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diff --git a/28465-h/28465-h.htm b/28465-h/28465-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..69f4416 --- /dev/null +++ b/28465-h/28465-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10800 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Limit, by Ada Leverson. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + text-indent:2em; + } + p.noind {text-indent:0;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + hr.medium { width: 46%;} + hr.wide { width: 85%;} + + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; } + table.wide {width:100%;} + table.bordered, table.bordered td, table.bordered th {border:dotted 1px #999; border-collapse:collapse;} + + +table.contents-tbl { margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; border-collapse: collapse;} + + + /*table.contents-tbl {width:30em; padding:0.3em;} + table.contents-tbl th {font-size:0.8em;}*/ + + .right, td.right {text-align:right;} + .left {text-align:left;} + + #tnotes_mini {width: 34em; + margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; font-size: 0.9em; padding:0.3em;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 5%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right; font-style: normal; overflow:hidden;} + /* page numbers */ + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; + float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;} + + .padding {padding-bottom: 2em; padding-top: 2em;} + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + .sgntr {margin-left:25em;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + + .blckright, .right {text-align: right; clear: both; margin-right:1em; } + + .tnote { width: 34em; + border: 1px dashed #808080; + background-color: #f6f6f6; + text-align: justify; + padding: 0.5em; + margin: 80px auto 80px auto; + } + + + .ins, a.ins { color:#111; text-decoration: none; border-bottom: 1px dashed #039; } + .cor { color:#111; } + + .pg {text-align:right;} + .clear {clear:both;} + + + --> + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Limit, by Ada Leverson + +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 Limit + +Author: Ada Leverson + +Release Date: March 31, 2009 [EBook #28465] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIMIT *** + + + + +Produced by Ewa Jaros, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="tnote"> +<h2>Transcriber's Note</h2> + +<p>The original spelling and punctuation were retained, +except for a few issues that were believed to be +typographical mistakes. All the corrections are +marked with a dashed line and the original text should +appear on <ins class="ins" title="like this">hovering +the mouse over it</ins>. The full list of corrections +can be found <a href="#tnotes">at the end of this document</a>.</p> +</div> + +<div class="padding"> +<div class="padding"> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> +<h1>THE LIMIT</h1> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>ADA LEVERSON</h2> +</div> +<div class="padding"> +<p class="center noind">LONDON +CHAPMAN & HALL</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> +<div class="padding"> +<div class="padding"> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p> +<p class="center noind">Originally published 1911 by Grant Richards Ltd.<br /> +Reissued 1950 by arrangement with the Richards Press Ltd.</p> +</div> +<div class="padding"> +<p class="center noind">Printed by Brüder Rosenbaum, Vienna, Austria<br /> +Cat. No. 5085/4</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> +<div class="padding"> +<div class="padding"><p class="center noind">TO +ROBERT ROSS</p> +</div> +</div> + +<hr /> +<div class="clear"><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p></div> + +<div class="clear"> </div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p> +<div id="contents"><h2>CONTENTS</h2></div> + +<table summary="contents" class="contents-tbl"> +<tr><th class="left">Chapter</th><th> </th><th class="right">Page</th></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_I">I</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_I">VALENTIA</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_II">II</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_II">HARRY</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_III">III</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_III">VAN BUREN</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">IV</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">THE ELDER MRS. WYBURN</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_37">37</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_V">V</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_V">ROMER</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">VI</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">HARRY'S ENTERTAINMENT</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_47">47</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">VII</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">DAPHNE</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">VIII</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">IN FANCY DRESS</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">IX</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">A CELEBRITY AT HOME</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_79">79</a></td></tr> + + +<tr><td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8"></a>[8]</span><a href="#CHAPTER_X">X</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_X">MISCHIEF</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_87">87</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">XI</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">THE FRIENDS</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">XII</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">A HOME CHAT</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">XIII</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">VALENTIA'S VISIT</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_123">123</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">XIV</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">A SUGGESTION</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_131">131</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">XV</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">MISS WALMER</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">XVI</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">MRS. FOSTER</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_144">144</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">XVII</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">ENGAGED</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">XVIII</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">AT THE CARLTON</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_163">163</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">XIX</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">AT MISS WESTBURY'S</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_170">170</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">XX</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">A PROPOSAL</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_177">177</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9"></a>[9]</span><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">XXI</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">HEREFORD VAUGHAN</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_183">183</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">XXII</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">GILLIE INTERFERES</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_189">189</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">XXIII</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">THE BALD-FACED STAG</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_196">196</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">XXIV</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">THE GREEN GATE</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_203">203</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">XXV</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">A SUNDAY AFTERNOON</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_211">211</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">XXVI</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">IN THE ROSE GARDEN</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_223">223</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">XXVII</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">SEEING THE SUN RISE</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_230">230</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">XXVIII</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">"REPLY PAID"</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_235">235</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">XXIX</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">GLADYS</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_241">241</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">XXX</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">"THE ANGLES"</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_248">248</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">XXXI</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">AT EDGWARE</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_256">256</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">XXXII</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">TENSION</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_263">263</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">XXXIII</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">GOOD-BYE</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_268">268</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">XXXIV</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">ROMER OVERHEARS</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_274">274</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">XXXV</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">THE LIMIT</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_286">286</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">XXXVI</a></td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">RECONCILIATION</a></td><td class="pg"><a href="#Page_291">291</a></td></tr> +</table> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>VALENTIA</h3> + + +<p>"Romer, are you listening?"</p> + +<p>"Valentia, do I ever do anything else?"</p> + +<p>"I've almost decided and absolutely made +up my mind that it will look ever so much +better if you don't go with me to Harry's +dinner after all."</p> + +<p>"Really?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. We two—you <i>and</i> I—always seem to +make such an enormous family party! Of +course, I know we have to go about in these huge +batches sometimes—to your mother, and that +sort of thing, but in this case it will look better +not."</p> + +<p>Valentia made this rather ungracious suggestion, +looking so pretty, so serious, and yet +with such a conciliating smile that it would have +been almost impossible for even the most touchy +person to have been offended.</p> + +<p>The tall, significant-looking husband stopped +in his stroll across the room.</p> + +<p>It was a charming room, with pale grey walls<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +and a pale green carpet, and very little in it +except, let in as a panel, a delicate low-toned +portrait of the mistress of the house, vaguely +appearing through vaporous curtains, holding +pale flowers, and painted with a rather mysterious +effect by that talented young amateur, her +cousin, Harry de Freyne. It had been his sole +success in art, and had been exhibited at the +Grafton Galleries under the name of The +Gilded Lily. No one had ever known or was +ever likely to know whether the title referred +to the decorative, if botanically impossible, +blossom in her hand, or to the golden hair of the +seductive sitter.</p> + +<p>Romer Wyburn paused a moment—he always +paused before speaking—and then said +very slowly—</p> + +<p>"Oh! Really? You think it will look better +if I don't go with you?"</p> + +<p>He invariably spoke with the greatest deliberation, +and with no expression whatever.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, dear, I'm sure it would," she +repeated coaxingly.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean if you go without me?"</p> + +<p>"What else can I mean?"</p> + +<p>"It'll look better, you think; eh? Is that the +idea?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>He sat down opposite the portrait, lighted a +cigarette, and thought. Then he said with +ruminating interest—</p> + +<p>"I don't see why. Why will it look so much +better for me not to go with you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Romer dear, really! It's one of those +things that are almost impossible to explain. +Oh, if you'd only do just what I advise—if +you'd only <i>go</i> by me, and not want these long +tedious explanations, how much better it would +be! You see, Harry is giving this dinner <i>on +purpose</i> so that Daphne shall meet Van Buren +by accident. You know all about Van Buren, <i>the</i> +Van Buren—the millionaire, who turns out to +be a dear creature and quite charming! and has +taken the <i>greatest</i> fancy to Harry, and clings on +to him, and keeps on and on asking him to ask +him to meet people. You must own it would be +rather jolly for Daphne, because, of course, you +can't <i>think</i> how he's run after—I mean Van +Buren—and he isn't an ordinary American +snob, and it really and truly isn't only his +millionairishness, but he's a real person, and +good-looking and nice as well; and though, +Heaven knows, I'm as romantic as anybody—for +myself—I wouldn't be so selfish as to be +romantic for her too, and I can't help feeling it's +our duty, being in the place of parents to her, +to give the angel a sporting chance! Of course, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>the point is, Van Buren has told Harry he only +likes nice English girls very well brought up, +and he wants to settle down in England, and he +thinks that any relation of Harry's must be perfect; +and, naturally, I'm pleased. I feel exactly +like a mother to Daphne, although she's only +six years younger."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's all right. I see all that."</p> + +<p>Romer seemed rather bored, as men naturally +are at a long catalogue of another man's +advantages. "Now, look here. Why would it +look better for me not to go?"</p> + +<p>There was some excuse for his insistence on +this point, for in a superficial way Romer was +very effective, fair and good-looking, well-made +and distinguished; but the entire absence +of all expression from his empty, regular face, +and of all animation from his dry, colourless +voice and manner, soon counteracted the +effectiveness. Valentia often said that Romer +should never do more than walk through a +room or look in for a few minutes where there +were other people—even at a club—and then +go away immediately, when he would leave a +striking impression. If he stayed longer he became +alarming. His personality was so extraordinarily +<i>nil</i> that it was quite oppressive. +Obviously kind and not in the least pompous, +yet his silence made him formidable, especially +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>to most of his wife's friends who, though they +could hardly be reproached with want of pluck +as a general rule, had one great fear in life—the +fear of being bored. It was on this ground +that they were all terrified of Romer.</p> + +<p>"Don't you think, Romer, if we both go it +will look too marked? Almost as if we were +vulgarly trying to get Daphne married? A +horrid idea! Besides, if you don't turn up Harry +can ask some one amusing in your place. You see, +he's promised to show Van Buren <i>interesting</i> +people.... No, darling, I don't mean it in that +way. I'm sure you're interesting enough, but +I mean queer people, and celebrities and things. +That's what Van Buren wants, and that's what +he must have. And that's one reason why he's +so delighted with Harry, because Harry can get +them all, through being a sort of artist, you see. +What a good thing, after all, that he didn't +drift into diplomacy! As he's an American you +can't expect Van Buren to be really modern, +and he has all the <a class="ins" href="#tnote_1" name="tAnchor_1" title="old-fashoned">old-fashioned</a> ideas about +what <i>he</i> calls culture. He wants to go in for +being intellectual and artistic and knowing what +he calls people with brains who really count. +I mean he wants to meet people like Seymour +Hicks and Waller, and Thomas Hardy, and so +on, and not only celebrities and people who have +made their name, but even people with a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>future, and, in fact, any peculiar, well-educated +creatures—anything out of the way."</p> + +<p>Romer looked rather dazed.</p> + +<p>"Really? Then will Hicks or Hardy be asked +in my place?"</p> + +<p>Valentia laughed. "Don't be so absurdly +literal and hopelessly idiotic, darling! No, of +course not. But I dare say Harry will get—well—perhaps +Rathbone, the tattooed man, his +Oxford friend."</p> + +<p>"Really! And will this chap's being tattooed +make the party go off better?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, Romer dear; in a sort of way, +because it makes him interesting, although you +can't see it. When he was quite young he was +always having lifelong passions for people, and +being tattooed in their honour. He has blue +chain bracelets with initials on his left wrist, and +a heart and an anchor with other initials on +his right arm, and a flight of swallows—oh, and +goodness knows what! In fact, when you come +to think of it Mr. Rathbone is really a kind of +serial story—with illustrations. I wonder Lord +Northcliffe doesn't bring him out in monthly +parts!" She laughed again. "Harry might even +get Hereford Vaughan, the man who has +written all the plays that are going on now. +Harry knows him quite well, and Van Buren +would be so pleased."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>"Does Daphne want to many this American +chap?"</p> + +<p>"Good gracious, no! The idea! Why, she +doesn't even know him!... Yes, of course she +does, naturally."</p> + +<p>"Oh!"</p> + +<p>Romer, though he never by any chance +smiled at his wife's careless irresponsible chatter, +nor laughed at her trivial jests, took the deepest +interest in them, and would listen, as if under a +charm, by the hour, to subtleties and frivolities +that one would never have imagined he would +enjoy. Sometimes the faint shadow of a smile +would illuminate his face like a cold ray of +wintry moonlight, but that was when she had +ceased speaking. The smile was the effect of +having watched the sparkle of her grey eyes, +the expression of her pretty mouth, and her +brilliant, sunshiny grace.</p> + +<p>"It's very sweet of Harry," she said thoughtfully, +"to do all this for me. It's all for me, or +rather it's all for Daphne; he's so fond of +Daphne."</p> + +<p>"Really? Why doesn't he marry her himself?"</p> + +<p>She looked surprised and blushed slightly.</p> + +<p>"Harry? Why, he never marries!"</p> + +<p>"He doesn't as a rule, I know," Romer admitted.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>"Then, why should he make an exception for +Daphne? He's fond of her—of us—in fact, +devoted—just like a brother. Not that I ever +saw a devoted brother. Besides, Harry's made +to be a bachelor, and he isn't well off enough +to marry."</p> + +<p>"Really? Hard up? Poor chap! Never saw +any sign of it."</p> + +<p>"Hard up? No; how like you! Of course, he +has plenty of money, for <i>him</i>, but he spends it +all, poor boy. Anyhow, of course, he's not really +rich like Van Buren. It's on a totally different +scale—a different sort of thing altogether. But, +of course, Van Buren may not care for Daphne; +people have such funny tastes; and not only +that, but if he adores and worships the ground +she treads on I shan't let her dream of marrying +him unless she absolutely returns it—at least, +unless she likes him fairly well."</p> + +<p>All this seemed to absorb Romer, and after a +pause he said—</p> + +<p>"I suppose you'll get Daphne a new dress for +Harry's beano?"</p> + +<p>Valentia smiled pityingly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course, you would think that. No! +Why, that would be <i>l'enfance de l'art</i>! First of +all, Daphne looks ever so much better when +she's dressed really simply, not the latest +fashion; on the very verge of dowdiness! It +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>suits her—shows her off. It would be silly to +dress her up like a doll or make her look <i>endimanchée</i> +on Thursday, or arranged and got up +expensively, on purpose for Van Buren. I +wouldn't, for instance, for anything, let her +wear her new tulle dress from Armand! He'd +see through it. Besides, I want her to contrast +with me as if I'd taken any amount of trouble +about my own appearance and none about hers. +It'll make him pity her a little, and think how +well she'd look in the sort of clothes he could +give her. Besides, I myself am not going to be +very smart—just tidy."</p> + +<p>"Paquin?"</p> + +<p>"How clever of you to guess! Well, now I +must go and see Harry and hear all about the +dinner, and tell him how sorry you are you +can't come. And you're going to lunch at the +Club, aren't you? And won't you go and dine +with your mother on that evening?"</p> + +<p>"I may as well."</p> + +<p>"<i>Do</i>, Romer dear! I can't bear you to neglect +her, although I never think it's safe to let you +dine with her without me. She always takes +advantage of my absence to be horrid about +me, and then you <i>will</i> defend me, although I've +implored you not to heaps of times, and then +you quarrel. If, this time, she says I'm frivolous +and worldly and an utter fool and very deep, you +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>must agree with every word. I'm so fond of her, +she's such a dear thing, it's too bad to worry her +by contradicting her, and she has such a vile +temper! Telephone and invite yourself—a pressing +invitation, and give her my very best love."</p> + +<p>Romer promised all she asked and then went +out to the Club.</p> + +<p>Valentia watched him through the window as +he went. She thought he looked very well +through a window, and ought by rights always +to be seen in that way—as it were, under glass. +She felt quite proud of him, of his smart +appearance. In his way, he was an elaborate +dandy, and spent years at his tailor's, slowly +choosing the right thing. She remembered she +had married him chiefly because of his fine +presence and mysterious silence. She had +thought at the time there must be so much at +the back of it all, so much in him. He was in +love with her and seemed difficult to understand. +What could be more attractive? And now—well, +he was ideally kind and good-natured. +And she certainly felt sometimes that she +couldn't even yet quite make him out. Then she +gave a slight sigh, went to the door and called +Daphne.</p> + +<p>Daphne came in, trimming a hat. She had +lived with the Wyburns ever since their +marriage five years ago, and Valentia, having +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>no children and a most passionately tender +disposition—far too much natural affection to +expend on Romer alone—lavished devotion on +her sister. And Daphne was so nice and so +pretty, almost as pretty as herself, in a satisfactorily +different way. Valentia with her short +straight features, grey eyes under dark brows, +low forehead almost hidden by wavy fair hair, +and a mouth curved and curled into subtle and +complicated lines, was the type loved by Rossetti +and Burne-Jones. She had a wonderful +fair complexion, against which her long eyelashes +showed, when she looked down, dark and +effective, and though she was rather tall, slim +and very modishly dressed, she never looked +like a fashion-plate and had no air of being a +mere mannequin for clothes, but seemed +essentially real, with a suggestion in her personality +of a beauty at once pagan and spiritual—the +pagan predominating. Her pictorial +appearance had no doubt made easier the artist's +task, and the pale exquisite portrait had truly +been described as a whispering likeness.</p> + +<p>Daphne, who was not quite eighteen, was a +good deal taller, and more slender. She had +dark brown eyes, smooth dark hair, parted in +the middle, a rather bright colour and features +of the classic type. Her chin was rather long, +and she had a brilliant, sudden smile, and all +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>the attractive freshness and slight abruptness +of her age, with an occasionally subdued air, +caused by the shadow that had fallen on their +youth by the death of their beautiful mother. +Her gentle grace and touch of premeditated +<i>naïveté</i> made her charming. Beyond question +she would be a great success.</p> + +<p>"Romer can't go on Thursday," Valentia +said, taking the needle and hat out of her sister's +hand and beginning to sew. "I must go and see +Harry and tell him to get some one else. Really, +Daphne, you go too far! It's all very well to be +clever with your needle, but you needn't tear +a Lewis hat to pieces and turn it inside out +without asking my advice."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I wasn't! I was only squashing in the +brim and trying to make the hat smaller. It +seems to have got larger since I put it away."</p> + +<p>"Don't be perfectly absurd, darling. It's +because you've been seeing smaller hats lately."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, I see. Who's going instead of +Romer?"</p> + +<p>"How should I know? We'll see."</p> + +<p>"It's just as you like, darling," said Daphne +in her level voice; "but in case the American +hates me, and I hate him, and Harry's talking +to you all the time, and I'm frightened of the +celebrities, isn't anything going to be done for +me?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>"Of course not. What do you want? That +Foster boy again? Don't look down and blush, +it makes me sick. All right, perhaps, if there's +room. He's a nice, decorative boy, but remember +they don't dance at dinner, and that's the only +thing he can do."</p> + +<p>"Indeed it isn't!" cried Daphne.</p> + +<p>"I'm very sorry to hear it. Suppose Foster's +engaged, or at Aldershot?"</p> + +<p>"He won't be. It's too sweet of Romer not +going. Did you marry him because you knew +he would do whatever you told him?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think it was that so much," said +Valentia, thoughtfully, trying on the hat in +front of the glass. "I thought he was a strong +silent man, a man with an orange up his sleeve, +as it were. But I've never seen the orange."</p> + +<p>"How funny of you! I should hate a mysterious +person. You don't want your husband to be +a kind of conjurer."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do, as long as he doesn't wear a +conjurer's evening dress. I like being surprised. +Now let's go and surprise Harry at his studio; +we must be quick, he's expecting us."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>HARRY</h3> + + +<p>Harry de Freyne stood in his usual +position, smoking a cigarette, and leaning +a little forward, with his back to the mirror as +if to resist the temptation of looking into it. +The family good looks were acutely accentuated +in this young man. He had the smooth, glossy +dark hair, white teeth, and speaking dark grey +eyes that women like; clearly-cut features, and +the rather prominent chin, generally and +mistakenly supposed to show strength of +character. His pleasant, clean-shaven, slightly +sunburnt face bore an expression of animation +with a certain humorous anxiety natural in a +man who was generally a good deal in debt and +always a little in love. Further he had the +advantage of a tall, strong yet supple figure, +with a natural grace of movement and much +personal charm. Harry knew he was good-looking +and did not undervalue the fact, but +regarded it solely as an asset, not as a private +satisfaction. He regarded everything as an asset. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>He was no fop, although he wore a single +eye-glass rather as a concession to some +ideal of dandyism than as a help to clear +vision. He could see remarkably well, with or +without it.</p> + +<p>The long Empire mirror was placed above a +delightful early English large open fireplace, in +which burnt a Parisian-looking wood fire. Harry +was the possessor of a fine—indeed, a magnificent +studio, full of good old things, chiefly +other people's, and bad new things, principally +his own. The theory that all bad art is the result +of sincere feeling was certainly not exemplified +in his case. The portrait of his cousin that had +been regarded as so full of promise was, as +he always, said, the only decent piece of work +he had ever done. He had been educated for +diplomacy, and learnt eight languages, some of +which he spoke fluently, and in all of which +he could look with expression.</p> + +<p>The room was no mere exhibition of bric-à-brac, +but was a cosy, shadowy, miscellaneous +place, not without an ecclesiastical touch here +and there. One felt every subject could be +gone into there, from stockbroking to love, and +that everything could be done there, whether +it was praying, eating, singing, or flirting—everything +except perhaps painting.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>When the servant announced Mrs. Wyburn +and Miss de Freyne one might have fancied +Harry looked slightly disappointed, but he +greeted the pretty creatures with suitable +effusion and high spirits.</p> + +<p>They both sat down rather carefully in the +corner seats by the fire.</p> + +<p>"Romer can't come, he's dining with his +mother," announced Valentia. "He ought to, +you know, now and then."</p> + +<p>"I don't like her," said Daphne, "she abuses +every one."</p> + +<p>"I know she does, but she's really not so bad, +dear, all the same; there are many worse. She's +rather spiteful, but warmhearted—awfully +kind if you break your leg," said Valentia.</p> + +<p>"But you don't break your leg," said Harry.</p> + +<p>"Oh, sometimes you do. At any rate you +might. Don't encourage Daphne to argue, +Harry. Who did you say you'd ask instead if we +couldn't get Romer?"</p> + +<p>"Rathbone's just written to accept in his +place," said Harry, taking out a letter. "But—don't +you think we could persuade Romer if we +tried hard? However, you know best."</p> + +<p>He took out a list. "Hereford Vaughan, Van +Buren, Rathbone and me—that's four; you +two, Lady Walmer, and Miss Luscombe, the +actress. I think that'll do."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>"Lady Walmer?" repeated Valentia. "Why?"</p> + +<p>"And a real actress!" murmured Daphne.</p> + +<p>"Not a real actress. She's walked on at all the +principal theatres in London, and somebody's +always going to take a theatre for her, but +there's no danger. I told Van Buren that on the +stage they think she's in society, and in society +they believe she's on the stage. And he thinks +it's real cute, and an extraordinary English +type."</p> + +<p>"How are you getting on with him?"</p> + +<p>"Beautifully,—if he weren't so beastly intelligent +and inquisitive. He always wants to +know all the news and all the latest gossip. +What do you think he asked me last night? +Why Big Ben was called Big Ben! How on earth +should I know!"</p> + +<p>"Big who?"</p> + +<p>"Not big anybody;—the place, the thing;—the +clock. He said no doubt I must think him +dreadfully ignorant for not knowing, but he +felt he must ask."</p> + +<p>Smiling at the recollection, Harry lighted +another cigarette.</p> + +<p>"What did you say?" Daphne asked.</p> + +<p>"If it had been the afternoon I think I'd have +taken the risk and told him I didn't know, but +as it was the evening—he always gets rather +excited in the evening after dinner and so much +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>Perrier water,—walking back to the Ritz in the +moonlight, and talking about London, I invented +a long story.—No, he won't repeat it, +don't be frightened; it was really rather awful; +and when Van Buren gives you his word of +honour not to tell a thing ..."</p> + +<p>"You're all right! That must be a great help," +said Valentia sympathetically.</p> + +<p>"It shows he has a nice loyal nature," +Daphne remarked. "I admire that sort of thing +very much."</p> + +<p>"A nice loyal nature! I should think he has! +He hates spreading scandal, and he wouldn't +say a single word now to take away the +character of Big Ben—if it was——"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, if it was ever so! You ought to make +Daphne wear one of those thin tulle veils to +match her hat. They're jolly—you can get +them at that shop close to me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, she needn't, she's going to be manicured, +and she's coming back here for me in a +quarter of an hour."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, darling," said Daphne, standing +up, and she made a kind of face, which Valentia +understood to mean the word Foster.</p> + +<p>"What is the child playing at?" said Harry. +"If you two have a code it would be as well to +learn it."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>"All right," said Valentia to Daphne.</p> + +<p>Harry walked with her to the door and she +ran out, saying, "I won't be long."</p> + +<p>"She wants Foster, the baby Guardsman," +explained Valentia.</p> + +<p>"Oh, why didn't you say so at first? Of course +I suppose they've arranged it. At any rate it's +as good as done. Then there must be one more +woman. But never mind now."</p> + +<p>Harry sat down beside her and said, in a +different voice—he had a very good voice, +especially when he spoke caressingly—</p> + +<p>"How interesting you are! One of your eyebrows +is a little thicker than the other."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Harry!..."</p> + +<p>"How are we all going to get home that +evening?"</p> + +<p>"What do you think?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Well, it's like this, as you may say. We'll all +meet at the Ritz and dine there. Good. Then we +drive in separate vehicles to here, and have +some music. Then I see you both home, and—well, +I think that's all. It's not much."</p> + +<p>"I don't quite like the way Lady Walmer +looks at you, Harry."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Valentia! If it comes to that, how do you +fondly imagine I shall like the way Rathbone is +sure to look at you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Harry! Why, he's tattooed!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>"You see," went on Harry seriously, "I +really am making a dash for it about Daphne. +She'll really be happy with Van Buren, and <i>I</i> +shall be ever so much happier,—with Van +Buren and everyone else,—because, through +Daphne being always with you, I never see you +alone for one single second."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you exaggerate, Harry!"</p> + +<p>"I know I do. I don't see you for half a +second."</p> + +<p>"Romer has been so nice lately," she answered +gently.</p> + +<p>"Very amusing, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"But—I often think how very nice he really +is."</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't say that, even in fun. I'm coming +to stay with you in the summer—at the Green +Gate—unless you'd rather ask Rathbone instead."</p> + +<p>"Or unless you'd rather go yachting with the +Walmers," she remarked. "They have a +daughter, haven't they?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Valentia, be anything but blasphemous!..."</p> + +<p>"Really?... Oh, Harry!"</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say you need my saying it?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Then, I will. Valentia, I—"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>She got up and opened the door so that +Daphne should not have to ring when she +returned.</p> + +<p>When the two sisters left a few minutes +later, Harry sat down again as if in deep +thought and lighted a cigarette. His servant +came in.</p> + +<p>"Please, sir, Mr. Van Buren is at the +telephone."</p> + +<p>"Oh well, tell him ... Oh no—, all right—I'll +go."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>VAN BUREN</h3> + + +<p>"It's extremely kind of you, Harry, to let +me come around like this in the morning. +I dare say you want to be working sometimes. +I'm really afraid of being in the way, but I +was rather at a loose end this morning and I +wanted to have a talk with you," said Van +Buren apologetically.</p> + +<p>"Rot. Awfully glad to see you, old chap. +Have a cigarette?"</p> + +<p>"Thanks, Harry, no. I find I'm very much +better if I don't smoke till after tea.... We're +intimate friends now, and yet you never call +me anything but my surname, or <a class="ins" href="#tnote_2" name="tAnchor_2" title=",old chap'">'old chap'</a>. +That reminds me, there's a little request I'd +like to make of you, Harry."</p> + +<p>"What's that?"</p> + +<p>"Call me Matthew—no, call me plain Mat. It +would give me real pleasure."</p> + +<p>Harry smiled rather loudly—</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow, I couldn't call you plain +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>Mat. It wouldn't be suitable! You're too good-looking!"</p> + +<p>Van Buren smiled and shook his head. In its +way it was a handsome head in the fair, clean-shaven +American style, with shining blond hair. +He had very broad shoulders, and a very thin waist, +and that naïve worldliness of air so captivating in +many of his countrymen.</p> + +<p>Except that he wore a buttonhole of Parma +violets, he was dressed in every particular +exactly like Harry. But no one would have believed +it—he looked so much better dressed.</p> + +<p>"That's your chaff, Harry. I'm not a Gibson +man, and I don't pretend to be."</p> + +<p>He looked at his hands, which were small and +white, the finger-tips brilliantly polished, and +said meditatively—</p> + +<p>"I'm very much looking forward to meeting +your cousin, Harry. I expect she's the ideal of +a young English lady. Dark, did you say?"</p> + +<p>"Rather dark, and very pretty."</p> + +<p>"It's a curious thing, Harry, that to me a broonette +has always more fascination than a blonde. +It seems—I may be wrong—as though there's +more piquancy, more character."</p> + +<p>"I quite agree with you," said Harry. "Now +the sister—the married one—is very fair."</p> + +<p>"And she's quite what you call a professional +beauty, isn't she?" asked Van Buren with great +relish.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>"My dear fellow, I don't call anyone a professional +beauty, and you mustn't either. There's +no such thing. I can't think how in America you +get hold of these prehistoric phrases! The expression +must have been dead long before either of +us was born!... Still, she is a beauty all the +same."</p> + +<p>"Is that so? Mind you, Harry, there's something +very attractive about a blonde, too. To me +golden hair and blue eyes suggest gentleness and +womanliness.... What is Mrs. Wyburn like?"</p> + +<p>"Well, she's rather like an angel on a Christmas +card, with her hair down—I mean she was, +as a little girl," said Harry quickly. "Now she's +considered like 'Love among the Roses' by +Burne-Jones."</p> + +<p>"Do you really mean that, Harry? Why, she +must be more beautiful than Miss de Freyne!"</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't worry about her, if I were you," +Harry said.</p> + +<p>"Why not, Harry?"</p> + +<p>"Well, you see she's got a husband," said +Harry, looking at the ceiling as he puffed his +cigarette.</p> + +<p>"And a cousin," replied Van Buren with unexpected +quickness. He then burst out laughing.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>"What do you mean?" asked Harry, not laughing.</p> + +<p>"Harry, I do beg of you to forgive my indiscretion. +I'm afraid you'll think it shows great +want of delicacy on my part. It was only meant +for English chaff. Don't be angry, Harry." Van +Buren was quite distressed.</p> + +<p>"That's all right, old chap."</p> + +<p>"You see, I know you painted her portrait, +and if you <i>had</i> felt a little sentiment for her, +who could blame you? Of course, I'm well aware +that you're far too much a man of high principle +to come any way between a woman and +her husband, or even to let her know if you had +a fancy in that direction.... I thoroughly do +you justice there, Harry."</p> + +<p>"I regard them as sisters," answered Harry.</p> + +<p>Van Buren went to the window and stood +looking out for a few minutes.</p> + +<p>"Well, they are sisters.... What a wonderful +place your London is!" he said. "Now there's +the sort of thing I never can understand, which +has just happened. A lady called a taxicab. Just +as it came up a man—at least I suppose he calls +himself a man—opened the door. I thought he +meant to help her in. No! He got in himself and +drove away.—Now, Harry, how do you account +for that?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose he could walk quicker," said Harry.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>"It's the one fault I have to find with you +Englishmen, Harry—the single fault. You're +not gallant enough to the ladies. Nor is there, in +my opinion, quite enough respect shown to +them. I am always astonished, I admit, that +they don't resent it. Why, in New York——."</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow, they complain bitterly that +there's too much respect shown to them already," +said Harry. "A little more, and they'd +do without us altogether!"</p> + +<p>Van Buren laughed cheerily, and clapped +Harry on the shoulder.</p> + +<p>"What a fellow you are for chaff! Now, will +you come around and have lunch with me?"</p> + +<p>"When? Now? Thanks, old chap."</p> + +<p>"That's real good, Harry," said Van Buren, +his eyes sparkling with joy, "and we'll walk +down Piccadilly together. I must say ..."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"I shan't feel we're real pals till you call me +Mat!"</p> + +<p>Harry shivered ostentatiously.</p> + +<p>They went out, both laughing with great +cordiality.</p> + +<p>At the corner Van Buren stopped to throw +away his buttonhole. He saw they were not +being worn.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>THE ELDER MRS. WYBURN</h3> + + +<p>Romer's mother usually received him with +a sarcastic remark, such as "Oh, so you remember +that I'm not dead yet?" or "I wonder +you find time to come at all," or something of +the same nature, calculated to cast a gloom over +any visit.</p> + +<p>The widow of a rich brewer, Mrs. Wyburn +lived in a bad-tempered looking old house in +Curzon Street, with a harassed footman, a +domineering maid, a cross cook, and other servants +that were continually changing. She was +one of those excellent housekeepers who spend +most of their time "giving notice" and "taking +up" characters. She nearly always wore a hard-looking +black silk dress. She had parted black +hair, long earrings, and a knot of rare old imitation +lace at her throat. Eagerness, impatience, +love of teasing and sharp wit were visible in her +face to one who could read between the lines. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>But, notwithstanding this, as she had a soft +heart and plenty of hard cash, she was not altogether +unpopular. People enjoyed going to +hear the nasty things she said about their friends. +She had a real <i>succès de scandale</i> on her Wednesdays, +notwithstanding the fact that a more +highly respectable lady had never existed in the +world.</p> + +<p>She adored Romer, although his slow speech +and long pauses often drove her to the very +verge of violence.</p> + +<p>"Thought I'd look in," he remarked, rather +heavily taking a seat in the dark drawing-room, +and he proceeded by slow stages to tell her that +he was coming to dinner on Thursday because +Valentia was going out.</p> + +<p>She gave him a quick look, combined of +motherly pride and annoyance.</p> + +<p>"Delighted, of course, dear. Who did you say +was Valentia's hostess?"</p> + +<p>"She's going with Daphne. Harry's dinner. +At some restaurant."</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed!... Well, if you approve of +these Bohemian arrangements it's not <i>my</i> business. +I have my own opinion of Harry de +Freyne; I always have had—and I shall keep it."</p> + +<p>"Do," said Romer, unconsciously epigrammatic.</p> + +<p>She waited a minute and then said—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>"I don't wish to worry you, my dear ..."</p> + +<p>"No?"</p> + +<p>"... But I, personally, if I were a man ... +perhaps I oughtn't to say it—if I saw my wife +so much in the society of a person like Harry de +Freyne—upon my word, I should begin to ask +myself what were their relations!"</p> + +<p>"Cousins," said Romer.</p> + +<p>He began to tap his foot slowly against the +rail of the chair, but remembered Valentia's +constant advice, and decided he would not +quarrel.</p> + +<p>"Well, you know your affairs best, dear. I'm +only an interfering disagreeable old woman, +who knows very little of modern customs and +ways."</p> + +<p>He nodded sympathetically, without answering.</p> + +<p>"I love and admire Valentia—in many ways. +She's so pretty, but not a mere doll! And we +women—even the happiest of us—have to go +through so much! Does she go through the +housekeeping books herself, dear?" Mrs. Wyburn +inquired, with dangerous sweetness.</p> + +<p>"Shouldn't think so."</p> + +<p>"Ah! that seems rather a pity. Still, I'm just +to every one, and I will say that she's not extravagant—but +has so much cleverness that she +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>could manage very well on half the allowance +you give her!"</p> + +<p>"Is that new—that china bird?" Romer asked, +getting up to look at a strange, shiny, abnormal-looking +parrot on a twig that adorned the +mantelpiece.</p> + +<p>"Do you like it?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"It seems all right. Rather jolly."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Well, it's funny you haven't noticed it +before. Considering it's been there all your life, +and you used to play with it when you were +four, it's odd it's escaped your notice. You +played with it when you were four!" she repeated, +growing rather heated.</p> + +<p>"Did I though?"</p> + +<p>"But things do escape your notice—that's +just the point. I sometimes wish I didn't see so +much myself."</p> + +<p>"So do I," he answered. "May I smoke, +mother?"</p> + +<p>"Of course you may, dear. You may do anything +on earth you like. Have some tea? <i>I</i> never have +anything but China tea, so it won't do you any +harm."</p> + +<p>"I hate China tea," he answered reflectively, +after what seemed to his mother about half an +hour's deep thought.</p> + +<p>... "But what I always have said about +Valentia is that though we all admit, dear, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>that she has charming manners, is bright and +amusing and very sweet——"</p> + +<p>He smiled.</p> + +<p>"<i>Outwardly</i>, is there anything behind it all? +Has she any depth?" She quickly answered her +own question, "<i>I</i> think she has; a great deal. I +believe Valentia is extremely clever in her own +way; she turns <i>you</i> round her little finger. But +that wouldn't matter so much—anything's +better than quarrelling and snapping and finding +fault continually—which is a thing I hate. +But, really, there's one point I'm quite anxious +about—in fact, I often lie awake the whole +night—the entire night—and wake up in the +morning utterly worn out through thinking +about it, Romer dear. There's nothing like a +mother's heart—and this does make me anxious, +I own."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Why, that she should ever be talked about! +That she should be considered a flirt—and that +sort of thing! I couldn't bear the idea of my +son's wife having her name coupled with that +of any young man—or any nonsense of that +sort. It would be most painful to me. I'm sure +I ask every one who knows her if anything of +that kind is ever said."</p> + +<p>Romer threw away the cigarette and stood +up.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>"What infernal rot!" he said, with a heightened +colour.</p> + +<p>Her eyes brightened with pleasure. She was +delighted to have irritated him at last out of his +calmness.</p> + +<p>"Well, well, perhaps I'm a little over-anxious. +It's all love, all devotion to you, dear. +Of course, people do talk. There's no doubt +about that; but good gracious! we all know +there's nothing in it. Don't we? Don't be cross +with your poor old mother, Romer."</p> + +<p>"That's all right. I must be off. Eight on +Thursday, eh?"</p> + +<p>She kissed him affectionately, walked with +him to the landing, where she kept him for +about ten minutes complaining of the awful +worry she had had about the under-housemaid, +and of the sickening impossibility of getting a +piano-tuner to attend to the instrument properly +without making any sound.</p> + +<p>"For I'm a mass of nerves, my dear. Give my +best love to dear Valentia."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>ROMER</h3> + + +<p>Romer walked back, trying to throw off the +irritating effect of his mother's pin-pricks. +As was his usual custom when he was a little +depressed, he went home and sat down in front +of his wife's portrait. He often sat there for an +hour when she was out, looking at it. Any one +watching him would have thought he was in a +state of calm and stupid content. In reality, he +was worshipping. His passion for his wife was +his one romance, his one interest, his one +thought. He had been married five years, and +had never yet expressed it in words. He was one +of the unfortunate people who are not gifted +with the power of expression, either in word or +look. He was practically inarticulate.</p> + +<p>As he gazed at the picture—he was feeling a +little sad—the sadness melted away. The frail +figure, bright yet dim, vaguely appearing +through vaporous curtains, holding an impossible +gold flower, had the effect on him of a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>beautiful Madonna on a deeply devout Catholic. +It produced in him a form of religious ecstasy. +He adored her with passion, and with the +selfishness and jealousy of passion, but circumstances +and his temperament caused it to take +the outward form, principally, of care for her +happiness. When she was actually present, she +still dazzled him so much that he could show +his feeling only by listening to and agreeing +with every word she said, by doing what she +asked him, and by trying to protect her, often +without her knowledge, from any kind of pain or +trouble. She would have been amazed had she +realised the violence of his devotion to her. +Apparently cool and matter-of-fact, he was in +reality a reticent fanatic. He neither analysed nor +showed his sentiment, nor did he himself know its +extent. He wondered why certain people, certain +subjects gave him pain. He trusted Valentia +absolutely, nor could she in his eyes do wrong, +and it was only with the subconscious second +sight of love that he sometimes felt a curious +and melancholy presentiment. He did not know +himself that this suffering was jealousy.</p> + +<p>What nonsense his mother talked!...</p> + +<p>Harry!... Harry was the best fellow in the +world—almost like a brother, his greatest +friend, though not exactly an intimate friend. +Romer was too shy to be intimate with any one. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>Harry was lively, amusing, a brilliant talker; +kind, good-natured, a capital chap. He appreciated +Valentia, or he could not have painted +that portrait. Romer was very grateful for the +portrait; yet it sometimes hurt him to think +Harry had painted it. It showed how well +Harry understood Valentia.</p> + +<p>This thought Romer always suppressed. He +thought it was mean, and he could not be mean.</p> + +<p>He looked out of the window. It was raining—a +chilly spring shower—but there was a stir +in the air, a rattle in the town, a sense of +something that was going to happen; summer +was not far off, and in the summer, at the end +of the season, they would go down to the +Green Gate, the lovely country house with the +dream garden as Valentia called it, all built, +planted, and arranged on purpose for her. +Valentia was more herself at the Green Gate +than anywhere else. Leisure suited her, and roses.</p> + +<p>Every year Romer silently counted the weeks +until they went back there. It was where he +was happiest. Of course, they were not alone. +Dear little Daphne was always with them, dear +little thing (she was nearly six feet high)—and +other people, very often, and Harry—always +Harry. Perhaps Daphne would marry soon, but +what about Harry?</p> + +<p>Romer felt rather wearied when he remembered +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>Valentia had said Harry was made to be +a bachelor. Was he tired of Harry? Not a bit! +Harry was a capital chap; besides, he didn't see +so very much of him in London.</p> + +<p>Heaps of people admired Valentia, and that +did not annoy Romer at all (though it did not +please him particularly), but he knew, again +subconsciously, that Valentia cared less than +nothing for any admirers, but she certainly was +awfully fond of Harry. And no wonder! Harry +was the best fellow in the world—lively, +amusing, quite a brilliant talker; kind, good +natured, and he appreciated Valentia, or he +could not have painted that portrait....</p> + +<p>Round and round the same thoughts passed +through his brain.</p> + +<p>It was raining—a chilly spring shower. Had +Valentia got her wrap with her?</p> + +<p>He got up, went into the hall, and saw her +fur cloak hanging on a peg.</p> + +<p>She evidently didn't care for it. She was tired +of it—perhaps it was out of fashion; if so, she +would never wear it. She might catch cold.</p> + +<p>He was not a prompt man, but he went at once +to the telephone and gave orders to a shop in Bond +Street that would result in a collection of fur-lined +cloaks being sent for her choice that evening. This +would please her; she would smile and try them +on. Besides, it would prevent her catching cold.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>HARRY'S ENTERTAINMENT</h3> + + +<p>Van Buren, who was a business man, +was an idealist; while Harry de Freyne, +the artist—was, emphatically, not.</p> + +<p>Van Buren had been brought up on Thackeray +and Dickens, above all on old pictures from +<i>Punch</i>; Du Maurier's drawings enjoyed at an +early age had made him romantic about everything +connected with London. As soon as he +was able to leave his bank in New York—in +fact, the moment he had retired from business—he +had realised his dream and come to live +in London. And Harry seemed to him the incarnation +of everything delightfully, amusingly +English. He had a real hero-worship for Harry, +who was so astonishingly clever as well. Van +Buren was not a snobbish Anglomaniac, at least +his snobbishness was not of the common quality +nor about the obvious things; he was a little +ashamed of his money, but he did not worship +rank and titles; it was Intellect—but Intellect +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>that had the stamp of fashion—that held a +glamour for him. So did everything that he +supposed to be modern, previous, and up-to-date. +No one could ever, whether in New York +or in London, have been in life less modern +than poor Van Buren, though he was eminently +contemporary and perhaps even in +advance in matters connected with business. +For business he had genius, and yet, curiously, +no passion; he was unconsciously brilliant on +the subject; it was hereditary. But in his innermost +heart he believed that it was vulgar to be +an American millionaire! And he had a childish +horror of vulgarity, and an innocent belief that +an Englishman who had been to Eton and +Oxford and who was <i>dans le mouvement</i>, smart +and good-looking, and had deserted diplomacy +for art, must of necessity be refined, superior, +cultured, everything that Van Buren wanted +to be.</p> + +<p>Of course he soon found out that Harry was +frightfully hard up, and in the most delicate +manner imaginable—a delicacy rather wasted +on his friend—implored, as a special favour, +to be allowed to be his banker. But Harry had +refused, having vague ideas of much more +important extent than a mere loan with regard +to making Van Buren useful. He had thus +gone up in his friend's estimation, at the same +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>time placing him under a great and deeply felt +obligation by gratifying his fancy for knowing +clever people and celebrities.</p> + +<p>At last the friendship had culminated in +Harry's suggestion of a marriage between his +young cousin, Daphne, and Van Buren. Harry +felt that if he could compass this arrangement +he would at one stroke give fortune to Daphne, +freedom to himself—the child was very much +in his way in Valentia's house—and make Van +Buren eternally grateful.</p> + +<p>Harry really liked Van Buren and respected +him; he regarded him as touching, but also, +at times, as a menace. A shadow sometimes +came over their friendship, the alarming shadow +of the future bore. What was now to his +cynical mind screamingly funny about the +American—his sensitive delicate feelings, his +high standard of morals with regard to what he +called the ladies, and illusions that one would +rarely find in London in a girl of seventeen, +might some day develop into priggishness and +tediousness, and—especially—would take up +too much time. For since Harry had been intimate +with Van Buren he had discovered that +the tradition of American hustling was, like +most traditions, a fiction. Americans always +have time; Englishmen never. The leisurely +way in which Van Buren talked was an example +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>of this—it was the way he thought; his brain +worked slowly. Harry and his like have no time +to drawl; they have to keep appointments.</p> + +<p>On the evening of the Ritz dinner-party +Harry was not in a particularly good temper, +and thought to himself he was rather like a +Barnum as he introduced his guests one by one +to the modest millionaire, who said to them all, +"Pleased to meet you", and fixed his admiring +glance with a sentimental respect on Daphne, +an undisguised admiration on Valentia, and +an almost morbid curiosity on Miss Luscombe, +the first actress he had ever met.</p> + +<p>Miss Luscombe was a conventional, rather +untidy-looking creature, very handsome, with +loose hair parted and waved over her ears, and +with apparently no design or general idea +either in her dress or manner. She varied from +minute to minute from being what she thought +theatrical to appearing what she supposed to be +social. She evidently hadn't settled on her pose, +always a disastrous moment for a natural +woman who wishes to be artificial. Practically +she always wore evening dress except in the +evening, so while at her own flat in the afternoon +she was photographed in a <i>décolletée</i> tea-gown, +this evening she was dressed as if for +Ascot, except for the hat, with an emaciated +feather boa and a tired embroidered <i>crêpe de +Chine</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> scarf thrown over her shoulders, also a +fan, long gloves, and a rose in her hair by way +of hedging. To these ornaments she added a +cold, of which she complained as soon as she +saw the other guests. But no one listened. No +one ever listened to Miss Luscombe, no one +ever could, and yet in a way she was popular—a +kind of pet among a rather large circle of people. +Women never disliked her because she created +no jealousy and always unconsciously put herself +at a disadvantage; men did not mind her +prattle and coquettish airs, being well aware +that nothing was expected of them. For Miss +Luscombe, though vain, was a pessimist, and +quite good-natured. She was also a standing +joke.</p> + +<p>The other guests besides Valentia in yellow +and Daphne in pink—both looking as fresh as +daisies and as civilised as orchids—consisted of +Lady Walmer, a smart, good-looking, commonplace +woman, rather fatter than she wished to +be, but very straight-fronted, straightforward, +and sporting, with dark red hair and splendid +jewels; a faded yet powerful beauty who had +been admired in the eighties, but had only had +real success since she turned forty-six.</p> + +<p>With her was her daughter, a girl who at the +first glance looked eight feet high, but who really +was not very much above the average length. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>She was a splendid athlete, and her talk was +principally of hockey. She wore a very smart +white dress and had a dark brown neck, pretty +fair hair, and an entirely unaffected bonhomie +that quite carried off the harshness of her want +of style or charm—in fact it had a charm of its +own. Besides, it was well known that her +grandmother had left her an estate in the +country and £ 7000 a year, and that Lady +Walmer was anxious to get her married. Hence +Miss Walmer never wanted for partners at balls +nor for attention anywhere, but—it was always +for <i>le bon motif</i>. As Valentia said, she was the +sort of girl (poor girl!) that one could only marry.</p> + +<p>Hereford Vaughan, who was an object of +considerable curiosity to several of the guests on +account of his phenomenal success in having +eleven plays at the same time being performed +in London, New York, Berlin, Paris, and every +other European city, was, to those who did not +know him before, an agreeable surprise. Heaven +knows what exactly people expected of him; perhaps +the men feared 'side' and the women that +he would be overpowering after so many +triumphs, but he was merely a rather pale, dark, +and rather handsome young man. He behaved +like anybody else, except that perhaps his manner +was a little quieter than the average. Unless +one was very observant (which one isn't), or +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>unless one listened to what he said, he did +not at first appear too alarmingly clever. He had +one or two characteristics which must have at +times led to misunderstandings. One was that +whatever or whoever he looked at, his dark +opaque eyes were so full of vivid expression that +women often mistook for admiration what was +often merely observation. For instance, when he +glanced at Lady Walmer she at once became +quite confused, and intensely flattered, nearly +blushed and asked him to dinner. While, if she +had but known, behind that dark glance was +merely the thought, "So that's the woman that +Royalty ... What extraordinary taste!"</p> + +<p>Hereford Vaughan, who was himself thirty-four, +did not share in the modern taste for the +battered as a charm in itself, though he could +forgive it—or, indeed, anything else—if he were +amused.</p> + +<p>Knowing that Miss Luscombe, hoping for a +part, would be painfully nice to Vaughan, Harry +had good-naturedly placed them as far apart +as possible. Nevertheless she leaned across the +table and said—</p> + +<p>"How <i>do</i> you think of all these clever things, +Mr. Vaughan? I can't think how you do it!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed, we'd all like to know that," +said Captain Foster, the baby Guardsman, as +Valentia called him. He spoke enviously. He was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>a perfectly beautiful blond, delightfully stupid, +and had been longing for enough money to +marry somebody ever since he was seventeen.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I'd jolly soon write a play if I only +knew how."</p> + +<p>"It's perfectly easy, really," said Vaughan; +"it's just a knack."</p> + +<p>"Is it though?"</p> + +<p>"That's all."</p> + +<p>"How do you get the things taken?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's a mere fluke—a bit of luck," said +Vaughan.</p> + +<p>Every one who heard this sighed with relief to +think that was how he regarded it.</p> + +<p>Vaughan always used this exaggerated modesty +as an armour against envy, for envy, as +a rule, is of success rather than of merit. No one +would have objected to his talent deserving +recognition—only to his getting it.</p> + +<p>"Now what do you think of Miss Luscombe?" +Valentia asked the dramatist.</p> + +<p>"I don't think of her. I never regard people on +the stage as real people," Vaughan answered.</p> + +<p>"Don't you, really? Well, you ought to know. +You have made a sort of corner in 'leading +ladies'. What curious clothes she wears!"</p> + +<p>"Doesn't she? On the stage she dresses like an +actress, and off the stage she doesn't dress like a +lady. She's so extraordinarily vague," he said.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>"Yes; and yet I've heard that, though she's +so dreamy and romantic, she's quite wonderfully +practical, really. She never accepts an engagement +unless she gets a large salary—and all that +sort of thing."</p> + +<p>"I see. She lives in the clouds, but she insists +on their having a silver lining," said Vaughan. +"Who's the pink young man she's confiding in +now?"</p> + +<p>"It's Mr. Rathbone. He likes theatres—at +least he collects programmes and posters, I think. +Besides, he's tattooed."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. That must be a great help in listening +to Miss Luscombe. He's been trained to +suffer."</p> + +<p>Miss Luscombe was talking rather loudly and +most confidentially to Rathbone, who had an +expression of willing—but agonised—martyrdom +on his fair pink, clean-shaven features.</p> + +<p>"I <i>told</i> dear George Alexander that I would +have been only <i>too</i> pleased to understudy Irene +in the new piece—in fact, it would have just +suited me, Mr. Rathbone, and left me plenty of +time for my social engagements too. Besides, if I +once got a chance of a part like that I feel I should +have made a hit. Oh, it was a cruel disappointment! +After being too charming to me—or, at +any rate, I was charming to him at the Cashmores' +reception, you know—I remember he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>was standing in the refreshment-room with Mrs. +Cashmore, and I went <i>straight</i> up to him and +said, 'Don't you remember me, Mr. Alexander?'—and +after all this he only promised me—and +that conditionally—a horrid, silly little part in +the curtain-raiser in No. 2 B Company on tour. +On tour! Of course I refused that—one must +keep up one's prestige, Mr. Rathbone. There's a +great deal of injustice in the profession. Talent +counts for nothing—it's all influence. But I've +always had a great ambition ever since I was +a little girl." Miss Luscombe put her head on one +side and talked as she had to the interviewer of +<i>The Perfect Lady</i>. "It was always my dream—do +you know?—to marry a great actor—or, at +any rate, to be his great friend—like Irving and +Ellen Terry—that sort of thing—a great, lifelong +friendship! And as a child I was madly in +love with the elder George Grossmith, but I +don't think he ever knew it. Too bad!"</p> + +<p>She pouted childishly, gave her arch musical +laugh with its three soprano notes and upward +inflection, and then accepted a quail with a +heavy sigh.</p> + +<p>"When I was a boy," said Rathbone in a low +concentrated voice of reminiscence—he spoke +rather quickly, for he had been trying in vain +during the whole of dinner to get a word in +edgeways and feared to lose his chance now—"when +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>I was a boy I was in love, too, with some +one on the stage. Between ourselves—you won't +mention it, will you, Miss Luscombe?——"</p> + +<p>"You can trust me," she said earnestly, with +a look of Julia Neilson.</p> + +<p>"Good! Well, I was in love, and I've got her +initials—C. L.—tattooed on me now!"</p> + +<p>"Impossible! How exciting! Who is C. L.?"</p> + +<p>He looked round the table and murmured in +a low voice, "Cissie Loftus. Isn't it odd? I wrote +and told her about it, but I never received an +answer to my letter."</p> + +<p>"Poor, poor boy! I call that really touching! +Will you show me the initials some day?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no. Impossible." He was stern, adamantine. +She hastily went on. "So you're very keen—interested +in the stage, Mr. Rathbone?"</p> + +<p>"Well, in the stage door. I collect programmes, +and I haven't missed a first night since I was +twenty!"</p> + +<p>"Fancy! Then I ought to remember your face, +at all the theatres!"</p> + +<p>"I mean at the Gaiety," he said, "only the +Gaiety."</p> + +<p>"Oh, the Gaiety!" she turned her shoulder +to him.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Yes, Miss Daphne, if you would come out to +New York you'd have a real good time. You'd +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>turn all the young fellow's heads. I'm afraid +you'd do a terrible amount of damage there. I +should like to show you and Mrs. Wyburn Newport +in the season, too. You ladies have it all +your own way over the other side of——may I +say, the herringpond?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, please do; yes, <i>do</i> say the herringpond!"</p> + +<p>Daphne leant forward and said to Harry:</p> + +<p>"Do you know who is that very distinguished-looking +man who has just come in—rather +weary and a little grey on the temples? He +bowed and kissed the woman's hand so charmingly—at +the next table to us. Looks like a great +diplomatist."</p> + +<p>"Then he must be a stockbroker," said +Valentia decidedly. "Every one with the grand +manner always is."</p> + +<p>"Really! I can't say; I don't know any stockbrokers," +said Miss Luscombe.</p> + +<p>"How distinguished that sounds!" murmured +Vaughan.</p> + +<p>"It's very clever of you, Miss Luscombe," +said Lady Walmer; "I don't see how you can +help it! I know nobody else. I always tell Alec +she'll have to marry one, and when she says she +doesn't want to, 'My dear child,' I say, 'you +can't marry people you don't see!' And almost +the only people she ever sees at our house <i>are</i> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>stockbrokers—except a few soldiers who never +have a penny."</p> + +<p>Alec was the daughter, named after her distinguished +godmother.</p> + +<p>"It's quite gone out to be snobbish now," Lady +Walmer continued in a lower voice to Harry. +"We're all only too glad to take all we can get +in exchange for anything we give!"</p> + +<p>"And you don't call that snobbish?" said +Harry.</p> + +<p>"My dear, no!—of course, we give as little as +possible. I talk like this and yet I married for +love—and you know the result! Walmer's always +gambling, always running after—goodness +knows what—and leaves me—not quite in +the gutter, but certainly on the kerb!"</p> + +<p>"Don't you want Alec to marry for love?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid she'll have to, my dear—she's +not very attractive. It's a blessing she's an +heiress. But if she's allowed to play hockey, and +skate, and fence, and dance, and the husband is +fairly kind to her, I'm sure she'll be happy—I +mean, I have no idea of her marrying a duke, +Harry. I shall be satisfied if he's a charming man, +and not too selfish." She lowered her voice still +more to add—"You know she likes you, poor +child, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"You're making fun of me, dear Lady +Walmer."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>"No, I'm not.... Walmer's taken 'Flying +Fish' again, and after Cowes we're going for a +long cruise. You must come with us. Her father +will be all right. He lets me have my own way +about her. Well, aren't you coming?"</p> + +<p>"You're too frightfully kind, Lady Walmer, +of course. But——"</p> + +<p>"My dear boy, of course you're going to the +Green Gate, but I wish you'd listen to a woman +of the world. That," she gave Valentia a piercing +glance, "can't go on for ever! You will find +Romer making a row some day, and that will be +a bore for you. He's just the sort of man who +would."</p> + +<p>Valentia, noticing their confidential tone and +feeling instinctively that some treachery was +in the air, looked once angrily at Harry and then +became apparently absorbed in the conversation +of Vaughan.</p> + +<p>Every one was talking volubly and gaily. +Only Daphne and Captain Foster were silent as +they sat side by side looking at their plates. But +they were the only people who had found the +dinner a real success.</p> + +<p>Harry, who with all his <i>usage du monde</i> was +peculiarly subject to sudden obscure impulses +as of the primitive man, became pale with a +strange and painful sensation as he looked at +Valentia.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>She was flirting with Vaughan, or so every +one present must be thinking. Of course it was +only from pique, and he would soon put a stop +to it.</p> + +<p>And Vaughan, with his ironical glance and +quiet manner, why did he look into her eyes +all the time?</p> + +<p>What was he saying?</p> + +<p>Harry asked them all to come back to the +studio for some music, but even as he made +the arrangement to drive Valentia, he remembered +that, <i>à la fin des fins</i>, he would have to +leave her at her husband's house. Would +Romer be sitting up? What an ass he was! What +rot the whole dinner was! It was all through +Van Buren. Van Buren was a fool. Confound +Romer!</p> + +<p>Harry was jealous.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>DAPHNE</h3> + + +<p>"More flowers from Van Buren? Let me +look at them. A spray of lilies of the +valley; how touching! He expects you to wear +them at the opera. I think it's <i>such</i> a mistake to +wear real flowers on an evening dress. They +have a damp, chilly look, like fresh vegetables, +at first, and when they begin to fade they make +you look faded, too. Never mind, Daphne; I +think perhaps you'd better wear them just to-night," +said Valentia.</p> + +<p>"Yesterday," said Daphne, "he sent me that +basket of American Beauty roses. The day before +he sent me Ella Wheeler Wilcox's poems."</p> + +<p>Valentia smiled. "Poor darling!—I mean Van +Buren's a poor darling, not you. You see, he's +got the nice sort of Boston idea that a man ought +only to send a girl flowers or books, or music. +He thinks it's respectful. But, anyway, it's a very +good sign."</p> + +<p>"A good sign? But I thought there was so +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>much of that sort of thing—I mean fuss and +attention, to girls in America. I thought that +didn't mean anything. I mean anything particular."</p> + +<p>"Daphne, dear, don't blind yourself; don't +shut your eyes to obvious facts. It isn't a matter +of what you think or what I think, or of speculation +at all. I <i>happen to know</i> that Van Buren <i>is</i> +going to propose to you. He'll probably do it at +Henley or at Sandown, or in the Park. He's +certain to want it to be on a typically English +background; but you can take it from me, for a +dead cert, that it's bound to come."</p> + +<p>Daphne sat down and looked serious.</p> + +<p>"Valentia, it's no good. Don't let him do it. +It will be so frightfully uncomfortable meeting +him afterwards."</p> + +<p>"Frightfully uncomfortable meeting the man +to whom you're engaged? Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because I shan't be engaged to him."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"I shall never marry, Valentia."</p> + +<p>Valentia stared at her in silence.</p> + +<p>"What is your idea, darling? Why, you won't +be eighteen till June. You can't be sure you'll +never want to marry!"</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't care for Van Buren."</p> + +<p>"I thought you liked him so much?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>"Well, he seems all right at first. But I +simply couldn't stand him always about."</p> + +<p>"Couldn't you? Poor pet! But he mightn't <i>be</i> +always about."</p> + +<p>"Well, I couldn't stand his marked attention. +Valentia, I <i>hate</i> marked attention."</p> + +<p>"Do you, really? Who'd have thought it?"</p> + +<p>"Well—and he'd always be so considerate +and so thoughtful and so respectful!"</p> + +<p>"That mightn't last when you were married," +said Valentia consolingly.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps he might not be so bad after we were +once married.... But I shouldn't like to risk it. +And the engagement! Oh! I couldn't simply +<i>stand</i> the engagement! Just think of the ring, +and the sentiment, and the fuss, and the letters! +Oh, he'd enjoy it all so much! Oh, it would make +me simply sick to see how pleased he'd be!"</p> + +<p>"I know that feeling," said Valentia sympathetically, +nodding her head.</p> + +<p>"Oh, and don't you see how he'd think he was +engaged to a well-brought-up, nice English girl +who was a relation of Harry's, and knew all the +right people, and all that sort of thing? And +he'd take a big house—he's hinted this to me +already—most likely in Park Lane—anyhow, +something just like a millionaire in a book. It's +all so dull, and cut-and-dried."</p> + +<p>"Some of these cut-and-dried obvious things +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>turn out quite jolly afterwards. It's the uncomfortable, +romantic things that are more often +failures. And you know, Daphne, you do like +pretty things and clothes, and going everywhere, +and—not only that, he's really such a dear, and +a good sort, and so good-looking! And you'd put +me into a very awkward position with Harry if +you refuse him. But, of course, darling, you +must do as you like."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, Valentia, don't <i>let</i> me refuse +him. I don't want to. Don't let it come to that. +I'm sure I should loathe to hear him propose."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"It would make me sick."</p> + +<p>"What can I tell Harry really as your reason +for not being able to stand Van?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sure <i>I</i> don't know!"</p> + +<p>"He bores you," announced Valentia. "That's +what's the matter. He doesn't amuse you."</p> + +<p>"It isn't that, it isn't that!" cried Daphne +vehemently. "I don't <i>want</i> to be amused. Do +you think I like a man because he's clever, or +funny, and always making jokes? That bores me +frightfully. Harry's way of being lively and +clever bores me to <i>death</i>! I don't want to marry +a professional entertainer! No, Valentia, that's +more the sort of thing you'd like. <i>You're</i> quite +sorry Romer's not like that."</p> + +<p>"I don't suggest that it would be ideal to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>marry Harry Lauder, Daphne dear. But wouldn't +you really like someone fairly intelligent?"</p> + +<p>"No. Why should I? Do you think I want to +marry a man so horribly clever that he wouldn't +understand a word I said?"</p> + +<p>"Let's have it out, dear. What do you think +you want?" Valentia answered herself; "It's +Foster, of course! That dull, empty-headed, +commonplace, hard-up, handsome boy. You +can't marry him. He's just twenty-two, and has +only a miserable allowance, and is in an expensive +regiment, and you, darling, will only have three +hundred a year. I should love to see you happy +in your own way and having your wish, but +don't you think it's a childish fancy? You're +both children. Of course he hasn't suggested +marriage, yet, has he? He knows perfectly well +it's out of the question."</p> + +<p>"Valentia! Darling! Why, he proposed to me +the day we were introduced—at Prince's, and +he's been doing it ever since."</p> + +<p>"Oh, how utterly absurd of him! Well, anyhow, +you must wait and see. Even if he could +afford it, I don't think it would be a success. +Why, there's nothing in the boy! What do you +see in him?"</p> + +<p>"I like the way he laughs," said Daphne, +after a pause.</p> + +<p>"Do you mind telling me one thing straight +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>out? I'm being very nice to you about this, dear. +I ought to scold you. But, at any rate, you must +treat me with complete confidence."</p> + +<p>"Of course, of course, dear."</p> + +<p>"Tell me, he hasn't ever kissed you, has he?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Valentia!"</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, darling. I felt sure he +hadn't."</p> + +<p>"Of course he has."</p> + +<p>"He has!—Where?"</p> + +<p>"How do you mean, where? Oh! at every +dance where we've ever met. He always does, +whenever he can. Is it so dreadful? He's such a +boy!"</p> + +<p>"Fancy your liking him enough for that!" +said Valentia, stupefied.</p> + +<p>"Oh, he's a darling; and the only person I +ever could possibly marry."</p> + +<p>"It's rather serious," said Valentia; "and +poor Van who is so devoted!"</p> + +<p>"He isn't, really," said Daphne decidedly.</p> + +<p>"Don't you think so? Why?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, the whole thing's an <i>idea</i>—the sort of +thing he <i>wants to do</i>. It's not genuine."</p> + +<p>"I should have thought the feelings of a man +of thirty-four who could marry any one he chose +would be more real than the fancy of a mere +boy! Boys like anybody."</p> + +<p>"Van isn't genuine like Cyril," said Daphne.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>"Who on earth's Cyril?"</p> + +<p>"Captain Foster."</p> + +<p>Valentia walked round the room and then +said—</p> + +<p>"And you really suppose you're going to adore +him all your life?"</p> + +<p>"I <i>suppose</i> so. I really don't know. I know +about now. Oh, Valentia, be a darling and let +him come to the fancy ball with us." She kissed +her. "And, oh, do tell Harry to explain to Van +that it can't go on, that he must put it out of his +head. Do, darling Valentia. Any well-brought-up +young girl will do for him just as well!"</p> + +<p>"And wouldn't any well-brought-up young +girl do for Cyril?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. But only Cyril will do for me. +Oh! the jolly way he has of saying 'Righto' and +'You're all right,' and calling me 'little girl!' +Oh, he <i>is</i> a dear!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, if he says such brilliant things as +<i>that</i>!"</p> + +<p>"It isn't what he <i>says</i>——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, hush, Daphne, here is Romer. I shan't +tell him a word about it. Well, I'll think it +over." She called Daphne back and said in a +half-hearted way—</p> + +<p>"I suppose it wouldn't do just to sort of please +Harry by marrying Van, and then seeing that +silly boy now and then. You'd so soon get tired +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>of him—but, no! that wouldn't be right. Forget +that I said it—I don't mean it."</p> + +<p>"I couldn't stand Van at all," said Daphne +definitely, "whether I saw Cyril or not."</p> + +<p>"Then you shan't be bothered with him. But +can't you give up Cyril? I know I'm right about +it. It isn't only the hard-upness and the impossibility—of +course, I know he's got relations +and all that—but, it's he himself. You'll get +bored with him, too, in a different way."</p> + +<p>"I like him so much <i>now</i>," pleaded Daphne.</p> + +<p>Romer came in and Valentia merely told him +at great length every word of the foregoing +conversation with lavish comments by herself. +Secretly Romer was bitterly disappointed when +he realised that the possibility of his being left +alone with his wife was more remote, but of +course he agreed with Valentia, as she changed +her mind a dozen times on the subject, and as +usual the conversation ended in a telephone +message to Harry to come round at once.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>IN FANCY DRESS</h3> + + +<p>Van Buren had had many pleasures, +many gratifications since he had been in +London; his dreams—the dreams inspired by +Du Maurier's drawings when he was a little +boy—had been very nearly realised. Perhaps the +greatest triumph that he had had yet was the +evening of the Artists' Fancy Ball.</p> + +<p>He had succeeded in making up a party to go +in costume. He was always making up parties, +and he had for many years been obsessed by a +longing to dress up.</p> + +<p>Harry, in mockery of his passion for everything +English, had advised him to go as an +Ancient Briton, with a coat of blue paint. Scorning +such ribald chaff, he had ordered a magnificent +costume of chain armour. Greatly to his +satisfaction he had persuaded Hereford Vaughan +to go as Shakespeare, Valentia and Daphne +respectively as Portia in scarlet and Rosalind in +green.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span>A large party were to dine at Van Buren's +rooms before the ball. Fancy dress has the effect +of bringing out odd, unexpected little characteristics +in people. For example, Harry, good-looking +and a dandy, quite a romantic type, +hated dressing up, and cared nothing whatever +about his costume; while Romer, the sober and +serious, enjoyed it immensely, and appeared to +think his appearance of the utmost importance—almost +a matter of life and death.</p> + +<p>The women were far less self-conscious in +costume than the men, and cared far less how +they looked, probably because women are always +more or less in fancy dress, and it was not so +much of a novelty to them.</p> + +<p>Valentia had pointed out that Shakespeare, to +be quite correct, should wear ear-rings; so +Vaughan called at her house on the way to Van +Buren's, as she had promised to lend him some.</p> + +<p>"He won't know how to put them on," said +Daphne, drawing on her long boots. "Probably +he hasn't had his ears pierced; you must go and +screw them on for him."</p> + +<p>Valentia ran down. Just as she was screwing +the long coral and pearl ear-rings with rather +painful energy on to the unfortunate young man's +ears, the servant, with a slight expression of +terror that could not be concealed, announced—</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Wyburn."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>The situation was really rather comic. Romer's +mother, who was going to a dinner-party in the +same street, could not forgo the pleasure of +calling unexpectedly on them at half-past seven, +vaguely hoping that it might be inconvenient to +them, and that she would catch them in something +they didn't want her to know—a true +mother's instinct. But not in her wildest dreams +had she expected what she saw when she entered +the drawing-room—her daughter-in-law in her +red mortar-board, red cloak and bands, with, +apparently, her arms round the neck of a young +man in purple silk stockings and jewelled embroidered +gloves with rings outside them.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wyburn literally sank into a chair.</p> + +<p>Valentia was perfectly equal to the occasion. +She thoroughly enjoyed the baffling of Mrs. +Wyburn.</p> + +<p>"I can't think why Romer didn't tell you," +she repeated several times, "that Van Buren is +giving a dinner for the fancy ball!" and she rang +and gave orders that her husband and sister were +to come down immediately.</p> + +<p>Romer had been four hours dressing; Daphne +about ten minutes.</p> + +<p>"I do think you ought to have a little make-up. +Will you?" said Valentia to Vaughan.</p> + +<p>"I should love to," he answered, to Mrs. +Wyburn's disgust and horror, looking in the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>glass and taking very little notice of the indignant old lady.</p> + +<p>"He <i>does</i> need just a touch of lip-salve and a +little black under the eyes, don't you think so?" +Valentia asked, caressingly, pretending to consult +Mrs. Wyburn.</p> + +<p>"I can't say, I'm sure. I've no idea what he +wants," said Mrs. Wyburn with a snap.</p> + +<p>"But don't you think it would improve him, +darling?" Valentia went on, holding her head on +one side and holding up her hand as if she were +looking at a picture.</p> + +<p>"Not at all," said Mrs. Wyburn.</p> + +<p>"Then do you think his lips are red enough +already?" asked Valentia.</p> + +<p>Vaughan hastily interrupted the absurd discussion.</p> + +<p>"The human lip is never red enough," he +said decidedly; "they ought to be bright, light +scarlet."</p> + +<p>"That's just what I think. I've got some +lovely scarlet stuff—the colour of sealing-wax. +Shall I fetch it for you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, do," he said.</p> + +<p>"But won't it look rather——"</p> + +<p>"No; merely decent," said the young man decidedly.</p> + +<p>"And what does Romer say to <i>all this</i>?" said +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>Mrs. Wyburn with a forced smile and a voice +trembling with uncontrollable rage.</p> + +<p>"Oh, he likes it, darling. He loves it. No one's +been so keen about their dress as Romer. I'll go +and fetch him, and my roll of parchment—I had +forgotten my roll of parchment."</p> + +<p>She ran upstairs and came down saying—</p> + +<p>"Romer won't be a minute, dear; he's awfully +anxious for you to see his dress. He's just darkening +his eyelashes. That's all. He's Louis XIX or +something, you know."</p> + +<p>She then deliberately and openly drew Vaughan +to the window where there was still bright June +daylight and painted his lips a brilliant scarlet +to their mutual satisfaction and Mrs. Wyburn's +unspeakable horror.</p> + +<p>"Mad," murmured Mrs. Wyburn, half to +herself, "quite mad! I shall be quite upset for +the Trott-Hellyers' dinner-party. It's Dr. Trott-Hellyers' +birthday. He only <i>lives</i> three doors +from you" (she said this rather reproachfully), +"and I dine with him <i>every</i> year on his birthday! +And to think I only came in to see my son for a +minute or two, because I couldn't bear to pass +his door ... his very door...."</p> + +<p>"Sweet of you," said Valentia.</p> + +<p>... "And then to think I should find——" She +screamed suddenly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>Daphne had come in, in her green cloak, +doublet and hose, and little green cap, Romer in +paint and powder, patches and lace ruffles, +sword and snuffbox. There was a lavish amount +of rouge on his cheeks and his eyes were blacked +almost to the temples.</p> + +<p>Hearing that his mother was there he had +finished the left eye rather hurriedly, the result +being that he looked as if he had been fighting.</p> + +<p>While the poor lady was trying to adjust herself +to this sight, and explaining for the sixth +time why she was there, and making bitter +remarks about a young girl going to a ball in +what she (Mrs. Wyburn) called trousers, and +while Daphne kept on wrapping herself in the +folds of her cloak and then undoing them again +to show her nice high boots, she was still more +distressed at the arrival of her <i>bête noire</i> and +mortal enemy, Harry de Freyne.</p> + +<p>Van Buren had sent his motor for them, containing +Harry.</p> + +<p>Had his name not been announced by the servant, +Mrs. Wyburn would certainly not have recognised +Harry. He was a pierrot in white satin, +with a violet tulle ruffle round his neck and a +black velvet mask. One would know him solely +by his single eye-glass, his pleasant voice, and +fluent conversation.</p> + +<p>Pretending to be a clown he jumped in, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>bowed low to Mrs. Wyburn, and kissed first +Daphne and then Valentia.</p> + +<p>With a last-straw expression Mrs. Wyburn +drew herself up to her full height.</p> + +<p>"Give me my cloak, Romer. I must go. No, +don't come to the carriage with me. Suppose the +Trott-Hellyers were to see you—they'd never +get over it!"</p> + +<p>"Why, it's all right, mother," Romer answered. +"I'm all right. I'm a courtier—of the +tenth century—you know. I'm all right."</p> + +<p>"And you approve of your young sister-in-law +going to a public ball dressed up as a man?"</p> + +<p>"Rosalind wasn't a man, mother. You forget; +you must read the <i>Midsummer Night's Dream</i> +again. You've forgotten it."</p> + +<p>"I shan't find Rosalind there. But that's not +the point. When I came in I found Valentia with +that man—the man who writes in purple +knickerbockers——"</p> + +<p>"No, he doesn't—he never writes in purple +knickerbockers."</p> + +<p>"Is this meant to be witty?" she asked with a +freezing glare.</p> + +<p>"What? No, I shouldn't think so."</p> + +<p>"I found <i>your wife</i>," she said in a low hissing +voice, as they passed through the hall where +there was a large looking-glass—Romer's attention +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span>wandered—"within an inch of that young +man's face, putting ear-rings in his ears!"</p> + +<p>"Well, she couldn't put them in a mile off," +said Romer absently.</p> + +<p>He was now frankly turning his back on his +mother, and staring at his face in the glass.</p> + +<p>"Hang it all! I don't look so bad, do I?"</p> + +<p>"You look a gentleman," she answered coldly; +"any son of mine must look a gentleman. Of +course, you look ridiculous—and, as far as that +goes, you <i>are</i> ridiculous; but that doesn't matter +quite so much as long as you look a gentleman."</p> + +<p>"Oh, rot!"</p> + +<p>Romer was trying to move a patch from one +corner of his eye to the other.</p> + +<p>"But as to Harry de Freyne?... And shall +you allow your wife to dance with him in that +costume?"</p> + +<p>"Of course—why not? And—<i>doesn't</i> Valentia +look—jolly?"</p> + +<p>"I think the scarlet with her golden hair is +rather too—striking," she answered spitefully.</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>she's</i> all right!"</p> + +<p>"I think you're all mad!" she answered as she +reached the door.</p> + +<p>The servant opened it.</p> + +<p>"Oh, we're all right. Good night, mother. +You'll be late for the Trott-Hellyers."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>Drawing her cloak over her narrow shoulders, +Mrs. Wyburn stepped angrily into the brougham.</p> + +<p>Although it was only three doors from her +son's house, she would not for the world have +walked.</p> + +<p>When she arrived there, still in a very bad +temper at all she had seen, she nevertheless +boasted to her neighbour about how remarkably +distinguished and handsome her son and +daughter-in-law had looked in costume, and of +their success, charm, perfect domestic happiness, +and importance and perfection generally.</p> + +<p>She succeeded in depressing the fossils on +both sides of her, but they smiled at each other, +indulgent to the feminine weakness of so amiable +and devoted a mother.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>A CELEBRITY AT HOME</h3> + + +<p>Miss Luscombe lived with her mother +in a species of tank, or rather in a flat +that gave that impression because it was in the +basement. It was dark, and such glimpses as they +had of people passing on the pavement were +extremely odd; it seemed a procession of legs +and skirts, like something in a pantomime or a +cinematograph.</p> + +<p>The Luscombes lived, as it were, beneath the +surface; but that did not prevent their being very +much <i>dans le mouvement</i>, and coming up with +great frequency to the surface to breathe. And +when one had once walked down the steps and +found one's way into the tank, it was an extremely +pleasant one, and quite artistic. It seemed +original, too. There was something almost +freakish in being answered by the parlourmaid +(who was suitably like a fish in manner and +profile), "Miss Luscombe is at home, and will +you please step downstairs?" when one had rung +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>the bell on the ground floor. And Miss Luscombe's +ringing laugh with its three soprano notes and +upward cadence always greeted one charmingly +and cordially, and one always liked her; one +couldn't help it. Her great fault was that she +was never alone. She existed in an atmosphere +of teaparties and 'afternoons'; like the Lotus-Eaters, +she lived in 'that land where it was +always afternoon'.</p> + +<p>For an obscure person she led a singularly +public life. In her existence there seemed no +secrets, no shadows, no contrasts, and no domesticity. +One could never imagine her except in +what she regarded as full dress, nor without, by +her side, a perpetual bamboo table with three +little shelves in it, in which were distributed +small cut pieces of very yellow cake with very +black currants, sandwiches, made of rather +warm thin bread and butter, pink and white +cocoanut biscuits, and constant relays of strong +dark tea made in a drab china teapot. On +crowded afternoons—in fact, every other Thursday—little +coffee cups containing lumpy iced +coffee were also handed round. When they had +music there were lemonade, mustard and cress +sandwiches, and a buffet.</p> + +<p>Even when Miss Luscombe was entirely alone +she did not seem so. She had got into the habit +of talking always as if she were surrounded by +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>crowds, and said so much about the celebrities +who ought to have turned up that one felt +almost as depressed as if they had really been +there. Sometimes they came, for there was no +one like Miss Luscombe for firmness. Also, she +was never offended and was hospitality itself, +and she had a way of greeting one that was a +reward for all one's trouble—it seemed much +more trouble than it really was, somehow, just +to step down into the tank. And she was so +charming no one could help being flattered till +the next visitor arrived, when she was even +more charming.</p> + +<p>After the Fancy Ball she had got hold of +Valentia, who came to see her on one of those +Thursdays that she had pointed out as peculiarly +her own—one of <i>my</i> Thursdays. She really +believed that for any one else to receive on that +day was a kind of infringement of copyright.</p> + +<p>Miss Luscombe was wearing on this occasion +a drab taffeta silk dress with transparent sleeves +and a low neck. She wore a rose in her hair, a +necklace, and long gloves, because she said she +wouldn't have time to dress again before going +out to dinner.</p> + +<p>About a dozen people were there—vague +shamefaced young men with nothing to say, and +confident, satirical, fluent young men with a +great deal to laugh at. Most of the older women +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>seemed a shade patronising in tone, and looked +as if they had never been there before. On the +faces of the young women and the girls could be +read the resolution never to go there again.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Luscombe, the mother, was so refined +that there was scarcely anything of her; her +presence was barely perceptible. She had learnt +the art of self-effacement to the point of showing +no trace of being there at all. To add to the +effect of not being noticeable, she wore a dress +exactly the same colour as the sofa on which she +sat—like those insects who, when hiding from +their foes, become the colour of the leaves on +which they live. She was practically invisible.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, Miss Luscombe herself +was very much there—very much <i>en évidence</i>. +Smiling, greeting, archly laughing, sweetly +pouting; coquetting, eating, playing, singing, +acting—almost dancing—an ideal and delightful +hostess.</p> + +<p>She said to every one as they arrived how +sweet it was of them to come so early, or how +naughty it was of them to come so late, or how +horrid it was of them not to come last time, or +how dear it would be of them if they came next. +She always introduced people to each other who +were not on speaking terms, and had intentionally +cut each other for years. She had a real +genius for making people accidentally meet who +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>had just broken off their engagement, or had +some other awkward reason for not wishing to +see each other—and then pushing them together +so that they could not get away. At +heart she was intensely a peacemaker, but +people who had met there rarely made up +their quarrels.</p> + +<p>When the favourite actor arrived she introduced +him to every one till he was ready to +drop, and when the great singer telegraphed he +couldn't come, she showed the wire to everybody. +Most of the guests preferred his not +coming. Very few could have endured her +triumph had he really arrived. On the other +hand, they would themselves have far preferred +to receive a telegram of refusal rather than not +to hear from him at all.</p> + +<p>When these entertainments were over and +the mother and daughter were left alone, the +daughter became far more thoroughly artificial +than she was when surrounded by her friends. +There was no throwing off the mask; on the +contrary, it was fixed more firmly on, and Miss +Luscombe gave free vent to her sham passion +for imitation comedy.</p> + +<p>On this particular Thursday, as soon as +Flora Luscombe had laughed her last visitor +archly to the door, she knelt by her mother's +side, put her arms round her, and said—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>"Dear, dear Mummy, how sweet it is to be +alone!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Luscombe shrank back a little. This pet +name, only too appropriate, always got a little +on her nerves, but she felt bound to play up in an +amateurish sort of way to a certain extent.</p> + +<p>"Hadn't you better go and take off that +beautiful dress?" she said. "You're not really +dining out, are you?"</p> + +<p>"No, dearest, I managed to get out of it, but +alas! I've got to go to the Reception—you know—that +horrid Royal Institution of Water +Colours—afterwards. It isn't worth while to +change again. Oh, how weary one does get of +the continual round! And then to-morrow!" +She sighed.</p> + +<p>"What is it to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"To-morrow! Don't talk of it! There's Mrs. +Morris's At Home in Maida Hill, and then +right at the other end of London the Hyslop-Dunn's +in Victoria Grove. Oh, dear! And yet +one feels one must be <i>seen</i> at all these places, +darling, or else it's remarked at once."</p> + +<p>"You live too much for the world," replied +her mother, tidying up some half-finished +watercress sandwiches with a sharp knife. She +wondered if, thus repaired, they would do for +next Thursday.</p> + +<p>"You know, Mummy dear, that's the worst +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>of our terrible profession. We must keep before +the public, or else we drop out and are forgotten. +What a sweet creature Valentia Wyburn is! I +thought she was quite, quite dear. And the +husband and the cousin are darlings too. Of +course they wouldn't come; I couldn't get them +to an afternoon."</p> + +<p>She got up and looked in the glass.</p> + +<p>"What a crowd there was to-day! Three +people came up to the front door at the same +time. I think they enjoyed themselves, don't +you? Though I feel I can't pay every one proper +attention when there's such a crush, but I do +my little best.... Mr. Simpson came up to +me and told me I looked quite wonderful. But +he's a silly thing." She pouted and put her head +on one side. "Did I look too hideous, darling?"</p> + +<p>"Beautiful, of course. The only thing is ..."</p> + +<p>Miss Luscombe clapped her hands and +laughed.</p> + +<p>"Did its little girlie really look as nice as all +that? Oh, Mummy, Mummy!"</p> + +<p>"Charming, dear, I only wish that ..."</p> + +<p>"It's too proud of its little daughter, that's +what it is," said Miss Luscombe, sitting on the +arm of her mother's chair. "It's a silly, vain, +conceited mother, that it is. It can't see any +fault in its pet."</p> + +<p>She tried to pat her mother's cheek. Mrs. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>Luscombe moved aside with justifiable irritation.</p> + +<p>"Don't do that, Flora! Yes, dear, of course, I +think you're wonderful, and looked sweet to-day; +but I do wish ..."</p> + +<p>"No, no, it doesn't want anything," said Flora.</p> + +<p>"I should be so pleased—if you'd put on just +a little less lip-salve and not quite so much of +that bluish powder."</p> + +<p>Having succeeded in completing her sentence, +her mother got up and faded quickly out of the +room and shut the door, leaving Flora looking +quite surprised and rather upset with being +found fault with.</p> + +<p>Indeed, she did not quite recover her equanimity +until she had looked over the cards in the +hall and put on a great deal more powder and +lip-salve, after which she told her mother +perhaps she was right, and in any case she, +Flora, would always do what she asked, and +would always follow her dear, dear Mummy's +advice.</p> + +<p>She was so charming and amiable that Mrs. +Luscombe pretended to believe her, and said it +was <i>sweet</i> of her to take it all off and go out +that evening without any adventitious aids to +beauty; and this she said in spite of the obvious +fact that Flora had evidently put on considerably +more than usual.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>MISCHIEF</h3> + + +<p>The elder Mrs. Wyburn was seated at the +gloomy window of her sulky-looking house +in Curzon Street one bright day in the season, +looking out with some anxiety.</p> + +<p>"Of course she's late; but if that woman +doesn't come I'll never forgive her. She's a silly +fool, but at least she does hear what's going on," +she reflected.</p> + +<p>At this moment an old-fashioned-looking +victoria drove up, drawn by two large grey +horses. In it sat a rather fat and important-looking +lady, with greyish red hair, a straight +decided mouth, and several firm chins. Her +most marked characteristic was her intense +decision on trivialities. She was always curiously +definite on the vaguest of subjects, and extraordinarily +firm and sensible about nothing +in particular.</p> + +<p>Miss Westbury was a rich unmarried woman, +with a peculiarly matronly appearance, a good-natured +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>love of giving advice, and with views +that obviously dated—one did not know exactly +from when. If she had some of the Victorian +severities of the sixties, she had also many of +the sentimental vagaries of the eighties. The +serious business of her life was gossip. In her +lighter moments she collected autographs. But +her gossip differed from that of the nervous, +impatient Mrs. Wyburn in that it was far more +pompous and moral, and not nearly so spiteful +and accurate.</p> + +<p>Miss Westbury sailed in—I need hardly say +she was dressed in heliotrope—and sat down +rather seriously in a large—and the only comfortable—armchair.</p> + +<p>"My dear Millie, how extremely good of you +to come!" exclaimed Mrs. Wyburn.</p> + +<p>Miss Westbury had been christened Maria, +but Millie was the name which she had chosen +to be called by her friends.</p> + +<p>"I am very pleased to come, dear Isabella. +To call on you on one of your Wednesdays is, I +know, quite hopeless if one has anything to +say. To call on any one on a day at home, except +as a mere matter of form, I do not consider +sensible."</p> + +<p>"Quite so. Will you have some tea?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wyburn rang the bell rather fretfully. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>She did not care for Millie's made conversation, +and hated her way of gaining time.</p> + +<p>"I will have what I always have, dear Mrs. +Wyburn, at five o'clock, if I may—hot water +with one teaspoonful of milk, and a saccharine +tablet which I bring with me. I am not a faddist, +and I think all those sort of fancies about what +is and what is not good for one are exceedingly +foolish; but when I go in for a régime, dear, +I give it a fair chance. Otherwise there is no +sense in it!"</p> + +<p>She settled herself still more sensibly and +decidedly in her chair.</p> + +<p>"I wonder," said Mrs. Wyburn nervously—one +could see she was not listening, and thought +Miss Westbury was merely drivelling on—"whether +you will come to the point at once? +It would be a great comfort if you would. I +have been feeling quite anxious about your +visit. I rather foolishly took some coffee after +lunch, and it kept me awake the whole afternoon—either +that, or my anxiety."</p> + +<p>"If you take coffee after lunch," replied Miss +Westbury, "you should take it made as I do. +Two teaspoonfuls of coffee in a large breakfast-cup +full of hot water, a saccharine tablet, and a +teaspoonful of condensed——"</p> + +<p>"What was it you really heard, Millie dear, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>about my daughter-in-law?" interrupted Mrs. +Wyburn sharply.</p> + +<p>Here the footman brought in the tea. Miss +Westbury frowned, and ostentatiously changed +the subject.</p> + +<p>"Have you been to the Grafton? I was persuaded +to go. I think, myself, there's a great +deal too much fuss made about pictures nowadays. +When one thinks of the money that's +wasted on them, when it might be sent to a +hospital, it makes one's blood boil! And some +of those that are made the most fuss about—both +the Old Masters and the very new ones—these +post-men, or whatever they're called—seem +to me perfect nonsense. A daub and a +splash—no real trouble taken—and then you're +expected to rave about it. There's one man—some +one wants me to buy a picture of his—he +paints all his pictures in tiny squares of different +colours; when you're close you can't see anything, +but it seems that if you walk five feet +away it forms into a kind of pattern. It seems +it's the tessellated school, and they tell me that +in a few years nothing else will count. And what +I thought was a mountain in a mist turns out +to be 'A Nun with cows grazing.' Silly nonsense +I call it!"</p> + +<p>"Was the nun grazing, or the cows?" asked +Mrs. Wyburn.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>"Goodness knows, dear. Then there was that +other one called Waning Day, or something. +Two people in a boat sailing on dry land! Then +that picture of a purple man with a green +beard! Oh, my dear! The people who took me +there told me it was full of—something French—<i>essayage</i>, +or <i>mouvement</i>, I think. The man +who tried to make me buy it said it was symbolical. +But of course I refused. You know I +never have anything to do with nonsense. Well +now, my dear——" Taking pity on Mrs. +Wyburn's extreme impatience, Miss Westbury +came a little nearer. "What I heard was simply +this. My cousin, Jane Totness, took her little +boy, who is in London for the holidays, to the +British Museum. She always likes to improve +his mind as much as possible; besides, he had +been promised a treat after having a tooth out; +the first week of the holidays he always has +a tooth out and a treat after. Jane is like that; +she's a sensible woman, and I must say I think +she brings her boys up very well. I myself might +have been more inclined to take him to Madame +Tussaud's, or even to a matinée, or to have an +ice at Buzzard's; but I dare say I'm old-fashioned +enough in some ways, and Jane knows her own +business best."</p> + +<p>"No doubt she does," said Mrs. Wyburn, +quivering with impatience, tapping her foot on +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>the floor, and trying to restrain herself. "And +so she took the little boy—Charlie, isn't it?—to +the British Museum? Go on, dear!"</p> + +<p>"Not Charlie, Mrs. Wyburn. It was little +Laurence—little Laurence. He was called +Laurence after his grandfather, Lord Dorking. +It's the rule in the Totness family; the second +son is always called after the grandfather, the +eldest son after his father, and the third son—I +mean, of course, if there is one—after the +mother's father. Don't you think it's a very +sensible plan, dear?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wyburn gave her friend first a sympathetic +smile, and then a murderous glance.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Well?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes. Well, she was just pointing out +something to little Laurence—he's an intelligent +boy, and I dare say he was enjoying it +very much—when, to her great surprise, <i>who</i> +should she see but Mrs. Romer Wyburn, talking +away like anything on a seat with—who do +you think?"</p> + +<p>"Who?"</p> + +<p>"That young man Harry de Freyne—her +cousin, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"How extraordinary!" exclaimed Mrs. Wyburn. +"Did they seem uncomfortable when they +saw Jane?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>"Oh dear, no, my dear. They seemed most +comfortable. Jane bowed to them—of course +rather coldly, she says—and they smiled and +nodded, and Valentia kissed her hand to +Laurence. Of course, Jane was very much +pained and shocked about it all. I must say her +first thought, dear, was that I should tell you. +Jane Totness is a thoroughly good woman—so +thoughtful."</p> + +<p>"Do you see anything so very peculiar about +it?" said Mrs. Wyburn. "You know, the young +man—I disapprove of him as strongly as any +one can—but he's an artist, and she is his cousin, +and perhaps he wanted to show her something +in the British Museum?"</p> + +<p>"My dear Mrs. Wyburn, far be it from me to +look on the dark side of things, but, as Jane +said, who on earth would go to the British +Museum, unless they were dragged there by +force, except to have a private interview?"</p> + +<p>"But if he wanted to speak to her alone, I +don't see why he shouldn't call on her."</p> + +<p>"That's just it. If it were a simple, innocent, +harmless conversation, that is what he would +have done. But it was quite clear that there was +something clandestine about it, and you may +be quite sure Romer knew nothing of it. +Besides, they are always together."</p> + +<p>"It does look odd," said Mrs. Wyburn. "What +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>would you advise me to do? Shall I speak to my +son or my daughter-in-law about it?"</p> + +<p>"To neither, my dear. If you speak only to +your son, he will tell her, and she will get round +him, and prove there's nothing in it. If you +speak to her she will get round you, and say +that Romer knew all about it. My advice is, if +you really want to put a stop to this flirtation—I'm +sure it's gossiped about—even Jane, who +is the last person in the world to talk, speaks of +it to every one. If I were you, I would speak to +the young man himself."</p> + +<p>"To Harry de Freyne? Yes, it's rather a good +idea."</p> + +<p>It struck Mrs. Wyburn that to do this would, +perhaps, cause more annoyance than anything +else. She was now anxious to get rid of Miss +Westbury, who evidently had nothing more to +impart. But that lady was not so easy to dispose +of. She broke into a long monologue on the +subject of régime, servants, and little dressmakers, +occasionally returning to the subject +of the British Museum, and the shocking frivolity +there.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wyburn was just thinking of having a +violent toothache or some other ill, when Miss +Westbury suddenly made up her mind to depart.</p> + +<p>As soon as she had gone Mrs. Wyburn flew +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>to the Blue Book, looked up Harry's address, +and wrote him the following note:—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p> +"Dear Mr. de Freyne, +</p> + +<p>"Probably you hardly remember me, but +I have met you on two or three occasions at the +house of my daughter-in-law, Mrs. Romer +Wyburn. There is something I want to say to +you which I hardly like to write. I should be +glad if you would come and see me to-morrow +afternoon at four o'clock. I shall not keep you +long. You may think this a strange request, +knowing you so slightly as I do, but when we +meet, I am sure you will understand.</p> + +<p class="blckright"> +"Yours truly,<br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Isabella Wyburn</span>."<br /> +</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Having written this note, Mrs. Wyburn felt +too impatient to send it by post; she was simply +longing to know that Harry was feeling uncomfortable, +as he was very certain to feel when +he got the letter. Although she had a great +suspicion and general dislike of the Messenger +Boy Service, she relented for once in their +favour so far as to make use of them, and the +letter was sent by hand.</p> + +<p>She was rewarded for thus conquering her +prejudice. Harry was at home, and accepted her +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span>invitation with most respectful alacrity. His +manners—especially on paper—were, with old +and young ladies, always equally perfect—unless +he was out of temper.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wyburn eagerly hoped Harry would see +Valentia, or somehow convey to her about the +letter, because it would be sure to make her +uneasy also.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The next day the young man was punctual +to the moment. The old lady left him alone for +a few minutes in the dark, dismal drawing-room. +She thought it would have a salutary +effect.</p> + +<p>She found him, when she came in, stroking +the china bird, and looking at himself in the +mirror above it.</p> + +<p>He received her with such charming grace +that she felt almost disconcerted, and as if she +ought to apologise.</p> + +<p>"You received my letter?" she said, rather +abruptly.</p> + +<p>"With great pleasure. That is why I am +here."</p> + +<p>He was still standing, smiling delightfully.</p> + +<p>"Sit down," she said, with cold graciousness. +"I hope you are not in a great hurry?"</p> + +<p>"All my day belongs to you," he replied with +a low bow, taking the seat she had indicated. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>He looked at her with soft deference under his +long eyelashes.</p> + +<p>She found what she had to say more difficult +than she had expected. She spoke quietly, in +a low yet rasping voice, with a sharp dignity.</p> + +<p>"I will come straight to the point. To put it +plainly, a report has reached my ears, Mr. de +Freyne, which has caused me very great pain +and anxiety—I mean, as a mother. And I +wondered whether you——"</p> + +<p>"As a mother? Surely, Mrs. Wyburn, nothing +against Romer? I'm sure I, as one of his oldest +friends...."</p> + +<p>"Against Romer!" She drew herself up stiffly. +"Most certainly not! There's never been a word +breathed otherwise than in dear Romer's +favour since he was a little boy."</p> + +<p>Harry appeared much relieved.</p> + +<p>"It's a great comfort to hear you say that. +It's only what I was going to assure you."</p> + +<p>"Besides, do you suppose for one moment +that if I had any fault to find with my son I +should send for you?"</p> + +<p>She already had an annoying fancy that he +was defeating her, laughing at her, and turning +the tables.</p> + +<p>"It seemed certainly rather strange," Harry +said.</p> + +<p>"No, indeed! When I say I was troubled as a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>mother, I meant it in a very different sense. +What I'm afraid of is that dear Romer might be +worried if he heard the report to which I refer."</p> + +<p>"And that is?..."</p> + +<p>She looked at him spitefully, yet with a +reluctant admiration.</p> + +<p>He was irritatingly good-looking, good-humoured, +and at his ease, and particularly +well-dressed, without appearing in the least +conscious of it. She wished immensely that he +had been plain, or awkward, or even out at +elbows, or absurdly dandified, or looked <i>nouveau +riche</i>, or something! She felt jealous of him for +Romer, and, at the back of her brain, she +grudgingly and perversely sympathised a little +with her daughter-in-law. Harry radiated a +peculiar charm for women of all ages. He did +not study them nor try very much to please +them; the fascination was involuntary; he +simply used it.</p> + +<p>"And that is, that you and my daughter-in-law, +Valentia, were seen <i>alone</i>——" she paused +a moment, showing a latent instinct for +dramatic effect.</p> + +<p>He smiled a little more, and bent his head +forward with every sign of intelligent interest.</p> + +<p>She spoke with emphasis.</p> + +<p>"<i>Alone</i>—the other morning—at the British +Museum!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>Somehow she felt the shot had missed fire. It +had fallen flat. It was less effective than she had +hoped. It did not sound so very shocking after all.</p> + +<p>He continued to smile with the air of waiting +for the climax. She gathered herself together +and went on—</p> + +<p>"I heard it from Miss Westbury, so it is a fact!"</p> + +<p>Harry thought of saying that he preferred an +old wives' tale any day to an old maid's fact, +but he only smiled on.</p> + +<p>"Of course, if this is untrue, Mr. de Freyne—if +it is a mistake, or a false report, you have +merely to deny it. Assure me it is incorrect—on +your word of honour—and I will then contradict +it in the proper quarter."</p> + +<p>He decided on his line. "My dear lady, pray +don't contradict it. As a report it is a gem—it is +unique. Not merely because it's absolutely true—for, +as a matter of fact, I think most reports +are—but because of its utter unimportance! It +seems to me so trivial—so dull—so wanting in +interest to the general public."</p> + +<p>"You think reports are usually true, Mr. de +Freyne?"</p> + +<p>"I am convinced they are. I believe firmly in +the no-smoke-without-fire theory. Oh, do you +know, I think it is <i>so</i> true!... This certainly +is true—it's a solemn fact."</p> + +<p>"You admit it?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>"I do indeed! Surely I could hardly refuse to +go when I was asked?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you were asked?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly. And Romer is really such a very +old friend of mine, I could hardly refuse his +request. I may be wrong, but I think one should +always be ready to take a little trouble for an +old friend."</p> + +<p>"No doubt you have very strict ideas on the +duties and obligations of friendship! At <i>his</i> +request—my son's?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; your son asked me to go and escort +Valentia."</p> + +<p>"It is very peculiar; you must see that your +explanation sounds extremely odd."</p> + +<p>"Not at all odd," he answered softly, "if you +will allow me to contradict you." He thought a +moment. Then he went on: "You may have +heard, perhaps, about the dance that little +American, Mrs. Newhaven, is getting up at the +Grafton Galleries for <i>Deaf and Dumb Dogs and +Cats</i>. No? Well, every one is going, and they're +arranging to have, by way of novelty, Quadrilles +of different nationalities. Romer and his wife +are to dance in the Egyptian Quadrille, and he +asked me to take her to the British Museum to +look round and see if we could find some inspiration +for Egyptian costumes that wouldn't +be too impossible. But when we got there, we +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>suddenly remembered the awful story about +one of the mummies being unlucky, so we went +into the Print Room and remained there."</p> + +<p>De Freyne paused.</p> + +<p>"Of course, if that is all—if my son knows of +your going, and even asked you to go, there's +nothing more to be said ... though I think it +very foolish, and I don't approve of any of that +sort of thing at all."</p> + +<p>"What, not of Egyptian quadrilles, Mrs. +Wyburn?" asked Harry, with surprised innocence +and in a coaxing voice. "Why, I'm sure +it will be frightfully harmless—in fact, very +invigorating to the mind. It's not as though the +dresses were becoming! We saw the most hideous +things at the Museum. We met Lady Totness, +who was dragging a wretched little boy about—I +suppose as a punishment for something."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wyburn smiled slightly. She began to +feel rather inclined to relent at the implication +that Lady Totness was hideous.</p> + +<p>"There you really are wrong, Mr. de Freyne. +The boy was taken there as a treat."</p> + +<p>"A <i>treat</i>! For whom? For him? What a +strange idea—I mean, to think it could be a +treat to go anywhere with her, Mrs. Wyburn."</p> + +<p>"It is, rather," she acknowledged.</p> + +<p>"Well, then, if that is really all that was +troubling you, I do hope you're happy now?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>He said this with one of his subtle, insinuating +changes of tone that were always so effective. +Musicians will understand when I say it was +like a change from the common chord in the +minor to the dominant in the major. It was +partly from force of habit, partly because he +really wished to win Mrs. Wyburn over.</p> + +<p>"Of course, now you've given the explanation +it's, <i>so far</i>, all right. You'll have a cup of tea +with me, won't you?"</p> + +<p>"I should enjoy it particularly. Let me ring." +After a minute or two she said—</p> + +<p>"But perhaps I might venture to suggest it +might be better—more prudent—if you were +to go about a little less with Valentia?... Of +course, I quite see now that you're so devoted +to Romer, and like a brother and so forth, but +I can't help considering what people say."</p> + +<p>"Don't call Lady Totness people, Mrs. +Wyburn! Think what a disagreeable, insincere +woman she is—not a bit <i>femme du monde</i>, and +so exceptionally stupid and spiteful!"</p> + +<p>Harry stayed with her for an hour, having +tea, chatting, telling her stories against every +one she didn't like, and speaking with a kind +of tender and admiring familiarity of both +Valentia and Romer, in a way that at once +reassured and flattered her.</p> + +<p>Finally, she actually found herself begging +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>Harry to use his influence with the young +couple to be less frivolous and mondains, and +not to be always going out, which he promised +to do. She even confided to him her great wish +that they had two or three children, which +would steady them down, and he warmly +agreed with her, but said that he felt that on +that subject it was, perhaps, hardly for him to +interfere.</p> + +<p>Of course he confided in her, in his turn, +how frightfully hard up one was, with no one +buying pictures, and outsiders winning all the +big races after having no earthly chance on any +form they had shown that season. Mrs. Wyburn +positively tried to talk racing with him for a +minute or two—rather pathetically—but soon +got out of her depth and fell back on Art. She +said she thought, candidly, that Harry's portrait +of his cousin was a pity.</p> + +<p>They parted excellent friends, she even asking +him as a favour not to tell Romer the reason +of his visit. To Valentia he might mention it, as +Mrs. Wyburn thought it might be a lesson to her.</p> + +<p>Harry professed, at first, some little scruple +on the point. He scarcely liked, he said, the +idea of concealing it from Romer. They always +told each other everything. But Mrs. Wyburn +was afraid of her son's anger—which she could +not endure, unless <i>she</i> was in the right—and of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>appearing ridiculously meddling. Harry owned +that her conduct <i>might</i> seem rather malicious +and absurd. At last he consented, and it was +agreed that neither of them should ever say +anything about it to Romer at all.</p> + +<p>It is scarcely necessary to say that Harry kept +his promise of silence to the letter. Had he not +done so the story would at least have had the +interest of novelty, for Romer had never yet +heard anything about the expedition to the +British Museum, and he never did.</p> + +<p>A week or two later, when Mrs. Newhaven's +ball at the Grafton Galleries was described in +the paper, Mrs. Wyburn, who read the account, +observed that there was no reference whatever +to quadrilles of various nationalities—Egyptian +or otherwise; and she rather wondered at the +omission. But it did not occur to her to suppose +that this portion of the entertainment had been +entirely imaginary—a lurid figment of Harry's +vivid fancy and fertile invention.</p> + +<p>He left, it must be said, on the old lady a +lasting impression—by no means an unfavourable +one. Even when she had reason to grow +seriously anxious again on the same subject, +she never could bring herself in her own mind +to blame Harry—she could not at heart think +ill of him. She was only extremely angry with +Romer and Valentia.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>THE FRIENDS</h3> + + +<p>Harry had baffled Mrs. Wyburn for the +time. He always dealt with his difficulties +one by one as they cropped up, not <i>en masse</i>, +and invariably in a manner that relieved the +tension for a short time only—he rarely did +anything radical.</p> + +<p>His financial position was, however, growing +rather serious, and occasionally the thought of +Miss Walmer flitted through his mind.</p> + +<p>To marry Miss Walmer would be far the +quickest and simplest way out of his difficulties, +and she would really be very little trouble, as +little trouble, perhaps, as any wife could be. +Besides, Harry had, with reason, great confidence +in his own powers of dealing with +women—getting whatever it was that he +wanted from them, and afterwards preventing +their being a nuisance. But he did not much like +the idea of this mercenary marriage, because he +was not in the least tired of his romance with +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>Valentia, and saw great difficulties in the way +of keeping it up later on. He had worrying +doubts as to her consenting to revive it afterwards +if he married.</p> + +<p>Her grey eyes and soft fair hair with its +dense waves held a lasting fascination for him. +It has been well said that for each individual +there exists in some other being some detail +which he or she could find only in this particular +person. It might be the merest trifle. Harry +knew what it was in Val that had a specially +compelling charm to him—it was the way her +hair grew on her forehead. And there was +something childlike in her expression that made +a peculiar appeal to him. The power her face +had over him was undiminished—it had begun +seriously when he painted her portrait, and had +grown gradually since then. And she was the +only woman he had ever met whose affection +for him did not cool his own enthusiasm. On +the contrary, it was one of the things which +held him to her most.</p> + +<p>In a sense he was even loyal to her. Harry was +not one of those extravagant Don Juans who +made conquests solely for the gratification of +their vanity by adding to their collection. +Essentially cool and calculating, he used his +attractiveness only when he thought it would +be of some genuine value to him, or some +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>real satisfaction. As a Lovelace he was economical.</p> + +<p>Though a great connoisseur of feminine +charm and beauty, and superficially susceptible +and excitable, with all this, as many women +knew, Harry was as hard as nails.</p> + +<p>Valentia was the only woman for whom he +had ever felt, besides the physical attraction, a +kind of indulgent tenderness. This was partly, +no doubt, because they had been fond of each +other as children, and because of a racial sympathy, +a <i>sentiment de famille</i> due to their +relationship. But it was not really to be depended +on.</p> + +<p>No one could be a more charmingly devoted +lover than Harry. There was no one like him +for little attentions and inattentions, charming +little thoughts, caressing words, and the little +jealous scenes that women value. It was not +the mere mechanically experienced love-making +that women see through and to which they +often prefer a clumsy sincerity. It was natural, +spontaneous. He had, in fact, a genius for love-making, +but he had not, like Romer, a genius +for love. Harry had all the gift of expression—poor +Romer had only the gift of feeling.</p> + +<p>But notwithstanding Harry's magnetism, a +woman once disillusioned by him was disillusioned +for ever. Women never forgave him. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>His romances generally ended suddenly, and +always irrevocably.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Harry had no great love of truth in the abstract, +but, at least, he never deceived himself. +He saw through his own unscrupulousness, and +rather despised it just as he despised his own +work as a painter. He had grown really fond +of Van Buren for the simple, sincere qualities +in which Harry knew himself to be deficient; +and the American's whole-hearted admiration—almost +infatuation—for him gave Harry the +pleasure one feels in the frank devotion of a +child. It touched him, even while he intended +to make use of it, because it was his nature to +make use of everything. It is an infallible sign +of the second-rate in nature and intellect to +make use of everything and every one. The +genius is incapable of making use of people. It +is for the second-rate clever people to make use +of him.</p> + +<p>One morning Harry had heard unexpectedly +that he had sold a picture—a thing that rarely +happened—and was looking at the cheque he +had received, when Van Buren came into the +studio. Harry told the news.</p> + +<p>"Well, Harry, I do congratulate you, with +all my heart! What are you going to do with +that?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>"Frame it," said Harry. "It's the only one +I've had for three years. It's a curiosity."</p> + +<p>The American laughed.</p> + +<p>"Harry, I guess what you're really going to +do—you're going to give yourself the humble +joy of paying some of the more pressing +liabilities. I know you!"</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow, that would be mad extravagance! +Oh no. You see, this cheque is—just +enough to be no earthly use."</p> + +<p>Van Buren sat down.</p> + +<p>"Harry, if you'd only let me.... But I know +that vexes you, so I won't talk of it. You're +Quixotic, that's what's the matter with you." +He smiled, pleased with the word. "Yes, +Quixotic! I want to speak to you about your +cousin—I mean Miss Daphne, the beauteous +broo-nette."</p> + +<p>"Well, how do you think you're getting on?" +asked Harry, who already knew from Valentia +that it was hopeless.</p> + +<p>"Not as well as I should like, Harry. I can't +say I feel I'm making any very great progress. +She's a dream, but I'm afraid she regards me +as a heavy-weight. She's only a child, really, +I know. She would prefer a little boy of her +own age who would make her laugh. Maybe +she thinks I'm too old. What do you say?"</p> + +<p>"You must give her time."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>"I pay her every little attention that I can," +said Van Buren seriously.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you're too attentive."</p> + +<p>"I'd give her anything in the world she +wanted, Harry, if she'd let me."</p> + +<p>"Well, give her a miss for safety."</p> + +<p>"What's that?"</p> + +<p>"Why—this evening you're going to meet +her at a dance, aren't you—at the Walmers'?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I'm looking forward to that."</p> + +<p>"Well, don't go—don't turn up. Then she'll +miss you. Say, to-morrow, you were prevented."</p> + +<p>Van Buren began to smile.</p> + +<p>"I see what you mean. It's an idea. You do +hand me some good advice! Is it what you +would do yourself, Harry?"</p> + +<p>"It's what I'm always doing."</p> + +<p>"But then I don't like the idea of being rude. +One always wants to give the impression of being +well-bred, no matter what the facts maybe."</p> + +<p>"It won't be rude. She'll be thinking about +you much more than if you were there, wondering +why you're not."</p> + +<p>"You mean it will keep her guessing, Harry?"</p> + +<p>"That's the idea. I shan't say you're not +coming. I'll pretend to be expecting you too."</p> + +<p>"Well, perhaps I'll try that. I know I've only +got an outside chance. She counts me as one of +the also-rans."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>"Are you really very devoted, old chap? Would +you break your heart if it didn't come off?"</p> + +<p>Van Buren thought a moment, then said with +his scrupulous truthfulness—</p> + +<p>"Well, no: I can hardly say that, Harry. I'm +not so far gone as all that. But I think she's +a very beautiful, charming, well-brought-up +young lady—a typical English girl—a June rose, +a real peach. She's the ideal of the sort of girl +I'd like to marry. But if she's out of my reach—well, +I should resign myself."</p> + +<p>"Would you try for some one else? There are +probably about a million girls just like that, you +know, who would be only too delighted."</p> + +<p>Van Buren shook his head.</p> + +<p>"She's the only girl I should care about marrying. +If it doesn't come off I shall go back to +New York. And I do wish you'd come with me. +A fellow with your talents would do splendidly +there. Why, I'd find you a place in the Bank in +New York. I'd see you made your fortune +pretty quick. But you'd never leave London."</p> + +<p>"I'm not so sure. Anyway, we'll give it a +chance till the autumn."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I must see it to a finish."</p> + +<p>"If you don't settle down here, then, would +you marry an American girl?"</p> + +<p>"No. In that case I shan't marry at all. I shall +settle down to the life of a lonely bachelor—choose +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>the broad and easy path that leads to +single misery, Harry." He laughed.</p> + +<p>"Instead of the straight and narrow road that +leads to married unhappiness," said Harry. +"So you <i>are</i> very keen on Daphne?"</p> + +<p>"Not exactly that, perhaps. But it must be +her or no one for a life-partner. She's the only +girl who ever made any appeal to me from the +point of view of domestic life. When I think of +a happy home and a fireside with her, it makes +me curl like an autumn leaf."</p> + +<p>"What a curious chap you are," said Harry, +smiling.</p> + +<p>"See here," said Van Buren, taking a letter +out of his pocket. "I've got a letter from a lady—it's +signed Flora Luscombe—but I don't seem +to remember anything about her."</p> + +<p>Harry took the letter. It was written on +mauve paper in a somewhat straggling hand, +and was dated from "Dimsdale Mansions, +St. Stephen's Road, North Kensington." It was +a pathetic, yet cheery invitation to tea.</p> + +<p>"It's Miss Luscombe, of the Tank, as we call +it," said Harry.</p> + +<p>"Oh, the actress? Well, I think I shall go, +Harry. I've never had the opportunity of mixing +much in dramatic circles. It's real kind of +her to have asked me, I must say. I didn't even +remember her."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span>"No one ever remembers her. But it's amusing +and absurd. You'll meet some of the people +you like. Flora will show you round—point out +all the obscurities there, and so forth. Oh, she's +a good soul—old Flora."</p> + +<p>"Is she old, Harry?"</p> + +<p>"About twenty-three, or thirty-three. I like +her, though she's rather a snob."</p> + +<p>"Ah, they say all Americans are snobs, Harry, +but I feel sure I'm not. Still, if I really liked a +man I can't say I should turn against him even +if he had a title."</p> + +<p>"And if I really hated a person I should never +get to like him, even if he had a bad reputation."</p> + +<p>Van Buren looked surprised and impressed, +also delighted.</p> + +<p>"Is that a paradox, or an epigram, Harry?"</p> + +<p>"I can't think!"</p> + +<p>"Won't you tell me what it is?"</p> + +<p>"It's bosh," said Harry impressively, "mere +bosh!"</p> + +<p>"Tell me what you really mean by it."</p> + +<p>"How should I know? I haven't the very +slightest idea," Harry said, stretching himself.</p> + +<p>Van Buren looked thoughtfully out of the +window.</p> + +<p>"How do you suppose our ro-mances will +end?"</p> + +<p>"As badly as possible; romances always do," +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>said Harry. "We ought to be only too thankful +that they end at all."</p> + +<p>"Why, I'm afraid you're a pessimist! How +do you define a pessimist, Harry?"</p> + +<p>"What a mania you have for definition, old +chap! I think I agree with the little girl who +said that an optimist is the man who looks after +your eyes, and the pessimist the person who +looks after your feet."</p> + +<p>"Why, that's very subtle. I quite see what +she means. There's a lot in that idea, Harry." +He thought gravely.</p> + +<p>"Is there? Well, come out to lunch."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>A HOME CHAT</h3> + + +<p>"Yes, Romer, on the whole I don't think +our season's been a success. With any +amount of struggle, worry, bother, clothes, +motoring, and making up parties, we've just +succeeded in not getting Daphne married to +Van Buren, and putting your mother in a perpetual, +constant, lasting bad temper."</p> + +<p>"Have we?" said Romer.</p> + +<p>He was sitting in an arm-chair listening, as +usual, while Valentia talked. He did not always +understand what she was saying, nor did he +even always know the subject she was discussing, +but he loved to hear her voice, that was +like an incantation in his ears. He said a few +words occasionally, desiring that the musical +sound should continue.</p> + +<p>"All our old friends seem to have grown dull +and sensible except Harry, and he's been rather +jerky and unsatisfactory—and all the new ones +have turned out complete failures. When I say +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>they're complete failures, of course I mean +they've bored me. But, of course, it may not +have been their object in life to do anything +else."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Look at Mr. Rathbone—a man like that, +tattooed, and collecting old programmes of theatres. +Well, he's as dull as ditchwater, perfectly +stupid and always saying the right thing to the +wrong people. Then Captain Foster, who seemed +perfectly harmless and only decorative, +turns out to be really dangerous, and to count. +He's in love with Daphne, and he has got his +mother, who is very weak and foolish and +sentimental, round on his side, and Daphne's +always going to tea or to lunch there, and +they've utterly spoilt her—at least, her taste +in hats has gone all wrong, and she told me that +Mrs. Foster had pink paper shavings in her +drawing-room fireplace, and asked me why I +didn't have them too!"</p> + +<p>"Really?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. And though she's very good, I know +it'll end in our having to give in, and a pretty +wedding, and a tiny flat, and utter wretchedness! +And Daphne will get to like old Mrs. +Foster better than me, and they'll have five +hundred a year at the most; and even if they +aren't really miserable she'll have to gradually +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>grow suburban, and come up to the theatre and +have to rush off so as to catch the last train +back to Boshan or Doddington or somewhere! +I mean if they take a little house out of town—near +Mrs. Foster. However, I'm not going to +give in just yet.... I could understand a slight +sacrifice—or even a big one if I were in love +with Captain Foster, but I'm not. I suppose +you'll say that I needn't be, but that isn't the +point. The utter absurdity is that all Daphne +wants of him she could see now. No one minds +her seeing him. But why should she break up +her life and spoil her future for it? Of course, +<i>that</i> part is <i>his</i> idea. He is so selfish that he +isn't satisfied with the harmless fun they have +now, but wants her to live all her life in a sort +of workman's cottage or tenement building just +for the sake of the joy, privilege, and honour of +having every meal with him!"</p> + +<p>"What a brute!" said Romer mildly.</p> + +<p>"Isn't he? And suppose a war broke out, and +that darling, handsome boy perhaps put an end +to suddenly by a bullet, or mentioned in despatches, +or something, and promoted—oh, +please don't talk to me about it any more, +Romer. I hate the life. But I suppose she'll have +to go her own way."</p> + +<p>Valentia paused and looked pensively in the +glass.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>"And dear Van Buren, he's been pretty badly +treated, I think. I suppose he knows it isn't my +fault or Harry's. I try to make up for it in lots +of ways—by getting him an introduction to the +man who wants to fly across the Atlantic. I +really hoped he would say to Van Buren, 'Fly +with me!' but he didn't, and in the most +roundabout way and by the most fearful lot of +trouble—chiefly through me—he was asked to +dinner to meet that other man—I forget his +name, the one who keeps on discovering the +North Pole. And it seems he is a dear, and +awfully good-looking. And then he—Van, I +mean—has met Bernard Shaw, and Graham +White, and Lloyd George, and Thomas Hardy, +and Sargent, and Lord Roberts, and Henry +James, and even Gabrielle Ray, so he hasn't +had such a bad time in London. I don't see that +he has anything to complain of, do you, Romer?"</p> + +<p>"Shouldn't think so."</p> + +<p>"That was what he wanted, you know," +continued Valentia. "But if we couldn't get +him a wife as well, it's not our fault. I'm sure +we've tried our best. He's such a dear, and very +fond of England. He has been most useful to +Harry, I'm sure; and——I think the new +fashions are simply frightful. The new way +they're going to do the hair will be revoltingly +unbecoming, and the whole thing will make +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>every one look hopelessly dowdy. The smarter +you are, the more of a frump you will look!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say, Val!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you will—I mean I will, but I won't.... +Because I'm not going to follow the fashion like +a sheep. And if you're not very careful I shall +dress in a style of my own."</p> + +<p>"Like a sheep! Do sheep follow the fashion?"</p> + +<p>"Of course they do. Didn't you know that? +What one does all the rest do. Of course it +doesn't change so often—even in the best +Southdown circles—at least <i>we</i> don't notice the +change. When a new kind of 'baa' comes in and +they all echo it we don't see any difference, but +I don't suppose they see any difference in our +fashions either. Oh, and Romer, I've been +worried because I feel I've got so frightfully +empty-headed and unintellectual through just +<i>living</i>, never reading or thinking, when we go +down to the Green Gate I shall read a lot of +serious books. I'm going to read H. G. Wells, +and Hichens, and Aristotle, and some history, +and all sorts of 'improving' things. When are +we going?"</p> + +<p>"As soon as possible," said Romer, brightening +up. "Let's go next Wednesday."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I can't be ready quite as soon as that, +Romer dear! Let's go on Tuesday. I'll arrange +it all."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>"Good!" said Romer, beaming.</p> + +<p>"And I'll get Harry to come down with us."</p> + +<p>"Thought he was going yachting with the +Walmers?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no, he's not, after all.... He doesn't +really care for the sea."</p> + +<p>"Oh!"</p> + +<p>"Harry, of course, is sorry for Van Buren," +continued Valentia. "And yet he takes Daphne's +part about Cyril Foster. He knows it's spoiling +her, but he thinks she ought to be spoilt; he's +so fond of Daphne."</p> + +<p>"Why doesn't he marry her himself?" asked +Romer.</p> + +<p>"Harry?" She looked at him in surprise. +"Why, Romer, what a harpist you are. If I've +told you once, I've told you a hundred times, he +never marries! Harry has a great many bad +habits, goodness knows. But marrying isn't one +of them."</p> + +<p>"Do you think he's keen on some one else?" +asked Romer after a rather long pause.</p> + +<p>She seemed annoyed at the question, then +smiled again.</p> + +<p>"I don't know! The other day I called at the +studio unexpectedly to ask for something I'd +forgotten, and found Harry improvising at the +piano—you know that way he has of improvising +from memory—an inaccurate memory—of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>some well-known composer. I've never +known him do it except when he wanted to—please +some woman. Well, Lady Walmer was +there, leaning over the piano and listening. +Should you think from that he's keen, as you +call it, on her?"</p> + +<p>"Lady Walmer! At her age!"</p> + +<p>"Why, Romer, she's no older than anybody +else! It doesn't matter nowadays in the very +slightest degree whether one is twenty-eight, +or thirty-eight, or even forty-eight. To a +modern man it's all exactly the same. Of course, +if a flapper is what is required, well then, +naturally, he must be shown to another department. +But apart from that—why, Lady Walmer +would be quite as dangerous a rival for me as a +woman ten years or twenty years younger. +And I'm not twenty-five yet."</p> + +<p>"Rival to <i>you</i>? What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>Romer stared at her, a spark of his fanatic +admiration showing in his eyes.</p> + +<p>She laughed and hurried on.</p> + +<p>"Nothing. I never mean anything. I know +what you think, Harry is not a marrying man, +but he might become one. But a girl like Alec +Walmer! With the figure of a suffragette and +the mind of a canary who plays cricket, or a +goose who goes in for golf——"</p> + +<p>"Heaps of cash."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>"Yes, I know. But Harry's an artist—he needs +sympathy."</p> + +<p>"He's got his head screwed on the right way."</p> + +<p>"But his heart's in the right place."</p> + +<p>"What is the right place?"</p> + +<p>"Don't be irritating, Romer. We'll go to the +Green Gate on Monday then. And now I must +go out and order a short tweed skirt, and a +garden roller, and a few other things that we +shall need in the country. Leave it all to me! +No, I never forget anything; even your mother +says I'm practical. And oh, do let's try and put +her in a good temper before we go away. You'd +better go and see her and say good-bye to-day, +early in the afternoon, alone. And then I'll go +in late and take away the impression of anything +you've said wrong. Do you see, darling? Dear +Romer!"</p> + +<p>She went out of the room like a sunbeam in +a hurry.</p> + +<p>Romer followed her with a wondering expression. +To him her movements, her hair, her eyes +seemed to suggest some fascinating language he +had not yet learnt. She seemed to him almost +a magic creature.</p> + +<p>As usual, he showed his sensations simply by +obeying. He went to say good-bye to his mother.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h3>VALENTIA'S VISIT</h3> + + +<p>Romer's mother, looking intensely cross—it +was her form of deep thought—was re-embroidering, +with extra little stitches, and +unnecessary little French knots, and elaborate +little buttonholes that would never see +a button, a large and fine piece of embroidery +on which she had been working for many +months. She had that decadent love of minute +finish in the unessential so often seen in persons +of a nervous yet persistent temperament.</p> + +<p>She was expecting her daughter-in-law. +Romer had said, "Val will look in this afternoon."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Valentia arrived, delightfully dressed, and, +to the casual observer, looking just as usual, but +in her costume there was just that nuance of +difference—what was it?—extra sobriety, a +more subdued look—some trifle that she had +worn last year to suggest to the seeing eye a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>hint of praiseworthy economy?—at any rate, +a shade that other young married women +would recognise at once as the right note when +calling on one's mother-in-law.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wyburn greeted her with real pleasure, +and with far more warmth than she ever +showed to her son (her affection for him being +authentic). The sight of Valentia, however, +always genuinely raised her spirits. She was +fascinated by her, and had an obscure desire +to gain Valentia's liking, and even admiration—by +force, if necessary! At the same time she +felt jealousy, disapproval, an odd pride in the +girl's charming appearance, and a venomous +desire to give her slight pain.</p> + +<p>"Romer has been here, I see—I mean, I +guess he has by the cigarette. He's the only +person who's allowed to smoke here. Yes, +Mrs. Wyburn, we're off on Wednesday. Won't +you miss us awfully? But I shall be very glad +to go. I've really had enough of the season." +Val spoke with a shade of weariness.</p> + +<p>"No wonder! I suppose you've hardly had +one quiet evening at home the last three weeks?"</p> + +<p>"Very likely not one. Even when we're +quite alone Harry comes round, and often his +American friend too."</p> + +<p>This was a challenge.</p> + +<p>Valentia was sitting opposite the light, dressed +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>in blue, in a black hat of moderate size, looking +straight at the elder lady with a smile, and +stirring her cup of tea.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wyburn admired her pluck and the fit +of her dress.</p> + +<p>"Yes, exactly—just what I should have +thought. You know what a horror I have of +displaying anything in the shape or form of +<i>interference</i>, dear Valentia. But, since you've +mentioned it yourself, may I just say, doesn't +it seem almost a pity that you should never be +alone with your husband?"</p> + +<p>Valentia began to laugh.</p> + +<p>"Oh, really, Mrs. Wyburn, why do you +assume that? But of course we're longing for a +quiet time. That is why we're going away so +early. What <i>delicious</i> China tea! Yours is the +only house where one gets it quite like this."</p> + +<p>She put down her cup, which was more than +half full, with a slight sigh.</p> + +<p>"Romer hates China tea too," said Mrs. +Wyburn. "It would be really better for your +nerves if you'd drink it, my dear."</p> + +<p>"And when do you go to Bournemouth?"</p> + +<p>"The first week in August. So I shall be able +to come down one day—as Romer asked me—before +I go, and just have a peep at what you're +all doing at the Green Gate."</p> + +<p>She smiled with grotesque playfulness.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span>"Oh, that will be nice," said Valentia. "It +must be looking lovely now. Did Romer say +anything else of any importance?"</p> + +<p>"He never says much, as you know, important +or not! He's very like his poor father, who +really used to sit opposite to me for hours at a +time without opening his lips."</p> + +<p>"A strong, silent man," murmured Val sympathetically. +"I know so well what you mean."</p> + +<p>"Indeed you don't," snapped Mrs. Wyburn. +"He was the weakest creature—<i>morally</i>, I +mean, poor dear—that ever breathed. He was +a very tall, fine man, but yet any pretty woman +could turn him round her little finger! It was +his most marked characteristic."</p> + +<p>"Fancy! Devoted to you, of course. Romer's +often told me."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure he hasn't. What can Romer know +of my domestic troubles, as he was just four +when he lost his poor father? But however that +may be, I do hope, Valentia, you will wear +warm, <i>sensible</i> clothes for the garden. I never +quite like the idea of your sitting out on that +little terrace late in the evening with practically +nothing on your shoulders. People should +be so careful of the night air."</p> + +<p>"How thoughtful of you, Mrs. Wyburn! But +I have a wrap—I never sit out without a wrap."</p> + +<p>"Pink chiffon, I suppose?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>"Now how did you know? You seem to have +second sight!"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I guessed as much. Very candidly, dear +Valentia, I don't approve of pink chiffon. But +we women of an elder generation are never +listened to, though our advice is worth hearing, +I can tell you."</p> + +<p>"Oh no, Mrs. Wyburn, don't say that. What +would you advise instead then—a red crochet +woollen shawl? I'll get one, of course. How +lovely that embroidery is getting that you're +doing! I remember last February thinking that +it was as beautiful as it could be, and now it +is more wonderful still. Let me look."</p> + +<p>She bent down her pretty head to admire it.</p> + +<p>"Is it my fancy, or the light, or hasn't your +hair grown a little brighter in colour lately, +Valentia dear?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, do you really think so? I'm so glad. I +was afraid it was just the same—just as it was +in Harry's portrait of me, you know."</p> + +<p>"It does look very like the portrait. But, very +frankly—you won't mind my saying so?—I +think that if it were not quite so fair it would +be an improvement."</p> + +<p>"Oh, naughty Mrs. Wyburn! Fancy your +wanting me to touch up my hair—make it +dark at the roots, I suppose, as so many people +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>seem to do! Oh! I wouldn't! What would +Romer say? He likes it like this."</p> + +<p>Before the elder lady had quite recovered +from the blow, Valentia went on carelessly—</p> + +<p>"Daphne sent her love to you. She mayn't +have time to come and see you before we leave."</p> + +<p>"Has she been going to any more fancy balls +as Rosalind?" asked Mrs. Wyburn sarcastically.</p> + +<p>"No, oh no. There haven't been any more."</p> + +<p>"I heard a report—oh, only a report—that +Mr. Van Buren is a great admirer of your +sister's; indeed, it was even said that they were +going to be engaged."</p> + +<p>This was really a sore subject to Valentia. +Her temper began to waver slightly. It had been +a very pet scheme of hers, and only Daphne +herself had defeated it by refusing the millionaire. +But of course she knew better than to tell +Mrs. Wyburn that.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, you heard that. I believe he does +admire her very much. But I hope I'm not +going to lose Daphne yet."</p> + +<p>Something in her expression warned Mrs. +Wyburn, who said affectionately—</p> + +<p>"Well, there's plenty of time; she's <i>so</i> young. +I don't believe in girls marrying till they're +sensible women and know something of housekeeping, +and are fitted to deal with their +servants."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span>"I hope you haven't been having any more +trouble with yours lately?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed I have! I had just sent for the housemaid +to give her notice because she never dusts +the lustres properly, when she turned round +and gave it—notice, I mean—to <i>me</i>!"</p> + +<p>"What a blessing! It saved you the trouble."</p> + +<p>"On the contrary, if you knew anything of +domestics, Valentia, you would see that it put +me in a most awkward position—most awkward; +and now I shall have to live at Mrs. +Hunt's!"</p> + +<p>"To live at Mrs. Hunt's?" repeated Val, as if +stupefied. "Why, you're not going to leave your +charming house? And who is Mrs. Hunt?—an +old friend of yours?"</p> + +<p>"Don't you really know who Mrs. Hunt is, +Valentia?" Mrs. Wyburn's voice trembled.</p> + +<p>"No; I haven't the faintest idea."</p> + +<p>"She's a Registry Off——Well, may you +never know! Certainly I'm not going to leave +my house. The idea of such a thing!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm <i>so</i> glad," said Val, getting up. "I'm +afraid I must leave it, though. I have so many +little things to do before I go. Now, Mrs. +Wyburn, take great care of yourself, and I do +<i>hope</i> you'll get a nice housemaid quite soon. +That sort of thing is so worrying, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wyburn accompanied her to the door, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>and as usual stood on the landing with her, +complaining of various troubles, and finally +parted with caressing words and advice about +going for country clothes to "a little dressmaker—quite +near here—who runs up one's blouses +and skirts."</p> + +<p>"Does she? Fancy! She must be small! Good-bye!" ...</p> + +<p>... "What a woman!" murmured Val as she +got into the carriage.</p> + +<p>"What a wife for Romer!" exclaimed Mrs. +Wyburn as the door shut.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<h3>A SUGGESTION</h3> + + +<p>Miss Luscombe, humming a tune, was +wandering round her drawing-room, arranging +it. She always hummed a little tune +when she was alone, if possible some quaint old +French air. Not that she was really alone now; +only her invisible mother was with her. To do +her justice, Flora took as much trouble to impress +this almost imperceptible audience as if +she represented a large crowd.</p> + +<p>"There!" she said. She dusted a little blue +vase and put it further back. "Now you're nice +and tidy. No, you go back there, you ugly +thing!" pouting at a photograph, "you're not +wanted to-day! Come out more in the light, +Lady Charles! We want you to be seen. <i>That's</i> +better!"</p> + +<p>From the depths of an arm-chair, where she +was hidden, Mrs. Luscombe, who was watching +her with intense irritation, said sharply—</p> + +<p>"Who do you expect to-day?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>"Oh! how you startled me, Mummy! I didn't +know you were there.... Isn't it funny, when +you wear that dark red dress, <i>just</i> the colour of +the armchair, one doesn't see you?"</p> + +<p>She went on humming in the low, sweet +voice, "<i>La violette double, double—la violette +double-ra-ra.</i>"</p> + +<p>"Pray stop that, Flora. My nerves won't bear +it. Who did you say you expect?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Rathbone, darling, if you <i>must</i> know. +Mr. John Ryland Rathbone, to be exact. You +know he's one of the Catford Rathbones, don't +you, Mummy?"</p> + +<p>"What's a Catford Rathbone?"</p> + +<p>"Dear mamma!" she laughed. "It's quite a +good old family. One of the untitled aristocracy."</p> + +<p>"I thought you told me his father was a +farmer?"</p> + +<p>"No, dear—that's a little mistake. I told you +his father had <i>taken</i> to farming—as a hobby. +Besides, that's just what I mean—a fine old yeoman +stock—the backbone of the country."</p> + +<p>"Why are you praising up this Mr. Backbone—or +Rathbone—so much? Is he in love with +you?"</p> + +<p>Flora laughed coquettishly, putting on her +Russian Princess manner. It was voluble, disdainful, +and condescending. She often changed, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>quite suddenly, from an <i>ingénue</i> to a <i>grande +dame</i>, and then to an adventuress and back again +before you knew where you were.</p> + +<p>"Of course he's in love with me. What of +that? Poor boy, he must take his chance like the +others! '<i>La violette double, double——</i>' Oh, I +forgot, dear. I beg your pardon."</p> + +<p>"What's he coming here for?" pursued the +relentless mother.</p> + +<p>Miss Luscombe now became a soubrette of a +somewhat hooligan type, and pretended to +throw a little feather duster she was holding +into the depths of the arm-chair.</p> + +<p>"That remains to be seen. But I'm a girl who +knows how to take care of herself. I shall keep +him in his place, old dear. Don't you worry."</p> + +<p>"I don't."</p> + +<p>There was a ring at the door. Flora blushed +genuinely, and put some powder on. She became +sweet and tactful again, and refined, the +amiable woman of the world. She helped her +mother out of the arm-chair, quite unnecessarily, +but perhaps to hurry her departure.</p> + +<p>"You'd better leave us alone now, darling," +she said, "and girlie will tell you all about it +afterwards."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Luscombe ran like a hare through a side +door.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span>The servant announced, throwing open the +folding doors, "Mr. Rathbone."</p> + +<p>In two seconds the feather-duster was behind +a screen, and Flora, looking really very handsome—she +was, as usual in the daytime, in +semi-evening dress—was reading a little book +covered in old vellum, and kept for the purpose +of her being found reading it. She put it down +and welcomed her guest charmingly.</p> + +<p>Rathbone, looking very fair and pink and +rather determined, had brought with him a +kind of case containing his collection of old +theatre programmes, so that he gave the impression +of being a diplomat of high importance +with a portfolio.</p> + +<p>She helped him prettily to show her the programmes, +and was pleased to see that there was +something else on his mind.</p> + +<p>She gave him a cigarette and they had tea. He +told her the ancient story of his writing to Cissie +Loftus, and how he had never received an +answer. She welcomed the anecdote as though +it combined the brilliance of a jewel with the +freshness of a daisy.</p> + +<p>Then he spoke in a somewhat thick voice and +with that rather gruff manner that she associated +with sincerity.</p> + +<p>"Miss Luscombe, I ..."—he sighed deeply. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>"To tell you the truth, there's something—for a +long time I've wanted to ask you."</p> + +<p>He fixed on her intently his blue eyes, in +which there was an ardent glare.</p> + +<p>"Really, Mr. Rathbone? What can I do for +you?"</p> + +<p>"A great deal. The question is, what would +you do for me?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, that depends," she said, smiling, looking +down, and enjoying herself.</p> + +<p>"Not to put too fine a point upon it, Miss +Luscombe——"; he stopped nervously.</p> + +<p>"Miss Luscombe sounds so formal," she +murmured.</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't allow me to call you Flora, +would you?"</p> + +<p>He smiled, but she thought he looked disappointed. +Perhaps he was a man who needed +difficulties—opposition.</p> + +<p>"Well ... I ... it depends," she said.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Flora, you're a very charming +woman. I have a great admiration for you. What +is more, I believe you to be a thoroughly +good——" he hesitated again; was he going to +say 'woman,' 'actress?'—he decided on 'sort.'</p> + +<p>"Oh!"</p> + +<p>"Now I'll reveal to you the dream of my life, +which I wouldn't tell to anybody else."</p> + +<p>"I wonder if I can guess it?" she said, wishing +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span>he would hurry up. Lady Charles was coming +at half-past five to get the address of that fur +place Flora knew of, where you got things practically +for nothing—and they were worth it, too.</p> + +<p>"I know I'm not so very young," continued +the young man.</p> + +<p>"Why, you're only about thirty-four, aren't +you? I call that young."</p> + +<p>"Do you—do you really? Now I was afraid +I was getting rather too old to begin, as it were, +a fresh life. Well now"—he came a little nearer +and touched her hand, which lay on the table; it +was a pretty hand, thin and bony, with pink +polished nails and a garnet ring—"will you do +it for me? will you help me? will you not think +me foolish—too daring—too sanguine?..."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I see you've guessed. Yes. I want to +go on the stage."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<h3>MISS WALMER</h3> + + +<p>"And so you see, don't you, Lady Walmer, +that I really simply couldn't do it—I +mean I must do it. They're expecting me there +for the whole summer. How could I throw them +over at the last minute?"</p> + +<p>Harry spoke in his most convincing voice. He +was calling on Lady Walmer, and they were +both sitting in her little yellow boudoir. She had +just come in from a bazaar, and was wearing a +rather angry-looking hat, very much turned up +on one side, with enormous purple feathers. She +was looking very far from pleased. Her handsome +chin appeared squarer than usual. There +was a look in her eyes that more than one man +besides Harry would have been by no means +anxious to meet.</p> + +<p>She drew off her gloves, stroked one over the +other thoughtfully, and said—</p> + +<p>"Why did you promise to come on the yacht? +The whole summer's spoilt for Alec."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>"I hoped I could—I thought I could manage +it. Surely you understand——"</p> + +<p>"But it's got to come to that sooner or later, +Harry. You can't make an omelette without +breaking eggs. If you want to be a respectable, +dull married man, you'll have to dissolve your +romance, you know. I should have thought you +were the last person to be weak about anybody +else's feelings!—No, it's your own, my dear boy."</p> + +<p>Harry's colour rose a little.</p> + +<p>"My dear Lady Walmer! I'm going to tell—my +cousin Valentia—all about it—I mean about +my hopes. I'm certain that she will be charming +about it—only too glad, for my sake."</p> + +<p>"Oh! And yet I thought she was human! Or—is +there some one else?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly there's some one else—there's +Romer. She's very devoted to him."</p> + +<p>"Harry, my boy, we should get on so very +much better if you wouldn't tell so many +unnecessary fibs," remarked the lady.</p> + +<p>She stood up and drew the hatpins out of +her hat.</p> + +<p>He said, "I'm quite frank with you. I don't +think I've been anything else. And, after all, I +only ask to do it in my own way—at my own +time. To choose my moment. Really, one can't +behave like an <i>impossible</i> bounder."</p> + +<p>"Oh, can't one? Well, perhaps not."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>She took the hat off and put it on a table, +giving the impression suddenly, without it, of +being smooth, a little bald, and very good-tempered.</p> + +<p>"Then you'll forgive me, Lady Walmer—you'll +understand? I should think that in about +three or four weeks I shall be able to join you +somewhere. But, about fixing the date—that's +impossible. Can't I see Alec to-day?"</p> + +<p>She smiled graciously.</p> + +<p>"Certainly you may; I want you to. You must +cheer her up and say nice things to her. Poor +child, I wish she weren't so ridiculously pleased +with you. You don't care two straws for her."</p> + +<p>"I give you my word of honour that I will +make her happy."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you'll make her as happy as any +one would. It's always something to get one's +wish, even if the wish is a failure."</p> + +<p>"Now, why do you say that? It won't be a +failure."</p> + +<p>"All right. I'll send her to you. Now be a +good boy, Harry. I'm jealous—for Alec—of the +Green Gate." She smiled in her attractive way. +"Will there be an absolute rupture between you +and your ... cousins, do you think?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, good heavens, Lady Walmer, no!" said +Harry rather irritably. "We shall all be perfect +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>friends, of course ... what impossible things you +expect."</p> + +<p>"I expect only what is certain."</p> + +<p>She went away.</p> + +<p>Vanity was as elemental in Harry as in any +other good-looking young man. With him, +though, it was not a mere useless pursuit—an +art-for-art's-sake joy—but invariably calculated +and used as a means to an end.</p> + +<p>He looked in the glass earnestly, then started +as Alec came in.</p> + +<p>He was always surprised and even a little <i>gêné</i> +each time he saw her, by her immense apparent +height. It seemed so much greater than it was +because of the somewhat monotonous lines of her +figure and her rather bird-like face.</p> + +<p>Harry watched her, listened to her as she +chattered away her hurried, inexpressive unmeaning +slang, and looked at him with her +bright, small, beadlike eyes.</p> + +<p>He did not appreciate her. He did not know +that behind the jerky manner and inexpressive +face there was a Soul.</p> + +<p>She had not been trained to talk sentiment, +and she could not express her ideas; so, though +she adored Harry, she only said to her mother in +confidence, when in a serious mood, that he was +all right; and when in a more playful frame of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>mind to her girl-friends, that he was a little +<i>bit</i> of all right.</p> + +<p>"Alec," he said, making her sit down in the +lowest chair (he could not bear her towering +over him), "isn't it a bore that I can't come on +the yacht?"</p> + +<p>"Pretty useless," she answered.</p> + +<p>He took her hand.</p> + +<p>"You won't forget me while I'm away, will +you, Alec?"</p> + +<p>"What do <i>you</i> think?" she answered in a +trembling voice, and then gave a loud laugh.</p> + +<p>"I don't think—I don't know."</p> + +<p>"Oh, shut up!"</p> + +<p>"Will you be just as nice when I see you +again?" continued Harry, in a carefully-modulated +voice.</p> + +<p>"Why do you ask me all this rot?" she said, +with another uneasy laugh. "Of course I shall."</p> + +<p>"Good."</p> + +<p>Harry couldn't think of anything else to say. +Then he remembered....</p> + +<p>"When I join you again I'm going to bring +you a ring. What's your favourite stone?"</p> + +<p>"Rubies and diamonds," she answered without +a moment's hesitation. "I say, how sporting +of you! That'll be ripping!"</p> + +<p>He tried to feel touched by her artless joy. He +knew he was not an ideally ardent suitor.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>"Well, we'll have a good time later on, eh?" +he said in her own tone.</p> + +<p>"Don't be a silly ass!" replied the girl, her +eyes full of tears and tenderness, and her heart +of the most sincere joy and affection.</p> + +<p>Harry laughed.</p> + +<p>"Tell me, Alec, is your mother a soothing +companion? Is she a nice woman to live with?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! <i>she's</i> all right. A bit <a class="ins" href="#tnote_3" name="tAnchor_3" title="of colour">off colour</a> sometimes. +At least—well, she <i>is</i> all right, if you +understand—and yet she's <i>not</i>—if you know +what I mean."</p> + +<p>"Ah! that is a dark saying. You are pleased to +be mysterious—sphinx-like."</p> + +<p>"You <i>are</i> a rotter, Harry!"</p> + +<p>"How subtle you are, Alec. How elusive is the +lightning-play of your wit!"</p> + +<p>"<i>How</i> much?"</p> + +<p>"The random poppy of paradox grows too +often in the golden cornfield of your conversation," +Harry went on, taking her hand.</p> + +<p>"Oh, rats!" exclaimed the artless girl. "Can't +make out what you're driving at half the time, +when you go on like that. Don't believe you +know yourself."</p> + +<p>"Don't I? Really now, you know, we're +almost—well—privately engaged. May I kiss +you, Alec?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>She blushed crimson, turned her face away, +and said, "Please yourself."</p> + +<p>Unable to help laughing, he kissed the top of +her head, told her to write to him, and left the +house, feeling like an entirely new and recently-discovered +kind of bounder.</p> + +<p>He hated the double game. It didn't amuse +him a bit. But now he felt he was free for a +month's holiday, during which he had, however, +the unpleasant holiday task of breaking the +news to Valentia.</p> + +<p>He was driving home, but changed his mind +and called out to the cabman to drive to +Valentia's house.</p> + +<p>He found her trying on furs—furs in mid-summer!</p> + +<p>She greeted the arrival of his exquisite discrimination +and taste with clapped hands, soft, +beaming eyes, and her smile—Valentia's smile. +Miss Walmer couldn't smile at all—she didn't +know how. She could only laugh.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a><a class="ins" href="#tnote_4" name="tAnchor_4" title="CAPTER">CHAPTER</a> XVI</h2> + +<h3>MRS. FOSTER</h3> + + +<p>Daphne had come to say good-bye to Mrs. +Foster.</p> + +<p>This lady lived in a kind of model cottage in +a garden in Ham Common. It was not at all like +the ideal, 'quaint' model cottages that one sees +advertised by well-known firms of furnishers, +though it might have been. Mrs. Foster was +rebellious to Waring, and sincerely disliked anything +modern.</p> + +<p>The little drawing-room, and indeed every +other room in the house, was principally furnished +by photographs and groups of her son Cyril—Cyril +as a very plain boy, in a skirt, with hardly +any eyes or hair, and a pout; Cyril as a 'perfect +pet' of a sailor, at six. Then Cyril in cricketing +groups (how he stood out against the other +ordinary boys!)—in Etons (looking neat and +supercilious), and then in his uniform, in which +he looked simply lovely.</p> + +<p>Daphne had an intense and growing desire to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>please his mother. In fact, curiously, she was +more anxious to gain her approbation than that +of Cyril himself. To this end she usually remade +her hats, when possible, in the train on her way +to Ham Common, and her pocket when she +arrived there was usually filled with artificial +flowers, feathers, or other ornaments that she +had taken off her hat, so as to look simple. Also +she turned it down all the way round to make +it look as if it were merely a protection from the +sun—not a hat.</p> + +<p>To-day she wore a pink-spotted muslin dress +and a straw hat, with pink ribbon. She certainly +looked extremely pretty, and not at all what she +had such a dread of before Mrs. Foster, smart. +Mrs. Foster had a horror of smartness in the +<i>jeune fille</i>.</p> + +<p>Daphne delighted her. She was a very sentimental +woman, with a strong theoretical bias +for the practical. She was by way of teaching +Daphne housekeeping and how to manage on a +small income (of which art she knew very little +herself, but was supposed to know a great deal +because she wore a kind of cap). She had a +pretty, delicate, kind face, and was wearing large +wash-leather gloves, in case she should wish to +do a little gardening later on.</p> + +<p>Daphne had still much of the child in her, and +there was nothing she enjoyed quite so much as +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>gardening with Mrs. Foster, and occasionally +stopping to eat a gingerbread-nut, and hear +something about Cyril and the brilliant remarks +he had made as a child.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Foster had a chiffonnier of a kind Daphne +had never seen before, which fascinated her +because such queer delightful things came out +of it in the middle of the morning—slices of +seed cake, apples, and the gingerbread-nuts. +There were pink shavings in the fireplace, and +wherever there was not a photograph of Cyril +there was one of the Prince Imperial. Evidently +he had been the passion of Mrs. Foster's earlier +life. She loved to tell the story of how she had +seen him at Chislehurst, and how she thought +he had looked at her.</p> + +<p>There were other nice things in the cottage: +there were two rather large vases of pink china +on which were reproduced photographs of Cyril's +great-uncle and great-aunt—one in whiskers, +the other in parted but raised hair with an +Alexandra curl on the left shoulder. In these +vases folded slips of paper called spills were kept. +A modern note was struck by the presence of a +baby Grand—a jolly, clumsy, disproportioned +youthful piano, rather like a colt, on which +Daphne played Chopin to Mrs. Foster, and +sometimes The Chocolate Soldier to Cyril; and +Mrs. Foster, at twilight, sometimes played and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span>even sang, "<i>I cannot sing the old songs, they are +too dear to me,</i>" which her mother used to +sing, or, coming a little nearer to the present, +"<i>Ask nothing more, nothing more, all I can give +thee, I give,</i>" a passionate song of the early +eighties.</p> + +<p>No one, except Daphne, ever did ask any more.</p> + +<p>The whole thing was, to Daphne, a treat. +Something in the atmosphere of Ladysmith +Cottage—that was its name—fascinated and +amused her.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Foster was a widow. Her husband had +been a distinguished soldier. Almost the whole +of her extremely small income had been devoted +to Cyril's education, and with the assistance +of an uncle who took interest in him, he had +been got into the Guards, where he existed +happily with a comparatively small allowance.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Foster had not been at all surprised or +annoyed at his wishing to marry at twenty-two. +She thought it extremely natural. It seemed +to her very sensible of Daphne to accept +him, and that she was the most fortunate girl +in existence.</p> + +<p>"I hope your sister doesn't mind my taking +you away from the gay, fashionable world for +a day?" she archly asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh no, of course not. We're going in the +country next week, so I wanted to see you."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span>"Cyril's at Aldershot. I don't think he'll be +able to come down this afternoon. He can't get +away this week, I'm afraid."</p> + +<p>"I shall see him before I go," said Daphne.</p> + +<p>"Do you have a letter from him every day, +darling?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, a few lines."</p> + +<p>"He is a noble boy!" said Mrs. Foster enthusiastically. +"How he always hated writing +letters! I remember how I guided his little hand +to write his first letter to his uncle, General +Rayner. Just as we got to the end of the letter +Cyril suddenly jumped up and threw over the +table. The letter was simply drenched in ink. +Dear boy! I've got it still.... Oh, you must +come into the garden, Daphne. I've something +new to show you. A friend of mine has just +let her house. She didn't know what to do with +her dovecot—nobody wanted it—so she's given +it to me. Come and see the dear little creatures—they +are so pretty."</p> + +<p>They went out into the garden and stood +looking at a sort of depressed pigeon-house.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Foster made strange noises, which she +thought suitable to attract the inmates, and +Daphne saw two doves who struck her as if +they had married in haste and were repenting +at leisure.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you let them go free?" suggested +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>the girl. "Just think how happy and delighted +they'd be."</p> + +<p>"I doubt it. I don't think they'd know what +to do with their freedom. They're not used to +my garden yet, that's what's the matter. I do +wish they would coo; perhaps they will a little +later on." (This was a favourite expression of +Mrs. Foster's.) "I want to see one perched on +your shoulder, Daphne. It would make such a +pretty picture."</p> + +<p>"I'd rather give them something to eat," +said Daphne.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Foster started.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, of course. I fed them all yesterday +afternoon, but I forgot about them this morning. +Henry! Henry!"</p> + +<p>The smallest boy appeared that had ever been +called by that name.</p> + +<p>"Henry, feed the doves."</p> + +<p>"Yes, ma'am."</p> + +<p>"Then bring the watering-can. We're going +to water the flowers."</p> + +<p>Henry, who seemed of a morose nature, went +to obey.</p> + +<p>"I'm obliged to have a boy for the knives, +and he acts as a gardener when I'm busy," +explained Mrs. Foster. "There isn't much of a +kitchen garden, only a few gooseberries and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span>apples, as you know, dear, but it's nice to think +they grow there, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Very."</p> + +<p>"Of course, I can't make much show with +them. Henry always eats them before they're +ripe, which is <i>rather</i> hard. But he's a good, +honest boy. One of his sisters has gone in for +making blouses—in the village, you know. +She's a brave girl, and I feel sure will get on."</p> + +<p>"She must be! Have you ever ...?"</p> + +<p>"Oh <i>no</i>. Of course not. <i>I</i> couldn't. When a +woman reaches a certain age, my dear, a certain +style is necessary. I don't mean great expense, +but simple little things that would suit you, +darling, wouldn't do for me. Now that little +pink thing that you're wearing—I should look +<i>nothing</i> in it, and yet I dare say Henry's sister.... +Where did you get it, dear?"</p> + +<p>"Well, it <i>came</i> from Paquin's," said Daphne. +"It's not new."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Well, we mustn't be always talking of +chiffons together, that's very frivolous. You're +fond of poetry, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"Not so very," said Daphne truthfully.</p> + +<p>"But you would like to hear mine; I know +you would, dear," said Mrs. Foster, nodding, +and patting her hand. "Dear girl, you shall. +I've got a tiny little volume, all in manuscript. +It's quite a secret, darling. Hardly any one—now—knows +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span>that I was poetical. But I can tell +you anything—you're so sympathetic. I had +at one time a great wish to be a sort of—not +exactly Elizabeth Barrett Browning, or Christina +Rossetti—you know who I mean, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes."</p> + +<p>"But a singer of songs—songs of feeling. +Well, let us go into the garden. I will show it +to you later."</p> + +<p>They sprinkled a few dead flowers, picked +a few weeds, and then Mrs. Foster became +thoughtful, took off her gloves, and went to her +room and remained there for some time. She +came down with a manuscript book in her +hand. It had a shiny cover, and in the right-hand +corner a piece of the cover was cut out. +On the paper, showing through, was written +in Mrs. Foster's delicate handwriting, "Fireflies +of Fancy."</p> + +<p>"This," she said, patting it, "is my little +book, and after lunch I'll read you some of the +poems, dear Daphne, though I'm not at all sure +that all of them are quite suitable for you to +hear."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mrs. Foster!" Daphne found difficulty +in believing it.</p> + +<p>"You see," continued the delicate-looking +old lady, in her sweet, refined voice, "I was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>very much under the influence of the Passionate +School—Swinburne, Rossetti, Ella Wheeler +Wilcox, and so on—at the time that I wrote. +My husband never wished me to publish them. +He didn't like them—he didn't understand +them. I don't mind admitting to you, dear, that +since I lost him I have sent one or two of the +less—well—shall we say strongly coloured?—poems +to the magazines at times, of course under +a <i>nom de plume</i>. But they were all returned. +I think they were considered too—well, too——However, +I've given up the idea of making a +name as a poetess now, and very rarely show +them to anybody; <i>very</i> rarely."</p> + +<p>Daphne answered, with absolute sincerity, +that she was dying to see them.</p> + +<p>After lunch, when they retired to the little +drawing-room, Mrs. Foster sat down with her +back to the light, and a slight flush on her cheek, +and took up the book.</p> + +<p>Daphne sat in a low little crimson arm-chair +exactly opposite her, clasping her knees, her +brown eyes fixed with the greatest interest as +Mrs. Foster turned and turned the pages as if +unable to select a suitable verse.</p> + +<p>Then she began to read, in her soft, yet rather +high voice, which seemed suited only to gentle +greetings and adieux, or quavering orders to +Henry.</p> + +<div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span></div> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"NIGHT TIME<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>He glanced as he passed,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And I hope, and I quiver,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>I howl and I shudder with pains;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And like a she-tiger</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Or overcharged river,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>My blood rushes on through my veins."</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>She stopped suddenly.</p> + +<p>"No, no, dear. I won't read this. Wait a +minute. I remember now that was the one that +was returned because it was too—er——I'll +find you another one."</p> + +<p>"Oh, do finish that one," said Daphne, +"please! Isn't the light too much for your eyes?"</p> + +<p>She jumped up quickly and pulled down the +blind an inch or two, and then came back, +having controlled herself.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Foster looked at her rather sharply, and +took no notice of what she supposed was emotion.</p> + +<p>"Ah, here is something more suited to you, +<a class="ins" href="#tnote_5" name="tAnchor_5" title="darling.">darling."</a></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">SPRING<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0 smcap">A Question, and an Answer</span><br /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Will all the year be summer-time,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And each night have a moon?</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Ah no, the Spring will quickly go,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And winter cometh soon.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>And will your clasp warm mine like wine?</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And will you love me true?</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Ah no, the autumn leaves arrive,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And we must bid adieu.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>"That's a rather pretty thing, in its way, +isn't it?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Very."</p> + +<p>"Here's one more.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A REMEMBRANCE<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Seems it well to see</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>A wild honey bee</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Gold in the sun,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Ere day is done,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Sitting on a rose,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>As the summer time grows.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Ah, the bold, brave days,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Ere the glass of Time</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>'Neath the sun's rays,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Like a flame of fire,—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And the</i> ..."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>She stopped again.</p> + +<p>"No, I don't think this is quite——"</p> + +<p>"Do, do go on!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Foster looked at her.</p> + +<p>"You have a great deal of sensibility, Daphne. +I believe you have tears in your eyes."</p> + +<p>"No, I haven't really." She turned away her +head, nearly choking.</p> + +<p>A loud knock was heard at the front door.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Foster looked out of the window.</p> + +<p>"It's Cyril!" she exclaimed. "He's got away +after all. Quick! Quick!" She threw the book +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>under a cushion and sat on it. With trembling +fingers she took up some needlework out of a +basket.</p> + +<p>"Not a word—not a word! Go and meet him +in the hall, dear. He's come to give us a surprise. +I'll wait."</p> + +<p>Blushing and laughing Daphne ran downstairs.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<h3>ENGAGED</h3> + + +<p>Daphne and Cyril sat in the garden +together. The conditions seemed ideal. +It was a lovely afternoon; the sun was hot, but +a gay irresponsible little west wind stirred the +trees; bees hummed industriously, butterflies +darted casually about among the few flowers, +and even the reticent doves cooed from time +to time, condescendingly. Peeping through the +blind Mrs. Foster thought the two young people +made a perfect picture, and was reminded of +the Golden Age. Indeed, they had very much +the charming, almost improbable air of the +figures in a Summer Number of an illustrated +paper. Perhaps the conditions were too perfect: +the lovers had, of course, nothing to sit on but +a rustic seat—Mrs. Foster would have thought +it a crime to have anything else in a garden, and +rustic seats are, no doubt, picturesque, but they +are very uncomfortable; they seem to consist of +nothing but points and knobs, gnarls and corners.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>When Daphne was alone with Cyril like this +she felt contented and peaceful at first, and then +she began to wonder why she wasn't happier +still—why she didn't feel ecstatic. She was +proud of Cyril; he looked very handsome in +flannels, his regular features, smooth fair hair, +small head and small feet all added to his +resemblance to the hero in the holiday number.</p> + +<p>Cyril said—</p> + +<p>"Dear little girl!" and took her hand.</p> + +<p>She laughed and answered—</p> + +<p>"Dear old boy!"</p> + +<p>Then he said—</p> + +<p>"By Jove! you do look ripping, Daphne."</p> + +<p>She smiled.</p> + +<p>"Jolly being here like this, isn't it?" said +Cyril.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it?" she answered.</p> + +<p>"Jolly day, too."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Wasn't it lucky I was able to get away?"</p> + +<p>"Rather."</p> + +<p>"It was a fearful rush."</p> + +<p>"It must have been."</p> + +<p>"Jove, it is hot!"</p> + +<p>There was a pause.</p> + +<p>"Darling!"</p> + +<p>"Dear boy!"</p> + +<p>"May I smoke a cigarette, dear?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span>"Yes, do."</p> + +<p>He lit a cigarette, and then put his arm +round her waist.</p> + +<p>"Don't, Cyril."</p> + +<p>"Why not?" he asked, removing it.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know. Henry or some one might +see."</p> + +<p>"What's Henry?"</p> + +<p>"A sort of gardener boy—the boy whose sort +of sister makes kind of blouses in the village."</p> + +<p>"Oh, does he matter?"</p> + +<p>Cyril was wondering if he could ask for a +drink.</p> + +<p>When they were left entirely alone, on purpose +to be free, he always felt rather shy and +awkward, and intensely thirsty.</p> + +<p>Daphne began to think about what time it +was, and about her train back—subjects that +never occurred to her when she was alone with +Mrs. Foster.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I shall soon have to be going," +she said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say! What, the moment I've arrived?"</p> + +<p>He tried not to feel a little relieved. He +wondered why he hadn't more to say to her. He +had been desperate to get consent to their engagement, +and was always extremely anxious and +counting the minutes till they met, and when +they were together, alone after much elaborate +scheming, he felt a little embarrassed, and, like +his fiancée, was surprised he wasn't happier.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span>"I say, Daphne!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear."</p> + +<p>"You do look sweet."</p> + +<p>"Do you really think so?"</p> + +<p>"Simply ripping! I say!"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Won't it be jolly when we're married?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; lovely."</p> + +<p>"It will be all the time just like this, you +see—only nicer ... I say! Isn't it hot?"</p> + +<p>They sat holding hands, he looking at her +admiringly, she feeling mildly pleased that such +a dear, handsome boy should be so fond of her. +In the minds of both was another sensation, +which they did not recognise, or, at all events, +would not admit to themselves. They both, +especially Cyril, counted the minutes to these +<i>tête-à-têtes</i>, and immediately afterwards looked +back on them with regret, feeling they had +missed something. They wrote to each other +frequent, short, but intensely affectionate letters +about the happiness these interviews had given +them. Yet, while they actually lasted, both +Cyril and Daphne, had they only known it, +were really rather bored. The next day, or the +same evening, Cyril would write to her:—</p> + +<p>"My own Darling,—How jolly it was having +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>you a little to myself to-day! And to think that +you really care for me!" and so on.</p> + +<p>And she would enjoy writing back:—</p> + +<p>"Dearest,—Didn't we have a heavenly time +in the garden yesterday?" and so forth.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>As a matter of fact, they had not had a +heavenly time at all; when he kissed her, which +he sometimes did, she did not really like it, +though she knew she ought, and it gave her +a sort of mental gratification to think that he +<i>had</i> given this manifestation of love, as she +knew it was considered the right thing.</p> + +<p>He did not really regard her as a woman at +all, but more as a lovely doll, or sweet companion, +and it pleased his vanity immensely to +think he should be allowed this privilege, +which at the same time seemed to him a little +unnecessary, and even derogatory to her, +though he enjoyed it very much too, in a somewhat +uncomfortable way.</p> + +<p>The fact that their engagement was so +indefinite, that they had hardly any hope of +being married for at least two years, perhaps +added a little to the <i>gêne</i> of these meetings. +The instant they were separated he began to +long to see her alone again. Daphne felt sure +she must be really in love because she took +comparatively little interest in anything that +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span>was not more or less connected with the idea +of Cyril. Perhaps she enjoyed the things she +associated with him more than his actual presence. +Talking about him to Valentia, or +hearing about him from his mother, seemed +more amusing and exciting than sitting with +him alone and holding his hand. She would +have liked best never to see him except in +evening dress at a party, only to hear about him +or think about him all day.</p> + +<p>Cyril was sure that his feeling was real love, +because he did not care two straws how hard up +they should be when they were married, and +because if he heard any one sing a sentimental +song, however badly, he immediately thought +of her with the greatest tenderness. He believed +he missed her every moment of the day, and he +took great trouble to see her, especially when +there was a chance of their being alone. But, as +a matter of fact, he was rather glad when Mrs. +Foster came out into the garden; and when he +had seen Daphne off at the station, although it +was a pang to see her go away without him, it +was perhaps also a slight relief.</p> + +<p>When Val came to meet her at the station, +full of news about the extraordinary number +of exciting things that had happened in the day, +and they dashed back to dress for a dinner +Harry was giving before going to a dance, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span>Daphne felt a tinge of sentiment and regret for +the idyllic happiness in the garden, and began +to count the hours until they should meet alone +again. The glamour always returned an hour +or so after they had been separated.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<h3>AT THE CARLTON</h3> + + +<p>With characteristic amiability, combined +with that courage which had caused +impatient people, who snubbed her in vain, to +say she had the hide of a rhinoceros, Miss +Luscombe had accepted the blow of Rathbone's +proposal—the proposal which she had taken for +an offer of marriage, but which was really an +offer to go on the stage. She set to work at once +making little efforts (most of which she knew +to be futile) to arrange the matter. After all, +if she should succeed in getting him some sort of +a part, mightn't he, out of gratitude?... And +she saw visions. Again, he had evidently got it +very badly, this mania for acting and dressing +up, and he had really quite enough money, if +he chose to devote it to this object only; why +shouldn't he take a theatre—make himself the +manager and <i>jeune premier</i>, or, for the matter +of that, <i>vieux dernier</i>—it really didn't matter—and +let her be the leading lady? That was if he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>failed in every other scheme. She wrote letters +to various people whom she knew on the stage, +mentioning Rathbone's enormous willingness +to take <i>anything</i>, his gentlemanly appearance, +and, she felt sure, really <i>some</i> talent, though +no experience. Most people took no notice, but +after a while she received an offer for him to +play one of the gentlemen in the chorus of <i>Our +Miss Gibbs</i> in a second-rate little touring company +of the smaller northern provincial towns.</p> + +<p>It was an excuse for an interview, certainly; +but this for a man who wished to play Romeo! +And if, in his enthusiasm, he should actually +accept it, it would take him away from her. +However, hearing that she had some news for +him, he, in his delighted gratitude, asked her to +tea at the Carlton.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>They were seated in the Palm Court eating +their tea-cakes and sandwiches to the sound of +"The Teddy Bear's Picnic," which made one +feel cheerful and reckless, followed by "Simple +Aveu," a thin, sentimental solo on the violin that +made one feel resigned and melancholy. It was +played by a man with a three-cornered face and +a very bald head, who gazed at the ceiling as if +in a kind of swoon—a swoon that might have +been induced either by tender ecstasy or acute +boredom.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>All around them were noisy Americans, neatly +dressed, and a good many prim, self-conscious +ladies on the stage who had come on from their +<i>matinées</i> and were accompanied mostly either +by very young and rather chinless adorers, or +by fat, fatuous men with dark moustaches, hair +inclined to curl, and clothes a shade too gorgeous.</p> + +<p>Here and there a simple, provincial-looking +family were to be seen who had come up for a +few days and had been to an afternoon performance, +and were talking with great animation +of the rights and wrongs of the hero and heroine +of the play. It was characteristic of the provincials +that they were really excited about the play +itself, hardly knowing who were performing, +while the suburbanites took interest only in the +actors, all of whom they knew well by name and +reputation, even their private life—at least, as +much of it as got into the <i>Prattler</i>, <i>The Perfect +Lady</i>, and <i>Home Chirps</i>.</p> + +<p>On the whole it was a very characteristic +London crowd, in that it consisted almost +entirely of desirable aliens. Here and there, +indeed, one saw a thin, slim, pretty woman with +a happy but bothered-looking young man, both +obviously English, who talked in low tones, and +were evidently at some stage or other of a rose-coloured +romance; but they were the exception.</p> + +<p>Amidst this noisy and confused clientèle, with +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>its showy clothes and obvious feminine charms, +Miss Luscombe looked a strange, stray, untidy +hothouse plant. She was odd and artificial, and +dressed like nothing on earth, in pale and faded +colours; but she was not vulgar. She was rather +queer and delicate, and intensely amiable. Her +self-consciousness made no claim on one; she +was not exacting—always pleased and good-tempered. +Rathbone recognised these qualities +in her, and liked her better to-day, amidst the +scent of the tea-cakes and cigarettes and the +whine of the violin, than he had ever liked her +before.</p> + +<p>Pink, fair, calm, clean, and really hardly anything +else, except extremely correct, and always +good form, without being too noticeably so, no +one would have dreamed that this quiet young +man, who looked like a shy subaltern, was +simply dying to disport himself on the stage, and +that it was the dream of his life to make an utter +ass of himself as Hamlet, or a hopeless fool of +himself as (say) the hero in <i>Still Waters Run +Deep</i>—a play he had seen as a boy and had +always longed to act in.</p> + +<p>She had broken the news to him.</p> + +<p>"Miss Luscombe, do you mean to say that is +the very best you can do for me?"</p> + +<p>She explained the difficulties.</p> + +<p>He was only one of so many! Unless the name +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span>was known it was frightfully difficult—even for +geniuses—to get on. Of course, he might try, +and go and see the various managers himself, +but, frankly, probably nothing would come of it.</p> + +<p>He was deeply depressed. What should she +suggest?</p> + +<p>"Might I ask if you care very, very much?" +she asked.</p> + +<p>"You might. I do." Yes. His heart was set +on it.</p> + +<p>Was it really? Well, if he simply hadn't the +strength to go on living another day without +going on the stage, the only thing, clearly, was +just to hire a theatre and <i>go</i> on! A <i>matinée</i>, +perhaps. Why not Romeo?</p> + +<p>"And why not Juliet?" said he, rather rashly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that would be lovely!"</p> + +<p>Her attention wandered at this moment. A +very pretty, fair woman was rising from behind +a palm where she had been seated with her back +to the room. She went out rather quickly, followed +by a good-looking young man with a single +eye-glass.</p> + +<p>"They have been trying to hide!" she +exclaimed. "What a joke! It's that sweet Valentia +Wyburn and Harry de Freyne. They must have +been here when we arrived, for we should have +seen them come in. I wonder what they came +for?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span>"To have tea, perhaps?" suggested Rathbone, +after deep thought, shrewdly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, I know. But why hide like that?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps they didn't want to be seen," said +Rathbone brilliantly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course, but why not? I hope it +doesn't show...."</p> + +<p>"Well, it shows there's nothing in it, or they +wouldn't come here."</p> + +<p>"Does it?" said Miss Luscombe, rather disappointed.</p> + +<p>"Well, where's the harm in being here? Ain't +we here?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, of course; but that's different. +They're cousins, too, of course; I had forgotten."</p> + +<p>"I don't see why you should worry if Romer +doesn't," said Rathbone.</p> + +<p>Before they left Rathbone had very nearly +promised to see about engaging a theatre, and +either for a charity or as an invitation <i>matinée</i>, +rope, as he expressed it, all his friends in, lock the +door, and force them to see him play Romeo to +Miss Luscombe's Juliet.</p> + +<p>Flora was deliriously happy at the idea, but +had too much experience to rely on it, and was +quite prepared to be thrown over for another +more professional actress, and asked to play one +of the ladies at the ball in the first act instead, +probably in a mask. She went home and read +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>over her one good notice—a great treasure—that +had appeared in an evening paper, and had +spoken of her as "<i>a young actress with a bright +and winsome personality</i>." That was in a very +small part, ten years ago. Would she ever get +another real chance?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<h3>AT MISS WESTBURY'S</h3> + + +<p>Mrs. Wyburn found Miss Westbury being +sensible and decided and holding forth +about things in general to one or two friends +over the tea-cups. Something in the way the old +lady sat down and unfastened her mantle, so as +to be sure to feel the benefit of it when she went +out again, made the other women present feel +that they were not wanted, and Miss Westbury +did not attempt to detain them. For (though she +would not have put it like that) she knew that +she would get more fun out of her friend's +<i>méchanceté</i> if they were alone. Scandal, gossip +made tedious by morality, is only really enjoyable +<i>en tête-à-tête</i>.</p> + +<p>"I do so hope, Isabella, that you haven't had +any more annoyance about the silly things that +are being said about your pretty daughter-in-law," +remarked Miss Westbury, leaning back +with the comfortable amiability of a fat woman +who expects to be amused.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span>Mrs. Wyburn looked round the room.</p> + +<p>"Curious you never have your ceiling painted," +she said. "I've often wondered why it is. It looks—you'll +forgive me for saying so, Millie, won't +you?—as if you left it in its present state from +motives of, may I say, economy? But, of course, +I know it isn't that—I always say, it's simply +that you haven't noticed it. Thanks, no—no tea."</p> + +<p>Miss Westbury's serenity was slightly disturbed, +as her friend intended.</p> + +<p>"I certainly don't spend my whole time lying +on my back looking at the ceiling," she answered +rather brusquely. "I have far too much to do."</p> + +<p>"I never suggested that you should," quickly +replied Mrs. Wyburn. "Such a thing never +occurred to me for a single moment. And please +don't think I wish to interfere, or to make +remarks about anything that doesn't concern +me. It merely struck me that if, at any time, you +thought by some curious chance of having the +house done up, it might be a pity to leave out +the ceiling. But that was all. I do assure you, +Millie, I never dreamt of hurting your feelings."</p> + +<p>Miss Westbury laughed with a rather cackling +sound—a sound Mrs. Wyburn recognised with +satisfaction. It showed just the degree of slight +annoyance she loved to cause in any one to whom +she was speaking. Miss Westbury, however, +waived the question and became hospitable.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>"Do let me persuade you to have a toasted +bun. Our baker makes them in a special way on +purpose for me. There's nothing in the world +more sensible with one's tea than a small toasted +currant bun. I was speaking to Dr. Gribling +about it only the other day, oddly enough, and +he quite agreed with me."</p> + +<p>"Why <i>only the other day</i>? and why <i>oddly +enough</i>, Millie?—I dare say you speak to him +constantly about it and about other equally +urgent matters." She spoke with what she +meant to be a slight sneer, in reply to which +Miss Westbury behaved in a manner that is +sometimes described as bridling up. She gave a +movement meant to be a toss of the head and +placed her lips firmly together.</p> + +<p>"I like Dr. Gribling, Isabella, because he's a +thoroughly sensible man—a man you can say +anything to."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wyburn thought that Miss Westbury +would say anything to any one, and she shrewdly +suspected that Millie was probably the one gleam +of amusement in poor old Dr. Gribling's dreary +round. However, she waved the eminent +physician aside and said—</p> + +<p>"About Valentia. She and Romer have gone +down to the country, you know."</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed! Quite early to go. Very nice. +Have they a large party there, do you know? The +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span>Green Gate is such a charming place—so +picturesque."</p> + +<p>"Have you ever seen it?" Mrs. Wyburn asked.</p> + +<p>"Only in the <i>Daily Mail</i>—I mean accounts +of week-ends there, and that sort of thing. But I +believe it's quite charming. It seems almost a +pity though, doesn't it, at the end of the season +to begin the same frivolities and gaieties all over +again. I wonder they don't take a little rest."</p> + +<p>"I believe they are resting. Valentia wrote to +me that no one was staying there at all, except, +of course, Daphne."</p> + +<p>"And Harry de Freyne?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and Mr. de Freyne."</p> + +<p>"Strange," said Miss Westbury comfortably. +"Curious that extraordinary infatuation of your—son +for this young man. But he's a very +charming man, isn't he? Most agreeable?"</p> + +<p>"He's not absolutely unpleasant."</p> + +<p>"I suppose he brightens them up—amuses +them? Probably he has very high spirits. Perhaps +he has the <i>jar de veev</i>." Miss Westbury had a +private pronunciation of foreign expressions all +her own. "It is unfortunate, but do you know one +often sees that in unprincipled people, Isabella."</p> + +<p>"He knows that he's not quite a gentleman, +and is trying to laugh it off," said Mrs. Wyburn.</p> + +<p>"Does he really? Dear, dear—what a sad +thing!—and yet he certainly <i>ought</i> to be a gentleman, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span>you know. On his mother's side he is connected +with the——"</p> + +<p>"That's not the point," snapped Mrs. Wyburn. +"And of course I don't mean to say that—outwardly—he's +not. His manner and appearance +are distinguished. It's the soul that's vulgar."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I see! You mean you're afraid he isn't +one of <i>nature's</i> gentlemen?"</p> + +<p>"Nature? How do you mean? He has nothing +to do with nature. He's a man about town."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I beg your pardon—I understood he was +an artist. And sometimes, you know, artists are +extremely fond of nature; in fact, far <i>too</i> fond."</p> + +<p>"I believe all that painting is only done to +throw dust in people's eyes—an excuse for +idleness. Candidly, I don't like studios; I don't +think they're respectable."</p> + +<p>"I know what you mean; but still, after all"—Miss +Westbury made a feeble attempt at a good-natured +defence—"after all, if they all like it—I +mean to say, if they're all so happy, why should +we——"</p> + +<p>"I doubt if my son is happy."</p> + +<p>"Oh, really, really? Do you think he's <i>ever +noticed anything?</i> Isn't he devoted to Harry de +Freyne?"</p> + +<p>"Of course he hates him like poison," replied +the mother.</p> + +<p>Miss Westbury started in delighted horror, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span>and replied sharply, "How do you know that? +Did he tell you?"</p> + +<p>"Tell me! He would never tell me. Besides, +he couldn't tell me—he doesn't know it."</p> + +<p>"And how do you know it?"</p> + +<p>"Mothers know everything," she replied.</p> + +<p>After a minute's pause, Miss Westbury said—</p> + +<p>"But if you feel sure that Romer isn't happy, +and that he, almost unconsciously perhaps, +doesn't really like this young man being always +about, mightn't it some day end in some +trouble—some explosion?"</p> + +<p>"It's quite possible."</p> + +<p>"Then I wonder what Romer would do?"</p> + +<p>"I know what he would do."</p> + +<p>"Good heavens, Isabella, you don't mean to +say that he would ever bring a——"</p> + +<p>"It's really strange," said Mrs. Wyburn, "that +at your age you should still be so silly. Will you +never learn to understand anything at all? Of +course not. He would protect her."</p> + +<p>"Can't something be done? Why don't you +speak to Valentia?"</p> + +<p>"The advice of a relative-in-law in a case of +this kind has never yet been known to be of any +real use, Millie. I can only hope the whole thing +may gradually wear itself out."</p> + +<p>"May it be so, my dear!" echoed Miss Westbury, +unctuously.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>Mrs. Wyburn got up to go.</p> + +<p>Miss Westbury helped her to fasten her +mantle.</p> + +<p>"I'm so glad you loosened it, or else you might +not feel the benefit of it when you go out, +Isabella," she observed, for she was not one to +miss an opportunity of making a remark of this +kind. "And <i>do</i> look on the bright side. I always +say that things of this sort may not be true, and +even if they are, everything may be for the best +in the end."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wyburn liked to excite Millie's interest, +and yet somehow loathed her sympathy.</p> + +<p>"Yes; do you know, I really <i>should</i> have the +ceiling painted, if I were you," she said, as if it +were a new idea. "Otherwise your house is +looking so nice—quite charming. I think it such +an excellent plan not to have flowers in the +windows, only ever-greens."</p> + +<p>"So glad you think so. It <i>is</i> rather a good +arrangement, because, you see, they always +look exactly the same all the year round."</p> + +<p>"That they certainly do—and nevergreens +would be a better name for them," spitefully +said Mrs. Wyburn to herself as she drove off.</p> + +<p>"What a tiresome mood Isabella was in to-day," +said Miss Westbury to herself. "I must go +and see Jane Totness and tell her what she +said.... Ceiling, indeed! She <i>was</i> nasty!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<h3>A PROPOSAL</h3> + + +<p>Miss Luscombe was looking out of the +window, looking up to the street, waiting. +At last she saw from her basement (the +"tank," as her friends called it) a glimpse +on the pavement of a pair of feet that she +knew. They were the feet of Mr. John Ryland +Rathbone. She hastened to prepare herself for +his visit.</p> + +<p>It is obvious that people who live in a basement +must look at life from a different point of +view from all others. The proudest of women +in that position must necessarily see it <i>de bas en +haut</i>. The woman looking out of the drawing-room +or higher for the person she is expecting +to see gets more or less of a bird's-eye view. She +sees the top of a hat first, and the person +necessarily foreshortened. From the dining-room +or ground-floor window she sees the +approaching visitor through glass, but practically +on a level, almost face to face, and therefore is +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span>incapable of judging him on the whole or of +taking a very large view, since any object placed +close to the eye deprives one of a sense of +proportion—shuts out everything else. But +from a basement window things are very different. +It is wonderful how much character one +learns to see in feet, and it is still more curious +how, to the accustomed eye, their expression can +vary from time to time. Flora saw at a glance +by the obstinate stamp, the bad-tempered look +of his boots, by the nervous impatience of his +stride, that Mr. Rathbone was coming to see her +in a state of agitation. One would hardly have +believed that, without having seen his face at +all, she would be so prepared for his behaviour +when he arrived as to greet him anxiously from +the door, even before he came in, with "Good +heavens, what <i>is</i> the matter?"</p> + +<p>"How do you know anything is the matter?"</p> + +<p>"I guessed. I saw your steps."</p> + +<p>"Everything is going wrong about the play. +The expenses get larger every day. To sell even +<i>one</i> ticket for a charity, they tell me, is simply +out of the question! I must invite everybody, +and even then most of them won't come. Just +think, my dear Miss Luscombe, all this trouble, +worry, and expense for amateurs to play +<i>Romeo and Juliet</i> at an invitation performance +to an absolutely empty house!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span>"Why do you think it will be empty?... +Your friends?"</p> + +<p>"My friends? You're my only friend! Every +chap at the Club I have spoken to about it +said they would be out of town that day. One +or two said they would come on afterwards and +join me at supper. Supper! I said it was a <i>matinée</i>; +so then they suggested I should give a dinner +afterwards. And even women, they're quite as +bad. I mentioned it to Lady Walmer. She is +always so keen on going everywhere, and makes +a hobby of odd charities and things. She said +she was going yachting that day, and also that +she was going to a wedding."</p> + +<p>"What does it matter just about Lady +Walmer?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, but it's an indication. Do we want +to have no one in a theatre but the dressmakers +who made the costumes? Miss Luscombe—Flora! +I am beginning to think we'd better +chuck it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Rathbone! The waste and the disappointment!"</p> + +<p>"It would be a greater waste to make an utter +fool of oneself in an empty house than to postpone +it. I'm nervous. I'm really frightened. I'm +beginning to see that I've been a fool. As to +disappointment, <i>that</i>, Flora, you could console +me for if you chose."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span>"Oh, Mr. Rathbone!"</p> + +<p>"You really have been so sweet, so patient, +it's my opinion that you are an angel!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed I'm not!"</p> + +<p>"Well, you have the patience of one. You +never think about yourself. You're all kindness +and sweetness and thought for other people. To +speak perfectly frankly, you have only one tiny +fault, Flora. And that is, that you seem a <i>little</i> +artificial. But it's my opinion that such affectations +as you have are natural to you and you +can't help them, and you would be an ideal +wife."</p> + +<p>Flora was actually silent with gratification. +She did not even laugh.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Flora, we'd better chuck the performance +altogether. Let's give it up, and have +a show instead at St. George's, Hanover Square."</p> + +<p>"Are you making fun of me?" she asked, in +a trembling voice, "because that would not be +right. It wouldn't be nice of you—in fact, it +would be rather cruel."</p> + +<p>"You don't mean to say you care for me the +least little bit?" He took both her hands and +stared hard at her face. "Is there something +real about you then?" he continued.</p> + +<p>Tears came to her eyes. She turned her head +away.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span>"This seems too good to be true," she murmured.</p> + +<p>"Let's be married," he cried, "on the day we +were going to have the show. Let's go to Oberammergau +for our honeymoon, and don't let +us ever go near the theatre again. Will you, +dear? Or am I dreaming?"</p> + +<p>"Of course. I always have," she answered ingenuously; +"but I hadn't a scrap of hope, and +I didn't know how much I cared for you."</p> + +<p>"Dear Flora, I shall give up the stage and +devote all my time to you."</p> + +<p>"So will I," she said. "I shall never want to +act again."</p> + +<p>"Nor I, never—never!"</p> + +<p>"I shall rush home and countermand everything," +he cried.</p> + +<p>"Oh, go not yet; it is not yet near day," she +quoted in the tender voice she used for recitation.</p> + +<p>He burst into peals of laughter, and put his +arms round her and kissed her impetuously.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Flora, what a fool I have been all this +time! And you knew it—you knew it perfectly +well. I thought when we were rehearsing that +once you said the words, 'O Romeo, wherefore +art <i>thou</i> Romeo?' with rather marked emphasis +<a class="ins" href="#tnote_6" name="tAnchor_6" title="on the 'thou.'"..."> +on the 'thou'...."</a></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span>"Do you know that I never cared for any one +but you in my life, Flora?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, oh! Why is 'C. L.' tattooed on your +wrist?"</p> + +<p>"I'll have it taken out. I'll have Flora put +on instead. I'll have anything you like tattooed +in your honour—a hunting scene, a snap-shot +of the Coronation—anything you like."</p> + +<p>"No, please not. I don't like it; I can't bear +it. It's the only thing I ever haven't liked about +you. But we'll forget it now, won't we?" she +said.</p> + +<p>"And I'll forget the stage. Oh, Flora, how I +have worried you! Forgive me. We won't +think of anything but each other now."</p> + +<p>They repeated this sentiment again and again +in these and other words for about an hour and +a half, and forgot to turn up lights and ring the +bell.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The first real love scene Flora had ever acted +in was a triumphant success.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<h3>HEREFORD VAUGHAN</h3> + + +<p>To have eleven plays, all written out of +one's own head, and all being performed +simultaneously in American, in Eskimo, and +even in Turkish, besides in every known European +language; to have money rolling in, and +the strange world of agents and managers +pursuing you by every post and imploring for +more contracts by every Marconigram; and +these triumphs to have come quite suddenly, +was really enough to have turned the head of +any young man; yet Hereford Vaughan's +(known by his very few intimate friends as +Gillie) had remained remarkably calm. He was +not even embittered by success.</p> + +<p>To know his jokes were being got over the +footlights of so many lands was a curious sensation, +and it often made him laugh suddenly to +reflect how wicked certain quips must sound in, +say, Japanese. Perhaps his friends were rather +inclined to resent the way he retained his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span>balance after what was really an almost unheard-of +hit. They would have been readier to +pardon it had he shown some sign of boring +fatuity; or perhaps they thought he might at +least have had a temporary nervous breakdown; +taking the form (for choice) of losing all sense +of the value of money and wildly throwing +bank-notes and gold at every one he saw. But +he remained quiet, reserved, and as apparently +modest as ever.</p> + +<p>Modesty is a valuable merit (as I think +Schopenhauer has discovered) in people who +have no other, and the appearance of it is extremely +useful to those who have, but I am not +suggesting that Vaughan was not human, and +there was, no doubt, many a moment when he +smiled to himself, and felt that he was a great +man.</p> + +<p>He was rather secretive and mysterious than +blatant or dashing, and this, of course, made +him, on the whole, more interesting to women. +The fact that he had made a fortune and lived +alone in a charming house with nothing but +housekeepers, secretaries, telephones, typewriters, +and cooks, of course made all the women +of his acquaintance who had the match-making +instinct (and what woman has not?) desire to +see him married. As he showed no sign of doing +so, they tried to console themselves by pretending +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>that he had some secret romance. Old ladies +hoped he had a broken heart for some fiancée +who was lying under the daisies, having died of +decline in the classical middle-Victorian way. +Young ladies thought that he was probably +fixed up in some way that would be sure in +time to dissolve, and that he would marry later +on. Far the most popular theory was that he +didn't marry simply because he <i>was</i> married, +privately; and that he had, no doubt, hurriedly +espoused, before he was of age (and before the +Registrar), some barmaid or chorus-girl, or +other dreadful person, who had turned out far +too respectable to divorce, and that he was thus +a young man marred. They had no grounds for +the rumour except that clever and promising +young men often did these things, and he had +always been a particularly promising young +man, and in this unfortunate case had probably +kept his promise.</p> + +<p>Vaughan was sitting one morning reading +his notices (never believe the greatest men when +they tell you that they don't do that!), when +Muir Howard came cheerily, almost boisterously, +into the room. He was an old school +friend who had been devoted to Gillie long before +his arrival, and of whose faults, virtues, +cheeriness, and admiration Vaughan had made +a confirmed habit.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span>Muir was a very good-looking barrister, with +vague parliamentary ambitions and a definite +love of machinery. He always had pink cheeks, +and wore a pink carnation, and looked as flourishing, +gay, and yet, somehow, battered, as Vaughan +looked pale, fresh, and sardonic. One of the +things that surprised the general public was +that Vaughan could not live without the continuous +society of a person who certainly could +not understand a word he wrote or much that +he said. They didn't realise that Vaughan was +so accustomed to not listening to Muir's long +confidences, to disputing every proposition he +made, and contradicting every word he said, +that he always felt lost when his friend was +away. Muir regarded him as a combination of +hero, genius, pet, and child, and was always +giving him advice and imploring him not to +do too much. To Vaughan he was, as I have +said, a habit, and there is always something +agreeable in a habit of which one is a little +tired.</p> + +<p>He had arrived this morning on his bicycle, +and came in bringing a whiff of heartiness, self-complacency, +and fresh air, saying, "Hallo! +hallo! hallo! Priceless to find you in, Gillie!" +All he got for it was that Vaughan looked up +and said—</p> + +<p>"You used to be only breezy. Now you're +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span>becoming a thorough draught. Fold up and +keep quiet, can't you?"</p> + +<p>"Nervous, I suppose," said Muir, in a sympathetic +voice. "I wonder you don't take that +stuff that you see in the papers about what is +good for——"</p> + +<p>"Sudden pains in the back on washing-day, +bending over the tub, and so forth? The portraits +of the people before taking the remedy +and after decided me. It seems, by the pictures, +to make your hair grow long and give you +whiskers and a ghastly squint. Ruins your +clothes, too. Your collars get the wrong shape."</p> + +<p>"Oh well, leave it alone, then. Perhaps you're +right.... You haven't asked me about the +Walmers' dance. I took Miss de Freyne to +supper. The American chap never turned up, +and I was getting on with her simply rippingly, +when <i>what</i> do you think she said? Confided in +me that she was privately engaged to and +frightfully keen on that boy you met at Harry's. +The baby Guardsman. Isn't it sickening?"</p> + +<p>"What did Miss Walmer do?" asked Vaughan.</p> + +<p>"She sort of hung about, waiting for Harry, +who seemed to be getting on all right with the +two strings to his bow, or two stools, or two +bundles of hay, or whatever it is. What luck +some people have!"</p> + +<p>"Not in this case. He'll lose them both."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>"Really? Why?"</p> + +<p>"He's not a diplomatist, and he wants such +a lot for himself. He wants too much. No self-restraint."</p> + +<p>"Pretty useless for Mrs. Wyburn. I like her. +She looked topping last night, too. But I dare say +it'll be all right. Romer's a good chap. Awfully +dull."</p> + +<p>"Most interesting. Are you going to stay here +much longer, Muir?"</p> + +<p>"Why? Yes."</p> + +<p>Vaughan got up.</p> + +<p>"All right. Do. I'm going out."</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>Vaughan did not answer, but gave the heap +of notices to his friend, and said—</p> + +<p>"Just divide the sheep and goats for me, will +you? That's just what they are, the critics—either +sheep or goats."</p> + +<p>"Of course I will. But, I say—I came here to +have a talk."</p> + +<p>"I know you did. You have talked."</p> + +<p>He went out. Muir smiled to himself, enjoying +this treatment as an eccentricity of genius.</p> + +<p>Five minutes later Gillie came back.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<h3>GILLIE INTERFERES</h3> + + +<p>He was not much surprised to find Muir +proudly examining the invitation cards +on the mantelpiece. Muir started and turned +round as he came in.</p> + +<p>"Back again? Capital!"</p> + +<p>"Well, of all the snobs!" said Vaughan.</p> + +<p>"Hang it, Gillie, it's only for you. I'm pleased +you're getting on, that's all."</p> + +<p>"No words can tell you how I despise your +point of view. Just tell me something I want +to know. Wasn't there a sort of little scene at +this dance last night?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't see anything," he answered.</p> + +<p>"You never do."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I remember now, I heard something. It +appears that Romer left his wife and Daphne +at the dance and then came back in an hour to +fetch them, and she wasn't there."</p> + +<p>"Who wasn't where?"</p> + +<p>"Val and Harry had gone for a little fresh air +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>in a taxi for about a quarter of an hour, that's +all. They came back and explained it."</p> + +<p>"They would. Don't apologise."</p> + +<p>"But just the few minutes that Romer was +looking for them made—well, rather a fuss. It +was perfectly all right afterwards. They all had +supper together. So there wasn't much talk +about it, except, as I say, while Romer was +waiting for them. I never in my life saw any one +look so ghastly as that chap did."</p> + +<p>Vaughan sat down and looked thoughtful.</p> + +<p>"Only you, Muir, would leave out the only +thing of the slightest importance that you had +to tell me, which I hear the second I leave the +house from that round-faced tattooed idiot, +Rathbone, at the corner of the street."</p> + +<p>"But I tell you it's all right, old chap."</p> + +<p>"All right? Don't you see that this sort of +thing constantly happening will gradually +undermine ...? I like Valentia. It's a great +shame."</p> + +<p>"Harry certainly isn't worth smashing up a +happy home for," Muir answered, "if that's +what you're afraid of. But ... when he marries +Miss Walmer it'll be all right. Val will forget +about him, and settle down with Romer again. +I'm deeper than you think, Gillie ... ah, I +don't say much, but I can see as far through a +brick wall as most people!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span>"Just about as far, I should think," said +Vaughan contemptuously.</p> + +<p>"What do you propose to do about it?"</p> + +<p>"It's likely I'd tell you." Gillie sat down to +his desk and rang a bell.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I've got to go now, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Almost time, I should think."</p> + +<p>"Ha, ha, ha! Capital! Well, so long! Be +good."</p> + +<p>Muir went away as heartily as he had arrived.</p> + +<p>The bell was answered by the entrance of the +housekeeper, Mrs. Mills. She was a muddle-headed, +elderly woman in black silk, whom +Vaughan kept because her extraordinary tactlessness +amused him. She invariably managed +to do and say the wrong thing at the right +time. To-day it was a hot morning in July. She +came in holding in her hand a little card covered +with frost and robins.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Vaughan, sir, I appened to be going +through my things, and I come across this, sir. +I thought pre-aps you'd like it. It is pretty."</p> + +<p>She insisted on his taking it.</p> + +<p>"Charming, Mrs. Mills, but I don't quite +see——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, look at the words, sir! They're what I +call so appropriate! Do read them."</p> + +<p>He read the beautiful words—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Wishing you a blithe and gladsome Yule.</i></p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span>"What on earth——?"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, I only thought they was pretty, +and pre-aps you'd like to keep it, sir, or send it +to one of your young ladies; but I'll take it +away if you don't like it." She put it back in her +pocket.</p> + +<p>"Frankly, I don't. What a genius you have +for the wrong thing! Are you going to give me +plum pudding and turkey on Midsummer Day?"</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't dream of such a thing, sir."</p> + +<p>Gillie had scribbled a letter.</p> + +<p>"Go and ring up a messenger boy, will you?"</p> + +<p>"May I send Johnson, sir? I don't old with +telephones. They buzz at you or makes you +jump. And the young person keeps on saying +ave you got them? before you've ad time to +breathe, in a manner of speaking."</p> + +<p>She took the note. Vaughan sat down on a +sofa to wait for the answer, glanced at the clock, +and said, "Confound Muir! He's made me +waste another morning."</p> + +<p>When the answer came, Gillie went out and +strolled towards Mount Street.</p> + +<p>He found Valentia at home, evidently flattered +and fluttered at seeing him.</p> + +<p>"How sweet of you to come!" she said.</p> + +<p>"You'll stay to lunch, of course?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I can't."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span>"Oh! lunching with a leading lady, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"With whom?"</p> + +<p>"With Romeike and Curtice."</p> + +<p>"Not really? What fun! What are they like?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Romeike is all right. I don't care so +much about Curtice."</p> + +<p>She gave him a cigarette.</p> + +<p>"I never in my life," said Vaughan, "before +to-day, attempted to interfere in anybody else's +affairs."</p> + +<p>She stared at him.</p> + +<p>"But in this case it—may I really smoke?—does +seem such a pity! Of course you know what +I mean, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Do I?"</p> + +<p>"You see, I feel so certain that if you were, +let's say—married to <i>Harry</i> and met Romer +after, you'd be so wildly in love with Romer."</p> + +<p>"So I was," she said in a low voice. "Tremendously! +I thought he was a strong silent +man with a great deal in him.... Oh! I've +told you."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but so he is. It's commonplace of you, +really, Val, not to see it."</p> + +<p>"I'm awfully sorry.... I do love Romer, and +I think I appreciate him. But somehow it's a +little dull. It's not exciting as I thought it +would be."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span>"Well! if you <i>must</i> have fun, and amusement, +and make a hero of somebody, why just +Harry? Why not a superior man? Me, for instance?"</p> + +<p>He was laughing.</p> + +<p>"I've been told that an adoration for you +would be hopeless, utterly hopeless." She smiled. +"And we're friends. I can't imagine——"</p> + +<p>"Nor I. Of course I know it's utterly absurd +to come and give people advice on these subjects, +and one can't dispute about tastes and all that. +But my practical mind revolts to see any one so +delightful as you throwing away the substance +for the shadow. You see, I'm a mass of platitudes."</p> + +<p>"Shadows are very attractive sometimes."</p> + +<p>"But they go away too. And then where are +you?"</p> + +<p>She was silent.</p> + +<p>"They do, really. I know what I'm talking +about." He stood up. "Think over what I've +said."</p> + +<p>"You're kind, but you're rather depressing, +Gillie," said Val. She looked a little frightened, +but very pretty.</p> + +<p>"When do you go back to the country?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, to-day. We're there now. We only came +up for the dance. We're motoring down to the +Green Gate.... All of us."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span>"Oh yes.... I'm afraid you must think me +very impertinent."</p> + +<p>"Indeed I don't."</p> + +<p>"And when I've gone you will give orders +that you're never at home to me again. But, +somehow, I couldn't help it. If it makes you +hate me to remember what I've said, forget it."</p> + +<p>She laughed as he rose to go.</p> + +<p>"That's all right, Gillie; but what I want to +know is, where you're really going."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you, exactly. I'm going home to +lunch, because I've an urgent appointment +immediately afterwards."</p> + +<p>"More plays, I suppose? What sort this time?"</p> + +<p>"A light comedy, with a very slight love +interest," he answered, "all dialogue, no action.... +At least, so far."</p> + +<p>"Oh, then it isn't finished yet?"</p> + +<p>"Not quite. Good-bye. And if you ever want +a change, remember—a <i>superior</i> man!"</p> + +<p>They both laughed insincerely.</p> + +<p>He left her looking thoughtfully out of the +window.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<h3>THE BALD-FACED STAG</h3> + + +<p>Vaughan went home, and after lunching, +chiefly on a newspaper and a cup of coffee, +he got into a taxicab and gave a direction.</p> + +<p>The vehicle flew smoothly along down Park +Lane, past the Marble Arch into the Edgware +Road, and on from there between houses and +shops, growing gradually uglier and uglier, to +Maida Vale, up Shoot-up Hill, and so on until +there was a glimpse of suburban country, and +gasworks, and glaring posters of melodramas on +hoardings, till it stopped suddenly at a real little +old roadside inn, straight out of Dickens—"The +Bald-faced Stag at Edgware." Edgware suggested +<i>John Gilpin</i>, Gillie's favourite poem.</p> + +<p>Here he got out, and was positively welcomed, +and heartily, by a real roadside innkeeper—also +out of Dickens—resembling the elder +Weller—a local magnate called Tom Brill, +who looked a relic of the coaching days, though +really he never did anything but stand in front +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span>of the inn in his shirt-sleeves and welcome +people.</p> + +<p>Vaughan, obviously an habitué, walked +through the inn into a perfectly adorable garden, +which was so large, so quiet, and so full of +pinks, hollyhocks, and other old-fashioned +flowers, so absolutely peaceful and sleepy, that +one could have imagined oneself miles away +in the country.</p> + +<p>The garden belonged as much to the Dickens +period as the inn itself. It contained a great +many wooden arbours in which one could +imagine ladies in crinolines archly accepting +tea, or refusing sips of shrub (whatever that +may be) with whiskered gentlemen. There was +a large cage full of Persian pheasants with +gorgeous Indian colouring, which always suggested +to Vaughan—he didn't know why—the +Crimean War. There was a parlour covered +with coloured prints of racehorses and boxing +matches, and in which was a little round table +painted as a draught-board, and furnished with +a set of Indian chessmen of red and white ivory. +The whole thing, though only twenty minutes' +drive from Mayfair, was unknown, unspoilt, +and apparently had not altered in any particular +since about 1856. Its great charm was +that it was utterly unself-conscious; it had no +idea that it was quaint.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>Vaughan sat down on a rustic seat and +plunged into the atmosphere of the period that +he loved, revelling in the soothing, delightful +calm, and in the fact that nobody there knew +who he was (though they knew him well by +name), and that none of his friends and acquaintances +would have dreamt that he was +there.</p> + +<p>A large field beyond the garden contained +cows, hay, and other rustic things.</p> + +<p>Presently Tom Brill came up to him, and he +asked after Mrs. Brill, whom her husband +always described, with confidential pride, as +"Though I say it that shouldn't say it, as fine +a woman as you'll meet in a day's march."</p> + +<p>Vaughan always assented to this proposition. +As he had never himself in his life been for a +day's march, and probably never would, he +certainly would have had no right to contradict +Mr. Brill on the subject.</p> + +<p>"Is Miss Brill at home?" he presently asked. +"May I see her?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, sir, of course you shall. She's +helping her mother. I'll call her. Don't move, +sir, don't move."</p> + +<p>Miss Brill, who had been helping her mother +to look out of the window, now came into the +garden, which immediately became idyllic.</p> + +<p>She was not in any way like the innkeeper's +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span>daughter of Comic Opera. She was a schoolgirl +of sixteen, with a long, fair plait, a short serge +skirt, and a seraphic oval face. She ought to +have been called Fanny or Clara. Unluckily her +name was Gladys.</p> + +<p>She said in a very sweet voice—</p> + +<p>"You're quite a stranger, sir." And she +amplified the assertion by adding, "You haven't +been here not this ever so long."</p> + +<p>"I know I haven't, but I've been longing to +come."</p> + +<p>"Not you!" she said ironically.</p> + +<p>She was standing opposite him, with her +hands behind her back. Without a hat, in the +glaring afternoon sun, with the complexion, +pale pink and white, of a china doll that had +never made up, she was a refreshing sight after +the theatrical world in London, not to speak of +society. Vaughan seemed to think so.</p> + +<p>"Well, how did you enjoy the play?" he +asked.</p> + +<p>"It was very kind of you to send us the +tickets. Mother enjoyed it."</p> + +<p>"You didn't care much for the piece yourself?"</p> + +<p>"I thought it was rather silly," she answered.</p> + +<p>He had never had a criticism on his work +that pleased him more.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span>"I mean," she went on, "I shouldn't have +thought—well, nobody would go on like that."</p> + +<p>"Go on how?"</p> + +<p>"Why, go on so silly."</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't like to see another play, +written by the same man, then?"</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't mind another one. Wild horses +wouldn't drag me to see that again."</p> + +<p>"Wild horses are not likely to try," he +observed. At which jest she laughed loudly and +charmingly, showing marvellous teeth. She had +no cockney accent, though she occasionally and +fitfully dropped an H.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Gladys, do take me for a walk in the +field."</p> + +<p>"Want to see the calf?"</p> + +<p>"No; I can live without seeing the calf. I +want to sit in the field with you."</p> + +<p>"You are a caution! Come on then, but I +can't stay long."</p> + +<p>They climbed the gate, which she seemed to +think a quicker mode of entrance than sending +for the key, and sat in the field, from which +Mr. Brill always declared you could see three +counties. Perhaps you could; if so, they all +looked exactly alike.</p> + +<p>"It's quiet here, isn't it? I shan't have much +more of it," she remarked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Gladys! Don't say you're going away!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span>"Of course I am. Don't you know I'm going +to be a manicure in Bond Street?"</p> + +<p>"Bond Street? How revolting! Is that your +ambition?"</p> + +<p>"Why, I think it would be very nice. I must +do something. Father's settled about it. First +I'm going to pay to learn it, and then I shall +earn quite a lot. It's a great <a class="ins" href="#tnote_7" name="tAnchor_7" title="airdresser's">hairdresser's</a>."</p> + +<p>"I think it's horrible, Gladys. Perhaps you'll +fall in love with a German hairdresser, and be +lost to me for ever."</p> + +<p>"I shan't fall in love with no foreigners, +don't you fret."</p> + +<p>"I'm not fretting. Will you have your hair +done up?" he asked, lifting the long plait.</p> + +<p>"Well, of course I shall, and waved, and that."</p> + +<p>"Gladys, they'll spoil you."</p> + +<p>The conversation went on in this strain for +some time. She alternately repeated the exclamation, +"How you do go on!" or accused +him of the mysterious crime of being a caution, +but she never stopped looking perfectly beautiful +and seraphic.</p> + +<p>When they went back to the garden a few +other visitors had straggled in. They all seemed +to come in high dog-carts, and they always +ordered eggs, jam, and watercress with their +tea, and were immensely impressed by the +Persian pheasants.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>Vaughan went back to London feeling refreshed, +and already, strangely, counting the +days till he could come back.</p> + +<p>There was not a woman in the world he +knew whom he would have taken the slightest +trouble to see except Gladys, the innkeeper's +daughter. She was an illiterate schoolgirl; and +though she had a lovely face, she was stupid, +and probably not so angelic as she looked; but +he always felt a little disappointed as he drove +back. He wished she were in love with him.</p> + +<p>And this ungratified wish was, in all his full +life with its brilliant success, perhaps his +greatest real pleasure.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + +<h3>THE GREEN GATE</h3> + + +<p>When Harry came down to breakfast, a +little late, he found Valentia waiting +to pour out his coffee, and some letters on his +plate. She watched him as he opened them. +Most of them looked like bills. On the envelope +of one was a little blue flag. Harry put this +letter in his pocket, and went on eating.</p> + +<p>"It's a lovely morning, Harry. So fresh; +just the sort of day not to do anything +at all."</p> + +<p>"Ah! that's what's so delightful about you +all," he answered. "You never say, 'What shall +we do?' and neither of you have ever said yet +that this is Liberty Hall, which means, as a +rule, in a country house, 'Breakfast at eight +o'clock sharp, you won't mind it being a little +cold if you're late, and then we are going for a +motor drive at 9.30.' Still, I think, perhaps, +one ought to take a little exercise. I feel almost +equal to a game of croquet this afternoon—later +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>on—when I'm stronger. Is any one +coming down to-day?"</p> + +<p>"No. And only Van Buren, and Vaughan and +Muir Howard on Sunday. I see you've heard +from the Walmers. What do they say?"</p> + +<p>"It's sure to be nothing of interest. How I +love your hair parted on one side! It makes you +look like a boy."</p> + +<p>"Not a principal boy, I hope. Why not read +the letter?"</p> + +<p>Harry got up and fetched himself something +from the sideboard.</p> + +<p>"I don't feel quite strong enough yet. When +I've had breakfast. I should like to paint you as +you're looking now, Val. I think I'll do a sketch +of you in the rose garden, all in black and white, +like a Beardsley, with the balustrades and steps +and things behind you. Will you sit to me?"</p> + +<p>"That's all very well. But why don't you +read your letter?"</p> + +<p>"There's sure to be nothing in it."</p> + +<p>"How can you tell till you've opened it?"</p> + +<p>"I know. I always feel what's in a letter +without opening it. Don't you? I absorb the +essence, as it were, through the covers of the +envelope, as somebody or other—Macaulay, +I think—used to absorb all the important things +through the covers of a book. Or wasn't it +Macaulay? Anyhow, it doesn't matter. It was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>some tiresome person whom one oughtn't to +talk about on a morning like this."</p> + +<p>Harry evidently was not quite at his ease.</p> + +<p>"But why not read it?" She spoke playfully.</p> + +<p>"How persistent women are, just like children. +To tease you I just shan't."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Harry!"</p> + +<p>"I shan't read it now at all," he went on. +"I can answer it without reading it."</p> + +<p>"It's only that I should like to know how the +Walmers are enjoying themselves on <i>Flying +Fish</i>. Lady Walmer was a little afraid they +mightn't like it."</p> + +<p>Here Romer came up to the window and +called out—</p> + +<p>"I say, Val, come here a minute. I want to +ask you something."</p> + +<p>"Here I am, dear," and she vanished into +the garden.</p> + +<p>The second she had gone Harry opened the +letter very carefully, and read—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Dearest Harry,</p> + +<p>"You are a rotter never to write. I'm +having <i>such</i> a time. Weather priceless, but very +sick at not hearing from you. Algie Thynne is +here. Do you know him? He's rather a nut. +Wish you were here. No more to-day. +Bye-bye, old son.</p> + +<p class="right">"Your loving "<span class="smcap">Alec</span>."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>"P.S.—Do write. The moonlight nights are +simply topping. Just like a picture. I think +you'd like it; otherwise everything is beastly.</p> + +<p>"I love you more than ever.</p> + +<p class="right">"A."</p></div> + +<p>He put the letter back in the untorn envelope +and carefully fastened it up again. He then +placed it on the mantelpiece, and having +finished his breakfast, lit a cigarette.</p> + +<p>He looked thoughtful.</p> + +<p>"Algie Thynne, indeed!" he said to himself. +"How pathetic, trying to make me jealous! +Well, it's a pretty letter, and what's more, it +must be answered."</p> + +<p>Val came back.</p> + +<p>"Romer wants the lawn mown," she said. +"He's perfectly mad on the subject of mowing the +lawn. He seems to think it ought to be shaved +every day. It's the only thing he knows about +the country. Well, have you read your letter?"</p> + +<p>"There it is," said Harry. "You can read it +if you like." He watched her carefully as she +took it from the mantelpiece.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to read it," she said, holding it.</p> + +<p>"Nor do I," said Harry.</p> + +<p>"Harry, tell me honestly, wouldn't you +really mind if I tore it into little bits and put +it in the waste-paper basket—just as it is?"</p> + +<p>"Not a straw," said Harry, shaking his head.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span>She clapped her hands, tore it into tiny pieces, +and threw it in the basket. Then she said, in a +low voice of deep gratitude—</p> + +<p>"Oh, Harry, you are sweet! Do forgive me."</p> + +<p>"I don't see that there's anything to forgive," +said Harry.</p> + +<p>"Yes, there is; lots. I'm afraid I've been horrid. +I'll never bother you about any thing again."</p> + +<p>She was simply beaming.</p> + +<p>"Good," answered Harry indifferently.</p> + +<p>But as he followed her into the garden he +looked rather perplexed. He felt that this sort +of thing was not leading up very well to what he +would have to tell her soon. However, why +spoil a lovely day by thinking of it?</p> + +<p>Like a schoolboy with his holiday task before +him, he put it off as long as possible.</p> + +<p>Though he didn't own it to himself, and was +disdainfully amused at Alec's letter, still the +thought of Algie Thynne, moonlight nights +on the yacht, topping weather, and his own +neglect, gave him some cause for alarm. Algie +Thynne was <i>criblé</i> with debts, and probably keen +on marrying for money. Contemptible young +ass! Why didn't he <i>work</i>? Harry despised him.</p> + +<p>At the earliest opportunity (which, by the +way, did not arise until he had made an excuse +to go into the village, where he wrote at the +post office) the answer was sent.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>Even Harry found the beginning of the letter +too difficult, so he always began (as Valentia +might have said) without a beginning, which +impressed Miss Walmer much more. Ever since +he had reached the age of discretion, which, in +his case, was at his majority, Harry had been +thoroughly trained in the habit of writing +letters that gratified the recipient enormously +without compromising the writer in the slightest +degree. The habitual dread of those <i>bêtes noires</i> +of Don Juan—the breach of promise case and +the Divorce Court—had got him into the way +of writing the sort of letter that he would have +had no objection to hear read aloud in court. +Perhaps that was why the sentences were always +polished, and the meaning a little vague.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"... I don't speak your language, perhaps, +but I understand your letter, reading between +the lines. It came like a whiff of fresh sea air. +Yes, it would be delightful to be on board +<i>Flying Fish</i> now. However, no doubt Algie +Thynne—(<i>how</i> eloquently, by the way, you +describe him! putting all the complications of +his character and the dazzling charm of his +personality in a nutshell by the simple sentence +'<i>He's rather a nut!</i>')—amply compensates for +my absence. You ask if I know him. I do, +though perhaps more by reputation than anything +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span>else. We have met once or twice. Where? +I can't quite recall. Perhaps at the Oratory, or +at the Supper Club or some place of that sort. +But somehow I never pursued his acquaintance, +nor did it ever ripen into friendship. I felt, +instinctively, that he was too clever for me.</p> + +<p>"I trust all the same that his brilliance will not +altogether overshadow your memory of <i>others</i>. I +should not like to think that we were drifting apart. +Still, if it should be so, I must resign myself. +I could still be happy in thinking of you, Alec.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>'Love that is love at all</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Asks for no earthly coronal'</i>—<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>but, I remember, you once expressed to me your +opinion that <i>all poetry is rot</i>. So I will not bore +you with quotations. It is pleasant here, and my +cousins are very kind, and leave me alone to +think as much as I like. I'm not, somehow, +quite in the mood for the usual gaieties and +frivolities of a country house. Last night we +played Musical Chairs until two in the morning, +and to-day I am a little weary. Your postscript +gave me joy. I need not say that I reciprocate it, +need I?...</p> + +<p>"I feel all that you are feeling, and somehow +even know what you are doing, and if you did +not write again until we meet, I should not be +anxious. I have a trusting nature. But when you +wire, remember that the telegraph boy has a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span>good way to walk, and when telegrams arrive +after midnight, it causes a sensation and much +inquiry. Also I cannot help feeling that every +one in the village, as well as at the Green Gate, +has read the words I would like to keep to +myself alone. I have a curious love of mystery—isn't +mystery the great charm of all romance?—So +to gratify this fancy of mine, sign your next +telegram 'Johnson.' I know you won't mind.</p> + +<p>"When we meet again, all, I trust, will be +clear and definite before us. Best love to dear +Lady Walmer, and to yourself what I am sure +you will know. Don't be angry with me for not +writing oftener. I find it very difficult to express +my thoughts, for alas, I have no command +of language. Not only that, the pens here have +one great fault—they won't write. Otherwise +they're quite excellent.... Yes, your note has +given me, as the French say, 'furiously to think.'</p> + +<p>"Hoping that all will go well with you, and +looking forward, think me as always,</p> + +<p class="right"> +"Yours, faithfully,<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Harry Broke de Freyne</span>."<br /> +</p></div> + +<p>"There! that ought to keep her quiet for a +month," he thought as he posted the letter, +and with a sigh of relief turned back towards +the Green Gate.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV</h2> + +<h3>A SUNDAY AFTERNOON</h3> + + +<p>By this time Van Buren was entirely in +Harry's confidence; that is to say, Harry +had gradually trained him to bear without +flinching the situation as Harry represented it. +He believed Harry had a hopeless romantic +affection for Mrs. Romer Wyburn which he was +trying to stifle, and that Miss Walmer being +hopelessly in love with <i>him</i>, he was doing his +best to marry her, partly, as he candidly admitted, +on worldly grounds.</p> + +<p>Van Buren was deeply touched at Harry's +trust in him, and was always trying to keep him +up to his good resolutions by pointing out that +any understanding (however Platonic) between +the pretty Valentia and the handsome guest was +dishonourable, a breach of hospitality towards +Romer, that silent but admirable host.</p> + +<p>Indeed, he repeated to Harry so often and so +firmly, "It can't be done; one can't make love +to the wife of a friend," that Harry was driven +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>to the point of replying that he hardly saw +whom else, as a matter of fact, one <i>could</i> very +well make love to; it being impossible to have +romances with people one didn't know. And in +this case the fact that Harry was very fond of +Romer made the temptation far greater, as he +explained; Harry being (as he pointed out) so +very sensitive and highly strung that he could +never, somehow, be really attracted by a woman +whose husband was not sympathetic to him. +Which point of view Van Buren, shaking his +head, regarded as unsound.</p> + +<p>Harry now spent much time giving picturesque +sketches and impressions of his feelings +to his friend, for he had an almost feminine +love of talking over personal affairs to the +sympathetic. In his benevolence Van Buren +longed to protect Valentia and Romer, and to +give Miss Walmer all she wanted; but most of +all his idea was to save Harry from himself, so +he always accepted with alacrity invitations to +the Green Gate for altruistic reasons. Besides, +his desire to see Daphne, although she was now +becoming more and more remote to him, was +still persistent, if a little less vivid.</p> + +<p>"I've had a beautiful womanly letter from +Alec to-day," Harry confided in Van as soon as +he arrived. "You know the sort of thing she +writes: all in jerks and subaltern's slang. With +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span>sincere sentiment showing between the lines. +And I answered it."</p> + +<p>"A beautiful manly letter, I hope? I'm sure +you could do that as well as any one, Harry."</p> + +<p>Harry smiled.</p> + +<p>"Oh, just some vague, cautious slosh, not +unamusing in its way—it'll <i>get</i> there all right."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Harry, I know, but I do hope——Ah, +Miss Daphne, how beautiful your England is +looking to-day! In America we never have a day +like this, warm and yet cool, with all those nice, +white, fleecy clouds in the sky. Our atmosphere +is always so hard and clear. Now this garden with +those large trees is just like a Corot. They <i>are</i> +fine trees. Poplars, I presume?"</p> + +<p>"You <i>do</i> presume," smiled Daphne; "I don't +know what they are, but I'm perfectly sure +they're not poplars."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes—I'm wrong. They're oaks, I've no +doubt." He hummed, "'The oak and the ash +and the bonny ivy tree.' Do let's walk over and +look at them closer, Miss Daphne."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I can't. Tea's ready."</p> + +<p>To his annoyance Van was obliged to follow +Daphne and join the group round the tea-table. +He declined with some formality of manner to +accept the glass of iced water Daphne offered +him, and looked at her with that look of tender, +fixed, respectful reproach that had the effect of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span>irritating her very nearly to the point of incivility.</p> + +<p>She turned to Muir Howard, who was looking +very pink and cheery. Muir was a popular man +for his great ease in making conversation, the +kind that is as the pudding part in a plum pudding, +and without which the plums, however +delightful, could hardly stick together. Though +the great majority of people talk commonplaces, +their banalities are by no means always the +kind that help. Muir's particular way of opening +open doors, flogging dead horses, and +genially enjoying any spark of fun in his friends, +coupled with his good looks and pleasant, hearty +disposition, made him a most useful and welcome +guest, as a sort of super. He was quite decorative, +and could be turned on to talk newspaper politics +to dull men, pretty platitudes to plain women; +to make himself generally useful, and altogether +to help things to go. In this way he was invaluable. +Young girls always liked him; he was a great favourite +with elderly ladies, and with men of his +own age also, who were, however, occasionally +bored with his worship for his friend Vaughan. +He found it very difficult not to mention Gillie +less than once in every five minutes.</p> + +<p>That distinguished young man, who was beginning +to look a little jaded with incense, was +engrossed with his hostess. Whenever he was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>there Harry always became particularly devoted +in his manner to Valentia, and scarcely ever +left her other side. This was one of the reasons +that she enjoyed Gillie's presence, besides that +she was, now that she knew him well, particularly +fond of him. His conversation and personality +in general had a special flavour.</p> + +<p>Every one was talking and laughing with the +light intoxication produced by tea and cigarettes +in the open air on a fine Sunday afternoon, +excepting only Romer, who as usual said hardly +anything, absorbed in admiration of his wife. +He suddenly remarked—</p> + +<p>"I say, Val. The Campbells are coming."</p> + +<p>He wondered why this statement produced +a burst of irresponsible laughter.</p> + +<p>"What fun! Will there be bagpipes?" Vaughan +asked.</p> + +<p>"No, no. Romer means the Prebendary +Campbell, or at least his wife and daughter. +They're coming to see us this afternoon. I had +quite forgotten. Please all behave nicely. +They've been a long time making up their +minds. I believe they think we're frivolous."</p> + +<p>"Not really? How could they? It reminds one +of the story of Henry James." Vaughan stopped +to light a cigarette.</p> + +<p>"Go on."</p> + +<p>"It appears that for some time his near neighbours +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>in the country looked a little coldly on +him on the grounds that, being a writer, he +must be Bohemian. At last the local doctor's +wife and clergyman's wife called on him, and +finding him perfectly respectable, stayed for +many hours. They were particularly tedious and +rather self-righteous. When they had gone, he +said thoughtfully to some one who was pitying +him for being bored, 'One of those poor wantons +has a certain cadaverous grace.'"</p> + +<p>The story was well received, except by Van +Buren, who seemed painfully shocked.</p> + +<p>Daphne, who had gone into the house to +fetch some snapshots, now came running back +saying—</p> + +<p>"Val, Val! The Campbells are arriving in a +fly, and they seem to have brought their +foreigner with them—that man Miss Campbell +told me about. He's a kind of Belgian, and awfully +clever—he's invented something."</p> + +<p>"What's he invented?"</p> + +<p>"Brussels sprouts?" suggested Harry rather +sleepily.</p> + +<p>"But they've been invented already."</p> + +<p>"Why shouldn't he invent them over again? +Give him a chance."</p> + +<p>Muir began to sing softly, "Young Lochinvar +has come out of the West," which he appeared +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span>to think a suitable serenade, but he stopped +suddenly at Gillie's entreaty.</p> + +<p>"I don't mind anything Muir does, as long as +he doesn't sing," he always explained.</p> + +<p>"It's awful hard lines. I've got a ripping +baritone voice, but I never have a chance to use +it," murmured Muir.</p> + +<p>"You shall sing to me this afternoon. I'll +accompany you," whispered Daphne.</p> + +<p>Muir had gratefully answered that it was +frightfully decent of her, when the servant +announced—</p> + +<p>"Mrs. and Miss Campbell. Mr.——" He left a +blank, unable to pronounce the name.</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Campbell introduced Mynheer von +Stoendyck.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Mrs. Campbell was an amiable, colourless +woman, with a greyish brown fringe that looked +as if it were made of Berlin wool. Though she +was not yet forty-five, she wore a bonnet with +violet velvet strings, and had a very long waist. +Also, her skirt, in reality quite normal, looked, +to the eye used to contemporary fashion, +grotesquely wide at the end.</p> + +<p>Her daughter was an ordinary Rectory girl, +spoilt by a dash of culture. At a glance all present +saw she was in love with Mr. Stoendyck. He was +a well-set-up man of about thirty-five, with a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span>military manner and scientific eye-glasses, also +a turned-up light moustache. He spoke all +languages with one rasping accent, but Mrs. +Campbell seemed to suffer under the delusion +that he could only understand broken English. +So whenever people spoke to him she translated +their remarks into a sort of baby language that +seemed singularly out of place from her.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid you must think me dreadfully +worldly, calling on you on a Sunday," said Mrs. +Campbell, laughing socially as she sat down. +"But what the Prebendary always says is, the +better the day the better the deed."</p> + +<p>"Oh, does he always say that?" Harry asked +with great apparent interest, waking up. He had +been overpowered with languor ever since lunch.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and I felt sure you wouldn't mind our +bringing our friend, Mr. Stoendyck. He is so +clever. He's come over to England about an +invention."</p> + +<p>Val thought of Brussels sprouts, but did not +suggest it.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Campbell apparently couldn't take her +eyes off the Belgian, whom she watched as one +watches a rather dangerous pet, though he +appeared particularly safe.</p> + +<p>Muir, for an unknown reason addressing the +Belgian as Professor, was asking him his impressions +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span>of England. Mrs. Campbell bent forward, +and said with a nod—</p> + +<p>"E ope you like it—Angleterre, you know"—and +nodded idiotically.</p> + +<p>"I find it most interesting," said Mr. Stoendyck +raspingly, in admirable English. "There +are opportunities in this country for the +pursuance of science, art, and social intercourse +which one would hardly have expected. I do not +take tea, I thank you much."</p> + +<p>"Have a glass of beer?" said Romer, suddenly +inspired.</p> + +<p>Simple as the sentence was, Mrs. Campbell +thought it necessary to translate it with more +nods.</p> + +<p>"E ask you, ave beer. <i>Bière</i>, you know! Glass," +and then she went on in her usual tone, "Most +thoughtful of Mr. Wyburn, I'm sure. What a +charming place this is of yours, Mrs. Wyburn. I +always say the Green Gate is the most picturesque +place in the neighbourhood. And Mr. de +Freyne, I understand, is an artist. Do you know +my daughter, Marion, is <i>so</i> interested in art! +And my younger son, Garstin, though he is only +twelve years old, shows great artistic talent, too. +He did a map of Buckinghamshire that really +surprised me, almost any one would recognise it +at a glance. I always say I'm sure some day +Garstin will be in the Royal Academy."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>Van Buren had approached and began to talk +to Mrs. Campbell. Val went over to the Belgian, +but she heard the American beginning a sentence +as usual with, "Pleased to meet you. I've never +had the opportunity of mixing much in clerical +circles in New York, Mrs. Campbell," and felt +sure he was going to ask impossible questions +about Prebendaries and Rural Deans.</p> + +<p>The rasping Belgian, on whom both the +mother and daughter cast continual anxious and +admiring eyes, though he seemed thoroughly +able to take care of himself, said to Muir, who +was taking him on—</p> + +<p>"No, I do not spend my entire time over my +invention. Mrs. Campbell is so kind as to take me +for drives in the environment, to give me a right +impression of the beauties of Hertfordshire. For +relaxation I play the piano."</p> + +<p>"Ha! <a class="ins" href="#tnote_8" name="tAnchor_8" title="musical,"> +Musical,</a> eh, Professor?" asked Muir +shrewdly. "That's right; so am I. I'm awfully +keen on music." He spoke reassuringly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Stoendyck looked at him through his +glasses, and said without interest—</p> + +<p>"Indeed. I find Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, +even on the piano, extraordinarily satisfying and +refreshing to the mind after the strain of looking +at English scenery." He drank a long draught of +iced lager.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Classical, eh? I'm not up to that. Queen's +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span>Hall, eh? That sort of thing."</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon? Is there——Has the +Queen a hall in this neighbourhood?"</p> + +<p>"How do you mean, Professor?"</p> + +<p>"What do you say?"</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Campbell, who managed to hear through +her own conversation with Van Buren, called +out—</p> + +<p>"E say e no understand," and nodded smilingly, +seeming to think she had helped matters +considerably.</p> + +<p>Miss Campbell talked of tennis, matins, hats +and the opera to Daphne, but appeared to be +absent, and occasionally smiled at the foreigner, +who ignored her.</p> + +<p>At last the Campbells and their Belgian withdrew, +Mrs. Campbell saying that the Prebendary +wished them to go to Evensong. Their departure +left, as such visits do, a blank and a reaction. Our +friends were silent for a minute.</p> + +<p>Then Vaughan said—</p> + +<p>"I feel crushed, and a little flattened out, too."</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> feel as if my brain were made of cotton +wool," said Harry.</p> + +<p>"Come and sing," suggested Daphne to Muir, +and they went off to the drawing-room, from +which strains were soon heard about <i>It IS not +because</i>,—something or other.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span>In the middle of the song Daphne played a +wrong note, stopped, and said—</p> + +<p>"Oh, I wish Cyril was here!"</p> + +<p>"So do I. If he can accompany, I wish he was +here."</p> + +<p>"Oh, go on!"</p> + +<p>"<i>It IS not because thy heart is mine</i>"....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The party in the garden listened with a +worried expression.</p> + +<p>"How about croquet?" suggested Val. "The +tapping noise will take it off."</p> + +<p>"Yes. Come on."</p> + +<p>"You can't," said Romer. "The lawn wants +mowing."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> + +<h3>IN THE ROSE GARDEN</h3> + + +<p>"How lovely this place must look at dawn!"</p> + +<p>"By Jove! That's an idea, Gillie," said +Harry. "It must look glorious."</p> + +<p>They were sitting in the rose garden with +Valentia. It was still quite light, though the +sunset glow had nearly faded. There was a rich +mellow tone in the sky, a promise of peace, a +feeling that it was the end of the day, which, +combined with the almost cloyingly sweet scent +of the roses, was enough to make any one feel +poetical.</p> + +<p>"To think we've never seen the sun rise here!" +exclaimed Valentia.</p> + +<p>Romer here joined them, smoking a cigarette.</p> + +<p>"Hasn't Romer ever seen the sun rise here?" +Vaughan asked.</p> + +<p>"Never," said Romer.</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I suppose because it always +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>happens after I've gone to bed," he answered +drily.</p> + +<p>"Let's sit up all night and see it to-morrow," +suggested Valentia.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Capital! Do let us!" said Harry.</p> + +<p>Romer did not appear much taken with this +scheme.</p> + +<p>"Oh no, you mustn't <i>sit</i> up," said Vaughan. +"That's not the way to see it."</p> + +<p>"Is there so much difference between staying +up and getting up then?" Val asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed, all the difference in the world. +You must get up fresh, with the birds."</p> + +<p>"What time do birds get up? Is it <i>very</i> early?"</p> + +<p>"It would do if you were out at three this +time of the year, or even at four."</p> + +<p>"Well, let's do it!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't think I shall," said Harry.</p> + +<p>He looked at Valentia.</p> + +<p>She answered—</p> + +<p>"You might make a sketch, you know, of the +early birds getting up to catch the worms. But—I +don't think I shall. Anyhow, not <i>to-morrow</i> at +<i>half-past three</i>."</p> + +<p>"All right," said Harry with a nod, "we won't. +Don't tell Daphne, or she'll be out at 3.15 to the +tick, to take a snapshot of the dawn."</p> + +<p>"A snapshot of the dawn! Wouldn't that be +sacrilege?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span>"Young girls are always inclined to that. +They're so prosaic," said Harry, getting up. "I +must go and see what Van is doing."</p> + +<p>He walked away with his usual quick, supple +step and casual bearing. They watched his slim +figure as he went. Then Romer followed him, +slowly.</p> + +<p>Vaughan turned to Valentia and said: "I +shouldn't if I were you."</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't what?"</p> + +<p>"Why, meet Harry at half-past three to-morrow +morning in the rose garden."</p> + +<p>"Good gracious! I never thought of doing such +a thing. Besides, it was your idea.... As a matter +of fact, I really assure you it wouldn't be here. It +would be in the orchard if anywhere. There is +the loveliest cherry-tree there, with a seat all +round it."</p> + +<p>"How jolly! I'd like to see it. Will you give +me the key?"</p> + +<p>"Who told you it was kept locked?"</p> + +<p>She looked rather annoyed.</p> + +<p>"You did, but not intentionally."</p> + +<p>"I don't see that you have really any right to +suppose——Why shouldn't I go in my own +orchard, at any hour I like?"</p> + +<p>"But, Val—of course you ought to go in your +own orchard. But why don't you meet Romer +there?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span>"Oh, Gillie, really!..."</p> + +<p>"He is so straight, so good-looking, and, under +all that manner, he's exactly like Vesuvius. Yes. +Fancy, you're living with a volcano and you +don't appreciate it!"</p> + +<p>"Gillie, it's really rather stupid of you to put +things like that. It isn't a question of liking +either one person <i>or</i> another. If Romer were ill, +or anything like that, don't you <i>know</i>——"</p> + +<p>"I know you'd devote yourself to him, like a +sister or a mother. You'd put Harry aside for a +time as a pleasure that mustn't be indulged in. +Now that's just where you're wrong. No! <i>I</i> want +to see you being ever so good and kind to dear +Harry as a duty to a ne'er-do-well of a cousin; +and regarding Romer——"</p> + +<p>She did not answer.</p> + +<p>"My point is," he went on, "that it's really +too distressingly conventional of you to suppose +that because you happen to be legally married +there can be no sort of romance. Only comradeship, +or perhaps affectionate sentiment? That's +what you believe."</p> + +<p>"Isn't it always so?"</p> + +<p>"Most often, I grant. That's generally through +the man's point of view. But Romer is an exception. +He's as much in love as if he had no hope +of ever being within a mile of you."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span>She seemed rather flattered. "Do you really +think so? But even that isn't everything."</p> + +<p>"Oh, there's a great deal to be done with +Romer," was Vaughan's reply.</p> + +<p>He spoke with dreamy significance, and she +was silent. Then she exclaimed, turning round +suddenly—</p> + +<p>"I suppose what you really mean is that +Harry doesn't care a bit about me?"</p> + +<p>"No, I don't. But he cares a bit about a lot of +people, and things. He's superficial, and he has +no courage."</p> + +<p>"No courage? <i>Harry!</i>"</p> + +<p>"He'd crumble up in a crisis if a strong man +took him in hand."</p> + +<p>"That's all nonsense." She was growing +angry. "Hasn't he been up in an aeroplane, and +done—oh, all sorts of things? I call Harry +daring and brave!"</p> + +<p>"That's all vanity. All that is show and vanity. +Oh, Valentia, do forgive me."</p> + +<p>"I'll try.... here he is."</p> + +<p>He was seen coming towards them again. +Her anger flickered out at once.</p> + +<p>"I suppose he thinks we've been here long +enough," she said, smiling as women do at such +symptoms.</p> + +<p>"Of course he does. Vanity—just vanity." +Vaughan strolled away.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span>"Look here! What were you two talking +about?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing. About you, Harry."</p> + +<p>"Rubbish. What was he talking about?"</p> + +<p>"You, only you."</p> + +<p>"I can't see that that chap's so brilliant! It +seems to me he's just like anybody else. And his +work shows it too, really. No soul, no real heart +in it. All from the outside."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, Harry, nobody is more kind-hearted, +more——"</p> + +<p>"Look here, Val, I won't have it. Do you +hear?"</p> + +<p>"Have what, Harry?"</p> + +<p>He lowered his voice. "I won't have it. You +must go back. It isn't that <i>I</i> mind. But Romer +will soon think it extraordinary, your sitting +out alone so long."</p> + +<p>"No, he won't."</p> + +<p>"All right then, he won't. He must be an +ass," said Harry angrily. "I don't know what +he's thinking of. Hasn't he got eyes?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course he has."</p> + +<p>"And eyelids too," said Harry. "I dare say +he pretends not to see that Vaughan admires +you. Too indolent to bother about it."</p> + +<p>"Really. Harry—you go too far. Are you +thinking of pointing it out?"</p> + +<p>She got up.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span>"One second," said Harry pleadingly. "It's +cruel of you to go now."</p> + +<p>"I thought you said we'd better get back?"</p> + +<p>"Your hands look so lovely by this light," he +spoke in his softest voice.</p> + +<p>"We really must go."</p> + +<p>"Then at half-past three. I'll bring my +sketchbook. Do you know where the key is? +Perhaps you've lost it. You are so dreadfully +careless." He now spoke in the tone of a reproving +husband.</p> + +<p>"I've got it. Do you think we'd better? I'm +rather tired. Shall you be able to wake?"</p> + +<p>Harry turned away.</p> + +<p>"All right, it doesn't matter, Val. I shall be +going soon, and then——"</p> + +<p>She followed him quickly.</p> + +<p>"No, no, Harry. Of course."</p> + +<p>He gave her a grateful look. They joined the +group on the little verandah in front of the +house. Van Buren was sitting in the corner and +seemed in the depths of depression. From the +windows could be heard once more strains of +music. Daphne was playing an accompaniment. +Muir had again begun the song, and got a little +further into it—"<i>It is not because thy heart is +mine, mine only, mine alone.</i>" But Vaughan +came up promptly and stopped it.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> + +<h3>SEEING THE SUN RISE</h3> + + +<p>What a delicate air there was in the +garden! There had been a little rain in +the night, but Valentia supposed it to be dew. +Every little sound seemed the softest music, to +the sound of which little dainty things seemed +to be dancing in the air. The Green Gate, a red +Georgian house, seen in the early glamour with +all its blinds down, except one, seemed like a +thing half asleep with one eye open.</p> + +<p>For a moment she was a little frightened. He +was late. She had perhaps got up for nothing. +But no, it was worth it. It was lovely here.</p> + +<p>Another eye of the house slowly opened, and +soon Romeo, or Paolo, or Faust, appeared. +True, he was disguised as a flannelled fool, with +a sketch-book under his arm. But it <i>was</i> Faust, +or Romeo, or Paolo, all the same. He looked +very handsome. The thought of scoring off +other people in the house had raised his spirits +and had even made him wake up in time. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span>Valentia's conversation with Vaughan, whom +she knew to be honest and believed to be +brilliant, had left a certain insidious influence +on her which would tell gradually, and yet +their talk had had rather a contradictory effect +for the moment. She wanted to prove to herself +that he was wrong. And Harry felt that his +time was growing short. Very soon he must put +an end to it all.</p> + +<p>This thought made him more affectionate. It +occurred to him for a moment that he would +tell her in the orchard; but, of course, he didn't. +Every day he thought he would tell her, and +something always happened to prevent it. +Besides, there would have to be a quarrel anyhow +at the end, so why make it longer than +necessary?</p> + +<p>They sat down under the cherry-tree.</p> + +<p>"Fancy you, Valentia, a minion of the moon, +rising before dawn! Let me look at you. You +fill me with wonder and joy."</p> + +<p>"Did you mind getting up <i>very</i> much, +Harry?"</p> + +<p>"It <i>was</i> rather hard. Listen!... That's a +thrush, making a scene with another thrush in +the tree."</p> + +<p>"Is it? How do you know?"</p> + +<p>"Of course it is! How do <i>you</i> know things? +How did you know exactly what to wear, Val? +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span>I knew you had clothes for every possible occasion; +but still, to choose the <i>exact</i> right dress to +put on to meet your cousin at dawn in the +orchard seems—well, rather extraordinary. +Pinkish blue—or is it bluish pink?—to match +the sky. How jolly! It fastens in front."</p> + +<p>"Well, of course I couldn't expect Ogburn to +get up in the middle of the night."</p> + +<p>"And no hatpins for once, thank goodness."</p> + +<p>"Well, if we <i>sat up</i> till now I shouldn't be +wearing a hat, should I?"</p> + +<p>"Don't argue. It's too early."</p> + +<p>"It isn't really early. It's very late."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Val! You're being logical."</p> + +<p>He took her hands and looked at them, and +quoted—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>They are pale with the pallor of ivories,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>But they blush at the tips like a curved sea-shell.</i>"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Oh, Harry!"</p> + +<p>He was thinking. He looked almost miserable. +"I don't see—I must admit—how I shall ever +be able to leave your hands!"</p> + +<p>She looked at him suspiciously.</p> + +<p>"Why should you? What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing. I only meant I couldn't...."</p> + +<p>"Oh!"</p> + +<p>"What's that?... Some one coming along +the lawn."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span>"Doesn't it sound curious?" she said—"so +<i>rustly</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Who can it be? Surely your friend Vaughan +couldn't get up at this hour."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense! Of course not. They're coming +here." She jumped up.</p> + +<p>"Go and open the gate at once," said Harry, +giving her the key. "I'll wait here a minute." +While she obeyed he used a good deal of language. +He now felt that he would give all he +possessed to keep her there five minutes longer.</p> + +<p>"Fancy! It's Romer!" exclaimed Valentia. +"He hasn't seen me yet."</p> + +<p>"Go to him at <i>once</i>. Tell him you got up to +see the sun rise. I'll come directly and join you. +Oh, confound it! <i>Do</i> look sharp. Seem pleased to +see him." He spoke in a harsh tone of command.</p> + +<p>She ran to meet Romer, saying jokingly, +"Fancy meeting you!"</p> + +<p>"I thought you'd be here. I went to your +room and found you were out. Thought I'd get +up early."</p> + +<p>"I'm so glad. <i>Isn't</i> it lovely and worth seeing +here? Come and pick some fruit in the orchard."</p> + +<p>"No, thanks."</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>do</i>! Harry's devouring gooseberries. +He's sketching the sky."</p> + +<p>"Why doesn't Harry come?" said Romer.</p> + +<p>He had no expression, and it was always +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span>impossible to guess by his looks or his tone what +he was thinking or feeling, except when he +smiled.</p> + +<p>"Here he is."</p> + +<p>Harry joined them.</p> + +<p>"Good gracious, old boy! Who in the world—! +What on earth made you come out so early?"</p> + +<p>Romer now smiled and looked at Valentia +admiringly.</p> + +<p>"Gardener's not up yet. Thought perhaps I'd +mow the lawn," he said apologetically.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> + +<h3>"REPLY PAID"</h3> + + +<p>Valentia had been hurt at the tone in +which Harry had given his orders, and +turned from him to help to find the mowing-machine.</p> + +<p>"Doesn't she look jolly at sunrise? All that +pink and mauve in the sky tones in so well. It +seems to suit her. That's how she really should +be painted," said Harry, in the tone of an artist +admiring his model. "Don't you think so?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Romer.</p> + +<p>"She looks like a golden rose," Harry went +on. He wanted to please Val, who he saw was +annoyed with him, and to emphasise the openness +of his admiration to Romer. "Doesn't she?"</p> + +<p>"Quite," said her husband.</p> + +<p>Harry felt the morning was spoilt and the +situation absurd. He could not bear to be thwarted +in any way. He went back to his own room, +bounced angrily on to his bed, and went to sleep +again, after having seen Valentia through the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span>window helping to push the mower, and saying +to himself—</p> + +<p>"How like a woman! I shall go up to town +with Van Buren and send a wire to Alec."</p> + +<p>This was his revenge.</p> + +<p>Their momentary fears about Romer were +completely dissipated. He seemed exactly as +usual. As a rule he was even-tempered. Not +many people had seen him put out, though he +could be very angry, except with Valentia. +During this day he seemed, for him, a little +irritable. Perhaps, Val thought, through getting +up too early.</p> + +<p>Harry went up to town with Van Buren for +the day, intending to return the same evening. +He soon recovered himself in the course of +copious confidences in the train. As soon as he +had arrived in London he began to count the +minutes before he should go back.</p> + +<p>Valentia expected the elder Mrs. Wyburn to +lunch.</p> + +<p>"What shall we do with her to-day?" Val +asked Daphne. "She must be kept in a good +temper, because it's the last time she'll come +down before going to Bournemouth. It's rather +a pity they've all gone. Romer is sure to say the +wrong thing to her—let out some trifle that +we have been carefully concealing for months—praise +up Harry, or something."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span>"Doesn't she like Harry?"</p> + +<p>"Since he went to see her she likes him for +herself, but not for me."</p> + +<p>"What cheek! But he's not here."</p> + +<p>"No, if he were she might like him again all +right. Then, Romer talks too slowly for her. +Her mind works quicker than his, and one can +only deal with him by racing on in front, and +turning round to beckon. With Mrs. Wyburn +there are only two things that are any use—dash +and volubility. It's difficult to keep the +thing going when she's alone with us."</p> + +<p>"Well, why not pass the time this afternoon +by returning the Campbells' visit, and take +Mrs. Wyburn with us to 'The Angles'?" Daphne +suggested.</p> + +<p>"Oh no! It's treating them almost like royalty +to go so soon. And there's the Belgian man."</p> + +<p>"Doesn't she like Belgians then, Val?"</p> + +<p>"I've never asked her. Only, don't you see, it +isn't that but the Belgian is what Harry calls a +blighter—a beano-blighter; and so is Mrs. Wyburn, +and it doesn't do to have two beano-blighters +in the same party."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I see; they'd clash. What <i>is</i> a beano-blighter +exactly, Val?"</p> + +<p>"A person who blights beanos. Who makes +every one a little uncomfortable, casts a gloom +over entertainments—has to be taken in hand +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span>and dealt with separately from the others—doesn't +blend, you know."</p> + +<p>"You mean some one who isn't the life and +soul of the party?"</p> + +<p>"No, I don't. That's almost as bad in its way. +In fact, the life-and-soul-of-the-party person +casts almost as great a gloom on the rest as a +blighter."</p> + +<p>"Oh dear! Yes, I see."</p> + +<p>"We must meet her at the station in the +motor. I shall put on my blue serge and my +plain sailor. She mustn't see me in the garden +without a hat, nor in a real one. You do the +same, Daphne."</p> + +<p>"But my sailor's too large in the head, and +that makes it fall over my eyes, and that gives +it a Frenchy look, like <i>L'Art et la Mode</i>," protested +Daphne.</p> + +<p>"Stuff it with paper. Here's the <i>Bystander</i>."</p> + +<p>"Oh, isn't it a pity? There's such a pretty +picture of——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't bother."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wyburn was gracious to-day, and all +was going well when, about half-past five, a +telegram, reply paid, was brought. It was addressed +to Harry.</p> + +<p>"What shall we do?"</p> + +<p>"Why, keep it till he comes. He'll be back to +dinner," Romer said.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span>"Suppose it's something urgent," said Val, +seeming a little agitated. "Don't you think perhaps +we ought to open it? He won't mind."</p> + +<p>"You can't. It's addressed to Harry," said +Romer.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wyburn's quick eyes took in some signs +of tension, but she continued giving them +advice about the garden. She thought the +flowers too florid, and was always a little shocked +at the extravagant scent and exuberance of the +roses. She seemed to think they should be kept +more in their place—not allowed to climb all +over the house, and romp or lean about the +garden doing just what they liked. She had +winced in the drawing-room, relented in the +dining-room, and refrained, really, only in the +kitchen, that she had insisted upon seeing. It +was the only room to the decoration of which she +gave whole-hearted praise and approval. The +cooking at the Green Gate she admitted to be +perfect, without pretension. In fact, she thought +everything in the house a little overdone, except +the mutton.</p> + +<p>"I can't think who that wire can be from," +Val said several times to Daphne when her +mother-in-law had gone. She meant that she +could think.</p> + +<p>"Well, you'll know directly. Harry's arriving."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span>Harry found it in the hall, and came in +with it.</p> + +<p>"You open it for me," he said, giving it to +Val.</p> + +<p>Since his last instructions to Alec he felt perfectly +safe.</p> + +<p>She read—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<i>Thousand thanks awfully bucked at letter +at Queens' Hotel Cowes for three days could you +join us there wire reply fondest love and kisses.</i></p> + +<p><i>Johnson</i>."</p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> + +<h3>GLADYS</h3> + + +<p>On arriving in London, Vaughan found his +secretary with the usual heaps of letters. +One envelope, addressed in a large and rather +infantine hand, was put aside for him. The +note ran—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="right"> +"The Baldfaced Stag, +Edgware. +</p> + +<p>"Dear Mr. Vaughan,</p> + +<p>"I eard only yesterday that the play you +kindly sent me and mother to was wrote by +you, I call it a shame you didn't tell me before, +we saw the name on the programme, but never +thought it could be the same but yesterday +mother saw a piece in the paper about you in +the weekly dispatch and she said it was the +same, I'm sory I said the people in the play +went on silly I beg pardon for calling the play +silly I wouldnt have done it if Id known, so +hope youre not angry, they seemed to me to go +on silly, but I dont reelly know much about +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span>those kind of ladies and gentlemen, we saw the +piece in the paper only yesterday and mother +said it was the same, we hope you will soon +come again to tea the calf is better believe me +yours truly</p> + +<p class="right"> +"<span class="smcap">Gladis Adelaide Brill</span>."<br /> +</p></div> + +<p>He instantly wrote back—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Dear Miss Brill, +</p> + +<p>"I am <i>so</i> relieved and thankful to hear +the calf is better, all the more because I had no +idea it had been indisposed. I fancied, though, +it was looking a little pale the last time I had +the pleasure of meeting it in the field. Please +don't think again of your criticism. It gave me +very great pleasure. You must think me very +foolish. You could say nothing that I would +not like except to ask me not to come and see +you. I am very busy just now and so have little +time for afternoon calls, but will come one of +these days soon.</p> + +<p class="right"> +"Yours always,<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Gilbert Hereford Vaughan</span>."<br /> +</p></div> + +<p>He waited a moment, and then added—</p> + +<p>"I will turn up to-morrow at four. Try not +to forget me till then."</p> + +<p>For the rest of the day he was in high spirits. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span>The letter seemed to keep him up through the +various little bothers of the day. He had been +going to France for the summer. He admitted +to himself that this semi-flirtation was keeping +him in England. He didn't like the idea of +going away very long from the possibility of +turning up at the "Bald-faced Stag."</p> + +<p>The explanation Harry gave about Johnson's +telegram satisfied Valentia for the time, as he +declined the invitation to Cowes, but the incident +left an uneasy feeling in Val's mind. She could +not bear to own to herself that he was deceiving +her, and he hadn't the courage to give it away +yet, not that he cared so very much about hurting +her, but he was happier at the Green Gate +than anywhere else. He liked the house, the +atmosphere, and Romer; but what kept him +most was, of course, that curious charm Valentia +had for him, which was perhaps stronger than +ever because he knew that the end was not far +off. He often thought he was a fool not to have +taken the opportunity to break it off on this +occasion. He couldn't stand the idea of not seeing +her, just because of the way her hair grew on her +forehead! So low, and in such thick waves! Alec +Walmer's hair, also fair, was thin and unmeaning. +She had a low forehead, and yet the hair +began high up. In the evening when it was +carefully arranged, and the iron had entered +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span>into it, it looked like a stiff transformation, +even worse than when left to nature.</p> + +<p>But of course, in spite of the reconciliation, a +residue of mistrust remained, and on his side a +sensation of restlessness which left him irritable; +less amiable and pleasant than usual.</p> + +<p>They were sitting on the little terrace. He was +smoking and reading the paper. He suddenly +threw it down and said—</p> + +<p>"How quiet you are, Val! Why don't you +talk?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think I've got anything to say."</p> + +<p>"You seem depressed," he said, rather +aggressively.</p> + +<p>"I feel a little depressed."</p> + +<p>Harry gave expression to the usual injustice +of the unfaithful.</p> + +<p>"What a mistake women make in being +gloomy! How foolish it is. Shall I tell you the +key of the whole situation between men and +women?"</p> + +<p>"Do."</p> + +<p>"Well, dear, it's just—a <i>smile</i>. Never be dull, +never be ill, never be depressed. Be gay—always +gay. That's what men like—that's the one +thing that they go out for and come in for—a +smile."</p> + +<p>"Your ideal of a woman seems to be a Cheshire +cat," she answered, looking rather amused. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span>"Your motto is, like the man in <i>The Arcadians</i>: +Always Merry and Bright. Well, I'm sure there's +a good deal in it. But I'm not usually accused of +being a dreary person."</p> + +<p>"Of course you're not; you're charming, +lively, amusing, sympathetic. That's your great +attraction, Val. But the last few days you seem +rather to have lost it."</p> + +<p>"You can hardly resent my feeling a little +down, Harry. One or two little things that have +happened lately have made me anxious."</p> + +<p>"Never be anxious. You ought to trust, trust—always +trust."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's all very well! That wire...."</p> + +<p>"Are we going to have that all over again? I +thought I'd explained." He assumed the air of +a patient martyr.</p> + +<p>"I know you <i>explained</i> all right. Well, I won't +think about it any more. Don't be horrid, Harry.... +Have you seen this week's <i>Punch</i>? There's +something in it simply <i>too</i> heavenly—such a +joke! Let me read it to you."</p> + +<p>"It's very sweet of you—but do you ever +realise——I wonder if it's ever struck you, Val, +that men aren't always in the mood for heavenly +jokes? There are times when one likes to think—to +see life as it is—to discuss abstract things, +even."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span>"Oh! Well ... what do you think of Daphne's +dress? Isn't it pretty? It was made by Ogburn, all +out of nothing, in no time."</p> + +<p>He looked at Daphne, who was sitting under +a tree reading Cyril's last letter over again.</p> + +<p>"It's all right. It suits <i>her</i>. I don't call <i>that</i> a +serious subject."</p> + +<p>"What subject would you like, then?"</p> + +<p>"Well—Romer, for instance. Where is he?"</p> + +<p>"Talking to the gardener about mowing. Do +you want him? I'll call him if you like."</p> + +<p>"Dear Val, it's not quite like you to be ironical +to <i>me</i>.... You ought not to laugh at Romer +either. I'm complex, perhaps—I know I am; but +it jars on me when you do that."</p> + +<p>She stared at him.</p> + +<p>"Look here—I know I'm tiresome," said +Harry, returning to his usual caressing manner. +"Don't take any notice of it. It's—the weather, +I think, or want of exercise. I'll go and improvise +a little."</p> + +<p>He pushed back his chair, and, with a parting +look of forgiveness, he went into the house and +began to improvise (rather dismally) a well-known +funeral march. Or perhaps it was only a +coincidence. Perhaps he would have thought of +it if Chopin hadn't.</p> + +<p>Harry was only musical by fits and starts, and +generally either to impress some one or because +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span>he was out of temper. Val never regarded it as +a good sign when he grappled with the Steinway.</p> + +<p>In ten minutes he had grown tired of his +mood of melody, and strolled into the rose garden +with a book.</p> + +<p>Yes, certainly Harry was restless.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX</h2> + +<h3>THE ANGLES</h3> + + +<p>"You're very quiet, Val," remarked Daphne, +as they flew along in the motor on their +way to call on the Prebendary's wife at The +Angles.</p> + +<p>Both sisters wore little cottage bonnets, blue +motor-veils, and large loose white coats with +high collars.</p> + +<p>"How can I talk when we're exceeding the +speed limit?" said Valentia.</p> + +<p>"You usually do. Is anything the matter?"</p> + +<p>"No, nothing at all.... Harry's been horrid +lately."</p> + +<p>"I suppose he <i>is</i> occasionally."</p> + +<p>"No, he's not. He's got the artistic temperament, +and of course he can't always be the same, +poor dear."</p> + +<p>"What a pity one can't be an artist without +having the artistic temperament! It always +seems to mean being late for meals, and losing +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span>your temper, or being amusing when every one +wants to go to bed."</p> + +<p>"As a matter of fact," said Valentia, "I never +knew any one with less of it than Harry. There +isn't a more hard-headed business man in the +world in his way, though he <i>has</i> read poetry and +plays the piano sometimes, and paints. He is an +artist too ... but—well, not in any of the +recognised arts.... I hear Miss Luscombe and +Rathbone—I mean Mr. and Mrs. Rathbone—have +gone to Oberammergau for their honeymoon."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Is that the latest thing to do?"</p> + +<p>"Of course not, Daphne, but she thinks it is. +Miss Luscombe has spent her life in trying to +catch the last omnibus and always just missing it, +and she's not going to leave off now just because +she happens to be married. Here we are!"</p> + +<p>The Prebendary's wife received them very +graciously. Her waist looked longer than ever, +and her skirt seemed more than usually abnormal +in width. She did all that she could to +entertain them. She showed them her son +Garstin's map of Buckinghamshire, and then +said—</p> + +<p>"I'll send for Mr. Stoendyck. He's upstairs +inventing. You can't <i>think</i> how clever he is and +how hard he works. It's really wonderful! We +often leave him alone for hours to think things +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span>out, and sometimes he plays sonatas; he says it refreshes +him. He really is an extraordinary man."</p> + +<p>Mr. Stoendyck came in, looking very martial +and scientific and pleased with himself, as though +he had just invented gunpowder. Mrs. Campbell +began as usual to talk baby language, and play a +kind of Dumb Crambo at him. He never seemed +able to guess the word.</p> + +<p>"I hope we haven't interrupted you in your +studies," said Val politely.</p> + +<p>"She say she ope she not interrupt. Work, you +know. Oeuvre—Arbeit."</p> + +<p>"I was just amusing myself with the very +witty paper from Germany, <i>Kladderadatsch</i>. It +is very funny," he said.</p> + +<p>"It sounds funny," said Val sympathetically.</p> + +<p>"What I find in England is that you're all +wonderfully serious, wonderfully courteous, +wonderfully kind"—he bowed to his hostess; +"but, you'll excuse my saying so, I don't find +enough wit or lightness for my temperament. +For humour I have to go to Belgium or +Germany."</p> + +<p>He spoke with intense solemnity.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Campbell now began to translate him +even to himself.</p> + +<p>"You say you like fun, wit—just fun to make +laugh?" She made strange signs with her +fingers.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span>He did not appear to understand the code. +He stared at her with a frown, and rasped on +seriously—</p> + +<p>"I find a few comical jokes occasionally a +great relief after my heavy work. It is very deep +work."</p> + +<p>"I suppose it would be indiscreet to ask what +the invention is?" said Valentia, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Not at all. There is nothing indiscreet whatever +in your curiosity, Mrs. Wyburn."</p> + +<p>He took a scone covered with butter and +swallowed it in an extraordinarily short time, +and in an ingenious manner.</p> + +<p>"No, there's no indiscretion in the matter at +all. Do not trouble yourself on that score. It is +merely the natural interest that a cultivated +and intellectual English lady would naturally +take when she hears of an extraordinary invention +from another country." He bowed, and +having thus explained her to herself, he then +ate another scone.</p> + +<p>"She say she want to know, you know," +nodded Mrs. Campbell, putting up a playful +and threatening finger with dignified coquetry +and a stony smile. (She was subject to fits of +this kind of marble archness unexpectedly.)</p> + +<p>"Yes. So I understood."</p> + +<p>The Belgian was looking at Daphne with +distinct admiration. Of course Miss Campbell +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span>came and sat down beside him. Women always +follow their instinct to come and sit on the other +side of any man whom they regard as their +property. They seem to think that merely by +sitting on the other side they protect him from +freebooters. As a matter of fact, it would be +more sensible, if to distract his attention were +the object, to sit opposite with some one else.</p> + +<p>Mr. Stoendyck turned his back on her completely, +and said to Daphne—</p> + +<p>"Very charming, those motor-veils, and the +whole costume. At the same time, while being +thoroughly practical and sensible, it is, if I may +say so, extremely becoming."</p> + +<p>He bowed with a condescending air, and went +on—</p> + +<p>"The English young girl—at least, such +specimens as I have seen in the neighbourhood, +especially in the country—seems to me a wonderfully +beautiful object. In Belgium we are +getting on, but we have not reached, as yet, +the point of freedom combined with modesty +that you constantly see over here. Particularly, +as I say, in rural districts."</p> + +<p>He then made what can only be described, +vulgarly, as a distinct 'eye.'</p> + +<p>Both the Campbells looked uneasy.</p> + +<p>"The Prebendary will be in soon," said Mrs. +Campbell. "He promised faithfully to come +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span>back to tea to-day. He also is a very busy man. +He come in soon," she spoke reassuringly.</p> + +<p>Daphne was suddenly taken with a <i>fou rire</i> +and began to laugh helplessly. Val, seeing her +condition, and knowing that when she once +started there was no hope but in immediate +flight, took leave.</p> + +<p>They were cordially asked to come again by +Mrs. Campbell. But Mr. Stoendyck invited them +to lunch, and wanted to fix a day and hour. Mrs. +Campbell, however, declined his invitation for +them. Mrs. Wyburn, she said, must have a +great many engagements.</p> + +<p>They left Stoendyck standing in the hall, +looking sentimental.</p> + +<p>"All foreigners not of the Latin race go on +like that," said Val, as they drove back. "They +may be scientific, or soldiers, philosophers, or +musicians, but if they're Germans or Belgians +or Austrians, or anything of that sort, they +always get bowled over by a young girl, a blue +ribbon, plumpness, or fair hair."</p> + +<p>"But I'm very thin and dark," said Daphne +angrily.</p> + +<p>"I don't care if you are. You're a pretty girl, +you're unmarried, you've got blue chiffon round +your head—and there it is.... I don't mean +Prussian officers, of course."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span>"<i>They</i> would appreciate <i>you</i>, I suppose you +mean!"</p> + +<p>"One can't say. They'd probably take on anything."</p> + +<p>Valentia took out the little looking-glass from +her motor-bag, looked at it, put it back, and +added—</p> + +<p>"Anything possible, I mean."</p> + +<p>"Go on, Val."</p> + +<p>"Go on how?"</p> + +<p>"Telling me things. You're so interesting, +you know such a lot. Now, about the Latin +races—wouldn't they like—er—me?"</p> + +<p>"Of course they would. But they'd like you +better if you were married to Cyril or any one. +Frenchmen and Italians always want their love-making +or flirtations to have something in it +of the nature of a <i>score</i>. They love scoring off a +third person, whoever it may be,—whether it's +their friend's wife, or their wife's friend, or +anything."</p> + +<p>"They're not sincere, then?"</p> + +<p>"Don't be silly. If they weren't sincere, why +are there nothing but unwritten-law crimes all +over France and Italy? And why do Parisians +think and talk of ... nothing else! They're +<i>sincere</i> all right: it's their hobby. Italians, of +course, are more jealous and faithful, and +Parisians are frightfully vain—there's a good +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span>deal of a sort of snobbism about it. They love to +show off. That's why they're so keen on dress."</p> + +<p>"Do you think," said Daphne, with sudden +anxiety, "that if you don't dress to perfection +you can't keep a man's love? I <i>do</i> hope not! I +mean because when I'm married to Cyril I +shan't be able to afford to wear anything at all, +except a clean blouse which I shall have to +iron out myself, like in <i>Hearth and Home</i>."</p> + +<p>Valentia shook her head.</p> + +<p>"Dressing to perfection doesn't make men +love you, silly. It only makes women hate you. +And I never have yet seen the advantage of that."</p> + +<p>"Oh, then, do Parisians want other women to +hate you?" asked Daphne. Her sister hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Sometimes. Very often they don't. They +want you to be admired by other people, whoever +they are, men or women. But in Paris dress +counts in a different sort of way—it means more—it +stands for more. Oh, don't bother!"</p> + +<p>"Well, give me a straightforward Englishman!" +exclaimed Daphne.</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed!" replied Val. "That Belgian +Herr, anyhow, doesn't count. I can't think why +Mrs. Preb. and Miss Campbell are so much in +love with him."</p> + +<p>"Isn't it funny? Why do you think it is, Val?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it's because he's a man. You see, +they're accustomed to curates."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI</h2> + +<h3>AT EDGWARE</h3> + + +<p>Miss Brill had twisted up her hair and +put on her Sunday dress to receive +Vaughan.</p> + +<p>To harmonise with the <a class="ins" href="#tnote_9" name="tAnchor_9" title="Dicken's">Dickens's</a> garden it +ought to have been white muslin with flounces +and a pink sash. But it was a quite long, dark +blue Liberty satin, made by a smart dressmaker +in the Finchley Road. It had a high collar, an +Empire waist, and gathers.</p> + +<p>Her mother was delighted with it. Gladys +had not been quite satisfied herself, and had +tried to tie it in round the ankles with concealed +string, to make it look more like a nobble skirt, +as she called it.</p> + +<p>Her almost too abundant hair had been piled +over a pad, which gave her the appearance of +having a swollen head. Yet even so she looked +lovely, rather like an old-fashioned picture in +the Academy of <i>I'se Gan'ma</i>, or something of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span>the kind, suggesting a baby disguised as a +grown-up-person.</p> + +<p>Vaughan went through the usual ritual of +asking after Mrs. Brill—he rather hurried Mr. +Brill over his remark about the finest woman +one would see in a day's march—then admired +the weather, ordered tea, and asked for Miss Brill.</p> + +<p>Gladys came and sat down with a rather shy, +self-conscious air.</p> + +<p>She soon lost it, however, and began to get +natural again.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Vaughan! I <i>never</i> was more surprised +than I was at that piece in the paper! And +mother come over quite queer, she was so +surprised. You were kind in your letter to forgive +me for being rude. Who'd ever have +thought you was clever?"</p> + +<p>"Who, indeed! But, Gladys, why this get-up? +Why are you dressed up in satin and dark colours +on a summer day?"</p> + +<p>"Why, mother said a nice navy blue was +always useful. I'd rather have had a Cambridge +blue myself. Mother says navy blue's so ladylike. +Don't you like it?"</p> + +<p>"Charming. But I don't like what you've done +to your hair."</p> + +<p>"Don't you, though? Fancy! Well, I don't +seem to care much for it myself. It's a Pompadour, +you know—a pad."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span>"Take it off," said Vaughan.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I can't!"</p> + +<p>"All right, <i>I</i> will. Come in the field."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't mind if you do. I'll say I took +my hair down because it was heavy."</p> + +<p>"You've tried to spoil yourself, but you +haven't succeeded. Why did you do it, Gladys?"</p> + +<p>"Seeing you was clever, I thought pr'aps I'd +better try to look more grown-up."</p> + +<p>"Ah! what a mistake! Your great charm is +that you're such a regular J.F."</p> + +<p>"What's that?"</p> + +<p>"A <i>jeune fille</i>."</p> + +<p>"What does that mean? What's a J.F. in +English?"</p> + +<p>"A jolly flapper."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>In the field Vaughan, with several interruptions +and reproaches for being a caution, +managed to take the pad off her head and to +throw it in the field. But an unfortunate thing +happened. All the corn-coloured hair fell down +over his face and he had kissed her—by accident—before +he knew it.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say! You are a caution!" was her only +remark. But she did not laugh, and as she hastily +did a little amateur coiffing, he thought she +looked slightly annoyed. At any rate, she hadn't +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span>much more to say to him, and he went back to +London almost immediately, feeling quite absurdly +agitated about such an unimportant trifle.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>An hour later, when quietly at home in his +study, Vaughan was suddenly seized by that +species of madness that has been known to wreck +careers, "to launch a thousand ships," to cause +all kinds of chaos. It was that terrible +<i>once-on-board-the-lugger-and-the-girl-is-mine-I-must-and-shall-possess-her</i> +feeling in its most acute +form. Most men have known it at some time in +their lives. He thought of Harry de Freyne, and +felt noble and superior in contrast to what <i>his</i> +conduct would have been, as he sat down and +wrote with intense pleasure—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +"Darling Gladys, +</p> + +<p>"I love you. Will you marry me? Please +try. I'm writing to your father. Don't keep me +waiting long for the answer.</p> + +<p class="sgntr noind"> + "Yours for always,<br /> +<span class="smcap">"Gillie</span>." +</p></div> + +<p>He then wrote a long and sensible letter to +Mr. Brill; all business, respect, and urgency, +saying he knew that Gladys was very young, but +that he would make her happy, and so forth.</p> + +<p>These two letters he sent off by express messenger +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span>in a taxicab to the "Bald-faced Stag," +and then sat down to dinner.</p> + +<p>What a dinner! And what an evening he +spent! He planned a long journey—what fun to +show the child new places and things! Why +shouldn't he marry the charming, refined, and +beautiful daughter of an hotel-keeper? He +decided even on alterations in the house, and +he meant to be ecstatically happy.</p> + +<p>What did he care for people? He had never +lived either to <i>épater</i> the <i>bourgeois</i> or to satisfy +the ideal of the gentleman next door. He was +going to do something <i>he</i> liked!...</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>He woke up the next morning at six o'clock +with a ghastly chilly horror on him. What had +he done? Had he been mad? To marry Miss Brill, +the daughter of the landlord of a little suburban +public-house! A girl of sixteen, pretty enough +certainly, but with no pretensions to being a +lady, no possibility of having anything in common +with him. But it wasn't so much the +question of what people would say—of course, +most of the women he knew would drop him, +and the men would laugh at him and make love +to her—but, how long would it last? How long +would this strange mania endure? Perhaps not +a week. The poor child would have an awful +time, too. She was much happier as she was.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span>Well! He was a sportsman, and had taken +the risk. He must wait now. At the back of his +mind he was wondering how he could get out +of it.</p> + +<p>He had not to wait long. His letters were +answered by the first post. Evidently, the "Bald-faced +Stag" had been kept up late that night to +reply in time.</p> + +<p>Gladys wrote very respectfully that she was +very sorry she hadn't told him before, but she +was privately engaged to the son of the landlord +of the Green Man at Stanmore: the Eldest +Son, she wrote with pride (as though he would +inherit the title). She was awfully sorry. Besides, +she was going to be a manicure, first, for two +years, and then settle down at Stanmore. Her +fiancé was twenty-one. She hoped Mr. Vaughan +would come over to tea very soon, and she +thought his letter was very kind, and remained +his truly, Gladys Brill.</p> + +<p>Mr. Brill had written a long and slightly +rambling letter which suggested rough copies +and even some assistance from the old vintages +of the "Bald-faced Stag." He refused most firmly, +though thoroughly sensible of the honour done +him by Mr. Vaughan's offer, but he couldn't go +back on his word to his friend at the Green +Man. The arrangement had been made, when +Gladys and the son were in their cradles, by +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span>him and his pal of the Green Man and he +couldn't go back on his word. And Gladys liked +the young chap; and it was a great honour, +indeed, that Mr. Vaughan had done them, and +it would have been splendid for Gladys in the +worldly sense. But there! it was better, perhaps, +not to mix up Stations. Mr. Brill repeated this +sentiment over and over again, always using +a capital S for station—(as though Vaughan had +expressed an insane desire to confuse Victoria +with the Great Western). And he remained very +respectfully, Tom Brill.</p> + +<p>"A manicure in Bond Street and then the +landlady of a common country inn! Never! She +shan't! I'll go down and persuade her. I'll make +them come round."</p> + +<p>Vaughan was so hurt and disappointed that +he felt he could never smile again.</p> + +<p>But he did.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII</h2> + +<h3>TENSION</h3> + + +<p>When the sisters came back from their +drive Harry was sitting on the little +marble terrace reading <i>Count Florio and Phillis +K.</i> and smoking cigarettes. With almost conjugal +unfairness he complained that Valentia +always went out just before he arrived. In fact, +he had begged her to get the visit over that +afternoon, as he intended to be late.</p> + +<p>Valentia sat down and began a lively account +of "The Angles," but he implored her not to +describe those awful people at home, and particularly +not to tell him anything about that +poisonous Belgian. Then he told Val that blue +didn't suit her, and, when she agreed with him, +petulantly complained that she had no ideas of +her own.</p> + +<p>"But I had an idea of my own; only now you +say it's wrong."</p> + +<p>"So it is. But, even if it is wrong, you should +stick to it. You should have more individuality."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span>"What an awful word," she said.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter with the word?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing. It's so long."</p> + +<p>"You're talking nonsense, Valentia."</p> + +<p>"Well, why shouldn't I talk nonsense? I'm +sure I've heard you say there's nothing so depressing +as a woman with no nonsense about +her."</p> + +<p>"I know. But there needn't be nothing else."</p> + +<p>"Harry, are you trying to quarrel? If so I'd +better go away."</p> + +<p>"Oh, all right! Very well! Do as you like," +said Harry. "It seems a curious way to treat a +guest: to go out when you expect him, and then +the moment you come in to make an excuse to +leave him alone again. But please yourself!"</p> + +<p>He took up his book and turned away.</p> + +<p>Valentia went into the house, to her room, +and sat down opposite the looking-glass with a +sigh. It was at moments like these that she +sometimes thought, with a slight reaction, of +Romer. Romer was never capricious, never +irritable, never trying. It was true that he rarely +answered her except in monosyllables, but yet +she knew that he delighted in and tacitly encouraged +her fluency. He did not respond to +every idea she expressed as Harry did (when +Harry was in a good temper), but she knew she +had no better audience. His extreme quietness +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span>might be admitted, occasionally, to cast a slight +gloom, but negatively what enormous advantages +his silence had! Romer never scolded, +never laid down the law; never thought it +necessary to give her long, minute, detailed +accounts of his impressions of art, or life, or +literature; never insisted on pointing out, as if +it were a matter of life and death, precisely +where he differed in his opinions of a book, a +play, or an incident, from the criticisms in the +daily papers. Nor did he refer to some annoying +past incident half a dozen times a day as a +sealed subject. He had other qualities. He could +take tickets, he could sign cheques (and even +seemed to like doing it). He could see about +things. He wasn't selfish. Yes, Valentia thought, +when she saw Harry at his worst, that perhaps +she didn't really quite appreciate her husband. +How irritating Harry would have been in that +capacity!</p> + +<p>Daphne came in, and Valentia went on, as +usual, with her thoughts aloud.</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't Harry be a maddening husband?" +she said as she brushed out her hair.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Would he? In what way?"</p> + +<p>"He'd be so selfish, so obtrusive—he'd always +want you to do exactly what he liked, just when +he liked, and never when he didn't, or when +you liked, I mean."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span>"How could he like you to do what he liked +when he didn't like? That would be expecting +too much. I don't see what you mean, Val."</p> + +<p>"I only mean that when he's in a bad temper +Harry's tiresome, and if he were married he'd +be in one oftener."</p> + +<p>"Oh dear! Are most men bad-tempered when +they're married, Val?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Nearly always."</p> + +<p>"<i>What?</i> Then, will Cyril ..."</p> + +<p>"Cyril's a pleasant, easy-going boy, but, as +you won't have enough money, he's sure to be +bad-tempered at times."</p> + +<p>"Then aren't married men bad-tempered +when they have plenty of money, Val?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, if they have a great deal they're awfully +bad-tempered, too; because, you see, then they +lose it, or if they don't do that they're always +trying to enjoy themselves with it and finding +the enjoyment flat, and then they blame their +wives. Besides, anyhow, having enough money +leads to all sorts of complications."</p> + +<p>"Oh dear! Then what do you advise?" +Daphne hung on Valentia's words, respecting +her superior knowledge and experience.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I advise enough, anyhow. It can't make +you happy, but it can avoid certain troubles. +Love in a cottage is only all right for the week-end +when you have a nice house in London as +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span>well, and a season ticket or a motor, and electric +light and things, and a telephone. Oh, by the +way, our telephone here is eating its head off. +We never use it. Go and ring up to the grocer, +not to forget to send the things, will you, dear? +He's got a telephone, too—the only tradesman +in the village who has."</p> + +<p>"What things isn't he to forget to send?"</p> + +<p>"How should I know?—the usual things. He +never does forget, but it looks well to remind +him, and the 'phone needs exercise."</p> + +<p>"All right. But before I go, Val—suppose you +can't have the sort of love-in-a-cottage you +mean, and there's no fear of your being so rich +that it makes you miserable, what is the best +thing to do?"</p> + +<p>"Why, I suppose the old business in the old +novels, a competence with the man of your heart, +would do all right."</p> + +<p>Daphne looked pleased.</p> + +<p>"For six months, anyhow. Or a year or two, +perhaps," Val added.</p> + +<p>"Oh dear!" cried Daphne again, as she left +the room.</p> + +<p>"Poor pet," Val murmured to herself. "I hope +I'm not teaching her to be cynical."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII</h2> + +<h3>GOOD-BYE</h3> + + +<p>The only person in the family who did not +thoroughly approve of Gladys's decision +was her mother. Mrs. Brill thought it sheer +madness to decline proposals of a 'gentleman +from the West End,' as she called him; so clever +and so rich, so handsome and so much in love. +She was romantic and yet worldly in her views, +and was much excited at the idea of the rivalry +for her daughter. There were bitter scenes +between Mr. and Mrs. Brill on the subject. Mr. +Brill was not romantic nor worldly, but he was +very sentimental, and he didn't hold with breaking +his word to the Green Man, nor indeed with +that mixing up of Stations to which he had +already alluded.</p> + +<p>Between the opposing views of her parents +Gladys became somewhat bewildered. She liked +the son of the Green Man (he was in reality +only a green boy, but good-looking, and she +had always known him), and she wished to be +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span>loyal to him. Yet her mother's remarks about +Mr. Vaughan began to appeal to her imagination, +such as it was. She was rather dazzled and +began to weaken. She was at the age when one +can really be in love with anybody, and she was +flattered. Though she felt she would feel more +at home with her childhood's friend, she began, +very slightly, to look down upon him when she +compared him with Gillie.</p> + +<p>Vaughan came down the day after he had received +her letter, and behaved precisely as usual.</p> + +<p>Mr. Brill, meeting him with a rather shamefaced +air in the garden, said straightforwardly—</p> + +<p>"Very pleased indeed to see you, Mr. +Vaughan. You got my letter, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed. To my sorrow. I want to talk +to you about it."</p> + +<p>"Well, I was sorry to write it, sir, if you take +my meaning. But there! Well, Mrs. Brill 'as expressed +a wish for a few words with you, if you +wouldn't mind."</p> + +<p>"I shall be delighted, of course. But—may I +see Gladys?"</p> + +<p>"Why, yes, sir. Tea and bread and butter? +The usual thing?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, please. As usual." Mr. Brill lingered.</p> + +<p>"Ave some watercress with it, sir," he added +sympathetically, "or we've got some very nice +little radishes. Ow about them?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span>Vaughan nearly laughed.</p> + +<p>"No, thank you! I'm afraid they wouldn't be +any use to me, Mr. Brill."</p> + +<p>"Ha, ha! You will have your joke!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Brill went in and told his wife that Mr. +Vaughan was "sitting there looking that miserable +it was enough to make one's heart ache."</p> + +<p>With this satisfactory intelligence he sent +Gladys into the garden.</p> + +<p>She was all blushes and shyness. Her hair had +gone back into the long plait, and she wore her +schoolgirl dress again.</p> + +<p>"You're too proud, Gladys!" he said reproachfully. +"Why did you never tell me of your +engagement?"</p> + +<p>"Why, I didn't ardly count it to interest you, +Mr. Vaughan. Besides, it's not to be for two +years."</p> + +<p>"Are you in love with him?"</p> + +<p>"Why, what a question! I <i>like</i> him. He's a +nice boy."</p> + +<p>"I suppose he's very much in love with you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he's all right."</p> + +<p>"That was a very cruel letter you wrote me, +Gladys."</p> + +<p>"I was afraid you'd think it rude," she answered +apologetically.</p> + +<p>"No, dear. It isn't rude to refuse a proposal. +You can't accept them all, can you?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span>"You've made a wretched tea, Mr. Vaughan. +Is there anything else you'd like?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I want to go in the field again, like the +day before yesterday."</p> + +<p>"Was it only the day before yesterday? So it +was. A lot seems to ave appened since. Well, +come along."</p> + +<p>She looked such an absolute child as she +climbed the gate that Gillie felt almost ashamed +of his proposal, and thought that probably her +father was quite right.... But her face was so +exactly like Sir Joshua Reynolds' angels' heads, +she might have sat for them. She was too absurdly +pretty. And sweet, too, he thought. She had +no vulgar pretensions, she was simple. She only +wanted a little polish. He could teach her everything +necessary. No task could have been more +congenial....</p> + +<p>"So you think I'm too old for you. Is that it?"</p> + +<p>"No, it isn't. It isn't that. It's what father +told you."</p> + +<p>"Would you hate to go for a long journey +with me, to see other places, other countries?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no; I'd like it. We went to Clacton last +summer. It <i>was</i> fun."</p> + +<p>He thought a little.</p> + +<p>"Gladys, as you're so young, won't you leave +the whole thing in abeyance for a time?"</p> + +<p>"In what, did you say?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span>"Undecided. Let me come and talk to you +about it in six months. The only thing I can't +bear you to do is to be a manicure. I'm going +to speak to your mother about it. I can't stand it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, why, Mr. Vaughan? I should have +thought it was nice for me to sort of better +myself."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense. Far better stay here. Well, will +you agree to that?"</p> + +<p>"To give up the manicuring and to leave the +engagement open like? Is that what you mean?"</p> + +<p>"That's the idea."</p> + +<p>She thought a minute.</p> + +<p>"I really don't see how I can. And—my boy +would feel it something cruel if I put him off +like that."</p> + +<p>"When do you see him?" he asked jealously.</p> + +<p>"Why, on Sundays. Only on Sundays."</p> + +<p>"Ah, that's why I've never seen him. I +wondered why I'd never met my hated rival."</p> + +<p>She laughed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, now, you're going on silly, like the +people in the play!... I don't believe you alf +mean it."</p> + +<p>"Don't you believe I love you?"</p> + +<p>"How can you? You don't ardly know me, +except as a friend."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you why I love you if you like, +dearest."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span>"Well, why?" She spoke with girlish curiosity.</p> + +<p>"Because you're lovely, and lovable, and +sweet. Because you're a darling."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say!"</p> + +<p>"Doesn't your boy, as you call him, say these +things to <a class="ins" href="#tnote_10" name="tAnchor_10" title="you?'">you?"</a></p> + +<p>"Not like that. I only see him on Sundays."</p> + +<p>"And does he kiss you on Sundays?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes."</p> + +<p>Vaughan got up.</p> + +<p>"All right, I won't worry you any more.... +I'll let you be happy in your own way, dear.... +I must go now."</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>must</i> you?"</p> + +<p>She seemed very disappointed.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'm going to France."</p> + +<p>"What, to-day?"</p> + +<p>"No, next week."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I am sorry."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, dear."</p> + +<p>He went in and bid adieu to Mr. and Mrs. +Brill and the "Bald-faced Stag" for ever. He said +to her father that he was resigned.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>As soon as he had gone, Gladys went upstairs +to her room, looked in the glass, then burst out +crying.</p> + +<p>She had fallen in love with Gillie.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV</h2> + +<h3>ROMER OVERHEARS</h3> + + +<p>Romer started to go by himself for a five-mile +walk, leaving Daphne, Valentia and +Harry in the garden, but a nail in his boot hurt +so much that, after the first half-mile, Romer +decided he couldn't stand it any longer, and +would walk back, go quietly in, and then surprise +them by coming to tea in the garden.</p> + +<p>He was gone a very short time, but he +hastened his steps, looking forward immensely +to the removal of the boot, and also to seeing +Valentia again.</p> + +<p>Lately he had been more than ever devoted +to her. Ever since they had been at the Green +Gate she had been specially gentle and charming—but +not nearly so lively as usual. Sometimes +she looked quite anxious and preoccupied. +He thought, too, that she was +occasionally irritable; which was unlike her—and +her spirits varied continually.</p> + +<p>He asked her one day what was the matter, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span>and she assured him that there was nothing, so +he believed her. But he was always thinking +about her, trying to find some means to please +her. He was dissatisfied about her.</p> + +<p>He came back, went into his room, and his +spirits incalculably raised by the cessation of the +torture, he went and sat by the window, and +looked out at the lovely garden.</p> + +<p>It was a hot summer day; a little wind was in +the trees.</p> + +<p>Exactly under the window, on the little +verandah, sat Harry with Valentia. Daphne was +no longer there.</p> + +<p>They were talking; and talking, it seemed to +him, in an agitated way.</p> + +<p>Leaning a little over he could see Valentia on +a bamboo chair. To his horror he saw that she +was crying.</p> + +<p>Harry, speaking in a suppressed but rather +angry voice, appeared to be trying to comfort her.</p> + +<p>Without a second's hesitation or a moment's +scruple, Romer intently listened. He did not hide +or draw behind the curtain. He remained in full +view, in the window, so that they could see him +easily if they happened to look up. But they did +not; they were far too much preoccupied.... He +heard Harry speaking volubly, saying, in a tone +of irritated apology and explanation—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span>"My dear girl, I do wish to heaven you +wouldn't take it like that. I haven't changed—I +never shall. I don't care two straws about Miss +Walmer. But really, it is such a splendid chance +for me! You ought no more to expect me to give +it up than any other good business opportunity +that might crop up."</p> + +<p>"I should never see you again," she answered, +her voice broken by sobs.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you would. We should be the same as +ever. You know we can't do without each other. +You're part of my life."</p> + +<p>He spoke casually, but with irritation, as if +mentioning a self-evident fact.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, you say that," she answered sadly. +"But nothing could alter the fact that you wish +to be treacherous, and throw me over—and just +for money! It's simply degrading. It's all nonsense +to say it will be just the same!"</p> + +<p>"Well, of course—for a time—immediately +after the marriage—it couldn't be; but it would +gradually drift into very much the same."</p> + +<p>"It wouldn't, even if it could, because I +should never see you again," she repeated.</p> + +<p>Harry stood up with his hands in his pockets, +his shoulders raised.</p> + +<p>Romer could see his face quite plainly, and +wondered at its hard, selfish, almost cruel expression.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span>"Well, if you won't you won't," he said. +"How can I waste all my life dangling after a +woman who is married to somebody else? I +should be only too delighted—if I could afford +it. But I can't, and that's the brutal truth. And +then, you know, there has been a little talk. +That mother-in-law of yours has been gossiping +about us. Some day, Romer's bound to get +hold of it, and then where shall we be? Don't +you see, dear," he went on more gently, "this +will stop all that? Wouldn't it be better for me +to be married—just in this official sort of way—to +remain in England, and be able to see you +just the same as ever—very soon—than to go +out to the colonies or somewhere, and never +see you again at all? There's no doubt I've got +to do something. I'm in a frightful hole. Seven +thousand a year—a place in the country—and a +decent sort of girl, dropped down on me, as it +were, from heaven! I hadn't the slightest idea +of such luck—and hadn't any pretensions to it. +But the girl has taken a liking to me, and her +mother wants to get her married. It's ugly—unromantic—but +there are the facts. If you +cared for me really, I shouldn't think you would +want to stand in my way."</p> + +<p>"Very well, do it, then," she said, drying her +eyes. "If you can speak in this heartless way it +shows you are very different from what I believed +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span>you. But it will kill me; I shall never get +over it."</p> + +<p>She was rushing away when Harry caught her +hand and stopped her.</p> + +<p>"Listen," he said, in an impressive voice. "Go +to your room, bathe your eyes, and calm yourself +down. Make no more scenes, for heaven's +sake, and we'll see what can be done."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Harry, really—<i>is</i> there any hope? Or +are you deceiving me again?"</p> + +<p>"I've almost agreed to it, you know," he said. +"Still, there's not what one could call an actual +engagement yet. At any rate, it might be delayed. +I'll see; I'll think—really if I weren't so +hard up I wouldn't do it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Harry!" A gleam of joy came into her +eyes, and she clasped her hands.</p> + +<p>"Then you won't worry me any more about +it for the next few days?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I promise;" and smiling sweetly through her +tears she left him, going into the house. Her +room, on the same floor as Romer's, was at the +other end of the corridor, so she did not even +pass his door, and had not the slightest idea +that he was at home.</p> + +<p>He was still at the window, looking out apparently +at the garden.</p> + +<p>Harry gave an impatient sigh, lit a cigarette +and strolled off through the garden.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span>It had been about three o'clock when Romer +had come in and sat down by the window. He +was still there in precisely the same position at +seven, when his valet brought his hot water.</p> + +<p>But Romer could not dress and go down to +dinner. He could not see them till he had made +up his mind what to do. He always thought +slowly, and now he was acutely anxious to make +no mistake. He felt that by the slightest wrong +move he might lose Valentia altogether. That, +at least, was his instinctive dread. He sent Valentia +a message that he had to go up to London +to see his mother, and would be back the next +day. He arranged that she did not get the message +till he was driving to the station—just +before dinner.</p> + +<p>He went up to London and stayed at an +hotel, but did not go to his mother's, and +thought nearly all night till he had made a +resolution. Then he slept till nine o'clock, feeling +much happier. He remembered clearly that +Harry was coming to town and going to the +studio on this day, as he often did. He calculated +that he would be likely to arrive by the +quick early morning train, and was standing +waiting at the door of the studio at twelve +o'clock when Harry drove up, looking intensely +surprised, with hand outstretched, cordial and +delighted.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span>"My dear fellow, how jolly of you to remember +I was coming up! Come in, come in! I've +only got this bothering business to attend to, +then we'll lunch together, and go back by the +four train, shall we? You won't have to stop on +here, will you?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Romer, as he followed +Harry.</p> + +<p>"Your mother's not ill, I hope," said Harry, +throwing himself into an arm-chair.</p> + +<p>"I don't think so," said Romer; "she's at +Bournemouth."</p> + +<p>"Bournemouth! How like her! But you +haven't been down there to see her?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Are you going?"</p> + +<p>"Don't think so."</p> + +<p>"Then it isn't your mother that brought you +up to town, old chap?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Is anything wrong?" asked Harry, after a +moment's pause.</p> + +<p>It struck him that Romer looked very odd, +and as he noted a slightly greyish tinge in +Romer's face, he turned pale himself under his +becoming sunburn.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter?" repeated Harry, who +could not be quiet. His weakness lay in the fact +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span>that he never, under any circumstances, could +entirely "hold his tongue."</p> + +<p>Romer put down his stick and hat, which he +had been holding, took a chair exactly opposite +Harry, stared him in the face, and said in a dry, +hard voice, much less slowly than usual—</p> + +<p>"There's something I wish you to do."</p> + +<p>"You wish me to——"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Write to Miss Walmer definitely breaking +off your engagement."</p> + +<p>"My—engagement?"</p> + +<p>"I heard what you said yesterday afternoon. +I came back from my walk—there was a nail in +my boot. I heard every word from the window +in my room."</p> + +<p>"You listened?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I listened."</p> + +<p>"Romer, my dear fellow, I swear to you +that ..."</p> + +<p>"Don't swear anything to me," said Romer +quietly. "And don't dare to defend Valentia to +me.... I advise you not."</p> + +<p>Harry was silent, utterly bewildered.</p> + +<p>"I find that your——friendship, instead of +being a pleasure to her, is making her miserable. +For some reason she likes to have you about. She +doesn't wish you to marry Miss Walmer. Well, +you shan't! Do you hear that? You shan't! +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span>You're not going to marry that girl and then +come dangling about again."</p> + +<p>He waited a minute and then said—</p> + +<p>"Valentia's got to be happy. You're not +going to have everything <i>you</i> want. You can +surely make a little sacrifice to be her friend!" +Then for one moment only Romer nearly lost +his control. He said—</p> + +<p>"We've been married five years, and I've +never said a word or done a thing that she +didn't like. And <i>you</i> made her cry. You! You +made her cry!"</p> + +<p>"My dear Romer, I assure you it's all ..."</p> + +<p>Romer interrupted him in a low voice, impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Oh, shut up, will you? I want no talk or +discussion. I want only one thing. You're to +write immediately, definitely putting an end +to this engagement. While you write the letter +I'll wait, and then I'll post it myself. Will you +do it?"</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow, of course I'll do anything. +But how strange you are! I should have +thought——"</p> + +<p>"I don't want to know what you would have +thought, and I don't care a straw what you +think of my attitude. On condition you do what +I say, I shall never refer to the subject again, +and everything shall be as it has been."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span>Harry was obviously greatly relieved.</p> + +<p>"I will do whatever you wish," he said, +looking and feeling ashamed of himself.</p> + +<p>Seeing that Romer was evidently in a hurry +for the letter, he drew writing materials to him.</p> + +<p>Then Romer said—</p> + +<p>"One more thing. You are not to tell Valentia +anything about this. She's not to know I +overheard. I won't have her distressed. Remember +that."</p> + +<p>"I give you my word of honour," said Harry.</p> + +<p>"Very well. And when I've posted the letter +we'll wipe out the whole thing. Don't even say +you saw me in town."</p> + +<p>"Of course I won't."</p> + +<p>As Harry bent his head low over the writing-table, +Romer, who was sitting motionless, +looked at a curious dagger that was hanging on +the wall, with a horrible sudden longing to +plunge it in Harry's neck.... Horrified at his +own fancy, he looked away from it and thought +of Valentia. Valentia would smile and be happy +now, and everything would go smoothly again. +He would not have to say anything painful to +her; she would never be uncomfortable in his +presence. In time she would probably grow +tired of Harry and could turn to him, Romer, +again, with more affection than if anything +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span>painful had passed between them.... His +attitude had been extraordinarily unselfish, +and yet it had its root in the deep scheming +selfishness and subtle calculation of the passion +of love. To get Valentia back, as he vaguely +hoped, some time, however distant, he had +acted most wisely, and he knew it. For he cared +for her far too much ever to have conventional +thoughts on the subject. It never even occurred +to him to try to act as the husband ought to act, +or as by the incessant insidious influence of +plays and novels most of us have been brought +up to think he ought to act. Most people are far +more guided than they know in their views of +life by the artificial conventions of the theatre +and of literature, or by tradition. In fact, most +people are other people. Romer was himself. He +thought simply for himself, like a child. And so +it happened that he acted in a crisis terrible to +him, more wisely for his own interest than the +most sophisticated of men....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Here is the letter. Will you read it?"</p> + +<p>Romer read it and put it back in the envelope. +Then he said—</p> + +<p>"All right. You're going back to the Green +Gate this afternoon?"</p> + +<p>"If I may."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span>"I shall be back to-morrow," said Romer, in +his ordinary voice.</p> + +<p>Harry accompanied him to the door and held +out his hand.</p> + +<p>Romer hesitated a moment. Then he said—</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," with a nod, and went away, +taking no notice of it.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"By Jove!" said Harry, to himself.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXV" id="CHAPTER_XXXV"></a>CHAPTER XXXV</h2> + +<h3>THE LIMIT</h3> + + +<p>Romer went back to his hotel that evening +feeling happier than he had ever expected +to be again. He felt sure now that everything +would be perfectly right. He refused to allow +himself to dwell for a moment on possibilities, +and on what had been, or on what might have +been. But he was like a man who had been +slightly stunned by a blow on the head and was +beginning to feel the pain the next day. Yet the +pain was not very acute; he did not quite realise +it, but, unconsciously, it made him feverish. +And he was still a little stupefied. It did not +occur to him to go to the Club, or to look up any +friends, and he remained in the little hotel in +Jermyn Street, filled at this time of the year +principally by Americans, and he dined alone +there—dined well, and smoked a long cigar. +Then he went for a walk. London at the beginning +of August was not empty, but stale, +crowded, untidy, hot—unlike itself. He tried +not to think of the garden of the Green Gate. +Suddenly, with a stab, he imagined Harry and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span>Valentia; probably now he was telling her that +the engagement was broken off, and she was +smiling and happy. Well! it was what he wished. +Since what had happened he felt his great love +for Valentia was much less vivid than it had +been. He cared for her more remotely. She +seemed at a great distance. He thought that he +felt more to her as if she were a dear sister and +living far away. Yes, that was it; he loved her +now like a sister.</p> + +<p>Surprised at his own calm, and much pleased +with his behaviour in the matter, he retired to +bed. The instant he had closed his eyes he +seemed to see, with the clearness of an hallucination, +Harry's head bending low over the +writing-table, and, hanging above him on the +wall of the studio, the curious dagger; a +Japanese weapon that was one of Harry's +treasures. And Romer felt again precisely the +same horrible longing that he had felt that +morning at the studio—the sudden longing to +plunge it into Harry's neck. Horrified at the +fancy and at himself, he turned up the light +and tried to read. He could not fix his attention +on a word of the article "Silk and Stuff" in the +<i>Pall Mall</i>....</p> + +<p>Of course he was not angry with Valentia; +how could she help it? She must be made happy. +But she seemed dim, distant, remote. It was an +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span>effort to recall her face.... Harry—Harry did +not seem very real to him either. It was all +unreal. But he, Romer, had done the right thing. +Harry would never make her cry again.</p> + +<p>Everything would go on as before. And <i>he</i> +had never said a word that it would be painful +for them both to remember. There was nothing +uncomfortable between them. He felt she +would grow tired of Harry of her own accord, +and would then return to him, Romer, with no +disagreeable recollection of scenes, nor of their +having said horrible things to one another. +Yes, he had been quite right. Yet she did not +seem to him so near as she used to be. He was +not angry with her.... No, of course not. He +was not jealous. Perhaps she seemed more remote, +more distant, because he felt a certain +coldness, and—yes—the coldness was there +because he was a little hurt perhaps.... And +then he tried to go to sleep again. But instantly +his insane vision came back, and he got up and +walked round the room and tried to banish +it.... At last he really went to sleep, and awoke +trembling with horror. He had had a horrible +dream. He dreamt that Harry was writing a +letter, and that he had taken the dagger from +the wall of the studio and killed him. This was +simply horrible.</p> + +<p>Then he began to realise the reason. It was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span>subconscious jealousy. Then he saw that he had +set himself a task too big for him, and that he +could not endure to see Harry with Valentia +now. It would be impossible to bear it. He +would have to tell him to go. He had mistaken +his own feelings. What he had heard on the +verandah, what he had imagined, could never +be obliterated. Indeed, he saw clearly that if he +tried to endure it he would break down. The +effort would lead to madness.—It was impossible.... +He had sent Harry back to her! He +had actually sent him; it was unbearable.</p> + +<p>He would go back the next day, take Harry +aside, and tell him that he had found he +couldn't bear it, and that on some pretext he +must go away. He would tell him that he had +reached the limit of his endurance and could +bear no more. He would never speak of it to +Valentia. Valentia would be sad—but that +could not be helped. He knew, now, that he +could not endure the sight of Harry again.</p> + +<p>Having made this resolution, he became +much calmer. But the dream recurred each time +he went to sleep until, in dread of it, he resolved +to sleep no more. His nerves felt shattered.</p> + +<p>And then, he began to count the minutes till +he could be back at the Green Gate. To see +Valentia again and to banish Harry for ever! +And all the obvious, human feelings that he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span>thought he was free from had come back. He +broke down; bitter tears of self-pity, of sentiment, +and of heartbroken humiliation fell from +his eyes. He remembered their engagement and +their honeymoon, and then the eternal and +everlasting amusing cousin; Harry, and his +sickening good looks and ceaseless chatter. No +more of it, by heaven! It would be something +worth having lived for to have no more of the +brilliant Harry. He saw now that he had always +been subconsciously jealous of him—that +he had always loathed and hated him. And +rightly, by instinct; for not only had he done +the most unpardonable injury one friend can +do to another, without a scruple and without a +hesitation, but he had shown the same baseness +to her. He made her unhappy. He made her +cry. He wanted to marry for money and come +back again, treacherous to every one—hard, +heartless, selfish, vulgar in mind and in attitude +to life. Romer hated him.</p> + +<p>Well! Romer would tell him that very day +that he had changed his mind and that he was +to go anywhere—anyhow—only to go. Neither +he nor Valentia should ever see him again.</p> + +<p>Valentia seemed a long way off. She seemed +remote and distant. That was because he was +still hurt and angry. When Harry had once +gone, perhaps she would seem near again.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI</h2> + +<h3>RECONCILIATION</h3> + + +<p>Romer had made one mistake in his calculations. +He had forgotten that Harry +was a talker. He fully believed that the young +man would go back and get all possible credit +from Valentia for breaking off the engagement, +and would adhere to the very letter of their +strange agreement. This, indeed, Harry fully +intended to do. When he first went back he +told her, to her immense joy and satisfaction, +merely that he had broken it off. But when +some people who had come to dinner had gone +away and she and Harry could be alone, the +habit of confidential gossip, the habit, especially, +of impressing and surprising her, and, above all, +the inability to keep to himself anything so +amazing, was too strong for him.</p> + +<p>Picturesquely, vividly, and quite amusingly +Harry told her every word of the story; first +exacting a solemn promise not to repeat it.</p> + +<p>"Isn't he <i>impayable</i>? Isn't he a marvel? +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span>No, Valentia, don't look so grave, or I shall +think you've lost your sense of humour."</p> + +<p>"But do you believe he really thinks——"</p> + +<p>"He doesn't think," said Harry, stopping her. +"He won't think. You're faultless in his eyes. He +would never allow himself to imagine you anything +else. Valentia, this is a wonderful situation—you +don't appreciate it! It's unheard of! He +particularly wished that everything should go +on as before."</p> + +<p>He took her hand. She immediately took it +away and drew back coldly.</p> + +<p>"A wonderful situation! Do you think Van +Buren will enjoy it?" she asked satirically.</p> + +<p>"Van Buren! What on earth do you mean, +Val? Do you suppose for a minute that I'd talk +about it?"</p> + +<p>"I know you will. You couldn't resist it. It's +<i>impayable</i> you say.... Oh, but it was mean of +you to tell me!"</p> + +<p>"Mean!" cried Harry indignantly. "Why, it +was very generous! I might easily have pleased +you very much more by saying I broke it off +quite of my own accord."</p> + +<p>"That wasn't why you told me. You wanted +me to laugh at Romer and think him ridiculous."</p> + +<p>"I don't at all. I was in the ridiculous position. +Be a woman of the world, Val. Don't talk bosh! +We shall soon forget it happened."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span>"I shall never forget," she answered. "And +things <i>can't</i> go on as they were, because I think +he's behaved magnificently, because I think he's +heroic. And if I didn't appreciate the way he +spared me I should be.... Why, don't you realise +what it must have been for him, Harry, to hear +every word we said? And yet he didn't try to +make me suffer for it!"</p> + +<p>"He complained that <i>I</i> made you cry!" said +Harry with a ghost of a smile.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Harry, it's no good. I see I was +right about Romer from the first. I married him +because I thought there was something remarkable—something +finer than other people about +him. And I was right."</p> + +<p>"If you talk like that, I shall know you're in +love with him," said Harry tauntingly and +angrily. "<i>I</i> was a fool to tell you. You're just +upset, my dear," he added, "at the idea of his +knowing of the whole thing. By to-morrow, +when he comes back, everything will have +calmed down."</p> + +<p>"I want to be left alone," said Valentia.</p> + +<p>Harry was annoyed, for he himself was not +just now in the mood for reverie, and even in the +smallest things he disliked giving up his own +wishes.</p> + +<p>"Oh, very well," he said ungraciously; +"perhaps it's a pity I wrote the letter."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span>"Perhaps it is," she answered as she went +away and shut the door.</p> + +<p>Harry sat up late, swearing at his own +indiscretion and the unaccountability of women. +But he was not prepared for what followed.</p> + +<p>The next morning, as he was dressing, a note +was given to him. It said—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +"Dear Harry, +</p> + +<p>"After what you told me yesterday, I feel +I never wish to see you again. This is not anger; +but it's incurable. I can't account for it, but it is +there. How you could have been so stupid as to +think I could remain with both you and Romer +in the house with this knowledge between us, I +simply can't understand. How could I help contrasting +his generosity with your self-interested +selfishness? I am not angry any more about Miss +Walmer. I'm quite indifferent. If you married +her to-morrow it would give me no pain. The +only kind thing you can do for me now, and the +one thing I implore, is to go away on any pretext +you like and without seeing me again. To put it +perfectly plainly, Harry, I have changed entirely +since last night. I see everything differently. +Everything <i>is</i> different. Forgive me, but I don't +wish to see you any more.</p> +<div class="right">"<span class="smcap">Valentia</span>.</div> + +<p>"P.S.—I will send your photographs and other +things to the studio. I should like you to burn +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span>mine, but do not send them back. I don't want +to look at anything that reminds me of you. Do +not be angry—I can't help it. I am so unhappy.</p> + +<p class="right"> +V.<br /> +</p> + +<p>"If you don't go I know I shall be seriously ill."</p></div> + +<p>After reading this letter Harry was probably +about a thousand times more in love with +Valentia than he had ever been in his life. +Indeed, he felt that he had never cared for her +before. He pretended even to himself to laugh +at it, and walked up and down his room, saying +to himself: "What a couple! What a woman! +What a man! They're unique. No, they're too +wonderful!"</p> + +<p>But he didn't succeed in deceiving himself. He +<i>knew</i> that letter was final. He did not give it up +at once. He wrote her three letters. The first, +one of indignant reproach: "<i>You never really +cared for me</i>," and so forth, which she did not +answer; the second, witty and trivial, with +allusions to mountains and molehills and tragedy +queens; the third, desperately imploring her to +see him once before he went away. To the third +one she sent a reply, simply saying—</p> + +<p>"Please, please go as soon as possible."</p> + +<p>After all his emotion and passionate correspondence +it was by this time only about half-past +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span>ten. Harry packed, dressed, and went off +to the station, mad with rage. He left no word +for Romer at all. He felt he had better leave +all that to the wife. He had lost her absolutely +and for ever—and Miss Walmer too.</p> + +<p>In prompt response to his wire Van Buren +met him at the station.</p> + +<p>And what a wonderful consolation it was to +tell him all about it!</p> + +<p>Certainly no man ever had a better audience; +no one more impressed, shocked, delighted, +horrified, amused, grieved, pleased and sympathetic +ever listened to a confidence. For Van +Buren it was as good as a <i>cause célèbre</i>, a musical +comedy, a <i>feuilleton</i> in the <i>Daily Mail</i> and a +series of snapshots from the homes of the upper +classes—all in one. Never in his life had he +heard anything so intensely English. The story +gave him the acute, objective, artistic joy that +one takes in the best literature, an intellectual +pleasure that is usually more or less mingled +with the merely spiteful satisfaction that we are +accused of taking in the misfortunes of our best +friends. And how well Harry told it!</p> + +<p>His style was perfect. It was brilliancy, charm, +humour, and pathos; he laughed at himself, and +yet made himself an object of real sympathy, +without losing either his dignity or his dash.</p> + +<p>He knew that his confidence aroused enormous +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span>interest, and to him that was a great gratification. +And so Harry drowned his sorrows in talk, as +other men drown theirs in wine, or in sport, or +in taking some violent step. He intoxicated and +soothed himself with conversation.</p> + +<p>But Harry was not an unpractical man—not +one of those for whom words take place of +actions—and he could face facts. Valentia was +irrevocably lost to him. To attempt to regain +Miss Walmer, although it might perhaps not be +impossible, would make him ridiculous. The +letter he had written at Romer's dictation had +been too definite. He would give himself away +hopelessly as a fortune-hunter if he tried to go +back on that. Besides, he was absolutely sick of it +all, and if he was more in love with Valentia +than he had ever supposed himself to be because +she no longer wanted him, he disliked the +thought of Miss Walmer far more than he ever +had before, because he was convinced she would +forgive him and be devoted to him even now.</p> + +<p>Van Buren had taken the knock, as he +expressed it, using with relish the English slang +phrase, with regard to Daphne, and he had +made up his mind to return to New York. Under +the circumstances he now had little difficulty in +persuading Harry to come out with him right +away. He undertook to provide for his friend's +future, and that he should make a fortune in the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span>Bank, and perhaps when this was agreed upon +Van Buren had never been so happy. He was far +more genuinely a man's man than was Harry. +He regarded women from the point of view of +the well-bred American—with deference, a sort +of distant tenderness, a most chivalrous and +gentle respect. He looked upon them as +ornamental and as delightful adjuncts to life, +like flowers in a ball-room, but not seriously as +part of it. Nor, either, as mere toys. He placed +women far more highly than Harry did; he +thought everything should be done for them, +given to them, that they had a right to any +position they were able to hold, that they should +be treated with reverence, consideration, liberality ... +and even justice; but—he could do +without them. Harry couldn't. And so they +would always continue to fall in love with Harry, +and to find Van Buren a little dull.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>When Romer arrived at the Green Gate that +afternoon he found Valentia sitting alone in the +drawing-room. Her hands were clasped, she had +a serious, anxious, thoughtful expression that he +had never seen before. He was surprised at the +painful start it gave him to see her again, but he +came in defying this sensation.</p> + +<p>"Hallo!" he said, in what he meant to be a +perfectly easy manner.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span>He glanced round the room.</p> + +<p>"Where's Harry?"</p> + +<p>"Harry's gone," said Valentia, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"Oh, has he?"</p> + +<p>Romer walked to the window. He looked at +her dress, a white dress that he liked, but did not +meet her eyes. Then he said—</p> + +<p>"Oh, he's gone. When is he coming back?"</p> + +<p>"Never," she said.</p> + +<p>Romer didn't answer, nor ask why.</p> + +<p>After a minute he said—</p> + +<p>"Where's Daphne?"</p> + +<p>"Gone to stay with Mrs. Foster for a week."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Who's coming down to-day?"</p> + +<p>"Nobody. I thought perhaps you wouldn't +mind—being alone, I mean." She spoke without +her usual fluency.</p> + +<p>He stood staring out of the window into the +quiet, damp garden. Then he turned slowly +round and looked at her. He looked at her little +feet in their little white laced shoes; at the slim, +narrow line of the white dress; at the hands +clasped in her lap....</p> + +<p>And he felt a sudden pang of cruel, realistic +jealousy. But he looked at her eyes and saw +tears in them, and, pitying her, he crushed it +down for ever.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span>The marvellous instinct with which women +are usually credited seems too often to desert +them on the only occasions when it would be of +any real use. One would say it was there for +trivialities only, since in a crisis they are usually +dense, fatally doing the wrong thing. It is +hardly too much to say that most domestic +tragedies are caused by the feminine intuition +of men and the want of it in women. Fortunately, +Valentia's feeling of remorseful tenderness towards +Romer enabled her to read him now. +Of course she would have loved to cry, to explain +at great length, to beg him to forgive her and +have a reconciliation. But something told her +that he could not have borne it; that the subject +must never be touched; that she must spare him +any reference to it—any scene.</p> + +<p>So she said nothing.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>And, during the curious silence, he gradually +and slowly took in the soothing facts. He +regained his sense of proportion, of perspective. +He saw she was disillusioned about Harry; he +felt that the infatuation was over; and, what +was more, he realised, to his unutterable relief, +that she was not going to talk about it. How he +dreaded that terrible explicitness of women, +their passion for tidying up, their love of labels! +He would not even have to hear it called a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span>sealed subject, and he would not have to say +anything at all.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>He looked out of the window again, began to +whistle in a slightly embarrassed way, and then +said casually—</p> + +<p>"Let's come out, Val. The lawn wants +mowing."</p> + + +<p class="center padding">THE END</p> + + +<hr class="wide" /> + + + +<div id="tnotes" class="tnote"> +<h2>Transcriber's Notes</h2> + +<p>The original spelling and punctuation were retained, except for +a few issues that were believed to be typographical mistakes. </p> + +<p>The full list of corrections is as follows:</p> + +<table class="wide bordered" summary="Transcriber's Notes"> +<tr> + <th>page</th> + <th>original text</th> + <th>corrected to</th> + <th>explanation</th> +</tr> + +<tr> + <td><a name="tnote_1" href="#Page_15" class="cor">15</a></td> + <td>old-fashoned</td> + <td><a href="#tAnchor_1" class="cor">old-fashioned</a></td> + <td>a misspelling</td> +</tr> + +<tr> + <td><a name="tnote_2" href="#Page_32" class="cor">32</a></td> + <td>,old chap'</td> + <td><a href="#tAnchor_2" class="cor">'old chap'</a></td> + <td>comma corrected to single quote </td> +</tr> + +<tr> + <td><a name="tnote_3" href="#Page_142" class="cor">142</a></td> + <td>of colour</td> + <td><a href="#tAnchor_3" class="cor">off colour</a></td> + <td>a misspelling</td> +</tr> + +<tr> + <td><a name="tnote_4" href="#Page_144" class="cor">144</a></td> + <td>CAPTER</td> + <td><a href="#tAnchor_4" class="cor">CHAPTER</a></td> + <td>a misspelling</td> + </tr> +<tr> + <td><a name="tnote_5" href="#Page_153" class="cor">153</a></td> + <td>darling.</td> + <td><a href="#tAnchor_5" class="cor">darling."</a></td> + <td>double quote added </td> +</tr> + + +<tr> + <td><a name="tnote_6" href="#Page_181" class="cor">181</a></td> + <td>on the 'thou.'"... </td> + <td><a href="#tAnchor_6" class="cor">on the 'thou.'..."</a></td> + <td>the position of ellipsis was changed </td> +</tr> + +<tr> + <td><a name="tnote_7" href="#Page_201" class="cor">201</a></td> + <td>airdresser's</td> + <td><a href="#tAnchor_7" class="cor">hairdresser's</a></td> + <td>a misspelling </td> +</tr> + +<tr> + <td><a name="tnote_8" href="#Page_220" class="cor">220</a></td> + <td>"Ha! musical,</td> + <td><a href="#tAnchor_8" class="cor">"Ha! Musical,</a></td> + <td> lowercase to uppercase was corrected</td> +</tr> + +<tr> + <td><a name="tnote_9" href="#Page_256" class="cor">256</a></td> + <td>Dicken's</td> + <td><a href="#tAnchor_9" class="cor">Dickens's</a></td> + <td>a misspelling</td> +</tr> + +<tr> + <td><a name="tnote_10" href="#Page_273" class="cor">273</a></td> + <td>things to you?'</td> + <td><a href="#tAnchor_10" class="cor">things to you?"</a></td> + <td>Single quote corrected to double quote.</td> +</tr> +</table> +</div> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Limit, by Ada Leverson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIMIT *** + +***** This file should be named 28465-h.htm or 28465-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/4/6/28465/ + +Produced by Ewa Jaros, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +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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