conscious of revolt, contempt, and questioning, + that he could not define. Leaning back with half-closed eyes, he tried to + diagnose this new sensation. He found it disconcerting that the faces and + behaviour of his neighbours lacked anything he could grasp and secretly + abuse. They continued to converse with admirable and slightly conscious + phlegm, yet he knew, as well as if each one had whispered to him + privately, that this shady incident had shaken them. Something unsettling + to their notions of propriety-something dangerous and destructive of + complacency—had occurred, and this was unforgivable. Each had a + different way, humorous or philosophic, contemptuous, sour, or sly, of + showing this resentment. But by a flash of insight Shelton saw that at the + bottom of their minds and of his own the feeling was the same. Because he + shared in their resentment he was enraged with them and with himself. He + looked at the plump, sleek hand of the woman with the Roman nose. The + insulation and complacency of its pale skin, the passive righteousness + about its curve, the prim separation from the others of the fat little + finger, had acquired a wholly unaccountable importance. It embodied the + verdict of his fellow-passengers, the verdict of Society; for he knew + that, whether or no repugnant to the well-bred mind, each assemblage of + eight persons, even in a third-class carriage, contains the kernel of + Society. + </p> + <p> + But being in love, and recently engaged, Shelton had a right to be immune + from discontent of any kind, and he reverted to his mental image of the + cool, fair face, quick movements, and the brilliant smile that now in his + probationary exile haunted his imagination; he took out his fiancee's + last letter, but the voice of the young foreigner addressing him in rapid + French caused him to put it back abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “From what she tells me, sir,” he said, bending forward to be + out of hearing of the girl, “hers is an unhappy case. I should have + been only too glad to help her, but, as you see”—and he made a + gesture by which Shelton observed that he had parted from his waistcoat—“I + am not Rothschild. She has been abandoned by the man who brought her over + to Dover under promise of marriage. Look”—and by a subtle + flicker of his eyes he marked how the two ladies had edged away from the + French girl “they take good care not to let their garments touch + her. They are virtuous women. How fine a thing is virtue, sir! and finer + to know you have it, especially when you are never likely to be tempted.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton was unable to repress a smile; and when he smiled his face grew + soft. + </p> + <p> + “Haven't you observed,” went on the youthful foreigner, + “that those who by temperament and circumstance are worst fitted to + pronounce judgment are usually the first to judge? The judgments of + Society are always childish, seeing that it's composed for the most + part of individuals who have never smelt the fire. And look at this: they + who have money run too great a risk of parting with it if they don't + accuse the penniless of being rogues and imbeciles.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton was startled, and not only by an outburst of philosophy from an + utter stranger in poor clothes, but at this singular wording of his own + private thoughts. Stifling his sense of the unusual for the queer + attraction this young man inspired, he said: + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you're a stranger over here?” + </p> + <p> + “I've been in England seven months, but not yet in London,” + replied the other. “I count on doing some good there—it is + time!” A bitter and pathetic smile showed for a second on his lips. + “It won't be my fault if I fail. You are English, Sir?” + </p> + <p> + Shelton nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive my asking; your voice lacks something I've nearly + always noticed in the English a kind of—'comment cela s'appelle'—cocksureness, + coming from your nation's greatest quality.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is that?” asked Shelton with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Complacency,” replied the youthful foreigner. + </p> + <p> + “Complacency!” repeated Shelton; “do you call that a + great quality?” + </p> + <p> + “I should rather say, monsieur, a great defect in what is always a + great people. You are certainly the most highly-civilised nation on the + earth; you suffer a little from the fact. If I were an English preacher my + desire would be to prick the heart of your complacency.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton, leaning back, considered this impertinent suggestion. + </p> + <p> + “Hum!” he said at last, “you'd be unpopular; I don't + know that we're any cockier than other nations.” + </p> + <p> + The young foreigner made a sign as though confirming this opinion. + </p> + <p> + “In effect,” said he, “it is a sufficiently widespread + disease. Look at these people here”—and with a rapid glance he + pointed to the inmates of the carnage,—“very average persons! + What have they done to warrant their making a virtuous nose at those who + do not walk as they do? That old rustic, perhaps, is different—he + never thinks at all—but look at those two occupied with their + stupidities about the price of hops, the prospects of potatoes, what + George is doing, a thousand things all of that sort—look at their + faces; I come of the bourgeoisie myself—have they ever shown proof + of any quality that gives them the right to pat themselves upon the back? + No fear! Outside potatoes they know nothing, and what they do not + understand they dread and they despise—there are millions of that + breed. 'Voila la Societe'. The sole quality these people have + shown they have is cowardice. I was educated by the Jesuits,” he + concluded; “it has given me a way of thinking.” + </p> + <p> + Under ordinary circumstances Shelton would have murmured in a well-bred + voice, “Ah! quite so,” and taken refuge in the columns of the + Daily Telegraph. In place of this, for some reason that he did not + understand, he looked at the young foreigner, and asked, + </p> + <p> + “Why do you say all this to me?” + </p> + <p> + The tramp—for by his boots he could hardly have been better—hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “When you've travelled like me,” he said, as if resolved + to speak the truth, “you acquire an instinct in choosing to whom and + how you speak. It is necessity that makes the law; if you want to live you + must learn all that sort of thing to make face against life.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton, who himself possessed a certain subtlety, could not but observe + the complimentary nature of these words. It was like saying “I'm + not afraid of you misunderstanding me, and thinking me a rascal just + because I study human nature.” + </p> + <p> + “But is there nothing to be done for that poor girl?” + </p> + <p> + His new acquaintance shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “A broken jug,” said he; “—you'll never mend + her. She's going to a cousin in London to see if she can get help; + you've given her the means of getting there—it's all + that you can do. One knows too well what'll become of her.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton said gravely, + </p> + <p> + “Oh! that's horrible! Could n't she be induced to go + back home? I should be glad—” + </p> + <p> + The foreign vagrant shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Mon cher monsieur,” he said, “you evidently have not + yet had occasion to know what the 'family' is like. 'The + family' does not like damaged goods; it will have nothing to say to + sons whose hands have dipped into the till or daughters no longer to be + married. What the devil would they do with her? Better put a stone about + her neck and let her drown at once. All the world is Christian, but + Christian and good Samaritan are not quite the same.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton looked at the girl, who was sitting motionless, with her hands + crossed on her bag, and a revolt against the unfair ways of life arose + within him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the young foreigner, as if reading all his + thoughts, “what's called virtue is nearly always only luck.” + He rolled his eyes as though to say: “Ah! La, Conventions? Have them + by all means—but don't look like peacocks because you are + preserving them; it is but cowardice and luck, my friends—but + cowardice and luck!” + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” said Shelton, “I'll give her my + address, and if she wants to go back to her family she can write to me.” + </p> + <p> + “She'll never go back; she won't have the courage.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton caught the cringing glance of the girl's eyes; in the droop + of her lip there was something sensuous, and the conviction that the young + man's words were true came over him. + </p> + <p> + “I had better not give them my private address,” he thought, + glancing at the faces opposite; and he wrote down the following: “Richard + Paramor Shelton, c/o Paramor and Herring, Lincoln's Inn Fields.” + </p> + <p> + “You're very good, sir. My name is Louis Ferrand; no address + at present. I'll make her understand; she's half stupefied + just now.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton returned to the perusal of his paper, too disturbed to read; the + young vagrant's words kept sounding in his ears. He raised his eyes. + The plump hand of the lady with the Roman nose still rested on her lap; it + had been recased in its black glove with large white stitching. Her + frowning gaze was fixed on him suspiciously, as if he had outraged her + sense of decency. + </p> + <p> + “He did n't get anything from me,” said the voice of the + red-faced man, ending a talk on tax-gatherers. The train whistled loudly, + and Shelton reverted to his paper. This time he crossed his legs, + determined to enjoy the latest murder; once more he found himself looking + at the vagrant's long-nosed, mocking face. “That fellow,” + he thought, “has seen and felt ten times as much as I, although he + must be ten years younger.” + </p> + <p> + He turned for distraction to the landscape, with its April clouds, trim + hedgerows, homely coverts. But strange ideas would come, and he was + discontented with himself; the conversation he had had, the personality of + this young foreigner, disturbed him. It was all as though he had made a + start in some fresh journey through the fields of thought. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <h3> + ANTONIA + </h3> + <p> + Five years before the journey just described Shelton had stood one + afternoon on the barge of his old college at the end of the summer races. + He had been “down” from Oxford for some years, but these + Olympian contests still attracted him. + </p> + <p> + The boats were passing, and in the usual rush to the barge side his arm + came in contact with a soft young shoulder. He saw close to him a young + girl with fair hair knotted in a ribbon, whose face was eager with + excitement. The pointed chin, long neck, the fluffy hair, quick gestures, + and the calm strenuousness of her grey-blue eyes, impressed him vividly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we must bump them!” he heard her sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know my people, Shelton?” said a voice behind his + back; and he was granted a touch from the girl's shy, impatient + hand, the warmer fingers of a lady with kindly eyes resembling a hare's, + the dry hand-clasp of a gentleman with a thin, arched nose, and a + quizzical brown face. + </p> + <p> + “Are you the Mr. Shelton who used to play the 'bones' at + Eton?” said the lady. “Oh; we so often heard of you from + Bernard! He was your fag, was n't he? How distressin' it is to + see these poor boys in the boats!” + </p> + <p> + “Mother, they like it!” cried the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Antonia ought to be rowing, herself,” said her father, whose + name was Dennant. + </p> + <p> + Shelton went back with them to their hotel, walking beside Antonia through + the Christchurch meadows, telling her details of his college life. He + dined with them that evening, and, when he left, had a feeling like that + produced by a first glass of champagne. + </p> + <p> + The Dennants lived at Holm Oaks, within six miles of Oxford, and two days + later he drove over and paid a call. Amidst the avocations of reading for + the Bar, of cricket, racing, shooting, it but required a whiff of some + fresh scent—hay, honeysuckle, clover—to bring Antonia's + face before him, with its uncertain colour and its frank, distant eyes. + But two years passed before he again saw her. Then, at an invitation from + Bernard Dennant, he played cricket for the Manor of Holm Oaks against a + neighbouring house; in the evening there was dancing oh the lawn. The fair + hair was now turned up, but the eyes were quite unchanged. Their steps + went together, and they outlasted every other couple on the slippery + grass. Thence, perhaps, sprang her respect for him; he was wiry, a little + taller than herself, and seemed to talk of things that interested her. He + found out she was seventeen, and she found out that he was twenty-nine. + The following two years Shelton went to Holm Oaks whenever he was asked; + to him this was a period of enchanted games, of cub-hunting, theatricals, + and distant sounds of practised music, and during it Antonia's eyes + grew more friendly and more curious, and his own more shy, and schooled, + more furtive and more ardent. Then came his father's death, a voyage + round the world, and that peculiar hour of mixed sensations when, one + March morning, abandoning his steamer at Marseilles, he took train for + Hyeres. + </p> + <p> + He found her at one of those exclusive hostelries amongst the pines where + the best English go, in common with Americans, Russian princesses, and + Jewish families; he would not have been shocked to find her elsewhere, but + he would have been surprised. His sunburnt face and the new beard, on + which he set some undefined value, apologetically displayed, were scanned + by those blue eyes with rapid glances, at once more friendly and less + friendly. “Ah!” they seemed to say, “here you are; how + glad I am! But—what now?” + </p> + <p> + He was admitted to their sacred table at the table d'hote, a snowy + oblong in an airy alcove, where the Honourable Mrs. Dennant, Miss Dennant, + and the Honourable Charlotte Penguin, a maiden aunt with insufficient + lungs, sat twice a day in their own atmosphere. A momentary weakness came + on Shelton the first time he saw them sitting there at lunch. What was it + gave them their look of strange detachment? Mrs. Dennant was bending above + a camera. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid, d' you know, it's under-exposed,” + she said. + </p> + <p> + “What a pity! The kitten was rather nice!” The maiden aunt, + placing the knitting of a red silk tie beside her plate, turned her + aspiring, well-bred gaze on Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “Look, Auntie,” said Antonia in her clear, quick voice, + “there's the funny little man again!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said the maiden aunt—a smile revealed her upper + teeth; she looked for the funny little man (who was not English)—“he's + rather nice!” + </p> + <p> + Shelton did not look for the funny little man; he stole a glance that + barely reached Antonia's brow, where her eyebrows took their tiny + upward slant at the outer corners, and her hair was still ruffled by a + windy walk. From that moment he became her slave. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Shelton, do you know anything about these periscopic + binoculars?” said Mrs. Dennant's voice; “they're + splendid for buildin's, but buildin's are so disappointin'. + The thing is to get human interest, isn't it?” and her glance + wandered absently past Shelton in search of human interest. + </p> + <p> + “You haven't put down what you've taken, mother.” + </p> + <p> + From a little leather bag Mrs. Dennant took a little leather book. + </p> + <p> + “It's so easy to forget what they're about,” she + said, “that's so annoyin'.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton was not again visited by his uneasiness at their detachment; he + accepted them and all their works, for there was something quite sublime + about the way that they would leave the dining-room, unconscious that they + themselves were funny to all the people they had found so funny while they + had been sitting there, and he would follow them out unnecessarily upright + and feeling like a fool. + </p> + <p> + In the ensuing fortnight, chaperoned by the maiden aunt, for Mrs. Dennant + disliked driving, he sat opposite to Antonia during many drives; he played + sets of tennis with her; but it was in the evenings after dinner—those + long evenings on a parquet floor in wicker chairs dragged as far as might + be from the heating apparatus—that he seemed so very near her. The + community of isolation drew them closer. In place of a companion he had + assumed the part of friend, to whom she could confide all her home-sick + aspirations. So that, even when she was sitting silent, a slim, long foot + stretched out in front, bending with an air of cool absorption over some + pencil sketches which she would not show him—even then, by her very + attitude, by the sweet freshness that clung about her, by her quick, + offended glances at the strange persons round, she seemed to acknowledge + in some secret way that he was necessary. He was far from realising this; + his intellectual and observant parts were hypnotised and fascinated even + by her failings. The faint freckling across her nose, the slim and + virginal severeness of her figure, with its narrow hips and arms, the + curve of her long neck-all were added charms. She had the wind and rain + look, a taste of home; and over the glaring roads, where the palm-tree + shadows lay so black, she seemed to pass like the very image of an English + day. + </p> + <p> + One afternoon he had taken her to play tennis with some friends, and + afterwards they strolled on to her favourite view. Down the Toulon road + gardens and hills were bathed in the colour of ripe apricot; an evening + crispness had stolen on the air; the blood, released from the sun's + numbing, ran gladly in the veins. On the right hand of the road was a + Frenchman playing bowls. Enormous, busy, pleased, and upright as a + soldier, pathetically trotting his vast carcass from end to end, he + delighted Shelton. But Antonia threw a single look at the huge creature, + and her face expressed disgust. She began running up towards the ruined + tower. + </p> + <p> + Shelton let her keep in front, watching her leap from stone to stone and + throw back defiant glances when he pressed behind. She stood at the top, + and he looked up at her. Over the world, gloriously spread below, she, + like a statue, seemed to rule. The colour was brilliant in her cheeks, her + young bosom heaved, her eyes shone, and the flowing droop of her long, + full sleeves gave to her poised figure the look of one who flies. He + pulled himself up and stood beside her; his heart choked him, all the + colour had left his cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “Antonia,” he said, “I love you.” + </p> + <p> + She started, as if his whisper had intruded on her thoughts; but his face + must have expressed his hunger, for the resentment in her eyes vanished. + </p> + <p> + They stood for several minutes without speaking, and then went home. + Shelton painfully revolved the riddle of the colour in her face. Had he a + chance then? Was it possible? That evening the instinct vouchsafed at + times to lovers in place of reason caused him to pack his bag and go to + Cannes. On returning, two days later, and approaching the group in the + centre of the Winter Garden, the voice of the maiden aunt reading aloud an + extract from the Morning Post reached him across the room. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think that's rather nice?” he heard her + ask, and then: “Oh, here you aye! It's very nice to see you + back!” + </p> + <p> + Shelton slipped into a wicker chair. Antonia looked up quickly from her + sketch-book, put out a hand, but did not speak. + </p> + <p> + He watched her bending head, and his eagerness was changed to gloom. With + desperate vivacity he sustained the five intolerable minutes of inquiry, + where had he been, what had he been doing? Then once again the maiden aunt + commenced her extracts from the Morning Post. + </p> + <p> + A touch on his sleeve startled him. Antonia was leaning forward; her + cheeks were crimson above the pallor of her neck. + </p> + <p> + “Would you like to see my sketches?” + </p> + <p> + To Shelton, bending above those sketches, that drawl of the well-bred + maiden aunt intoning the well-bred paper was the most pleasant sound that + he had ever listened to. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Dick,” Mrs. Dennant said to him a fortnight later, + “we would rather, after you leave here, that you don't see + each other again until July. Of course I know you count it an engagement + and all that, and everybody's been writin' to congratulate + you. But Algie thinks you ought to give yourselves a chance. Young people + don't always know what they're about, you know; it's not + long to wait.” + </p> + <p> + “Three months!” gasped Shelton. + </p> + <p> + He had to swallow down this pill with what grace he could command. There + was no alternative. Antonia had acquiesced in the condition with a queer, + grave pleasure, as if she expected it to do her good. + </p> + <p> + “It'll be something to look forward to, Dick,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He postponed departure as long as possible, and it was not until the end + of April that he left for England. She came alone to see him off. It was + drizzling, but her tall, slight figure in the golf cape looked impervious + to cold and rain amongst the shivering natives. Desperately he clutched + her hand, warm through the wet glove; her smile seemed heartless in its + brilliancy. He whispered “You will write?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course; don't be so stupid, you old Dick!” + </p> + <p> + She ran forward as the train began to move; her clear “Good-bye!” + sounded shrill and hard above the rumble of the wheels. He saw her raise + her hand, an umbrella waving, and last of all, vivid still amongst + receding shapes, the red spot of her scarlet tam-o'-shanter. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <h3> + A ZOOLOGICAL GARDEN + </h3> + <p> + After his journey up from Dover, Shelton was still fathering his luggage + at Charing Cross, when the foreign girl passed him, and, in spite of his + desire to say something cheering, he could get nothing out but a + shame-faced smile. Her figure vanished, wavering into the hurly-burly; one + of his bags had gone astray, and so all thought of her soon faded from his + mind. His cab, however, overtook the foreign vagrant marching along + towards Pall Mall with a curious, lengthy stride—an observant, + disillusioned figure. + </p> + <p> + The first bustle of installation over, time hung heavy on his hands. July + loomed distant, as in some future century; Antonia's eyes beckoned + him faintly, hopelessly. She would not even be coming back to England for + another month. + </p> + <p> + . . . I met a young foreigner in the train from Dover [he wrote to her]—a + curious sort of person altogether, who seems to have infected me. + Everything here has gone flat and unprofitable; the only good things in + life are your letters.... John Noble dined with me yesterday; the poor + fellow tried to persuade me to stand for Parliament. Why should I think + myself fit to legislate for the unhappy wretches one sees about in the + streets? If people's faces are a fair test of their happiness, I' + d rather not feel in any way responsible.... + </p> + <p> + The streets, in fact, after his long absence in the East, afforded him + much food for thought: the curious smugness of the passers-by; the utterly + unending bustle; the fearful medley of miserable, over-driven women, and + full-fed men, with leering, bull-beef eyes, whom he saw everywhere—in + club windows, on their beats, on box seats, on the steps of hotels, + discharging dilatory duties; the appalling chaos of hard-eyed, capable + dames with defiant clothes, and white-cheeked hunted-looking men; of + splendid creatures in their cabs, and cadging creatures in their broken + hats—the callousness and the monotony! + </p> + <p> + One afternoon in May he received this letter couched in French: + </p> + <p> + 3, BLANK ROW WESTMINSTER. MY DEAR SIR, + </p> + <p> + Excuse me for recalling to your memory the offer of assistance you so + kindly made me during the journey from Dover to London, in which I was so + fortunate as to travel with a man like you. Having beaten the whole town, + ignorant of what wood to make arrows, nearly at the end of my resources, + my spirit profoundly discouraged, I venture to avail myself of your + permission, knowing your good heart. Since I saw you I have run through + all the misfortunes of the calendar, and cannot tell what door is left at + which I have not knocked. I presented myself at the business firm with + whose name you supplied me, but being unfortunately in rags, they refused + to give me your address. Is this not very much in the English character? + They told me to write, and said they would forward the letter. I put all + my hopes in you. + </p> + <p> + Believe me, my dear sir, + </p> + <p> + (whatever you may decide) + </p> + <p> + Your devoted + </p> + <p> + LOUIS FERRAND. + </p> + <p> + Shelton looked at the envelope, and saw, that it, bore date a week ago. + The face of the young vagrant rose before him, vital, mocking, sensitive; + the sound of his quick French buzzed in his ears, and, oddly, the whole + whiff of him had a power of raising more vividly than ever his memories of + Antonia. It had been at the end of the journey from Hyeres to London that + he had met him; that seemed to give the youth a claim. + </p> + <p> + He took his hat and hurried, to Blank Row. Dismissing his cab at the + corner of Victoria Street he with difficulty found the house in question. + It was a doorless place, with stone-flagged corridor—in other words, + a “doss-house.” By tapping on a sort of ticket-office with a + sliding window, he attracted the attention of a blowsy woman with + soap-suds on her arms, who informed him that the person he was looking for + had gone without leaving his address. + </p> + <p> + “But isn't there anybody,” asked Shelton, “of whom + I can make inquiry?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; there's a Frenchman.” And opening an inner door + she bellowed: “Frenchy! Wanted!” and disappeared. + </p> + <p> + A dried-up, yellow little man, cynical and weary in the face, as if a + moral steam-roller had passed over it, answered this call, and stood, + sniffing, as it were, at Shelton, on whom he made the singular impression + of some little creature in a cage. + </p> + <p> + “He left here ten days ago, in the company of a mulatto. What do you + want with him, if I may ask?” The little man's yellow cheeks + were wrinkled with suspicion. + </p> + <p> + Shelton produced the letter. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! now I know you”—a pale smile broke through the + Frenchman's crow's-feet—“he spoke of you. 'If + I can only find him,' he used to say, 'I 'm saved.' + I liked that young man; he had ideas.” + </p> + <p> + “Is there no way of getting at him through his consul?” + </p> + <p> + The Frenchman shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Might as well look for diamonds at the bottom of the sea.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think he will come back here? But by that time I suppose, + you'll hardly be here yourself?” + </p> + <p> + A gleam of amusement played about the Frenchman's teeth: + </p> + <p> + “I? Oh, yes, sir! Once upon a time I cherished the hope of emerging; + I no longer have illusions. I shave these specimens for a living, and + shall shave them till the day of judgment. But leave a letter with me by + all means; he will come back. There's an overcoat of his here on + which he borrowed money—it's worth more. Oh, yes; he will come + back—a youth of principle. Leave a letter with me; I'm always + here.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton hesitated, but those last three words, “I'm always + here,” touched him in their simplicity. Nothing more dreadful could + be said. + </p> + <p> + “Can you find me a sheet of paper, then?” he asked; “please + keep the change for the trouble I am giving you.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said the Frenchman simply; “he told me that + your heart was good. If you don't mind the kitchen, you could write + there at your ease.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton wrote his letter at the table of this stone-flagged kitchen in + company with an aged, dried-up gentleman; who was muttering to himself; + and Shelton tried to avoid attracting his attention, suspecting that he + was not sober. Just as he was about to take his leave, however, the old + fellow thus accosted him: + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever go to the dentist, mister?” he said, working at + a loose tooth with his shrivelled fingers. “I went to a dentist + once, who professed to stop teeth without giving pain, and the beggar did + stop my teeth without pain; but did they stay in, those stoppings? No, my + bhoy; they came out before you could say Jack Robinson. Now, I shimply ask + you, d'you call that dentistry?” Fixing his eyes on Shelton's + collar, which had the misfortune to be high and clean, he resumed with + drunken scorn: “Ut's the same all over this pharisaical + counthry. Talk of high morality and Anglo-Shaxon civilisation! The world + was never at such low ebb! Phwhat's all this morality? Ut stinks of + the shop. Look at the condition of Art in this counthry! look at the fools + you see upon th' stage! look at the pictures and books that sell! I + know what I'm talking about, though I am a sandwich man. Phwhat's + the secret of ut all? Shop, my bhoy! Ut don't pay to go below a + certain depth! Scratch the skin, but pierce ut—Oh! dear, no! We hate + to see the blood fly, eh?” + </p> + <p> + Shelton stood disconcerted, not knowing if he were expected to reply; but + the old gentleman, pursing up his lips, went on: + </p> + <p> + “Sir, there are no extremes in this fog-smitten land. Do ye think + blanks loike me ought to exist? Whoy don't they kill us off? + Palliatives—palliatives—and whoy? Because they object to th' + extreme course. Look at women: the streets here are a scandal to the + world. They won't recognise that they exist—their noses are so + dam high! They blink the truth in this middle-class counthry. My bhoy”—and + he whispered confidentially—“ut pays 'em. Eh? you say, + why shouldn't they, then?” (But Shelton had not spoken.) + “Well, let'em! let 'em! But don't tell me that'sh + morality, don't tell me that'sh civilisation! What can you + expect in a counthry where the crimson, emotions are never allowed to + smell the air? And what'sh the result? My bhoy, the result is + sentiment, a yellow thing with blue spots, like a fungus or a Stilton + cheese. Go to the theatre, and see one of these things they call plays. + Tell me, are they food for men and women? Why, they're pap for babes + and shop-boys! I was a blanky actor moyself!” + </p> + <p> + Shelton listened with mingled feelings of amusement and dismay, till the + old actor, having finished, resumed his crouching posture at the table. + </p> + <p> + “You don't get dhrunk, I suppose?” he said suddenly—“too + much of 'n Englishman, no doubt.” + </p> + <p> + “Very seldom,” said Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “Pity! Think of the pleasures of oblivion! Oi 'm dhrunk every + night.” + </p> + <p> + “How long will you last at that rate?” + </p> + <p> + “There speaks the Englishman! Why should Oi give up me only pleasure + to keep me wretched life in? If you've anything left worth the + keeping shober for, keep shober by all means; if not, the sooner you are + dhrunk the better—that stands to reason.” + </p> + <p> + In the corridor Shelton asked the Frenchman where the old man came from. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, and Englishman! Yes, yes, from Belfast very drunken old man. + You are a drunken nation”—he made a motion with his hands + “he no longer eats—no inside left. It is unfortunate-a man of + spirit. If you have never seen one of these palaces, monsieur, I shall be + happy to show you over it.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton took out his cigarette case. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” said the Frenchman, making a wry nose and taking a + cigarette; “I'm accustomed to it. But you're wise to + fumigate the air; one is n't in a harem.” + </p> + <p> + And Shelton felt ashamed of his fastidiousness. + </p> + <p> + “This,” said the guide, leading him up-stairs and opening a + door, “is a specimen of the apartments reserved for these princes of + the blood.” There were four empty beds on iron legs, and, with the + air of a showman, the Frenchman twitched away a dingy quilt. “They + go out in the mornings, earn enough to make them drunk, sleep it off, and + then begin again. That's their life. There are people who think they + ought to be reformed. 'Mon cher monsieur', one must face + reality a little, even in this country. It would be a hundred times better + for these people to spend their time reforming high Society. Your high + Society makes all these creatures; there's no harvest without + cutting stalks. 'Selon moi',” he continued, putting back + the quilt, and dribbling cigarette smoke through his nose, “there's + no grand difference between your high Society and these individuals here; + both want pleasure, both think only of themselves, which is very natural. + One lot have had the luck, the other—well, you see.” He + shrugged. “A common set! I've been robbed here half a dozen + times. If you have new shoes, a good waistcoat, an overcoat, you want eyes + in the back of your head. And they are populated! Change your bed, and you'll + run all the dangers of not sleeping alone. 'V'la ma clientele'. + The half of them don't pay me!” He, snapped his yellow sticks + of fingers. “A penny for a shave, twopence a cut! 'Quelle vie'. + Here,” he continued, standing by a bed, “is a gentleman who + owes me fivepence. Here's one who was a soldier; he's done + for! All brutalised; not one with any courage left! But, believe me, + monsieur,” he went on, opening another door, “when you come + down to houses of this sort you must have a vice; it's as necessary + as breath is to the lungs. No matter what, you must have a vice to give + you a little solace—'un peu de soulagement'. Ah, yes! + before you judge these swine, reflect on life! I've been through it. + Monsieur, it is not nice never to know where to get your next meal. + Gentlemen who have food in their stomachs, money in their pockets, and + know where to get more, they never think. Why should they—'pas + de danger'. All these cages are the same. Come down, and you shall + see the pantry.” He took Shelton through the kitchen, which seemed + the only sitting-room of the establishment, to an inner room furnished + with dirty cups and saucers, plates, and knives. Another fire was burning + there. “We always have hot water,” said the Frenchman, “and + three times a week they make a fire down there”—he pointed to + a cellar—“for our clients to boil their vermin. Oh, yes, we + have all the luxuries.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton returned to the kitchen, and directly after took leave of the + little Frenchman, who said, with a kind of moral button-holing, as if + trying to adopt him as a patron: + </p> + <p> + “Trust me, monsieur; if he comes back—that young man—he + shall have your letter without fail. My name is Carolan Jules Carolan; and + I am always at your service.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <h3> + THE PLAY + </h3> + <p> + Shelton walked away; he had been indulging in a nightmare. “That old + actor was drunk,” thought he, “and no doubt he was an + Irishman; still, there may be truth in what he said. I am a Pharisee, like + all the rest who are n't in the pit. My respectability is only luck. + What should I have become if I'd been born into his kind of life?” + and he stared at a stream of people coming from the Stares, trying to + pierce the mask of their serious, complacent faces. If these ladies and + gentlemen were put into that pit into which he had been looking, would a + single one of them emerge again? But the effort of picturing them there + was too much for him; it was too far—too ridiculously far. + </p> + <p> + One particular couple, a large; fine man and wife, who, in the midst of + all the dirt and rumbling hurry, the gloomy, ludicrous, and desperately + jovial streets, walked side by side in well-bred silence, had evidently + bought some article which pleased them. There was nothing offensive in + their manner; they seemed quite unconcerned at the passing of the other + people. The man had that fine solidity of shoulder and of waist, the + glossy self-possession that belongs to those with horses, guns, and + dressing-bags. The wife, her chin comfortably settled in her fur, kept her + grey eyes on the ground, and, when she spoke, her even and unruffled voice + reached Shelton's ears above all the whirring of the traffic. It was + leisurely precise, as if it had never hurried, had never been exhausted, + or passionate, or afraid. Their talk, like that of many dozens of fine + couples invading London from their country places, was of where to dine, + what theatre they should go to, whom they had seen, what they should buy. + And Shelton knew that from day's end to end, and even in their bed, + these would be the subjects of their conversation. They were the best-bred + people of the sort he met in country houses and accepted as of course, + with a vague discomfort at the bottom of his soul. Antonia's home, + for instance, had been full of them. They were the best-bred people of the + sort who supported charities, knew everybody, had clear, calm judgment, + and intolerance of all such conduct as seemed to them “impossible,” + all breaches of morality, such as mistakes of etiquette, such as + dishonesty, passion, sympathy (except with a canonised class of objects—the + legitimate sufferings, for instance, of their own families and class). How + healthy they were! The memory of the doss-house worked in Shelton's + mind like poison. He was conscious that in his own groomed figure, in the + undemonstrative assurance of his walk, he bore resemblance to the couple + he apostrophised. “Ah!” he thought, “how vulgar our + refinement is!” But he hardly believed in his own outburst. These + people were so well mannered, so well conducted, and so healthy, he could + not really understand what irritated him. What was the matter with them? + They fulfilled their duties, had good appetites, clear consciences, all + the furniture of perfect citizens; they merely lacked-feelers, a loss + that, he had read, was suffered by plants and animals which no longer had + a need for using them. Some rare national faculty of seeing only the + obvious and materially useful had destroyed their power of catching gleams + or scents to right or left. + </p> + <p> + The lady looked up at her husband. The light of quiet, proprietary + affection shone in her calm grey eyes, decorously illumining her features + slightly reddened by the wind. And the husband looked back at her, calm, + practical, protecting. They were very much alike. So doubtless he looked + when he presented himself in snowy shirt-sleeves for her to straighten the + bow of his white tie; so nightly she would look, standing before the + full-length mirror, fixing his gifts upon her bosom. Calm, proprietary, + kind! He passed them and walked behind a second less distinguished couple, + who manifested a mutual dislike as matter-of-fact and free from nonsense + as the unruffled satisfaction of the first; this dislike was just as + healthy, and produced in Shelton about the same sensation. It was like + knocking at a never-opened door, looking at a circle—couple after + couple all the same. No heads, toes, angles of their souls stuck out + anywhere. In the sea of their environments they were drowned; no leg + braved the air, no arm emerged wet and naked waving at the skies; + shop-persons, aristocrats, workmen, officials, they were all respectable. + And he himself as respectable as any. + </p> + <p> + He returned, thus moody, to his rooms and, with the impetuosity which + distinguished him when about to do an unwise thing, he seized a pen and + poured out before Antonia some of his impressions: + </p> + <p> + ... Mean is the word, darling; we are mean, that's what 's the + matter with us, dukes and dustmen, the whole human species—as mean + as caterpillars. To secure our own property and our own comfort, to dole + out our sympathy according to rule just so that it won't really hurt + us, is what we're all after. There's something about human + nature that is awfully repulsive, and the healthier people are, the more + repulsive they seem to me to be.... + </p> + <p> + He paused, biting his pen. Had he one acquaintance who would not counsel + him to see a doctor for writing in that style? How would the world go + round, how could Society exist, without common-sense, practical ability, + and the lack of sympathy? + </p> + <p> + He looked out of the open window. Down in the street a footman was + settling the rug over the knees of a lady in a carriage, and the decorous + immovability of both their faces, which were clearly visible to him, was + like a portion of some well-oiled engine. + </p> + <p> + He got up and walked up and down. His rooms, in a narrow square skirting + Belgravia, were unchanged since the death of his father had made him a man + of means. Selected for their centrality, they were furnished in a very + miscellaneous way. They were not bare, but close inspection revealed that + everything was damaged, more or less, and there was absolutely nothing + that seemed to have an interest taken in it. His goods were accidents, + presents, or the haphazard acquisitions of a pressing need. Nothing, of + course, was frowsy, but everything was somewhat dusty, as if belonging to + a man who never rebuked a servant. Above all, there was nothing that + indicated hobbies. + </p> + <p> + Three days later he had her answer to his letter: + </p> + <p> + . . . I don't think I understand what you mean by “the + healthier people are, the more repulsive they seem to be”; one must + be healthy to be perfect, must n't one? I don't like unhealthy + people. I had to play on that wretched piano after reading your letter; it + made me feel unhappy. I've been having a splendid lot of tennis + lately, got the back-handed lifting stroke at last—hurrah! . . . + </p> + <p> + By the same post, too, came the following note in an autocratic writing: + </p> + <p> + DEAR BIRD [for this was Shelton's college nickname], + </p> + <p> + My wife has gone down to her people, so I'm 'en garcon' + for a few days. If you've nothing better to do, come and dine + to-night at seven, and go to the theatre. It's ages since I saw you. + </p> + <p> + Yours as ever, + </p> + <p> + B. M. HALIDOME. + </p> + <p> + Shelton had nothing better to do, for pleasant were his friend Halidome's + well-appointed dinners. At seven, therefore, he went to Chester Square. + His friend was in his study, reading Matthew Arnold by the light of an + electric lamp. The walls of the room were hung with costly etchings, + arranged with solid and unfailing taste; from the carving of the + mantel-piece to the binding of the books, from the miraculously-coloured + meerschaums to the chased fire-irons, everything displayed an + unpretentious luxury, an order and a finish significant of life completely + under rule of thumb. Everything had been collected. The collector rose as + Shelton entered, a fine figure of a man, clean shaven,—with dark + hair, a Roman nose, good eyes, and the rather weighty dignity of attitude + which comes from the assurance that one is in the right. + </p> + <p> + Taking Shelton by the lapel, he drew him into the radius of the lamp, + where he examined him, smiling a slow smile. “Glad to see you, old + chap. I rather like your beard,” he said with genial brusqueness; + and nothing, perhaps, could better have summed up his faculty for forming + independent judgments which Shelton found so admirable. He made no apology + for the smallness of the dinner, which, consisting of eight courses and + three wines, served by a butler and one footman, smacked of the same + perfection as the furniture; in fact, he never apologised for anything, + except with a jovial brusqueness that was worse than the offence. The + suave and reasonable weight of his dislikes and his approvals stirred + Shelton up to feel ironical and insignificant; but whether from a sense of + the solid, humane, and healthy quality of his friend's egoism, or + merely from the fact that this friendship had been long in bottle, he did + not resent his mixed sensations. + </p> + <p> + “By the way, I congratulate you, old chap,” said Halidome, + while driving to the theatre; there was no vulgar hurry about his + congratulations, no more than about himself. “They're awfully + nice people, the Dennants.” + </p> + <p> + A sense of having had a seal put on his choice came over Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going to live? You ought to come down and live near + us; there are some ripping houses to be had down there; it's really + a ripping neighbourhood. Have you chucked the Bar? You ought to do + something, you know; it'll be fatal for you to have nothing to do. I + tell you what, Bird: you ought to stand for the County Council.” + </p> + <p> + But before Shelton had replied they reached the theatre, and their + energies were spent in sidling to their stalls. He had time to pass his + neighbours in review before the play began. Seated next to him was a lady + with large healthy shoulders, displayed with splendid liberality; beyond + her a husband, red-cheeked, with drooping, yellow-grey moustache and a + bald head; beyond him again two men whom he had known at Eton. One of them + had a clean-shaved face, dark hair, and a weather-tanned complexion; his + small mouth with its upper lip pushed out above the lower, his eyelids a + little drooped over his watchful eyes, gave him a satirical and resolute + expression. “I've got hold of your tail, old fellow,” he + seemed to say, as though he were always busy with the catching of some + kind of fox. The other's goggling eyes rested on Shelton with a + chaffing smile; his thick, sleek hair, brushed with water and parted in + the middle, his neat moustache and admirable waistcoat, suggested the sort + of dandyism that despises women. From his recognition of these old + schoolfellows Shelton turned to look at Halidome, who, having cleared his + throat, was staring straight before him at the curtain. Antonia's + words kept running in her lover's head, “I don't like + unhealthy people.” Well, all these people, anyway, were healthy; + they looked as if they had defied the elements to endow them with a spark + of anything but health. Just then the curtain rose. + </p> + <p> + Slowly, unwillingly, for he was of a trustful disposition, Shelton + recognised that this play was one of those masterpieces of the modern + drama whose characters were drawn on the principle that men were made for + morals rather than morals made by men, and he watched the play unfold with + all its careful sandwiching of grave and gay. + </p> + <p> + A married woman anxious to be ridded of her husband was the pivot of the + story, and a number of scenes, ingeniously contrived, with a hundred + reasons why this desire was wrong and inexpedient, were revealed to + Shelton's eyes. These reasons issued mainly from the mouth of a + well-preserved old gentleman who seemed to play the part of a sort of + Moral Salesman. He turned to Halidome and whispered: + </p> + <p> + “Can you stand that old woman?” + </p> + <p> + His friend fixed his fine eyes on him wonderingly. + </p> + <p> + “What old woman?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, the old ass with the platitudes!” + </p> + <p> + Halidome's countenance grew cold, a little shocked, as though he had + been assailed in person. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean Pirbright?” he said. “I think he's + ripping.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton turned to the play rebuffed; he felt guilty of a breach of + manners, sitting as he was in one of his friend's stalls, and he + naturally set to work to watch the play more critically than ever. Antonia's + words again recurred to him, “I don't like unhealthy people,” + and they seemed to throw a sudden light upon this play. It was healthy! + </p> + <p> + The scene was a drawing-room, softly lighted by electric lamps, with a cat + (Shelton could not decide whether she was real or not) asleep upon the + mat. + </p> + <p> + The husband, a thick-set, healthy man in evening dress, was drinking off + neat whisky. He put down his tumbler, and deliberately struck a match; + then with even greater deliberation he lit a gold-tipped cigarette.... + </p> + <p> + Shelton was no inexperienced play-goer. He shifted his elbows, for he felt + that something was about to happen; and when the match was pitched into + the fire, he leaned forward in his seat. The husband poured more whisky + out, drank it at a draught, and walked towards the door; then, turning to + the audience as if to admit them to the secret of some tremendous + resolution, he puffed at them a puff of smoke. He left the room, returned, + and once more filled his glass. A lady now entered, pale of face and dark + of eye—his wife. The husband crossed the stage, and stood before the + fire, his legs astride, in the attitude which somehow Shelton had felt + sure he would assume. He spoke: + </p> + <p> + “Come in, and shut the door.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton suddenly perceived that he was face to face with one of those dumb + moments in which two people declare their inextinguishable hatred—the + hatred underlying the sexual intimacy of two ill-assorted creatures—and + he was suddenly reminded of a scene he had once witnessed in a restaurant. + He remembered with extreme minuteness how the woman and the man had sat + facing each other across the narrow patch of white, emblazoned by a candle + with cheap shades and a thin green vase with yellow flowers. He remembered + the curious scornful anger of their voices, subdued so that only a few + words reached him. He remembered the cold loathing in their eyes. And, + above all, he remembered his impression that this sort of scene happened + between them every other day, and would continue so to happen; and as he + put on his overcoat and paid his bill he had asked himself, “Why in + the name of decency do they go on living together?” And now he + thought, as he listened to the two players wrangling on the stage: “What + 's the good of all this talk? There's something here past + words.” + </p> + <p> + The curtain came down upon the act, and he looked at the lady next him. + She was shrugging her shoulders at her husband, whose face was healthy and + offended. + </p> + <p> + “I do dislike these unhealthy women,” he was saying, but + catching Shelton's eye he turned square in his seat and sniffed + ironically. + </p> + <p> + The face of Shelton's friend beyond, composed, satirical as ever, + was clothed with a mask of scornful curiosity, as if he had been listening + to something that had displeased him not a little. The goggle-eyed man was + yawning. Shelton turned to Halidome: + </p> + <p> + “Can you stand this sort of thing?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “No; I call that scene a bit too hot,” replied his friend. + </p> + <p> + Shelton wriggled; he had meant to say it was not hot enough. + </p> + <p> + “I'll bet you anything,” he said, “I know what's + going to happen now. You'll have that old ass—what's his + name?—lunching off cutlets and champagne to fortify himself—for + a lecture to the wife. He'll show her how unhealthy her feelings are—I + know him—and he'll take her hand and say, 'Dear lady, is + there anything in this poor world but the good opinion of Society?' + and he'll pretend to laugh at himself for saying it; but you'll + see perfectly well that the old woman means it. And then he'll put + her into a set of circumstances that are n't her own but his version + of them, and show her the only way of salvation is to kiss her husband”; + and Shelton grinned. “Anyway, I'll bet you anything he takes + her hand and says, 'Dear lady.'.rdquo; + </p> + <p> + Halidome turned on him the disapproval of his eyes, and again he said, + </p> + <p> + “I think Pirbright 's ripping!” + </p> + <p> + But as Shelton had predicted, so it turned out, amidst great applause. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <h3> + THE GOOD CITIZEN + </h3> + <p> + Leaving the theatre, they paused a moment in the hall to don their coats; + a stream of people with spotless bosoms eddied round the doors, as if in + momentary dread of leaving this hothouse of false morals and emotions for + the wet, gusty streets, where human plants thrive and die, human weeds + flourish and fade under the fresh, impartial skies. The lights revealed + innumerable solemn faces, gleamed innumerably on jewels, on the silk of + hats, then passed to whiten a pavement wet with newly-fallen rain, to + flare on horses, on the visages of cabmen, and stray, queer objects that + do not bear the light. + </p> + <p> + “Shall we walk?” asked Halidome. + </p> + <p> + “Has it ever struck you,” answered Shelton, “that in a + play nowadays there's always a 'Chorus of Scandalmongers' + which seems to have acquired the attitude of God?” + </p> + <p> + Halidome cleared his throat, and there was something portentous in the + sound. + </p> + <p> + “You're so d—-d fastidious,” was his answer. + </p> + <p> + “I've a prejudice for keeping the two things separate,” + went on Shelton. “That ending makes me sick.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” replied Halidome. “What other end is possible? + You don't want a play to leave you with a bad taste in your mouth.” + </p> + <p> + “But this does.” + </p> + <p> + Halidome increased his stride, already much too long; for in his walk, as + in all other phases of his life, he found it necessary to be in front. + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean?” he asked urbanely; “it's better + than the woman making a fool of herself.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm thinking of the man.” + </p> + <p> + “What man?” + </p> + <p> + “The husband.” + </p> + <p> + “What 's the matter with him? He was a bit of a bounder, + certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't understand any man wanting to live with a woman who + doesn't want him.” + </p> + <p> + Some note of battle in Shelton's voice, rather than the sentiment + itself, caused his friend to reply with dignity: + </p> + <p> + “There's a lot of nonsense talked about that sort of thing. + Women don't really care; it's only what's put into their + heads.” + </p> + <p> + “That's much the same as saying to a starving man: 'You + don't really want anything; it's only what's put into + your head!' You are begging the question, my friend.” + </p> + <p> + But nothing was more calculated to annoy Halidome than to tell him he was + “begging the question,” for he prided himself on being strong + in logic. + </p> + <p> + “That be d—-d,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all, old chap. Here is a case where a woman wants her + freedom, and you merely answer that she dogs n't want it.” + </p> + <p> + “Women like that are impossible; better leave them out of court.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton pondered this and smiled; he had recollected an acquaintance of + his own, who, when his wife had left him, invented the theory that she was + mad, and this struck him now as funny. But then he thought: “Poor + devil! he was bound to call her mad! If he didn't, it would be + confessing himself distasteful; however true, you can't expect a man + to consider himself that.” But a glance at his friend's eye + warned him that he, too, might think his wife mad in such a case. + </p> + <p> + “Surely,” he said, “even if she's his wife, a man's + bound to behave like a gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “Depends on whether she behaves like a lady.” + </p> + <p> + “Does it? I don't see the connection.” + </p> + <p> + Halidome paused in the act of turning the latch-key in his door; there was + a rather angry smile in his fine eyes. + </p> + <p> + “My dear chap,” he said, “you're too sentimental + altogether.” + </p> + <p> + The word “sentimental” nettled Shelton. “A gentleman + either is a gentleman or he is n't; what has it to do with the way + other people behave?” + </p> + <p> + Halidome turned the key in the lock and opened the door into his hall, + where the firelight fell on the decanters and huge chairs drawn towards + the blaze. + </p> + <p> + “No, Bird,” he said, resuming his urbanity, and gathering his + coat-tails in his hands; “it's all very well to talk, but wait + until you're married. A man must be master, and show it, too.” + </p> + <p> + An idea occurred to Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Hal,” he said: “what should you do if your + wife got tired of you?” + </p> + <p> + The expression on Halidome's face was a mixture of amusement and + contempt. + </p> + <p> + “I don't mean anything personal, of course, but apply the + situation to yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Halidome took out a toothpick, used it brusquely, and responded: + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't stand any humbug—take her travelling; shake + her mind up. She'd soon come round.” + </p> + <p> + “But suppose she really loathed you?” + </p> + <p> + Halidome cleared his throat; the idea was so obviously indecent. How could + anybody loathe him? With great composure, however, regarding Shelton as if + he were a forward but amusing child, he answered: + </p> + <p> + “There are a great many things to be taken into consideration.” + </p> + <p> + “It appears to me,” said Shelton, “to be a question of + common pride. How can you, ask anything of a woman who doesn't want + to give it.” + </p> + <p> + His friend's voice became judicial. + </p> + <p> + “A man ought not to suffer,” he said, poring over his whisky, + “because a woman gets hysteria. You have to think of Society, your + children, house, money arrangements, a thousand things. It's all + very well to talk. How do you like this whisky?” + </p> + <p> + “The part of the good citizen, in fact,” said Shelton, “self-preservation!” + </p> + <p> + “Common-sense,” returned his friend; “I believe in + justice before sentiment.” He drank, and callously blew smoke at + Shelton. “Besides, there are many people with religious views about + it.” + </p> + <p> + “It's always seemed to me,” said Shelton, “to be + quaint that people should assert that marriage gives them the right to + 'an eye for an eye,' and call themselves Christians. Did you + ever know anybody stand on their rights except out of wounded pride or for + the sake of their own comfort? Let them call their reasons what they like, + you know as well as I do that it's cant.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know about that,” said Halidome, more and more + superior as Shelton grew more warm; “when you stand on your rights, + you do it for the sake of Society as well as for your own. If you want to + do away with marriage, why don't you say so?” + </p> + <p> + “But I don't,” said Shelton, “is it likely? Why, I'm + going—” He stopped without adding the words “to be + married myself,” for it suddenly occurred to him that the reason was + not the most lofty and philosophic in the world. “All I can say is,” + he went on soberly, “that you can't make a horse drink by + driving him. Generosity is the surest way of tightening the knot with + people who've any sense of decency; as to the rest, the chief thing + is to prevent their breeding.” + </p> + <p> + Halidome smiled. + </p> + <p> + “You're a rum chap,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Shelton jerked his cigarette into the fire. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you what”—for late at night a certain power of + vision came to him—“it's humbug to talk of doing things + for the sake of Society; it's nothing but the instinct to keep our + own heads above the water.” + </p> + <p> + But Halidome remained unruffled. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” he said, “call it that. I don't see + why I should go to the wall; it wouldn't do any good.” + </p> + <p> + “You admit, then,” said Shelton, “that our morality is + the sum total of everybody's private instinct of self-preservation?” + </p> + <p> + Halidome stretched his splendid frame and yawned. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” he began, “that I should quite + call it that—” + </p> + <p> + But the compelling complacency of his fine eyes, the dignified posture of + his healthy body, the lofty slope of his narrow forehead, the perfectly + humane look of his cultivated brutality, struck Shelton as ridiculous. + </p> + <p> + “Hang it, Hall” he cried, jumping from his chair, “what + an old fraud you are! I'll be off.” + </p> + <p> + “No, look here!” said Halidome; the faintest shade of doubt + had appeared upon his face; he took Shelton by a lapel: “You're + quite wrong—” + </p> + <p> + “Very likely; good-night, old chap!” + </p> + <p> + Shelton walked home, letting the spring wind into him. It was Saturday, + and he passed many silent couples. In every little patch of shadow he + could see two forms standing or sitting close together, and in their + presence Words the Impostors seemed to hold their tongues. The wind + rustled the buds; the stars, one moment bright as diamonds, vanished the + next. In the lower streets a large part of the world was under the + influence of drink, but by this Shelton was far from being troubled. It + seemed better than Drama, than dressing-bagged men, unruffled women, and + padded points of view, better than the immaculate solidity of his friend's + possessions. + </p> + <p> + “So,” he reflected, “it's right for every reason, + social, religious, and convenient, to inflict one's society where it's + not desired. There are obviously advantages about the married state; + charming to feel respectable while you're acting in a way that in + any other walk of life would bring on you contempt. If old Halidome showed + that he was tired of me, and I continued to visit him, he'd think me + a bit of a cad; but if his wife were to tell him she couldn't stand + him, he'd still consider himself a perfect gentleman if he persisted + in giving her the burden of his society; and he has the cheek to bring + religion into it—a religion that says, 'Do unto others!'.rdquo; + </p> + <p> + But in this he was unjust to Halidome, forgetting how impossible it was + for him to believe that a woman could not stand him. He reached his rooms, + and, the more freely to enjoy the clear lamplight, the soft, gusty breeze, + and waning turmoil of the streets, waited a moment before entering. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” thought he, “if I shall turn out a cad when + I marry, like that chap in the play. It's natural. We all want our + money's worth, our pound of flesh! Pity we use such fine words—'Society, + Religion, Morality.' Humbug!” + </p> + <p> + He went in, and, throwing his window open, remained there a long time, his + figure outlined against the lighted room for the benefit of the dark + square below, his hands in his pockets, his head down, a reflective frown + about his eyes. A half-intoxicated old ruffian, a policeman, and a man in + a straw hat had stopped below, and were holding a palaver. + </p> + <p> + “Yus,” the old ruffian said, “I'm a rackety old + blank; but what I say is, if we wus all alike, this would n't be a + world!” + </p> + <p> + They went their way, and before the listener's eyes there rose + Antonia's face, with its unruffled brow; Halidome's, all + health and dignity; the forehead of the goggle-eyed man, with its line of + hair parted in the centre, and brushed across. A light seemed to illumine + the plane of their existence, as the electric lamp with the green shade + had illumined the pages of the Matthew Arnold; serene before Shelton's + vision lay that Elysium, untouched by passion or extremes of any kind, + autocratic; complacent, possessive, and well-kept as any Midland + landscape. Healthy, wealthy, wise! No room but for perfection, + self-preservation, the survival of the fittest! “The part of the + good citizen,” he thought: “no, if we were all alike, this + would n't be a world!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <h3> + MARRIAGE SETTLEMENT + </h3> + <p> + “My dear Richard” (wrote Shelton's uncle the next day), + “I shall be glad to see you at three o'clock to-morrow + afternoon upon the question of your marriage settlement....” At that + hour accordingly Shelton made his way to Lincoln's Inn Fields, where + in fat black letters the names “Paramor and Herring (Commissioners + for Oaths)” were written on the wall of a stone entrance. He + ascended the solid steps with nervousness, and by a small red-haired boy + was introduced to a back room on the first floor. Here, seated at a table + in the very centre, as if he thereby better controlled his universe, a + pug-featured gentleman, without a beard, was writing. He paused. “Ow, + Mr. Richard!” he said; “glad to see you, sir. Take a chair. + Your uncle will be disengaged in 'arf a minute”; and in the + tone of his allusion to his employer was the satirical approval that comes + with long and faithful service. “He will do everything himself,” + he went on, screwing up his sly, greenish, honest eyes, “and he + 's not a young man.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton never saw his uncle's clerk without marvelling at the + prosperity deepening upon his face. In place of the look of harassment + which on most faces begins to grow after the age of fifty, his old friend's + countenance, as though in sympathy with the nation, had expanded—a + little greasily, a little genially, a little coarsely—every time he + met it. A contemptuous tolerance for people who were not getting on was + spreading beneath its surface; it left each time a deeper feeling that its + owner could never be in the wrong. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you're well, sir,” he resumed: “most + important for you to have your health now you're going-to”—and, + feeling for the delicate way to put it, he involuntarily winked—“to + become a family man. We saw it in the paper. My wife said to me the other + morning at breakfast: 'Bob, here's a Mr. Richard Paramor + Shelton goin' to be married. Is that any relative of your Mr. + Shelton?' 'My dear,' I said to her, 'it's + the very man!'.rdquo; + </p> + <p> + It disquieted Shelton to perceive that his old friend did not pass the + whole of his life at that table writing in the centre of the room, but + that somewhere (vistas of little grey houses rose before his eyes) he + actually lived another life where someone called him “Bob.” + Bob! And this, too, was a revelation. Bob! Why, of course, it was the only + name for him! A bell rang. + </p> + <p> + “That's your uncle”; and again the head clerk's + voice sounded ironical. “Good-bye, sir.” + </p> + <p> + He seemed to clip off intercourse as one clips off electric light. Shelton + left him writing, and preceded the red-haired boy to an enormous room in + the front where his uncle waited. + </p> + <p> + Edmund Paramor was a medium-sized and upright man of seventy, whose brown + face was perfectly clean-shaven. His grey, silky hair was brushed in a + cock's comb from his fine forehead, bald on the left side. He stood + before the hearth facing the room, and his figure had the springy + abruptness of men who cannot fatten. There was a certain youthfulness, + too, in his eyes, yet they had a look as though he had been through fire; + and his mouth curled at the corners in surprising smiles. The room was + like the man—morally large, void of red-tape and almost void of + furniture; no tin boxes were ranged against the walls, no papers littered + up the table; a single bookcase contained a complete edition of the law + reports, and resting on the Law Directory was a single red rose in a glass + of water. It looked the room of one with a sober magnanimity, who went to + the heart of things, despised haggling, and before whose smiles the more + immediate kinds of humbug faded. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Dick,” said he, “how's your mother?” + </p> + <p> + Shelton replied that his mother was all right. + </p> + <p> + “Tell her that I'm going to sell her Easterns after all, and + put into this Brass thing. You can say it's safe, from me.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton made a face. + </p> + <p> + “Mother,” said he, “always believes things are safe.” + </p> + <p> + His uncle looked through him with his keen, half-suffering glance, and up + went the corners of his mouth. + </p> + <p> + “She's splendid,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Shelton, “splendid.” + </p> + <p> + The transaction, however, did not interest him; his uncle's judgment + in such matters had a breezy soundness he would never dream of + questioning. + </p> + <p> + “Well, about your settlement”; and, touching a bell three + times, Mr. Paramor walked up and down the room. “Bring me the draft + of Mr. Richard's marriage settlement.” + </p> + <p> + The stalwart commissionaire reappearing with a document—“Now + then, Dick,” said Mr. Paramor. “She 's not bringing + anything into settlement, I understand; how 's that?” + </p> + <p> + “I did n't want it,” replied Shelton, unaccountably + ashamed. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Paramor's lips quivered; he drew the draft closer, took up a + blue pencil, and, squeezing Shelton's arm, began to read. The + latter, following his uncle's rapid exposition of the clauses, was + relieved when he paused suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “If you die and she marries again,” said Mr. Paramor, “she + forfeits her life interest—see?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Shelton; “wait a minute, Uncle Ted.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Paramor waited, biting his pencil; a smile flickered on his mouth, and + was decorously subdued. It was Shelton's turn to walk about. + </p> + <p> + “If she marries again,” he repeated to himself. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Paramor was a keen fisherman; he watched his nephew as he might have + watched a fish he had just landed. + </p> + <p> + “It's very usual,” he remarked. + </p> + <p> + Shelton took another turn. + </p> + <p> + “She forfeits,” thought he; “exactly.” + </p> + <p> + When he was dead, he would have no other way of seeing that she continued + to belong to him. Exactly! + </p> + <p> + Mr. Paramor's haunting eyes were fastened on his nephew's + face. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear,” they seemed to say, “what 's the + matter?” + </p> + <p> + Exactly! Why should she have his money if she married again? She would + forfeit it. There was comfort in the thought. Shelton came back and + carefully reread the clause, to put the thing on a purely business basis, + and disguise the real significance of what was passing in his mind. + </p> + <p> + “If I die and she marries again,” he repeated aloud, “she + forfeits.” + </p> + <p> + What wiser provision for a man passionately in love could possibly have + been devised? His uncle's eye travelled beyond him, humanely turning + from the last despairing wriggles of his fish. + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to tie her,” said Shelton suddenly. + </p> + <p> + The corners of Mr. Paramour's mouth flew up. + </p> + <p> + “You want the forfeiture out?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + The blood rushed into Shelton's face; he felt he had been detected + in a piece of sentiment. + </p> + <p> + “Ye-es,” he stammered. + </p> + <p> + “Sure?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite!” The answer was a little sulky. + </p> + <p> + Her uncle's pencil descended on the clause, and he resumed the + reading of the draft, but Shelton could not follow it; he was too much + occupied in considering exactly why Mr. Paramor had been amused, and to do + this he was obliged to keep his eyes upon him. Those features, just + pleasantly rugged; the springy poise of the figure; the hair neither + straight nor curly, neither short nor long; the haunting look of his eyes + and the humorous look of his mouth; his clothes neither shabby nor + dandified; his serviceable, fine hands; above all, the equability of the + hovering blue pencil, conveyed the impression of a perfect balance between + heart and head, sensibility and reason, theory and its opposite. + </p> + <p> + “'During coverture,'.rdquo; quoted Mr. Paramor, pausing + again, “you understand, of course, if you don't get on, and + separate, she goes on taking?” + </p> + <p> + If they didn't get on! Shelton smiled. Mr. Paramor did not smile, + and again Shelton had the sense of having knocked up against something + poised but firm. He remarked irritably: + </p> + <p> + “If we 're not living together, all the more reason for her + having it.” + </p> + <p> + This time his uncle smiled. It was difficult for Shelton to feel angry at + that ironic merriment, with its sudden ending; it was too impersonal to + irritate: it was too concerned with human nature. + </p> + <p> + “If—hum—it came to the other thing,” said Mr. + Paramor, “the settlement's at an end as far as she 's + concerned. We 're bound to look at every case, you know, old boy.” + </p> + <p> + The memory of the play and his conversation with Halidome was still strong + in Shelton. He was not one of those who could not face the notion of + transferred affections—at a safe distance. + </p> + <p> + “All right, Uncle Ted,” said he. For one mad moment he was + attacked by the desire to “throw in” the case of divorce. + Would it not be common chivalry to make her independent, able to change + her affections if she wished, unhampered by monetary troubles? You only + needed to take out the words “during coverture.” + </p> + <p> + Almost anxiously he looked into his uncle's face. There was no + meanness there, but neither was there encouragement in that comprehensive + brow with its wide sweep of hair. “Quixotism,” it seemed to + say, “has merits, but—” The room, too, with its wide + horizon and tall windows, looking as if it dealt habitually in + common-sense, discouraged him. Innumerable men of breeding and the + soundest principles must have bought their wives in here. It was perfumed + with the atmosphere of wisdom and law-calf. The aroma of Precedent was + strong; Shelton swerved his lance, and once more settled down to complete + the purchase of his wife. + </p> + <p> + “I can't conceive what you're—in such a hurry for; + you 're not going to be married till the autumn,” said Mr. + Paramor, finishing at last. + </p> + <p> + Replacing the blue pencil in the rack, he took the red rose from the + glass, and sniffed at it. “Will you come with me as far as Pall + Mall? I 'm going to take an afternoon off; too cold for Lord's, + I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + They walked into the Strand. + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen this new play of Borogrove's?” asked + Shelton, as they passed the theatre to which he had been with Halidome. + </p> + <p> + “I never go to modern plays,” replied Mr. Paramor; “too + d—-d gloomy.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton glanced at him; he wore his hat rather far back on his head, his + eyes haunted the street in front; he had shouldered his umbrella. + </p> + <p> + “Psychology 's not in your line, Uncle Ted?” + </p> + <p> + “Is that what they call putting into words things that can't + be put in words?” + </p> + <p> + “The French succeed in doing it,” replied Shelton, “and + the Russians; why should n't we?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Paramor stopped to look in at a fishmonger's. + </p> + <p> + “What's right for the French and Russians, Dick,” he + said “is wrong for us. When we begin to be real, we only really + begin to be false. I should like to have had the catching of that fellow; + let's send him to your mother.” He went in and bought a + salmon: + </p> + <p> + “Now, my dear,” he continued, as they went on, “do you + tell me that it's decent for men and women on the stage to writhe + about like eels? Is n't life bad enough already?” + </p> + <p> + It suddenly struck Shelton that, for all his smile, his uncle's face + had a look of crucifixion. It was, perhaps, only the stronger sunlight in + the open spaces of Trafalgar Square. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” he said; “I think I prefer the + truth.” + </p> + <p> + “Bad endings and the rest,” said Mr. Paramor, pausing under + one of Nelson's lions and taking Shelton by a button. “Truth + 's the very devil!” + </p> + <p> + He stood there, very straight, his eyes haunting his nephew's face; + there seemed to Shelton a touching muddle in his optimism—a muddle + of tenderness and of intolerance, of truth and second-handedness. Like the + lion above him, he seemed to be defying Life to make him look at her. + </p> + <p> + “No, my dear,” he said, handing sixpence to a sweeper; “feelings + are snakes! only fit to be kept in bottles with tight corks. You won't + come to my club? Well, good-bye, old boy; my love to your mother when you + see her”; and turning up the Square, he left Shelton to go on to his + own club, feeling that he had parted, not from his uncle, but from the + nation of which they were both members by birth and blood and education. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <h3> + THE CLUB + </h3> + <p> + He went into the library of his club, and took up Burke's Peerage. + The words his uncle had said to him on hearing his engagement had been + these: “Dennant! Are those the Holm Oaks Dennants? She was a + Penguin.” + </p> + <p> + No one who knew Mr. Paramor connected him with snobbery, but there had + been an “Ah! that 's right; this is due to us” tone + about the saying. + </p> + <p> + Shelton hunted for the name of Baltimore: “Charles Penguin, fifth + Baron Baltimore. Issue: Alice, b. 184-, m. 186-Algernon Dennant, Esq., of + Holm Oaks, Cross Eaton, Oxfordshire.” He put down the Peerage and + took up the 'Landed Gentry'. “Dennant, Algernon Cuffe, + eldest son of the late Algernon Cuffe Dennant, Esq., J. P., and Irene, 2nd + daur. of the Honble. Philip and Lady Lillian March Mallow; ed. Eton and + Ch. Ch., Oxford, J. P. for Oxfordshire. Residence, Holm Oaks,” etc., + etc. Dropping the 'Landed Gentry', he took up a volume of the + 'Arabian Nights', which some member had left reposing on the + book-rest of his chair, but instead of reading he kept looking round the + room. In almost every seat, reading or snoozing, were gentlemen who, in + their own estimation, might have married Penguins. For the first time it + struck him with what majestic leisureliness they turned the pages of their + books, trifled with their teacups, or lightly snored. Yet no two were + alike—a tall man-with dark moustache, thick hair, and red, smooth + cheeks; another, bald, with stooping shoulders; a tremendous old buck, + with a grey, pointed beard and large white waistcoat; a clean-shaven + dapper man past middle age, whose face was like a bird's; a long, + sallow, misanthrope; and a sanguine creature fast asleep. Asleep or awake, + reading or snoring, fat or thin, hairy or bald, the insulation of their + red or pale faces was complete. They were all the creatures of good form. + Staring at them or reading the Arabian Nights Shelton spent the time + before dinner. He had not been long seated in the dining-room when a + distant connection strolled up and took the next table. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Shelton! Back? Somebody told me you were goin' round the + world.” He scrutinised the menu through his eyeglass. “Clear + soup! . . . Read Jellaby's speech? Amusing the way he squashes all + those fellows. Best man in the House, he really is.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton paused in the assimilation of asparagus; he, too, had been in the + habit of admiring Jellaby, but now he wondered why. The red and shaven + face beside him above a broad, pure shirt-front was swollen by good + humour; his small, very usual, and hard eyes were fixed introspectively on + the successful process of his eating. + </p> + <p> + “Success!” thought Shelton, suddenly enlightened—“success + is what we admire in Jellaby. We all want success . . . . Yes,” he + admitted, “a successful beast.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said his neighbour, “I forgot. You're in the + other camp?” + </p> + <p> + “Not particularly. Where did you get that idea?” + </p> + <p> + His neighbour looked round negligently. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said he, “I somehow thought so”; and Shelton + almost heard him adding, “There's something not quite sound + about you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you admire Jellaby?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Knows his own mind,” replied his neighbour; “it 's + more than the others do . . . . This whitebait is n't fit for cats! + Clever fellow, Jellaby! No nonsense about him! Have you ever heard him + speak? Awful good sport to watch him sittin' on the Opposition. A + poor lot they are!” and he laughed, either from appreciation of + Jellaby sitting on a small minority, or from appreciation of the champagne + bubbles in his glass. + </p> + <p> + “Minorities are always depressing,” said Shelton dryly. + </p> + <p> + “Eh? what?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean,” said Shelton, “it's irritating to look + at people who have n't a chance of success—fellows who make a + mess of things, fanatics, and all that.” + </p> + <p> + His neighbour turned his eyes inquisitively. + </p> + <p> + “Er—yes, quite,” said he; “don't you take + mint sauce? It's the best part of lamb, I always think.” + </p> + <p> + The great room with its countless little tables, arranged so that every + man might have the support of the gold walls to his back, began to regain + its influence on Shelton. How many times had he not sat there, carefully + nodding to acquaintances, happy if he got the table he was used to, a + paper with the latest racing, and someone to gossip with who was not a + bounder; while the sensation of having drunk enough stole over him. Happy! + That is, happy as a horse is happy who never leaves his stall. + </p> + <p> + “Look at poor little Bing puffin' about,” said his + neighbour, pointing to a weazened, hunchy waiter. “His asthma's + awf'ly bad; you can hear him wheezin' from the street.” + </p> + <p> + He seemed amused. + </p> + <p> + “There 's no such thing as moral asthma, I suppose?” + said Shelton. + </p> + <p> + His neighbour dropped his eyeglass. + </p> + <p> + “Here, take this away; it's overdone;” said he. “Bring + me some lamb.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton pushed his table back. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night,” he said; “the Stilton's excellent!” + </p> + <p> + His neighbour raised his brows, and dropped his eyes again upon his plate. + </p> + <p> + In the hall Shelton went from force of habit to the weighing-scales and + took his weight. “Eleven stone!” he thought; “gone up!” + and, clipping a cigar, he sat down in the smoking-room with a novel. + </p> + <p> + After half an hour he dropped the book. There seemed something rather + fatuous about this story, for though it had a thrilling plot, and was full + of well-connected people, it had apparently been contrived to throw no + light on anything whatever. He looked at the author's name; everyone + was highly recommending it. He began thinking, and staring at the fire.... + </p> + <p> + Looking up, he saw Antonia's second brother, a young man in the + Rifles, bending over him with sunny cheeks and lazy smile, clearly just a + little drunk. + </p> + <p> + “Congratulate you, old chap! I say, what made you grow that + b-b-eastly beard?” + </p> + <p> + Shelton grinned. + </p> + <p> + “Pillbottle of the Duchess!” read young Dennant, taking up the + book. “You been reading that? Rippin', is n't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ripping!” replied Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “Rippin' plot! When you get hold of a novel you don't + want any rot about—what d'you call it?—psychology, you + want to be amused.” + </p> + <p> + “Rather!” murmured Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “That's an awfully good bit where the President steals her + diamonds There's old Benjy! Hallo, Benjy!” + </p> + <p> + “Hallo, Bill, old man!” + </p> + <p> + This Benjy was a young, clean-shaven creature, whose face and voice and + manner were a perfect blend of steel and geniality. + </p> + <p> + In addition to this young man who was so smooth and hard and cheery, a + grey, short-bearded gentleman, with misanthropic eyes, called Stroud, came + up; together with another man of Shelton's age, with a moustache and + a bald patch the size of a crown-piece, who might be seen in the club any + night of the year when there was no racing out of reach of London. + </p> + <p> + “You know,” began young Dennant, “that this bounder”—he + slapped the young man Benjy on the knee—“is going to be + spliced to-morrow. Miss Casserol—you know the Casserols—Muncaster + Gate.” + </p> + <p> + “By Jove!” said Shelton, delighted to be able to say something + they would understand. + </p> + <p> + “Young Champion's the best man, and I 'm the second + best. I tell you what, old chap, you 'd better come with me and get + your eye in; you won't get such another chance of practice. Benjy + 'll give you a card.” + </p> + <p> + “Delighted!” murmured Benjy. + </p> + <p> + “Where is it?” + </p> + <p> + “St. Briabas; two-thirty. Come and see how they do the trick. I'll + call for you at one; we'll have some lunch and go together”; + again he patted Benjy's knee. + </p> + <p> + Shelton nodded his assent; the piquant callousness of the affair had made + him shiver, and furtively he eyed the steely Benjy, whose suavity had + never wavered, and who appeared to take a greater interest in some + approaching race than in his coming marriage. But Shelton knew from his + own sensations that this could not really be the case; it was merely a + question of “good form,” the conceit of a superior breeding, + the duty not to give oneself away. And when in turn he marked the eyes of + Stroud fixed on Benjy, under shaggy brows, and the curious greedy glances + of the racing man, he felt somehow sorry for him. + </p> + <p> + “Who 's that fellow with the game leg—I'm always + seeing him about?” asked the racing man. + </p> + <p> + And Shelton saw a sallow man, conspicuous for a want of parting in his + hair and a certain restlessness of attitude. + </p> + <p> + “His name is Bayes,” said Stroud; “spends half his time + among the Chinese—must have a grudge against them! And now he + 's got his leg he can't go there any more.” + </p> + <p> + “Chinese? What does he do to them?” + </p> + <p> + “Bibles or guns. Don't ask me! An adventurer.” + </p> + <p> + “Looks a bit of a bounder,” said the racing man. + </p> + <p> + Shelton gazed at the twitching eyebrows of old Stroud; he saw at once how + it must annoy a man who had a billet in the “Woods and Forests,” + and plenty of time for “bridge” and gossip at his club, to see + these people with untidy lives. A minute later the man with the “game + leg” passed close behind his chair, and Shelton perceived at once + how intelligible the resentment of his fellow-members was. He had eyes + which, not uncommon in this country, looked like fires behind steel bars; + he seemed the very kind of man to do all sorts of things that were “bad + form,” a man who might even go as far as chivalry. He looked + straight at Shelton, and his uncompromising glance gave an impression of + fierce loneliness; altogether, an improper person to belong to such a + club. Shelton remembered the words of an old friend of his father's: + “Yes, Dick, all sorts of fellows belong here, and they come here for + all sorts o' reasons, and a lot of em come because they've + nowhere else to go, poor beggars”; and, glancing from the man with + the “game leg” to Stroud, it occurred to Shelton that even he, + old Stroud, might be one of these poor beggars. One never knew! A look at + Benjy, contained and cheery, restored him. Ah, the lucky devil! He would + not have to come here any more! and the thought of the last evening he + himself would be spending before long flooded his mind with a sweetness + that was almost pain. + </p> + <p> + “Benjy, I'll play you a hundred up!” said young Bill + Dennant. + </p> + <p> + Stroud and the racing man went to watch the game; Shelton was left once + more to reverie. + </p> + <p> + “Good form!” thought he; “that fellow must be made of + steel. They'll go on somewhere; stick about half the night playing + poker, or some such foolery.” + </p> + <p> + He crossed over to the window. Rain had begun to fall; the streets looked + wild and draughty. The cabmen were putting on their coats. Two women + scurried by, huddled under one umbrella, and a thin-clothed, + dogged-looking scarecrow lounged past with a surly, desperate step. + Shelton, returning to his chair, threaded his way amongst his + fellow-members. A procession of old school and college friends came up + before his eyes. After all, what had there been in his own education, or + theirs, to give them any other standard than this “good form”? + What had there been to teach them anything of life? Their imbecility was + incredible when you came to think of it. They had all the air of knowing + everything, and really they knew nothing—nothing of Nature, Art, or + the Emotions; nothing of the bonds that bind all men together. Why, even + such words were not “good form”; nothing outside their little + circle was “good form.” They had a fixed point of view over + life because they came of certain schools, and colleges, and regiments! + And they were those in charge of the state, of laws, and science, of the + army, and religion. Well, it was their system—the system not to + start too young, to form healthy fibre, and let the after-life develop it! + </p> + <p> + “Successful!” he thought, nearly stumbling over a pair of + patent-leather boots belonging to a moon-faced, genial-looking member with + gold nose-nippers; “oh, it 's successful!” + </p> + <p> + Somebody came and picked up from the table the very volume which had + originally inspired this train of thought, and Shelton could see his + solemn pleasure as he read. In the white of his eye there was a torpid and + composed abstraction. There was nothing in that book to startle him or + make him think. + </p> + <p> + The moon-faced member with the patent boots came up and began talking of + his recent visit to the south of France. He had a scandalous anecdote or + two to tell, and his broad face beamed behind his gold nose-nippers; he + was a large man with such a store of easy, worldly humour that it was + impossible not to appreciate his gossip, he gave so perfect an impression + of enjoying life, and doing himself well. “Well, good-night!” + he murmured—“An engagement!”—and the certainty he + left behind that his engagement must be charming and illicit was pleasant + to the soul. + </p> + <p> + And, slowly taking up his glass, Shelton drank; the sense of well-being + was upon him. His superiority to these his fellow-members soothed him. He + saw through all the sham of this club life, the meanness of this worship + of success, the sham of kid-gloved novelists, “good form,” and + the terrific decency of our education. It was soothing thus to see through + things, soothing thus to be superior; and from the soft recesses of his + chair he puffed out smoke and stretched his limbs toward the fire; and the + fire burned back at him with a discreet and venerable glow. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <h3> + THE WEDDING + </h3> + <p> + Punctual to his word, Bill Dennant called for Shelton at one o'clock. + </p> + <p> + “I bet old Benjy's feeling a bit cheap,” said he, as + they got out of their cab at the church door and passed between the + crowded files of unelect, whose eyes, so curious and pitiful, devoured + them from the pavement. + </p> + <p> + The ashen face of a woman, with a baby in her arms and two more by her + side, looked as eager as if she had never experienced the pangs of ragged + matrimony. Shelton went in inexplicably uneasy; the price of his tie was + their board and lodging for a week. He followed his future brother-in-law + to a pew on the bridegroom's side, for, with intuitive perception of + the sexes' endless warfare, each of the opposing parties to this + contract had its serried battalion, the arrows of whose suspicion kept + glancing across and across the central aisle. + </p> + <p> + Bill Dennant's eyes began to twinkle. + </p> + <p> + “There's old Benjy!” he whispered; and Shelton looked at + the hero of the day. A subdued pallor was traceable under the weathered + uniformity of his shaven face; but the well-bred, artificial smile he bent + upon the guests had its wonted steely suavity. About his dress and his + neat figure was that studied ease which lifts men from the ruck of common + bridegrooms. There were no holes in his armour through which the + impertinent might pry. + </p> + <p> + “Good old Benjy!” whispered young Dennant; “I say, they + look a bit short of class, those Casserols.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton, who was acquainted with this family, smiled. The sensuous + sanctity all round had begun to influence him. A perfume of flowers and + dresses fought with the natural odour of the church; the rustle of + whisperings and skirts struck through the native silence of the aisles, + and Shelton idly fixed his eyes on a lady in the pew in front; without in + the least desiring to make a speculation of this sort, he wondered whether + her face was as charming as the lines of her back in their delicate, + skin-tight setting of pearl grey; his glance wandered to the chancel with + its stacks of flowers, to the grave, business faces of the presiding + priests, till the organ began rolling out the wedding march. + </p> + <p> + “They're off!” whispered young Dermant. + </p> + <p> + Shelton was conscious of a shiver running through the audience which + reminded him of a bullfight he had seen in Spain. The bride came slowly up + the aisle. “Antonia will look like that,” he thought, “and + the church will be filled with people like this . . . . She'll be a + show to them!” The bride was opposite him now, and by an instinct of + common chivalry he turned away his eyes; it seemed to him a shame to look + at that downcast head above the silver mystery of her perfect raiment; the + modest head full, doubtless, of devotion and pure yearnings; the stately + head where no such thought as “How am I looking, this day of all + days, before all London?” had ever entered; the proud head, which no + such fear as “How am I carrying it off?” could surely be + besmirching. + </p> + <p> + He saw below the surface of this drama played before his eyes, and set his + face, as a man might who found himself assisting at a sacrifice. The words + fell, unrelenting, on his ears: “For better, for worse, for richer, + for poorer; in sickness and in health—” and opening the Prayer + Book he found the Marriage Service, which he had not looked at since he + was a boy, and as he read he had some very curious sensations. + </p> + <p> + All this would soon be happening to himself! He went on reading in a kind + of stupor, until aroused by his companion whispering, “No luck!” + All around there rose a rustling of skirts; he saw a tall figure mount the + pulpit and stand motionless. Massive and high-featured, sunken of eye, he + towered, in snowy cambric and a crimson stole, above the blackness of his + rostrum; it seemed he had been chosen for his beauty. Shelton was still + gazing at the stitching of his gloves, when once again the organ played + the Wedding March. All were smiling, and a few were weeping, craning their + heads towards the bride. “Carnival of second-hand emotions!” + thought Shelton; and he, too, craned his head and brushed his hat. Then, + smirking at his friends, he made his way towards the door. + </p> + <p> + In the Casserols' house he found himself at last going round the + presents with the eldest Casserol surviving, a tall girl in pale violet, + who had been chief bridesmaid. + </p> + <p> + “Did n't it go off well, Mr. Shelton?” she was saying + </p> + <p> + “Oh, awfully!” + </p> + <p> + “I always think it's so awkward for the man waiting up there + for the bride to come.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” murmured Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think it's smart, the bridesmaids having no + hats?” + </p> + <p> + Shelton had not noticed this improvement, but he agreed. + </p> + <p> + “That was my idea; I think it 's very chic. They 've had + fifteen tea-sets-so dull, is n't it?” + </p> + <p> + “By Jove!” Shelton hastened to remark. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, its fearfully useful to have a lot of things you don't + want; of course, you change them for those you do.” + </p> + <p> + The whole of London seemed to have disgorged its shops into this room; he + looked at Miss Casserol's face, and was greatly struck by the shrewd + acquisitiveness of her small eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Is that your future brother-in-law?” she asked, pointing to + Bill Dennant with a little movement of her chin; “I think he's + such a bright boy. I want you both to come to dinner, and help to keep + things jolly. It's so deadly after a wedding.” + </p> + <p> + And Shelton said they would. + </p> + <p> + They adjourned to the hall now, to wait for the bride's departure. + Her face as she came down the stairs was impassive, gay, with a furtive + trouble in the eyes, and once more Shelton had the odd sensation of having + sinned against his manhood. Jammed close to him was her old nurse, whose + puffy, yellow face was pouting with emotion, while tears rolled from her + eyes. She was trying to say something, but in the hubbub her farewell was + lost. There was a scamper to the carriage, a flurry of rice and flowers; + the shoe was flung against the sharply drawn-up window. Then Benjy's + shaven face was seen a moment, bland and steely; the footman folded his + arms, and with a solemn crunch the brougham wheels rolled away. “How + splendidly it went off!” said a voice on Shelton's right. + “She looked a little pale,” said a voice on Shelton's + left. He put his hand up to his forehead; behind him the old nurse + sniffed. + </p> + <p> + “Dick,” said young Dennant in his ear, “this isn't + good enough; I vote we bolt.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton assenting, they walked towards the Park; nor could he tell whether + the slight nausea he experienced was due to afternoon champagne or to the + ceremony that had gone so well. + </p> + <p> + “What's up with you?” asked Dennant; “you look as + glum as any m-monkey.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” said Shelton; “I was only thinking what + humbugs we all are!” + </p> + <p> + Bill Dennant stopped in the middle of the crossing, and clapped his future + brother-in-law upon the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said he, “if you're going to talk shop, I + 'm off.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <h3> + THE DINNER + </h3> + <p> + The dinner at the Casserols' was given to those of the bride's + friends who had been conspicuous in the day's festivities. Shelton + found himself between Miss Casserol and a lady undressed to much the same + degree. Opposite sat a man with a single diamond stud, a white waistcoat, + black moustache, and hawk-like face. This was, in fact, one of those + interesting houses occupied by people of the upper middle class who have + imbibed a taste for smart society. Its inhabitants, by nature acquisitive + and cautious, economical, tenacious, had learnt to worship the word + “smart.” The result was a kind of heavy froth, an air of + thoroughly domestic vice. In addition to the conventionally fast, Shelton + had met there one or two ladies, who, having been divorced, or having yet + to be, still maintained their position in “society.” Divorced + ladies who did not so maintain their place were never to be found, for the + Casserols had a great respect for marriage. He had also met there American + ladies who were “too amusing”—never, of course, American + men, Mesopotamians of the financial or the racing type, and several of + those gentlemen who had been, or were about to be, engaged in a + transaction which might or again might not, “come off,” and in + conduct of an order which might, or again might not be spotted. The line + he knew, was always drawn at those in any category who were actually found + out, for the value of these ladies and these gentlemen was not their claim + to pity—nothing so sentimental—but their “smartness,” + clothes, jokes, racing tips, their “bridge parties,” and their + motors. + </p> + <p> + In sum, the house was one whose fundamental domesticity attracted and + sheltered those who were too “smart” to keep their heads for + long above the water. + </p> + <p> + His host, a grey, clean-shaven city man, with a long upper lip, was trying + to understand a lady the audacity of whose speech came ringing down the + table. Shelton himself had given up the effort with his neighbours, and + made love to his dinner, which, surviving the incoherence of the + atmosphere, emerged as a work of art. It was with surprise that he found + Miss Casserol addressing him. + </p> + <p> + “I always say that the great thing is to be jolly. If you can't + find anything to make you laugh, pretend you do; it's so much + 'smarter to be amusin'. Now don't you agree?” + </p> + <p> + The philosophy seemed excellent. + </p> + <p> + “We can't all be geniuses, but we can all look jolly.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton hastened to look jolly. + </p> + <p> + “I tell the governor, when he 's glum, that I shall put up the + shutters and leave him. What's the good of mopin' and lookin' + miserable? Are you going to the Four-in-Hand Meet? We're making a + party. Such fun; all the smart people!” + </p> + <p> + The splendour of her shoulders, her frizzy hair (clearly not two hours out + of the barber's hands), might have made him doubtful; but the frank + shrewdness in her eyes, and her carefully clipped tone of voice, were + guarantees that she was part of the element at the table which was really + quite respectable. He had never realised before how “smart” + she was, and with an effort abandoned himself to a sort of gaiety that + would have killed a Frenchman. + </p> + <p> + And when she left him, he reflected upon the expression of her eyes when + they rested on a lady opposite, who was a true bird-of-prey. “What + is it,” their envious, inquisitive glance had seemed to say, “that + makes you so really 'smart'.” And while still seeking + for the reason, he noticed his host pointing out the merits of his port to + the hawk-like man, with a deferential air quite pitiful to see, for the + hawk-like man was clearly a “bad hat.” What in the name of + goodness did these staid bourgeois mean by making up to vice? Was it a + craving to be thought distinguished, a dread of being dull, or merely an + effect of overfeeding? Again he looked at his host, who had not yet + enumerated all the virtues of his port, and again felt sorry for him. + </p> + <p> + “So you're going to marry Antonia Dennant?” said a voice + on his right, with that easy coarseness which is a mark of caste. “Pretty + girl! They've a nice place, the, Dennants. D' ye know, you're + a lucky feller!” + </p> + <p> + The speaker was an old baronet, with small eyes, a dusky, ruddy face, and + peculiar hail-fellow-well-met expression, at once morose and sly. He was + always hard up, but being a man of enterprise knew all the best people, as + well as all the worst, so that he dined out every night. + </p> + <p> + “You're a lucky feller,” he repeated; “he's + got some deuced good shootin', Dennant! They come too high for me, + though; never touched a feather last time I shot there. She's a + pretty girl. You 're a lucky feller!” + </p> + <p> + “I know that,” said Shelton humbly. + </p> + <p> + “Wish I were in your shoes. Who was that sittin' on the other + side of you? I'm so dashed short-sighted. Mrs. Carruther? Oh, ay!” + An expression which, if he had not been a baronet, would have been a leer, + came on his lips. + </p> + <p> + Shelton felt that he was referring to the leaf in his mental pocket-book + covered with the anecdotes, figures, and facts about that lady. “The + old ogre means,” thought he, “that I'm lucky because his + leaf is blank about Antonia.” But the old baronet had turned, with + his smile, and his sardonic, well-bred air, to listen to a bit of scandal + on the other side. + </p> + <p> + The two men to Shelton's left were talking. + </p> + <p> + “What! You don't collect anything? How's that? Everybody + collects something. I should be lost without my pictures.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't collect anything. Given it up; I was too awfully + had over my Walkers.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton had expected a more lofty reason; he applied himself to the + Madeira in his glass. That, had been “collected” by his host, + and its price was going up! You couldn't get it every day; worth two + guineas a bottle! How precious the idea that other people couldn't + get it, made it seem! Liquid delight; the price was going up! Soon there + would be none left; immense! Absolutely no one, then, could drink it! + </p> + <p> + “Wish I had some of this,” said the old baronet, “but I + have drunk all mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor old chap!” thought Shelton; “after all, he's + not a bad old boy. I wish I had his pluck. His liver must be splendid.” + </p> + <p> + The drawing-room was full of people playing a game concerned with horses + ridden by jockeys with the latest seat. And Shelton was compelled to help + in carrying on this sport till early in the morning. At last he left, + exhausted by his animation. + </p> + <p> + He thought of the wedding; he thought over his dinner and the wine that he + had drunk. His mood of satisfaction fizzled out. These people were + incapable of being real, even the smartest, even the most respectable; + they seemed to weigh their pleasures in the scales and to get the most + that could be gotten for their money. + </p> + <p> + Between the dark, safe houses stretching for miles and miles, his thoughts + were of Antonia; and as he reached his rooms he was overtaken by the + moment when the town is born again. The first new air had stolen down; the + sky was living, but not yet alight; the trees were quivering faintly; no + living creature stirred, and nothing spoke except his heart. Suddenly the + city seemed to breathe, and Shelton saw that he was not alone; an + unconsidered trifle with inferior boots was asleep upon his doorstep. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <h3> + AN ALIEN + </h3> + <p> + The individual on the doorstep had fallen into slumber over his own knees. + No greater air of prosperity clung about him than is conveyed by a rusty + overcoat and wisps of cloth in place of socks. Shelton endeavoured to pass + unseen, but the sleeper woke. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, it's you, monsieur!” he said “I received your + letter this evening, and have lost no time.” He looked down at + himself and tittered, as though to say, “But what a state I 'm + in!” + </p> + <p> + The young foreigner's condition was indeed more desperate than on + the occasion of their first meeting, and Shelton invited him upstairs. + </p> + <p> + “You can well understand,” stammered Ferrand, following his + host, “that I did n't want to miss you this time. When one is + like this—” and a spasm gripped his face. + </p> + <p> + “I 'm very glad you came,” said Shelton doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + His visitor's face had a week's growth of reddish beard; the + deep tan of his cheeks gave him a robust appearance at variance with the + fit of, trembling which had seized on him as soon as he had entered. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down-sit down,” said Shelton; “you 're + feeling ill!” + </p> + <p> + Ferrand smiled. “It's nothing,” said he; “bad + nourishment.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton left him seated on the edge of an armchair, and brought him in + some whisky. + </p> + <p> + “Clothes,” said Ferrand, when he had drunk, “are what I + want. These are really not good enough.” + </p> + <p> + The statement was correct, and Shelton, placing some garments in the + bath-room, invited his visitor to make himself at home. While the latter, + then, was doing this, Shelton enjoyed the luxuries of self-denial, hunting + up things he did not want, and laying them in two portmanteaus. This done, + he waited for his visitor's return. + </p> + <p> + The young foreigner at length emerged, unshaved indeed, and innocent of + boots, but having in other respects an air of gratifying affluence. + </p> + <p> + “This is a little different,” he said. “The boots, I + fear”—and, pulling down his, or rather Shelton's, socks + he exhibited sores the size of half a crown. “One does n't sow + without reaping some harvest or another. My stomach has shrunk,” he + added simply. “To see things one must suffer. 'Voyager, c'est + plus fort que moi'.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton failed to perceive that this was one way of disguising the human + animal's natural dislike of work—there was a touch of pathos, + a suggestion of God-knows-what-might-have-been, about this fellow. + </p> + <p> + “I have eaten my illusions,” said the young foreigner, smoking + a cigarette. “When you've starved a few times, your eyes are + opened. 'Savoir, c'est mon metier; mais remarquez ceci, + monsieur'. It 's not always the intellectuals who succeed.” + </p> + <p> + “When you get a job,” said Shelton, “you throw it away, + I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “You accuse me of restlessness? Shall I explain what I think about + that? I'm restless because of ambition; I want to reconquer an + independent position. I put all my soul into my trials, but as soon as I + see there's no future for me in that line, I give it up and go + elsewhere. 'Je ne veux pas etre rond de cuir,' breaking my + back to economise sixpence a day, and save enough after forty years to + drag out the remains of an exhausted existence. That's not in my + character.” This ingenious paraphrase of the words “I soon get + tired of things” he pronounced with an air of letting Shelton into a + precious secret. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; it must be hard,” agreed the latter. + </p> + <p> + Ferrand shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “It's not all butter,” he replied; “one is obliged + to do things that are not too delicate. There's nothing I pride + myself on but frankness.” + </p> + <p> + Like a good chemist, however, he administered what Shelton could stand in + a judicious way. “Yes, yes,” he seemed to say, “you'd + like me to think that you have a perfect knowledge of life: no morality, + no prejudices, no illusions; you'd like me to think that you feel + yourself on an equality with me, one human animal talking to another, + without any barriers of position, money, clothes, or the rest—'ca + c'est un peu trop fort'. You're as good an imitation as + I 've come across in your class, notwithstanding your unfortunate + education, and I 'm grateful to you, but to tell you everything, as + it passes through my mind would damage my prospects. You can hardly expect + that.” + </p> + <p> + In one of Shelton's old frock-coats he was impressive, with his air + of natural, almost sensitive refinement. The room looked as if it were + accustomed to him, and more amazing still was the sense of familiarity + that he inspired, as, though he were a part of Shelton's soul. It + came as a shock to realise that this young foreign vagabond had taken such + a place within his thoughts. The pose of his limbs and head, irregular but + not ungraceful; his disillusioned lips; the rings of smoke that issued + from them—all signified rebellion, and the overthrow of law and + order. His thin, lopsided nose, the rapid glances of his goggling, + prominent eyes, were subtlety itself; he stood for discontent with the + accepted. + </p> + <p> + “How do I live when I am on the tramp?” he said, “well, + there are the consuls. The system is not delicate, but when it's a + question of starving, much is permissible; besides, these gentlemen were + created for the purpose. There's a coterie of German Jews in Paris + living entirely upon consuls.” He hesitated for the fraction of a + second, and resumed: “Yes, monsieur; if you have papers that fit + you, you can try six or seven consuls in a single town. You must know a + language or two; but most of these gentlemen are not too well up in the + tongues of the country they represent. Obtaining money under false + pretences? Well, it is. But what's the difference at bottom between + all this honourable crowd of directors, fashionable physicians, employers + of labour, ferry-builders, military men, country priests, and consuls + themselves perhaps, who take money and give no value for it, and poor + devils who do the same at far greater risk? Necessity makes the law. If + those gentlemen were in my position, do you think that they would + hesitate?” + </p> + <p> + Shelton's face remaining doubtful, Ferrand went on instantly: + “You're right; they would, from fear, not principle. One must + be hard pressed before committing these indelicacies. Look deep enough, + and you will see what indelicate things are daily done by the respectable + for not half so good a reason as the want of meals.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton also took a cigarette—his own income was derived from + property for which he gave no value in labour. + </p> + <p> + “I can give you an instance,” said Ferrand, “of what can + be done by resolution. One day in a German town, 'etant dans la + misere', I decided to try the French consul. Well, as you know, I am + a Fleming, but something had to be screwed out somewhere. He refused to + see me; I sat down to wait. After about two hours a voice bellowed: + 'Has n't the brute gone?' and my consul appears. 'I + 've nothing for fellows like you,' says he; 'clear out!' + </p> + <p> + “'Monsieur,' I answered, 'I am skin and bone; I + really must have assistance.' + </p> + <p> + “'Clear out,' he says, 'or the police shall throw + you out!' + </p> + <p> + “I don't budge. Another hour passes, and back he comes again. + </p> + <p> + “'Still here?' says he. 'Fetch a sergeant.' + </p> + <p> + “The sergeant comes. + </p> + <p> + “'Sergeant,' says the consul, 'turn this creature + out.' + </p> + <p> + “'Sergeant,' I say, 'this house is France!' + Naturally, I had calculated upon that. In Germany they're not too + fond of those who undertake the business of the French. + </p> + <p> + “'He is right,' says the sergeant; 'I can do + nothing.' + </p> + <p> + “'You refuse?' + </p> + <p> + “'Absolutely.' And he went away. + </p> + <p> + “'What do you think you'll get by staying?' says + my consul. + </p> + <p> + “'I have nothing to eat or drink, and nowhere to sleep,' + says I. + </p> + <p> + “'What will you go for?' + </p> + <p> + “'Ten marks.' + </p> + <p> + “'Here, then, get out!' I can tell you, monsieur, one + must n't have a thin skin if one wants to exploit consuls.” + </p> + <p> + His yellow fingers slowly rolled the stump of his cigarette, his ironical + lips flickered. Shelton thought of his own ignorance of life. He could not + recollect ever having gone without a meal. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” he said feebly, “you've often + starved.” For, having always been so well fed, the idea of + starvation was attractive. + </p> + <p> + Ferrand smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Four days is the longest,” said he. “You won't + believe that story.... It was in Paris, and I had lost my money on the + race-course. There was some due from home which didn't come. Four + days and nights I lived on water. My clothes were excellent, and I had + jewellery; but I never even thought of pawning them. I suffered most from + the notion that people might guess my state. You don't recognise me + now?” + </p> + <p> + “How old were you then?” said Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “Seventeen; it's curious what one's like at that age.” + </p> + <p> + By a flash of insight Shelton saw the well-dressed boy, with sensitive, + smooth face, always on the move about the streets of Paris, for fear that + people should observe the condition of his stomach. The story was a + valuable commentary. His thoughts were brusquely interrupted; looking in + Ferrand's face, he saw to his dismay tears rolling down his cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “I 've suffered too much,” he stammered; “what do + I care now what becomes of me?” + </p> + <p> + Shelton was disconcerted; he wished 'to say something sympathetic,' + but, being an Englishman, could only turn away his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Your turn 's coming,” he said at last. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! when you've lived my life,” broke out his visitor, + “nothing 's any good. My heart's in rags. Find me + anything worth keeping, in this menagerie.” + </p> + <p> + Moved though he was, Shelton wriggled in his chair, a prey to racial + instinct, to an ingrained over-tenderness, perhaps, of soul that forbade + him from exposing his emotions, and recoiled from the revelation of other + people's. He could stand it on the stage, he could stand it in a + book, but in real life he could not stand it. When Ferrand had gone off + with a portmanteau in each hand, he sat down and told Antonia: + </p> + <p> + . . . The poor chap broke down and sat crying like a child; and instead of + making me feel sorry, it turned me into stone. The more sympathetic I + wanted to be, the gruffer I grew. Is it fear of ridicule, independence, or + consideration, for others that prevents one from showing one's + feelings? + </p> + <p> + He went on to tell her of Ferrand's starving four days sooner than + face a pawnbroker; and, reading the letter over before addressing it, the + faces of the three ladies round their snowy cloth arose before him—Antonia's + face, so fair and calm and wind-fresh; her mother's face, a little + creased by time and weather; the maiden aunt's somewhat too thin-and + they seemed to lean at him, alert and decorous, and the words “That's + rather nice!” rang in his ears. He went out to post the letter, and + buying a five-shilling order enclosed it to the little barber, Carolan, as + a reward for delivering his note to Ferrand. He omitted to send his + address with this donation, but whether from delicacy or from caution he + could not have said. Beyond doubt, however, on receiving through Ferrand + the following reply, he felt ashamed and pleased. + </p> + <p> + 3, BLANK ROW, WESTMINSTER. + </p> + <p> + From every well-born soul humanity is owing. A thousand thanks. I received + this morning your postal order; your heart henceforth for me will be + placed beyond all praise. + </p> + <p> + J. CAROLAN. <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <h3> + THE VISION + </h3> + <p> + A few days later he received a letter from Antonia which filled him with + excitement: + </p> + <p> + . . . Aunt Charlotte is ever so much better, so mother thinks we can go + home-hurrah! But she says that you and I must keep to our arrangement not + to see each other till July. There will be something fine in being so near + and having the strength to keep apart . . . All the English are gone. I + feel it so empty out here; these people are so funny-all foreign and + shallow. Oh, Dick! how splendid to have an ideal to look up to! Write at + once to Brewer's Hotel and tell me you think the same.... We arrive + at Charing Cross on Sunday at half-past seven, stay at Brewer's for + a couple of nights, and go down on Tuesday to Holm Oaks. + </p> + <p> + Always your + </p> + <p> + ANTONIA. + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow!” he thought; “she's coming tomorrow!” + and, leaving his neglected breakfast, he started out to walk off his + emotion. His square ran into one of those slums that still rub shoulders + with the most distinguished situations, and in it he came upon a little + crowd assembled round a dogfight. One of the dogs was being mauled, but + the day was muddy, and Shelton, like any well-bred Englishman, had a + horror of making himself conspicuous even in a decent cause; he looked for + a policeman. One was standing by, to see fair play, and Shelton made + appeal to him. The official suggested that he should not have brought out + a fighting dog, and advised him to throw cold water over them. + </p> + <p> + “It is n 't my dog,” said Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “Then I should let 'em be,” remarked the policeman with + evident surprise. + </p> + <p> + Shelton appealed indefinitely to the lower orders. The lower orders, + however, were afraid of being bitten. + </p> + <p> + “I would n't meddle with that there job if I was you,” + said one. + </p> + <p> + “Nasty breed o' dawg is that.” + </p> + <p> + He was therefore obliged to cast away respectability, spoil his trousers + and his gloves, break his umbrella, drop his hat in the mud, and separate + the dogs. At the conclusion of the “job,” the lower orders + said to him in a rather shamefaced spanner: + </p> + <p> + “Well, I never thought you'd have managed that, sir”; + but, like all men of inaction, Shelton after action was more dangerous. + </p> + <p> + “D——n it!” he said, “one can't let a + dog be killed”; and he marched off, towing the injured dog with his + pocket-handkerchief, and looking scornfully at harmless passers-by. Having + satisfied for once the smouldering fires within him, he felt entitled to + hold a low opinion of these men in the street. “The brutes,” + he thought, “won't stir a finger to save a poor dumb creature, + and as for policemen—” But, growing cooler, he began to see + that people weighted down by “honest toil” could not afford to + tear their trousers or get a bitten hand, and that even the policeman, + though he had looked so like a demi-god, was absolutely made of flesh and + blood. He took the dog home, and, sending for a vet., had him sewn up. + </p> + <p> + He was already tortured by the doubt whether or no he might venture to + meet Antonia at the station, and, after sending his servant with the dog + to the address marked on its collar, he formed the resolve to go and see + his mother, with some vague notion that she might help him to decide. She + lived in Kensington, and, crossing the Brompton Road, he was soon amongst + that maze of houses into the fibre of whose structure architects have + wrought the motto: “Keep what you have—wives, money, a good + address, and all the blessings of a moral state!” + </p> + <p> + Shelton pondered as he passed house after house of such intense + respectability that even dogs were known to bark at them. His blood was + still too hot; it is amazing what incidents will promote the loftiest + philosophy. He had been reading in his favourite review an article + eulogising the freedom and expansion which had made the upper middle class + so fine a body; and with eyes wandering from side to side he nodded his + head ironically. “Expansion and freedom,” ran his thoughts: + “Freedom and expansion!” + </p> + <p> + Each house-front was cold and formal, the shell of an owner with from + three to five thousand pounds a year, and each one was armoured against + the opinion of its neighbours by a sort of daring regularity. “Conscious + of my rectitude; and by the strict observance of exactly what is necessary + and no more, I am enabled to hold my head up in the world. The person who + lives in me has only four thousand two hundred and fifty-five pounds each + year, after allowing for the income tax.” Such seemed the legend of + these houses. + </p> + <p> + Shelton passed ladies in ones and twos and threes going out shopping, or + to classes of drawing, cooking, ambulance. Hardly any men were seen, and + they were mostly policemen; but a few disillusioned children were being + wheeled towards the Park by fresh-cheeked nurses, accompanied by a great + army of hairy or of hairless dogs. + </p> + <p> + There was something of her brother's large liberality about Mrs. + Shelton, a tiny lady with affectionate eyes, warm cheeks, and chilly feet; + fond as a cat of a chair by the fire, and full of the sympathy that has no + insight. She kissed her son at once with rapture, and, as usual, began to + talk of his engagement. For the first time a tremor of doubt ran through + her son; his mother's view of it grated on him like the sight of a + blue-pink dress; it was too rosy. Her splendid optimism, damped him; it + had too little traffic with the reasoning powers. + </p> + <p> + “What right,” he asked himself, “has she to be so + certain? It seems to me a kind of blasphemy.” + </p> + <p> + “The dear!” she cooed. “And she is coming back + to-morrow? Hurrah! how I long to see her!” + </p> + <p> + “But you know, mother, we've agreed not to meet again until + July.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Shelton rocked her foot, and, holding her head on one side like a + little bird, looked at her son with shining eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Dear old Dick!” she said, “how happy you must be!” + </p> + <p> + Half a century of sympathy with weddings of all sorts—good, bad, + indifferent—beamed from her. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said Shelton gloomily, “I ought not to go + and see her at the station.” + </p> + <p> + “Cheer up!” replied the mother, and her son felt dreadfully + depressed. + </p> + <p> + That “Cheer-up!”—the panacea which had carried her blind + and bright through every evil—was as void of meaning to him as wine + without a flavour. + </p> + <p> + “And how is your sciatica?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, pretty bad,” returned his mother; “I expect it's + all right, really. Cheer up!” She stretched her little figure, + canting her head still more. + </p> + <p> + “Wonderful woman!” Shelton thought. She had, in fact, like + many of her fellow-countrymen, mislaid the darker side of things, and, + enjoying the benefits of orthodoxy with an easy conscience, had kept as + young in heart as any girl of thirty. + </p> + <p> + Shelton left her house as doubtful whether he might meet Antonia as when + he entered it. He spent a restless afternoon. + </p> + <p> + The next day—that of her arrival—was a Sunday. He had made + Ferrand a promise to go with him to hear a sermon in the slums, and, + catching at any diversion which might allay excitement, he fulfilled it. + The preacher in question—an amateur, so Ferrand told him—had + an original method of distributing the funds that he obtained. To male + sheep he gave nothing, to ugly female sheep a very little, to pretty + female sheep the rest. Ferrand hazarded an inference, but he was a + foreigner. The Englishman preferred to look upon the preacher as guided by + a purely abstract love of beauty. His eloquence, at any rate, was + unquestionable, and Shelton came out feeling sick. + </p> + <p> + It was not yet seven o'clock, so, entering an Italian restaurant to + kill the half-hour before Antonia's arrival, he ordered a bottle of + wine for his companion, a cup of coffee for himself, and, lighting a + cigarette, compressed his lips. There was a strange, sweet sinking in his + heart. His companion, ignorant of this emotion, drank his wine, crumbled + his roll, and blew smoke through his nostrils, glancing caustically at the + rows of little tables, the cheap mirrors, the hot, red velvet, the + chandeliers. His juicy lips seemed to be murmuring, “Ah! if you only + knew of the dirt behind these feathers!” Shelton watched him with + disgust. Though his clothes were now so nice, his nails were not quite + clean, and his fingertips seemed yellow to the bone. An anaemic waiter in + a shirt some four days old, with grease-spots on his garments and a + crumpled napkin on his arm, stood leaning an elbow amongst doubtful + fruits, and reading an Italian journal. Resting his tired feet in turn, he + looked like overwork personified, and when he moved, each limb accused the + sordid smartness of the walls. In the far corner sat a lady eating, and, + mirrored opposite, her feathered hat, her short, round face, its coat of + powder, and dark eyes, gave Shelton a shiver of disgust. His companion's + gaze rested long and subtly on her. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, monsieur,” he said at length. “I think I + know that lady!” And, leaving his host, he crossed the room, bowed, + accosted her, and sat down. With Pharisaic delicacy, Shelton refrained + from looking. But presently Ferrand came back; the lady rose and left the + restaurant; she had been crying. The young foreigner was flushed, his face + contorted; he did not touch his wine. + </p> + <p> + “I was right,” he said; “she is the wife of an old + friend. I used to know her well.” + </p> + <p> + He was suffering from emotion, but someone less absorbed than Shelton + might have noticed a kind of relish in his voice, as though he were + savouring life's dishes, and glad to have something new, and spiced + with tragic sauce, to set before his patron. + </p> + <p> + “You can find her story by the hundred in your streets, but nothing + hinders these paragons of virtue”—he nodded at the stream of + carriages—“from turning up their eyes when they see ladies of + her sort pass. She came to London—just three years ago. After a year + one of her little boys took fever—the shop was avoided—her + husband caught it, and died. There she was, left with two children and + everything gone to pay the debts. She tried to get work; no one helped + her. There was no money to pay anyone to stay with the children; all the + work she could get in the house was not enough to keep them alive. She's + not a strong woman. Well, she put the children out to nurse, and went to + the streets. The first week was frightful, but now she's used to it—one + gets used to anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Can nothing be done?” asked Shelton, startled. + </p> + <p> + “No,” returned his companion. “I know that sort; if they + once take to it all's over. They get used to luxury. One does n't + part with luxury, after tasting destitution. She tells me she does very + nicely; the children are happy; she's able to pay well and see them + sometimes. She was a girl of good family, too, who loved her husband, and + gave up much for him. What would you have? Three quarters of your virtuous + ladies placed in her position would do the same if they had the necessary + looks.” + </p> + <p> + It was evident that he felt the shock of this discovery, and Shelton + understood that personal acquaintance makes a difference, even in a + vagabond. + </p> + <p> + “This is her beat,” said the young foreigner, as they passed + the illuminated crescent, where nightly the shadows of hypocrites and + women fall; and Shelton went from these comments on Christianity to the + station of Charing Cross. There, as he stood waiting in the shadow, his + heart was in his mouth; and it struck him as odd that he should have come + to this meeting fresh from a vagabond's society. + </p> + <p> + Presently, amongst the stream of travellers, he saw Antonia. She was close + to her mother, who was parleying with a footman; behind them were a maid + carrying a bandbox and a porter with the travelling-bags. Antonia's + figure, with its throat settled in the collar of her cape, slender, tall, + severe, looked impatient and remote amongst the bustle. Her eyes, shadowed + by the journey, glanced eagerly about, welcoming all she saw; a wisp of + hair was loose above her ear, her cheeks glowed cold and rosy. She caught + sight of Shelton, and bending her neck, stag-like, stood looking at him; a + brilliant smile parted her lips, and Shelton trembled. Here was the + embodiment of all he had desired for weeks. He could not tell what was + behind that smile of hers—passionate aching or only some ideal, some + chaste and glacial intangibility. It seemed to be shining past him into + the gloomy station. There was no trembling and uncertainty, no rage of + possession in that brilliant smile; it had the gleam of fixedness, like + the smiling of a star. What did it matter? She was there, beautiful as a + young day, and smiling at him; and she was his, only divided from him by a + space of time. He took a step; her eyes fell at once, her face regained + aloofness; he saw her, encircled by mother, footman, maid, and porter, + take her seat and drive away. It was over; she had seen him, she had + smiled, but alongside his delight lurked another feeling, and, by a bitter + freak, not her face came up before him but the face of that lady in the + restaurant—short, round, and powdered, with black-circled eyes. What + right had we to scorn them? Had they mothers, footmen, porters, maids? He + shivered, but this time with physical disgust; the powdered face with + dark-fringed eyes had vanished; the fair, remote figure of the + railway-station came back again. + </p> + <p> + He sat long over dinner, drinking, dreaming; he sat long after, smoking, + dreaming, and when at length he drove away, wine and dreams fumed in his + brain. The dance of lamps, the cream-cheese moon, the rays of clean wet + light on his horse's harness, the jingling of the cab bell, the + whirring wheels, the night air and the branches—it was all so good! + He threw back the hansom doors to feel the touch of the warm breeze. The + crowds on the pavement gave him strange delight; they were like shadows, + in some great illusion, happy shadows, thronging, wheeling round the + single figure of his world. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <h3> + ROTTEN ROW + </h3> + <p> + With a headache and a sense of restlessness, hopeful and unhappy, Shelton + mounted his hack next morning for a gallop in the Park. + </p> + <p> + In the sky was mingled all the languor and the violence of the spring. The + trees and flowers wore an awakened look in the gleams of light that came + stealing down from behind the purple of the clouds. The air was + rain-washed, and the passers by seemed to wear an air of tranquil + carelessness, as if anxiety were paralysed by their responsibility of the + firmament. + </p> + <p> + Thronged by riders, the Row was all astir. + </p> + <p> + Near to Hyde Park Corner a figure by the rails caught Shelton's eye. + Straight and thin, one shoulder humped a little, as if its owner were + reflecting, clothed in a frock-coat and a brown felt hat pinched up in + lawless fashion, this figure was so detached from its surroundings that it + would have been noticeable anywhere. It belonged to Ferrand, obviously + waiting till it was time to breakfast with his patron. Shelton found + pleasure in thus observing him unseen, and sat quietly on his horse, + hidden behind a tree. + </p> + <p> + It was just at that spot where riders, unable to get further, are for ever + wheeling their horses for another turn; and there Ferrand, the bird of + passage, with his head a little to one side, watched them cantering, + trotting, wheeling up and down. + </p> + <p> + Three men walking along the rails were snatching off their hats before a + horsewoman at exactly the same angle and with precisely the same air, as + though in the modish performance of this ancient rite they were satisfying + some instinct very dear to them. + </p> + <p> + Shelton noted the curl of Ferrand's lip as he watched this sight. + “Many thanks, gentlemen,” it seemed to say; “in that + charming little action you have shown me all your souls.” + </p> + <p> + What a singular gift the fellow had of divesting things and people of + their garments, of tearing away their veil of shams, and their + phylacteries! Shelton turned and cantered on; his thoughts were with + Antonia, and he did not want the glamour stripped away. + </p> + <p> + He was glancing at the sky, that every moment threatened to discharge a + violent shower of rain, when suddenly he heard his name called from + behind, and who should ride up to him on either side but Bill Dennant and—Antonia + herself! + </p> + <p> + They had been galloping; and she was flushed—flushed as when she + stood on the old tower at Hyeres, but with a joyful radiance different + from the calm and conquering radiance of that other moment. To Shelton's + delight they fell into line with him, and all three went galloping along + the strip between the trees and rails. The look she gave him seemed to + say, “I don't care if it is forbidden!” but she did not + speak. He could not take his eyes off her. How lovely she looked, with the + resolute curve of her figure, the glimpse of gold under her hat, the + glorious colour in her cheeks, as if she had been kissed. + </p> + <p> + “It 's so splendid to be at home! Let 's go faster, + faster!” she cried out. + </p> + <p> + “Take a pull. We shall get run in,” grumbled her brother, with + a chuckle. + </p> + <p> + They reined in round the bend and jogged more soberly down on the far + side; still not a word from her to Shelton, and Shelton in his turn spoke + only to Bill Dennant. He was afraid to speak to her, for he knew that her + mind was dwelling on this chance forbidden meeting in a way quite + different from his own. + </p> + <p> + Approaching Hyde Park Corner, where Ferrand was still standing against the + rails, Shelton, who had forgotten his existence, suffered a shock when his + eyes fell suddenly on that impassive figure. He was about to raise his + hand, when he saw that the young foreigner, noting his instinctive + feeling, had at once adapted himself to it. They passed again without a + greeting, unless that swift inquisition; followed by unconsciousness in + Ferrand's eyes, could so be called. But the feeling of idiotic + happiness left Shelton; he grew irritated at this silence. It tantalised + him more and more, for Bill Dennant had lagged behind to chatter to a + friend; Shelton and Antonia were alone, walking their horses, without a + word, not even looking at each other. At one moment he thought of + galloping ahead and leaving her, then of breaking the vow of muteness she + seemed to be imposing on him, and he kept thinking: “It ought to be + either one thing or the other. I can't stand this.” Her + calmness was getting on his nerves; she seemed to have determined just how + far she meant to go, to have fixed cold-bloodedly a limit. In her happy + young beauty and radiant coolness she summed up that sane consistent + something existing in nine out of ten of the people Shelton knew. “I + can't stand it long,” he thought, and all of a sudden spoke; + but as he did so she frowned and cantered on. When he caught her she was + smiling, lifting her face to catch the raindrops which were falling fast. + She gave him just a nod, and waved her hand as a sign for him to go; and + when he would not, she frowned. He saw Bill Dennant, posting after them, + and, seized by a sense of the ridiculous, lifted his hat, and galloped + off. + </p> + <p> + The rain was coming down in torrents now, and every one was scurrying for + shelter. He looked back from the bend, and could still make out Antonia + riding leisurely, her face upturned, and revelling in the shower. Why had + n't she either cut him altogether or taken the sweets the gods had + sent? It seemed wicked to have wasted such a chance, and, ploughing back + to Hyde Park Corner, he turned his head to see if by any chance she had + relented. + </p> + <p> + His irritation was soon gone, but his longing stayed. Was ever anything so + beautiful as she had looked with her face turned to the rain? She seemed + to love the rain. It suited her—suited her ever so much better than + the sunshine of the South. Yes, she was very English! Puzzling and + fretting, he reached his rooms. Ferrand had not arrived, in fact did not + turn up that day. His non-appearance afforded Shelton another proof of the + delicacy that went hand in hand with the young vagrant's cynicism. + In the afternoon he received a note. + </p> + <p> + . . . You see, Dick [he read], I ought to have cut you; but I felt too + crazy—everything seems so jolly at home, even this stuffy old + London. Of course, I wanted to talk to you badly—there are heaps of + things one can't say by letter—but I should have been sorry + afterwards. I told mother. She said I was quite right, but I don't + think she took it in. Don't you feel that the only thing that really + matters is to have an ideal, and to keep it so safe that you can always + look forward and feel that you have been—I can't exactly + express my meaning. + </p> + <p> + Shelton lit a cigarette and frowned. It seemed to him queer that she + should set more store by an “ideal” than by the fact that they + had met for the first and only time in many weeks. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose she 's right,” he thought—“I + suppose she 's right. I ought not to have tried to speak to her!” + As a matter of fact, he did not at all feel that she was right. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <h3> + AN “AT HOME” + </h3> + <p> + On Tuesday morning he wandered off to Paddington, hoping for a chance view + of her on her way down to Holm Oaks; but the sense of the ridiculous, on + which he had been nurtured, was strong enough to keep him from actually + entering the station and lurking about until she came. With a pang of + disappointment he retraced his steps from Praed Street to the Park, and + once there tried no further to waylay her. He paid a round of calls in the + afternoon, mostly on her relations; and, seeking out Aunt Charlotte, he + dolorously related his encounter in the Row. But she found it “rather + nice,” and on his pressing her with his views, she murmured that it + was “quite romantic, don't you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Still, it's very hard,” said Shelton; and he went away + disconsolate. + </p> + <p> + As he was dressing for dinner his eye fell on a card announcing the + “at home” of one of his own cousins. Her husband was a + composer, and he had a vague idea that he would find at the house of a + composer some quite unusually free kind of atmosphere. After dining at the + club, therefore, he set out for Chelsea. The party was held in a large + room on the ground-floor, which was already crowded with people when + Shelton entered. They stood or sat about in groups with smiles fixed on + their lips, and the light from balloon-like lamps fell in patches on their + heads and hands and shoulders. Someone had just finished rendering on the + piano a composition of his own. An expert could at once have picked out + from amongst the applauding company those who were musicians by + profession, for their eyes sparkled, and a certain acidity pervaded their + enthusiasm. This freemasonry of professional intolerance flew from one to + the other like a breath of unanimity, and the faint shrugging of shoulders + was as harmonious as though one of the high windows had been opened + suddenly, admitting a draught of chill May air. + </p> + <p> + Shelton made his way up to his cousin—a fragile, grey-haired woman + in black velvet and Venetian lace, whose starry eyes beamed at him, until + her duties, after the custom of these social gatherings, obliged her to + break off conversation just as it began to interest him. He was passed on + to another lady who was already talking to two gentlemen, and, their + volubility being greater than his own, he fell into the position of + observer. Instead of the profound questions he had somehow expected to + hear raised, everybody seemed gossiping, or searching the heart of such + topics as where to go this summer, or how to get new servants. Trifling + with coffee-cups, they dissected their fellow artists in the same way as + his society friends of the other night had dissected the fellow—“smart”; + and the varnish on the floor, the pictures, and the piano were reflected + on all the faces around. Shelton moved from group to group disconsolate. + </p> + <p> + A tall, imposing person stood under a Japanese print holding the palm of + one hand outspread; his unwieldy trunk and thin legs wobbled in concert to + his ingratiating voice. + </p> + <p> + “War,” he was saying, “is not necessary. War is not + necessary. I hope I make myself clear. War is not necessary; it depends on + nationality, but nationality is not necessary.” He inclined his head + to one side, “Why do we have nationality? Let us do away with + boundaries—let us have the warfare of commerce. If I see France + looking at Brighton”—he laid his head upon one side, and + beamed at Shelton,—“what do I do? Do I say 'Hands off'. + No. 'Take it,' I say—take it!'.rdquo; He archly + smiled. “But do you think they would?” + </p> + <p> + And the softness of his contours fascinated Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “The soldier,” the person underneath the print resumed, + “is necessarily on a lower plane—intellectually—oh, + intellectually—than the philanthropist. His sufferings are less + acute; he enjoys the compensations of advertisement—you admit that?” + he breathed persuasively. “For instance—I am quite impersonal—I + suffer; but do I talk about it?” But, someone gazing at his + well-filled waistcoat, he put his thesis in another form: “I have + one acre and one cow, my brother has one acre and one cow: do I seek to + take them away from him?” + </p> + <p> + Shelton hazarded, “Perhaps you 're weaker than your brother.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, come! Take the case of women: now, I consider our marriage + laws are barbarous.” + </p> + <p> + For the first time Shelton conceived respect for them; he made a + comprehensive gesture, and edged himself into the conversation of another + group, for fear of having all his prejudices overturned. Here an Irish + sculptor, standing in a curve, was saying furiously, “Bees are not + bhumpkins, d—-n their sowls!” A Scotch painter, who listened + with a curly smile, seemed trying to compromise this proposition, which + appeared to have relation to the middle classes; and though agreeing with + the Irishman, Shelton felt nervous over his discharge of electricity. Next + to them two American ladies, assembled under the tent of hair belonging to + a writer of songs, were discussing the emotions aroused in them by Wagner's + operas. + </p> + <p> + “They produce a strange condition of affairs in me,” said the + thinner one. + </p> + <p> + “They 're just divine,” said the fatter. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know if you can call the fleshly lusts divine,” + replied the thinner, looking into the eyes of the writer of the songs. + </p> + <p> + Amidst all the hum of voices and the fumes of smoke, a sense of formality + was haunting Shelton. Sandwiched between a Dutchman and a Prussian poet, + he could understand neither of his neighbours; so, assuming an intelligent + expression, he fell to thinking that an assemblage of free spirits is as + much bound by the convention of exchanging their ideas as commonplace + people are by the convention of having no ideas to traffic in. He could + not help wondering whether, in the bulk, they were not just as dependent + on each other as the inhabitants of Kensington; whether, like locomotives, + they could run at all without these opportunities for blowing off the + steam, and what would be left when the steam had all escaped. Somebody + ceased playing the violin, and close to him a group began discussing + ethics. Aspirations were in the air all round, like a lot of hungry + ghosts. He realised that, if tongue be given to them, the flavour vanishes + from ideas which haunt the soul. + </p> + <p> + Again the violinist played. + </p> + <p> + “Cock gracious!” said the Prussian poet, falling into English + as the fiddle ceased: “Colossal! 'Aber, wie er ist grossartig'.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you read that thing of Besom's?” asked shrill + voice behind. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear fellow! too horrid for words; he ought to be hanged!” + </p> + <p> + “The man's dreadful,” pursued the voice, shriller than + ever; “nothing but a volcanic eruption would cure him.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton turned in alarm to look at the authors of these statements. They + were two men of letters talking of a third. + </p> + <p> + “'C'est un grand naif, vous savez,'.rdquo; said + the second speaker. + </p> + <p> + “These fellows don't exist,” resumed the first; his + small eyes gleamed with a green light, his whole face had a look as if he + gnawed himself. Though not a man of letters, Shelton could not help + recognising from those eyes what joy it was to say those words: “These + fellows don't exist!” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Besom! You know what Moulter said . . .” + </p> + <p> + Shelton turned away, as if he had been too close to one whose hair smelt + of cantharides; and, looking round the room, he frowned. With the + exception of his cousin, he seemed the only person there of English blood. + Americans, Mesopotamians, Irish, Italians, Germans, Scotch, and Russians. + He was not contemptuous of them for being foreigners; it was simply that + God and the climate had made him different by a skin or so. + </p> + <p> + But at this point his conclusions were denied (as will sometimes happen) + by his introduction to an Englishman—a Major Somebody, who, with + smooth hair and blond moustache, neat eyes and neater clothes, seemed a + little anxious at his own presence there. Shelton took a liking to him, + partly from a fellow-feeling, and partly because of the gentle smile with + which he was looking at his wife. Almost before he had said “How do + you do?” he was plunged into a discussion on imperialism. + </p> + <p> + “Admitting all that,” said Shelton, “what I hate is the + humbug with which we pride ourselves on benefiting the whole world by our + so-called civilising methods.” + </p> + <p> + The soldier turned his reasonable eyes. + </p> + <p> + “But is it humbug?” + </p> + <p> + Shelton saw his argument in peril. If we really thought it, was it humbug? + He replied, however: + </p> + <p> + “Why should we, a small portion of the world's population, + assume that our standards are the proper ones for every kind of race? If + it 's not humbug, it 's sheer stupidity.” + </p> + <p> + The soldier, without taking his hands out of his pockets, but by a forward + movement of his face showing that he was both sincere and just, + re-replied: + </p> + <p> + “Well, it must be a good sort of stupidity; it makes us the nation + that we are.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton felt dazed. The conversation buzzed around him; he heard the + smiling prophet saying, “Altruism, altruism,” and in his voice + a something seemed to murmur, “Oh, I do so hope I make a good + impression!” + </p> + <p> + He looked at the soldier's clear-cut head with its well-opened eyes, + the tiny crow's-feet at their corners, the conventional moustache; + he envied the certainty of the convictions lying under that well-parted + hair. + </p> + <p> + “I would rather we were men first and then Englishmen,” he + muttered; “I think it's all a sort of national illusion, and I + can't stand illusions.” + </p> + <p> + “If you come to that,” said the soldier, “the world + lives by illusions. I mean, if you look at history, you'll see that + the creation of illusions has always been her business, don't you + know.” + </p> + <p> + This Shelton was unable to deny. + </p> + <p> + “So,” continued the soldier (who was evidently a highly + cultivated man), “if you admit that movement, labour, progress, and + all that have been properly given to building up these illusions, that—er—in + fact, they're what you might call—er—the outcome of the + world's crescendo,” he rushed his voice over this phrase as if + ashamed of it—“why do you want to destroy them?” + </p> + <p> + Shelton thought a moment, then, squeezing his body with his folded arms, + replied: + </p> + <p> + “The past has made us what we are, of course, and cannot be + destroyed; but how about the future? It 's surely time to let in + air. Cathedrals are very fine, and everybody likes the smell of incense; + but when they 've been for centuries without ventilation you know + what the atmosphere gets like.” + </p> + <p> + The soldier smiled. + </p> + <p> + “By your own admission,” he said, “you'll only be + creating a fresh set of illusions.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Shelton, “but at all events they'll + be the honest necessities of the present.” + </p> + <p> + The pupils of the soldier's eyes contracted; he evidently felt the + conversation slipping into generalities; he answered: + </p> + <p> + “I can't see how thinking small beer of ourselves is going to + do us any good!” + </p> + <p> + An “At Home!” + </p> + <p> + Shelton felt in danger of being thought unpractical in giving vent to the + remark: + </p> + <p> + “One must trust one's reason; I never can persuade myself that + I believe in what I don't.” + </p> + <p> + A minute later, with a cordial handshake, the soldier left, and Shelton + watched his courteous figure shepherding his wife away. + </p> + <p> + “Dick, may I introduce you to Mr. Wilfrid Curly?” said his + cousin's voice behind, and he found his hand being diffidently + shaken by a fresh-cheeked youth with a dome-like forehead, who was saying + nervously: + </p> + <p> + “How do you do? Yes, I am very well, thank you!” + </p> + <p> + He now remembered that when he had first come in he had watched this + youth, who had been standing in a corner indulging himself in private + smiles. He had an uncommon look, as though he were in love with life—as + though he regarded it as a creature to whom one could put questions to the + very end—interesting, humorous, earnest questions. He looked + diffident, and amiable, and independent, and he, too, was evidently + English. + </p> + <p> + “Are you good at argument?” said Shelton, at a loss for a + remark. + </p> + <p> + The youth smiled, blushed, and, putting back his hair, replied: + </p> + <p> + “Yes—no—I don't know; I think my brain does n't + work fast enough for argument. You know how many motions of the + brain-cells go to each remark. It 's awfully interesting”; + and, bending from the waist in a mathematical position, he extended the + palm of one hand, and started to explain. + </p> + <p> + Shelton stared at the youth's hand, at his frowns and the taps he + gave his forehead while he found the expression of his meaning; he was + intensely interested. The youth broke off, looked at his watch, and, + blushing brightly, said: + </p> + <p> + “I 'm afraid I have to go; I have to be at the 'Den' + before eleven.” + </p> + <p> + “I must be off, too,” said Shelton. Making their adieux + together, they sought their hats and coats. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> + <h3> + THE NIGHT CLUB + </h3> + <p> + “May I ask,” said Shelton, as he and the youth came out into + the chilly street, “What it is you call the 'Den'.” + </p> + <p> + His companion smilingly answered: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the night club. We take it in turns. Thursday is my night. + Would you like to come? You see a lot of types. It's only round the + corner.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton digested a momentary doubt, and answered: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, immensely.” + </p> + <p> + They reached the corner house in an angle of a dismal street, through the + open door of which two men had just gone in. Following, they ascended some + wooden, fresh-washed stairs, and entered a large boarded room smelling of + sawdust, gas, stale coffee, and old clothes. It was furnished with a + bagatelle board, two or three wooden tables, some wooden forms, and a + wooden bookcase. Seated on these wooden chairs, or standing up, were + youths, and older men of the working class, who seemed to Shelton to be + peculiarly dejected. One was reading, one against the wall was drinking + coffee with a disillusioned air, two were playing chess, and a group of + four made a ceaseless clatter with the bagatelle. + </p> + <p> + A little man in a dark suit, with a pale face, thin lips, and deep-set, + black-encircled eyes, who was obviously in charge, came up with an anaemic + smile. + </p> + <p> + “You 're rather late,” he said to Curly, and, looking + ascetically at Shelton, asked, without waiting for an introduction: + “Do you play chess? There 's young Smith wants a game.” + </p> + <p> + A youth with a wooden face, already seated before a fly-blown chess-board, + asked him drearily if he would have black or white. Shelton took white; he + was oppressed by the virtuous odour of this room. + </p> + <p> + The little man with the deep blue eyes came up, stood in an uneasy + attitude, and watched: + </p> + <p> + “Your play's improving, young Smith,” he said; “I + should think you'd be able to give Banks a knight.” His eyes + rested on Shelton, fanatical and dreary; his monotonous voice was + suffering and nasal; he was continually sucking in his lips, as though + determined to subdue 'the flesh. “You should come here often,” + he said to Shelton, as the latter received checkmate; “you 'd + get some good practice. We've several very fair players. You're + not as good as Jones or Bartholomew,” he added to Shelton's + opponent, as though he felt it a duty to put the latter in his place. + “You ought to come here often,” he repeated to Shelton; + “we have a lot of very good young fellows”; and, with a touch + of complacence, he glanced around the dismal room. “There are not so + many here tonight as usual. Where are Toombs and Body?” + </p> + <p> + Shelton, too, looked anxiously around. He could not help feeling sympathy + with Toombs and Body. + </p> + <p> + “They 're getting slack, I'm afraid,” said the + little deep-eyed man. “Our principle is to amuse everyone. Excuse me + a minute; I see that Carpenter is doing nothing.” He crossed over to + the man who had been drinking coffee, but Shelton had barely time to + glance at his opponent and try to think of a remark, before the little man + was back. “Do you know anything about astronomy?” he asked of + Shelton. “We have several very interested in astronomy; if you could + talk to them a little it would help.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton made a motion of alarm. + </p> + <p> + “Please-no,” said he; “I—” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you'd come sometimes on Wednesdays; we have most + interesting talks, and a service afterwards. We're always anxious to + get new blood”; and his eyes searched Shelton's brown, rather + tough-looking face, as though trying to see how much blood there was in + it. “Young Curly says you 've just been around the world; you + could describe your travels.” + </p> + <p> + “May I ask,” said Shelton, “how your club is made up?” + </p> + <p> + Again a look of complacency, and blessed assuagement, visited the little + man. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” he said, “we take anybody, unless there 's + anything against them. The Day Society sees to that. Of course, we shouldn't + take anyone if they were to report against them. You ought to come to our + committee meetings; they're on Mondays at seven. The women's + side, too—” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Shelton; “you 're very kind—” + </p> + <p> + “We should be pleased,” said the little man; and his face + seemed to suffer more than ever. “They 're mostly young + fellows here to-night, but we have married men, too. Of course, we 're + very careful about that,” he added hastily, as though he might have + injured Shelton's prejudices—“that, and drink, and + anything criminal, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you give pecuniary assistance, too?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” replied the little man; “if you were to come + to our committee meetings you would see for yourself. Everything is most + carefully gone into; we endeavour to sift the wheat from the chaff.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said Shelton, “you find a great deal of + chaff?” + </p> + <p> + The little man smiled a suffering smile. The twang of his toneless voice + sounded a trifle shriller. + </p> + <p> + “I was obliged to refuse a man to-day—a man and a woman, quite + young people, with three small children. He was ill and out of work; but + on inquiry we found that they were not man and wife.” + </p> + <p> + There was a slight pause; the little man's eyes were fastened on his + nails, and, with an appearance of enjoyment, he began to bite them. + Shelton's face had grown a trifle red. + </p> + <p> + “And what becomes of the woman and the children in a case like that?” + he said. + </p> + <p> + The little man's eyes began to smoulder. + </p> + <p> + “We make a point of not encouraging sin, of course. Excuse me a + minute; I see they've finished bagatelle.” + </p> + <p> + He hurried off, and in a moment the clack of bagatelle began again. He + himself was playing with a cold and spurious energy, running after the + balls and exhorting the other players, upon whom a wooden acquiescence + seemed to fall. + </p> + <p> + Shelton crossed the room, and went up to young Curly. He was sitting on a + bench, smiling to himself his private smiles. + </p> + <p> + “Are you staying here much longer?” Shelton asked. + </p> + <p> + Young Curly rose with nervous haste. + </p> + <p> + “I 'm afraid,” he said, “there 's nobody + very interesting here to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not at all!” said Shelton; “on the contrary. Only I + 've had a rather tiring day, and somehow I don't feel up to + the standard here.” + </p> + <p> + His new acquaintance smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, really! do you think—that is—” + </p> + <p> + But he had not time to finish before the clack of bagatelle balls ceased, + and the voice of the little deep-eyed man was heard saying: “Anybody + who wants a book will put his name down. There will be the usual + prayer-meeting on Wednesday next. Will you all go quietly? I am going to + turn the lights out.” + </p> + <p> + One gas-jet vanished, and the remaining jet flared suddenly. By its harder + glare the wooden room looked harder too, and disenchanting. The figures of + its occupants began filing through the door. The little man was left in + the centre of the room, his deep eyes smouldering upon the backs of the + retreating members, his thumb and finger raised to the turncock of the + metre. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know this part?” asked young Curly as they emerged + into the street. “It 's really jolly; one of the darkest bits + in London—it is really. If you care, I can take you through an + awfully dangerous place where the police never go.” He seemed so + anxious for the honour that Shelton was loath to disappoint him. “I + come here pretty often,” he went on, as they ascended a sort of + alley rambling darkly between a wall and row of houses. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked Shelton; “it does n't smell too nice.” + </p> + <p> + The young man threw up his nose and sniffed, as if eager to add any new + scent that might be about to his knowledge of life. + </p> + <p> + “No, that's one of the reasons, you know,” he said; + “one must find out. The darkness is jolly, too; anything might + happen here. Last week there was a murder; there 's always the + chance of one.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton stared; but the charge of morbidness would not lie against this + fresh-cheeked stripling. + </p> + <p> + “There's a splendid drain just here,” his guide resumed; + “the people are dying like flies of typhoid in those three houses”; + and under the first light he turned his grave, cherubic face to indicate + the houses. “If we were in the East End, I could show you other + places quite as good. There's a coffee-stall keeper in one that + knows all the thieves in London; he 's a splendid type, but,” + he added, looking a little anxiously at Shelton, “it might n't + be safe for you. With me it's different; they 're beginning to + know me. I've nothing to take, you see.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid it can't be to-night,” said Shelton; + “I must get back.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mind if I walk with you? It's so jolly now the stars + are out.” + </p> + <p> + “Delighted,” said Shelton; “do you often go to that + club?” + </p> + <p> + His companion raised his hat, and ran his fingers through his hair. + </p> + <p> + “They 're rather too high-class for me,” he said. + “I like to go where you can see people eat—school treats, or + somewhere in the country. It does one good to see them eat. They don't + get enough, you see, as a rule, to make bone; it's all used up for + brain and muscle. There are some places in the winter where they give them + bread and cocoa; I like to go to those.” + </p> + <p> + “I went once,” said Shelton, “but I felt ashamed for + putting my nose in.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they don't mind; most of them are half-dead with cold, + you know. You see splendid types; lots of dipsomaniacs . . . . It 's + useful to me,” he went on as they passed a police-station, “to + walk about at night; one can take so much more notice. I had a jolly night + last week in Hyde Park; a chance to study human nature there.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you find it interesting?” asked Shelton. + </p> + <p> + His companion smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Awfully,” he replied; “I saw a fellow pick three + pockets.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you do?” + </p> + <p> + “I had a jolly talk with him.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton thought of the little deep-eyed man; who made a point of not + encouraging sin. + </p> + <p> + “He was one of the professionals from Notting Hill, you know; told + me his life. Never had a chance, of course. The most interesting part was + telling him I 'd seen him pick three pockets—like creeping + into a cave, when you can't tell what 's inside.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “He showed me what he 'd got—only fivepence halfpenny.” + </p> + <p> + “And what became of your friend?” asked Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, went off; he had a splendidly low forehead.” + </p> + <p> + They had reached Shelton's rooms. + </p> + <p> + “Will you come in,” said the latter, “and have a drink?” + </p> + <p> + The youth smiled, blushed, and shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you,” he said; “I have to walk to + Whitechapel. I 'm living on porridge now; splendid stuff for making + bone. I generally live on porridge for a week at the end of every month. + It 's the best diet if you're hard up”; once more + blushing and smiling, he was gone. + </p> + <p> + Shelton went upstairs and sat down on his bed. He felt a little miserable. + Sitting there, slowly pulling out the ends of his white tie, disconsolate, + he had a vision of Antonia with her gaze fixed wonderingly on him. And + this wonder of hers came as a revelation—just as that morning, when, + looking from his window, he had seen a passer-by stop suddenly and scratch + his leg; and it had come upon him in a flash that that man had thoughts + and feelings of his own. He would never know what Antonia really felt and + thought. “Till I saw her at the station, I did n't know how + much I loved her or how little I knew her”; and, sighing deeply, he + hurried into bed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV + </h2> + <h3> + POLE TO POLE + </h3> + <p> + The waiting in London for July to come was daily more unbearable to + Shelton, and if it had not been for Ferrand, who still came to breakfast, + he would have deserted the Metropolis. On June first the latter presented + himself rather later than was his custom, and announced that, through a + friend, he had heard of a position as interpreter to an hotel at + Folkestone. + </p> + <p> + “If I had money to face the first necessities,” he said, + swiftly turning over a collection of smeared papers with his yellow + fingers, as if searching for his own identity, “I 'd leave + today. This London blackens my spirit.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you certain to get this place,” asked Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “I think so,” the young foreigner replied; “I 've + got some good enough recommendations.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton could not help a dubious glance at the papers in his hand. A hurt + look passed on to Ferrand's curly lips beneath his nascent red + moustache. + </p> + <p> + “You mean that to have false papers is as bad as theft. No, no; I + shall never be a thief—I 've had too many opportunities,” + said he, with pride and bitterness. “That's not in my + character. I never do harm to anyone. This”—he touched the + papers—“is not delicate, but it does harm to no one. If you + have no money you must have papers; they stand between you and starvation. + Society, has an excellent eye for the helpless—it never treads on + people unless they 're really down.” He looked at Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “You 've made me what I am, amongst you,” he seemed to + say; “now put up with me!” + </p> + <p> + “But there are always the workhouses,” Shelton remarked at + last. + </p> + <p> + “Workhouses!” returned Ferrand; “certainly there are—regular + palaces: I will tell you one thing: I've never been in places so + discouraging as your workhouses; they take one's very heart out.” + </p> + <p> + “I always understood,” said Shelton coldly; “that our + system was better than that of other countries.” + </p> + <p> + Ferrand leaned over in his chair, an elbow on his knee, his favourite + attitude when particularly certain of his point. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he replied, “it 's always permissible to + think well of your own country. But, frankly, I've come out of those + places here with little strength and no heart at all, and I can tell you + why.” His lips lost their bitterness, and he became an artist + expressing the result of his experience. “You spend your money + freely, you have fine buildings, self-respecting officers, but you lack + the spirit of hospitality. The reason is plain; you have a horror of the + needy. You invite us—and when we come you treat us justly enough, + but as if we were numbers, criminals, beneath contempt—as if we had + inflicted a personal injury on you; and when we get out again, we are + naturally degraded.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton bit his lips. + </p> + <p> + “How much money will you want for your ticket, and to make a start?” + he asked. + </p> + <p> + The nervous gesture escaping Ferrand at this juncture betrayed how far the + most independent thinkers are dependent when they have no money in their + pockets. He took the note that Shelton proffered him. + </p> + <p> + “A thousand thanks,” said he; “I shall never forget what + you have done for me”; and Shelton could not help feeling that there + was true emotion behind his titter of farewell. + </p> + <p> + He stood at the window watching Ferrand start into the world again; then + looked back at his own comfortable room, with the number of things that + had accumulated somehow—the photographs of countless friends, the + old arm-chairs, the stock of coloured pipes. Into him restlessness had + passed with the farewell clasp of the foreigner's damp hand. To wait + about in London was unbearable. + </p> + <p> + He took his hat, and, heedless of direction, walked towards the river. It + was a clear, bright day, with a bleak wind driving showers before it. + During one of such Shelton found himself in Little Blank Street. “I + wonder how that little Frenchman that I saw is getting on!” he + thought. On a fine day he would probably have passed by on the other side; + he now entered and tapped upon the wicket. + </p> + <p> + No. 3 Little Blank Street had abated nothing of its stone-flagged + dreariness; the same blowsy woman answered his inquiry. Yes, Carolan was + always in; you could never catch him out—seemed afraid to go into + the street! To her call the little Frenchman made his appearance as + punctually as if he had been the rabbit of a conjurer. His face was as + yellow as a guinea. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! it's you, monsieur!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Shelton; “and how are you?” + </p> + <p> + “It 's five days since I came out of hospital,” muttered + the little Frenchman, tapping on his chest; “a crisis of this bad + atmosphere. I live here, shut up in a box; it does me harm, being from the + South. If there's anything I can do for you, monsieur, it will give + me pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” replied Shelton, “I was just passing, and + thought I should like to hear how you were getting on.” + </p> + <p> + “Come into the kitchen,—monsieur, there is nobody in there. + 'Brr! Il fait un froid etonnant'.” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of customers have you just now?” asked Shelton, as + they passed into the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + “Always the same clientele,” replied the little man; “not + so numerous, of course, it being summer.” + </p> + <p> + “Could n't you find anything better than this to do?” + </p> + <p> + The barber's crow's-feet radiated irony. + </p> + <p> + “When I first came to London,” said he, “I secured an + engagement at one of your public institutions. I thought my fortune made. + Imagine, monsieur, in that sacred place I was obliged to shave at the rate + of ten a penny! Here, it's true, they don't pay me half the + time; but when I'm paid, I 'm paid. In this, climate, and + being 'poitrinaire', one doesn't make experiments. I + shall finish my days here. Have you seen that young man who interested + you? There 's another! He has spirit, as I had once—'il + fait de la philosophie', as I do—and you will see, monsieur, + it will finish him. In this world what you want is to have no spirit. + Spirit ruins you.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton looked sideways at the little man with his sardonic, yellow, + half-dead face, and the incongruity of the word “spirit” in + his mouth struck him so sharply that he smiled a smile with more pity in + it than any burst of tears. + </p> + <p> + “Shall we 'sit down?” he said, offering a cigarette. + </p> + <p> + “Merci, monsieur, it is always a pleasure to smoke a good cigarette. + You remember, that old actor who gave you a Jeremiad? Well, he's + dead. I was the only one at his bedside; 'un vrai drole'. He + was another who had spirit. And you will see, monsieur, that young man in + whom you take an interest, he'll die in a hospital, or in some hole + or other, or even on the highroad; having closed his eyes once too often + some cold night; and all because he has something in him which will not + accept things as they are, believing always that they should be better. + 'Il n'y a riens de plus tragique'.” + </p> + <p> + “According to you, then,” said Shelton—and the + conversation seemed to him of a sudden to have taken too personal a turn—“rebellion + of any sort is fatal.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” replied the little man, with the eagerness of one whose + ideal it is to sit under the awning of a cafe, and talk life upside down, + “you pose me a great problem there! If one makes rebellion; it is + always probable that one will do no good to any one and harm one's + self. The law of the majority arranges that. But I would draw your + attention to this”—and he paused; as if it were a real + discovery to blow smoke through his nose—“if you rebel it is + in all likelihood because you are forced by your nature to rebel; this is + one of the most certain things in life. In any case, it is necessary to + avoid falling between two stools—which is unpardonable,” he + ended with complacence. + </p> + <p> + Shelton thought he had never seen a man who looked more completely as if + he had fallen between two stools, and he had inspiration enough to feel + that the little barber's intellectual rebellion and the action + logically required by it had no more than a bowing acquaintanceship. + </p> + <p> + “By nature,” went on the little man, “I am an optimist; + it is in consequence of this that I now make pessimism. I have always had + ideals; seeing myself cut off from them for ever, I must complain; to + complain, monsieur, is very sweet!” + </p> + <p> + Shelton wondered what these ideals had been, but had no answer ready; so + he nodded, and again held out his cigarettes, for, like a true Southerner, + the little man had thrown the first away, half smoked. + </p> + <p> + “The greatest pleasure in life,” continued the Frenchman, with + a bow, “is to talk a little to a being who is capable of + understanding you. At present we have no one here, now that that old actor's + dead. Ah! there was a man who was rebellion incarnate! He made rebellion + as other men make money, 'c'etait son metier'. when he + was no longer capable of active revolution, he made it getting drunk. At + the last this was his only way of protesting against Society. An + interesting personality, 'je le regrette beaucoup'. But, as + you see, he died in great distress, without a soul to wave him farewell, + because as you can well understand, monsieur, I don't count myself. + He died drunk. 'C'etait un homme'.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton had continued staring kindly at the little man; the barber added + hastily: + </p> + <p> + “It's difficult to make an end like that one has moments of + weakness.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” assented Shelton, “one has indeed.” + </p> + <p> + The little barber looked at him with cynical discretion. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” he said, “it 's to the destitute that such + things are important. When one has money, all these matters—” + </p> + <p> + He shrugged his shoulders. A smile had lodged amongst his crow's-feet; + he waved his hand as though to end the subject. + </p> + <p> + A sense of having been exposed came over Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “You think, then,” said he, “that discontent is peculiar + to the destitute?” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” replied the little barber, “a plutocrat + knows too well that if he mixes in that 'galere' there 's + not a dog in the streets more lost than he.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton rose. + </p> + <p> + “The rain is over. I hope you 'll soon be better; perhaps you + 'll accept this in memory of that old actor,” and he slipped a + sovereign into the little Frenchman's hand. + </p> + <p> + The latter bowed. + </p> + <p> + “Whenever you are passing, monsieur,” he said eagerly, “I + shall be charmed to see you.” + </p> + <p> + And Shelton walked away. “'Not a dog in the streets more lost,'.rdquo; + thought he; “now what did he mean by that?” + </p> + <p> + Something of that “lost dog” feeling had gripped his spirit. + Another month of waiting would kill all the savour of anticipation, might + even kill his love. In the excitement of his senses and his nerves, caused + by this strain of waiting, everything seemed too vivid; all was beyond + life size; like Art—whose truths; too strong for daily use, are + thus, unpopular with healthy people. As will the bones in a worn face, the + spirit underlying things had reached the surface; the meanness and + intolerable measure of hard facts, were too apparent. Some craving for + help, some instinct, drove him into Kensington, for he found himself + before his, mother's house. Providence seemed bent on flinging him + from pole to pole. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Shelton was in town; and, though it was the first of June, sat + warming her feet before a fire; her face, with its pleasant colour, was + crow's-footed like the little barber's, but from optimism, not + rebellion. She, smiled when she saw her son; and the wrinkles round her + eyes twinkled, with vitality. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear boy,” she said, “it's lovely to see + you. And how is that sweet girl?” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, thank you,” replied Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “She must be such a dear!” + </p> + <p> + “Mother,” stammered Shelton, “I must give it up.” + </p> + <p> + “Give it up? My dear Dick, give what up? You look quite worried. + Come and sit down, and have a cosy chat. Cheer up!” And Mrs. + Shelton; with her head askew, gazed at her son quite irrepressibly. + </p> + <p> + “Mother,” said Shelton, who, confronted by her optimism, had + never, since his time of trial began, felt so wretchedly dejected, “I + can't go on waiting about like this.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear boy, what is the matter?”; + </p> + <p> + “Everything is wrong!” + </p> + <p> + “Wrong?” cried Mrs. Shelton. “Come, tell me all, about + it!” + </p> + <p> + But Shelton, shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “You surely have not had a quarrel——” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Shelton stopped; the question seemed so vulgar—one might have + asked it of a groom. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Shelton, and his answer sounded like a groan. + </p> + <p> + “You know, my dear old Dick,” murmured his mother, “it + seems a little mad.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it seems mad.” + </p> + <p> + “Come!” said Mrs. Shelton, taking his hand between her own; + “you never used to be like this.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Shelton, with a laugh; “I never used to be + like this.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Shelton snuggled in her Chuda shawl. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she said, with cheery sympathy, “I know exactly + how you feel!” + </p> + <p> + Shelton, holding his head, stared at the fire, which played and bubbled + like his mother's face. + </p> + <p> + “But you're so fond of each other,” she began again. + “Such a sweet girl!” + </p> + <p> + “You don't understand,” muttered Shelton gloomily; + “it 's not her—it's nothing—it's—myself!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Shelton again seized his hand, and this time pressed it to her soft, + warm cheek, that had lost the elasticity of youth. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” she cried again; “I understand. I know exactly + what you 're feeling.” But Shelton saw from the fixed beam in + her eyes that she had not an inkling. To do him justice, he was not so + foolish as to try to give her one. Mrs. Shelton sighed. “It would be + so lovely if you could wake up to-morrow and think differently. If I were + you, my dear, I would have a good long walk, and then a Turkish bath; and + then I would just write to her, and tell her all about it, and you'll + see how beautifully it'll all come straight”; and in the + enthusiasm of advice Mrs. Shelton rose, and, with a faint stretch of her + tiny figure, still so young, clasped her hands together. “Now do, + that 's a dear old Dick! You 'll just see how lovely it'll + be!” Shelton smiled; he had not the heart to chase away this vision. + “And give her my warmest love, and tell her I 'm longing for + the wedding. Come, now, my dear boy, promise me that's what you + 'll do.” + </p> + <p> + And Shelton said: “I'll think about it.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Shelton had taken up her stand with one foot on the fender, in spite + of her sciatica. + </p> + <p> + “Cheer up!” she cried; her eyes beamed as if intoxicated by + her sympathy. + </p> + <p> + Wonderful woman! The uncomplicated optimism that carried her through good + and ill had not descended to her son. + </p> + <p> + From pole to pole he had been thrown that day, from the French barber, + whose intellect accepted nothing without carping, and whose little fingers + worked all day, to save himself from dying out, to his own mother, whose + intellect accepted anything presented with sufficient glow, but who, until + she died, would never stir a finger. When Shelton reached his rooms, he + wrote to Antonia: + </p> + <p> + I can't wait about in London any longer; I am going down to Bideford + to start a walking tour. I shall work my way to Oxford, and stay there + till I may come to Holm Oaks. I shall send you my address; do write as + usual. + </p> + <p> + He collected all the photographs he had of her—amateur groups, taken + by Mrs. Dennant—and packed them in the pocket of his + shooting-jacket. There was one where she was standing just below her + little brother, who was perched upon a wall. In her half-closed eyes, + round throat, and softly tilted chin, there was something cool and + watchful, protecting the ragamuffin up above her head. This he kept apart + to be looked at daily, as a man says his prayers. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART2" id="link2H_PART2"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART II + </h2> + <h3> + THE COUNTRY + </h3> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI + </h2> + <h3> + THE INDIAN CIVILIAN + </h3> + <p> + One morning then, a week later, Shelton found himself at the walls of + Princetown Prison. + </p> + <p> + He had seen this lugubrious stone cage before. But the magic of his + morning walk across the moor, the sight of the pagan tors, the songs of + the last cuckoo, had unprepared him for that dreary building. He left the + street, and, entering the fosse, began a circuit, scanning the walls with + morbid fascination. + </p> + <p> + This, then, was the system by which men enforced the will of the majority, + and it was suddenly borne in on him that all the ideas and maxims which + his Christian countrymen believed themselves to be fulfilling daily were + stultified in every cellule of the social honeycomb. Such teachings as + “He that is without sin amongst you” had been pronounced + unpractical by peers and judges, bishops, statesmen, merchants, husbands—in + fact, by every truly Christian person in the country. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” thought Shelton, as if he had found out something new, + “the more Christian the nation, the less it has to do with the + Christian spirit.” + </p> + <p> + Society was a charitable organisation, giving nothing for nothing, little + for sixpence; and it was only fear that forced it to give at all! + </p> + <p> + He took a seat on a wall, and began to watch a warder who was slowly + paring a last year's apple. The expression of his face, the way he + stood with his solid legs apart, his head poked forward and his lower jaw + thrust out, all made him a perfect pillar of Society. He was undisturbed + by Shelton's scrutiny, watching the rind coil down below the apple; + until in a springing spiral it fell on the path and collapsed like a toy + snake. He took a bite; his teeth were jagged; and his mouth immense. It + was obvious that he considered himself a most superior man. Shelton + frowned, got down slowly, from the wall, and proceeded on his way. + </p> + <p> + A little further down the hill he stopped again to watch a group of + convicts in a field. They seemed to be dancing in a slow and sad cotillon, + while behind the hedge on every side were warders armed with guns. Just + such a sight, substituting spears could have been seen in Roman times. + </p> + <p> + While he thus stood looking, a man, walking, rapidly, stopped beside him, + and asked how many miles it was to Exeter. His round visage; and long, + brown eyes, sliding about beneath their brows, his cropped hair and short + neck, seemed familiar. + </p> + <p> + “Your name is Crocker, is n't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why! it's the Bird!” exclaimed the traveller; putting + out his hand. “Have n't seen you since we both went down.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton returned his handgrip. Crocker had lived above his head at + college, and often kept him, sleepless half the night by playing on the + hautboy. + </p> + <p> + “Where have you sprung from?” + </p> + <p> + “India. Got my long leave. I say, are you going this way? Let's + go together.” + </p> + <p> + They went, and very fast; faster and faster every minute. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going at this pace?” asked Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “London.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! only as far as London?” + </p> + <p> + “I 've set myself to do it in a week.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you in training?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “You 'll kill yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Crocker answered with a chuckle. + </p> + <p> + Shelton noted with alarm the expression of his eye; there was a sort of + stubborn aspiration in it. “Still an idealist!” he thought; + “poor fellow!” “Well,” he inquired, “what + sort of a time have you had in India?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said the Indian civilian absently, “I've, + had the plague.” + </p> + <p> + “Good God!” + </p> + <p> + Crocker smiled, and added: + </p> + <p> + “Caught it on famine duty.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said Shelton; “plague and famine! I suppose you + fellows really think you 're doing good out there?” + </p> + <p> + His companion looked at him surprised, then answered modestly: + </p> + <p> + “We get very good screws.” + </p> + <p> + “That 's the great thing,” responded Shelton. + </p> + <p> + After a moment's silence, Crocker, looking straight before him, + asked: + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think we are doing good?” + </p> + <p> + “I 'm not an authority; but, as a matter of fact, I don't.” + </p> + <p> + Crocker seemed disconcerted. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” he bluntly asked. + </p> + <p> + Shelton was not anxious to explain his views, and he did not reply. + </p> + <p> + His friend repeated: + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you think we're doing good in India?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Shelton gruffly, “how can progress be + imposed on nations from outside?” + </p> + <p> + The Indian civilian, glancing at Shelton in an affectionate and doubtful + way, replied: + </p> + <p> + “You have n't changed a bit, old chap.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said Shelton; “you 're not going to get + out of it that way. Give me a single example of a nation, or an + individual, for that matter, who 's ever done any good without + having worked up to it from within.” + </p> + <p> + Crocker, grunting, muttered, “Evils.” + </p> + <p> + “That 's it,” said Shelton; “we take peoples + entirely different from our own, and stop their natural development by + substituting a civilisation grown for our own use. Suppose, looking at a + tropical fern in a hothouse, you were to say: 'This heat 's + unhealthy for me; therefore it must be bad for the fern, I 'll take + it up and plant it outside in the fresh air.'.rdquo; + </p> + <p> + “Do you know that means giving up India?” said the Indian + civilian shrewdly. + </p> + <p> + “I don't say that; but to talk about doing good to India is—h'm!” + </p> + <p> + Crocker knitted his brows, trying to see the point of view his friend was + showing him. + </p> + <p> + “Come, now! Should we go on administering India if it were dead + loss? No. Well, to talk about administering the country for the purpose of + pocketing money is cynical, and there 's generally some truth in + cynicism; but to talk about the administration of a country by which we + profit, as if it were a great and good thing, is cant. I hit you in the + wind for the benefit of myself—all right: law of nature; but to say + it does you good at the same time is beyond me.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” returned Crocker, grave and anxious; “you can't + persuade me that we 're not doing good.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait a bit. It's all a question of horizons; you look at it + from too close. Put the horizon further back. You hit India in the wind, + and say it's virtuous. Well, now let's see what happens. + Either the wind never comes back, and India gasps to an untimely death, or + the wind does come back, and in the pant of reaction your blow—that's + to say your labour—is lost, morally lost labour that you might have + spent where it would n't have been lost.” + </p> + <p> + “Are n't you an Imperialist?” asked Crocker, genuinely + concerned. + </p> + <p> + “I may be, but I keep my mouth shut about the benefits we 're + conferring upon other people.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you can't believe in abstract right, or justice?” + </p> + <p> + “What on earth have our ideas of justice or right got to do with + India?” + </p> + <p> + “If I thought as you do,” sighed the unhappy Crocker, “I + should be all adrift.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so. We always think our standards best for the whole world. + It's a capital belief for us. Read the speeches of our public men. + Does n't it strike you as amazing how sure they are of being in the + right? It's so charming to benefit yourself and others at the same + time, though, when you come to think of it, one man's meat is + usually another's poison. Look at nature. But in England we never + look at nature—there's no necessity. Our national point of + view has filled our pockets, that's all that matters.” + </p> + <p> + “I say, old chap, that's awfully bitter,” said Crocker, + with a sort of wondering sadness. + </p> + <p> + “It 's enough to make any one bitter the way we Pharisees wax + fat, and at the same time give ourselves the moral airs of a balloon. I + must stick a pin in sometimes, just to hear the gas escape.” Shelton + was surprised at his own heat, and for some strange reason thought of + Antonia—surely, she was not a Pharisee. + </p> + <p> + His companion strode along, and Shelton felt sorry for the signs of + trouble on his face. + </p> + <p> + “To fill your pockets,” said Crocker, “is n't the + main thing. One has just got to do things without thinking of why we do + them.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you ever see the other side to any question?” asked + Shelton. “I suppose not. You always begin to act before you stop + thinking, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + Crocker grinned. + </p> + <p> + “He's a Pharisee, too,” thought Shelton, “without + a Pharisee's pride. Queer thing that!” + </p> + <p> + After walking some distance, as if thinking deeply, Crocker chuckled out: + </p> + <p> + “You 're not consistent; you ought to be in favour of giving + up India.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton smiled uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “Why should n't we fill our pockets? I only object to the + humbug that we talk.” + </p> + <p> + The Indian civilian put his hand shyly through his arm. + </p> + <p> + “If I thought like you,” he said, “I could n't + stay another day in India.” + </p> + <p> + And to this Shelton made no reply. + </p> + <p> + The wind had now begun to drop, and something of the morning's magic + was stealing again upon the moor. They were nearing the outskirt fields of + cultivation. It was past five when, dropping from the level of the tors, + they came into the sunny vale of Monkland. + </p> + <p> + “They say,” said Crocker, reading from his guide-book—“they + say this place occupies a position of unique isolation.” + </p> + <p> + The two travellers, in tranquil solitude, took their seats under an old + lime-tree on the village green. The smoke of their pipes, the sleepy air, + the warmth from the baked ground, the constant hum, made Shelton drowsy. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember,” his companion asked, “those 'jaws' + you used to have with Busgate and old Halidome in my rooms on Sunday + evenings? How is old Halidome?” + </p> + <p> + “Married,” replied Shelton. + </p> + <p> + Crocker sighed. “And are you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Not yet,” said Shelton grimly; “I 'm—engaged.” + </p> + <p> + Crocker took hold of his arm above the elbow, and, squeezing it, he + grunted. Shelton had not received congratulations that pleased him more; + there was the spice of envy in them. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to get married while I 'm home,” said the + civilian after a long pause. His legs were stretched apart, throwing + shadows on the green, his hands deep thrust into his pockets, his head a + little to one side. An absent-minded smile played round his mouth. + </p> + <p> + The sun had sunk behind a tor, but the warmth kept rising from the ground, + and the sweet-briar on a cottage bathed them with its spicy perfume. From + the converging lanes figures passed now and then, lounged by, staring at + the strangers, gossiping amongst themselves, and vanished into the + cottages that headed the incline. A clock struck seven, and round the + shady lime-tree a chafer or some heavy insect commenced its booming + rushes. All was marvellously sane and slumbrous. The soft air, the + drawling voices, the shapes and murmurs, the rising smell of wood-smoke + from fresh-kindled fires—were full of the spirit of security and of + home. The outside world was far indeed. Typical of some island nation was + this nest of refuge—where men grew quietly tall, fattened, and + without fuss dropped off their perches; where contentment flourished, as + sunflowers flourished in the sun. + </p> + <p> + Crocker's cap slipped off; he was nodding, and Shelton looked at + him. From a manor house in some such village he had issued; to one of a + thousand such homes he would find his way at last, untouched by the + struggles with famines or with plagues, uninfected in his fibre, his + prejudices, and his principles, unchanged by contact with strange peoples, + new conditions, odd feelings, or queer points of view! + </p> + <p> + The chafer buzzed against his shoulder, gathered flight again, and boomed + away. Crocker roused himself, and, turning his amiable face, jogged + Shelton's arm. + </p> + <p> + “What are you thinking about, Bird?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII + </h2> + <h3> + A PARSON + </h3> + <p> + Shelton continued to travel with his college friend, and on Wednesday + night, four days after joining company, they reached the village of + Dowdenhame. All day long the road had lain through pastureland, with thick + green hedges and heavily feathered elms. Once or twice they had broken the + monotony by a stretch along the towing-path of a canal, which, choked with + water-lily plants and shining weeds, brooded sluggishly beside the fields. + Nature, in one of her ironic moods, had cast a grey and iron-hard cloak + over all the country's bland luxuriance. From dawn till darkness + fell there had been no movement in the steely distant sky; a cold wind + ruffed in the hedge-tops, and sent shivers through the branches of the + elms. The cattle, dappled, pied, or bay, or white, continued grazing with + an air of grumbling at their birthright. In a meadow close to the canal + Shelton saw five magpies, and about five o'clock the rain began, a + steady, coldly-sneering rain, which Crocker, looking at the sky, declared + was going to be over in a minute. But it was not over in a minute; they + were soon drenched. Shelton was tired, and it annoyed him very much that + his companion, who was also tired, should grow more cheerful. His thoughts + kept harping upon Ferrand: “This must be something like what he + described to me, tramping on and on when you're dead-beat, until you + can cadge up supper and a bed.” And sulkily he kept on ploughing + through the mud with glances at the exasperating Crocker, who had skinned + one heel and was limping horribly. It suddenly came home to him that life + for three quarters of the world meant physical exhaustion every day, + without a possibility of alternative, and that as soon as, for some cause + beyond control, they failed thus to exhaust themselves, they were reduced + to beg or starve. “And then we, who don't know the meaning of + the word exhaustion, call them 'idle scamps,'.rdquo; he said + aloud. + </p> + <p> + It was past nine and dark when they reached Dowdenhame. The street yielded + no accommodation, and while debating where to go they passed the church, + with a square tower, and next to it a house which was certainly the + parsonage. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose,” said Crocker, leaning on his arms upon the gate, + “we ask him where to go”; and, without waiting for Shelton's + answer, he rang the bell. + </p> + <p> + The door was opened by the parson, a bloodless and clean-shaven man, whose + hollow cheeks and bony hands suggested a perpetual struggle. Ascetically + benevolent were his grey eyes; a pale and ghostly smile played on the + curves of his thin lips. + </p> + <p> + “What can I do for you?” he asked. “Inn? yes, there's + the Blue Chequers, but I 'm afraid you 'll find it shut. They + 're early people, I 'm glad to say”; and his eyes seemed + to muse over the proper fold for these damp sheep. “Are you Oxford + men, by any chance?” he asked, as if that might throw some light + upon the matter. “Of Mary's? Really! I'm of Paul's + myself. Ladyman—Billington Ladyman; you might remember my youngest + brother. I could give you a room here if you could manage without sheets. + My housekeeper has two days' holiday; she's foolishly taken + the keys.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton accepted gladly, feeling that the intonation in the parson's + voice was necessary unto his calling, and that he did not want to + patronise. + </p> + <p> + “You 're hungry, I expect, after your tramp. I'm very + much afraid there 's—er—nothing in the house but bread; + I could boil you water; hot lemonade is better than nothing.” + </p> + <p> + Conducting them into the kitchen, he made a fire, and put a kettle on to + boil; then, after leaving them to shed their soaking clothes, returned + with ancient, greenish coats, some carpet slippers, and some blankets. + Wrapped in these, and carrying their glasses, the travellers followed to + the study, where, by doubtful lamp-light, he seemed, from books upon the + table, to have been working at his sermon. + </p> + <p> + “We 're giving you a lot of trouble,” said Shelton, + “it's really very good of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” the parson answered; “I'm only + grieved the house is empty.” + </p> + <p> + It was a truly dismal contrast to the fatness of the land they had been + passing through, and the parson's voice issuing from bloodless lips, + although complacent, was pathetic. It was peculiar, that voice of his, + seeming to indicate an intimate acquaintanceship with what was fat and + fine, to convey contempt for the vulgar need of money, while all the time + his eyes—those watery, ascetic eyes—as plain as speech they + said, “Oh, to know what it must be like to have a pound or two to + spare just once a year, or so!” + </p> + <p> + Everything in the room had been bought for cheapness; no luxuries were + there, and necessaries not enough. It was bleak and bare; the ceiling + cracked, the wall-paper discoloured, and those books—prim, shining + books, fat-backed, with arms stamped on them—glared in the + surrounding barrenness. + </p> + <p> + “My predecessor,” said the parson, “played rather havoc + with the house. The poor fellow had a dreadful struggle, I was told. You + can, unfortunately, expect nothing else these days, when livings have come + down so terribly in value! He was a married man—large family!” + </p> + <p> + Crocker, who had drunk his steaming lemonade, was smiling and already + nodding in his chair; with his black garment buttoned closely round his + throat, his long legs rolled up in a blanket, and stretched towards the + feeble flame of the newly-lighted fire, he had a rather patchy air. + Shelton, on the other hand, had lost his feeling of fatigue; the + strangeness of the place was stimulating his brain; he kept stealing + glances at the scantiness around; the room, the parson, the furniture, the + very fire, all gave him the feeling caused by seeing legs that have + outgrown their trousers. But there was something underlying that leanness + of the landscape, something superior and academic, which defied all + sympathy. It was pure nervousness which made him say: + </p> + <p> + “Ah! why do they have such families?” + </p> + <p> + A faint red mounted to the parson's cheeks; its appearance there was + startling, and Crocker chuckled, as a sleepy man will chuckle who feels + bound to show that he is not asleep. + </p> + <p> + “It's very unfortunate,” murmured the parson, “certainly, + in many cases.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton would now have changed the subject, but at this moment the unhappy + Crocker snored. Being a man of action, he had gone to sleep. + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me,” said Shelton hurriedly, as he saw the parson's + eyebrows rising at the sound, “almost what you might call wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me, but how can it be wrong?” + </p> + <p> + Shelton now felt that he must justify his saying somehow. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” he said, “only one hears of such a + lot of cases—clergymen's families; I've two uncles of my + own, who—” + </p> + <p> + A new expression gathered on the parson's face; his mouth had + tightened, and his chin receded slightly. “Why, he 's like a + mule!” thought Shelton. His eyes, too, had grown harder, greyer, and + more parroty. Shelton no longer liked his face. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you and I,” the parson said, “would not + understand each other on such matters.” + </p> + <p> + And Shelton felt ashamed. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to ask you a question in turn, however,” the + parson said, as if desirous of meeting Shelton on his low ground: “How + do you justify marriage if it is not to follow the laws of nature?” + </p> + <p> + “I can only tell you what I personally feel.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir, you forget that a woman's chief delight is in + her motherhood.” + </p> + <p> + “I should have thought it a pleasure likely to pall with too much + repetition. Motherhood is motherhood, whether of one or of a dozen.” + </p> + <p> + “I 'm afraid,” replied the parson, with impatience, + though still keeping on his guest's low ground, “your theories + are not calculated to populate the world.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever lived in London?” Shelton asked. “It + always makes me feel a doubt whether we have any right to have children at + all.” + </p> + <p> + “Surely,” said the parson with wonderful restraint, and the + joints of his fingers cracked with the grip he had upon his chair, “you + are leaving out duty towards the country; national growth is paramount!” + </p> + <p> + “There are two ways of looking at that. It depends on what you want + your country to become.” + </p> + <p> + “I did n't know,” said the parson—fanaticism now + had crept into his smile—“there could be any doubt on such a + subject.” + </p> + <p> + The more Shelton felt that commands were being given him, the more + controversial he naturally became—apart from the merits of this + subject, to which he had hardly ever given thought. + </p> + <p> + “I dare say I'm wrong,” he said, fastening his eyes on + the blanket in which his legs were wrapped; “but it seems to me at + least an open question whether it's better for the country to be so + well populated as to be quite incapable of supporting itself.” + </p> + <p> + “Surely,” said the parson, whose face regained its pallor, + “you're not a Little Englander?” + </p> + <p> + On Shelton this phrase had a mysterious effect. Resisting an impulse to + discover what he really was, he answered hastily: + </p> + <p> + “Of course I'm not!” + </p> + <p> + The parson followed up his triumph, and, shifting the ground of the + discussion from Shelton's to his own, he gravely said: + </p> + <p> + “Surely you must see that your theory is founded in immorality. It + is, if I may say so, extravagant, even wicked.” + </p> + <p> + But Shelton, suffering from irritation at his own dishonesty, replied with + heat: + </p> + <p> + “Why not say at once, sir, 'hysterical, unhealthy'. Any + opinion which goes contrary to that of the majority is always called so, I + believe.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” returned the parson, whose eyes seemed trying to bind + Shelton to his will, “I must say your ideas do seem to me both + extravagant and unhealthy. The propagation of children is enjoined of + marriage.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton bowed above his blanket, but the parson did not smile. + </p> + <p> + “We live in very dangerous times,” he said, “and it + grieves me when a man of your standing panders to these notions.” + </p> + <p> + “Those,” said Shelton, “whom the shoe does n't + pinch make this rule of morality, and thrust it on to such as the shoe + does pinch.” + </p> + <p> + “The rule was never made,” said the parson; “it was + given us.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Shelton, “I beg your pardon.” He was in + danger of forgetting the delicate position he was in. “He wants to + ram his notions down my throat,” he thought; and it seemed to him + that the parson's face had grown more like a mule's, his + accent more superior, his eyes more dictatorial: To be right in this + argument seemed now of great importance, whereas, in truth, it was of no + importance whatsoever. That which, however, was important was the fact + that in nothing could they ever have agreed. + </p> + <p> + But Crocker had suddenly ceased to snore; his head had fallen so that a + peculiar whistling arose instead. Both Shelton and the parson looked at + him, and the sight sobered them. + </p> + <p> + “Your friend seems very tired,” said the parson. + </p> + <p> + Shelton forgot all his annoyance, for his host seemed suddenly pathetic, + with those baggy garments, hollow cheeks, and the slightly reddened nose + that comes from not imbibing quite enough. A kind fellow, after all! + </p> + <p> + The kind fellow rose, and, putting his hands behind his back, placed + himself before the blackening fire. Whole centuries of authority stood + behind him. It was an accident that the mantelpiece was chipped and rusty, + the fire-irons bent and worn, his linen frayed about the cuffs. + </p> + <p> + “I don't wish to dictate,” said he, “but where it + seems to me that you are wholly wrong in that your ideas foster in women + those lax views of the family life that are so prevalent in Society + nowadays.” + </p> + <p> + Thoughts of Antonia with her candid eyes, the touch of freckling on her + pink-white skin, the fair hair gathered back, sprang up in Shelton, and + that word—“lax” seemed ridiculous. And the women he was + wont to see dragging about the streets of London with two or three small + children, Women bent beneath the weight of babies that they could not + leave, women going to work with babies still unborn, anaemic-looking + women, impecunious mothers in his own class, with twelve or fourteen + children, all the victims of the sanctity of marriage, and again the word + “lax” seemed to be ridiculous. + </p> + <p> + “We are not put into the world to exercise our wits,”—muttered + Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “Our wanton wills,” the parson said severely. + </p> + <p> + “That, sir, may have been all right for the last generation, the + country is more crowded now. I can't see why we should n't + decide it for ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “Such a view of morality,” said the parson, looking down at + Crocker with a ghostly smile, “to me is unintelligible.” + </p> + <p> + Cracker's whistling grew in tone and in variety. + </p> + <p> + “What I hate,” said Shelton, “is the way we men decide + what women are to bear, and then call them immoral, decadent, or what you + will, if they don't fall in with our views.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Shelton,” said the parson, “I think we may safely + leave it in the hands of God.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton was silent. + </p> + <p> + “The questions of morality,” said the parson promptly, “have + always lain through God in the hands of men, not women. We are the + reasonable sex.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton stubbornly replied + </p> + <p> + “We 're certainly the greater humbugs, if that 's the + same.” + </p> + <p> + “This is too bad,” exclaimed the parson with some heat. + </p> + <p> + “I 'm sorry, sir; but how can you expect women nowadays to + have the same views as our grandmothers? We men, by our commercial + enterprise, have brought about a different state of things; yet, for the + sake of our own comfort, we try to keep women where they were. It's + always those men who are most keen about their comfort”—and in + his heat the sarcasm of using the word “comfort” in that room + was lost on him—“who are so ready to accuse women of deserting + the old morality.” + </p> + <p> + The parson quivered with impatient irony. + </p> + <p> + “Old morality! new morality!” he said. “These are + strange words.” + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me,” explained Shelton; “we 're talking + of working morality, I imagine. There's not a man in a million fit + to talk of true morality.” + </p> + <p> + The eyes of his host contracted. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” he said—and his voice sounded as if he had + pinched it in the endeavour to impress his listener—“that any + well-educated man who honestly tries to serve his God has the right humbly—I + say humbly—to claim morality.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton was on the point of saying something bitter, but checked himself. + “Here am I,” thought he, “trying to get the last word, + like an old woman.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment there was heard a piteous mewing; the parson went towards + the door. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me a moment; I 'm afraid that's one of my cats + out in the wet.” He returned a minute later with a wet cat in his + arms. “They will get out,” he said to Shelton, with a smile on + his thin face, suffused by stooping. And absently he stroked the dripping + cat, while a drop of wet ran off his nose. “Poor pussy, poor pussy!” + The sound of that “Poor pussy!” like nothing human in its + cracked superiority, the softness of that smile, like the smile of + gentleness itself, haunted Shelton till he fell asleep. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII + </h2> + <h3> + ACADEMIC + </h3> + <p> + The last sunlight was playing on the roofs when the travellers entered + that High Street grave and holy to all Oxford men. The spirit hovering + above the spires was as different from its concretions in their caps and + gowns as ever the spirit of Christ was from church dogmas. + </p> + <p> + “Shall we go into Grinnings'.” asked Shelton, as they + passed the club. + </p> + <p> + But each looked at his clothes, for two elegant young men in flannel suits + were coming out. + </p> + <p> + “You go,” said Crocker, with a smirk. + </p> + <p> + Shelton shook his head. Never before had he felt such love for this old + city. It was gone now from out his life, but everything about it seemed so + good and fine; even its exclusive air was not ignoble. Clothed in the calm + of history, the golden web of glorious tradition, radiant with the alchemy + of memories, it bewitched him like the perfume of a woman's dress. + At the entrance of a college they glanced in at the cool grey patch of + stone beyond, and the scarlet of a window flowerbox—secluded, + mysteriously calm—a narrow vision of the sacred past. Pale and + trencher-capped, a youth with pimply face and random nose, grabbing at his + cloven gown, was gazing at the noticeboard. The college porter—large + man, fresh-faced, and small-mouthed—stood at his lodge door in a + frank and deferential attitude. An image of routine, he looked like one + engaged to give a decorous air to multitudes of pecadilloes. His blue eyes + rested on the travellers. “I don't know you, sirs, but if you + want to speak I shall be glad to hear the observations you may have to + make,” they seemed to say. + </p> + <p> + Against the wall reposed a bicycle with tennis-racquet buckled to its + handle. A bull-dog bitch, working her snout from side to side, was + snuffling horribly; the great iron-studded door to which her chain was + fastened stayed immovable. Through this narrow mouth, human metal had been + poured for centuries—poured, moulded, given back. + </p> + <p> + “Come along,” said Shelton. + </p> + <p> + They now entered the Bishop's Head, and had their dinner in the room + where Shelton had given his Derby dinner to four-and-twenty well-bred + youths; here was the picture of the racehorse that the wineglass, thrown + by one of them, had missed when it hit the waiter; and there, serving + Crocker with anchovy sauce, was the very waiter. When they had finished, + Shelton felt the old desire to rise with difficulty from the table; the + old longing to patrol the streets with arm hooked in some other arm; the + old eagerness to dare and do something heroic—and unlawful; the old + sense that he was of the forest set, in the forest college, of the forest + country in the finest world. The streets, all grave and mellow in the + sunset, seemed to applaud this after-dinner stroll; the entrance quad of + his old college—spaciously majestic, monastically modern, for years + the heart of his universe, the focus of what had gone before it in his + life, casting the shadow of its grey walls over all that had come + after-brought him a sense of rest from conflict, and trust in his own + important safety. The garden-gate, whose lofty spikes he had so often + crowned with empty water-bottles, failed to rouse him. Nor when they + passed the staircase where he had flung a leg of lamb at some indelicate + disturbing tutor, did he feel remorse. High on that staircase were the + rooms in which he had crammed for his degree, upon the system by which the + scholar simmers on the fire of cramming, boils over at the moment of + examination, and is extinct for ever after. His coach's face + recurred to him, a man with thrusting eyes, who reeled off knowledge all + the week, and disappeared to town on Sundays. + </p> + <p> + They passed their tutor's staircase. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if little Turl would remember us?” said Crocker; + “I should like to see him. Shall we go and look him up?” + </p> + <p> + “Little Turl?” said Shelton dreamily. + </p> + <p> + Mounting, they knocked upon a solid door. + </p> + <p> + “Come in,” said the voice of Sleep itself. + </p> + <p> + A little man with a pink face and large red ears was sitting in a fat pink + chair, as if he had been grown there. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” he asked of them, blinking. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you know me, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “God bless me! Crocker, isn't it? I didn't recognise you + with a beard.” + </p> + <p> + Crocker, who had not been shaved since starting on his travels, chuckled + feebly. + </p> + <p> + “You remember Shelton, sir?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Shelton? Oh yes! How do you do, Shelton? Sit down; take a cigar”; + and, crossing his fat little legs, the little gentleman looked them up and + down with drowsy interest, as who should say, “Now, after, all you + know, why come and wake me up like this?” + </p> + <p> + Shelton and Crocker took two other chairs; they too seemed thinking, + “Yes, why did we come and wake him up like this?” And Shelton, + who could not tell the reason why, took refuge in the smoke of his cigar. + The panelled walls were hung with prints of celebrated Greek remains; the + soft, thick carpet on the floor was grateful to his tired feet; the backs + of many books gleamed richly in the light of the oil lamps; the culture + and tobacco smoke stole on his senses; he but vaguely comprehended Crocker's + amiable talk, vaguely the answers of his little host, whose face, blinking + behind the bowl of his huge meerschaum pipe, had such a queer resemblance + to a moon. The door was opened, and a tall creature, whose eyes were large + and brown, whose face was rosy and ironical, entered with a manly stride. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” he said, looking round him with his chin a little in the + air, “am I intruding, Turl?” + </p> + <p> + The little host, blinking more than ever, murmured, + </p> + <p> + “Not at all, Berryman—take a pew!” + </p> + <p> + The visitor called Berryman sat down, and gazed up at the wall with his + fine eyes. + </p> + <p> + Shelton had a faint remembrance of this don, and bowed; but the newcomer + sat smiling, and did not notice the salute. + </p> + <p> + “Trimmer and Washer are coming round,” he said, and as he + spoke the door opened to admit these gentlemen. Of the same height, but + different appearance, their manner was faintly jocular, faintly + supercilious, as if they tolerated everything. The one whose name was + Trimmer had patches of red on his large cheek-bones, and on his cheeks a + bluish tint. His lips were rather full, so that he had a likeness to a + spider. Washer, who was thin and pale, wore an intellectual smile. + </p> + <p> + The little fat host moved the hand that held the meerschaum. + </p> + <p> + “Crocker, Shelton,” he said. + </p> + <p> + An awkward silence followed. Shelton tried to rouse the cultured portion + of his wits; but the sense that nothing would be treated seriously + paralysed his faculties; he stayed silent, staring at the glowing tip of + his cigar. It seemed to him unfair to have intruded on these gentlemen + without its having been made quite clear to them beforehand who and what + he was; he rose to take his leave, but Washer had begun to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Madame Bovary!” he said quizzically, reading the title of the + book on the little fat man's bookrest; and, holding it closer to his + boiled-looking eyes, he repeated, as though it were a joke, “Madame + Bovary!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say, Turl, that you can stand that stuff?” + said Berryman. + </p> + <p> + As might have been expected, this celebrated novel's name had + galvanised him into life; he strolled over to the bookcase, took down a + book, opened it, and began to read, wandering in a desultory way about the + room. + </p> + <p> + “Ha! Berryman,” said a conciliatory voice behind—it came + from Trimmer, who had set his back against the hearth, and grasped with + either hand a fistful of his gown—“the book's a classic!” + </p> + <p> + “Classic!” exclaimed Berryman, transfixing Shelton with his + eyes; “the fellow ought to have been horsewhipped for writing such + putridity!” + </p> + <p> + A feeling of hostility instantly sprang up in Shelton; he looked at his + little host, who, however, merely blinked. + </p> + <p> + “Berryman only means,” explains Washer, a certain malice in + his smile, “that the author is n't one of his particular pets.” + </p> + <p> + “For God's sake, you know, don't get Berryman on his + horse!” growled the little fat man suddenly. + </p> + <p> + Berryman returned his volume to the shelf and took another down. There was + something almost godlike in his sarcastic absent-mindedness. + </p> + <p> + “Imagine a man writing that stuff,” he said, “if he'd + ever been at Eton! What do we want to know about that sort of thing? A + writer should be a sportsman and a gentleman”; and again he looked + down over his chin at Shelton, as though expecting him to controvert the + sentiment. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you—” began the latter. + </p> + <p> + But Berryman's attention had wandered to the wall. + </p> + <p> + “I really don't care,” said he, “to know what a + woman feels when she is going to the dogs; it does n't interest me.” + </p> + <p> + The voice of Trimmer made things pleasant: + </p> + <p> + “Question of moral standards, that, and nothing more.” + </p> + <p> + He had stretched his legs like compasses,—and the way he grasped his + gown-wings seemed to turn him to a pair of scales. His lowering smile + embraced the room, deprecating strong expressions. “After all,” + he seemed to say, “we are men of the world; we know there 's + not very much in anything. This is the modern spirit; why not give it a + look in?” + </p> + <p> + “Do I understand you to say, Berryman, that you don't enjoy a + spicy book?” asked Washer with his smile; and at this question the + little fat man sniggered, blinking tempestuously, as if to say, “Nothing + pleasanter, don't you know, before a hot fire in cold weather.” + </p> + <p> + Berryman paid no attention to the impertinent inquiry, continuing to dip + into his volume and walk up and down. + </p> + <p> + “I've nothing to say,” he remarked, stopping before + Shelton, and looking down, as if at last aware of him, “to those who + talk of being justified through Art. I call a spade a spade.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton did not answer, because he could not tell whether Berryman was + addressing him or society at large. And Berryman went on: + </p> + <p> + “Do we want to know about the feelings of a middle-class woman with + a taste for vice? Tell me the point of it. No man who was in the habit of + taking baths would choose such a subject.” + </p> + <p> + “You come to the question of-ah-subjects,” the voice of + Trimmer genially buzzed he had gathered his garments tight across his back—“my + dear fellow, Art, properly applied, justifies all subjects.” + </p> + <p> + “For Art,” squeaked Berryman, putting back his second volume + and taking down a third, “you have Homer, Cervantes, Shakespeare, + Ossian; for garbage, a number of unwashed gentlemen.” + </p> + <p> + There was a laugh; Shelton glanced round at all in turn. With the + exception of Crocker, who was half asleep and smiling idiotically, they + wore, one and all, a look as if by no chance could they consider any + subject fit to move their hearts; as if, one and all, they were so + profoundly anchored on the sea of life that waves could only seem + impertinent. It may have been some glimmer in this glance of Shelton's + that brought Trimmer once more to the rescue with his compromising air. + </p> + <p> + “The French,” said he, “have quite a different standard + from ourselves in literature, just as they have a different standard in + regard to honour. All this is purely artificial.” + </p> + <p> + What he, meant, however, Shelton found it difficult to tell. + </p> + <p> + “Honour,” said Washer, “'l'honneur, die Ehre' + duelling, unfaithful wives—” + </p> + <p> + He was clearly going to add to this, but it was lost; for the little fat + man, taking the meerschaum with trembling fingers, and holding it within + two inches of his chin, murmured: + </p> + <p> + “You fellows, Berryman's awf'ly strong on honour.” + </p> + <p> + He blinked twice, and put the meerschaum back between his lips. + </p> + <p> + Without returning the third volume to its shelf, Berryman took down a + fourth; with chest expanded, he appeared about to use the books as + dumb-bells. + </p> + <p> + “Quite so,” said Trimmer; “the change from duelling to + law courts is profoundly—” + </p> + <p> + Whether he were going to say “significant” or “insignificant,” + in Shelton's estimate he did not know himself. Fortunately Berryman + broke in: + </p> + <p> + “Law courts or not, when a man runs away with a wife of mine, I + shall punch his head!” + </p> + <p> + “Come, come!” said Turner, spasmodically grasping his two + wings. + </p> + <p> + Shelton had a gleam of inspiration. “If your wife deceived you,” + he thought, looking at Trimmer's eyes, “you 'd keep it + quiet, and hold it over her.” + </p> + <p> + Washer passed his hand over his pale chaps: his smile had never wavered; + he looked like one for ever lost in the making of an epigram. + </p> + <p> + The punching theorist stretched his body, holding the books level with his + shoulders, as though to stone his hearers with his point of view. His face + grew paler, his fine eyes finer, his lips ironical. Almost painful was + this combination of the “strong” man and the student who was + bound to go to pieces if you hit him a smart blow. + </p> + <p> + “As for forgiving faithless wives,” he said, “and all + that sort of thing, I don't believe in sentiment.” + </p> + <p> + The words were high-pitched and sarcastic. Shelton looked hastily around. + All their faces were complacent. He grew red, and suddenly remarked, in a + soft; clear voice: + </p> + <p> + “I see!” + </p> + <p> + He was conscious that he had never before made an impression of this sort, + and that he never would again. The cold hostility flashing out all round + was most enlightening; it instantly gave way to the polite, satirical + indulgence peculiar to highly-cultivated men. Crocker rose nervously; he + seemed scared, and was obviously relieved when Shelton, following his + example, grasped the little fat man's hand, who said good-night in a + voice shaken by tobacco. + </p> + <p> + “Who are your unshaven friends?” he heard as the door was + closed behind them. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX + </h2> + <h3> + AN INCIDENT + </h3> + <p> + “Eleven o'clock,” said Crocker, as they went out of + college. “I don't feel sleepy; shall we stroll along the + 'High' a bit?” + </p> + <p> + Shelton assented; he was too busy thinking of his encounter with the dons + to heed the soreness of his feet. This, too, was the last day of his + travels, for he had not altered his intention of waiting at Oxford till + July. + </p> + <p> + “We call this place the heart of knowledge,” he said, passing + a great building that presided, white and silent, over darkness; “it + seems to me as little that, as Society is the heart of true gentility.” + </p> + <p> + Crocker's answer was a grunt; he was looking at the stars, + calculating possibly in how long he could walk to heaven. + </p> + <p> + “No,” proceeded Shelton; “we've too much + common-sense up here to strain our minds. We know when it's time to + stop. We pile up news of Papias and all the verbs in 'ui' but + as for news of life or of oneself! Real seekers after knowledge are a + different sort. They fight in the dark—no quarter given. We don't + grow that sort up here.” + </p> + <p> + “How jolly the limes smell!” said Crocker. + </p> + <p> + He had halted opposite a garden, and taken hold of Shelton by a button of + his coat. His eyes, like a dog's, stared wistfully. It seemed as + though he wished to speak, but feared to give offence. + </p> + <p> + “They tell you,” pursued Shelton, “that we learn to be + gentlemen up here. We learn that better through one incident that stirs + our hearts than we learn it here in all the time we're up.” + </p> + <p> + “Hum!” muttered Crocker, twisting at the button; “those + fellows who seemed the best sorts up here have turned out the best sorts + afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope not,” said Shelton gloomily; “I was a snob when + I was up here. I believed all I was told, anything that made things + pleasant; my 'set' were nothing but—” + </p> + <p> + Crocker smiled in the darkness; he had been too “cranky” to + belong to Shelton's “set.” + </p> + <p> + “You never were much like your 'set,' old chap,” + he said. + </p> + <p> + Shelton turned away, sniffing the perfume of the limes. Images were + thronging through his mind. The faces of his old friends strangely mixed + with those of people he had lately met—the girl in the train, + Ferrand, the lady with the short, round, powdered face, the little barber; + others, too, and floating, mysterious,—connected with them all, + Antonia's face. The scent of the lime-trees drifted at him with its + magic sweetness. From the street behind, the footsteps of the passers-by + sounded muffled, yet exact, and on the breeze was borne the strain: + “For he's a jolly good fellow!” + </p> + <p> + “For he's a jolly good fellow! For he's a jolly good + fe-ellow! And so say all of us!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said, “they were good chaps.” + </p> + <p> + “I used to think,” said Crocker dreamily, “that some of + them had too much side.” + </p> + <p> + And Shelton laughed. + </p> + <p> + “The thing sickens me,” said he, “the whole snobbish, + selfish business. The place sickens me, lined with cotton-wool-made so + beastly comfortable.” + </p> + <p> + Crocker shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “It's a splendid old place,” he said, his eyes fastening + at last on Shelton's boots. “You know, old chap,” he + stammered, “I think you—you ought to take care!” + </p> + <p> + “Take care? What of?” + </p> + <p> + Crocker pressed his arm convulsively. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be waxy, old boy,” he said; “I mean that + you seem somehow—to be—to be losing yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Losing myself! Finding myself, you mean!” + </p> + <p> + Crocker did not answer; his face was disappointed. Of what exactly was he + thinking? In Shelton's heart there was a bitter pleasure in knowing + that his friend was uncomfortable on his account, a sort of contempt, a + sort of aching. Crocker broke the silence. + </p> + <p> + “I think I shall do a bit more walking to-night,” he said; + “I feel very fit. Don't you really mean to come any further + with me, Bird?” + </p> + <p> + And there was anxiety in his voice, as though Shelton were in danger of + missing something good. The latter's feet had instantly begun to + ache and burn. + </p> + <p> + “No!”? he said; “you know what I'm staying here + for.” + </p> + <p> + Crocker nodded. + </p> + <p> + “She lives near here. Well, then, I'll say good-bye. I should + like to do another ten miles to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow, you're tired and lame.” + </p> + <p> + Crocker chuckled. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said; “I want to get on. See you in London. + Good-bye!” and, gripping Shelton's hand, he turned and limped + away. + </p> + <p> + Shelton called after him: “Don't be an idiot: You 'll + only knock yourself up.” + </p> + <p> + But the sole answer was the pale moon of Crocker's face screwed + round towards him in the darkness, and the waving of his stick. + </p> + <p> + Shelton strolled slowly on; leaning over the bridge, he watched the oily + gleam of lamps, on the dark water underneath the trees. He felt relieved, + yet sorry. His thoughts were random, curious, half mutinous, half sweet. + That afternoon five years ago, when he had walked back from the river with + Antonia across the Christchurch meadows, was vivid to his mind; the scent + of that afternoon had never died away from him-the aroma of his love. Soon + she would be his wife—his wife! The faces of the dons sprang up + before him. They had wives, perhaps. Fat, lean, satirical, and + compromising—what was it that through diversity they had in common? + Cultured intolerance! . . . Honour! . . . A queer subject to discuss. + Honour! The honour that made a fuss, and claimed its rights! And Shelton + smiled. “As if man's honour suffered when he's injured!” + And slowly he walked along the echoing, empty street to his room at the + Bishop's Head. Next morning he received the following wire: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Thirty miles left eighteen hours heel bad but going + strong CROCKER +</pre> + <p> + He passed a fortnight at the Bishop's Head, waiting for the end of + his probation, and the end seemed long in coming. To be so near Antonia, + and as far as if he lived upon another planet, was worse than ever. Each + day he took a sculling skiff, and pulled down to near Holm Oaks, on the + chance of her being on the river; but the house was two miles off, and the + chance but slender. She never came. After spending the afternoons like + this he would return, pulling hard against the stream, with a queer + feeling of relief, dine heartily, and fall a-dreaming over his cigar. Each + morning he awoke in an excited mood, devoured his letter if he had one, + and sat down to write to her. These letters of his were the most amazing + portion of that fortnight. They were remarkable for failing to express any + single one of his real thoughts, but they were full of sentiments which + were not what he was truly feeling; and when he set himself to analyse, he + had such moments of delirium that he was scared, and shocked, and quite + unable to write anything. He made the discovery that no two human beings + ever tell each other what they really feel, except, perhaps, in situations + with which he could not connect Antonia's ice-blue eyes and + brilliant smile. All the world was too engaged in planning decency. + </p> + <p> + Absorbed by longings, he but vaguely realised the turmoil of + Commemoration, which had gathered its hundreds for their annual cure of + salmon mayonnaise and cheap champagne. In preparation for his visit to + Holm Oaks he shaved his beard and had some clothes sent down from London. + With them was forwarded a letter from Ferrand, which ran as follows: + </p> + <p> + IMPERIAL PEACOCK HOTEL, FOLKESTONE, + </p> + <p> + June 20. + </p> + <p> + MY DEAR SIR, + </p> + <p> + Forgive me for not having written to you before, but I have been so + bothered that I have felt no taste for writing; when I have the time, I + have some curious stories to tell you. Once again I have encountered that + demon of misfortune which dogs my footsteps. Being occupied all day and + nearly all night upon business which brings me a heap of worries and next + to no profit, I have no chance to look after my things. Thieves have + entered my room, stolen everything, and left me an empty box. I am once + again almost without clothes, and know not where to turn to make that + figure necessary for the fulfilment of my duties. You see, I am not lucky. + Since coming to your country, the sole piece of fortune I have had was to + tumble on a man like you. Excuse me for not writing more at this moment. + Hoping that you are in good health, and in affectionately pressing your + hand, + </p> + <p> + I am, + </p> + <p> + Always your devoted + </p> + <p> + LOUIS FERRAND. + </p> + <p> + Upon reading this letter Shelton had once more a sense of being exploited, + of which he was ashamed; he sat down immediately and wrote the following + reply: + </p> + <p> + BISHOPS HEAD HOTEL, OXFORD, + </p> + <p> + June 25. + </p> + <p> + MY DEAR FERRAND, + </p> + <p> + I am grieved to hear of your misfortunes. I was much hoping that you had + made a better start. I enclose you Post Office Orders for four pounds. + Always glad to hear from you. + </p> + <p> + Yours sincerely, + </p> + <p> + RICHARD SHELTON. + </p> + <p> + He posted it with the satisfaction that a man feels who nobly shakes off + his responsibilities. + </p> + <p> + Three days before July he met with one of those disturbing incidents which + befall no persons who attend quietly to their property and reputation. + </p> + <p> + The night was unbearably hot, and he had wandered out with his cigar; a + woman came sidling up and spoke to him. He perceived her to be one of + those made by men into mediums for their pleasure, to feel sympathy with + whom was sentimental. Her face was flushed, her whisper hoarse; she had no + attractions but the curves of a tawdry figure. Shelton was repelled by her + proprietary tone, by her blowzy face, and by the scent of patchouli. Her + touch on his arm startled him, sending a shiver through his marrow; he + almost leaped aside, and walked the faster. But her breathing as she + followed sounded laboured; it suddenly seemed pitiful that a woman should + be panting after him like that. + </p> + <p> + “The least I can do,” he thought, “is to speak to her.” + He stopped, and, with a mixture of hardness and compassion, said, “It + 's impossible.” + </p> + <p> + In spite of her smile, he saw by her disappointed eyes that she accepted + the impossibility. + </p> + <p> + “I 'm sorry,” he said. + </p> + <p> + She muttered something. Shelton shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “I 'm sorry,” he said once more. “Good.-night.” + </p> + <p> + The woman bit her lower lip. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night,” she answered dully. + </p> + <p> + At the corner of the street he turned his head. The woman was hurrying + uneasily; a policeman coming from behind had caught her by the arm. + </p> + <p> + His heart began to beat. “Heavens!” he thought, “what + shall I do now?” His first impulse was to walk away, and think no + more about it—to act, indeed, like any averagely decent man who did + not care to be concerned in such affairs. + </p> + <p> + He retraced his steps, however, and halted half a dozen paces from their + figures. + </p> + <p> + “Ask the gentleman! He spoke to me,” she was saying in her + brassy voice, through the emphasis of which Shelton could detect her fear. + </p> + <p> + “That's all right,” returned the policeman, “we + know all about that.” + </p> + <p> + “You—police!” cried the woman tearfully; “I + 've got to get my living, have n't I, the same as you?” + </p> + <p> + Shelton hesitated, then, catching the expression in her frightened face, + stepped forward. The policeman turned, and at the sight of his pale, heavy + jowl, cut by the cheek-strap, and the bullying eyes, he felt both hate and + fear, as if brought face to face with all that he despised and loathed, + yet strangely dreaded. The cold certainty of law and order upholding the + strong, treading underfoot the weak, the smug front of meanness that only + the purest spirits may attack, seemed to be facing him. And the odd thing + was, this man was only carrying out his duty. Shelton moistened his lips. + </p> + <p> + “You're not going to charge her?” + </p> + <p> + “Aren't I?” returned the policeman. + </p> + <p> + “Look here; constable, you 're making a mistake.” + </p> + <p> + The policeman took out his note-book. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I 'm making a mistake? I 'll take your name and + address, please; we have to report these things.” + </p> + <p> + “By all means,” said Shelton, angrily giving it. “I + spoke to her first.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you'll come up to the court tomorrow morning, and + repeat that,” replied the policeman, with incivility. + </p> + <p> + Shelton looked at him with all the force at his command. + </p> + <p> + “You had better be careful, constable,” he said; but in the + act of uttering these words he thought how pitiable they sounded. + </p> + <p> + “We 're not to be trifled with,” returned the policeman + in a threatening voice. + </p> + <p> + Shelton could think of nothing but to repeat: + </p> + <p> + “You had better be careful, constable.” + </p> + <p> + “You're a gentleman,” replied the policeman. “I'm + only a policeman. You've got the riches, I've got the power.” + </p> + <p> + Grasping the woman's arm, he began to move along with her. + </p> + <p> + Shelton turned, and walked away. + </p> + <p> + He went to Grinnings' Club, and flung himself down upon a sofa. His + feeling was not one of pity for the woman, nor of peculiar anger with the + policeman, but rather of dissatisfaction with himself. + </p> + <p> + “What ought I to have done?” he thought, “the beggar was + within his rights.” + </p> + <p> + He stared at the pictures on the wall, and a tide of disgust surged up in + him. + </p> + <p> + “One or other of us,” he reflected, “we make these women + what they are. And when we've made them, we can't do without + them; we don't want to; but we give them no proper homes, so that + they're reduced to prowl about the streets, and then we run them in. + Ha! that's good—that's excellent! We run them in! And + here we sit and carp. But what do we do? Nothing! Our system is the most + highly moral known. We get the benefit without soiling even the hem of our + phylacteries—the women are the only ones that suffer. And why should + n't they—inferior things?” + </p> + <p> + He lit a cigarette, and ordered the waiter to bring a drink. + </p> + <p> + “I'll go to the Court,” he thought; but suddenly it + occurred to him that the case would get into the local papers. The press + would never miss so nice a little bit of scandal—“Gentleman v. + Policeman!” And he had a vision of Antonia's father, a + neighbouring and conscientious magistrate, solemnly reading this. Someone, + at all events, was bound to see his name and make a point of mentioning it + too good to be missed! And suddenly he saw with horror that to help the + woman he would have to assert again that he had spoken to her first. + “I must go to the Court!” he kept thinking, as if to assure + himself that he was not a coward. + </p> + <p> + He lay awake half the night worrying over this dilemma. + </p> + <p> + “But I did n't speak to her first,” he told himself; + “I shall only be telling a lie, and they 'll make me swear it, + too!” + </p> + <p> + He tried to persuade himself that this was against his principles, but at + the bottom of his heart he knew that he would not object to telling such a + lie if only guaranteed immune from consequences; it appeared to him, + indeed, but obvious humanity. + </p> + <p> + “But why should I suffer?” he thought; “I've done + nothing. It's neither reasonable nor just.” + </p> + <p> + He hated the unhappy woman who was causing him these horrors of + uncertainty. Whenever he decided one way or other, the policeman's + face, with its tyrannical and muddy eyes, rose before him like a + nightmare, and forced him to an opposite conviction. He fell asleep at + last with the full determination to go and see what happened. + </p> + <p> + He woke with a sense of odd disturbance. “I can do no good by going,” + he thought, remembering, aid lying very still; “they 're + certain to believe the policeman; I shall only blacken myself for nothing;” + and the combat began again within him, but with far less fury. It was not + what other people thought, not even the risk of perjury that mattered (all + this he made quite clear)—it was Antonia. It was not fair to her to + put himself in such a false position; in fact, not decent. + </p> + <p> + He breakfasted. In the room were some Americans, and the face of one young + girl reminded him a little of Antonia. Fainter and fainter grew the + incident; it seemed to have its right proportions. + </p> + <p> + Two hours later, looking at the clock, he found that it was lunch-time. He + had not gone, had not committed perjury; but he wrote to a daily paper, + pointing out the danger run by the community from the power which a belief + in their infallibility places in the hands of the police—how, since + they are the sworn abettors of right and justice, their word is almost + necessarily taken to be gospel; how one and all they hang together, from + mingled interest and esprit de corps. Was it not, he said, reasonable to + suppose that amongst thousands of human beings invested with such + opportunities there would be found bullies who would take advantage of + them, and rise to distinction in the service upon the helplessness of the + unfortunate and the cowardice of people with anything to lose? Those who + had in their hands the sacred duties of selecting a practically + irresponsible body of men were bound, for the sake of freedom and + humanity, to exercise those duties with the utmost care and thoroughness . + . . . + </p> + <p> + However true, none of this helped him to think any better of himself at + heart, and he was haunted by the feeling that a stout and honest bit of + perjury was worth more than a letter to a daily paper. + </p> + <p> + He never saw his letter printed, containing, as it did, the germs of an + unpalatable truth. + </p> + <p> + In the afternoon he hired a horse, and galloped on Port Meadow. The strain + of his indecision over, he felt like a man recovering from an illness, and + he carefully abstained from looking at the local papers. There was that + within him, however, which resented the worsting of his chivalry. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX + </h2> + <h3> + HOLM OAKS + </h3> + <p> + Holm Oaks stood back but little from the road—an old manor-house, + not set upon display, but dwelling close to its barns, stables, and walled + gardens, like a good mother; long, flat-roofed, red, it had Queen Anne + windows, on whose white-framed diamond panes the sunbeams glinted. + </p> + <p> + In front of it a fringe of elms, of all trees the tree of most established + principle, bordered the stretch of turf between the gravel drive and road; + and these elms were the homes of rooks of all birds the most conventional. + A huge aspen—impressionable creature—shivered and shook + beyond, apologising for appearance among such imperturbable surroundings. + It was frequented by a cuckoo, who came once a year to hoot at the rules + of life, but seldom made long stay; for boys threw stones at it, + exasperated by the absence of its morals. + </p> + <p> + The village which clustered in the dip had not yet lost its dread of + motor-cars. About this group of flat-faced cottages with gabled roofs the + scent of hay, manure, and roses clung continually; just now the odour of + the limes troubled its servile sturdiness. Beyond the dip, again, a + square-towered church kept within grey walls the record of the village + flock, births, deaths, and marriages—even the births of bastards, + even the deaths of suicides—and seemed to stretch a hand invisible + above the heads of common folk to grasp the forgers of the manor-house. + Decent and discreet, the two roofs caught the eye to the exclusion of all + meaner dwellings, seeming to have joined in a conspiracy to keep them out + of sight. + </p> + <p> + The July sun had burned his face all the way from Oxford, yet pale was + Shelton when he walked up the drive and rang the bell. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Dennant at home, Dobson?” he asked of the grave butler, + who, old servant that he was, still wore coloured trousers (for it was not + yet twelve o'clock, and he regarded coloured trousers up to noon as + a sacred distinction between the footmen and himself). + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Dennant,” replied this personage, raising his round and + hairless face, while on his mouth appeared that apologetic pout which + comes of living with good families—“Mrs. Dennant has gone into + the village, sir; but Miss Antonia is in the morning-room.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton crossed the panelled, low-roofed hall, through whose far side the + lawn was visible, a vision of serenity. He mounted six wide, shallow + steps, and stopped. From behind a closed door there came the sound of + scales, and he stood, a prey to his emotions, the notes mingling in his + ears with the beating of his heart. He softly turned the handle, a fixed + smile on his lips. + </p> + <p> + Antonia was at the piano; her head was bobbing to the movements of her + fingers, and pressing down the pedals were her slim monotonously moving + feet. She had been playing tennis, for a racquet and her tam-o'-shanter + were flung down, and she was dressed in a blue skirt and creamy blouse, + fitting collarless about her throat. Her face was flushed, and wore a + little frown; and as her fingers raced along the keys, her neck swayed, + and the silk clung and shivered on her arms. + </p> + <p> + Shelton's eyes fastened on the silent, counting lips, on the fair + hair about her forehead, the darker eyebrows slanting down towards the + nose, the undimpled cheeks with the faint finger-marks beneath the + ice-blue eyes, the softly-pouting and undimpled chin, the whole remote, + sweet, suntouched, glacial face. + </p> + <p> + She turned her head, and, springing up, cried: + </p> + <p> + “Dick! What fun!” She gave him both her hands, but her smiling + face said very plainly, “Oh; don't let us be sentimental!” + </p> + <p> + “Are n't you glad to see me?” muttered Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “Glad to see you! You are funny, Dick!—as if you did n't + know! Why, you 've shaved your beard! Mother and Sybil have gone + into the village to see old Mrs. Hopkins. Shall we go out? Thea and the + boys are playing tennis. It's so jolly that you 've come!” + She caught up the tam-o'-shanter, and pinned it to her hair. Almost + as tall as Shelton, she looked taller, with arms raised and loose sleeves + quivering like wings to the movements of her fingers. “We might have + a game before lunch; you can have my other racquet.” + </p> + <p> + “I've got no things,” said Shelton blankly. + </p> + <p> + Her calm glance ran over him. + </p> + <p> + “You can have some of old Bernard's; he's got any + amount. I'll wait for you.” She swung her racquet, looked at + Shelton, cried, “Be quick!” and vanished. + </p> + <p> + Shelton ran up-stairs, and dressed in the undecided way of men assuming + other people's clothes. She was in the hall when he descended, + humming a tune and prodding at her shoe; her smile showed all her pearly + upper teeth. He caught hold of her sleeve and whispered: + </p> + <p> + “Antonia!” + </p> + <p> + The colour rushed into her cheeks; she looked back across her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Come along, old Dick!” she cried; and, flinging open the + glass door, ran into the garden. + </p> + <p> + Shelton followed. + </p> + <p> + The tennis-ground was divided by tall netting from a paddock. A holm oak + tree shaded one corner, and its thick dark foliage gave an unexpected + depth to the green smoothness of the scene. As Shelton and Antonia came + up, Bernard Dennant stopped and cordially grasped Shelton's hand. + From the far side of the net Thea, in a shortish skirt, tossed back her + straight fair hair, and, warding off the sun, came strolling up to them. + The umpire, a small boy of twelve, was lying on his stomach, squealing and + tickling a collie. Shelton bent and pulled his hair. + </p> + <p> + “Hallo, Toddles! you young ruffian!” + </p> + <p> + One and all they stood round Shelton, and there was a frank and pitiless + inquiry in their eyes, in the angle of their noses something chaffing and + distrustful, as though about him were some subtle poignant scent exciting + curiosity and disapproval. + </p> + <p> + When the setts were over, and the girls resting in the double hammock + underneath the holm oak, Shelton went with Bernard to the paddock to hunt + for the lost balls. + </p> + <p> + “I say, old chap,” said his old school-fellow, smiling dryly, + “you're in for a wigging from the Mater.” + </p> + <p> + “A wigging?” murmured Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know much about it, but from something she let drop + it seems you've been saying some queer things in your letters to + Antonia”; and again he looked at Shelton with his dry smile. + </p> + <p> + “Queer things?” said the latter angrily. “What d' + you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't ask me. The Mater thinks she's in a bad way—unsettled, + or what d' you call at. You've been telling her that things + are not what they seem. That's bad, you know”; and still + smiling he shook his head. + </p> + <p> + Shelton dropped his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Well, they are n't!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's all right! But don't bring your philosophy + down here, old chap.” + </p> + <p> + “Philosophy!” said Shelton, puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “Leave us a sacred prejudice or two.” + </p> + <p> + “Sacred! Nothing's sacred, except—” But Shelton + did not finish his remark. “I don't understand,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + “Ideals, that sort of thing! You've been diving down below the + line of 'practical politics,' that's about the size of + it, my boy”; and, stooping suddenly, he picked up the last ball. + “There is the Mater!” Shelton saw Mrs. Dennant coming down the + lawn with her second daughter, Sybil. + </p> + <p> + By the time they reached the holm oak the three girls had departed towards + the house, walking arm in arm, and Mrs. Dennant was standing there alone, + in a grey dress, talking to an undergardener. Her hands, cased in tan + gauntlets, held a basket which warded off the bearded gardener from the + severe but ample lines of her useful-looking skirt. The collie, erect upon + his haunches, looked at their two faces, pricking his ears in his + endeavour to appreciate how one of these two bipeds differed from the + other. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you; that 'll do, Bunyan. Ah, Dick! Charmin' to + see you here, at last!” + </p> + <p> + In his intercourse with Mrs. Dennant, Shelton never failed to mark the + typical nature of her personality. It always seemed to him that he had met + so many other ladies like her. He felt that her undoubtable quality had a + non-individual flavour, as if standing for her class. She thought that + standing for herself was not the thing; yet she was full of character. + Tall, with nose a trifle beaked, long, sloping chin, and an assured, + benevolent mouth, showing, perhaps, too many teeth—though thin, she + was not unsubstantial. Her accent in speaking showed her heritage; it was + a kind of drawl which disregarded vulgar merits such as tone; leaned on + some syllables, and despised the final 'g'—the peculiar + accent, in fact, of aristocracy, adding its deliberate joys to life. + </p> + <p> + Shelton knew that she had many interests; she was never really idle, from + the time (7 A.M.) when her maid brought her a little china pot of tea with + a single biscuit and her pet dog, Tops, till eleven o'clock at + night, when she lighted a wax candle in a silver candlestick, and with + this in one hand, and in the other a new novel, or, better still, one of + those charming volumes written by great people about the still greater + people they have met, she said good-night to her children and her guests. + No! What with photography, the presidency of a local league, visiting the + rich, superintending all the poor, gardening, reading, keeping all her + ideas so tidy that no foreign notions might stray in, she was never idle. + The information she collected from these sources was both vast and varied, + but she never let it flavour her opinions, which lacked sauce, and were + drawn from some sort of dish into which, with all her class, she dipped + her fingers. + </p> + <p> + He liked her. No one could help liking her. She was kind, and of such good + quality, with a suggestion about her of thin, excellent, and useful china; + and she was scented, too—not with verbena, violets, or those + essences which women love, but with nothing, as if she had taken stand + against all meretricity. In her intercourse with persons not “quite + the thing” (she excepted the vicar from this category, though his + father had dealt in haberdashery), her refinement, gently, unobtrusively, + and with great practical good sense, seemed continually to murmur, “I + am, and you—well, are you, don't you know?” But there + was no self-consciousness about this attitude, for she was really not a + common woman. She simply could not help it; all her people had done this. + Their nurses breathed above them in their cradles something that, inhaled + into their systems, ever afterwards prevented them from taking good, clear + breaths. And her manner! Ah! her manner—it concealed the inner woman + so as to leave doubt of her existence! + </p> + <p> + Shelton listened to the kindly briskness with which she dwelt upon the + under-gardener. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Bunyan! he lost his wife six months ago, and was quite + cheerful just at first, but now he 's really too distressin'. + I 've done all I can to rouse him; it's so melancholy to see + him mopin'. And, my dear Dick, the way he mangles the new + rose-trees! I'm afraid he's goin' mad; I shall have to + send him away; poor fellow!” + </p> + <p> + It was clear that she sympathised with Bunyan, or, rather, believed him + entitled to a modicum of wholesome grief, the loss of wives being a + canonised and legal, sorrow. But excesses! O dear, no! + </p> + <p> + “I 've told him I shall raise his wages,” she sighed. + “He used to be such a splendid gardener! That reminds me, my dear + Dick; I want to have a talk with you. Shall we go in to lunch?” + </p> + <p> + Consulting the memorandum-book in which she had been noting the case of + Mrs. Hopkins, she slightly preceded Shelton to the house. + </p> + <p> + It was somewhat late that afternoon when Shelton had his “wigging”; + nor did it seem to him, hypnotised by the momentary absence of Antonia, + such a very serious affair. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Dick,” the Honourable Mrs. Dennant said, in her decisive + drawl, “I don't think it 's right to put ideas into + Antonia's head.” + </p> + <p> + “Ideas!” murmured Shelton in confusion. + </p> + <p> + “We all know,” continued Mrs. Dennant, “that things are + not always what they ought to be.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton looked at her; she was seated at her writing-table, addressing in + her large, free writing a dinner invitation to a bishop. There was not the + faintest trace of awkwardness about her, yet Shelton could not help a + certain sense of shock. If she—she—did not think things were + what they ought to be—in a bad way things must be indeed! + </p> + <p> + “Things!” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Dennant looked at him firmly but kindly with the eyes that would + remind him of a hare's. + </p> + <p> + “She showed me some of your letters, you know. Well, it 's not + a bit of use denyin', my dear Dick, that you've been thinkin' + too much lately.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton perceived that he had done her an injustice; she handled “things” + as she handled under-gardeners—put them away when they showed signs + of running to extremes. + </p> + <p> + “I can't help that, I 'm afraid,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “My dear boy! you'll never get on that way. Now, I want you to + promise me you won't talk to Antonia about those sort of things.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton raised his eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you know what I mean!” + </p> + <p> + He saw that to press Mrs. Dennant to say what she meant by “things” + would really hurt her sense of form; it would be cruel to force her thus + below the surface! + </p> + <p> + He therefore said, “Quite so!” + </p> + <p> + To his extreme surprise, flushing the peculiar and pathetic flush of women + past their prime, she drawled out: + </p> + <p> + “About the poor—and criminals—and marriages—there + was that wedding, don't you know?” + </p> + <p> + Shelton bowed his head. Motherhood had been too strong for her; in her + maternal flutter she had committed the solecism of touching in so many + words on “things.” + </p> + <p> + “Does n't she really see the fun,” he thought, “in + one man dining out of gold and another dining in the gutter; or in two + married people living on together in perfect discord 'pour + encourages les autres', or in worshipping Jesus Christ and claiming + all her rights at the same time; or in despising foreigners because they + are foreigners; or in war; or in anything that is funny?” But he did + her a certain amount of justice by recognising that this was natural, + since her whole life had been passed in trying not to see the fun in all + these things. + </p> + <p> + But Antonia stood smiling in the doorway. Brilliant and gay she looked, + yet resentful, as if she knew they had been talking of her. She sat down + by Shelton's side, and began asking him about the youthful foreigner + whom he had spoken of; and her eyes made him doubt whether she, too, saw + the fun that lay in one human being patronising others. + </p> + <p> + “But I suppose he's really good,” she said, “I + mean, all those things he told you about were only—” + </p> + <p> + “Good!” he answered, fidgeting; “I don't really + know what the word means.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes clouded. “Dick, how can you?” they seemed to say. + </p> + <p> + Shelton stroked her sleeve. + </p> + <p> + “Tell us about Mr. Crocker,” she said, taking no heed of his + caress. + </p> + <p> + “The lunatic!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Lunatic! Why, in your letters he was splendid.” + </p> + <p> + “So he is,” said Shelton, half ashamed; “he's not + a bit mad, really—that is, I only wish I were half as mad.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's that mad?” queried Mrs. Dennant from behind the + urn—“Tom Crocker? Ah, yes! I knew his mother; she was a + Springer.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he do it in the week?” said Thea, appearing in the window + with a kitten. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” Shelton was obliged to answer. + </p> + <p> + Thea shook back her hair. + </p> + <p> + “I call it awfully slack of you not to have found out,” she + said. + </p> + <p> + Antonia frowned. + </p> + <p> + “You were very sweet to that young foreigner, Dick,” she + murmured with a smile at Shelton. “I wish that we could see him.” + </p> + <p> + But Shelton shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me,” he muttered, “that I did about as + little for him as I could.” + </p> + <p> + Again her face grew thoughtful, as though his words had chilled her. + </p> + <p> + “I don't see what more you could have done,” she + answered. + </p> + <p> + A desire to get close to her, half fear, half ache, a sense of futility + and bafflement, an inner burning, made him feel as though a flame were + licking at his heart. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI + </h2> + <h3> + ENGLISH + </h3> + <p> + Just as Shelton was starting to walk back to Oxford he met Mr. Dennant + coming from a ride. Antonia's father was a spare man of medium + height, with yellowish face, grey moustache, ironical eyebrows, and some + tiny crow's-feet. In his old, short grey coat, with a little slit up + the middle of the back, his drab cord breeches, ancient mahogany leggings, + and carefully blacked boats, he had a dry, threadbare quality not without + distinction. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Shelton!” he said, in his quietly festive voice; “glad + to see the pilgrim here, at last. You're not off already?” + and, laying his hand on Shelton's arm, he proposed to walk a little + way with him across the fields. + </p> + <p> + This was the first time they had met since the engagement; and Shelton + began to nerve himself to express some sentiment, however bald, about it. + He squared his shoulders, cleared his throat, and looked askance at Mr. + Dennant. That gentleman was walking stiffly, his cord breeches faintly + squeaking. He switched a yellow, jointed cane against his leggings, and + after each blow looked at his legs satirically. He himself was rather like + that yellow cane-pale, and slim, and jointed, with features arching just a + little, like the arching of its handle. + </p> + <p> + “They say it'll be a bad year for fruit,” Shelton said + at last. + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow, you don't know your farmer, I 'm + afraid. We ought to hang some farmers—do a world of good. Dear + souls! I've got some perfect strawberries.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said Shelton, glad to postpone the evil moment, + “in a climate like this a man must grumble.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so, quite so! Look at us poor slaves of land-owners; if I + couldn't abuse the farmers I should be wretched. Did you ever see + anything finer than this pasture? And they want me to lower their rents!” + </p> + <p> + And Mr. Dennant's glance satirically wavered, rested on Shelton, and + whisked back to the ground as though he had seen something that alarmed + him. There was a pause. + </p> + <p> + “Now for it!” thought the younger man. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Dennant kept his eyes fixed on his boots. + </p> + <p> + “If they'd said, now,” he remarked jocosely, “that + the frost had nipped the partridges, there 'd have been some sense + in it; but what can you expect? They've no consideration, dear + souls!” + </p> + <p> + Shelton took a breath, and, with averted eyes, he hurriedly began: + </p> + <p> + “It's awfully hard, sir, to—” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Dennant switched his cane against his shin. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “it 's awfully hard to put up + with, but what can a fellow do? One must have farmers. Why, if it was n't + for the farmers, there 'd be still a hare or two about the place!” + </p> + <p> + Shelton laughed spasmodically; again he glanced askance at his future + father-in-law. What did the waggling of his head mean, the deepening of + his crow's-feet, the odd contraction of the mouth? And his eye + caught Mr. Dennant's eye; its expression was queer above the fine, + dry nose (one of the sort that reddens in a wind). + </p> + <p> + “I've never had much to do with farmers,” he said at + last. + </p> + <p> + “Have n't you? Lucky fellow! The most—yes, quite the + most trying portion of the human species—next to daughters.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, you can hardly expect me—” began Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “I don't—oh, I don't! D 'you know, I really + believe we're in for a ducking.” + </p> + <p> + A large black cloud had covered up the sun, and some drops were spattering + on Mr. Dennant's hard felt hat. + </p> + <p> + Shelton welcomed the shower; it appeared to him an intervention on the + part of Providence. He would have to say something, but not now, later. + </p> + <p> + “I 'll go on,” he said; “I don't mind the + rain. But you'd better get back, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me! I've a tenant in this cottage,” said Mr. + Dennant in his, leisurely, dry manner “and a beggar he is to poach, + too. Least we can do 's to ask for a little shelter; what do you + think?” and smiling sarcastically, as though deprecating his + intention to keep dry, he rapped on the door of a prosperous-looking + cottage. + </p> + <p> + It was opened by a girl of Antonia's age and height. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Phoebe! Your father in?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied the girl, fluttering; “father's out, + Mr. Dennant.” + </p> + <p> + “So sorry! Will you let us bide a bit out of the rain?” + </p> + <p> + The sweet-looking Phoebe dusted them two chairs, and, curtseying, left + them in the parlour. + </p> + <p> + “What a pretty girl!” said Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she's a pretty girl; half the young fellows are after + her, but she won't leave her father. Oh, he 's a charming + rascal is that fellow!” + </p> + <p> + This remark suddenly brought home to Shelton the conviction that he was + further than ever from avoiding the necessity for speaking. He walked over + to the window. The rain was coming down with fury, though a golden line + far down the sky promised the shower's quick end. “For + goodness' sake,” he thought, “let me say something, + however idiotic, and get it over!” But he did not turn; a kind of + paralysis had seized on him. + </p> + <p> + “Tremendous heavy rain!” he said at last; “coming down + in waterspouts.” + </p> + <p> + It would have been just as easy to say: “I believe your daughter to + be the sweetest thing on earth; I love her, and I 'm going to make + her happy!” Just as easy, just about the same amount of breath + required; but he couldn't say it! He watched the rain stream and + hiss against the leaves and churn the dust on the parched road with its + insistent torrent; and he noticed with precision all the details of the + process going on outside how the raindrops darted at the leaves like + spears, and how the leaves shook themselves free a hundred times a minute, + while little runnels of water, ice-clear, rolled over their edges, soft + and quick. He noticed, too, the mournful head of a sheltering cow that was + chewing at the hedge. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Dennant had not replied to his remark about the rain. So disconcerting + was this silence that Shelton turned. His future father-in-law, upon his + wooden chair, was staring at his well-blacked boots, bending forward above + his parted knees, and prodding at the carpet; a glimpse at his face + disturbed Shelton's resolution. It was not forbidding, stern, + discouraging—not in the least; it had merely for the moment ceased + to look satirical. This was so startling that Shelton lost his chance of + speaking. There seemed a heart to Mr. Dennant's gravity; as though + for once he were looking grave because he felt so. But glancing up at + Shelton, his dry jocosity reappeared at once. + </p> + <p> + “What a day for ducks!” he said; and again there was + unmistakable alarm about the eye. Was it possible that he, too, dreaded + something? + </p> + <p> + “I can't express—” began Shelton hurriedly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it's beastly to get wet,” said Mr. Dennant, and he + sang— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “For we can wrestle and fight, my boys, + And jump out anywhere.” + </pre> + <p> + “You 'll be with us for that dinner-party next week, eh? + Capital! There's the Bishop of Blumenthal and old Sir Jack Buckwell; + I must get my wife to put you between them—” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “For it's my delight of a starry night—” + </pre> + <p> + “The Bishop's a great anti-divorce man, and old Buckwell + 's been in the court at least twice—” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “In the season of the year!” + </pre> + <p> + “Will you please to take some tea, gentlemen?” said the voice + of Phoebe in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you, Phoebe. That girl ought to get married,” went + on Mr. Dennant, as Phoebe blushingly withdrew. A flush showed queerly on + his sallow cheeks. “A shame to keep her tied like this to her father's + apron-strings—selfish fellow, that!” He looked up sharply, as + if he had made a dangerous remark. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The keeper he was watching us, + For him we did n't care! +</pre> + <p> + Shelton suddenly felt certain that Antonia's father was just as + anxious to say something expressive of his feelings, and as unable as + himself. And this was comforting. + </p> + <p> + “You know, sir—” he began. + </p> + <p> + But Mr. Dennant's eyebrows rose, his crow's-feet twinkled; his + personality seemed to shrink together. + </p> + <p> + “By Jove!” he said, “it's stopped! Now's our + chance! Come along, my dear fellow; delays are dangerous!” and with + his bantering courtesy he held the door for Shelton to pass out. “I + think we'll part here,” he said—“I almost think + so. Good luck to you!” + </p> + <p> + He held out his dry, yellow hand. Shelton seized it, wrung it hard, and + muttered the word: + </p> + <p> + “Grateful!” + </p> + <p> + Again Mr. Dennant's eyebrows quivered as if they had been tweaked; + he had been found out, and he disliked it. The colour in his face had died + away; it was calm, wrinkled, dead-looking under the flattened, narrow brim + of his black hat; his grey moustache drooped thinly; the crow's-feet + hardened round his eyes; his nostrils were distended by the queerest + smile. + </p> + <p> + “Gratitude!” he said; “almost a vice, is n't it? + Good-night!” + </p> + <p> + Shelton's face quivered; he raised his hat, and, turning as abruptly + as his senior, proceeded on his way. He had been playing in a comedy that + could only have been played in England. He could afford to smile now at + his past discomfort, having no longer the sense of duty unfulfilled. + Everything had been said that was right and proper to be said, in the way + that we such things should say. No violence had been done; he could afford + to smile—smile at himself, at Mr. Dennant, at to-morrow; smile at + the sweet aroma of the earth, the shy, unwilling sweetness that only rain + brings forth. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII + </h2> + <h3> + THE COUNTRY HOUSE + </h3> + <p> + The luncheon hour at Holm Oaks, was, as in many well-bred country houses—out + of the shooting season, be it understood—the soulful hour. The + ferment of the daily doings was then at its full height, and the clamour + of its conversation on the weather, and the dogs, the horses, neighbours, + cricket, golf, was mingled with a literary murmur; for the Dennants were + superior, and it was quite usual to hear remarks like these “Have + you read that charmin' thing of Poser's?” or, “Yes, + I've got the new edition of old Bablington: delightfully bound—so + light.” And it was in July that Holm Oaks, as a gathering-place of + the elect, was at its best. For in July it had become customary to welcome + there many of those poor souls from London who arrived exhausted by the + season, and than whom no seamstress in a two-pair back could better have + earned a holiday. The Dennants themselves never went to London for the + season. It was their good pleasure not to. A week or fortnight of it + satisfied them. They had a radical weakness for fresh air, and Antonia, + even after her presentation two seasons back, had insisted on returning + home, stigmatising London balls as “stuffy things.” + </p> + <p> + When Shelton arrived the stream had only just begun, but every day brought + fresh, or rather jaded, people to occupy the old, dark, sweet-smelling + bedrooms. Individually, he liked his fellow-guests, but he found himself + observing them. He knew that, if a man judged people singly, almost all + were better than himself; only when judged in bulk were they worthy of the + sweeping criticisms he felt inclined to pass on them. He knew this just as + he knew that the conventions, having been invented to prevent man + following his natural desires, were merely the disapproving sums of + innumerable individual approvals. + </p> + <p> + It was in the bulk; then, that he found himself observing. But with his + amiability and dread of notoriety he remained to all appearance a + well-bred, docile creature, and he kept his judgments to himself. + </p> + <p> + In the matter of intellect he made a rough division of the guests—those + who accepted things without a murmur, those who accepted them with carping + jocularity; in the matter of morals he found they all accepted things + without the semblance of a kick. To show sign of private moral judgment + was to have lost your soul, and, worse, to be a bit of an outsider. He + gathered this by intuition rather than from conversation; for conversation + naturally tabooed such questions, and was carried on in the loud and + cheerful tones peculiar to people of good breeding. Shelton had never been + able to acquire this tone, and he could not help feeling that the + inability made him more or less an object of suspicion. The atmosphere + struck him as it never had before, causing him to feel a doubt of his + gentility. Could a man suffer from passion, heart-searchings, or + misgivings, and remain a gentleman? It seemed improbable. One of his + fellow-guests, a man called Edgbaston, small-eyed and semi-bald, with a + dark moustache and a distinguished air of meanness, disconcerted him one + day by remarking of an unknown person, “A half-bred lookin' + chap; did n't seem to know his mind.” Shelton was harassed by + a horrid doubt. + </p> + <p> + Everything seemed divided into classes, carefully docketed and valued. For + instance, a Briton was of more value than a man, and wives than women. + Those things or phases of life with which people had no personal + acquaintance were regarded with a faint amusement and a certain + disapproval. The principles of the upper class, in fact, were strictly + followed. + </p> + <p> + He was in that hypersenstive and nervous state favourable for recording + currents foreign to itself. Things he had never before noticed now had + profound effect on him, such as the tone in which men spoke of women—not + precisely with hostility, nor exactly with contempt best, perhaps, + described as cultured jeering; never, of course, when men spoke of their + own wives, mothers, sisters, or immediate friends, but merely when they + spoke of any other women. He reflected upon this, and came to the + conclusion that, among the upper classes, each man's own property + was holy, while other women were created to supply him with gossip, jests, + and spice. Another thing that struck him was the way in which the war then + going on was made into an affair of class. In their view it was a baddish + business, because poor hack Blank and Peter Blank-Blank had lost their + lives, and poor Teddy Blank had now one arm instead of two. Humanity in + general was omitted, but not the upper classes, nor, incidentally, the + country which belonged to them. For there they were, all seated in a row, + with eyes fixed on the horizon of their lawns. + </p> + <p> + Late one evening, billiards and music being over and the ladies gone, + Shelton returned from changing to his smoking-suit, and dropped into one + of the great arm-chairs that even in summer made a semicircle round the + fendered hearth. Fresh from his good-night parting with Antonia, he sat + perhaps ten minutes before he began to take in all the figures in their + parti-coloured smoking jackets, cross-legged, with glasses in their hands, + and cigars between their teeth. + </p> + <p> + The man in the next chair roused him by putting down his tumbler with a + tap, and seating himself upon the cushioned fender. Through the mist of + smoke, with shoulders hunched, elbows and knees crooked out, cigar + protruding, beak-ways, below his nose, and the crimson collar of his + smoking jacket buttoned close as plumage on his breast, he looked a little + like a gorgeous bird. + </p> + <p> + “They do you awfully well,” he said. + </p> + <p> + A voice from the chair on Shelton's right replied, + </p> + <p> + “They do you better at Verado's.” + </p> + <p> + “The Veau d'.r 's the best place; they give you Turkish + baths for nothing!” drawled a fat man with a tiny mouth. + </p> + <p> + The suavity of this pronouncement enfolded all as with a blessing. And at + once, as if by magic, in the old, oak-panelled room, the world fell + naturally into its three departments: that where they do you well; that + where they do you better; and that where they give you Turkish baths for + nothing. + </p> + <p> + “If you want Turkish baths,” said a tall youth with clean red + face, who had come into the room, and stood, his mouth a little open, and + long feet jutting with sweet helplessness in front of him, “you + should go, you know, to Buda Pesth; most awfully rippin' there.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton saw an indescribable appreciation rise on every face, as though + they had been offered truffles or something equally delicious. + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, Poodles,” said the man perched on the fender. “A + Johnny I know tells me they 're nothing to Sofia.” His face + was transfigured by the subtle gloating of a man enjoying vice by proxy. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” drawled the small-mouthed man, “there 's + nothing fit to hold a candle to Baghda-ad.” + </p> + <p> + Once again his utterance enfolded all as with a blessing, and once again + the world fell into its three departments: that where they do you well; + that where they do you better; and—Baghdad. + </p> + <p> + Shelton thought to himself: “Why don't I know a place that's + better than Baghdad?” + </p> + <p> + He felt so insignificant. It seemed that he knew none of these delightful + spots; that he was of no use to any of his fellow-men; though privately he + was convinced that all these speakers were as ignorant as himself, and + merely found it warming to recall such things as they had heard, with that + peculiar gloating look. Alas! his anecdotes would never earn for him that + prize of persons in society, the label of a “good chap” and + “sportsman.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever been in Baghdad?” he feebly asked. + </p> + <p> + The fat man did not answer; he had begun an anecdote, and in his broad + expanse of face his tiny mouth writhed like a caterpillar. The anecdote + was humorous. + </p> + <p> + With the exception of Antonia, Shelton saw but little of the ladies, for, + following the well-known custom of the country house, men and women + avoided each other as much as might be. They met at meals, and + occasionally joined in tennis and in croquet; otherwise it seemed—almost + Orientally—agreed that they were better kept apart. + </p> + <p> + Chancing one day to enter the withdrawing room, while searching for + Antonia, he found that he had lighted on a feminine discussion; he would + have beaten a retreat, of course, but it seemed too obvious that he was + merely looking for his fiancee, so, sitting down, he listened. + </p> + <p> + The Honourable Charlotte Penguin, still knitting a silk tie—the + sixth since that she had been knitting at Hyeres—sat on the low + window-seat close to a hydrangea, the petals of whose round flowers almost + kissed her sanguine cheek. Her eyes were fixed with languid aspiration on + the lady who was speaking. This was a square woman of medium height, with + grey hair brushed from her low forehead, the expression of whose face was + brisk and rather cross. She was standing with a book, as if delivering a + sermon. Had she been a man she might have been described as a bright young + man of business; for, though grey, she never could be old, nor ever lose + the power of forming quick decisions. Her features and her eyes were + prompt and slightly hard, tinged with faith fanatical in the justice of + her judgments, and she had that fussy simpleness of dress which indicates + the right to meddle. Not red, not white, neither yellow nor quite blue, + her complexion was suffused with a certain mixture of these colours, + adapted to the climate; and her smile had a strange sour sweetness, like + nothing but the flavour of an apple on the turn. + </p> + <p> + “I don't care what they tell you,” she was saying—not + offensively, though her voice seemed to imply that she had no time to + waste in pleasing—“in all my dealings with them I've + found it best to treat them quite like children.” + </p> + <p> + A lady, behind the Times, smiled; her mouth—indeed, her whole hard, + handsome face—was reminiscent of dappled rocking-horses found in the + Soho Bazaar. She crossed her feet, and some rich and silk stuff rustled. + Her whole personality seemed to creak as, without looking, she answered in + harsh tones: + </p> + <p> + “I find the poor are most delightful persons.” + </p> + <p> + Sybil Dennant, seated on the sofa, with a feathery laugh shot a barking + terrier dog at Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “Here's Dick,” she said. “Well, Dick, what's + your opinion?” + </p> + <p> + Shelton looked around him, scared. The elder ladies who had spoken had + fixed their eyes on him, and in their gaze he read his utter + insignificance. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that young man!” they seemed to say. “Expect a + practical remark from him? Now, come!” + </p> + <p> + “Opinion,” he stammered, “of the poor? I haven't + any.” + </p> + <p> + The person on her feet, whose name was Mrs. Mattock, directing her + peculiar sweet-sour smile at the distinguished lady with the Times, said: + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you 've not had experience of them in London, Lady + Bonington?” + </p> + <p> + Lady Bonington, in answer, rustled. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do tell us about the slums, Mrs. Mattock!” cried Sybil. + </p> + <p> + “Slumming must be splendid! It's so deadly here—nothing + but flannel petticoats.” + </p> + <p> + “The poor, my dear,” began Mrs. Mattock, “are not the + least bit what you think them—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, d' you know, I think they're rather nice!” + broke in Aunt Charlotte close to the hydrangea. + </p> + <p> + “You think so?” said Mrs. Mattock sharply. “I find they + do nothing but grumble.” + </p> + <p> + “They don't grumble at me: they are delightful persons”, + and Lady Bonington gave Shelton a grim smile. + </p> + <p> + He could not help thinking that to grumble in the presence of that rich, + despotic personality would require a superhuman courage. + </p> + <p> + “They're the most ungrateful people in the world,” said + Mrs. Mattock. + </p> + <p> + “Why, then,” thought Shelton, “do you go amongst them?” + </p> + <p> + She continued, “One must do them good, one, must do one's + duty, but as to getting thanks—” + </p> + <p> + Lady Bonington sardonically said, + </p> + <p> + “Poor things! they have a lot to bear.” + </p> + <p> + “The little children!” murmured Aunt Charlotte, with a + flushing cheek and shining eyes; “it 's rather pathetic.” + </p> + <p> + “Children indeed!” said Mrs. Mattock. “It puts me out of + all patience to see the way that they neglect them. People are so + sentimental about the poor.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Bonington creaked again. Her splendid shoulders were wedged into her + chair; her fine dark hair, gleaming with silver, sprang back upon her + brow; a ruby bracelet glowed on the powerful wrist that held the journal; + she rocked her copper-slippered foot. She did not appear to be too + sentimental. + </p> + <p> + “I know they often have a very easy time,” said Mrs. Mattock, + as if some one had injured her severely. And Shelton saw, not without + pity, that Fate had scored her kind and squashed-up face with wrinkles, + whose tiny furrows were eloquent of good intentions frustrated by the + unpractical and discontented poor. “Do what you will, they are never + satisfied; they only resent one's help, or else they take the help + and never thank you for it!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” murmured Aunt Charlotte, “that's rather + hard.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton had been growing, more uneasy. He said abruptly: + </p> + <p> + “I should do the same if I were they.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mattock's brown eyes flew at him; Lady Bonington spoke to the + Times; her ruby bracelet and a bangle jingled. + </p> + <p> + “We ought to put ourselves in their places.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton could not help a smile; Lady Bonington in the places of the poor! + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” exclaimed Mrs. Mattock, “I put myself entirely in + their place. I quite understand their feelings. But ingratitude is a + repulsive quality.” + </p> + <p> + “They seem unable to put themselves in your place,” murmured + Shelton; and in a fit of courage he took the room in with a sweeping + glance. + </p> + <p> + Yes, that room was wonderfully consistent, with its air of perfect + second-handedness, as if each picture, and each piece of furniture, each + book, each lady present, had been made from patterns. They were all widely + different, yet all (like works of art seen in some exhibitions) had the + look of being after the designs of some original spirit. The whole room + was chaste, restrained, derived, practical, and comfortable; neither in + virtue nor in work, neither in manner, speech, appearance, nor in theory, + could it give itself away. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII + </h2> + <h3> + THE STAINED-GLASS MAN + </h3> + <p> + Still looking for Antonia, Shelton went up to the morning-room. Thea + Dennant and another girl were seated in the window, talking. From the look + they gave him he saw that he had better never have been born; he hastily + withdrew. Descending to the hall, he came on Mr. Dennant crossing to his + study, with a handful of official-looking papers. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Shelton!” said he, “you look a little lost. Is the + shrine invisible?” + </p> + <p> + Shelton grinned, said “Yes,” and went on looking. He was not + fortunate. In the dining-room sat Mrs. Dennant, making up her list of + books. + </p> + <p> + “Do give me your opinion, Dick,” she said. “Everybody + 's readin' this thing of Katherine Asterick's; I believe + it's simply because she's got a title.” + </p> + <p> + “One must read a book for some reason or other,” answered + Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” returned Mrs. Dennant, “I hate doin' + things just because other people do them, and I sha'n'. get + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Good!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Dennant marked the catalogue. + </p> + <p> + “Here 's Linseed's last, of course; though I must say I + don't care for him, but I suppose we ought to have it in the house. + And there's Quality's 'The Splendid Diatribes'. + that 's sure to be good, he's always so refined. But what am I + to do about this of Arthur Baal's? They say that he's a + charlatan, but everybody reads him, don't you know”; and over + the catalogue Shelton caught the gleam of hare-like eyes. + </p> + <p> + Decision had vanished from her face, with its arched nose and slightly + sloping chin, as though some one had suddenly appealed to her to trust her + instincts. It was quite pathetic. Still, there was always the book's + circulation to form her judgment by. + </p> + <p> + “I think I 'd better mark it,” she said, “don't + you? Were you lookin' for Antonia? If you come across Bunyan in the + garden, Dick, do say I want to see him; he's gettin' to be a + perfect nuisance. I can understand his feelin's, but really he + 's carryin' it too far.” + </p> + <p> + Primed with his message to the under-gardener, Shelton went. He took a + despairing look into the billiard-room. Antonia was not there. Instead, a + tall and fat-cheeked gentleman with a neat moustache, called Mabbey, was + practising the spot-stroke. He paused as Shelton entered, and, pouting + like a baby, asked in a sleepy voice, + </p> + <p> + “Play me a hundred up?” + </p> + <p> + Shelton shook his head, stammered out his sorrow, and was about to go. + </p> + <p> + The gentleman called Mabbey, plaintively feeling the places where his + moustaches joined his pink and glossy cheeks, asked with an air of some + surprise, + </p> + <p> + “What's your general game, then?” + </p> + <p> + “I really don't know,” said Shelton. + </p> + <p> + The gentleman called Mabbey chalked his cue, and, moving his round, + knock-kneed legs in their tight trousers, took up his position for the + stroke. + </p> + <p> + “What price that?” he said, as he regained the perpendicular; + and his well-fed eyes followed Shelton with sleepy inquisition. “Curious + dark horse, Shelton,” they seemed to say. + </p> + <p> + Shelton hurried out, and was about to run down the lower lawn, when he was + accosted by another person walking in the sunshine—a slight-built + man in a turned-down collar, with a thin and fair moustache, and a faint + bluish tint on one side of his high forehead, caused by a network of thin + veins. His face had something of the youthful, optimistic, stained-glass + look peculiar to the refined English type. He walked elastically, yet with + trim precision, as if he had a pleasant taste in furniture and churches, + and held the Spectator in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Shelton!” he said in high-tuned tones, halting his legs + in such an easy attitude that it was impossible to interrupt it: “come + to take the air?” + </p> + <p> + Shelton's own brown face, nondescript nose, and his amiable but + dogged chin contrasted strangely with the clear-cut features of the + stained-glass man. + </p> + <p> + “I hear from Halidome that you're going to stand for + Parliament,” the latter said. + </p> + <p> + Shelton, recalling Halidome's autocratic manner of settling other + people's business, smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Do I look like it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + The eyebrows quivered on the stained-glass man. It had never occurred to + him, perhaps, that to stand for Parliament a man must look like it; he + examined Shelton with some curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, well,” he said, “now you mention it, perhaps not.” + His eyes, so carefully ironical, although they differed from the eyes of + Mabbey, also seemed to ask of Shelton what sort of a dark horse he was. + </p> + <p> + “You 're still in the Domestic Office, then?” asked + Shelton. + </p> + <p> + The stained-glass man stooped to sniff a rosebush. “Yes,” he + said; “it suits me very well. I get lots of time for my art work.” + </p> + <p> + “That must be very interesting,” said Shelton, whose glance + was roving for Antonia; “I never managed to begin a hobby.” + </p> + <p> + “Never had a hobby!” said the stained-glass man, brushing back + his hair (he was walking with no hat); “why, what the deuce d' + you do?” + </p> + <p> + Shelton could not answer; the idea had never troubled him. + </p> + <p> + “I really don't know,” he said, embarrassed; “there's + always something going on, as far as I can see.” + </p> + <p> + The stained-glass man placed his hands within his pockets, and his bright + glance swept over his companion. + </p> + <p> + “A fellow must have a hobby to give him an interest in life,” + he said. + </p> + <p> + “An interest in life?” repeated Shelton grimly; “life + itself is good enough for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” replied the stained-glass man, as though he disapproved + of regarding life itself as interesting. + </p> + <p> + “That's all very well, but you want something more than that. + Why don't you take up woodcarving?” + </p> + <p> + “Wood-carving?” + </p> + <p> + “The moment I get fagged with office papers and that sort of thing I + take up my wood-carving; good as a game of hockey.” + </p> + <p> + “I have n't the enthusiasm.” + </p> + <p> + The eyebrows of the stained-glass man twitched; he twisted his moustache. + </p> + <p> + “You 'll find not having a hobby does n't pay,” he + said; “you 'll get old, then where 'll you be?” + </p> + <p> + It came as a surprise that he should use the words “it does n't + pay,” for he had a kind of partially enamelled look, like that + modern jewellery which really seems unconscious of its market value. + </p> + <p> + “You've given up the Bar? Don't you get awfully bored + having nothing to do?” pursued the stained-glass man, stopping + before an ancient sundial. + </p> + <p> + Shelton felt a delicacy, as a man naturally would, in explaining that + being in love was in itself enough to do. To do nothing is unworthy of a + man! But he had never felt as yet the want of any occupation. His silence + in no way disconcerted his acquaintance. + </p> + <p> + “That's a nice old article of virtue,” he said, pointing + with his chin; and, walking round the sundial, he made its acquaintance + from the other side. Its grey profile cast a thin and shortening shadow on + the turf; tongues of moss were licking at its sides; the daisies clustered + thick around its base; it had acquired a look of growing from the soil. + “I should like to get hold of that,” the stained-glass man + remarked; “I don't know when I 've seen a better + specimen,” and he walked round it once again. + </p> + <p> + His eyebrows were still ironically arched, but below them his eyes were + almost calculating, and below them, again, his mouth had opened just a + little. A person with a keener eye would have said his face looked greedy, + and even Shelton was surprised, as though he had read in the Spectator a + confession of commercialism. + </p> + <p> + “You could n't uproot a thing like that,” he said; + “it would lose all its charm.” + </p> + <p> + His companion turned impatiently, and his countenance looked wonderfully + genuine. + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't I?” he said. “By Jove! I thought so. + 1690! The best period.” He ran his forger round the sundial's + edge. “Splendid line-clean as the day they made it. You don't + seem to care much about that sort of thing”; and once again, as + though accustomed to the indifference of Vandals, his face regained its + mask. + </p> + <p> + They strolled on towards the kitchen gardens, Shelton still busy searching + every patch of shade. He wanted to say “Can't stop,” and + hurry off; but there was about the stained-glass man a something that, + while stinging Shelton's feelings, made the showing of them quite + impossible. “Feelings!” that person seemed to say; “all + very well, but you want more than that. Why not take up wood-carving? . . + . Feelings! I was born in England, and have been at Cambridge.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you staying long?” he asked Shelton. “I go on to + Halidome's to-morrow; suppose I sha'n'. see you there? + Good, chap, old Halidome! Collection of etchings very fine!” + </p> + <p> + “No; I 'm staying on,” said Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the stained-glass man, “charming people, the + Dennants!” + </p> + <p> + Shelton, reddening slowly, turned his head away; he picked a gooseberry, + and muttered, “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “The eldest girl especially; no nonsense about her. I thought she + was a particularly nice girl.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton heard this praise of Antonia with an odd sensation; it gave him + the reverse of pleasure, as though the words had cast new light upon her. + He grunted hastily, + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you know that we 're engaged?” + </p> + <p> + “Really!” said the stained-glass man, and again his bright, + clear, iron-committal glance swept over Shelton—“really! I + didn't know. Congratulate you!” + </p> + <p> + It was as if he said: “You're a man of taste; I should say she + would go well in almost any drawing-room!” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” said Shelton; “there she' is. If you'll + excuse me, I want to speak to her.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV + </h2> + <h3> + PARADISE + </h3> + <p> + Antonia, in a sunny angle of the old brick wall, amid the pinks and + poppies and cornflowers, was humming to herself. Shelton saw the + stained-glass man pass out of sight, then, unobserved, he watched her + smelling at the flowers, caressing her face with each in turn, casting + away spoiled blossoms, and all the time humming that soft tune. + </p> + <p> + In two months, or three, all barriers between himself and this inscrutable + young Eve would break; she would be a part of him, and he a part of her; + he would know all her thoughts, and she all his; together they would be as + one, and all would think of them, and talk of them, as one; and this would + come about by standing half an hour together in a church, by the passing + of a ring, and the signing of their names. + </p> + <p> + The sun was burnishing her hair—she wore no hat flushing her cheeks, + sweetening and making sensuous her limbs; it had warmed her through and + through, so that, like the flowers and bees, the sunlight and the air, she + was all motion, light, and colour. + </p> + <p> + She turned and saw Shelton standing there. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Dick!” she said: “Lend me your hand-kerchief to put + these flowers in, there 's a good boy!” + </p> + <p> + Her candid eyes, blue as the flowers in her hands, were clear and cool as + ice, but in her smile was all the warm profusion of that corner; the + sweetness had soaked into her, and was welling forth again. The sight of + those sun-warmed cheeks, and fingers twining round the flower-stalks, her + pearly teeth, and hair all fragrant, stole the reason out of Shelton. He + stood before her, weak about the knees. + </p> + <p> + “Found you at last!” he said. + </p> + <p> + Curving back her neck, she cried out, “Catch!” and with a + sweep of both her hands flung the flowers into Shelton's arms. + </p> + <p> + Under the rain of flowers, all warm and odorous, he dropped down on his + knees, and put them one by one together, smelling at the pinks, to hide + the violence of his feelings. Antonia went on picking flowers, and every + time her hand was full she dropped them on his hat, his shoulder, or his + arms, and went on plucking more; she smiled, and on her lips a little + devil danced, that seemed to know what he was suffering. And Shelton felt + that she did know. + </p> + <p> + “Are you tired?” she asked; “there are heaps more + wanted. These are the bedroom-flowers—fourteen lots. I can't + think how people can live without flowers, can you?” and close above + his head she buried her face in pinks. + </p> + <p> + He kept his eyes on the plucked flowers before him on the grass, and + forced himself to answer, + </p> + <p> + “I think I can hold out.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor old Dick!” She had stepped back. The sun lit the + clear-cut profile of her cheek, and poured its gold over the bosom of her + blouse. “Poor old Dick! Awfully hard luck, is n't it?” + Burdened with mignonette, she came so close again that now she touched his + shoulder, but Shelton did not look; breathless, with wildly beating heart, + he went on sorting out the flowers. The seeds of mignonette rained on his + neck, and as she let the blossoms fall, their perfume fanned his face. + “You need n't sort them out!” she said. + </p> + <p> + Was she enticing him? He stole a look; but she was gone again, swaying and + sniffing at the flowers. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I'm only hindering you,” he growled; “I + 'd better go.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I like to see you on your knees, you look so funny!” and as + she spoke she flung a clove carnation at him. “Does n't it + smell good?” + </p> + <p> + “Too good Oh, Antonia! why are you doing this?” + </p> + <p> + “Why am I doing what?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you know what you are doing?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, picking flowers!” and once more she was back, bending + and sniffing at the blossoms. + </p> + <p> + “That's enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no,” she called; “it's not not nearly. + </p> + <p> + “Keep on putting them together, if you love me.” + </p> + <p> + “You know I love you,” answered Shelton, in a smothered voice. + </p> + <p> + Antonia gazed at him across her shoulder; puzzled and inquiring was her + face. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not a bit like you,” she said. “What will you + have for your room?” + </p> + <p> + “Choose!” + </p> + <p> + “Cornflowers and clove pinks. Poppies are too frivolous, and pinks + too—” + </p> + <p> + “White,” said Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “And mignonette too hard and—” + </p> + <p> + “Sweet. Why cornflowers?” + </p> + <p> + Antonia stood before him with her hands against her sides; her figure was + so slim and young, her face uncertain and so grave. + </p> + <p> + “Because they're dark and deep.” + </p> + <p> + “And why clove pinks?” + </p> + <p> + Antonia did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “And why clove pinks?” + </p> + <p> + “Because,” she said, and, flushing, touched a bee that had + settled on her skirt, “because of something in you I don't + understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! And what flowers shall t give YOU?” + </p> + <p> + She put her hands behind her. + </p> + <p> + “There are all the other flowers for me.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton snatched from the mass in front of him an Iceland poppy with + straight stem and a curved neck, white pinks, and sprigs of hard, sweet + mignonette, and held it out to her. + </p> + <p> + “There,” he said, “that's you.” But Antonia + did not move. + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, it is n't!” and behind her back her fingers + slowly crushed the petals of a blood-red poppy. She shook her head, + smiling a brilliant smile. The blossoms fell, he flung his arms around + her, and kissed her on the lips. + </p> + <p> + But his hands dropped; not fear exactly, nor exactly shame, had come to + him. She had not resisted, but he had kissed the smile away; had kissed a + strange, cold, frightened look, into her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “She did n't mean to tempt me, then,” he thought, in + surprise and anger. “What did she mean?” and, like a scolded + dog, he kept his troubled watch upon her face. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV + </h2> + <h3> + THE RIDE + </h3> + <p> + “Where now?” Antonia asked, wheeling her chestnut mare, as + they turned up High Street, Oxford City. “I won't go back the + same way, Dick!” + </p> + <p> + “We could have a gallop on Port Meadow, cross the Upper River twice, + and get home that way; but you 'll be tired.” + </p> + <p> + Antonia shook her head. Aslant her cheek the brim of a straw hat threw a + curve of shade, her ear glowed transparent in the sun. + </p> + <p> + A difference had come in their relations since that kiss; outwardly she + was the same good comrade, cool and quick. But as before a change one + feels the subtle difference in the temper of the wind, so Shelton was + affected by the inner change in her. He had made a blot upon her candour; + he had tried to rub it out again, but there was left a mark, and it was + ineffaceable. Antonia belonged to the most civilised division of the race + most civilised in all the world, whose creed is “Let us love and + hate, let us work and marry, but let us never give ourselves away; to give + ourselves away is to leave a mark, and that is past forgive ness. Let our + lives be like our faces, free from every kind of wrinkle, even those of + laughter; in this way alone can we be really civilised.” + </p> + <p> + He felt that she was ruffled by a vague discomfort. That he should give + himself away was natural, perhaps, and only made her wonder, but that he + should give her the feeling that she had given herself away was a very + different thing. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mind if I just ask at the Bishop's Head for letters?” + he said, as they passed the old hotel. + </p> + <p> + A dirty and thin envelope was brought to him, addressed “Mr. Richard + Shelton, Esq.,” in handwriting that was passionately clear, as + though the writer had put his soul into securing delivery of the letter. + It was dated three days back, and, as they rode away, Shelton read as + follows: + </p> + <p> + IMPERIAL PEACOCK HOTEL, FOLKESTONE. MON CHER MONSIEUR SHELTON, + </p> + <p> + This is already the third time I have taken up pen to write to you, but, + having nothing but misfortune to recount, I hesitated, awaiting better + days. Indeed, I have been so profoundly discouraged that if I had not + thought it my duty to let you know of my fortunes I know not even now if I + should have found the necessary spirit. 'Les choses vont de mal en + mal'. From what I hear there has never been so bad a season here. + Nothing going on. All the same, I am tormented by a mob of little matters + which bring me not sufficient to support my life. I know not what to do; + one thing is certain, in no case shall I return here another year. The + patron of this hotel, my good employer, is one of those innumerable + specimens who do not forge or steal because they have no need, and if they + had would lack the courage; who observe the marriage laws because they + have been brought up to believe in them, and know that breaking them + brings risk and loss of reputation; who do not gamble because they dare + not; do not drink because it disagrees with them; go to church because + their neighbours go, and to procure an appetite for the mid-day meal; + commit no murder because, not transgressing in any other fashion, they are + not obliged. What is there to respect in persons of this sort? Yet they + are highly esteemed, and form three quarters of Society. The rule with + these good gentlemen is to shut their eyes, never use their thinking + powers, and close the door on all the dogs of life for fear they should + get bitten. + </p> + <p> + Shelton paused, conscious of Antonia's eyes fixed on him with the + inquiring look that he had come to dread. In that chilly questioning she + seemed to say: “I am waiting. I am prepared to be told things—that + is, useful things—things that help one to believe without the risk + of too much thinking.” + </p> + <p> + “It's from that young foreigner,” he said; and went on + reading to himself. + </p> + <p> + I have eyes, and here I am; I have a nose 'pour, flairer le humbug'. + I see that amongst the value of things nothing is the equal of “free + thought.” Everything else they can take from me, 'on ne pent + pas m'oter cela'. I see no future for me here, and certainly + should have departed long ago if I had had the money, but, as I have + already told you, all that I can do barely suffices to procure me 'de + quoi vivre'. 'Je me sens ecceuye'. Do not pay too much + attention to my Jeremiads; you know what a pessimist I am. 'Je ne + perds pas courage'. + </p> + <p> + Hoping that you are well, and in the cordial pressing of your hand, I + subscribe myself, + </p> + <p> + Your very devoted + </p> + <p> + LOUIS FERRAND. + </p> + <p> + He rode with the letter open in his hand, frowning at the curious turmoil + which Ferrand excited in his heart. It was as though this foreign vagrant + twanged within him a neglected string, which gave forth moans of a mutiny. + </p> + <p> + “What does he say?” Antonia asked. + </p> + <p> + Should he show it to her? If he might not, what should he do when they + were married? + </p> + <p> + “I don't quite know,” he said at last; “it 's + not particularly cheering.” + </p> + <p> + “What is he like, Dick—I mean, to look at? Like a gentleman, + or what?” + </p> + <p> + Shelton stifled a desire to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “He looks very well in a frock-coat,” he replied; “his + father was a wine merchant.” + </p> + <p> + Antonia flicked her whip against her skirt. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” she murmured, “I don't want to hear + if there's anything I ought not.” + </p> + <p> + But instead of soothing Shelton, these words had just the opposite effect. + His conception of the ideal wife was not that of one from whom the half of + life must be excluded. + </p> + <p> + “It's only,” he stammered again, “that it's + not cheerful.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, all right!” she cried, and, touching her horse, flew off + in front. “I hate dismal things.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton bit his lips. It was not his fault that half the world was dark. + He knew her words were loosed against himself, and, as always at a sign of + her displeasure, was afraid. He galloped after her on the scorched turf. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” he said. “You 're angry with me!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no!” + </p> + <p> + “Darling, I can't help it if things are n't cheerful. We + have eyes,” he added, quoting from the letter. + </p> + <p> + Antonia did not look at him; but touched her horse again. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't want to see the gloomy side,” she said, + “and I can't see why YOU should. It's wicked to be + discontented;” and she galloped off. + </p> + <p> + It was not his fault if there were a thousand different kinds of men, a + thousand different points of view, outside the fence of her experience! + “What business,” he thought, digging in his dummy spurs, + “has our class to patronise? We 're the only people who have n't + an idea of what life really means.” Chips of dried turf and dust + came flying back, stinging his face. He gained on her, drew almost within + reach, then, as though she had been playing with him, was left hopelessly + behind. + </p> + <p> + She stooped under the far hedge, fanning her flushed face with + dock-leaves: + </p> + <p> + “Aha, Dick! I knew you'd never catch me” and she patted + the chestnut mare, who turned her blowing muzzle with contemptuous humour + towards Shelton's steed, while her flanks heaved rapturously, + gradually darkening with sweat. + </p> + <p> + “We'd better take them steadily,” grunted Shelton, + getting off and loosening his girths, “if we mean to get home at + all.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be cross, Dick!” + </p> + <p> + “We oughtn't to have galloped them like this; they 're + not in condition. We'd better go home the way we came.” + </p> + <p> + Antonia dropped the reins, and straightened her back hair. + </p> + <p> + “There 's no fun in that,” she said. “Out and back + again; I hate a dog's walk.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said Shelton; he would have her longer to + himself! + </p> + <p> + The road led up and up a hill, and from the top a vision of Saxonia lay + disclosed in waves of wood and pasture. Their way branched down a gateless + glade, and Shelton sidled closer till his knee touched the mare's + off-flank. + </p> + <p> + Antonia's profile conjured up visions. She was youth itself; her + eyes so brilliant, and so innocent, her cheeks so glowing, and her brow + unruffled; but in her smile and in the setting of her jaw lurked something + resolute and mischievous. Shelton put his hand out to the mare's + mane. + </p> + <p> + “What made you promise to marry me?” he said. + </p> + <p> + She smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what made you?” + </p> + <p> + “I?” cried Shelton. + </p> + <p> + She slipped her hand over his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Dick!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I want,” he stammered, “to be everything to you. Do you + think I shall?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course!” + </p> + <p> + Of course! The words seemed very much or very little. + </p> + <p> + She looked down at the river, gleaming below the glade in a curving silver + line. “Dick, there are such a lot of splendid things that we might + do.” + </p> + <p> + Did she mean, amongst those splendid things, that they might understand + each other; or were they fated to pretend to only, in the old + time-honoured way? + </p> + <p> + They crossed the river by a ferry, and rode a long time in silence, while + the twilight slowly fell behind the aspens. And all the beauty of the + evening, with its restless leaves, its grave young moon, and lighted + campion flowers, was but a part of her; the scents, the witchery and + shadows, the quaint field noises, the yokels' whistling, and the + splash of water-fowl, each seemed to him enchanted. The flighting bats, + the forms of the dim hayricks, and sweet-brier perfume-she summed them all + up in herself. The fingermarks had deepened underneath her eyes, a languor + came upon her; it made her the more sweet and youthful. Her shoulders + seemed to bear on them the very image of our land—grave and + aspiring, eager yet contained—before there came upon that land the + grin of greed, the folds of wealth, the simper of content. Fair, + unconscious, free! + </p> + <p> + And he was silent, with a beating heart. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI + </h2> + <h3> + THE BIRD 'OF PASSAGE + </h3> + <p> + That night, after the ride, when Shelton was about to go to bed, his eyes + fell on Ferrand's letter, and with a sleepy sense of duty he began + to read it through a second time. In the dark, oak-panelled bedroom, his + four-post bed, with back of crimson damask and its dainty sheets, was + lighted by the candle glow; the copper pitcher of hot water in the basin, + the silver of his brushes, and the line of his well-polished boots all + shone, and Shelton's face alone was gloomy, staring at the yellowish + paper in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “The poor chap wants money, of course,” he thought. But why go + on for ever helping one who had no claim on him, a hopeless case, + incurable—one whom it was his duty to let sink for the good of the + community at large? Ferrand's vagabond refinement had beguiled him + into charity that should have been bestowed on hospitals, or any + charitable work but foreign missions. To give a helping hand, a bit of + himself, a nod of fellowship to any fellow-being irrespective of a claim, + merely because he happened to be down, was sentimental nonsense! The line + must be drawn! But in the muttering of this conclusion he experienced a + twinge of honesty. “Humbug! You don't want to part with your + money, that's all!” + </p> + <p> + So, sitting down in shirt-sleeves at his writing table, he penned the + following on paper stamped with the Holm Oaks address and crest: + </p> + <p> + MY DEAR FERRAND, + </p> + <p> + I am sorry you are having such a bad spell. You seem to be dead out of + luck. I hope by the time you get this things will have changed for the + better. I should very much like to see you again and have a talk, but + shall be away for some time longer, and doubt even when I get back whether + I should be able to run down and look you up. Keep me 'au courant' + as to your movements. I enclose a cheque. + </p> + <p> + Yours sincerely, + </p> + <p> + RICHARD SHELTON. + </p> + <p> + Before he had written out the cheque, a moth fluttering round the candle + distracted his attention, and by the time he had caught and put it out he + had forgotten that the cheque was not enclosed. The letter, removed with + his clothes before he was awake, was posted in an empty state. + </p> + <p> + One morning a week later he was sitting in the smoking-room in the company + of the gentleman called Mabbey, who was telling him how many grouse he had + deprived of life on August 12 last year, and how many he intended to + deprive of life on August 12 this year, when the door was opened, and the + butler entered, carrying his head as though it held some fatal secret. + </p> + <p> + “A young man is asking for you, sir,” he said to Shelton, + bending down discreetly; “I don't know if you would wish to + see him, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “A young man!” repeated Shelton; “what sort of a young + man?” + </p> + <p> + “I should say a sort of foreigner, sir,” apologetically + replied the butler. “He's wearing a frock-coat, but he looks + as if he had been walking a good deal.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton rose with haste; the description sounded to him ominous. + </p> + <p> + “Where is he?” + </p> + <p> + “I put him in the young ladies' little room, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Shelton; “I 'll come and see + him. Now, what the deuce!” he thought, running down the stairs. + </p> + <p> + It was with a queer commingling of pleasure and vexation that he entered + the little chamber sacred to the birds, beasts, racquets, golf-clubs, and + general young ladies' litter. Ferrand was standing underneath the + cage of a canary, his hands folded on his pinched-up hat, a nervous smile + upon his lips. He was dressed in Shelton's old frock-coat, tightly + buttoned, and would have cut a stylish figure but far his look of travel. + He wore a pair of pince-nez, too, which somewhat veiled his cynical blue + eyes, and clashed a little with the pagan look of him. In the midst of the + strange surroundings he still preserved that air of knowing, and being + master of, his fate, which was his chief attraction. + </p> + <p> + “I 'm glad to see you,” said Shelton, holding out his + hand. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive this liberty,” began Ferrand, “but I thought it + due to you after all you've done for me not to throw up my efforts + to get employment in England without letting you know first. I'm + entirely at the end of my resources.” + </p> + <p> + The phrase struck Shelton as one that he had heard before. + </p> + <p> + “But I wrote to you,” he said; “did n't you get my + letter?” + </p> + <p> + A flicker passed across the vagrant's face; he drew the letter from + his pocket and held it out. + </p> + <p> + “Here it is, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton stared at it. + </p> + <p> + “Surely,” said he, “I sent a cheque?” + </p> + <p> + Ferrand did not smile; there was a look about him as though Shelton by + forgetting to enclose that cheque had done him a real injury. + </p> + <p> + Shelton could not quite hide a glance of doubt. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” he said, “I—I—meant to enclose + a cheque.” + </p> + <p> + Too subtle to say anything, Ferrand curled his lip. “I am capable of + much, but not of that,” he seemed to say; and at once Shelton felt + the meanness of his doubt. + </p> + <p> + “Stupid of me,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I had no intention of intruding here,” said Ferrand; “I + hoped to see you in the neighbourhood, but I arrive exhausted with + fatigue. I've eaten nothing since yesterday at noon, and walked + thirty miles.” He shrugged his shoulders. “You see, I had no + time to lose before assuring myself whether you were here or not.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course—” began Shelton, but again he stopped. + </p> + <p> + “I should very much like,” the young foreigner went on, + “for one of your good legislators to find himself in these country + villages with a penny in his pocket. In other countries bakers are obliged + to sell you an equivalent of bread for a penny; here they won't sell + you as much as a crust under twopence. You don't encourage poverty.” + </p> + <p> + “What is your idea now?” asked Shelton, trying to gain time. + </p> + <p> + “As I told you,” replied Ferrand, “there 's + nothing to be done at Folkestone, though I should have stayed there if I + had had the money to defray certain expenses”; and again he seemed + to reproach his patron with the omission of that cheque. “They say + things will certainly be better at the end of the month. Now that I know + English well, I thought perhaps I could procure a situation for teaching + languages.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said Shelton. + </p> + <p> + As a fact, however, he was far from seeing; he literally did not know what + to do. It seemed so brutal to give Ferrand money and ask him to clear out; + besides, he chanced to have none in his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “It needs philosophy to support what I 've gone through this + week,” said Ferrand, shrugging his shoulders. “On Wednesday + last, when I received your letter, I had just eighteen-pence, and at once + I made a resolution to come and see you; on that sum I 've done the + journey. My strength is nearly at an end.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton stroked his chin. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he had just begun, “we must think it over,” + when by Ferrand's face he saw that some one had come in. He turned, + and saw Antonia in the doorway. “Excuse me,” he stammered, + and, going to Antonia, drew her from the room. + </p> + <p> + With a smile she said at once: “It's the young foreigner; I'm + certain. Oh, what fun!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Shelton slowly; “he's come to see + me about getting some sort of tutorship or other. Do you think your mother + would mind if I took him up to have a wash? He's had a longish walk. + And might he have some breakfast? He must be hungry.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course! I'll tell Dobson. Shall I speak to mother? He + looks nice, Dick.” + </p> + <p> + He gave her a grateful, furtive look, and went back to his guest; an + impulse had made him hide from her the true condition of affairs. + </p> + <p> + Ferrand was standing where he had been left his face still clothed in + mordant impassivity. + </p> + <p> + “Come up to my room!” said Shelton; and while his guest was + washing, brushing, and otherwise embellishing his person, he stood + reflecting that Ferrand was by no means unpresentable, and he felt quite + grateful to him. + </p> + <p> + He took an opportunity, when the young man's back was turned, of + examining his counterfoils. There was no record, naturally, of a cheque + drawn in Ferrand's favour. Shelton felt more mean than ever. + </p> + <p> + A message came from Mrs. Dennant; so he took the traveller to the + dining-room and left him there, while he himself went to the lady of the + house. He met Antonia coming down. + </p> + <p> + “How many days did you say he went without food that time—you + know?” she asked in passing. + </p> + <p> + “Four.” + </p> + <p> + “He does n't look a bit common, Dick.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton gazed at her dubiously. + </p> + <p> + “They're surely not going to make a show of him!” he + thought. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Dennant was writing, in a dark-blue dress starred over with white + spots, whose fine lawn collar was threaded with black velvet. + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen the new hybrid Algy's brought me back from + Kidstone? Is n't it charmin'.” and she bent her face + towards this perfect rose. “They say unique; I'm awfully + interested to find out if that's true. I've told Algy I really + must have some.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton thought of the unique hybrid breakfasting downstairs; he wished + that Mrs. Dennant would show in him the interest she had manifested in the + rose. But this was absurd of him, he knew, for the potent law of hobbies + controlled the upper classes, forcing them to take more interest in birds, + and roses, missionaries, or limited and highly-bound editions of old books + (things, in a word, in treating which you knew exactly where you were) + than in the manifestations of mere life that came before their eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Dick, about that young Frenchman. Antonia says he wants a + tutorship; now, can you really recommend him? There's Mrs. Robinson + at the Gateways wants someone to teach her boys languages; and, if he were + quite satisfactory, it's really time Toddles had a few lessons in + French; he goes to Eton next half.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton stared at the rose; he had suddenly realised why it was that + people take more interest in roses than in human beings—one could do + it with a quiet heart. + </p> + <p> + “He's not a Frenchman, you know,” he said to gain a + little time. + </p> + <p> + “He's not a German, I hope,” Mrs. Dennant answered, + passing her forgers round a petal, to impress its fashion on her brain; + “I don't like Germans. Is n't he the one you wrote about—come + down in the world? Such a pity with so young a fellow! His father was a + merchant, I think you told us. Antonia says he 's quite refined to + look at.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” said Shelton, feeling on safe ground; “he's + refined enough to look at.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Dennant took the rose and put it to her nose. + </p> + <p> + “Delicious perfume! That was a very touchin' story about his + goin' without food in Paris. Old Mrs. Hopkins has a room to let; I + should like to do her a good turn. I'm afraid there's a hole + in the ceilin', though. Or there's the room here in the left + wing on the ground-floor where John the footman used to sleep. It's + quite nice; perhaps he could have that.” + </p> + <p> + “You 're awfully kind,” said Shelton, “but—” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to do something to restore his self-respect,”, + went on Mrs. Dennant, “if, as you say, he 's clever and all + that. Seein' a little refined life again might make a world of + difference to him. It's so sad when a young man loses self-respect.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton was much struck by the practical way in which she looked at + things. Restore his self-respect! It seemed quite a splendid notion! He + smiled, and said, + </p> + <p> + “You're too kind. I think—” + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe in doin' things by halves,” said + Mrs. Dennant; “he does n't drink, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said Shelton. “He's rather a tobacco + maniac, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's a mercy! You would n't believe the trouble + I 've had with drink, especially over cooks and coachmen. And now + Bunyan's taken to it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you'd have no trouble with Ferrand,” returned + Shelton; “you couldn't tell him from a gentleman as far as + manners go.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Dennant smiled one of her rather sweet and kindly smiles. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Dick,” she said, “there's not much + comfort in that. Look at poor Bobby Surcingle, look at Oliver Semples and + Victor Medallion; you could n't have better families. But if you + 're sure he does n't drink! Algy 'll laugh, of course; + that does n't matter—he laughs at everything.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton felt guilty; being quite unprepared for so rapid an adoption of + his client. + </p> + <p> + “I really believe there's a lot of good in him,” he + stammered; “but, of course, I know very little, and from what he + tells me he's had a very curious life. I shouldn't like—” + </p> + <p> + “Where was he educated?” inquired Mrs. Dennant. “They + have no public schools in France, so I 've been told; but, of + course, he can't help that, poor young fellow! Oh, and, Dick, there + 's one thing—has he relations? One has always to be so careful + about that. It 's one thing to help a young fellow, but quite + another to help his family too. One sees so many cases of that where men + marry girls without money, don't you know.” + </p> + <p> + “He has told me,” answered Shelton, “his only relations + are some cousins, and they are rich.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Dennant took out her handkerchief, and, bending above the rose, + removed a tiny insect. + </p> + <p> + “These green-fly get in everywhere,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Very sad story; can't they do anything for him?” and + she made researches in the rose's heart. + </p> + <p> + “He's quarrelled with them, I believe,” said Shelton; + “I have n't liked to press him, about that.” + </p> + <p> + “No, of course not,” assented Mrs. Dennant absently—she + had found another green-fly “I always think it's painful when + a young man seems so friendless.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton was silent; he was thinking deeply. He had never before felt so + distrustful of the youthful foreigner. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” he said at last, “the best thing would be for + you to see him for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said Mrs. Dennant. “I should be so glad if + you would tell him to come up. I must say I do think that was a most + touchin' story about Paris. I wonder whether this light's + strong enough now for me to photograph this rose.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton withdrew and went down-stairs. Ferrand was still at breakfast. + Antonia stood at the sideboard carving beef for him, and in the window sat + Thea with her Persian kitten. + </p> + <p> + Both girls were following the traveller's movements with inscrutable + blue eyes. A shiver ran down Shelton's spine. To speak truth, he + cursed the young man's coming, as though it affected his relations + with Antonia. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII + </h2> + <h3> + SUB ROSA + </h3> + <p> + From the interview, which Shelton had the mixed delight of watching, + between Ferrand and the Honourable Mrs. Dennant, certain definite results + accrued, the chief of which was the permission accorded the young wanderer + to occupy the room which had formerly been tenanted by the footman John. + Shelton was lost in admiration of Ferrand's manner in this scene.. + Its subtle combination of deference and dignity was almost paralysing; + paralysing, too, the subterranean smile upon his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Charmin' young man, Dick,” said Mrs. Dennant, when + Shelton lingered to say once more that he knew but very little of him; + “I shall send a note round to Mrs. Robinson at once. They're + rather common, you know—the Robinsons. I think they'll take + anyone I recommend.” + </p> + <p> + “I 'm sure they will,” said Shelton; “that's + why I think you ought to know—” + </p> + <p> + But Mrs. Dennant's eyes, fervent, hare-like, were fixed on something + far away; turning, he saw the rose in a tall vase on a tall and spindly + stool. It seemed to nod towards them in the sunshine. Mrs. Dennant dived + her nose towards her camera. + </p> + <p> + “The light's perfect now,” she said, in a voice muffled + by the cloth. “I feel sure that livin' with decent people will + do wonders for him. Of course, he understands that his meals will be + served to him apart.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton, doubly anxious, now that his efforts had lodged his client in a + place of trust, fell, back on hoping for the best; his instinct told him + that, vagabond as Ferrand was, he had a curious self-respect, that would + save him from a mean ingratitude. + </p> + <p> + In fact, as Mrs. Dennant, who was by no means void of common-sense, + foresaw, the arrangement worked all right. Ferrand entered on his duties + as French tutor to the little Robinsons. In the Dennants' household + he kept himself to his own room, which, day and night, he perfumed with + tobacco, emerging at noon into the garden, or, if wet, into the study, to + teach young Toddles French. After a time it became customary for him to + lunch with the house-party, partly through a mistake of Toddles, who + seemed to think that it was natural, and partly through John Noble, one of + Shelton's friends, who had come to stay, and discovered Ferrand to + be a most awfully interesting person he was always, indeed, discovering + the most awfully interesting persons. In his grave and toneless voice, + brushing his hair from off his brow, he descanted upon Ferrand with + enthusiasm, to which was joined a kind of shocked amusement, as who should + say, “Of course, I know it's very odd, but really he 's + such an awfully interesting person.” For John Noble was a + politician, belonging to one of those two Peculiar parties, which, + thoroughly in earnest, of an honesty above suspicion, and always very + busy, are constitutionally averse to anything peculiar for fear of finding + they have overstepped the limit of what is practical in politics. As such + he inspired confidence, not caring for things unless he saw some immediate + benefit to be had from them, having a perfect sense of decency, and a + small imagination. He discussed all sorts of things with Ferrand; on one + occasion Shelton overheard them arguing on anarchism. + </p> + <p> + “No Englishman approves of murder,” Noble was saying, in the + gloomy voice that contrasted with the optimistic cast of his fine head, + “but the main principle is right. Equalisation of property is bound + to come. I sympathise with then, not with their methods.” + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me,” struck in Ferrand; “do you know any + anarchists?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” returned Noble; “I certainly do not.” + </p> + <p> + “You say you sympathise with them, but the first time it comes to + action—” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, monsieur! one doesn't make anarchism with the head.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton perceived that he had meant to add, “but with the heart, the + lungs, the liver.” He drew a deeper meaning from the saying, and + seemed to see, curling with the smoke from Ferrand's lips, the + words: “What do you, an English gentleman, of excellent position, + and all the prejudices of your class, know about us outcasts? If you want + to understand us you must be an outcast too; we are not playing at the + game.” + </p> + <p> + This talk took place upon the lawn, at the end of one of Toddles's + French lessons, and Shelton left John Noble maintaining to the youthful + foreigner, with stubborn logic, that he, John Noble, and the anarchists + had much, in common. He was returning to the house, when someone called + his name from underneath the holm oak. There, sitting Turkish fashion on + the grass, a pipe between his teeth, he found a man who had arrived the + night before, and impressed him by his friendly taciturnity. His name was + Whyddon, and he had just returned from Central Africa; a brown-faced, + large-jawed man, with small but good and steady eyes, and strong, spare + figure. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mr. Shelton!” he said, “I wondered if you could + tell me what tips I ought to give the servants here; after ten years away + I 've forgotten all about that sort of thing.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton sat down beside him; unconsciously assuming, too, a cross-legged + attitude, which caused him much discomfort. + </p> + <p> + “I was listening,” said his new acquaintance, “to the + little chap learning his French. I've forgotten mine. One feels a + hopeless duffer knowing no, languages.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you speak Arabic?” said Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Arabic, and a dialect or two; they don't count. That + tutor has a curious face.” + </p> + <p> + “You think so?” said Shelton, interested. “He's + had a curious life.” + </p> + <p> + The traveller spread his hands, palms downwards, on the grass and looked + at Shelton with, a smile. + </p> + <p> + “I should say he was a rolling stone,” he said. “It + 's odd, I' ve seen white men in Central Africa with a good + deal of his look about them. + </p> + <p> + “Your diagnosis is a good one,” answered Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “I 'm always sorry for those fellows. There's generally + some good in them. They are their own enemies. A bad business to be unable + to take pride in anything one does!” And there was a look of pity on + his face. + </p> + <p> + “That's exactly it,” said Shelton. “I 've + often tried to put it into words. Is it incurable?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you tell me why?” + </p> + <p> + Whyddon pondered. + </p> + <p> + “I rather think,” he said at last, “it must be because + they have too strong a faculty of criticism. You can't teach a man + to be proud of his own work; that lies in his blood “; folding his + arms across his breast, he heaved a sigh. Under the dark foliage, his eyes + on the sunlight, he was the type of all those Englishmen who keep their + spirits bright and wear their bodies out in the dark places of hard work. + “You can't think,” he said, showing his teeth in a + smile, “how delightful it is to be at home! You learn to love the + old country when you're away from it.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton often thought, afterwards; of this diagnosis of the vagabond, for + he was always stumbling on instances of that power of subtle criticism + which was the young foreigner's prime claim to be “a most + awfully interesting” and perhaps a rather shocking person. + </p> + <p> + An old school-fellow of Shelton's and his wife were staying in the + house, who offered to the eye the picture of a perfect domesticity. + Passionless and smiling, it was impossible to imagine they could ever have + a difference. Shelton, whose bedroom was next to theirs, could hear them + in the mornings talking in exactly the tones they used at lunch, and + laughing the same laughs. Their life seemed to accord them perfect + satisfaction; they were supplied with their convictions by Society just + as, when at home, they were supplied with all the other necessaries of + life by some co-operative stores. Their fairly handsome faces, with the + fairly kind expressions, quickly and carefully regulated by a sense of + compromise, began to worry him so much that when in the same room he would + even read to avoid the need of looking at them. And yet they were kind—that + is, fairly kind—and clean and quiet in the house, except when they + laughed, which was often, and at things which made him want to howl as a + dog howls at music. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Shelton,” Ferrand said one day, “I 'm not an + amateur of marriage—never had the chance, as you may well suppose; + but, in any case, you have some people in the house who would make me mark + time before I went committing it. They seem the ideal young married people—don't + quarrel, have perfect health, agree with everybody, go to church, have + children—but I should like to hear what is beautiful in their life,” + and he grimaced. “It seems to me so ugly that I can only gasp. I + would much rather they ill-treated each other, just to show they had the + corner of a soul between them. If that is marriage, 'Dieu m'en + garde!'.rdquo; + </p> + <p> + But Shelton did not answer; he was thinking deeply. + </p> + <p> + The saying of John Noble's, “He's really a most + interesting person,” grew more and more upon his nerves; it seemed + to describe the Dennant attitude towards this stranger within their gates. + They treated him with a sort of wonder on the “don't touch” + system, like an object in an exhibition. The restoration, however, of, his + self-respect proceeded with success. For all the semblance of having grown + too big for Shelton's clothes, for all his vividly burnt face, and + the quick but guarded play of cynicism on his lips—he did much + credit to his patrons. He had subdued his terror of a razor, and looked + well in a suit of Shelton's flannels. For, after all, he had only + been eight years exiled from middle-class gentility, and he had been a + waiter half that time. But Shelton wished him at the devil. Not for his + manners' sake—he was never tired of watching how subtly the + vagabond adapted his conduct to the conduct of his hosts, while keeping up + his critical detachment—but because that critical detachment was a + constant spur to his own vision, compelling him to analyse the life into + which, he had been born and was about to marry. This process was + disturbing; and to find out when it had commenced, he had to go back to + his meeting with Ferrand on the journey up from Dover. + </p> + <p> + There was kindness in a hospitality which opened to so strange a bird; + admitting the kindness, Shelton fell to analysing it. To himself, to + people of his class, the use of kindness was a luxury, not significant of + sacrifice, but productive of a pleasant feeling in the heart, such as + massage will setup in the legs. “Everybody's kind,” he + thought; “the question is, What understanding is there, what real + sympathy?” This problem gave him food for thought. + </p> + <p> + The progress, which Mrs. Dennant not unfrequently remarked upon, in + Ferrand's conquest of his strange position, seemed to Shelton but a + sign that he was getting what he could out of his sudden visit to green + pastures; under the same circumstances, Shelton thought that he himself + would do the same. He felt that the young foreigner was making a + convenient bow to property, but he had more respect for the sarcastic + smile on the lips of Ferrand's heart. + </p> + <p> + It was not long before the inevitable change came in the spirit of the + situation; more and more was Shelton conscious of a quaint uneasiness in + the very breathing of the household. + </p> + <p> + “Curious fellow you've got hold of there, Shelton,” Mr. + Dennant said to him during a game of croquet; “he 'll never do + any good for himself, I'm afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “In one sense I'm afraid not,” admitted Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know his story? I will bet you sixpence”—and Mr. + Dennant paused to swing his mallet with a proper accuracy “that he's + been in prison.” + </p> + <p> + “Prison!” ejaculated Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said Mr. Dennant, with bent knees carefully + measuring his next shot, “that you ought to make inquiries—ah! + missed it! Awkward these hoops! One must draw the line somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “I never could draw,” returned Shelton, nettled and uneasy; + “but I understand—I 'll give him a hint to go.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't,” said Mr. Dennant, moving after his second ball, + which Shelton had smitten to the farther end, “be offended, my dear + Shelton, and by no means give him a hint; he interests me very much—a + very clever, quiet young fellow.” + </p> + <p> + That this was not his private view Shelton inferred by studying Mr. + Dennant's manner in the presence of the vagabond. Underlying the + well-bred banter of the tranquil voice, the guarded quizzicality of his + pale brown face, it could be seen that Algernon Cuffe Dennant, Esq., J.P., + accustomed to laugh at other people, suspected that he was being laughed + at. What more natural than that he should grope about to see how this + could be? A vagrant alien was making himself felt by an English Justice of + the Peace—no small tribute, this, to Ferrand's personality. + The latter would sit silent through a meal, and yet make his effect. He, + the object of their kindness, education, patronage, inspired their fear. + There was no longer any doubt; it was not of Ferrand that they were + afraid, but of what they did not understand in him; of horrid subtleties + meandering in the brain under that straight, wet-looking hair; of + something bizarre popping from the curving lips below that thin, lopsided + nose. + </p> + <p> + But to Shelton in this, as in all else, Antonia was what mattered. At + first, anxious to show her lover that she trusted him, she seemed never + tired of doing things for his young protege, as though she too had set her + heart on his salvation; but, watching her eyes when they rested on the + vagabond, Shelton was perpetually reminded of her saying on the first day + of his visit to Holm Oaks, “I suppose he 's really good—I + mean all these things you told me about were only....” + </p> + <p> + Curiosity never left her glance, nor did that story of his four days' + starving leave her mind; a sentimental picturesqueness clung about that + incident more valuable by far than this mere human being with whom she had + so strangely come in contact. She watched Ferrand, and Shelton watched + her. If he had been told that he was watching her, he would have denied it + in good faith; but he was bound to watch her, to find out with what eyes + she viewed this visitor who embodied all the rebellious under-side of + life, all that was absent in herself. + </p> + <p> + “Dick,” she said to him one day, “you never talk to me + of Monsieur Ferrand.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you want to talk of him?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think that he's improved?” + </p> + <p> + “He's fatter.” + </p> + <p> + Antonia looked grave. + </p> + <p> + “No, but really?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said Shelton; “I can't judge + him.” + </p> + <p> + Antonia turned her face away, and something in her attitude alarmed him. + </p> + <p> + “He was once a sort of gentleman,” she said; “why + shouldn't he become one again?” + </p> + <p> + Sitting on the low wall of the kitchen-garden, her head was framed by + golden plums. The sun lay barred behind the foliage of the holm oak, but a + little patch filtering through a gap had rested in the plum-tree's + heart. It crowned the girl. Her raiment, the dark leaves, the red wall, + the golden plums, were woven by the passing glow to a block of pagan + colour. And her face above it, chaste, serene, was like the scentless + summer evening. A bird amongst the currant bushes kept a little chant + vibrating; and all the plum-tree's shape and colour seemed alive. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he does n't want to be a gentleman,” said + Shelton. + </p> + <p> + Antonia swung her foot. + </p> + <p> + “How can he help wanting to?” + </p> + <p> + “He may have a different philosophy of life.” + </p> + <p> + Antonia was slow to answer. + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing about philosophies of life,” she said at last. + </p> + <p> + Shelton answered coldly, + </p> + <p> + “No two people have the same.” + </p> + <p> + With the falling sun-glow the charm passed off the tree. Chilled and + harder, yet less deep, it was no more a block of woven colour, warm and + impassive, like a southern goddess; it was now a northern tree, with a + grey light through its leaves. + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand you in the least,” she said; “everyone + wishes to be good.” + </p> + <p> + “And safe?” asked Shelton gently. + </p> + <p> + Antonia stared. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose,” he said—“I don't pretend to know, + I only suppose—what Ferrand really cares for is doing things + differently from other people? If you were to load him with a character + and give him money on condition that he acted as we all act, do you think + he would accept it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Why are n't cats dogs; or pagans Christians?” + </p> + <p> + Antonia slid down from the wall. + </p> + <p> + “You don't seem to think there 's any use in trying,” + she said, and turned away. + </p> + <p> + Shelton made a movement as if he would go after her, and then stood still, + watching her figure slowly pass, her head outlined above the wall, her + hands turned back across her narrow hips. She halted at the bend, looked + back, then, with an impatient gesture, disappeared. + </p> + <p> + Antonia was slipping from him! + </p> + <p> + A moment's vision from without himself would have shown him that it + was he who moved and she who was standing still, like the figure of one + watching the passage of a stream with clear, direct, and sullen eyes. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVIII + </h2> + <h3> + THE RIVER + </h3> + <p> + One day towards the end of August Shelton took Antonia on the river—the + river that, like soft music, soothes the land; the river of the reeds and + poplars, the silver swan-sails, sun and moon, woods, and the white + slumbrous clouds; where cuckoos, and the wind, the pigeons, and the weirs + are always singing; and in the flash of naked bodies, the play of + waterlily leaves, queer goblin stumps, and the twilight faces of the + twisted tree-roots, Pan lives once more. + </p> + <p> + The reach which Shelton chose was innocent of launches, champagne bottles + and loud laughter; it was uncivilised, and seldom troubled by these + humanising influences. He paddled slowly, silent and absorbed, watching + Antonia. An unaccustomed languor clung about her; her eyes had shadows, as + though she had not slept; colour glowed softly in her cheeks, her frock + seemed all alight with golden radiance. She made Shelton pull into the + reeds, and plucked two rounded lilies sailing like ships against + slow-moving water. + </p> + <p> + “Pull into the shade, please,” she said; “it's too + hot out here.” + </p> + <p> + The brim of her linen hat kept the sun from her face, but her head was + drooping like a flower's head at noon. + </p> + <p> + Shelton saw that the heat was really harming her, as too hot a day will + dim the icy freshness of a northern plant. He dipped his sculls, the + ripples started out and swam in grave diminuendo till they touched the + banks. + </p> + <p> + He shot the boat into a cleft, and caught the branches of an overhanging + tree. The skiff rested, balancing with mutinous vibration, like a living + thing. + </p> + <p> + “I should hate to live in London,” said Antonia suddenly; + “the slums must be so awful. What a pity, when there are places like + this! But it's no good thinking.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Shelton slowly! “I suppose it is no good.” + </p> + <p> + “There are some bad cottages at the lower end of Cross Eaton. I went + them one day with Miss Truecote. The people won't help themselves. + It's so discouraging to help people who won't help themselves.” + </p> + <p> + She was leaning her elbows on her knees, and, with her chin resting on her + hands, gazed up at Shelton. All around them hung a tent of soft, thick + leaves, and, below, the water was deep-dyed with green refraction. Willow + boughs, swaying above the boat, caressed Antonia's arms and + shoulders; her face and hair alone were free. + </p> + <p> + “So discouraging,” she said again. + </p> + <p> + A silence fell.... Antonia seemed thinking deeply. + </p> + <p> + “Doubts don't help you,” she said suddenly; “how + can you get any good from doubts? The thing is to win victories.” + </p> + <p> + “Victories?” said Shelton. “I 'd rather understand + than conquer!” + </p> + <p> + He had risen to his feet, and grasped stunted branch, canting the boat + towards the bank. + </p> + <p> + “How can you let things slide like that, Dick? It's like + Ferrand.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you such a bad opinion of him, then?” asked Shelton. He + felt on the verge of some, discovery. + </p> + <p> + She buried her chin deeper in her hands. + </p> + <p> + “I liked him at first,” she said; “I thought that he was + different. I thought he couldn't really be—” + </p> + <p> + “Really be what?” + </p> + <p> + Antonia did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” she said at last. “I can't + explain. I thought—” + </p> + <p> + Shelton still stood, holding to the branch, and the oscillation of the + boat freed an infinity of tiny ripples. + </p> + <p> + “You thought—what?” he said. + </p> + <p> + He ought to have seen her face grow younger, more childish, even timid. + She said in a voice smooth, round, and young: + </p> + <p> + “You know, Dick, I do think we ought to try. I know I don't + try half hard enough. It does n't do any good to think; when you + think, everything seems so mixed, as if there were nothing to lay hold of. + I do so hate to feel like that. It is n't as if we didn't know + what's right. Sometimes I think, and think, and it 's all no + good, only a waste of time, and you feel at the end as if you had been + doing wrong.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton frowned. + </p> + <p> + “What has n't been through fire's no good,” he + said; and, letting go the branch, sat down. Freed from restraint, the boat + edged out towards the current. “But what about Ferrand?” + </p> + <p> + “I lay awake last night wondering what makes you like him so. He's + so bitter; he makes me feel unhappy. He never seems content with anything. + And he despises”—her face hardened—“I mean, he + hates us all!” + </p> + <p> + “So should I if I were he,” said Shelton. + </p> + <p> + The boat was drifting on, and gleams of sunlight chased across their + faces. Antonia spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “He seems to be always looking at dark things, or else he seems as + if—as if he could—enjoy himself too much. I thought—I + thought at first,” she stammered, “that we could do him good.” + </p> + <p> + “Do him good! Ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + A startled rat went swimming for its life against the stream; and Shelton + saw that he had done a dreadful thing: he had let Antonia with a jerk into + a secret not hitherto admitted even by himself—the secret that her + eyes were not his eyes, her way of seeing things not his nor ever would + be. He quickly muffled up his laughter. Antonia had dropped her gaze; her + face regained its languor, but the bosom of her dress was heaving. Shelton + watched her, racking his brains to find excuses for that fatal laugh; none + could he find. It was a little piece of truth. He paddled slowly on, close + to the bank, in the long silence of the river. + </p> + <p> + The breeze had died away, not a fish was rising; save for the lost music + of the larks no birds were piping; alone, a single pigeon at brief + intervals cooed from the neighbouring wood. + </p> + <p> + They did not stay much longer in the boat. + </p> + <p> + On the homeward journey in the pony-cart, rounding a corner of the road, + they came on Ferrand in his pince-nez, holding a cigarette between his + fingers and talking to a tramp, who was squatting on the bank. The young + foreigner recognised them, and at once removed his hat. + </p> + <p> + “There he is,” said Shelton, returning the salute. + </p> + <p> + Antonia bowed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” she, cried, when they were out of hearing, “I wish + he 'd go. I can't bear to see him; it's like looking at + the dark.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIX + </h2> + <h3> + ON THE WING + </h3> + <p> + That night, having gone up to his room, Shelton filled his pipe for his + unpleasant duty. He had resolved to hint to Ferrand that he had better go. + He was still debating whether to write or go himself to the young + foreigner, when there came a knock and Ferrand himself appeared. + </p> + <p> + “I should be sorry,” he said, breaking an awkward silence, + “if you were to think me ungrateful, but I see no future for me + here. It would be better for me to go. I should never be content to pass + my life in teaching languages 'ce n'est guere dans mon + caractre'.” + </p> + <p> + As soon as what he had been cudgelling his brains to find a way of saying + had thus been said for him, Shelton experienced a sense of disapproval. + </p> + <p> + “What do you expect to get that's better?” he said, + avoiding Ferrand's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks to your kindness,” replied the latter, “I find + myself restored. I feel that I ought to make some good efforts to dominate + my social position.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think it well over, if I were you!” said Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “I have, and it seems to me that I'm wasting my time. For a + man with any courage languages are no career; and, though I 've many + defects, I still have courage.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton let his pipe go out, so pathetic seemed to him this young man's + faith in his career; it was no pretended faith, but neither was it, he + felt, his true motive for departure. “He's tired,” he + thought; “that 's it. Tired of one place.” And having + the instinctive sense that nothing would keep Ferrand, he redoubled his + advice. + </p> + <p> + “I should have thought,” he said, “that you would have + done better to have held on here and saved a little before going off to + God knows what.” + </p> + <p> + “To save,” said Ferrand, “is impossible for me, but, + thanks to you and your good friends, I 've enough to make front to + first necessities. I'm in correspondence with a friend; it's + of great importance for me to reach Paris before all the world returns. I + 've a chance to get, a post in one of the West African companies. + One makes fortunes out there—if one survives, and, as you know, I + don't set too much store by life.” + </p> + <p> + “We have a proverb,” said Shelton, “'A bird in the + hand is worth two birds in the bush!'.rdquo; + </p> + <p> + “That,” returned Ferrand, “like all proverbs, is just + half true. This is an affair of temperament. It 's not in my + character to dandle one when I see two waiting to be caught; 'voyager, + apprendre, c'est plus fort que moi'.” He paused; then, + with a nervous goggle of the eyes and an ironic smile he said: “Besides, + 'mon cher monsieur', it is better that I go. I have never been + one to hug illusions, and I see pretty clearly that my presence is hardly + acceptable in this house.” + </p> + <p> + “What makes you say that?” asked, Shelton, feeling that the + murder was now out.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir, all the world has not your understanding and your lack + of prejudice, and, though your friends have been extremely kind to me, I + am in a false position; I cause them embarrassment, which is not + extraordinary when you reflect what I have been, and that they know my + history.” + </p> + <p> + “Not through me,” said Shelton quickly, “for I don't + know it myself.” + </p> + <p> + “It's enough,” the vagrant said, “that they feel I'm + not a bird of their feather. They cannot change, neither can I. I have + never wanted to remain where I 'm not welcome.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton turned to the window, and stared into the darkness; he would never + quite understand this vagabond, so delicate, so cynical, and he wondered + if Ferrand had been swallowing down the words, “Why, even you won't + be sorry to see my back!” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said at last, “if you must go, you must. When + do you start?” + </p> + <p> + “I 've arranged with a man to carry my things to the early + train. I think it better not to say good-bye. I 've written a letter + instead; here it is. I left it open for you to read if you should wish.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Shelton, with a curious mingling of relief, + regret, good-will, “I sha'n'. see you again?” + </p> + <p> + Ferrand gave his hand a stealthy rub, and held it out. + </p> + <p> + “I shall never forget what you have done for me,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Mind you write,” said Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes”—the vagrant's face was oddly twisted—“you + don't know what a difference it makes to have a correspondent; it + gives one courage. I hope to remain a long time in correspondence with + you.” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say you do,” thought Shelton grimly, with a certain + queer emotion. + </p> + <p> + “You will do me the justice to remember that I have never asked you + for anything,” said Ferrand. “Thank you a thousand times. + Good-bye!” + </p> + <p> + He again wrung his patron's hand in his damp grasp, and, going out, + left Shelton with an odd sensation in his throat. “You will do me + the justice to remember that I have never asked you for anything.” + The phrase seemed strange, and his mind flew back over all this queer + acquaintanceship. It was a fact: from the beginning to the end the youth + had never really asked for anything. Shelton sat down on his bed, and + began to read the letter in his hand. It was in French. + </p> + <p> + DEAR MADAME (it ran), + </p> + <p> + It will be insupportable to me, after your kindness, if you take me for + ungrateful. Unfortunately, a crisis has arrived which plunges me into the + necessity of leaving your hospitality. In all lives, as you are well + aware, there arise occasions that one cannot govern, and I know that you + will pardon me that I enter into no explanation on an event which gives me + great chagrin, and, above all, renders me subject to an imputation of + ingratitude, which, believe me, dear Madame, by no means lies in my + character. I know well enough that it is a breach of politeness to leave + you without in person conveying the expression of my profound + reconnaissance, but if you consider how hard it is for me to be compelled + to abandon all that is so distinguished in domestic life, you will forgive + my weakness. People like me, who have gone through existence with their + eyes open, have remarked that those who are endowed with riches have a + right to look down on such as are not by wealth and breeding fitted to + occupy the same position. I shall never dispute a right so natural and + salutary, seeing that without this distinction, this superiority, which + makes of the well-born and the well-bred a race apart, the rest of the + world would have no standard by which to rule their lives, no anchor to + throw into the depths of that vast sea of fortune and of misfortune on + which we others drive before the wind. It is because of this, dear Madame, + that I regard myself so doubly fortunate to have been able for a few + minutes in this bitter pilgrimage called life, to sit beneath the tree of + safety. To have been able, if only for an hour, to sit and set the + pilgrims pass, the pilgrims with the blistered feet and ragged clothes, + and who yet, dear Madame, guard within their hearts a certain joy in life, + illegal joy, like the desert air which travellers will tell you fills men + as with wine to be able thus to sit an hour, and with a smile to watch + them pass, lame and blind, in all the rags of their deserved misfortunes, + can you not conceive, dear Madame, how that must be for such as I a + comfort? Whatever one may say, it is sweet, from a position of security, + to watch the sufferings of others; it gives one a good sensation in the + heart. + </p> + <p> + In writing this, I recollect that I myself once had the chance of passing + all my life in this enviable safety, and as you may suppose, dear Madame, + I curse myself that I should ever have had the courage to step beyond the + boundaries of this fine tranquil state. Yet, too, there have been times + when I have asked myself: “Do we really differ from the wealthy—we + others, birds of the fields, who have our own philosophy, grown from the + pains of needing bread—we who see that the human heart is not always + an affair of figures, or of those good maxims that one finds in copy-books—do + we really differ?” It is with shame that I confess to have asked + myself a question so heretical. But now, when for these four weeks I have + had the fortune of this rest beneath your roof, I see how wrong I was to + entertain such doubts. It is a great happiness to have decided once for + all this point, for it is not in my character to pass through life + uncertain—mistaken, perhaps—on psychological matters such as + these. No, Madame; rest happily assured that there is a great difference, + which in the future will be sacred for me. For, believe me, Madame, it + would be calamity for high Society if by chance there should arise amongst + them any understanding of all that side of life which—vast as the + plains and bitter as the sea, black as the ashes of a corpse, and yet more + free than any wings of birds who fly away—is so justly beyond the + grasp of their philosophy. Yes, believe me, dear Madame, there is no + danger in the world so much to be avoided by all the members of that + circle, most illustrious, most respectable, called high Society. + </p> + <p> + From what I have said you may imagine how hard it is for me to take my + flight. I shall always keep for you the most distinguished sentiments. + With the expression of my full regard for you and your good family, and of + a gratitude as sincere as it is badly worded, + </p> + <p> + Believe me, dear Madame, + </p> + <p> + Your devoted + </p> + <p> + LOUIS FERRAND. + </p> + <p> + Shelton's first impulse was to tear the letter up, but this he + reflected he had no right to do. Remembering, too, that Mrs. Dennant's + French was orthodox, he felt sure she would never understand the young + foreigner's subtle innuendoes. He closed the envelope and went to + bed, haunted still by Ferrand's parting look. + </p> + <p> + It was with no small feeling of embarrassment, however, that, having sent + the letter to its destination by an early footman, he made his appearance + at the breakfast-table. Behind the Austrian coffee-urn, filled with French + coffee, Mrs. Dennant, who had placed four eggs in a German egg-boiler, + said “Good-morning,” with a kindly smile. + </p> + <p> + “Dick, an egg?” she asked him, holding up a fifth. + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you,” replied Shelton, greeting the table and + fitting down. + </p> + <p> + He was a little late; the buzz of conversation rose hilariously around. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” continued Mr. Dennant, who was talking to his + youngest daughter, “you'll have no chance whatever—not + the least little bit of chance.” + </p> + <p> + “Father, what nonsense! You know we shall beat your heads off!” + </p> + <p> + “Before it 's too late, then, I will eat a muffin. Shelton, + pass the muffins!” But in making this request, Mr. Dennant avoided + looking in his face. + </p> + <p> + Antonia, too, seemed to keep her eyes away from him. She was talking to a + Connoisseur on Art of supernatural appearances, and seemed in the highest + spirits. Shelton rose, and, going to the sideboard, helped himself to + grouse. + </p> + <p> + “Who was the young man I saw yesterday on the lawn?” he heard + the Connoisseur remark. “Struck me as having an—er—quite + intelligent physiog.” + </p> + <p> + His own intelligent physiog, raised at a slight slant so that he might + look the better through his nose-nippers, was the very pattern of + approval. “It's curious how one's always meeting with + intelligence;” it seemed to say. Mrs. Dennant paused in the act of + adding cream, and Shelton scrutinised her face; it was hare-like, and + superior as ever. Thank goodness she had smelt no rat! He felt strangely + disappointed. + </p> + <p> + “You mean Monsieur Ferrand, teachin' Toddles French? Dobson, + the Professor's cup.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope I shall see him again,” cooed the Connoisseur; “he + was quite interesting on the subject of young German working men. It seems + they tramp from place to place to learn their trades. What nationality was + he, may I ask?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Dennant, of whom he asked this question, lifted his brows, and said, + </p> + <p> + “Ask Shelton.” + </p> + <p> + “Half Dutch, half French.” + </p> + <p> + “Very interesting breed; I hope I shall see him again.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you won't,” said Thea suddenly; “he's + gone.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton saw that their good breeding alone prevented all from adding, + “And thank goodness, too!” + </p> + <p> + “Gone? Dear me, it's very—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mr. Dennant, “very sudden.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Algie,” murmured Mrs. Dennant, “it 's quite + a charmin' letter. Must have taken the poor young man an hour to + write.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, mother!” cried Antonia. + </p> + <p> + And Shelton felt his face go crimson. He had suddenly remembered that her + French was better than her mother's. + </p> + <p> + “He seems to have had a singular experience,” said the + Connoisseur. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” echoed Mr. Dennant; “he 's had some + singular experience. If you want to know the details, ask friend Shelton; + it's quite romantic. In the meantime, my dear; another cup?” + </p> + <p> + The Connoisseur, never quite devoid of absent-minded malice, spurred his + curiosity to a further effort; and, turning his well-defended eyes on + Shelton, murmured, + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mr. Shelton, you are the historian, it seems.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no history,” said Shelton, without looking up. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that's very dull,” remarked the Connoisseur. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Dick,” said Mrs. Dennant, “that was really a + most touchin' story about his goin' without food in Paris.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton shot another look at Antonia; her face was frigid. “I hate + your d—-d superiority!” he thought, staring at the + Connoisseur. + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing,” said that gentleman, “more + enthralling than starvation. Come, Mr Shelton.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't tell stories,” said Shelton; “never + could.” + </p> + <p> + He cared not a straw for Ferrand, his coming, going, or his history; for, + looking at Antonia, his heart was heavy. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXX + </h2> + <h3> + THE LADY FROM BEYOND + </h3> + <p> + The morning was sultry, brooding, steamy. Antonia was at her music, and + from the room where Shelton tried to fix attention on a book he could hear + her practising her scales with a cold fury that cast an added gloom upon + his spirit. He did not see her until lunch, and then she again sat next + the Connoisseur. Her cheeks were pale, but there was something feverish in + her chatter to her neighbour; she still refused to look at Shelton. He + felt very miserable. After lunch, when most of them had left the table, + the rest fell to discussing country neighbours. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said Mrs. Dennant, “there are the Foliots; + but nobody calls on them.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the Connoisseur, “the Foliots—the + Foliots—the people—er—who—quite so!” + </p> + <p> + “It's really distressin'. she looks so sweet ridin' + about. Many people with worse stories get called on,” continued Mrs. + Dennant, with that large frankness of intrusion upon doubtful subjects + which may be made by certain people in a certain way, “but, after + all, one couldn't ask them to meet anybody.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” the Connoisseur assented. “I used to know Foliot. + Thousand pities. They say she was a very pretty woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not pretty!” said Mrs. Dennant! “more interestin + than pretty, I should say.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton, who knew the lady slightly, noticed that they spoke of her as in + the past. He did not look towards Antonia; for, though a little troubled + at her presence while such a subject was discussed, he hated his + conviction that her face, was as unruffled as though the Foliots had been + a separate species. There was, in fact, a curiosity about her eyes, a + faint impatience on her lips; she was rolling little crumbs of bread. + Suddenly yawning, she muttered some remark, and rose. Shelton stopped her + at the door. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going?” + </p> + <p> + “For a walk.” + </p> + <p> + “May n't I come?”. + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “I 'm going to take Toddles.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton held the door open, and went back to the table. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” the Connoisseur said, sipping at his sherry, “I + 'm afraid it's all over with young Foliot.” + </p> + <p> + “Such a pity!” murmured Mrs. Dennant, and her kindly face + looked quite disturbed. “I've known him ever since he was a + boy. Of course, I think he made a great mistake to bring her down here. + Not even bein' able to get married makes it doubly awkward. Oh, I + think he made a great mistake!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the Connoisseur, “but d' you suppose + that makes much difference? Even if What 's—his-name gave her + a divorce, I don't think, don't you know, that—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it does! So many people would be inclined to look over it in + time. But as it is it's hopeless, quite. So very awkward for people, + too, meetin' them about. The Telfords and the Butterwicks—by + the way, they're comin' here to dine to-night—live near + them, don't you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever meet her before-er-before the flood?” the + Connoisseur inquired; and his lips parting and unexpectedly revealing + teeth gave him a shadowy resemblance to a goat. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I did meet her once at the Branksomes'. I thought her + quite a charmin' person.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor fellow!” said the Connoisseur; “they tell me he + was going to take the hounds.” + </p> + <p> + “And there are his delightful coverts, too. Algie often used to + shoot there, and now they say he just has his brother down to shoot with + him. It's really quite too melancholy! Did you know him, Dick?” + </p> + <p> + “Foliot?” replied Shelton absently. “No; I never met + him: I've seen her once or twice at Ascot.” + </p> + <p> + Through the window he could see Antonia in her scarlet Tam-o'-shanter, + swinging her stick, and he got up feigning unconcern. Just then Toddles + came bounding up against his sister. They went off arm in arm. She had + seen him at the window, yet she gave no friendly glance; Shelton felt more + miserable than ever. He stepped out upon the drive. There was a lurid, + gloomy canopy above; the elm-trees drooped their heavy blackish green, the + wonted rustle of the aspen-tree was gone, even the rooks were silent. A + store of force lay heavy on the heart of nature. He started pacing slowly + up and down, his pride forbidding him to follow her, and presently sat + down on an old stone seat that faced the road. He stayed a long time + staring at the elms, asking himself what he had done and what he ought to + do. And somehow he was frightened. A sense of loneliness was on him, so + real, so painful, that he shivered in the sweltering heat. He was there, + perhaps, an hour, alone, and saw nobody pass along the road. Then came the + sound of horse's hoofs, and at the same time he heard a motor-car + approaching from the opposite direction. The rider made appearance first, + riding a grey horse with an Arab's high set head and tail. She was + holding him with difficulty, for the whirr of the approaching car grew + every moment louder. Shelton rose; the car flashed by. He saw the horse + stagger in the gate-way, crushing its rider up against the gatepost. + </p> + <p> + He ran, but before he reached the gate the lady was on foot, holding the + plunging horse's bridle. + </p> + <p> + “Are you hurt?” cried Shelton breathlessly, and he, too, + grabbed the bridle. “Those beastly cars!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” she said. “Please don't; he + won't let strangers touch him.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton let go, and watched her coax the horse. She was rather tall, + dressed in a grey habit, with a grey Russian cap upon her head, and he + suddenly recognised the Mrs. Foliot whom they had been talking of at + lunch. + </p> + <p> + “He 'll be quiet now,” she said, “if you would n't + mind holding him a minute.” + </p> + <p> + She gave the reins to him, and leaned against the gate. She was very pale. + </p> + <p> + “I do hope he has n't hurt you,” Shelton said. He was + quite close to her, well able to see her face—a curious face with + high cheek-bones and a flatfish moulding, enigmatic, yet strangely + passionate for all its listless pallor. Her smiling, tightened lips were + pallid; pallid, too, her grey and deep-set eyes with greenish tints; above + all, pale the ashy mass of hair coiled under her grey cap. + </p> + <p> + “Th-thanks!” she said; “I shall be all right directly. I'm + sorry to have made a fuss.” + </p> + <p> + She bit her lips and smiled. + </p> + <p> + “I 'm sure you're hurt; do let me go for—” + stammered Shelton. “I can easily get help.” + </p> + <p> + “Help!” she said, with a stony little laugh; “oh, no, + thanks!” + </p> + <p> + She left the gate, and crossed the road to where he held the horse. + Shelton, to conceal embarrassment, looked at the horse's legs, and + noticed that the grey was resting one of them. He ran his hand down. + </p> + <p> + “I 'm afraid,” he said, “your horse has knocked + his off knee; it's swelling.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled again. + </p> + <p> + “Then we're both cripples.” + </p> + <p> + “He'll be lame when he gets cold. Would n't you like to + put him in the stable here? I 'm sure you ought to drive home.” + </p> + <p> + “No, thanks; if I 'm able to ride him he can carry me. Give me + a hand up.” + </p> + <p> + Her voice sounded as though something had offended her. Rising from + inspection of the horse's leg, Shelton saw Antonia and Toddles + standing by. They had come through a wicketgate leading from the fields. + </p> + <p> + The latter ran up to him at once. + </p> + <p> + “We saw it,” he whispered—“jolly smash-up. Can't + I help?” + </p> + <p> + “Hold his bridle,” answered Shelton, and he looked from one + lady to the other. + </p> + <p> + There are moments when the expression of a face fixes itself with painful + clearness; to Shelton this was such a moment. Those two faces close + together, under their coverings of scarlet and of grey, showed a contrast + almost cruelly vivid. Antonia was flushed, her eyes had grown deep blue; + her look of startled doubt had passed and left a question in her face. + </p> + <p> + “Would you like to come in and wait? We could send you home, in the + brougham,” she said. + </p> + <p> + The lady called Mrs. Foliot stood, one arm across the crupper of her + saddle, biting her lips and smiling still her enigmatic smile, and it was + her face that stayed most vividly on Shelton's mind, its ashy hail, + its pallor, and fixed, scornful eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, thanks! You're very kind.” + </p> + <p> + Out of Antonia's face the timid, doubting friendliness had fled, and + was replaced by enmity. With a long, cold look at both of them she turned + away. Mrs. Foliot gave a little laugh, and raised her foot for Shelton's + help. He heard a hiss of pain as he swung her up, but when he looked at + her she smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Anyway,” he said impatiently, “let me come and see you + don't break down.” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. “It 's only two miles. I'm not made + of sugar.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I shall simply have to follow.” + </p> + <p> + She shrugged her shoulders, fixing her resolute eyes on him. + </p> + <p> + “Would that boy like to come?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Toddles left the horse's head. + </p> + <p> + “By Jove!” he cried. “Would n't I just!” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” she said, “I think that will be best. You + 've been so kind.” + </p> + <p> + She bowed, smiled inscrutably once more, touched the Arab with her whip, + and started, Toddles trotting at her side. + </p> + <p> + Shelton was left with Antonia underneath the elms. A sudden puff of tepid + air blew in their faces, like a warning message from the heavy, purple + heat clouds; low rumbling thunder travelled slowly from afar. + </p> + <p> + “We're going to have a storm,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Antonia nodded. She was pale now, and her face still wore its cold look of + offence. + </p> + <p> + “I 've got a headache,” she said, “I shall go in + and lie down.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton tried to speak, but something kept him silent—submission to + what was coming, like the mute submission of the fields and birds to the + menace of the storm. + </p> + <p> + He watched her go, and went back to his seat. And the silence seemed to + grow; the flowers ceased to exude their fragrance, numbed by the weighty + air. All the long house behind him seemed asleep, deserted. No noise came + forth, no laughter, the echo of no music, the ringing of no bell; the heat + had wrapped it round with drowsiness. And the silence added to the + solitude within him. What an unlucky chance, that woman's accident! + Designed by Providence to put Antonia further from him than before! Why + was not the world composed of the immaculate alone? He started pacing up + and down, tortured by a dreadful heartache. + </p> + <p> + “I must get rid of this,” he thought. “I 'll go + for a good tramp, and chance the storm.” + </p> + <p> + Leaving the drive he ran on Toddles, returning in the highest spirits. + </p> + <p> + “I saw her home,” he crowed. “I say, what a ripper, isn't + she? She 'll be as lame as a tree to-morrow; so will the gee. Jolly + hot!” + </p> + <p> + This meeting showed Shelton that he had been an hour on the stone seat; he + had thought it some ten minutes, and the discovery alarmed him. It seemed + to bring the import of his miserable fear right home to him. He started + with a swinging stride, keeping his eyes fixed on the road, the + perspiration streaming down his face. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXI + </h2> + <h3> + THE STORM + </h3> + <p> + It was seven and more when Shelton returned, from his walk; a few heat + drops had splashed the leaves, but the storm had not yet broken. In + brooding silence the world seemed pent beneath the purple firmament. + </p> + <p> + By rapid walking in the heat Shelton had got rid of his despondency. He + felt like one who is to see his mistress after long estrangement. He, + bathed, and, straightening his tie-ends, stood smiling at the glass. His + fear, unhappiness, and doubts seemed like an evil dream; how much worse + off would he not have been, had it all been true? + </p> + <p> + It was dinner-party night, and when he reached the drawing-room the guests + were there already, chattering of the coming storm. Antonia was not yet + down, and Shelton stood by the piano waiting for her entry. Red faces, + spotless shirt-fronts, white arms; and freshly-twisted hair were all + around him. Some one handed him a clove carnation, and, as he held it to + his nose, Antonia came in, breathless, as though she had rushed + down-stairs, Her cheeks were pale no longer; her hand kept stealing to her + throat. The flames of the coming storm seemed to have caught fire within + her, to be scorching her in her white frock; she passed him close, and her + fragrance whipped his senses. + </p> + <p> + She had never seemed to him so lovely. + </p> + <p> + Never again will Shelton breathe the perfume of melons and pineapples + without a strange emotion. From where he sat at dinner he could not see + Antonia, but amidst the chattering of voices, the clink of glass and + silver, the sights and sounds and scents of feasting, he thought how he + would go to her and say that nothing mattered but her love. He drank the + frosted, pale-gold liquid of champagne as if it had been water. + </p> + <p> + The windows stood wide open in the heat; the garden lay in thick, soft + shadow, where the pitchy shapes of trees could be discerned. There was not + a breath of air to fan the candle-flames above the flowers; but two large + moths, fearful of the heavy dark, flew in and wheeled between the lights + over the diners' heads. One fell scorched into a dish of fruit, and + was removed; the other, eluding all the swish of napkins and the efforts + of the footmen, continued to make soft, fluttering rushes till Shelton + rose and caught it in his hand. He took it to the window and threw it out + into the darkness, and he noticed that the air was thick and tepid to his + face. At a sign from Mr. Dennant the muslin curtains were then drawn + across the windows, and in gratitude, perhaps, for this protection, this + filmy barrier between them and the muffled threats of Nature, everyone + broke out in talk. It was such a night as comes in summer after perfect + weather, frightening in its heat, and silence, which was broken by the + distant thunder travelling low along the ground like the muttering of all + dark places on the earth—such a night as seems, by very + breathlessness, to smother life, and with its fateful threats to justify + man's cowardice. + </p> + <p> + The ladies rose at last. The circle of the rosewood dining-table, which + had no cloth, strewn with flowers and silver gilt, had a likeness to some + autumn pool whose brown depths of oily water gleam under the sunset with + red and yellow leaves; above it the smoke of cigarettes was clinging, like + a mist to water when the sun goes down. Shelton became involved in + argument with his neighbour on the English character. + </p> + <p> + “In England we've mislaid the recipe of life,” he said. + “Pleasure's a lost art. We don't get drunk, we're + ashamed of love, and as to beauty, we've lost the eye for' it. + In exchange we have got money, but what 's the good of money when we + don't know how to spend it?” Excited by his neighbour's + smile, he added: “As to thought, we think so much of what our + neighbours think that we never think at all.... Have you ever watched a + foreigner when he's listening to an Englishman? We 're in the + habit of despising foreigners; the scorn we have for them is nothing to + the scorn they have for us. And they are right! Look at our taste! What is + the good of owning riches if we don't know how to use them?” + </p> + <p> + “That's rather new to me,” his neighbour said. “There + may be something in it.... Did you see that case in the papers the other + day of old Hornblower, who left the 1820 port that fetched a guinea a + bottle? When the purchaser—poor feller!—came to drink it he + found eleven bottles out of twelve completely ullaged—ha! ha! Well, + there's nothing wrong with this”; and he drained his glass. + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Shelton. + </p> + <p> + When they rose to join the ladies, he slipped out on the lawn. + </p> + <p> + At once he was enveloped in a bath of heat. A heavy odour, sensual, + sinister, was in the air, as from a sudden flowering of amorous shrubs. He + stood and drank it in with greedy nostrils. Putting his hand down, he felt + the grass; it was dry, and charged with electricity. Then he saw, pale and + candescent in the blackness, three or four great lilies, the authors of + that perfume. The blossoms seemed to be rising at him through the + darkness; as though putting up their faces to be kissed. He straightened + himself abruptly and went in. + </p> + <p> + The guests were leaving when Shelton, who was watching; saw Antonia slip + through the drawing-room window. He could follow the white glimmer of her + frock across the lawn, but lost it in the shadow of the trees; casting a + hasty look to see that he was not observed, he too slipped out. The + blackness and the heat were stifling he took great breaths of it as if it + were the purest mountain air, and, treading softly on the grass, stole on + towards the holm oak. His lips were dry, his heart beat painfully. The + mutter of the distant thunder had quite ceased; waves of hot air came + wheeling in his face, and in their midst a sudden rush of cold. He + thought, “The storm is coming now!” and stole on towards the + tree. She was lying in the hammock, her figure a white blur in, the heart + of the tree's shadow, rocking gently to a little creaking of the + branch. Shelton held his breath; she had not heard him. He crept up close + behind the trunk till he stood in touch of her. “I mustn't + startle her,” he thought. “Antonia!” + </p> + <p> + There was a faint stir in the hammock, but no answer. He stood over her, + but even then he could not see her face; he only, had a sense of something + breathing and alive within a yard of him—of something warm and soft. + He whispered again, “Antonia!” but again there came no answer, + and a sort of fear and frenzy seized on him. He could no longer hear her + breathe; the creaking of the branch had ceased. What was passing in that + silent, living creature there so close? And then he heard again the sound + of breathing, quick and scared, like the fluttering of a bird; in a moment + he was staring in the dark at an empty hammock. + </p> + <p> + He stayed beside the empty hammock till he could bear uncertainty no + longer. But as he crossed the lawn the sky was rent from end to end by + jagged lightning, rain spattered him from head to foot, and with a + deafening crack the thunder broke. + </p> + <p> + He sought the smoking-room, but, recoiling at the door, went to his own + room, and threw himself down on the bed. The thunder groaned and sputtered + in long volleys; the lightning showed him the shapes of things within the + room, with a weird distinctness that rent from them all likeness to the + purpose they were made for, bereaved them of utility, of their + matter-of-factness, presented them as skeletons, abstractions, with + indecency in their appearance, like the naked nerves and sinews of a leg + preserved in, spirit. The sound of the rain against the house stunned his + power of thinking, he rose to shut his windows; then, returning to his + bed, threw himself down again. He stayed there till the storm was over, in + a kind of stupor; but when the boom of the retreating thunder grew every + minute less distinct, he rose. Then for the first time he saw something + white close by the door. + </p> + <p> + It was a note: + </p> + <p> + I have made a mistake. Please forgive me, and go away.—ANTONIA. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXII + </h2> + <h3> + WILDERNESS + </h3> + <p> + When he had read this note, Shelton put it down beside his sleeve-links on + his dressing table, stared in the mirror at himself, and laughed. But his + lips soon stopped him laughing; he threw himself upon his bed and pressed + his face into the pillows. He lay there half-dressed throughout the night, + and when he rose, soon after dawn, he had not made his mind up what to do. + The only thing he knew for certain was that he must not meet Antonia. + </p> + <p> + At last he penned the following: + </p> + <p> + I have had a sleepless night with toothache, and think it best to run up + to the dentist at once. If a tooth must come out, the sooner the better. + </p> + <p> + He addressed it to Mrs. Dennant, and left it on his table. After doing + this he threw himself once more upon his bed, and this time fell into a + doze. + </p> + <p> + He woke with a start, dressed, and let himself quietly out. The likeness + of his going to that of Ferrand struck him. “Both outcasts now,” + he thought. + </p> + <p> + He tramped on till noon without knowing or caring where he went; then, + entering a field, threw himself down under the hedge, and fell asleep. + </p> + <p> + He was awakened by a whirr. A covey of partridges, with wings glistening + in the sun, were straggling out across the adjoining field of mustard. + They soon settled in the old-maidish way of partridges, and began to call + upon each other. + </p> + <p> + Some cattle had approached him in his sleep, and a beautiful bay cow, with + her head turned sideways, was snuffing at him gently, exhaling her + peculiar sweetness. She was as fine in legs and coat as any race-horse. + She dribbled at the corners of her black, moist lips; her eye was soft and + cynical. Breathing the vague sweetness of the mustard-field, rubbing dry + grasp-stalks in his fingers, Shelton had a moment's happiness—the + happiness of sun and sky, of the eternal quiet, and untold movements of + the fields. Why could not human beings let their troubles be as this cow + left the flies that clung about her eyes? He dozed again, and woke up with + a laugh, for this was what he dreamed: + </p> + <p> + He fancied he was in a room, at once the hall and drawing-room of some + country house. In the centre of this room a lady stood, who was looking in + a hand-glass at her face. Beyond a door or window could be seen a garden + with a row of statues, and through this door people passed without + apparent object. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Shelton saw his mother advancing to the lady with the hand-glass, + whom now he recognised as Mrs. Foliot. But, as he looked, his mother + changed to Mrs. Dennant, and began speaking in a voice that was a sort of + abstract of refinement. “Je fais de la philosophic,” it said; + “I take the individual for what she's worth. I do not condemn; + above all, one must have spirit!” The lady with the mirror continued + looking in the glass; and, though he could not see her face, he could see + its image-pale, with greenish eyes, and a smile like scorn itself. Then, + by a swift transition, he was walking in the garden talking to Mrs. + Dennant. + </p> + <p> + It was from this talk that he awoke with laughter. “But,” she + had been saying, “Dick, I've always been accustomed to believe + what I was told. It was so unkind of her to scorn me just because I happen + to be second-hand.” And her voice awakened Shelton's pity; it + was like a frightened child's. “I don't know what I + shall do if I have to form opinions for myself. I was n't brought up + to it. I 've always had them nice and secondhand. How am I to go to + work? One must believe what other people do; not that I think much of + other people, but, you do know what it is—one feels so much more + comfortable,” and her skirts rustled. “But, Dick, whatever + happens”—her voice entreated—“do let Antonia get + her judgments secondhand. Never mind for me—if I must form opinions + for myself, I must—but don't let her; any old opinions so long + as they are old. It 's dreadful to have to think out new ones for + oneself.” And he awoke. His dream had had in it the element called + Art, for, in its gross absurdity, Mrs. Dennant had said things that showed + her soul more fully than anything she would have said in life. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said a voice quite close, behind the hedge, “not + many Frenchmen, thank the Lord! A few coveys of Hungarians over from the + Duke's. Sir James, some pie?” + </p> + <p> + Shelton raised himself with drowsy curiosity—still half asleep—and + applied his face to a gap in the high, thick osiers of the hedge. Four men + were seated on camp-stools round a folding-table, on which was a pie and + other things to eat. A game-cart, well-adorned with birds and hares, stood + at a short distance; the tails of some dogs were seen moving humbly, and a + valet opening bottles. Shelton had forgotten that it was “the first.” + The host was a soldierly and freckled man; an older man sat next him, + square-jawed, with an absent-looking eye and sharpened nose; next him, + again, there was a bearded person whom they seemed to call the Commodore; + in the fourth, to his alarm, Shelton recognised the gentleman called + Mabbey. It was really no matter for surprise to meet him miles from his + own place, for he was one of those who wander with a valet and two guns + from the twelfth of August to the end of January, and are then supposed to + go to Monte Carlo or to sleep until the twelfth of August comes again. + </p> + <p> + He was speaking. + </p> + <p> + “Did you hear what a bag we made on the twelfth, Sir James?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! yes; what was that? Have you sold your bay horse, Glennie?” + </p> + <p> + Shelton had not decided whether or no to sneak away, when the Commodore's + thick voice began: + </p> + <p> + “My man tellsh me that Mrs. Foliot—haw—has lamed her + Arab. Does she mean to come out cubbing?” + </p> + <p> + Shelton observed the smile that came on all their faces. “Foliot + 's paying for his good time now; what a donkey to get caught!” + it seemed to say. He turned his back and shut his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Cubbing?” replied Glennie; “hardly.” + </p> + <p> + “Never could shee anything wonderful in her looks,” went on + the Commodore; “so quiet, you never knew that she was in the room. I + remember sayin' to her once, 'Mrs. Lutheran, now what do you + like besht in all the world?' and what do you think she answered? + 'Music!' Haw!” + </p> + <p> + The voice of Mabbey said: + </p> + <p> + “He was always a dark horse, Foliot: It 's always the dark + horses that get let in for this kind of thing”; and there was a + sound as though he licked his lips. + </p> + <p> + “They say,” said the voice of the host, “he never gives + you back a greeting now. Queer fish; they say that she's devoted to + him.” + </p> + <p> + Coming so closely on his meeting with this lady, and on the dream from + which he had awakened, this conversation mesmerised the listener behind + the hedge. + </p> + <p> + “If he gives up his huntin' and his shootin', I don't + see what the deuce he 'll do; he's resigned his clubs; as to + his chance of Parliament—” said the voice of Mabbey. + </p> + <p> + “Thousand pities,” said Sir James; “still, he knew what + to expect.” + </p> + <p> + “Very queer fellows, those Foliots,” said the Commodore. + “There was his father: he 'd always rather talk to any + scarecrow he came across than to you or me. Wonder what he'll do + with all his horses; I should like that chestnut of his.” + </p> + <p> + “You can't tell what a fellow 'll do,” said the + voice of Mabbey—“take to drink or writin' books. Old + Charlie Wayne came to gazin' at stars, and twice a week he used to + go and paddle round in Whitechapel, teachin' pothooks—” + </p> + <p> + “Glennie,” said Sir James, “what 's become of + Smollett, your old keeper?” + </p> + <p> + “Obliged to get rid of him.” Shelton tried again to close his + ears, but again he listened. “Getting a bit too old; lost me a lot + of eggs last season.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the Commodore, “when they oncesh begin to + lose eggsh—” + </p> + <p> + “As a matter of fact, his son—you remember him, Sir James, he + used to load for you?—got a girl into trouble; when her people gave + her the chuck old Smollet took her in; beastly scandal it made, too. The + girl refused to marry Smollett, and old Smollett backed her up. Naturally, + the parson and the village cut up rough; my wife offered to get her into + one of those reformatory what-d' you-call-'.ms, but the old + fellow said she should n't go if she did n't want to. Bad + business altogether; put him quite off his stroke. I only got five hundred + pheasants last year instead of eight.” + </p> + <p> + There was a silence. Shelton again peeped through the hedge. All were + eating pie. + </p> + <p> + “In Warwickshire,” said the Commodore, “they always + marry—haw—and live reshpectable ever after.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so,” remarked the host; “it was a bit too thick, + her refusing to marry him. She said he took advantage of her.” + </p> + <p> + “She's sorry by this time,” said Sir James; “lucky + escape for young Smollett. Queer, the obstinacy of some of these old + fellows!” + </p> + <p> + “What are we doing after lunch?” asked the Commodore. + </p> + <p> + “The next field,” said the host, “is pasture. We line up + along the hedge, and drive that mustard towards the roots; there ought to + be a good few birds.” + </p> + <p> + “Shelton rose, and, crouching, stole softly to the gate: + </p> + <p> + “On the twelfth, shootin' in two parties,” followed the + voice of Mabbey from the distance. + </p> + <p> + Whether from his walk or from his sleepless night, Shelton seemed to ache + in every limb; but he continued his tramp along the road. He was no nearer + to deciding what to do. It was late in the afternoon when he reached + Maidenhead, and, after breaking fast, got into a London train and went to + sleep. At ten o'clock that evening he walked into St. James's + Park and there sat down. + </p> + <p> + The lamplight dappled through the tired foliage on to these benches which + have rested many vagrants. Darkness has ceased to be the lawful cloak of + the unhappy; but Mother Night was soft and moonless, and man had not + despoiled her of her comfort, quite. + </p> + <p> + Shelton was not alone upon the seat, for at the far end was sitting a + young girl with a red, round, sullen face; and beyond, and further still, + were dim benches and dim figures sitting on them, as though life's + institutions had shot them out in an endless line of rubbish. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” thought Shelton, in the dreamy way of tired people; + “the institutions are all right; it's the spirit that's + all—” + </p> + <p> + “Wrong?” said a voice behind him; “why, of course! You've + taken the wrong turn, old man.” + </p> + <p> + He saw a policeman, with a red face shining through the darkness, talking + to a strange old figure like some aged and dishevelled bird. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, constable,” the old man said, “as I've + come wrong I'll take a rest.” Chewing his gums, he seemed to + fear to take the liberty of sitting down. + </p> + <p> + Shelton made room, and the old fellow took the vacant place. + </p> + <p> + “You'll excuse me, sir, I'm sure,” he said in + shaky tones, and snatching at his battered hat; “I see you was a + gentleman”—and lovingly he dwelt upon the word—“would + n't disturb you for the world. I'm not used to being out at + night, and the seats do get so full. Old age must lean on something; you'll + excuse me, sir, I 'm sure.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said Shelton gently. + </p> + <p> + “I'm a respectable old man, really,” said his neighbour; + “I never took a liberty in my life. But at my age, sir, you get + nervous; standin' about the streets as I been this last week, an' + sleepin' in them doss-houses—Oh, they're dreadful rough + places—a dreadful rough lot there! Yes,” the old man said + again, as Shelton turned to look at him, struck by the real self-pity in + his voice, “dreadful rough places!” + </p> + <p> + A movement of his head, which grew on a lean, plucked neck like that of an + old fowl, had brought his face into the light. It was long, and run to + seed, and had a large, red nose; its thin, colourless lips were twisted + sideways and apart, showing his semi-toothless mouth; and his eyes had + that aged look of eyes in which all colour runs into a thin rim round the + iris; and over them kept coming films like the films over parrots' + eyes. He was, or should have been, clean-shaven. His hair—for he had + taken off his hat was thick and lank, of dusty colour, as far as could be + seen, without a speck of grey, and parted very beautifully just about the + middle. + </p> + <p> + “I can put up with that,” he said again. “I never + interferes with nobody, and nobody don't interfere with me; but what + frightens me”—his voice grew steady, as if too terrified to + shake, “is never knowin' day to day what 's to become of + yer. Oh, that 'a dreadful, that is!” + </p> + <p> + “It must be,” answered Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! it is,” the old man said; “and the winter cumin' + on. I never was much used to open air, bein' in domestic service all + my life; but I don't mind that so long as I can see my way to earn a + livin'. Well, thank God! I've got a job at last”; and + his voice grew cheerful suddenly. “Sellin' papers is not what + I been accustomed to; but the Westminister, they tell me that's one + of the most respectable of the evenin' papers—in fact, I know + it is. So now I'm sure to get on; I try hard.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you get the job?” asked Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “I 've got my character,” the old fellow said, making a + gesture with a skinny hand towards his chest, as if it were there he kept + his character. + </p> + <p> + “Thank God, nobody can't take that away! I never parts from + that”; and fumbling, he produced a packet, holding first one paper + to the light, and then another, and he looked anxiously at Shelton. + “In that house where I been sleepin' they're not honest; + they 've stolen a parcel of my things—a lovely shirt an' + a pair of beautiful gloves a gentleman gave me for holdin' of his + horse. Now, would n't you prosecute 'em, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “It depends on what you can prove.” + </p> + <p> + “I know they had 'em. A man must stand up for his rights; that's + only proper. I can't afford to lose beautiful things like them. I + think I ought to prosecute, now, don't you, sir?” + </p> + <p> + Shelton restrained a smile. + </p> + <p> + “There!” said the old man, smoothing out a piece of paper + shakily, “that's Sir George!” and his withered + finger-tips trembled on the middle of the page: 'Joshua Creed, in my + service five years as butler, during which time I have found him all that + a servant should be.' And this 'ere'—he fumbled + with another—“this 'ere 's Lady Glengow: 'Joshua + Creed—' I thought I'd like you to read 'em since + you've been so kind.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you have a pipe?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank ye, sir,” replied the aged butler, filling his clay + from Shelton's pouch; then, taking a front tooth between his finger + and his thumb, he began to feel it tenderly, working it to and fro with a + sort of melancholy pride. + </p> + <p> + “My teeth's a-comin' out,” he said; “but I + enjoys pretty good health for a man of my age.” + </p> + <p> + “How old is that?” + </p> + <p> + “Seventy-two! Barrin' my cough, and my rupture, and this + 'ere affliction”—he passed his hand over his face—“I + 've nothing to complain of; everybody has somethink, it seems. I'm + a wonder for my age, I think.” + </p> + <p> + Shelton, for all his pity, would have given much to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Seventy-two!” he said; “yes, a great age. You remember + the country when it was very different to what it is now?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the old butler, “there was gentry then; I + remember them drivin' down to Newmarket (my native place, sir) with + their own horses. There was n't so much o' these here middle + classes then. There was more, too, what you might call the milk o' + human kindness in people then—none o' them amalgamated stores, + every man keepin' his own little shop; not so eager to cut his + neighbour's throat, as you might say. And then look at the price of + bread! O dear! why, it is n't a quarter what it was!” + </p> + <p> + “And are people happier now than they were then?” asked + Shelton. + </p> + <p> + The old butler sucked his pipe. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he answered, shaking his old head; “they've + lost the contented spirit. I see people runnin' here and runnin' + there, readin' books, findin' things out; they ain't not + so self-contented as they were.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that possible?” thought Shelton. + </p> + <p> + “No,” repeated the old man, again sucking at his pipe, and + this time blowing out a lot of smoke; “I don't see as much + happiness about, not the same look on the faces. 'T isn't + likely. See these 'ere motorcars, too; they say 'orses is goin' + out”; and, as if dumbfounded at his own conclusion, he sat silent + for some time, engaged in the lighting and relighting of his pipe. + </p> + <p> + The girl at the far end stirred, cleared her throat, and settled down + again; her movement disengaged a scent of frowsy clothes. The policeman + had approached and scrutinised these ill-assorted faces; his glance was + jovially contemptuous till he noticed Shelton, and then was modified by + curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “There's good men in the police,” the aged butler said, + when the policeman had passed on—“there's good men in + the police, as good men as you can see, and there 's them that + treats you like the dirt—a dreadful low class of man. Oh dear, yes! + when they see you down in the world, they think they can speak to you as + they like; I don't give them no chance to worry me; I keeps myself + to myself, and speak civil to all the world. You have to hold the candle + to them; for, oh dear! if they 're crossed—some of them—they + 're a dreadful unscrup'lous lot of men!” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to spend the night here?” + </p> + <p> + “It's nice and warm to-night,” replied the aged butler. + “I said to the man at that low place I said: 'Don't you + ever speak to me again,' I said, 'don't you come near + me!' Straightforward and honest 's been my motto all my life; + I don't want to have nothing to say to them low fellows”—he + made an annihilating gesture—“after the way they treated me, + takin' my things like that. Tomorrow I shall get a room for three + shillin's a week, don't you think so, sir? Well, then I shall + be all right. I 'm not afraid now; the mind at rest. So long as I + ran keep myself, that's all I want. I shall do first-rate, I think”; + and he stared at Shelton, but the look in his eyes and the half-scared + optimism of his voice convinced the latter that he lived in dread. “So + long as I can keep myself,” he said again, “I sha'n'. + need no workhouse nor lose respectability.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” thought Shelton; and for some time sat without a word. + “When you can;” he said at last, “come and see me; here's + my card.” + </p> + <p> + The aged butler became conscious with a jerk, for he was nodding. + </p> + <p> + “Thank ye, sir; I will,” he said, with pitiful alacrity. + “Down by Belgravia? Oh, I know it well; I lived down in them parts + with a gentleman of the name of Bateson—perhaps you knew him; he + 's dead now—the Honourable Bateson. Thank ye, sir; I'll + be sure to come”; and, snatching at his battered hat, he toilsomely + secreted Shelton's card amongst his character. A minute later he + began again to nod. + </p> + <p> + The policeman passed a second time; his gaze seemed to say, “Now, + what's a toff doing on that seat with those two rotters?” And + Shelton caught his eye. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he thought; “exactly! You don't know what to + make of me—a man of my position sitting here! Poor devil! to spend + your days in spying on your fellow-creatures! Poor devil! But you don't + know that you 're a poor devil, and so you 're not one.” + </p> + <p> + The man on the next bench sneezed—a shrill and disapproving sneeze. + </p> + <p> + The policeman passed again, and, seeing that the lower creatures were both + dozing, he spoke to Shelton: + </p> + <p> + “Not very safe on these 'ere benches, sir,” he said; + “you never know who you may be sittin' next to. If I were you, + sir, I should be gettin' on—if you 're not goin' + to spend the night here, that is”; and he laughed, as at an + admirable joke. + </p> + <p> + Shelton looked at him, and itched to say, “Why shouldn't I?” + but it struck him that it would sound very odd. “Besides,” he + thought, “I shall only catch a cold”; and, without speaking, + he left the seat, and went along towards his rooms. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIII + </h2> + <h3> + THE END + </h3> + <p> + He reached his rooms at midnight so exhausted that, without waiting to + light up, he dropped into a chair. The curtains and blinds had been + removed for cleaning, and the tall windows admitted the night's + staring gaze. Shelton fixed his eyes on that outside darkness, as one lost + man might fix his eyes upon another. + </p> + <p> + An unaired, dusty odour clung about the room, but, like some God-sent + whiff of grass or flowers wafted to one sometimes in the streets, a + perfume came to him, the spice from the withered clove carnation still + clinging, to his button-hole; and he suddenly awoke from his queer trance. + There was a decision to be made. He rose to light a candle; the dust was + thick on everything he touched. “Ugh!” he thought, “how + wretched!” and the loneliness that had seized him on the stone seat + at Holm Oaks the day before returned with fearful force. + </p> + <p> + On his table, heaped without order, were a pile of bills and circulars. He + opened them, tearing at their covers with the random haste of men back + from their holidays. A single long envelope was placed apart. + </p> + <p> + MY DEAR DICK [he read], + </p> + <p> + I enclose you herewith the revised draft of your marriage settlement. It + is now shipshape. Return it before the end of the week, and I will have it + engrossed for signature. I go to Scotland next Wednesday for a month; + shall be back in good time for your wedding. My love to your mother when + you see her. + </p> + <p> + Your-affectionate uncle, + </p> + <p> + EDMUND PARAMOR. + </p> + <p> + Shelton smiled and took out the draft. + </p> + <p> + “This Indenture made the — day of 190-, between Richard + Paramor Shelton—” + </p> + <p> + He put it down and sank back in his chair, the chair in which the foreign + vagrant had been wont to sit on mornings when he came to preach + philosophy. + </p> + <p> + He did not stay there long, but in sheer unhappiness got up, and, taking + his candle, roamed about the room, fingering things, and gazing in the + mirror at his face, which seemed to him repulsive in its wretchedness. He + went at last into the hall and opened the door, to go downstairs again + into the street; but the sudden certainty that, in street or house, in + town or country, he would have to take his trouble with him, made him shut + it to. He felt in the letterbox, drew forth a letter, and with this he + went back to the sitting-room. + </p> + <p> + It was from Antonia. And such was his excitement that he was forced to + take three turns between the window and the wall before he could read; + then, with a heart beating so that he could hardly hold the paper, he + began: + </p> + <p> + I was wrong to ask you to go away. I see now that it was breaking my + promise, and I did n't mean to do that. I don't know why + things have come to be so different. You never think as I do about + anything. + </p> + <p> + I had better tell you that that letter of Monsieur Ferrand's to + mother was impudent. Of course you did n't know what was in it; but + when Professor Brayne was asking you about him at breakfast, I felt that + you believed that he was right and we were wrong, and I can't + understand it. And then in the afternoon, when that woman hurt her horse, + it was all as if you were on her side. How can you feel like that? + </p> + <p> + I must say this, because I don't think I ought to have asked you to + go away, and I want you to believe that I will keep my promise, or I + should feel that you and everybody else had a right to condemn me. I was + awake all last night, and have a bad headache this morning. I can't + write any more. ANTONIA. + </p> + <p> + His first sensation was a sort of stupefaction of relief that had in it an + element of anger. He was reprieved! She would not break her promise; she + considered herself bound! In the midst of the exaltation of this thought + he smiled, and that smile was strange. + </p> + <p> + He read it through again, and, like a judge, began to weigh what she had + written, her thoughts when she was writing, the facts which had led up to + this. + </p> + <p> + The vagrant's farewell document had done the business. True to his + fatal gift of divesting things of clothing, Ferrand had not vanished + without showing up his patron in his proper colours; even to Shelton those + colours were made plain. Antonia had felt her lover was a traitor. + Sounding his heart even in his stress of indecision, Shelton knew that + this was true. + </p> + <p> + “Then in the afternoon, when that woman hurt her horse-” That + woman! “It was as if you were on her side!” + </p> + <p> + He saw too well her mind, its clear rigidity, its intuitive perception of + that with which it was not safe to sympathise, its instinct for + self-preservation, its spontaneous contempt for those without that + instinct. And she had written these words considering herself bound to him—a + man of sentiment, of rebellious sympathies, of untidiness of principle! + Here was the answer to the question he had asked all day: “How have + things come to such a pass?” and he began to feel compassion for + her. + </p> + <p> + Poor child! She could not jilt him; there was something vulgar in the + word! Never should it be said that Antonia Dennant had accented him and + thrown him over. No lady did these things! They were impossible! At the + bottom of his heart he had a queer, unconscious sympathy with, this + impossibility. + </p> + <p> + Once again he read the letter, which seemed now impregnated with fresh + meaning, and the anger which had mingled with his first sensation of + relief detached itself and grew in force. In that letter there was + something tyrannous, a denial of his right to have a separate point of + view. It was like a finger pointed at him as an unsound person. In + marrying her he would be marrying not only her, but her class—his + class. She would be there always to make him look on her and on himself, + and all the people that they knew and all the things they did, + complacently; she would be there to make him feel himself superior to + everyone whose life was cast in other moral moulds. To feel himself + superior, not blatantly, not consciously, but with subconscious + righteousness. + </p> + <p> + But his anger, which was like the paroxysm that two days before had made + him mutter at the Connoisseur, “I hate your d—-d superiority,” + struck him all at once as impotent and ludicrous. What was the good of + being angry? He was on the point of losing her! And the anguish of that + thought, reacting on his anger, intensified it threefold. She was so + certain of herself, so superior to her emotions, to her natural impulses—superior + to her very longing to be free from him. Of that fact, at all events, + Shelton had no longer any doubt. It was beyond argument. She did not + really love him; she wanted to be free of him! + </p> + <p> + A photograph hung in his bedroom at Holm Oaks of a group round the hall + door; the Honourable Charlotte Penguin, Mrs. Dennant, Lady Bonington, + Halidome, Mr. Dennant, and the stained-glass man—all were there; and + on the left-hand side, looking straight in front of her, Antonia. Her face + in its youthfulness, more than all those others, expressed their point of + view: Behind those calm young eyes lay a world of safety and tradition. + “I am not as others are,” they seemed to say. + </p> + <p> + And from that photograph Mr. and Mrs. Dennant singled themselves out; he + could see their faces as they talked—their faces with a peculiar and + uneasy look on them; and he could hear their voices, still decisive, but a + little acid, as if they had been quarrelling: + </p> + <p> + “He 's made a donkey of himself!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! it's too distressin'.” + </p> + <p> + They, too, thought him unsound, and did n't want him; but to save + the situation they would be glad to keep him. She did n't want him, + but she refused to lose her right to say, “Commoner girls may break + their promises; I will not!” He sat down at the table between the + candles, covering his face. His grief and anger grew and grew within him. + If she would not free herself, the duty was on him! She was ready without + love to marry him, as a sacrifice to her ideal of what she ought to be! + </p> + <p> + But she had n't, after all, the monopoly of pride! + </p> + <p> + As if she stood before him, he could see the shadows underneath her eyes + that he had dreamed of kissing, the eager movements of her lips. For + several minutes he remained, not moving hand or limb. Then once more his + anger blazed. She was going to sacrifice herself and—him! All his + manhood scoffed at such a senseless sacrifice. That was not exactly what + he wanted! + </p> + <p> + He went to the bureau, took a piece of paper and an envelope, and wrote as + follows: + </p> + <p> + There never was, is not, and never would have been any question of being + bound between us. I refuse to trade on any such thing. You are absolutely + free. Our engagement is at an end by mutual consent. + </p> + <p> + RICHARD SHELTON. + </p> + <p> + He sealed it, and, sitting with his hands between his knees, he let his + forehead droop lower and lower to the table, till it rested on his + marriage settlement. And he had a feeling of relief, like one who drops + exhausted at his journey's end. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Island Pharisees, by John Galsworthy + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ISLAND PHARISEES *** + +***** This file should be named 2771-h.htm or 2771-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/7/2771/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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