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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The New Warden, by Mrs. David G. Ritchie
+
+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 New Warden
+
+Author: Mrs. David G. Ritchie
+
+Release Date: May 15, 2010 [EBook #32388]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NEW WARDEN ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Anne Grieve, Delphine Lettau and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                             THE NEW WARDEN
+
+                        BY MRS. DAVID G. RITCHIE
+
+
+                     AUTHOR OF "TWO SINNERS," ETC.
+
+
+
+
+                                 LONDON
+
+                   JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.
+
+                                  1919
+
+
+
+
+                      FIRST EDITION, _Nov., 1918_.
+                      _Reprinted ... March, 1919_.
+                         _All rights reserved_
+
+
+
+
+                                CONTENTS
+
+
+  CHAPTER                                                   PAGE
+
+       I. THE WARDEN'S LODGINGS                              1
+
+      II. MORAL SUPPORT                                     14
+
+     III. PASSIONATE PITY                                   26
+
+      IV. THE UNFORESEEN HAPPENS                            37
+
+       V. WAITING                                           50
+
+      VI. MORE THAN ONE CONCLUSION                          57
+
+     VII. MEN MARCHING PAST                                 72
+
+    VIII. THE LOST LETTER                                   82
+
+      IX. THE LUNCHEON PARTY                                92
+
+       X. PARENTAL EFFUSIONS                               108
+
+      XI. NO ESCAPE                                        124
+
+     XII. THE GHOST                                        133
+
+    XIII. THE EFFECT OF SUGGESTION                         141
+
+     XIV. DIFFERENT VIEWS                                  151
+
+      XV. MRS. POTTEN'S CARELESSNESS                       166
+
+     XVI. SEEING CHRIST CHURCH                             177
+
+    XVII. A TEA PARTY                                      188
+
+   XVIII. THE MORAL CLAIMS OF AN UMBRELLA                  201
+
+     XIX. HONOUR                                           209
+
+      XX. SHOPPING                                         217
+
+     XXI. THE SOUL OF MRS. POTTEN                          227
+
+    XXII. MR. BOREHAM'S PROPOSAL                           236
+
+   XXIII. BY MOONLIGHT                                     251
+
+    XXIV. A CAUSE AND IMPEDIMENT                           259
+
+     XXV. CONFESSIONS                                      267
+
+    XXVI. THE ANXIETIES OF LOUISE                          280
+
+   XXVII. THE FORGIVENESS OF THE FATES                     290
+
+  XXVIII. ALMA MATER                                       301
+
+    XXIX. DINNER                                           310
+
+     XXX. THE END OF BELINDA AND CO.                       319
+
+    XXXI. A FAREWELL                                       331
+
+   XXXII. THE WARDEN HURRIES                               343
+
+
+
+
+                             THE NEW WARDEN
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+THE WARDEN'S LODGINGS
+
+
+The Founders and the Benefactors of Oxford, Princes, wealthy priests,
+patriotic gentlemen, noble ladies with a taste for learning; any of
+these as they travelled along the high road, leaving behind them
+pastures, woods and river, and halted at the gates of the grey sacred
+city, had they been in melancholy mood, might have pictured to
+themselves all possible disasters by fire and by siege that could mar
+this garnered glory of spiritual effort and pious memory. Fire and siege
+were the disasters of the old days. But a new age has it own
+disasters--disasters undreamed of in the old days, and none of these
+lovers of Oxford as they entered that fair city, ever could have
+foretold that in time to come Oxford would become enclosed and well-nigh
+stifled by the peaceful encroachment of an endless ocean of friendly red
+brick, lapping to its very walls.
+
+The wonder is that Oxford still exists, for the free jerry-builder of
+free England, with his natural right to spoil a landscape or to destroy
+the beauty of an ancient treasure house, might have forced his cheap
+villas into the very heart of the city; might have propped his shameless
+bricks, for the use of Don and of shopkeeper, against the august grey
+college walls: he might even have insulted and defaced that majestic
+street whose towers and spires dream above the battlemented roofs and
+latticed windows of a more artistic age.
+
+But why didn't he? Why didn't he, clothed in the sanctity of cheapness,
+desecrate the inner shrine?
+
+The Wardens and the Bursars of colleges could tell us much, but the
+stranger and the pilgrim, coming to worship, feel as if there must have
+flashed into being some sudden Hand from Nowhere and a commanding Voice
+saying--"Thus far shalt thou come and no farther," so that the accursed
+jerry-builder (under the impression that he was moved by some financial
+reasons of his own) must have obediently picked up his little bag of
+tools and trotted off to destroy some other place.
+
+Anyhow the real Oxford has been spared--but it is like a fair mystic gem
+in a coarse setting. No green fields and no rustling woods lead the
+lover of Oxford gently to her walls.
+
+The Beauty of England lies there--ringed about with a desolation of
+ugliness--for ever. Still she is there.
+
+Oxford has never been merely a city of learning, it has been a fighting
+city.
+
+In the twelfth century it sheltered Matilda in that terrible, barbaric
+struggle of young England.
+
+In the seventeenth century it was a city in arms for the Stuarts. But
+these were civil wars. Now in the twentieth century Oxford has risen
+like one man, like Galahad--youthful and knightly--urgent at the Call of
+Freedom and the Rights of Nations.
+
+And this Oxford is filled with the "sound of the forging of weapons,"
+the desk has become a couch for the wounded, the air is full of the
+wings of war.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In this Oxford where the black gown has been laid aside and young men
+hurry to and fro in the dress of the battle-field--in this Oxford no man
+walked at times more heavily, feeling the grief that cannot be made
+articulate, than did the Warden of King's College as he went about his
+work, a lonely man, without wife or child and with poignant memories of
+the very blossom of young manhood plucked from his hand and gone for
+ever.
+
+And of the men who passed under his college gates and through the
+ivy-clad quadrangles, most were strangers--coming and going--learning
+the arts of war--busy under orders, and the few, a poor remnant of
+academic youth--foreigners or weaklings. And he, the Warden himself,
+felt himself almost a stranger--for into his life had surged new
+thoughts, anxious fears and ambitious hopes--for England, the England of
+the years to come--an England rising up from her desolation and her
+mourning and striving to become greater, more splendid and more
+spiritual than she had been before.
+
+It was a late October afternoon in 1916 and the last rays of autumn
+sunshine fell through the drawing-room windows of the Warden's lodgings.
+These rays of sunshine lit up a notable portrait over the stone
+fireplace. The portrait was of a Warden of the eighteenth century; a
+fine fleshy face it was, full of the splendid noisy paganism of his
+time. You can stand where you will in the room, but you cannot escape
+the sardonic stare that comes from his relentless, wide-open, luminous
+eyes. He seems as if he challenged you to stop and listen to the secret
+of his double life--the life of a scholar and divine of easy morals.
+Words seemed actually upon his lips, thoughts glowing in his eyes--and
+yet--there is silence.
+
+There was only one person in the room, a tall vigorous woman, still
+handsome in spite of middle age, and she was looking up at the portrait
+with her hands clasped behind her back. She was not thinking of the
+portrait--her thoughts were too intent on something else. Her thoughts
+indeed had nothing to do with the past--they were about the future, the
+future of the new Warden, Dr. Middleton, the future of this only brother
+of hers whom she loved more than anyone in the world--except her own
+husband; a brother more than ten years younger than herself, to whom she
+had been a mother till she married and who remained in her eyes a sort
+of son, all the more precious to her because children had been denied
+her.
+
+She had come at her brother's call to arrange his new home for him. She
+had arranged everything with sober economy, because Oxford was mourning.
+She had retained all that she found endurable of the late Warden's. And
+now she turned round and looked on her handiwork.
+
+The room wore an air of comfort, it was devoid of all distressful
+knick-knacks and it was arranged as were French "Salons" of the time of
+Mademoiselle de Lespinasse for conversation, for groups of talkers, for
+books and papers; the litter of culture. It was a drawing-room for
+scholars in their leisure moments and for women to whom they could talk.
+But there was no complaisance in Lady Dashwood's face as she looked at
+her brother's drawing-room, just because her thoughts were deeply
+occupied with his future. What was his future to be like? What was in
+store for him? And these thoughts led her to give expression to a sudden
+outspoken remark--unflattering to that future.
+
+"And now, what woman is going to become mistress of this room?"
+
+Lady Dashwood's voice had a harshness in it that startled even herself.
+"What woman is going to reign here?" she went on, as if daring herself
+to be gentle and resigned. After she had looked round the room her eye
+rested upon the portrait over the mantelpiece. He looked as if he had
+heard her speak and stared back at her with his large persistent selfish
+eyes--full of cynical wonder. But he remained silent. These were times
+that he did not understand--but he observed!
+
+"It's on Jim's conscience that he _must_ marry, now that men are so
+scarce. He's obsessed with the idea," continued Lady Dashwood, thinking
+to herself. "And being like all really good and great men--absolutely
+helpless--he is prepared to marry any fool who is presented to him."
+Then she added, "Any fool--or worse!"
+
+"And," she went on, speaking angrily to herself, "knowing that he is
+helpless--I stupidly go and introduce into this house, a silly girl with
+a pretty face whose object in coming is to be--Mrs. Middleton."
+
+Lady Dashwood was mentally lashing herself for this stupidity.
+
+"I go and actually put her in his way--at least," she added swiftly, "I
+allow her mother to bring her and force her upon us and leave her--for
+the purpose of entrapping him--and so--I've risked his future! And yet,"
+she went on as her self-accusation became too painful, "I never dreamt
+that he would think of a girl so young--as eighteen--and he forty--and
+full of thoughts about the future of Oxford--and the New World. Somehow
+I imagined some pushing female of thirty would pretend to sympathise
+with his aspirations and marry him: I never supposed----But I ought to
+have supposed! It was my business to suppose. Here have I left my
+husband alone, when he hates being alone, for a whole month, in order to
+put Jim straight--and then I go and 'don't suppose'--I'm more than a
+fool--I'm----" The right word did not come to her mind.
+
+Here Lady Dashwood's indignation against herself made the blood tingle
+hotly in her hands and face. She was by nature calm, but this afternoon
+she was excited. She mentally pictured the Warden--just when there was
+so much for him to do--wasting his time by figuring as a sacrifice upon
+the Altar of a foolish Marriage. She saw the knife at his throat--she
+saw his blood flow.
+
+At this moment the door opened and the old butler, who had served other
+Wardens and who had been retained along with the best furniture as a
+matter of course, came into the room and handed a telegram to Lady
+Dashwood.
+
+She tore open the envelope and read the paper: "Arrive this
+evening--about seven. May."
+
+"Thank----!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood--and then she suddenly paused, for
+she met the old thoughtful eye of Robinson.
+
+"Yes!" she remarked irrelevantly. Then she folded the paper. "There is
+no answer," she said. "When you've taken the tea away--please tell Mrs.
+Robinson that quite unexpectedly Mrs. Jack Dashwood is arriving at
+seven. She must have the blue room--there isn't another one ready. Don't
+let in any callers for me, Robinson."
+
+All that concerned the Warden's lodgings concerned Robinson. Oxford--to
+Robinson meant King's College. He had "heard tell" of "other colleges";
+in fact he had passed them by and had seen "other college" porters
+standing about at their entrance doors as if they actually were part of
+Oxford. Robinson felt about the other colleges somewhat as the
+old-fashioned Evangelical felt about the godless, unmanageable, tangled,
+nameless rabble of humanity (observe the little "h") who were not
+elected. The "Elect" being a small convenient Body of which he was a
+member.
+
+King's was the "Elect" and Robinson was an indispensable member of it.
+
+Robinson went downstairs with his orders, which, dropping like a pebble
+into the pool of the servants' quarters, started a quiet expanding
+ripple to the upper floor, reaching at last to the blue bedroom.
+
+Alone in the drawing-room Lady Dashwood was able to complete her
+exclamatory remark that Robinson's solemn eye had checked.
+
+"Thank Heaven!" she said, and she said it again more than once. She
+laughed even and opened the telegram again and re-read it for the pure
+pleasure of seeing the words. "Arrive this evening."
+
+"I've risked Jim's life--and now I've saved it." Then Lady Dashwood
+began to think carefully. There was no train arriving at seven from
+Malvern--but there was one arriving at six and one at seven fifteen.
+Anyhow May was coming. Lady Dashwood actually laughed with triumph and
+said--"May is coming--_that_ for 'Belinda and Co.'!"
+
+"Did you speak to me, Lady Dashwood?" asked a girlish voice, and Lady
+Dashwood turned swiftly at the sound and saw just within the doorway a
+girlish figure, a pretty face with dark hair and large wandering eyes.
+
+"No, Gwen!" said Lady Dashwood. "I didn't know you were there----" and
+again she folded the telegram and her features resumed their normal
+calm. With that folded paper in her hand she could look composedly now
+at that pretty face and slight figure. If she had made a criminal
+blunder she had--though she didn't deserve it--been able to rectify the
+blunder. May Dashwood was coming! Again: "_That_ for Belinda and Co.!"
+
+The girl came forward and looked round the room. She held two books in
+her hand, one the Warden had lent her on her arrival--a short guide to
+Oxford. She was still going about with it gazing earnestly at the print
+from time to time in bird-like fashion.
+
+"Mrs. Jack Dashwood is arriving this afternoon," said Lady Dashwood as
+she moved towards the door.
+
+"Oh," said Gwen, and she stood still in the glow of the windows, her two
+books conspicuous in her hand. She looked at the nearest low easy-chair
+and dropped into it, propped one book on her knee and opened the other
+at random. Then she gazed down at the page she had opened and then
+looked round the room at Lady Dashwood, keenly aware that she was a
+beautiful young girl looking at an elderly woman.
+
+"Mrs. Dashwood is my husband's niece by marriage," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Oh, yes," said Gwen, who would have been more interested if the subject
+of the conversation had been a man and not a woman.
+
+"You don't happen to know if the Warden has come back?" asked Lady
+Dashwood as she moved to the door.
+
+"He is back," said Gwen, and a slightly deeper colour came into her
+cheeks and spread on to the creamy whiteness of her slender neck.
+
+"In his library?" asked Lady Dashwood, stopping short and listening for
+the reply.
+
+"Yes!" said Gwen, and then she added: "He has lent me another book."
+Here she fingered the book on her knee. "A book about
+the--what-you-may-call-'ems of King's, I'm sorry but I can't remember.
+We were talking about them at lunch--a word like 'jumps'!"
+
+If a man had been present Gwen would have dimpled and demanded sympathy
+with large lingering glances; she would have demanded sympathy and
+approbation for not knowing the right word and only being able to
+suggest "jumps."
+
+One thing Gwen had already learned: that men are kinder in their
+criticism than women! It was priceless knowledge.
+
+"Founders, I suppose you mean," said Lady Dashwood and she opened the
+door. "Never mind," she said to herself as she closed the door behind
+her. "Never mind--May is coming--'Jumps!' What a self-satisfied little
+monkey the girl is!"
+
+At the head of the staircase it was rather dark and Lady Dashwood put on
+the lights. Immediately at right angles to the drawing-room door two or
+three steps led up to a corridor that ran over the premises of the
+College porter. In this corridor were three bedrooms looking upon the
+street, bedrooms occupied by Lady Dashwood and by Gwendolen Scott, and
+the third room, the blue room, about to be occupied by Mrs. Dashwood.
+Lady Dashwood passed the corridor steps, passed the head of the
+staircase, and went towards a curtained door. This was the Warden's
+bedroom. Beyond was his library door. At this door beyond, she knocked.
+
+An agreeable voice answered her knock. She went in. The library was a
+noble room. Opposite the door was a wide, high latticed window, hung
+with heavy curtains and looking on to the Entrance Court. To the right
+was a great fireplace with a small high window on each side of it. On
+the left hand the walls were lined with books--and a great winged
+book-case stood out from the wall, like a screen sheltering the door
+which Lady Dashwood entered. Over the door was the portrait of a
+Cardinal once a member of King's. Over the mantelpiece was a large
+engraving of King's as it was in the sixteenth century. At a desk in the
+middle of the room sat the Warden with his back to the fire and his face
+towards the serried array of books. He was just turning up a
+reading-lamp--for he always read and wrote by lamplight.
+
+"Robinson hasn't drawn your curtains," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"I am going to draw them--he came in too soon," said the Warden, without
+moving from his seat. His face was lit up by the flame of the lamp which
+he was staring at intently. There was just a faint sprinkling of grey
+in his brown hair, but on the regular features there was almost no trace
+of age.
+
+"You have given Gwen another book to read," said Lady Dashwood coming up
+to the writing-table.
+
+The Warden raised his eyes very slowly to hers. His eyes were peculiar.
+They were very narrow and blue, seeming to reflect little. On the other
+hand, they seemed to absorb everything. He moved them very slowly as if
+he were adjusting a photographic apparatus.
+
+"Yes," he said.
+
+"You might just as well, my dear, hand out a volume of the _Encyclop�dia
+Britannica_ to the sparrows in your garden," said his sister.
+
+The Warden made no reply, he merely moved the lamp very slightly nearer
+to the writing pad in front of him.
+
+He had a stored-up memory of pink cheeks, a pure curve of chin and neck,
+a dark curl by the ear; objects young and graceful and gradually
+absorbed by those narrow eyes and stored in the brain. He also had
+memories less pleasant of the slighting way in which once or twice his
+sister had spoken of "Belinda and Co.," meaning by that the mother of
+this pretty piece of pretty girlhood, and the girl herself.
+
+"She tries hard to read because we expect her to," continued Lady
+Dashwood. "If she had her own way she would throw the books into the
+fire, as tiresome stodge."
+
+The Warden was listening with an averted face and now he remarked--
+
+"Did you come in, Lena, to tell me this?"
+
+When the Warden was annoyed there was in his voice and in his manner a
+"something" which many people called "formidable." As Lady Dashwood
+stood looking down at him, there flashed into her mind a scene of long
+ago, where the Warden, then an undergraduate, had (for a joke at a
+party in his rooms) induced by suggestion a very small weak man with
+peaceful principles to insist on fighting the Stroke of the college
+Eight, a man over six feet and broad in proportion. She remembered how
+she had laughed, and yet how she made her brother promise not to
+exercise that power again. Probably he had completely forgotten the
+incident. Why! it was nearly eighteen years ago, nearly nineteen; and
+here was James Middleton no longer an undergraduate but the Warden! Lady
+Dashwood bent over him smiling and laid her solid motherly hand upon his
+head. "Oh, dear, how time passes!" she said. "Jim, you are such a sweet
+lamb. No, I didn't come to tell you that. I came to ask you if you were
+going to dine with us this evening?"
+
+"Yes," said the Warden. "Why?" and he now looked round at his sister
+without a trace of irritability and smiled.
+
+"Because Mrs. Jack Dashwood is coming here. I didn't mention it before.
+Well, the fact is she happens to have a few days' rest from her work in
+London. She is with some relative in Malvern and coming on here this
+afternoon."
+
+"Mrs. Jack Dashwood!" repeated the Warden with evident indifference.
+
+"Jack Dashwood's widow. You remember my John's nephew Jack? Poor Jack
+who was killed at Mons!"
+
+Yes, the Warden remembered, and his face clouded as it always did when
+war was mentioned.
+
+"May and he were engaged as boy and girl--and I think she stuck to
+it--because she thought she was in honour bound. Some women are like
+that--precious few; and some men."
+
+The Warden listened without remark.
+
+"And I am just going to telephone to Mr. Boreham," said Lady Dashwood,
+"to ask him to come in to dinner to meet her!"
+
+"Boreham!" groaned the Warden, and he took up his pen from the table.
+
+"I'm so sorry," said Lady Dashwood, "but he used to know May Dashwood,
+so we must ask him, and I thought it better to get him over at once and
+have done with it."
+
+"Perhaps so," said the Warden, and he stretched out his left hand for
+paper. "Only--one never has done--with Boreham."
+
+"Poor old Jim!" said Lady Dashwood, "and now, dear, you can get back to
+your book," and she moved away.
+
+"Book!" grumbled the Warden. "It's business I have to do; and anyhow I
+don't see how anyone can write books now! Except prophecies of the
+future, admonitions, sketches of possible policies, heart-searchings."
+
+Lady Dashwood moved away. "Well, that's what you're doing, dear," she
+said.
+
+"I don't know," said the Warden gloomily, and he reached out his hand,
+pulling towards him some papers. "One seems to be at the beginning of
+things."
+
+Lady Dashwood closed the door softly behind her.
+
+"He's perplexed," she said to herself. "He is perplexed--not merely
+because we are at 'the beginning of things,' but because--I have been a
+fool and----" She did not finish the sentence. She went up early to her
+room and dressed for dinner.
+
+It was impossible to be certain when May would come, so it would be
+better to get dressed and have the time clear. May's arrival was serious
+business--so serious that Lady Dashwood shuddered at the mere thought
+that it was by a mere stroke of extraordinary luck that she could come
+and would come! If May came by the six train she would arrive before
+seven.
+
+But seven o'clock struck and May had not arrived. She might arrive about
+eight o'clock. Lady Dashwood, who was already dressed, gave orders that
+dinner was to be put off for twenty minutes, and then she telephoned
+this news to Mr. Boreham and sent in a message to the Warden. But she
+quite forgot to tell Gwen that dinner was to be later. Gwen had gone
+upstairs early to dress for dinner, for she was one of those individuals
+who take a long time to do the simplest thing. This omission on the part
+of Lady Dashwood, trifling as it seemed, had far-reaching
+consequences--consequences that were not foreseen by her. She sat in the
+drawing-room actively occupied in imagining obstacles that might prevent
+May Dashwood from keeping the promise in her telegram: railway
+accidents, taxi accidents, the unexpected sudden deaths of relatives. As
+she sat absorbed in these wholly unnecessary and exhausting
+speculations, the door opened and she heard Robinson's quavering voice
+make the delicious announcement, "Mrs. Dashwood!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+MORAL SUPPORT
+
+
+May Dashwood's features were not faultless. For instance, her determined
+little nose was rather short and just a trifle retrouss� and her
+eyebrows sometimes looked a little surprised. Her great charm lay not in
+her clear complexion and her bright brown hair, admirable as they were,
+but in her full expressive grey eyes, and when she smiled, it was not
+the toothy smile of professional gaiety, but a subtle, archly animated
+and sympathetic smile; so that both men and women who were once smiled
+at by her, immediately felt the necessity of being smiled at again!
+
+May was still dressed in mourning, very plainly, and she wore no furs.
+She came into the room and looked round her.
+
+"May!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood.
+
+"I thought you were ill, Aunt Lena!" said May amazed at the sight of
+Lady Dashwood, dressed for dinner and apparently in robust health.
+
+"I _am_ ill," exclaimed Lady Dashwood, and she tapped her forehead. "I'm
+ill here," and she advanced to meet her niece with open arms.
+
+"Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Dashwood, hastening up to her aunt.
+
+"I'm still partially sane, May--but--if you hadn't come!" said Lady
+Dashwood, kissing her niece on both cheeks. She did not finish her
+sentence.
+
+Mrs. Dashwood put both hands on her aunt's shoulders and examined her
+face carefully.
+
+"Yes, I see you're quite sane, Aunt Lena."
+
+"Will you minister to a mind--not actually diseased but oppressed by a
+consuming worry?" asked Lady Dashwood earnestly. "Don't think I'm a
+humbug--I need you much more, just now, than if I'd been merely
+ill--with a bilious attack, say. You've saved my life! I wish I could
+explain--but it is difficult to explain--sometimes."
+
+"I'm glad I've saved your life," said May, and she smiled her peculiar
+smile.
+
+"I see victory--the battle won--already," said Lady Dashwood, looking at
+her intently. "I wish I could explain----"
+
+"Let it ooze out, Aunt Lena. I can stay for three days--if you want--if
+I can really do anything for you----"
+
+"Can't you stay a week?" asked Lady Dashwood. "May, I'm not joking. I
+want your presence badly--can't you spare the time? Relieve my mind,
+dear, at once, by telling me you can!"
+
+Lady Dashwood's face suddenly became puckered and her voice was so
+urgent that May's smile died away.
+
+"If it is really important I'll stay a week. Nothing wrong about
+you--or--Uncle John?" May looked into her aunt's eyes.
+
+"No!" said Lady Dashwood. "John doesn't like my being away. An old
+soldier has much to make him sad now, but no----" Then she added in an
+undertone, "Jim ..." and she stared into her niece's face.
+
+Under the portrait of that bold, handsome, unscrupulous Warden of King's
+a faithful clock ticked to the passing of time. The time it showed now
+was twenty minutes to eight. Both ladies in silence had turned to the
+fire and they were now both standing each with one foot on the fender
+and were looking up at the portrait and not at the clock. Neither of
+them, however, thought of the portrait. They merely looked at it--as
+one must look at something.
+
+"Jim," sighed Lady Dashwood. "You don't know him, May."
+
+"Is it he who is ill?" asked May.
+
+"He's not ill. He is terribly depressed at times because so many of his
+old pupils are gone--for ever. But it's not that, not that that I mean.
+You know what learned men are, May?" Lady Dashwood did not ask a
+question, she was making an assertion.
+
+May Dashwood still gazed at the portrait but now she lowered her
+eyelids, looking critically through the narrowed space with her grey
+eyes.
+
+"No, I don't know what learned men are," she replied very slowly. "I
+have met so few."
+
+"Jim has taken----" and again Lady Dashwood hesitated.
+
+"Not to Eau Perrier?" almost whispered Mrs. Dashwood.
+
+"Certainly not," exclaimed Lady Dashwood. "I don't think he has touched
+alcohol since the War. It's nothing so elementary as that. I feel as if
+I were treacherous in talking about it--and yet I must talk about
+it--because you have to help me. A really learned man is so----"
+
+"Do you mean that he knows all about Julius C�sar," said May, "and
+nothing about himself?"
+
+"I shouldn't mind that so much," said the elder lady, grasping eagerly
+at this introduction to an analysis of the learned man. "I had better
+blurt it all out, May. Well--he knows nothing about women----" Lady
+Dashwood spoke with angry emphasis, but in a whisper.
+
+"Ah!" said Mrs. Dashwood, and now she stared deeply at one particular
+block of wood that was spitting quietly at the attacking flames. She
+raised her arm and laid her hand on her aunt Lena's shoulder. Then she
+squeezed the shoulder slightly as if to gently squeeze out a little more
+information.
+
+"Jim is--I'm not sure--but I'm suspicious--on the verge of getting into
+a mess," said her aunt still in a low voice.
+
+"Ah!" said May again. "With some woman?"
+
+"All perfectly proper," said Lady Dashwood, "but--oh, May--it's so
+unspeakably dreary and desolating."
+
+"Much older than he is?" asked May softly, with an emphasis on "much."
+
+"Very much younger," said Lady Dashwood. "Only eighteen!"
+
+"Not nice then?" asked May again softly.
+
+"Not anything--except pretty--and"--here Lady Dashwood had a strident
+bitterness in her voice--"and--she has a mother."
+
+"Ah!" said May.
+
+"You know Lady Belinda Scott?" asked Lady Dashwood.
+
+May Dashwood moved her head in assent. "Not having enough money for
+everything one wants is the root of all evil?" she said imitating
+somebody.
+
+"Belinda exactly! And all that you and I believe worth having in
+life--is no more to her--than to--to a monkey up a tree!"
+
+Mrs. Dashwood spoke thoughtfully. "We've come from monkeys and Lady
+Belinda thinks a great deal of her ancestry."
+
+"Then you understand why I'm anxious? You can imagine----"
+
+May moved her head in response, and then she suddenly turned her face
+towards her aunt and said in the same voice in which she had imitated
+Belinda before--
+
+"If dull people like to be dull, it's no credit to 'em!"
+
+Lady Dashwood laughed, but it was a hard bitter laugh.
+
+"Oh, May, you understand. Well, for the twenty-four hours that Belinda
+was here, she was on her best behaviour. You see, she had plans! You
+know her habit of sponging for weeks on people--she finds herself
+appreciated by the 'Nouveaux Riches.' Her title appeals to them. Well,
+Belinda has never made a home for her one child--not she!"
+
+Mrs. Dashwood's lips moved. "Poor child!" she said softly, and there was
+something in her voice that made Lady Dashwood aware of what she had
+momentarily forgotten in her excitement, that the arm resting on her
+shoulder was the arm of a woman not yet thirty, whose home had suddenly
+vanished. It had been riddled with bullets and left to die at the
+retreat from Mons.
+
+Lady Dashwood fell into a sudden silence.
+
+"Go on, dear Aunt Lena," said May Dashwood.
+
+"Well, dear," said Lady Dashwood, drawing in a deep breath, "Linda got
+wind of my coming here to put Jim straight and she pounced down upon me
+like a vulture, with Gwen, asked herself for one night, and then talked
+of 'old days, etc.,' and how she longed for Gwen to see something of our
+'old-world city.' So she simply made me keep the child for 'a couple of
+days,' then 'a week,' and then 'ten days'--and how could I turn the
+child out of doors? And so--I gave in--like a fool!" Then, after a
+pause, Lady Dashwood exclaimed--"Imagine Belinda as Jim's
+mother-in-law!"
+
+"But why should she be?" asked May.
+
+"That's the point. Belinda would prefer an American Wall Street man as a
+son-in-law or a Scotch Whisky Merchant, but they're not so easily
+got--it's a case of get what you can. So Jim is to be sacrificed."
+
+"But why?" persisted May quietly.
+
+"Why, because--although Jim has seen Belinda and heard her hard false
+voice, he doesn't see what she is. He is too responsible to imagine
+Belindas and too clever to imagine Gwens. Gwen is very pretty!"
+
+May looked again into the fire.
+
+"Now do you see what a weak fool I've been?" asked Lady Dashwood
+fiercely.
+
+"Lady Belinda will bleed him," said May.
+
+"When Belinda is Jim's mother-in-law, he'll have to pay for
+everything--even for her funeral!"
+
+"Wouldn't her funeral expenses be cheap at any price?" asked May.
+
+"They would," said Lady Dashwood. "How are we to kill her off? She'll
+live--for ever!"
+
+Then Mrs. Dashwood seemed to meditate briefly but very deeply, and at
+the end of her short silence she asked--
+
+"And where do I come in, Aunt Lena? What can I do for you?"
+
+Lady Dashwood looked a little startled.
+
+What May had actually got to do was: well, not to do anything but just
+to be sweet and amusing as she always was. She had got to show the
+Warden what a charming woman was like. And the rest, he had to do. He
+had to be fascinated! Lady Dashwood could see a vision of Gwen and her
+boxes going safely away from Oxford--even the name of Scott disappearing
+altogether from the Warden's recollection.
+
+But after that, what would happen? May too would have to go away. She
+was still mourning for her husband--still dreaming at night of that
+awful sudden news from France. May would, of course, go back to her work
+and leave the Warden to--well--anything in the wide world was better
+than "Belinda and Co." And it was this certainty that anything was
+better than Belinda and Co., this passionate conviction, that had
+filled Lady Dashwood's mind--to the exclusion of all other things.
+
+It had not occurred to her that May would ask the definite question,
+"What am I to do?" It was an awkward question.
+
+"What I want you to do," said Lady Dashwood, speaking slowly, while she
+swiftly sought in her mind for an answer that would be truthful and
+yet--inoffensive. "Why, May, I want you to give me your moral support."
+
+May looked away from the fire and contemplated the point of her boot,
+and then she looked at the point of Lady Dashwood's shoe--they were both
+on the fender rim side by side--May's right boot, Lady Dashwood's left
+shoe.
+
+"Your moral support," repeated Lady Dashwood. "Well, then you stay a
+week. Many, many thanks. To-night I shall sleep well."
+
+Lady Dashwood was conscious that "moral support" did not quite serve the
+purpose she wanted, she had not quite got hold of the right words.
+
+May's profile was absolutely in repose, but Lady Dashwood could feel
+that she was pondering over that expression "moral support." So Lady
+Dashwood was driven to repeat it once more. "Moral support," she said
+very firmly. "Your moral support is what I want, dear May."
+
+They had not heard the drawing-room door open, but they heard it close
+although it was done softly, and both ladies turned away from the fire.
+
+Gwendolen Scott had come in and was walking towards them, dressed in
+white and looking very self-conscious and pretty.
+
+"But you haven't told me," said Mrs. Dashwood tactfully, as if merely
+continuing their talk, "who that portrait represents?"
+
+"Oh, an old Warden," replied Lady Dashwood indifferently. "Moral
+support" or not--the compact had been made. May was pledged for the
+week. All was well! Lady Dashwood could look at Gwen now with an easy,
+even an affectionate smile. "Gwen, let me introduce you to Mrs. Jack
+Dashwood," she said.
+
+Gwen had expected Mrs. Dashwood to be an elderly relative of the family
+who would not introduce any new element into the Warden's little
+household. She had not for a moment anticipated _this_! It was
+disconcerting. Gwen was very much afraid of clever women, they moved and
+looked and spoke as if they had been given a key "to the situation,"
+though what that key was and what that situation exactly was Gwen did
+not quite grasp.
+
+Even the way in which Mrs. Dashwood put her hand out for a scarf she had
+thrown on to a chair; the way she moved her feet, moved her head; the
+way her plain black dress and the long plain coat hung about her, her
+manner of looking at Gwen and accepting her as a person whom she was
+about to know, all this mysterious "cachet" of her personality--made
+Gwen uneasy. Besides this elegant woman was not exactly elderly--about
+twenty-eight perhaps. Gwen was very much disconcerted at this unexpected
+complication at the Lodgings--her life had been for the last few months
+since she left school in July, crowded with difficulties.
+
+"I don't think I want that man to speak," said Mrs. Dashwood, turning
+her head to look back at the portrait.
+
+"What a funny thing to say!" thought Gwen, about a mere portrait, and
+she sniggled a little. "He's got a ghost," she said aloud. "Hasn't he,
+Lady Dashwood?"
+
+"No," said Lady Dashwood briefly. "He hasn't got a ghost. The college
+has got a ghost----"
+
+"Oh, yes," said Gwen, "I mean that, of course."
+
+"If the ghost is--all that remains of the gentleman over the fireplace,"
+said Mrs. Dashwood, "I hope he doesn't appear often." She was still
+glancing back at the portrait.
+
+"Isn't it exciting?" said Gwen. "The ghost appears whenever anything is
+going to happen----"
+
+"My dear Gwen," said Lady Dashwood, "in that case the ghost might as
+well bring his bag and baggage and remain here."
+
+"What sort of ghost?" asked Mrs. Dashwood.
+
+"Oh, only an eighteenth-century ghost--the ghost of the college barber,"
+said Lady Dashwood. "When that man was Warden, the college barber went
+and cut his throat in the Warden's Library."
+
+"What for?" asked Mrs. Dashwood simply.
+
+"Because the Warden insisted on his doing the Fellows' hair in the new
+elaborate style of the period--on his old wages."
+
+Mrs. Dashwood pondered, still looking at the portrait.
+
+"I should have cut the Warden's throat--not my own," she said, "if I
+had, on my old wages, to curl and crimp instead of merely putting a bowl
+on the gentlemen's heads and snipping round."
+
+"But he had his revenge," said Gwen eagerly, "he comes and shows himself
+in the Library when a Warden dies."
+
+Lady Dashwood had not during these last few minutes been really thinking
+of the Warden or of the college barber, nor of his ghost. She was
+thinking that it was characteristic of Gwen to be excited by and
+interested in a silly ghost story--and it was equally characteristic of
+her to be unable to tell the story correctly.
+
+"He is supposed to appear in the Library when anything disastrous is
+going to happen to a Warden," she said, and no sooner were the words
+out of her mouth than she paused and began thinking of what she was
+saying. "Anything disastrous to a Warden!" She had not thought of the
+matter before--Jim was now Warden! Anything disastrous! A marriage may
+be a disaster. Death is not so disastrous as utter disappointment with
+life and the pain of an empty heart!
+
+"Come along, May," she said, trying to suppress a shiver that went
+through her frame. "Come along, May. Goodness gracious, it's nearly
+eight o'clock and we are going to dine at eight fifteen!"
+
+"I can dress in two shakes," said May Dashwood.
+
+"I've asked Mr. Boreham," said Lady Dashwood, pushing her niece gently
+before her towards the door and blessing her--in her under-thoughts
+("Bless you, May, dear dear May!"). "He talked so much about you the
+other day," she went on aloud, "that when I got your wire--I felt bound
+to ask him--I hope you don't mind."
+
+"Nobody does mind Mr. Boreham," said May. "I haven't seen him--for
+years."
+
+"You know his aunt left him Chartcote, so he has taken to haunting
+Oxford for the last three months. Talk of ghosts----"
+
+Then the door closed behind the two ladies and Gwen was left alone in
+the drawing-room. She went up to the clock. It was striking eight.
+Fifteen minutes and nothing to do! She would go and see if there were
+any letters. She went outside. Letters by the first post and by the last
+post were all placed on a table at the head of the staircase. Gwen went
+and looked at the table. Letters there were, all for the Warden! No!
+there was one for her, from her mother. She opened it nervously. Was it
+a scolding about losing that umbrella? Gwen began to read:
+
+
+     "My dear Gwen,
+
+    "I hope you understand that Lady Dashwood will keep you till the
+    3rd. You don't mention the Warden! Does that mean that you are
+    making no progress in that direction? Perhaps taking no trouble!
+
+    "The question is, where you will go on the 3rd?"
+
+
+Here Gwen's heart gave a thump of alarm and dismay.
+
+
+    "It is all off with your cousin Bridget. She writes that she can't
+    have you, because she has to be in town unexpectedly. This is only
+    an excuse. I am disappointed but not surprised, after that record
+    behaviour to me when the war broke out and after promising that I
+    should be in her show in France, and then backing out of it. Exactly
+    why, I found out only yesterday! You remember that General X. had
+    actually to separate two of the 'angels' that were flitting about on
+    their work of mercy and had come to blows over it. Well, one of the
+    two was your cousin Bridget. That didn't get photographed in the
+    papers. It would have looked sweet. But now I'm going to give you a
+    scolding. Bridget did get wind of your muddling about at the
+    Ringwood's little hospital this summer, and spending all your time
+    and energy on a man who I told you was no use. What's the good of
+    talking any more about it? I've talked till I'm blue--and yet you
+    will no doubt go and do the same thing again.
+
+    "I ought not to have to tell you that if you do come across any
+    stray Undergraduates, don't go for them. Nothing will come of it.
+    Try and keep this in your noddle. Go for Dr. Middleton--men of that
+    age are often silliest about girls--and don't simply go mooning
+    along. Then why did you go and lose your umbrella? You have nothing
+    in this wide world to think of but to keep yourself and your baggage
+    together.
+
+    "It's the second you have lost this year. I can't afford another.
+    You must 'borrow' one. Your new winter rig-out is more than I can
+    afford. I'm being dunned for bills that have only run two years. Why
+    can't I make you realise all this? What is the matter with you? Give
+    the maid who waits on you half a crown, nothing to the butler. Lady
+    D. is sure to see you off--and you can leave the taxi to her. Leave
+    your laundry bill at the back of a drawer--as if you had mislaid it.
+    I will send you a P.O. for your ticket to Stow."
+
+
+Here Gwen made a pause, for her heart was thumping loudly.
+
+
+    "There's nothing for it but to go to Nana's cottage at Stow for the
+    moment. I know it's beastly dull for you--but it's partly your own
+    fault that you are to have a dose of Stow. I'm full up for two
+    months and more, but I'll see what I can do for you at once. I am
+    writing to Mrs. Greenleafe Potten, to ask her if she will have you
+    for a week on Monday, but I'm afraid she won't. At Stow you won't
+    need anything but a few stamps and a penny for Sunday collection.
+    I've written to Nana. She only charges me ten shillings a week for
+    you. She will mend up your clothes and make two or three blouses for
+    you into the bargain. Don't attempt to help her. They must be done
+    properly. Get on with that flannelette frock for the Serb relief.
+    Address me still here.
+
+                                                      "Your very loving,
+
+                                                               "Mother."
+
+
+Nana's cottage at Stow! Thatch smelling of the November rains; a stuffy
+little parlour with a smoky fire. Forlorn trees outside shedding their
+last leaves into the ditch at the side of the lane. Her old nurse,
+nearly stone deaf, as her sole companion.
+
+Gwen felt her knees trembling under her. Her eyes smarted and a great
+sob came into her throat. She had no home. Nobody wanted her!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+PASSIONATE PITY
+
+
+A tear fell upon the envelope in her hand, and one fell upon the red
+carpet under her feet. She must try and not cry, crying made one ugly.
+She must go to her room as quickly as she could.
+
+Then came noiselessly out from the curtained door at Gwen's right hand
+the figure of Dr. Middleton. He was already dressed for dinner, his face
+composed and dignified as usual, but preoccupied as if the business of
+the day was not over. There were these letters waiting for him on the
+table. He came on, and Gwen, blinded by a big tear in each eye, vaguely
+knew that he stooped and swept up the letters in his hand. Then he
+turned his face towards her in his slow, deliberate way and looked. She
+closed her eyes, and the two tears squeezed between the lids, ran down
+her cheeks leaving the delicate rosy skin wet and shining under the
+electric light.
+
+Tears had rarely been seen by the Warden: never--in fact--until lately!
+He was startled by them and disconcerted.
+
+"Has anything happened?" he asked. "Anything serious?" It would need to
+be something very serious for tears!
+
+The gentleness of his voice only made the desolation in Gwen's heart the
+more poignant. In a week's time she would have to leave this beautiful
+kindly little home, this house of refuge. The fear she had had before of
+the Warden vanished at his sudden tenderness of tone; he seemed now
+something to cling to, something solid and protective that belonged to
+the world of ease and comfort, of good things; things to be desired
+above all else, and from which she was going to be cruelly banished--to
+Stow. She made a convulsive noise somewhere in her young throat, but was
+inarticulate.
+
+There came sounds of approaching steps. The Warden hesitated but only
+for a moment. He moved to the door of the library.
+
+"Come in here," he said, a little peremptorily, and he turned and opened
+it for Gwen.
+
+Gwen slid within and moving blindly, knocked herself against the
+protruding wing of his book-shelves. That made the Warden vexed with
+somebody, the somebody who had made the child cry so much that she
+couldn't see where she was going. He closed the door behind her.
+
+"You have bad news in that letter?" he asked. "Your mother is not ill?"
+
+Gwen shook her head and stared upon the floor, her lips twitching.
+
+"Anything you can talk over with Lady Dashwood?" he asked.
+
+"No," was the stifled answer with a shake of the dark head.
+
+"Can you tell me about it? I might be able to advise, help you?"
+
+"No!" This time the sound was long drawn out with a shrill sob.
+
+What was to be done?
+
+"Try not to cry!" he said gently. "Tell me what it is all about. If you
+need help--perhaps I can help you!"
+
+So much protecting sympathy given to her, after that letter, made Gwen
+feel the joy of utter weakness in the presence of strength, of saving
+support.
+
+"Shall I read that letter?" he asked, putting out his hand.
+
+Gwen clutched it tighter. No, no, that would be fatal! He laid his hand
+upon hers. Gwen began to tremble. She shook from head to foot, even her
+teeth chattered. She held tight on to that letter--but she leaned nearer
+to him.
+
+"Then," said the Warden, without removing his hand, "tell me what is
+troubling you? It is something in that letter?"
+
+Gwen moved her lips and made a great effort to speak.
+
+"It's--it's nothing!" she said.
+
+"Nothing!" repeated the Warden, just a little sternly.
+
+This was too much for Gwen, the tears rose again swiftly into her eyes
+and began to drop down her cheeks. "It's only----" she began.
+
+"Yes, tell me," said the Warden, coaxingly, for those tears hurt him,
+"tell me, child, never mind what it is."
+
+"It's only--," she began again, and now her teeth chattered, "only--that
+nobody cares what happens to me--I've got no home!"
+
+That this pretty, inoffensive, solitary child had no home, was no news
+to the Warden. His sister had hinted at it on the day that Gwen was left
+behind by her mother. But he had dismissed the matter, as not concerning
+the college or the reconstruction of National Education. Since then
+whenever it cropped up again, he again dismissed it, because--well,
+because his mind was not clear. Now, suddenly, he seemed to be more
+certain, his thoughts clearer. Each tear that Gwen dropped seemed to
+drop some responsibility upon him. His face must have betrayed
+this--perhaps his hands also. How it happened the Warden did not quite
+know, but he was conscious that the girl made a movement towards him,
+and then he found himself holding her in his arms. She was weeping
+convulsively into his shirt-front--weeping out the griefs of her
+childhood and girlhood and staining his shirt front with responsibility
+for them all, soaking him with petty cares, futile recollections, mean
+subterfuges, silly triumphs, sordid disappointments, all the small
+squalid moral muddle that Belinda Scotts call "life."
+
+All this smothered the Warden's shirt-front and trickled sideways into
+the softer part of that article of his dress.
+
+For the first few moments his power of thinking failed him. He was
+conscious only of his hands on her waist and shoulder, of the warmth of
+her dark hair against his face. He could feel her heart thumping,
+thumping in her slender body against his.
+
+A knock came at the door.
+
+The Warden came to himself. He released the weeping girl gently and
+walked to the door.
+
+He opened it, holding it in his hand. "What is it, Robinson?" he asked,
+for he had for the moment forgotten that it was dinner time, and that a
+guest was expected.
+
+"Mr. Boreham is in the drawing-room, sir," said the old servant very
+meekly, for he met the narrow eyes fixed coldly upon him.
+
+"Very well," said the Warden, and he closed the door again.
+
+Then he turned round and looked at Gwendolen Scott. She was standing
+exactly where he had left her, standing with her hands clutching at a
+little pocket-handkerchief and her letter. She was waiting. Her wet
+eyelashes almost rested on her flushed cheeks. Her lips were slightly
+swollen. She was not crying, she was still and silent. She was
+waiting--her conceit for the moment gone--she was waiting to know from
+him what was going to become of her. Her whole drooping attitude was
+profoundly humble. The humility of it gave Middleton a strange pang of
+pain and pleasure.
+
+The way in which the desire for power expresses itself in a man or woman
+is the supreme test of character. The weak fritter away on nothings the
+driving force of this priceless instinct; this instinct that has raised
+us from primeval slime to the mastery of the world. The weak waste it,
+it seems to slip through their fingers and vanish. Only the strong can
+bend this spiritual energy to the service of an important issue, and the
+strongest of all do this unconsciously, so that He, who is supreme
+Master of the souls of men, could say, "Why callest thou _Me_ good?"
+
+The Warden in his small sphere of academic life showed himself to be one
+of the strong sort. His mind was analytical rather than constructive,
+but among all the crowded teaching staff of Oxford only one other
+man--and he, too, now the head of a famous college--had given as much of
+himself to his pupils. Indeed, so much had the Warden given, that he had
+left little for himself. His time and his extraordinarily wide
+knowledge, materials that he had gathered for his own use, all were at
+the service of younger men who appealed to him for guidance. He grasped
+at opportunities for them, found gaps that they could fill, he
+criticised, suggested, pushed; and so the years went on, and his own
+books remained unwritten. Only now, when a new world seemed to him to be
+in the making--he sat down deliberately to give his own thoughts
+expression.
+
+Men like Middleton are rare in any University; a man unselfish enough
+and able enough to spend himself, sacrifice himself in "making men." And
+even this outstanding usefulness, this masterly hold he had of the best
+men who passed through King's would not have forced his colleagues to
+elect him as Warden. They made him Warden because they couldn't help
+themselves, because he was in all ways the dominating personality of the
+college, and even the book weary, the dull, the frankly cynical among
+the Fellows could not escape from the conviction that King's would be
+safe in Middleton's hands, so there was no reason to seek further
+afield.
+
+But women and sentiment had played a very small part in the Warden's
+life. His acquaintance with women had been superficial. He did not
+profess to understand them. Gwendolen Scott had for several days sat at
+his table, looking like a flower. That her emotions were shallow and her
+mind vacant did not occur to the Warden. She was like a flower--that was
+all! His business had been with men--young men. And just now, as one by
+one, these young men, once the interest and pride of his college, were
+stricken down as they stood upon the very threshold of life, the
+Warden's heart had become empty and aching.
+
+And now, on this autumn evening, this sobbing girl seemed, somehow, all
+part of the awful tragedy that was being enacted, only in her case--he
+had the power to help. He need not let her wander alone into the
+wilderness of life.
+
+For the first time in his life, his sense of power betrayed him. It was
+in his own hands to mould the future of this helpless girl--so he
+imagined!
+
+He experienced two or three delicious moments as he walked towards her,
+knowing that she would melt into his arms and give up all her sorrows
+into his keeping. She was waiting on his will! But was this love?
+
+The Warden was well aware that it was not love, such as a man of his
+temperament conceived love to be.
+
+But his youth was passed. The time had gone when he could fall in love
+and marry a common mortal under the impression that she was an angel.
+Was it likely that now, in middle life, he would find a woman who would
+rouse the deepest of his emotions or satisfy the needs of his life?
+
+Why should he expect to find at forty, what few men meet in the prime of
+youth? All that he could expect now--hope for--was standing there
+waiting for him. Waiting with blushes, timid, dawning hope; full of
+trust and so pathetically humble!
+
+He took her into his arms and spoke, and his voice was steady but very
+low and a little husky.
+
+"There is no time to talk now. But you shall not go out into the
+wilderness of life, if you are afraid."
+
+She pressed her face closer to him--in answer.
+
+"If you want to, if you care to--come to me, I shall not refuse you a
+home. You understand?"
+
+She did fully understand. Her mother's letter had made it clearer than
+ever to her that marriage with somebody sufficiently well off is a haven
+of refuge for a woman, a port to be steered for with all available
+strength.
+
+Suddenly and unexpectedly Gwen had found herself in harbour, and the
+stormy sea passed.
+
+"Run up to your room now," he said, "and bathe your face and come down
+to the drawing-room as if nothing had happened."
+
+He did not kiss her. A thought, such as only disturbs a man of
+scrupulous honour, came to him. He was so much older than she was that
+she must have time to think--she must come to him and ask for what he
+could give her--not, as she was just now--convulsed with grief; she must
+come quietly and confidently and with her mind made up. There must be no
+working upon her emotions, no urgency of his own will over a weaker
+will; no compulsion such as a strong man can exercise over a weak woman.
+
+He pushed her gently away, and she raised her head, smiling through her
+tears and murmuring something: what was it? Was it "Thanks;" but she
+did not look him in the face, she dare not meet those narrow blue eyes
+that were bent upon her.
+
+He stood watching her as she moved lightly to the door. There she turned
+back, and even then she did not raise her eyes to his face, but she
+smiled a strange bewildered smile into the air and fled.
+
+It was really _she_ who had conquered, and with such feeble weapons.
+
+She had gone. The door was closed. The Warden was alone.
+
+He looked round the room, at the book-lined walls, at his desk strewn
+with papers, and then the whole magnitude and meaning of what he had
+done--came to him!
+
+He took out his watch. It was twenty past eight--all but a minute. In
+less than twenty minutes he had disposed of and finally settled one of
+the most important affairs of life. Was this the action of a sane man?
+
+During the last few days he had gradually been drifting towards this,
+just drifting. He had been dreaming of it all the time, dreaming in that
+part of his brain where the mind works out its problems underground,
+waiting until the higher world of consciousness calls for them, and they
+are flung out into the open daylight--solved. A solution found without
+real solid premeditation.
+
+Was the solution to his life's problem a good one, or a bad one? Was it
+true to his past life, or was it false? Can a man successfully live out
+a plan that he has only dimly outlined in a dream and swiftly finished
+in a passion of pity?
+
+It was Middleton's duty as host to go into the drawing-room. He must go
+at once and think afterwards. And yet he lingered. She might not claim
+him. She too might have been moved only by a momentary emotion! But
+what right had he to be speculating on the chance of release? It was a
+bad beginning!
+
+On the floor lay a letter. The Warden had not noticed it before. He
+picked it up. It was the letter that she had held in her trembling
+hands.
+
+He stood holding it, and then suddenly he opened the flap and pulled the
+sheet from its cover. He unfolded it and looked at the signature. Yes,
+it was from her mother. He folded the paper again and put it back in the
+envelope.
+
+Then as he stood for a moment, with the letter in his hand, he perceived
+that his shirt-front was stained--with her tears.
+
+He left the library and went towards his bedroom behind the curtained
+door. He had the letter in his hand. He caught sight of Louise, Lady
+Dashwood's maid, near the drawing-room door. The Warden held the letter
+out to her.
+
+"Please put this letter in Miss Scott's room," he said. "I found it
+lying on the floor;" and he went back into his room.
+
+Louise had gone to the drawing-room with a handkerchief forgotten by
+Lady Dashwood. She took the letter and went upstairs to her mistress's
+room, gazing at the letter as she walked. Now Louise was not a French
+woman for nothing. A letter--even an open letter--passing between a male
+and a female, must relate to an affair of the heart. This was
+interesting--exciting! Louise felt the necessity of thinking the matter
+out. Here was a pretty young lady, Miss Scott, and here was the Warden,
+not indeed very young, but _tr�s tr�s bien, tr�s distingu�_! Very well,
+if the young lady was married, then well, naturally something would
+happen! But she was "Miss," and that was quite other thing. Young
+unmarried girls must be protected--it is so in _la belle France_.
+Louise pulled the envelope apart and drew out the contents. She opened
+the letter, and searched for the missive between its folds which was
+destined for the hands of "Miss." There was none. Louise spread out the
+letter. Her knowledge of English as a spoken language was limited, and
+as a written language it was an unending puzzle.
+
+She could, however, read the beginning and the end.
+
+"Dear Gwen" ... and "Mother." _Hein!_
+
+The reason why the letter had been put into her hands was just because
+she could not read it.
+
+What cunning! Without doubt, there were some additions added by the
+Warden here and there to the maternal messages, which would have their
+significance to "Miss." Again, what cunning!
+
+And the Warden, so dignified and so just as he ought to be! Ah, my God,
+but one never knows!
+
+Louise folded up the letter and replaced it in its envelope.
+
+Doubtless my Lady Dashwood was in the dark. Oh, completely! That goes
+without saying. Louise had already tidied the room. There was nothing
+more for her to do. She had been on the point of going down to the
+servants' quarters. Should she take the letter as directed to the room
+occupied by "Miss"? That was the momentous question. Now Louise was
+bound hand and foot to the service of Lady Dashwood. Only for the sake
+of that lady would Louise have endured the miseries of Oxford and the
+taciturnity of Robinson, and the impertinence of Robinson's grandson,
+Robinson aged fifteen, and the stupid solemnity of Mrs. Robinson, the
+daughter-in-law of Robinson and the widowed mother of the young
+Robinson.
+
+Louise loved Lady Dashwood. Lady Dashwood was munificent and always
+amiable, things very rare. Also Louise was a widow and had two children
+in whom Lady Dashwood took an interest.
+
+That Monsieur, the head of the College, should secretly communicate with
+a "Miss" was a real scandal. _Propos d'amour_ are not for young ladies
+who are unmarried. The Warden ought to have known better than that----
+Ah, poor Lady Dashwood!
+
+Torn between the desire to participate in an interesting affair and her
+duty not to assist scandals in the family of my Lady Dashwood, Louise
+stood for some time plunged in painful argument with herself. At last
+her sense of duty prevailed! She would not deliver the letter. No, not
+if her life depended on it. The question was---- Ah, this would be what
+she would do. A brilliant idea had struck her. Louise went to the
+dressing-table. It was covered with Lady Dashwood's toilet things, all
+neatly arranged. On the top of the jewel drawers at one side lay two
+envelopes, letters that had come by the last post and had been put aside
+hurriedly by Lady Dashwood. Louise lifted these two letters and
+underneath them placed the letter addressed to Miss Gwendolen Scott.
+
+"Good!" exclaimed Louise to the empty room. "The letter is now in the
+disposition of the Good God! And the Warden! All that there is of the
+most as it ought to be! Ah, but it is incredible!"
+
+Louise went to the door and put out the lights. Then she closed the door
+softly behind her and went downstairs.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE UNFORESEEN HAPPENS
+
+
+Before his maternal aunt had left him Chartcote, the Honourable Bernard
+Boreham's income had been just sufficient to enable him to live without
+making himself useful. The Boreham estate in Ireland was burdened with
+obligations to female relatives who lived in various depressing
+watering-places in England. Bernard, the second son, had not been sent
+to a public school or University. He had struggled up as best he might,
+and like all the members of his family, he had left his beloved country
+as soon as he possibly could, and had picked up some extra shillings in
+London by writing light articles of an inflammatory nature for papers
+that required them. Boreham had had no real practical acquaintance with
+the world. He had never been responsible for any one but himself. He was
+a floating cloudlet. Ideas came to him easily--all the more easily
+because he was scantily acquainted with the mental history of the past.
+He did not know what had been already thought out and dismissed, nor
+what had been tried and had failed. The world was new to him--new--and
+full of errors.
+
+From the moment that Chartcote became his and he was his own master, it
+occurred to him that he might write a really great book. A book that
+would make the world conscious of its follies. He felt that it was time
+that some one--like himself--who could shed the superstitions and the
+conventions of the past and step out a new man with new ideas,
+uncorrupted by kings or priests (or Oxford traditions), and give a lead
+to the world.
+
+It was, of course, an unfortunate circumstance that Oxford was now so
+military, so smitten by the war and shorn of her pomp, so empty of
+academic life. But after the war Boreham meant among other things to
+study Oxford, and if perfectly frank criticism could help her to a
+better understanding of her faults in view of the world's
+requirements--well, it should have that criticism. Boreham had
+considerable leisure, for apart from his big Book which he began to
+sketch, he found nothing to do. Every sort of work that others were
+doing for the war he considered radically faulty, and he had no scheme
+of his own--at the moment. Besides, he felt that England was not all she
+ought to be. He did not love England--he only liked living in England.
+
+Boreham had arrived punctually for dinner on that October evening; in
+fact, he had arrived too early; but he told Lady Dashwood that his watch
+was fast.
+
+"All the clocks in Oxford are wrong," he said to her, as he stood on the
+hearthrug in the drawing-room, "and mine is wrong!"
+
+Boreham was tall and fair and wore a fair pointed beard. His features
+were not easy to describe in detail, they gave one the impression that
+they had been cut with insufficient premeditation by the hand of his
+Creator, from some pale fawn-coloured material. He wore a single
+eyeglass which he stuck into a pale blue eye, mainly as an aid to
+conversation. With Boreham conversation meant an exposition of his own
+"ideas." He was disappointed at finding only Lady Dashwood in the
+drawing-room; but she had been really good natured in asking him to come
+and meet May Dashwood, so he was "conversing" freely with her when the
+door opened and Gwendolen Scott came in. Boreham started and put his
+eyeglass in the same eye again, instead of exercising the other eye. He
+was agitated. When he saw that it was not May Dashwood who had come in,
+but a youthful female unknown to him and probably of no conversational
+significance, he dropped his glass on to his shirt-front, where it made
+a dull thud. Gwen's face was flushed, and her lips still a little
+swollen; but there was nothing that betrayed tears to strangers, though
+Lady Dashwood saw at once that she had been crying. As soon as the
+introduction was over Gwen sank into a large easy-chair where her slight
+figure was almost obliterated.
+
+She had got back her self-control. It had not, after all, been so
+difficult to get it back--for the glow of a new excitement possessed
+her. For the first time in her life she had succeeded. Until to-day she
+had had no luck. At a cheap school for the "Education of Daughters of
+Officers" Gwen had not learnt more than she could possibly help. Her
+first appearance in the world, this last summer, had been, considering
+her pretty face, on the whole a disappointment. But now she was
+successful. Gwen tingled with the comfortable warmth of self-esteem. She
+looked giddily round the spacious room--was it possible that all this
+might be hers? It was amazing that luck should have just dropped into
+her lap.
+
+Boreham had turned again to Lady Dashwood as soon as he had been
+introduced and had executed the reverential bow that he considered
+proper, however contemptuously he might feel towards the female he
+saluted.
+
+"As we were saying," he went on, "Middleton--except to-day--has always
+been punctual to the minute, by that I mean punctual to the fastest
+Oxford time. He is the sort of man who is born punctual. Punctually he
+came into the world. Punctually he will go out of it. He has never been
+what I call a really free man. In other words, he is a slave to what's
+called 'Duty.'"
+
+Here the door opened again, and again Boreham was unable to conceal his
+vivid curiosity as he turned to see who it was coming in. This time it
+was the Warden--the Warden in a blameless shirt-front. He had changed in
+five minutes. He walked in composed as usual. There was not a trace in
+his face that in the library only a few minutes ago he had been
+disposing of his future with amazing swiftness.
+
+"Go on, Boreham," said the Warden, giving his guest, along with the
+glance that serves in Oxford as sufficient greeting to frequenters of
+Common Room, a slight grasp of the hand because he was not a member of
+Common Room. The Warden had not heard Boreham's remarks, he merely knew
+that he had interrupted some exposition of "ideas."
+
+In a flash the Warden saw, without looking at her, that Gwen was there,
+half hidden in a chair; and Gwen, on her side, felt her heart thump, and
+was proudly and yet fearfully conscious of every movement of the Warden
+as he walked across the room and stood on the other side of the
+hearthrug. "Does he--does that important person belong to me?" she
+thought. The conviction was overpowering that if that important person
+did belong to her, and it appeared that he did, she also must be
+important.
+
+Boreham's appearance did not gain in attractiveness by the proximity of
+his host. He began again in his rapid rather high voice.
+
+"You see for yourself," he said, turning back to Lady Dashwood: "here he
+is--the very picture of what is conventionally correct, his features,
+his manner, before which younger men who are not so correct actually
+quail. I'm afraid that now he is Warden he has lost the chance of
+becoming a free man. I had hopes of one day seeing him carried off his
+feet by some impulse which fools call 'folly.' If he could have been
+even once divinely drunk, he might have realised his true self, I am
+afraid now he is hopeless."
+
+"My dear man, your philosophy of freedom is only suitable for the 'idle
+rich.' You would be the first person to object to your cook becoming
+divinely drunk instead of soberly preparing your dinner."
+
+Boreham always ignored an argument that told against him, so he merely
+continued--
+
+"As it is, Middleton, who might have been magnificent, is bound hand and
+foot to the service of mere propriety, and will end by saddling himself
+with some dull wife."
+
+The Warden stood patient and composed while Boreham was talking about
+him. He took out his watch and glanced at Lady Dashwood.
+
+"I've given May five minutes' grace," she said, and then turned her face
+again to Boreham. "But why should Jim marry a dull wife? It will be his
+own fault if he does."
+
+Gwen in her large chair sat stupefied at the word "wife."
+
+"No," said Boreham, emphatically. "It won't be his fault. The best of
+our sex are daily sacrificed to the most dismal women. Men being in the
+minority now--dangerously in the minority--are, as all minorities are,
+imposed upon by the gross majority. Supposing Middleton meets, to speak
+to, in his whole life, a couple of hundred women here and elsewhere,
+none of whom are in the least charming; well, then, one out of these two
+hundred, the one with the most brazen determination to be married, will
+marry him, and there'll be an end of it. The kindest thing, Lady
+Dashwood," continued Boreham, "and I speak from the great love I have
+for Middleton, is for you just to invite with sisterly discrimination
+some women, not quite unbearable to Middleton, and he, like the Emperor
+Theophilus, will come into this room with an apple in his hand and
+present it to one of them. He can make the same remark that Theophilus
+made to the lady he first approached."
+
+"And what was that?" asked Lady Dashwood. She was amused at finding the
+conversation turn on the very subject nearest her heart. Even Mr.
+Boreham was proving himself useful in uttering this blunt warning of
+dangers ahead.
+
+"His remark was: 'Woman is the source of evil.' And the lady's reply
+was----"
+
+Both Lady Dashwood and Gwen were gazing intently at Boreham and Boreham
+was staring fixedly at the ornament in Lady Dashwood's grey hair. No one
+but the Warden noticed the door open and May Dashwood enter. She was
+dressed in black and wore no ornaments. She had caught the gist of what
+Boreham was saying, and she made the most delightful movement of her
+hands to Middleton that expressed both respectful greeting to him as her
+host, and an apology for remaining motionless on the threshold of the
+room, so that she should not break Boreham's story.
+
+"And her reply was," went on the unconscious Boreham, "'But surely also
+of much good!'"
+
+So that was all! May Dashwood came forward and walked straight up to the
+Warden. She held out both her hands to him in apology for her behaviour.
+
+"I hope he--whoever he was--did not marry the young woman who made such
+an obvious retort," she said. "Fancy what the conversation would be like
+at the breakfast table."
+
+Boreham was too much occupied with his own interesting emotions at the
+sudden appearance of Mrs. Dashwood to notice what was plain to Lady
+Dashwood and Gwendolen Scott, that the Warden seemed wholly taken by
+surprise.
+
+"He didn't marry her," he said, as he held May Dashwood's hands for a
+moment and stared down into her upturned face with his narrow eyes.
+"But," he added, "the story is probably a fake."
+
+"Ah!" said Mrs. Dashwood, as she released her hands. Then she turned to
+Boreham, who was waiting--a picture of self-consciousness in pale fawn.
+
+Gwen's recently regained self-confidence was already oozing out of every
+pore of her skin. It didn't matter when the Warden and Mr. Boreham
+talked queer talk, that was to be expected; but what did matter was this
+Mrs. Dashwood talking queerly with them. Rubbish she, Gwen, called it.
+What did that Mrs. Dashwood mean by saying that the retort, "And also of
+much good," was obvious? What did "obvious" mean? To Gwen the retort
+seemed profoundly clever--and so true! How was she, Gwen, to cope with
+this sort of thing? And then there was the Warden already giving this
+terrible woman his arm and looking at her far too closely.
+
+"Come, Gwen," said Lady Dashwood, "Mr. Boreham must take us both!"
+
+Gwen's head swam. Along with this new and painful sensation had come a
+sudden recollection of something! That letter of her mother's! It had
+not been in her hand when she went into her bedroom. No, it had not. Had
+she dropped it in the library, when the Warden had---- Oh!
+
+"I've lost my handkerchief," murmured the girl, "somewhere----" Her
+voice was very small and sad, and she looked helplessly round the room.
+
+"Mr. Boreham, stop and help her find it," said Lady Dashwood, "I must go
+down."
+
+Boreham stood rigidly at the door. He saw his hostess go out and still
+he did not move.
+
+Gwen looked at him in despair. What she had intended, of course, was to
+have flown into the library and looked for her letter. How could she
+now, with Mr. Boreham standing in the way? And that terrible woman had
+gone off arm-in-arm with the Warden. Gwen stared at Boreham. An idea
+struck her. She would go into the library--after dinner--before the men
+came up. But she must pretend to look for her handkerchief for a minute
+or two.
+
+"Do you call Mrs. Dashwood pretty?" she asked tremulously, not looking
+at Boreham, but diving her hand into the corners of the chair she had
+been sitting in. She must find out what men thought of Mrs. Dashwood.
+She must know the worst--now, when she had the opportunity.
+
+"Pretty!" said Boreham, still motionless at the door. "That's not a
+useful word. She's alluring."
+
+"Oh!" said Gwen. She had left off thumping the chair, and now walked
+slowly to him--wide-eyed with anxiety. To Gwen, a man past his youth,
+wearing a fair beard and fair eyebrows that were stiff and stuck out
+like spikes, was scarcely a person of sex at all; but still he would
+probably know what men thought.
+
+"I don't think she is pretty--very," she said, her lips trembling a
+little as she spoke, and she gazed in a challenging way at Boreham.
+
+"She is the most womanly woman I know," said Boreham. "Middleton is
+probably finding that out already."
+
+Gwen patted her waistband where it bulged ever so slightly with her
+handkerchief. "Womanly!" she repeated in a doubtful voice.
+
+"He'll fall in love with her to-day and propose to-morrow. Do him a
+world of good," said Boreham.
+
+"Propose!" Gwen caught her breath. "But he couldn't--she couldn't--he
+couldn't--marry!"
+
+"Couldn't marry--I didn't say marry--I said he will propose to-morrow."
+Boreham laughed a little in his beard.
+
+"I don't understand," stammered the girl. "You mean--she would refuse?"
+
+"No," said Boreham. "It mightn't go as far as that--the whole thing is a
+matter of words--words--words. It's a part of a man's education to fall
+in love with Mrs. Dashwood!"
+
+Gwen blinked at him. A piercing thought struck her brain. Spoken
+words--they didn't count! Words alone didn't clinch the bargain! Words
+didn't tie a man up to his promise. Was this the "law"? She must get at
+the actual "law" of the matter. She knew something about love-making,
+but nothing about the "law."
+
+"Do you mean," she said, and she scarcely recognised her own voice, so
+great was her concentration of thought and so slowly did she pronounce
+the enigmatic words, "if he had kissed you as well, he would be obliged
+to marry one?"
+
+Boreham knitted his brows. "If I was, at this moment to kiss you, my
+dear lady," he began, "I should not be compelled to marry you. Even the
+gross injustice meted out to us men by the laws (backed up by Mrs.
+Grundy) dares not go as far as that. But there is no knowing what new
+oppression is in store for us--in the future."
+
+"I only mean," stammered Gwen, "_if_ he had already said--something."
+
+Boreham simply stared at her. "I am confused," he said. "Confused!"
+
+"Oh, please don't imagine that I meant you," she entreated. "I never for
+one single instant thought of you. I should never have imagined! I am so
+sorry!"
+
+And yet this humble apology did not mollify him. Gwen almost felt
+frightened. Everything seemed going to pieces, and she was no nearer
+knowing what the legal aspects of her case were.
+
+"Have you found your handkerchief?" Boreham asked, and the spikes in his
+eyebrows seemed to twitch.
+
+"It was in my band, all the time," said Gwen, smiling deprecatingly.
+"Oh, what a bother everything was!"
+
+"Then we have wasted precious time for nothing," said Boreham. "All the
+fun is going on downstairs--come along, Miss Wallace."
+
+Boreham knew her name wasn't Wallace, but Wallace was Scotch and that
+was near enough, when he was angry.
+
+Gwen went downstairs as if she were in an ugly dream. Her brief
+happiness and security and pleasure at her own importance was vanishing.
+This broad staircase that she was descending on Boreham's stiff and
+rebellious arm; this wall with its panelling and its dim pictures of
+strange men's faces; these wide doors thrown back through which one went
+solemnly into the long dining-room; this dining-room itself dim and
+dignified; all this was going to be hers--only----. Gwendolen, as she
+emerged into the glow of the long oval table, could see nothing but the
+face of Mrs. Dashwood, gently brilliant, and the Warden roused to
+attentive interest. What was Gwen to do? There was nobody whom she could
+consult. Should she write to her mother? Her mother would scold her!
+What, then, was she to do? Perhaps she had better write to her mother,
+and let her see that she had, at any rate, tried her best. And in saying
+the words to herself "tried her best," Gwen was not speaking the truth
+even to herself. She had not tried at all; the whole thing had come
+about accidentally. It had somehow happened!
+
+Instead of going straight to bed that evening Gwen seated herself at
+the writing-table in her bedroom. She must write a letter to her mother
+and ask for advice. The letter must go as soon as possible. Gwen knew
+that if she put it off till the morning, it might never get written. She
+was always too sleepy to get up before breakfast. In Oxford breakfast
+for Dons was at eight o'clock, and that was far too early, as it was,
+for Gwen. Then after breakfast, there was "no time" to do anything, and
+so on, during the rest of the day.
+
+So Gwen sat at her writing-table and wrote the longest letter she had
+ever written. Gwen's handwriting was pointed, it was also shaky, and
+generally ran downhill, or else uphill.
+
+
+    "Dear Mummy,
+
+    "Please write and tell me what to do? I've done all I could, but
+    everything is in a rotten muddle. This evening I was crying, crying
+    a little at your letter--I really couldn't help it--but anyhow it
+    turned out all right--and the Warden suddenly came along the passage
+    and saw me. He took me into his library, I don't know how it all
+    happened, Mummy, but he put his arms round me and told me to come to
+    him if I wanted a home. He was sweet, and I naturally thought this
+    was true, and I said 'Yes' and 'Thanks.' There wasn't time for more,
+    because of dinner. But a Mr. Boarham, who is a sort of cousin of Dr.
+    Middleton, says that proposals are all words and that you needn't be
+    married. What am I to do? I don't know if I am really engaged or
+    not--because the Warden hasn't said anything more--and suppose he
+    doesn't---- Isn't it rotten? Do write and tell me what to do, for I
+    feel so queer. What makes me worried is Mrs. Dashwood, a widow,
+    talks so much. At dinner the Warden seemed so much taken up by
+    her--quite different. But then after dinner it wasn't like that. We
+    sat in the drawing-room all the time and at least the men smoked and
+    Lady Dashwood and me, but not Mrs. Dashwood, who said she was Early
+    Victorian, and ought to have died long ago. She worked. Lady
+    Dashwood said that she smoked because she was a silly old heathen,
+    and that made me feel beastly. It wasn't fair--but Lady Dashwood is
+    often rather nasty. But afterwards _he_ was nice, and asked me to
+    play my reverie by Slapovski. I have never forgotten it, Mummy,
+    though I haven't been taught it for six months. I am telling you
+    everything so that you know what has happened. Well, Mr. Borham
+    said, 'For God's sake don't let's have any music.' He said that like
+    he always does. It is very rude. Of course I refused to play, and
+    the Warden was so nice, and he looked at me very straight and did
+    not look at Mrs. Dashwood now. I think it must be all right. He sat
+    in an armchair opposite us, and put his elbow on the arm and held
+    the back of his neck--he does that, and smoked again and stared all
+    the time at the carpet by Mrs. Dashwood's shoes, and never looked at
+    her, but talked a lot. I can't understand what they say, and it is
+    worse now Mrs. D. is here. Only once I saw him look up at her, and
+    then he had that severe look. So I don't think any harm has
+    happened. You know what I mean, Mummie. I was afraid he might like
+    her. I tell you everything so as you can judge and advise me, for I
+    could not tell all this to old Lady Dashwood, of course. Lady
+    Dashwood says smoking cigars in the drawing-room is good for the
+    furniture!!! I thought it very disgusting of Mr. Borham to say, 'For
+    God's sake.' He used not to believe in God, and even now he hasn't
+    settled whether there is a God. We are all to go to Chartcote House
+    for lunch. There is to be a Bazaar--I forget what for, somewhere. I
+    have no money except half-a-crown. I have not paid for my laundry,
+    so I can leave that in a drawer. Now, dear Mummy, do write at once
+    and say exactly what I am to do, and tell me if I am engaged or not.
+
+                                            "Your affectionate daughter,
+
+                                                                  "Gwen.
+
+    "I like the Warden ever so much, and partly because he does not wear
+    a beard. I feel very excited, but am trying not to. Mrs. D. is to
+    stay a whole week, till I go on the 3rd."
+
+
+Gwen laid down her pen and sat looking at the sheet of paper before her.
+She had told her mother "everything." She had omitted nothing, except
+that her mother's letter had dropped somewhere, either in the library or
+the staircase, and she could not find it again. If it had dropped in the
+library, somebody had picked it up. Supposing the Warden had picked it
+up and read it? The clear sharp understanding of "honour" possessed by
+the best type of Englishman and Englishwoman was not possessed by
+Gwen--it has not been acquired by the Belindas of Society or of the
+Slums. But no, Gwen felt sure that the Warden hadn't found it, or he
+would have been very, very angry. Then who had picked it up?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+WAITING
+
+
+If Pilate had uttered the sardonic remark "What is truth?" in Boreham's
+presence, he would certainly have compelled that weary official to wait
+for definite enlightenment. Boreham would have explained to him that
+although Absolute Truth (if there is such a thing) lies, like our
+Destiny, in the lap of the gods, he, Boreham, had a thoroughly reliable
+stock of useful truths with which he could supply any inquirer. Indeed
+to Boreham, the discussing of truths was a comparatively simple matter.
+Truths were of two kinds. Firstly, they were what he, himself, was
+convinced of at the moment of speaking; and secondly, they were _not_
+what the man next him believed in. Boreham found intolerable any
+assertion made by people he knew. He knew them! _Voila!_ But he felt he
+could very fairly well trust opinions expressed by the native
+inhabitants of--say Pomerania--or still better--India.
+
+Boreham had already some acquaintances in Oxford to whom he spoke, as he
+said himself, "frankly and fearlessly," and who tolerated him, whenever
+they had time to listen to him, because he was entirely harmless and
+merely tiresome. But he was not surprised (it had occurred before) that
+the Warden refused his invitation to lunch at Chartcote. The ladies had
+accepted; and when Boreham said "the ladies," on this occasion he was
+thinking solely of Mrs. Dashwood. Lady Dashwood had accepted the
+invitation because it was given verbally. She made no purely social
+engagements. The Warden, himself, did not entertain during the war, and
+the only engagements were those of business, or of hospitality of an
+academic nature.
+
+The day following May Dashwood's arrival was entirely uneventful. The
+Warden was mostly invisible. May was as bright as she had been on her
+arrival. Gwen went about wide-eyed and wistful, and spoke spasmodically.
+Lady Dashwood was serene and satisfied. A shy Don accompanied by a very
+nice, untidy wife, appeared at lunch, and they were introduced by the
+Warden as Mr. and Mrs. Stockwell. Mr. Stockwell was struck dumb at
+finding himself seated next to Mrs. Dashwood, a type of female little
+known to him. But May bravely taking him in hand, he recovered his
+powers of speech and became epigrammatic and sparkling. This
+round-shouldered, spectacled scholar, with a large nose and receding
+chin, poured out brilliant observations, subtile and suggestive, and had
+an apparently inexhaustible store of the literature of Europe. He sat
+sideways in his chair and spoke into May's sympathetic ear, giving an
+occasional swift appealing glance at the Warden, who came within the
+range of his vision.
+
+How Stockwell ate his food was impossible to discover. He seemed to give
+automatic twiddles to his fork and apparently swallowed something
+afterwards, for when Robinson's underling, Robinson _petit fils_,
+removed Stockwell's plates, they contained only wreckage.
+
+The Warden, aided by Lady Dashwood, struggled courteously with Mrs.
+Stockwell. She was obliged to talk across Gwendolen, who spent her time
+silently observing Mrs. Dashwood.
+
+Mrs. Stockwell had pathetic pretensions to intellectuality, based on a
+masterly acquaintance with the names of her husband's books and the fact
+that she lived in the academic circle. She had drooped visibly at the
+first sight of her hostess and Mrs. Dashwood, but was soon put at her
+ease by Lady Dashwood, who deftly drew her away from vague hints at the
+possession of learning into talk about her children. Gwen, watching the
+Warden and Mrs. Dashwood across Mrs. Stockwell's imitation lace front,
+could not be moved to speech. To any one in the secret there was written
+on her face two absorbing questions: "Am I engaged or not?" "Is she
+trying to oust me?"
+
+The Warden's enigmatic eyes held no information in them. He looked at
+her gravely when he did look, and--that was all. Was _he_ waiting to
+know whether he was engaged or not? Gwen doubted it. He would be sure to
+know everything. He would know. Think of all those books in the library!
+Supposing he had found that letter--suppose he _had_ read it? No, if he
+_had_, he would have looked not merely grave, but angry!
+
+When the ladies rose from the table, Stockwell rose too, reluctantly and
+as if waking from a pleasant dream. He stared in a startled way at the
+Warden, who moved to open the door; he looked as if about to
+spring--then refrained, and resigning himself to the unmistakable
+decision of the Fates, he remained standing, staring down at the
+table-cloth through his spectacles, with his cheeks flushed and his
+heart glad.
+
+Mrs. Stockwell passed out of the room in front of May Dashwood,
+gratified, warm and trying to conceal the backs of her boots.
+
+Finally the Stockwells went away, and then Lady Dashwood took her niece
+to the Magdalen walk. There among the last shreds of autumn, and in that
+muzzy golden sunshine of Oxford, they walked and talked with the
+constraint of Gwen's presence.
+
+At tea two or three people called, but the Warden did not appear even
+for a hasty cup. At dinner an old pupil of the Warden's--lamed by the
+war--occupied the attention of the little party.
+
+Gwen's spirits rose at the sight of a really young man, but she
+remembered her mother's admonition and did not make any attempt to
+attract his attention beyond opening her eyes now and then suddenly and
+widely and with an ecstasy of interest at some invisible object just
+above his head. Whether the youthful warrior's imagination was excited
+by this "passage of arms" Gwen never knew, because the Warden took his
+pupil off to the library after dinner, and did not even bring him into
+the drawing-room to bid farewell.
+
+In the quiet of the drawing-room Gwen fell into thought. She wondered
+whether the Warden expected her to come and knock on his library door
+and walk in and tell him that she really did want to be married to him?
+Or had he read that letter and----? Why, she had thought all this over a
+hundred times, and was no farther on than she had been before.
+
+After playing the Reverie by Slapovski, which Mrs. Dashwood had not yet
+heard, and which she expressed a desire to hear, Gwen settled down to
+knitting a sock. She had been knitting that sock for five months. It was
+surprising how small the foot was, at least the toe part; the heel
+indeed was ample. She had followed the directions with great care, and
+yet the stupid thing would come out wrong. It was irritating to see Mrs.
+Dashwood knitting away at such a pace. It made Gwen giddy to look at her
+hands. Lady Dashwood took up a book and read passages aloud. This was so
+intolerably dull that Gwen found it difficult to keep her eyes open. It
+is always more tiring when nothing is going on than when plenty of
+things are going on!
+
+Lady Dashwood had just finished reading a passage and looked up to make
+a remark to May Dashwood, when she became aware of Gwen's face.
+
+"My dear, you looked just like a melancholy peach. Go to bed!"
+
+Gwen smiled and tumbled her pins into her knitting. She rose and said
+"Good night," glad to be released. Outside the drawing-room she stood
+holding her breath to hear if there was any sound audible from the
+library. She heard nothing. She moved over the soft carpet and listened
+again, at the door. She could hear the Warden's deep, masculine
+voice--like the vibration of an organ, and then a higher voice, but what
+they said Gwen could not tell. She turned away and went up to bed. She
+was beginning to lose that feeling of not being afraid of the Warden. He
+was becoming more and more what he had been at first, an impressive and
+alarming personage, a human being entirely remote from her understanding
+and experience. At moments during dinner when she had glanced at him, he
+had seemed to her to be like a handsomely carved figure animated by some
+living force completely unknown to her. That such an incomprehensible
+being should become her husband was surely unlikely--if not impossible!
+Gwen's thoughts became more and more confused. Notwithstanding this
+confusion in what (if compelled to describe it) she would have called
+her soul, she closed her eyes and settled upon her pillow. She was
+conscious that she was disappointed and not happy. Then she suddenly
+became indifferent to her fate--saw in her mind's eye a hat--it absorbed
+her. The hat was lying on a chair. It was trimmed like some other hat.
+Then the hat disappeared, and Gwen was asleep.
+
+As soon as Gwendolen had left the drawing-room Lady Dashwood closed her
+book and looked at her niece.
+
+"Now," said Lady Dashwood, "I begin to think that I was unnecessarily
+alarmed about Jim. But it may be because you are here--giving me moral
+support." Lady Dashwood spoke the words "moral support" with great
+firmness. Having once said it and seen that it was wrong, she meant to
+stick to it.
+
+"I wonder," began Mrs. Dashwood, and then she remained silent and looked
+hard at her knitting.
+
+Lady Dashwood still stared at her niece. But May did not conclude her
+sentence, if indeed she had meant to say any more.
+
+"Why, you haven't noticed anything?" asked Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Nothing!" said May, and she knitted on.
+
+"To-day," said Lady Dashwood, "Jim has been practically invisible except
+at meals, but you've no idea how busy he is just now. All one's old
+ideas are in the melting-pot," she went on, "and Jim has schemes. He is
+full of plans. He thinks there is much to be done, in Oxford, with
+Oxford--nothing revolutionary--but a lot that is evolutionary."
+
+Mrs. Dashwood dropped her knitting to listen, though she could have
+heard quite well without doing this.
+
+"Imagine!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood, with a little burst of anger, "what
+a man like Jim, a scholar, a man of business, an organiser, what on
+earth he would do with a wife like Gwendolen Scott! The idea is absurd."
+
+"The absurd often happens," said May, and as she said this she took up
+her knitting again with such a jerk that her ball of wool tumbled to the
+floor and began rolling; and being a tight ball it rolled some distance
+sideways from May's chair in the direction of the far distant door. She
+gave the wool a little tug, but the ball merely shook itself, turned
+over and released still more wool.
+
+"Very well, remain there if you prefer that place," said May, and as she
+spoke there came a slight noise at the door.
+
+Both ladies looked to see who was coming in. It was the Warden. He held
+a cigar in his hand, a sign (Lady Dashwood knew it) that he intended
+merely to bid them "Good night," and retire again to his library. But he
+now stood in the half-light with his hand on the door, and looked
+towards the glow of the hearth where the two ladies sat alone, each
+lighted by a tall, electric candle stand on the floor. And as he looked
+at this little space of light and warmth he hesitated.
+
+Then he closed the door behind him and came in.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+MORE THAN ONE CONCLUSION
+
+
+The Warden came slowly towards them over the wide space of carpeted
+floor.
+
+Lady Dashwood, who knew every passing change in his face and manner
+(they were photographed over and over again in every imaginable style in
+her book of life), noticed that the sight of herself and May alone, that
+is, without Gwen--had made him decide to come in. She drew her own
+conclusions and smiled.
+
+"When you pass that ball of wool, pick it up, Jim," she said.
+
+She spoke too late, however, and the Warden kicked the ball with one
+foot, and sent it rolling under a chair. It took the opportunity of
+flinging itself round one leg, and tumbling against the second. With its
+remaining strength it rolled half way round the third leg, and then lay
+exhausted.
+
+"I'm not going to apologise," said the Warden, in his most courteous
+tones.
+
+"You needn't do that, my dear, if you don't want to," said Lady
+Dashwood. "But pick up the ball, please."
+
+"If I pick the ball up," said the Warden, "the result will be disastrous
+to somebody."
+
+He looked at the ball and at the chair, and then, putting his cigar
+between his teeth, he lifted the chair from the labyrinth of wool and
+placed it out of mischief. Then he picked up the ball and stood holding
+it in his hand. Who was the "somebody"? To whom did it belong? It was
+obvious to whom it belonged! A long line of wool dropped from the ball
+to the carpet. There it described a foolish pattern of its own, and then
+from one corner of that pattern the line of wool ran straight to Mrs.
+Dashwood's hands. She was sitting there, pretending that she didn't know
+that she was very, very slowly and deliberately jerking out the very
+vitals of that pattern, in fact disembowelling it. Then the Warden
+pretended to discover suddenly that it was Mrs. Dashwood's ball, and
+this discovery obliged him to look at her, and she, without glancing at
+him, slightly nodded her head, very gravely. Lady Dashwood grasped her
+book and pretended to read it.
+
+"I suppose I must clear up this mess," said the Warden, as articulately
+as a man can who is holding a cigar between his teeth.
+
+He began to wind up the ball.
+
+"How beautifully you are winding it!" said May Dashwood, without looking
+up from her knitting.
+
+The Warden cleared the pattern from the floor, and now a long line of
+wool stretched tautly from his hands to those of Mrs. Dashwood.
+
+"Please stop winding," she said quietly, and still she did not look up,
+though she might have easily done so for she had left off knitting.
+
+The Warden stopped, but he stood looking at her as if to challenge her
+eyes. Then, as she remained obstinately unmoved, he came towards her
+chair and dropped the ball on her lap.
+
+"You couldn't know I was winding it beautifully because you never
+looked."
+
+"I knew without looking," said May. "I took for granted that you did
+everything well."
+
+"If you will look now," said the Warden, "you will see how crookedly
+I've done it. So much for flattery."
+
+He stood looking down at her bent head with its gold-brown hair lit up
+to splendour by the electric light behind her. Her face was slightly in
+shadow. The Warden stood so long that Lady Dashwood was seized with an
+agreeable feeling of embarrassment. May Dashwood was apparently
+unconscious of the figure beside her. But she raised her eyebrows. Her
+eyebrows were often slightly raised as if inquiring into the state of
+the world with sympathy tinged with surprise. She raised her eyebrows
+instead of making any reply, as if she said: "I could make a retort, but
+I am far too busy with more important matters."
+
+The Warden at last moved, and putting a chair between the two ladies he
+seated himself exactly opposite the glowing fire and the portrait above
+it. Leaning back, he smoked in silence for a few moments looking
+straight in front of him for the most part, only now and then turning
+his eyes to Mrs. Dashwood, just to find out if her eyebrows were still
+raised.
+
+Lady Dashwood began smiling at her book because she had discovered that
+she held it upside down.
+
+"You were interested in Stockwell?" said the Warden suddenly. "He is
+doing multifarious things now. He is an accomplished linguist, and we
+couldn't manage without him--besides he is over military age by a long
+way."
+
+Lady Dashwood felt quite sure that his silence had been occupied by the
+Warden in thinking of May, so that his question, "You were interested,"
+etc., was merely the point at which his thoughts broke into words.
+
+"I was very much interested in him," said May. "It was like reading a
+witty book--only much more delightful."
+
+"Stockwell is always worth listening to," said the Warden, "but he is
+sometimes very silent. He needs the right sort of audience to draw him
+out. Two or three congenial men--or one sympathetic woman." Here the
+Warden paused and looked away from May Dashwood, then he added: "I'm
+obliged to go to Cambridge to-morrow. You will be at Chartcote and you
+will get some amusement out of Boreham. You find everybody interesting?"
+He turned again and looked at her--this time so searchingly that a
+little colour rose in May Dashwood's cheek.
+
+"Oh, not everybody," she said. "I wish I could!"
+
+"My dear May," said Lady Dashwood, briskly seizing this brilliant
+opportunity of pointing the moral and adorning the tale, "even you can't
+pretend to be interested in little Gwendolen, though you have done your
+best. Now that you have seen something of her, what do you think of
+her?"
+
+"Very pretty," said May Dashwood, and she became busy again with her
+work.
+
+"Exactly," said Lady Dashwood. "If she were plain even Belinda would not
+have the impertinence to deposit her on people's doorsteps in the way
+she does."
+
+The Warden took his cigar out of his mouth, as if he had suddenly
+remembered something that he had forgotten. He laid his hands on the
+arms of his chair and seemed about to rise.
+
+"You're not going, Jim!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood. "I thought you had
+come to talk to us. We have been doing our duty since dawn of day, and
+this is May's little holiday, you know. Stop and talk nicely to us. Do
+cheer us up!" Her voice became appealing.
+
+The Warden rose from his chair and stood with one hand resting on the
+back of it as if about to make some excuse for going away. Except for
+the glance, necessitated by courtesy, that May Dashwood gave the Warden
+when he entered, she had kept her eyes obstinately upon her work. Now
+she looked up and met his eyes, only for a moment.
+
+"I'm not going," he said, "but I find the fire too hot. Excuse me if I
+move away. It has got muggy and warm--Oxford weather!"
+
+"Open one of the windows," said Lady Dashwood. "I'm sure May and I shall
+be glad of it."
+
+He moved away and walked slowly down the length of the room. Going
+behind the heavy curtains he opened a part of the casement and then drew
+aside one of the curtains slightly. Then he slowly came back to them in
+silence.
+
+This silence that followed was embarrassing, so embarrassing that Lady
+Dashwood broke into it urgently with the first subject that she could
+think of. "Tell May about the Barber's ghost, Jim."
+
+"Where does he appear?" asked May, interestedly, but without looking up.
+"What part of the college?"
+
+"In the library," said the Warden.
+
+"And at the witching hour of midnight, I suppose?" said May.
+
+"Birds of ill omen, I believe, appear at night," said the Warden. "All
+Souls College ought to have had an All Souls' ghost, but it hasn't, it
+has only its 'foolish Mallard.'"
+
+"And if he does appear," said May, "what apology are you going to offer
+him for the injustice of your predecessor in the eighteenth century?"
+
+The Warden turned and stood looking back across the room at the warm
+space of light and the two women sitting in it, with the firelight
+flickering between them.
+
+"If I were to make myself responsible for all the misdemeanours of the
+Reverend Charles Langley," he said, "I should have my hands full;" and
+he came slowly towards them as he spoke. "You have only to look at
+Langley's face, over the mantelpiece, and you will see what I mean."
+
+May Dashwood glanced up at the portrait and smiled.
+
+"Do you admire our Custos dilectissimus?" he asked.
+
+The lights were below the level of the portrait, but the hard handsome
+face with its bold eyes, was distinctly visible. He was looking lazily
+watchful, listening sardonically to the conversation about himself.
+
+"I admire the artist who painted his portrait," said May.
+
+"Yes, the artist knew what he was doing when he painted Langley," said
+the Warden. He seemed now to have recovered his ease, and stood leaning
+his arms on the back of the chair he had vacated. "Your idea is a good
+one," he went on. "I don't suppose it has occurred to any Warden since
+Langley's time that a frank and pleasant apology might lay the Barber's
+ghost for ever. Shall I try it?" he asked, looking at his guest.
+
+"My dear," said Lady Dashwood slowly, "I wish you wouldn't even joke
+about it--I dislike it. I wish people wouldn't invent ghost stories,"
+she went on. "They are silly, and they are often mischievous. I wish you
+wouldn't talk as if you believed it."
+
+"It was you, Lena, who brought up the subject," said Middleton. "But I
+won't talk about him if you dislike it. You know that I am not a
+believer in ghosts."
+
+Lady Dashwood nodded her head approvingly, and began turning more pages
+of her book.
+
+"I sometimes wonder," said the Warden, and now he turned his face
+towards May Dashwood--"I wonder if men like Langley really believed in a
+future life?"
+
+May looked up at the portrait, but was silent.
+
+"The eighteenth century was not tormented with the question as we are
+now!" said the Warden, and again he looked at the auburn head and the
+dark lashes hiding the downcast eyes. "Those who doubt," he said slowly
+and tentatively, "whether after all the High Gods want us--those who
+doubt whether there are High Gods--even those doubt with regret--now."
+He waited for a response and May Dashwood suddenly raised her eyes to
+his.
+
+"There is no truculence in modern unbelief," he said, "it is a matter of
+passionate regret. And belief has become a passionate hope."
+
+Lady Dashwood knew that not a word of this was meant for her. She
+disliked all talk about the future world. It made her feel dismal. Her
+life had been spent in managing first her father, then her brother, and
+now her husband, and incidentally many of her friends.
+
+Some people dislike having plans made for them, some endure it, some
+positively like it, and for those who liked it, Lady Dashwood made
+extensive plans. Her brain worked now almost automatically in plans. For
+herself she had no plans, she was the planner. But her plans were about
+this world. To the "other world" Lady Dashwood felt secretly inimical;
+that "unknown" lurking in the future, would probably, not so long hence,
+engulf her husband, leaving her, alas! still on this side--with no heart
+left for making any more plans.
+
+If she had been alone with the Warden he would not have mentioned the
+"future life," nor would he have spoken of the "High Gods." He knew her
+mind too well. Was he probing the mind of May Dashwood? Either he was
+deliberately questioning her, or there was something in her presence
+that drew from him his inmost thoughts. Lady Dashwood felt a pang of
+indignation at herself for "being in the way" when to be "out of the
+way" at such a moment was absolutely necessary. She must leave these two
+people alone together--now--at this propitious moment. What should she
+do? She began casting about wildly in her brain for a plan of escape
+that would not be too obvious in its intention. The Warden had never
+been with May alone for five minutes. To-morrow would be a blank
+day--there was Chartcote first and then when they returned the Warden
+would be still away and very probably would not be visible that evening.
+
+She could see May's raised face looking very expressive--full of
+thoughts. Lady Dashwood rose from her chair confident that inspired
+words would come to her lips--and they came!
+
+"My dear Jim," she heard herself saying, "your mentioning the High Gods
+has made me remember that I left about some letters that ought to be
+answered. Horribly careless of me--I must go and find them. I'll only be
+away a moment. So sorry to interrupt when you are just getting
+interesting!" And still murmuring Lady Dashwood made her escape.
+
+She had done the best she could under the circumstances, and she smiled
+broadly as she went through the corridor.
+
+"That for Belinda and Co.!" she exclaimed half aloud, and she snapped
+her fingers.
+
+And what was going to happen after Belinda and Co. were defeated,
+banished for ever from the Lodgings? What was going to happen to the
+Warden? He had been successfully rescued from one danger--but what about
+the future? Was he going to fall in love with May Dashwood?
+
+"It sounded to me uncommonly like a metaphysical wooing of May," said
+Lady Dashwood to herself. "_That_ I must leave in the hands of
+Providence;" and she went up to her room smiling. There she found
+Louise.
+
+"Madame is gay," said the Frenchwoman, catching sight of the entering
+smile. "Gay in this sad Oxford!"
+
+"Sad!" said Lady Dashwood, her smile still lingering. "The hospitals
+are sad, Louise, yes, very sad, and the half-empty Colleges."
+
+"Oh, it is sad, incredibly sad," said the maid. "What kind of city is
+it, it contains only grey monasteries, no boulevards, no shops. There is
+one shop, perhaps, but what is that?"
+
+Lady Dashwood had gone to the toilet table, for she caught sight of the
+letters lying on the top of the jewel drawers. She had seen them several
+times that day, and had always intended tearing them up, for neither of
+them needed an answer. But they had served a good purpose. She had
+escaped from the drawing-room with their aid. She took them up and
+opened them and looked at them again. Louise watched her covertly. She
+glanced at the first and tore it up; then at the second and tore that
+up. She opened the third and glanced at it. And now the faint remains of
+the smile that had lingered on her face suddenly vanished.
+
+"My dear Gwen," (Lena badly written, of course).
+
+"I hope you understood that Lady Dashwood will keep you till the 3rd.
+You don't mention the Warden! Does that mean that you are making no
+progress in that direction? Perhaps taking no trouble! The question
+is----"
+
+Here Lady Dashwood stopped. She looked at the signature of the writer.
+But that was not necessary--the handwriting was Belinda Scott's.
+
+For a moment or two Lady Dashwood stood as if she intended to remain in
+the same position for the rest of her life. Then she breathed rather
+heavily and her nostrils dilated.
+
+"Ah! Well!" said Louise to herself, and she nodded her head ominously.
+
+Soon Lady Dashwood recovered herself and folded up the letter. She
+looked at the envelope. It was addressed to Miss Gwendolen Scott. She
+put the letter back into its envelope.
+
+Had she opened the letter and then laid it aside with the others,
+without perceiving that the letter was not addressed to her and without
+reading it? Was it possible that she, in her hurry last evening, had
+done this? If so, Gwen had never received the letter or read it.
+
+Of course she could not have read it. If she had, it would not have been
+laid on the toilet table. If Gwen had read it and left it about, it
+would have either been destroyed or taken to her room.
+
+"Does Madame wish to go to bed immediately?" asked Louise innocently.
+She had been waiting nearly twenty-four hours for something to happen
+about that letter. She was beginning to be afraid that it might be
+discovered when she would not be there to see the effect it had on
+Madame. Ah! the letter was all that Louise's fancy had painted it. See
+the emotion in Madame's back! How expressive is the back! What
+abominable intrigue! It was not necessary, indeed, to go to Paris to
+find wickedness. And, above all, the Warden---- Oh, my God! Never, never
+shall I repose confidence even in the Englishman the most respectable!
+
+"Presently," said Lady Dashwood, in answer to Louise's question.
+
+Lady Dashwood had made up her mind. She must have opened all three
+letters but only read two of them. There was no other explanation
+possible. What was to be done with Gwen's letter? What was to be done
+with this--vile scribble?
+
+Lady Dashwood's fingers were aching to tear the letter up, but she
+refrained. It would need some thinking over. The style of this letter
+was probably familiar to Gwendolen--her mind had already been corrupted.
+And to think that Jim might have had Belinda and Co., and all that
+Belinda and Co. implied, hanging round his neck and dragging him
+down--till he dropped into his grave from the sheer dead weight of it!
+
+"Yes, immediately," said Lady Dashwood. She would not go downstairs
+again. It was of vital importance that Jim and May should be alone
+together, yes, alone together.
+
+Lady Dashwood put the letter away in a drawer and locked it. She must
+have time to think.
+
+A few minutes later Louise was brushing out her mistress's hair--a mass
+of grey hair, still luxuriant, that had once been black.
+
+"I find that Oxford does not agree with Madame's hair," said Louise, as
+she plied vigorously with the brush.
+
+Lady Dashwood made no reply.
+
+"I find that Oxford does not agree with Madame's hair at all, at all,"
+repeated Louise, firmly.
+
+"Is it going greyer?" said Lady Dashwood indifferently, for her mind was
+working hard on another subject.
+
+"It grows not greyer, but it becomes dead, like the hair of a corpse--in
+this atmosphere of Oxford," said Louise, even more firmly.
+
+"Try not to exaggerate, Louise," said Lady Dashwood, quite unmoved.
+
+"Madame cannot deny that the humidity of Oxford is bad both for skin and
+hair," said Louise, with some resentment in her tone.
+
+"Damp is not bad for the skin, Louise," said her mistress, "but it may
+be for the hair; I don't know and I don't care."
+
+"It's bad for the skin," said Louise. "I have seen Madame looking grave,
+the skin folded, in Oxford. It is the climate. It is impossible to
+smile--in Oxford. One lies as if under a tomb."
+
+"Every place has its bad points," said Lady Dashwood. "It is important
+to make the best of them."
+
+"But I do not like to see Madame depressed by the climate here,"
+continued Louise, obstinately, "and Madame has been depressed here
+lately."
+
+"Not at all," said Lady Dashwood. "You needn't worry, Louise; any one
+who can stand India would find the climate of Oxford admirable. Now, as
+soon as you have done my hair, I want you to go down to the
+drawing-room, where you will find Mrs. Dashwood, and apologise to her
+for my not coming down again. Say I have a letter that will take me some
+time to answer. Bid her good night, also the Warden, who will be with
+her, I expect."
+
+Louise had been momentarily plunged into despair. She had been
+unsuccessful all the way round. It looked as if the visit to Oxford was
+to go on indefinitely, and as to the letter--well--Madame was
+unfathomable--as she always was. She was English, and one must not
+expect them to behave as if they had a heart.
+
+But now her spirits rose! This message to the drawing-room! The Warden
+was alone with Mrs. Dashwood! The Warden, this man of apparent
+uprightness who was the seducer of the young! Lady Dashwood had
+discovered his wickedness and dared not leave Mrs. Dashwood, a widow and
+of an age (twenty-eight) when a woman is still young, alone with him. So
+she, Louise, was sent down, _bien entendu_, to break up the
+_t�te-�-t�te_!
+
+Louise put down the brush and smiled to herself as she went down to the
+drawing-room.
+
+She, through her devotion to duty, had become an important instrument in
+the hands of Providence.
+
+When Lady Dashwood found herself alone, she took up her keys and jingled
+them, unable to make up her mind.
+
+She had only read the first two or three sentences of Belinda's letter;
+she had only read--until the identity and meaning of the letter had
+suddenly come to her.
+
+She opened the drawer and took out the letter. Then she walked a few
+steps in the room, thinking as she walked. No, much as she despised
+Belinda, she could not read a private letter of hers. Perhaps, because
+she despised her, it was all the more urgent that she should not read
+anything of hers.
+
+What Lady Dashwood longed to do was to have done with Belinda and never
+see her or hear from her again. She wanted Belinda wiped out of the
+world in which she, Lena Dashwood, moved and thought.
+
+What was she to do with the letter? Jim was safe now, the letter was
+harmless--as far as he was concerned. But what about Gwen? Was it not
+like handing on to her a dose of moral poison?
+
+On the other hand, the poison belonged to Gwen and had been sent to her
+by her mother!
+
+The matter could not be settled without more reflection. Perhaps some
+definite decision would frame itself during the night; perhaps she would
+awake in the morning, knowing exactly what was the best to be done.
+
+She put away the letter again, and again locked the drawer. She was
+putting away her keys when the door opened and she heard her maid come
+in.
+
+There was something in the way Louise entered and stood at the door that
+made Lady Dashwood turn round and look at her. That excellent
+Frenchwoman was standing very stiffly, her eyes wide and agitated, and
+her features expressive of extreme excitement. She breathed loudly.
+
+"What's the matter?" demanded Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Madame Dashwood was not visible in the drawing-room!" said Louise, and
+she tightened her lips after this pronouncement.
+
+"She had gone up to her bedroom?"
+
+"Madame Dashwood is not in her bedroom!" said Louise, with ever
+deepening tragedy in her voice.
+
+"Did you look for her in the library?" demanded Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Madame Dashwood is not in the library!" said Louise. She did not move
+from her position in front of the door. She stood there looking the
+personification of domestic disaster, her chest heaving.
+
+"Mrs. Dashwood isn't ill?" Lady Dashwood felt a sudden pang of fear at
+her heart.
+
+"No, Madame!" said Louise.
+
+"Then what is the matter?" demanded Lady Dashwood, sternly. "Don't be a
+fool, Louise. Say what has happened!"
+
+"How can I tell Madame? It is indeed unbelievably too sad! I did not see
+Madame Dashwood but I heard her voice," began Louise. "Oh, Madame, that
+I should have to pronounce such words to you! I open the door of the
+drawing-room! It is scarcely at all lighted! No one is visible! I stand
+and for a moment I look around me! I hear sounds! I listen again! I hear
+the voice of Madame Dashwood! Ah! what surprise! Where is she? She is
+hidden behind the great curtains of the window, completely hidden! Why?
+And to whom does she speak? Ah, Madame, what frightful surprise, what
+shock to hear reply the voice, also behind the curtain, of Monsieur the
+Warden! I cannot believe it, it is incredible, but also it is true! I
+stop no longer, for shame! I fly, I meet Robinson in the gallery, but I
+pass him--like lightning--I speak not! No word escapes from my mouth! I
+come direct to Madame's room! In entering, I know not what to say, I say
+nothing! I dare not! I stand with the throat swelling, the heart
+oppressed, but with the lips closed! I speak only because Madame
+insists, she commands me to speak, to say all! I trust in God! I obey
+Madame's command! I speak! I disclose frankly the painful truth! I
+impart the boring information!"
+
+While Louise was speaking Lady Dashwood's face had first expressed
+astonishment, and then it relaxed into amusement, and when her maid
+stopped speaking for want of breath, she sank down upon a chair and
+burst into laughter.
+
+"My poor Louise?" she said. "You never will understand English people.
+If Mrs. Dashwood and the Warden are behind the window curtains, it is
+because they want to look out of the window!"
+
+Louise's face became passionately sceptical.
+
+"In the rain, Madame!" she remarked. "In a darkness of the tomb?"
+
+"Yes, in the rain and darkness," said Lady Dashwood. "You must go down
+again in a moment, and give them my message!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+MEN MARCHING PAST
+
+
+After the Warden had closed the door on his sister he came back to the
+fireplace. He had been interrupted, and he stood silently with his hand
+on the back of the chair, just as he had stood before. He was waiting,
+perhaps, for an invitation to speak; for some sign from Mrs. Dashwood
+that now that they were alone together, she expected him to talk on,
+freely.
+
+She had no suspicion of the real reason why her Aunt Lena had gone away.
+May took for granted that she had fled at the first sign of a religious
+discussion. May knew that General Sir John Dashwood, like many well
+regulated persons, was under the impression that he had, at some proper
+moment in his juvenile existence now forgotten, at his mother's knee or
+in his ancestral cradle, once and for all weighed, considered and
+accepted the sacred truths containing the Christian religion, and that
+therefore there was no need to poke about among them and distrust them.
+Lady Dashwood had encouraged that sentiment of silent loyalty: it left
+more time and energy over for the discussion and arrangement of the
+practical affairs of life. May knew all this.
+
+May, sitting by the fire, with her eyes on her work, observed the
+hesitation in the Warden's mind. She knew that he was waiting. She
+glanced up.
+
+"What was it you were saying?" she asked in the softest of voices, for
+now that they were alone there was no one to be annoyed by a religious
+discussion.
+
+The Warden moved round and seated himself. But even then he could not
+bring his thoughts to the surface: they lay in the back of his mind
+urgent, yet reluctant. Meanwhile he began talking about the portrait
+again. It served as a stalking horse. He told her some of the old
+college stories, stories not only of Langley, but of other Wardens in
+the tempestuous days of the Reformation and of the Civil War.
+
+"And yet," he said suddenly, "what were those days compared with these?
+Has there been any tragedy like this?" He gazed at her now; with his
+narrow eyes strained and sad.
+
+"Just at the beginning of the war," he said, "I heard---- It was one hot
+brilliant morning in that early September. It was only a passing
+sound--but I shall never forget it, till I die."
+
+May Dashwood's hands dropped to her lap, and she sat listening with her
+eyes lowered.
+
+"There was a sound of the feet of men marching past, though I could not
+see them. Their feet were trampling the ground rhythmically, and all to
+the 'playing' of a bugler. I have never heard, before or since, a bugle
+played like that! The youth--I could picture him in my mind--blew from
+his bugle strangely ardent, compelling notes. It was simple, monotonous
+music, but there came from the bugler's own soul a magnificent courage
+and buoyancy; and the trampling feet responded--responded to the light
+springing notes, the high ardour and gay fearlessness of youth. There
+was such hope, such joy in the call of duty! No thought of danger, no
+thought of suffering! All hearts leapt to the sounds! And the bugler
+passed and the trampling feet! I could hear the swift, high, passionate
+notes die in the distance; and I knew that the flower of our youth was
+marching to its doom."
+
+The Warden got up from his chair, and walked away, and there was silence
+in the room.
+
+Then he came up to where May sat and looked down at her.
+
+"The High Gods," she said, quietly quoting his own phrase, "wanted
+them."
+
+He moved away again. "I have no argument for my faith," he said. "The
+question for us is no longer 'I must believe,' but 'Dare I believe?' The
+old days of certainty have gone. Inquisitions, Solemn Leagues and
+Covenants have gone--never to return. All the clamour of men who claim
+'to know' has died down."
+
+And as he gazed at her with eyes that demanded an answer she said
+simply: "I am content with the silence of God."
+
+He made no answer and leaned heavily on the back of his chair. A moment
+later he began to walk again. "I don't think I _can_ believe that the
+heroic sacrifice of youth, their bitter suffering, will be mixed up
+indistinguishably with the cunning meanness of pleasure-seekers, with
+the sordid humbug of money-makers--in one vast forgotten grave. No, I
+can't believe that--because the world we know is a rational world."
+
+May glanced round at him as he moved about. The great dimly-lit room was
+full of shadows, and Middleton's face was dark, full of shadows too,
+shadows of mental suffering. She looked back at her work and sighed.
+
+"Even if we straighten the crooked ways of life, so that there are no
+more starving children, no men and women broken with the struggle of
+life: even if we are able, by self-restraint, by greater scientific
+knowledge to rid the earth of those diseases that mean martyrdom to its
+victims; even if hate is turned to love, and vice and moral misery are
+banished: even if the Kingdom of Heaven does come upon this earth--even
+then! That will not be a Kingdom of Heaven that is Eternal! This Earth
+will, in time, die. This Earth will die, that we know; and with it must
+vanish for ever even the memory of a million years of human effort.
+Shall we be content with that? I fail to conceive it as rational, and
+therefore I cling to the _hope_ of some sort of life beyond the
+grave--Eternal Life. But," and here he spoke out emphatically, "I have
+no argument for my belief."
+
+He came and stood close beside her now, and looked down at her. "I have
+no argument for my belief," he repeated.
+
+"And you are content with the silence of God," he added. Then he spoke
+very slowly: "I must be content."
+
+If he had stretched out his hand to touch hers, it would not have meant
+any more than did the prolonged gaze of his eyes.
+
+The clock on the mantelpiece ticked--its voice alone striking into the
+silence. It seemed to tick sometimes more loudly, sometimes more softly.
+
+The Warden appeared to force himself away from his own thoughts. With
+his hands still grasping the back of his chair, he raised his head and
+stood upright. The tick of the clock fell upon his ear; a monotonous and
+mechanical sound--indifferent to human life and yet weighted with
+importance to human life; marking the moments as they passed; moments
+never to be recalled; steps that are leading irretrievably the human
+race to their far-off destiny.
+
+As the Warden's eyes watched the hands of the clock, they pointed to
+five minutes to eleven. A thought came to him.
+
+"All the bells are silent now," he said, "except in the safe daylight."
+
+May looked up at him.
+
+"Even 'Tom' is silent. The Clusius is not tolled now."
+
+He got up and walked along the room to the open window. There he held
+the curtain well aside and looked back at her. Why it was, May did not
+know, but it seemed imperative to her to come to him. She put her work
+aside and came through into the broad embrasure of the bay. Then he let
+the curtain fall and they stood together in the darkness. The Warden
+pushed out the latticed frame wider into the dark night. The air was
+scarcely stirring, it came in warm and damp against their faces.
+
+The quadrangle below them was dimly visible. Eastwards the sky was heavy
+with a great blank pale space stretching over the battlemented roof and
+full of the light of a moon that had just risen, but overhead a heavy
+cloud slowly moved westwards.
+
+They both leaned out and breathed the night air.
+
+"It will rain in a moment," said the Warden.
+
+"In the old days," he said, "there would have been sounds coming from
+these windows. There would have been men coming light-heartedly from
+these staircases and crossing to one another. Now all is under military
+rule: the poor remnant left of undergraduate life--poor mentally and
+physically--this poor remnant counts for nothing. All that is best has
+gone, gone voluntarily, eagerly, and the men who fill their places are
+training for the Great Sacrifice. It's the most glorious and the most
+terrible thing imaginable!"
+
+May leaned down lower and the silence of the night seemed oppressive
+when the Warden ceased speaking.
+
+After a moment he said, "In the old days you would have heard some
+far-off clock strike the hour, probably a thin, cracked voice, and then
+it would have been followed by other voices. You would have heard them
+jangle together, and then into their discordance you would have heard
+the deep voice of 'Tom' breaking."
+
+"But he is at his best," went on the Warden, "when he tolls the Clusius.
+It is his right to toll it, and his alone. He speaks one hundred and one
+times, slowly, solemnly and with authority, and then all the gates in
+Oxford are closed."
+
+Drops of rain fell lightly in at them, and May drew in her head.
+
+"Oxford has become a city of memories to me," said the Warden, and he
+put out his arm to draw in the window.
+
+"That is only when you are sad," said May.
+
+"Yes," said the Warden slowly, "it is only when I give way to gloom.
+After all, this is a great time, it can be made a great time. If only
+all men and women realised that it might be the beginning of the 'Second
+Coming.' As it is, the chance may slip."
+
+He pulled the window further in and secured it.
+
+May pushed aside the curtain and went back into the glow and warmth of
+the room.
+
+She gathered up her knitting and thrust it into the bag.
+
+"Are you going?" asked the Warden. He was standing now in the middle of
+the room watching her.
+
+"I'm going," said May.
+
+"I've driven you away," he said, "by my dismal talk."
+
+"Driven me away!" she repeated. "Oh no!" Her voice expressed a great
+reproach, the reproach of one who has suffered too, and who has "dreamed
+dreams." Surely he knew that she could understand!
+
+"Forgive me!" he said, and held out his hand impulsively. At least it
+seemed strangely impulsive in this self-contained man.
+
+She put hers into it, withdrew it, and together they went to the door.
+For the first time in her life May felt the sting of a strange new pain.
+The open door led away from warmth and a world that was full and
+satisfying--at least it would have led away from such a world--a world
+new to her--only that she was saying "Good night" and not "Good-bye."
+Later on she would have to say "Good-bye." How many days were there
+before that--five whole days? She walked up the steps, and went into the
+corridor. Louise was there, just coming towards her.
+
+"Madame desires me to say good night," said Louise, giving May's face a
+quick searching glance.
+
+"I'll come and say good night to her," said May, "if it's not too late."
+
+No, it was not too late. Louise led the way, marvelling at the callous
+self-assurance of English people.
+
+Louise opened her mistress's door, and though consumed with raging
+curiosity, left Mrs. Dashwood to enter alone.
+
+"Oh, May!" cried Lady Dashwood. She was moving about the room in a grey
+dressing-gown, looking very restless, and with her hair down.
+
+"You didn't come down again," said May; "you were tired?"
+
+"I wasn't tired!" Here Lady Dashwood paused. "May, I have, by pure
+accident, come upon a letter--from Belinda to Gwen. I don't know how it
+came among my own letters, but there it was, opened. I don't know if I
+opened it by mistake, but anyhow there it was opened; I began reading
+the nauseous rubbish, and then realised that I was reading Belinda. Now
+the question is, what to do with the letter? It contains advice. May,
+Gwen is to secure the Warden! It seems odd to see it written down in
+black and white."
+
+Lady Dashwood stared hard at her niece--who stood before her, thoughtful
+and silent.
+
+"Shall I give it to Gwen--or what?" she asked.
+
+"Well," began May, and then she stopped.
+
+"Of course, I blame myself for being such a fool as to have taken in
+Belinda," said Lady Dashwood (for the hundredth time). "But the question
+now is--what to do with the letter? It isn't fit for a nice girl to
+read; but, no doubt, she's read scores of letters like it. The girl is
+being hawked round to see who will have her--and she knows it! She
+probably isn't nice! Girls who are exhibited, or who exhibit themselves
+on a tray ain't nice. Jim knows this; he knows it. Oh, May! as if he
+didn't know it. You understand!"
+
+May Dashwood stood looking straight into her aunt's face, revolving
+thoughts in her own mind.
+
+"Some people, May," said Lady Dashwood, "who want to be unkind and only
+succeed in being stupid, say that I am a matchmaker. I _have_ always
+conscientiously tried to be a matchmaker, but I have rarely succeeded. I
+have been so happy with my dear old husband that I want other people to
+be happy too, and I am always bringing young people together--who were
+just made for each other. But they won't have it, May! I introduce a
+sweet girl full of womanly sense and affection to some nice man, and he
+won't have her at any price. He prefers some cheeky little brat who
+after marriage treats him rudely and decorates herself for other men. I
+introduce a really good man to a really nice girl and she won't have
+him, she 'loves,' if you please, a man whom decent men would like to
+kick, and she finds herself spending the rest of her life trying hard to
+make her life bearable. I dare say your scientists would say--Nature
+likes to keep things even, bad and good mixed together. Well, I'm
+against Nature. My under-housemaid develops scarlet fever, and dear old
+Nature wants her to pass it on to the other maids, and if possible to
+the cook. Well, I circumvent Nature."
+
+May Dashwood's face slowly smiled.
+
+"But I did not bring Gwendolen Scott to this house--she was forced upon
+me--and I was weak enough to give in. Now, I should very much like to
+say something when I give the letter to Gwen. But I shall have to say
+nothing. Yes, nothing," repeated Lady Dashwood, "except that I must tell
+her that I have, by mistake, read the first few lines."
+
+"Yes," said May Dashwood.
+
+"After all, what else could I say?" exclaimed Lady Dashwood. "You can't
+exactly tell a daughter that you think her mother is a shameless hussy,
+even if you may think that she ought to know it."
+
+"Poor Gwen and poor Lady Belinda!" said May Dashwood sighing, and moving
+to go, and trying hard to feel real pity in her heart.
+
+"No," said Lady Dashwood, raising her voice, "I don't say 'poor
+Belinda.' I don't feel a bit sorry for the old reprobate, I feel more
+angry with her. Don't you see yourself--now you know Jim," continued
+Lady Dashwood, throwing out her words at her niece's retreating
+figure--"don't you see that Jim deserves something better than Belinda
+and Co.? Now, would you like to see him saddled for life with Gwendolen
+Scott?"
+
+May Dashwood did not reply immediately; she seemed to be much occupied
+in walking very slowly to the door and then in slowly turning the handle
+of the door. Surely Gwendolen and her mother were pitiable
+objects--unsuccessful as they were?
+
+"Now, would you?" demanded Lady Dashwood. "Would you?"
+
+"I should trust him not to do that," said May, as she opened the door.
+She looked back at the tall erect figure in the grey silk
+dressing-gown. "Good night, dear aunt." And she went out. "You see, I am
+running away, and I order you to go to bed. You are tired." She spoke
+through the small open space she had left, and then she closed the door.
+
+"Trust him! Oh, Lord!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood, in a loud voice.
+
+But she was not altogether displeased with the word "trust" in May
+Dashwood's mouth. "She seems pretty confident that Jim isn't going to
+make a martyr of himself," she said to herself happily.
+
+The door opened and Louise entered with an enigmatical look on her face.
+Louise had been listening outside for the tempestuous sounds that in her
+country would have issued from any two normal women under the same
+circumstances.
+
+But no such sounds had reached her attentive ears, and here was Lady
+Dashwood moving about with a serene countenance. She was even smiling.
+Oh, what a country, what people!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+THE LOST LETTER
+
+
+The next morning it was still raining. It was a typical Oxford day, a
+day of which there are so many in the year that those who have best
+known Oxford think of her fondly in terms of damp sandstone.
+
+They remember her gabled roofs, narrow pavements, winding alleys humid
+and shining from recent rain; her mullioned windows looking out on
+high-walled gardens where the over-hanging trees drip and drip in
+chastened melancholy. They remember her floating spires piercing the
+lowering sodden sky, her grey courts and solemn doorways, her echoing
+cloisters; all her incomparable monastic glory soaked through and
+through with heavy languorous moisture, and slowly darkening in a misty
+twilight.
+
+It is this sobering atmosphere that has brought to birth and has bred
+the "Oxford tone;" the remorseless, if somewhat playful handling of
+ideas.
+
+Gwendolen Scott was no more aware of the existence of an "Oxford tone,"
+bred (as all organic life has been) in the damp, than was the
+maidservant who brought her tea in the morning; but she perceived the
+damp. She could see through the latticed windows of the breakfast-room
+that it rained, rained and rained, and the question was what she should
+do to make the time pass till they must start for Chartcote? No letter
+had yet come from her mother--and the old letter was still lost.
+
+The best Gwen could hope for was that it had been picked up and thrown
+into the paper basket and destroyed.
+
+Meanwhile what should she do? Lady Dashwood was always occupied during
+the mornings. Mrs. Dashwood did not seem to be at her disposal. What was
+she to do? Should she practise the "Reverie"? No, she didn't want to
+"fag" at that. She had asked the housemaid to mend a pair of stockings,
+and she found these returned to her room--boggled! How maddening--what
+idiots servants were! She found another pair that wanted mending. She
+hadn't the courage to ask Louise to mend it. If she tried to mend it
+herself she would only make a mess of it--besides she hadn't any lisle
+thread or needles.
+
+She would look at her frocks and try and decide what to wear at lunch.
+If she couldn't decide she would have to consult Lady Dashwood. Her room
+was rather dark. The window looked, not on to the quadrangle, but on to
+the street. She took each piece of dress to the window and gazed at it.
+The blue coat and skirt wouldn't do. She had worn that often, and the
+blouse was not fresh now. That must go back into the wardrobe. The
+likely clothes must be spread on the bed, where she could review them.
+
+She ran her hand down a stiff rustling costume of brown silk. It gave
+her a pleasurable sensation. It was dark brown and inconspicuous, and
+yet "dressy." But would, after all, the blue coat and skirt be more
+suitable, as Oxford people never dressed? Yes; but she might meet other
+sort of people at Chartcote! It was a difficult question.
+
+She passed on to a thin black and white cloth that was very "smart" and
+showed off her dark beauty. That and the white cloth hat would do! She
+had worn it once before and the Warden had talked a great deal to her
+when she had it on. She took out the dress and laid it on the bed, and
+she laid the hat upon it. Mrs. Dashwood had not seen the dress! By the
+by, Mrs. Dashwood and the Warden had scarcely talked at all at
+breakfast! He had once made a remark to her, and she had looked up and
+said "Yes," in a funny sort of way, just as if she agreed of course!
+H'm, there was really no need to be afraid of that! Supposing and if
+she, Gwen, were ever to be Mrs. Middleton, what sort of new clothes
+would she buy? Oh, all sorts of things would be necessary! And yet--the
+Warden seemed to be quietly drifting farther and farther away from her.
+Was that talk in the library a dream? Then if not, why didn't he say
+something? Did he say nothing, because in the library he had said, "If
+you want a home, etc., etc.?" Did he mean by that, "If you come and tell
+me that you want a home, etc., etc.?"
+
+Gwen was not sure whether he meant "If you come and _say_ you want a
+home, etc., etc.," or only, "If you want a home, etc., etc." How
+tiresome! He knew she wanted a home! But perhaps he wasn't sure whether
+she really wanted a home! Ought she to go and knock at the door and say
+that she really did want a home? Was he waiting for her to come and
+knock on the door and say, "I really do want a home, etc., etc.," and
+then come near enough to be kissed?
+
+But after what Mr. Boreham had said, even if she did go and knock at the
+door and say that she really did want a home, etc., etc., and go and
+stand quite near him, the Warden might pretend not to understand and
+merely say, "I'm sorry," and go on writing.
+
+How did girls make sure that a proposal was binding? Did they manage
+somehow to have it in writing? But how could she have said to the
+Warden, "Would you mind putting it all down in writing"? She really
+couldn't have said such a thing!
+
+Gwen could not quite make up her mind what to wear. She had put the
+brown silk and one or two more dresses on the bed without being able to
+come to any conclusion.
+
+It would be necessary to ask advice. Having covered the bed with
+"possible" dresses, Gwen went out to search for Lady Dashwood.
+
+She had not to go far, for she met her just outside the door.
+
+"Oh, Lady Dashwood," began Gwen, "could you, would you mind telling me
+what I am to wear for lunch? I'm so sorry to be such a bother, but
+I'm----"
+
+Here Gwen stopped short, for her eyes caught sight of a letter in Lady
+Dashwood's hand--the letter! If Gwen had known how to faint she would
+have tried to faint then; but she didn't know how it was done.
+
+"I found this letter addressed to you," said Lady Dashwood, "in my
+room--it had got there somehow." She held it out to the girl, who took
+it, reddening as she did so to the roots of her hair. "I found it
+opened--I hope I didn't open it by mistake?"
+
+"Oh no," said Gwen, stammering. "I--lost it--somehow. Oh, thanks so
+much! Oh, thanks!"
+
+Tears of embarrassment were starting to the girl's eyes, and she turned
+away, letter in hand, and went towards her door like a beaten child.
+
+Lady Dashwood gazed after her, pity uppermost in her heart--pity, now
+that Belinda and Co. were no longer dangerous.
+
+Safely inside the door, Gwen gave way to regret, and from regret for her
+carelessness she went on to wondering wildly what effect the letter
+might have had on Lady Dashwood! Had she told the Warden its contents?
+Had she read the letter to him?
+
+Gwen squirmed as she walked about her room. There was a look in Lady
+Dashwood's face! Oh dear, oh dear!
+
+The dresses lay neglected on the bed; the sight of them only made Gwen's
+heart ache the more, for they reminded her of those bright hopes that
+had flitted through her brain--hopes of having more important clothes as
+the Warden's wife. Gwen had even gone as far as wondering whether Cousin
+Bridget might not give her some furs as a wedding present. Cousin
+Bridget had spent over a thousand pounds in new furs for herself that
+first winter of the war, when the style changed; so was it too much to
+expect that Cousin Bridget, who was the wealthy member of the family,
+though her husband's title was a new one, might give her a useful
+wedding present? Now, the mischance with this letter had probably
+destroyed all chances of the Warden marrying her!
+
+She was glad that he had gone away to-day, so that she would not see him
+again till the next morning; that gave more time.
+
+She did not want to go to Chartcote to lunch. She would not be able to
+eat anything if she felt as miserable as she did now, and she would find
+it impossible to talk to any one.
+
+Even her mother's letter of advice might not help her very much--now
+that old letter had been seen.
+
+Gwen walked about her room, sometimes leaning over the foot of her bed
+and staring blankly at the dresses spread out before her, and sometimes
+stopping to look at herself in a long mirror on the way, feeling very
+sorry for that poor pretty girl whose image she saw reflected there.
+When she heard a knock at the door she almost jumped. Was it Lady
+Dashwood? Gwen's answering voice sounded very soft and meek, as if a
+mouse was saying "Come in" to a cat that demanded entrance.
+
+It was Mrs. Dashwood who opened the door and walked in.
+
+"You want advice about what to wear for lunch?" said Mrs. Dashwood.
+"Lady Dashwood is finishing off some parcels, and asked me to come and
+offer you my services--if you'll have me?" and she actually laughed as
+she caught sight of the display on the bed.
+
+"Very business-like," she said, walking up to the bed. She did not seem
+to have noticed Gwen's distracted appearance, and this gave Gwen time
+and courage to compose her features and assume her ordinary bearing.
+
+"Thanks so much," she said, going to the foot of the bed. "I was afraid
+I bothered Lady Dashwood when I asked about the lunch."
+
+"It really doesn't much matter what it is you wear for Chartcote," said
+May Dashwood slowly, as her eye roamed over the bed. She did not appear
+to have heard Gwen's last remark.
+
+"People do dress so funnily here," said Gwen, beginning to feel happy
+again, "but I thought perhaps that----"
+
+"I think I should recommend that dark brown silk," said Mrs. Dashwood,
+"and if you have a black hat----"
+
+"Yes, I have!" cried Gwen, with animation, and she rushed to the
+wardrobe. After all she did like Mrs. Dashwood. She was not so bad after
+all.
+
+May received the black hat into her hands and praised it. She put it on
+the girl's head and then stood back to see the effect.
+
+Gwen stood smiling, her face and dark hair framed by the black velvet.
+
+"The very thing," said Mrs. Dashwood.
+
+"Do try it on. You'd look lovely in it," gushed Gwen. The expression
+"You'd look lovely in it" came from her lips before she could stop it.
+Her instinctive antagonism to Mrs. Dashwood was fast oozing away.
+
+May took the hat and put it on her own head, and then she looked round
+at the mirror.
+
+"There!" said Gwen. "I told you so!"
+
+May Dashwood regarded herself critically in the mirror and no smile came
+to her lips. She looked at her tall slender figure and the auburn hair
+under the black velvet brim as if she was looking at somebody else. May
+took off the hat and placed it on the bed by the dark brown silk.
+
+"Now, you're complete," she said. "Quite complete;" but she looked out
+of her grey eyes at something far away, and did not see Gwendolen.
+
+"If only I had a nice fur!" exclaimed the girl. "Mine is old, and it's
+the wrong shape, of course," she went on confidentially. She found
+herself suddenly desirous of making a life-long friend of Mrs. Dashwood.
+In spite of her age and the fact that she was very clever and all that,
+and that the Warden had begun by taking too much notice of her, Mrs.
+Dashwood was nice. Gwen wanted at that moment to "tell her everything,"
+all about the "proposal," and see what she thought about it!
+
+Gwen's emotions came and went in little spurts, and they were very
+absorbing for the moment.
+
+"Don't be ashamed of yours," said Mrs. Dashwood, and as she spoke she
+went towards the door. "I can't say I admire the sisterhood of women who
+spend their pence on sham or their guineas on real fur and jewellery
+just now."
+
+Gwen stared. She was not quite sure what the remark really meant--the
+word "sisterhood" confused her.
+
+"If I were you," said Mrs. Dashwood, smiling, "I should begin to dress;
+we are to be ready at one punctually."
+
+"Oh, thanks so much," said Gwen. "I know I take an age. I always do,"
+she laughed.
+
+As soon as Mrs. Dashwood had gone Gwen found it necessary to sit down
+and think whether she really liked Mrs. Dashwood so very much, or
+whether she only "just liked her," and this subject brought her back to
+the letter and the Warden, and all her lost opportunities! Gwen was
+startled by a knock at the door which she knew was produced by the
+knuckles of Lady Dashwood's maid.
+
+"Oh, Mademoiselle!" cried Louise. "You have not commenced, and Madame is
+ready."
+
+"The brown one," exclaimed Gwen, as Louise rushed towards the bed.
+
+Louise fell upon the bed like a wild beast and began dressing Gwen with
+positive ferocity, protesting all the time in tones of physical agony
+mingled with moral indignation, her astonishment at Mademoiselle's
+indifference to the desires of Madame.
+
+"I didn't know it was so late," said Gwen, who was not accustomed to
+such freedom from a servant.
+
+More exclamations from Louise, who was hooking and buttoning and pulling
+and pushing like a fury.
+
+"Well, leave off talking," said Gwen, looking very hot, "and don't pull
+so much."
+
+More exclamations from Louise and more pulling, and at last Gwen stood
+complete in her brown dress and black hat. While she was thinking about
+what shoes she should put on, Louise had already seized a pair and was
+now pulling and pushing at her feet.
+
+Lady Dashwood was giving instructions to Robinson in the hall, when Gwen
+came precipitately downstairs. The taxi was at the door, and Mrs.
+Dashwood was already seated in it.
+
+It was still raining. Of course! Everything was wretched!
+
+Now, what about an umbrella? Gwen gazed about her and seized an
+umbrella, earnestly trusting that it was not one that Lady Dashwood
+meant to use. How hot and flushed and late she was, and then--the
+letter! Oh, that letter! How horrible to be obliged to sit opposite to
+Lady Dashwood!
+
+She ran down the steps without opening the umbrella, and dashed into the
+taxi, Lady Dashwood following under an umbrella held by Robinson.
+
+"Here we are!" said Lady Dashwood. She seemed to have forgotten all
+about the letter, and she smiled at Gwen.
+
+They passed out of the entrance court of the Lodgings and into the
+narrow street, and then into the High Street. The sky and the air and
+the road and the pavements and the buildings were grey. The Cherwell was
+grey, and its trees wept into it. The meadows were sodden; it was
+difficult to imagine that they could ever stand in tall ripe hay. There
+was a smell of damp decay in the air.
+
+Gwen stared fixedly out of the window in order to avoid looking at the
+ladies opposite her. They seemed to be occupied with the continuance of
+a conversation that they had begun before. Now, Gwen's mind failed and
+fainted before conversation that was at all impersonal, and though she
+was listening, she did not grasp the whole of any one sentence. But she
+caught isolated words and phrases here and there, dreary words like
+"Education," "Oxford methods," and her attention was absorbed by the
+discovery that every time Mrs. Dashwood spoke, she said: "Does the
+Warden think?" just as if she knew what the Warden would think!
+
+This was nasty of her. If only she always talked about Gwen's hat
+suiting her, and about other things that were really interesting, Gwen
+believed she could make a life-long friend of her, in spite of her age;
+but she would talk about stupid incomprehensible things--and about the
+Warden!
+
+The Warden was growing a more and more remote figure in Gwen's mind. He
+was fading into something unsubstantial--something that Gwen could not
+lean against, or put her arms round. Would she never again have the
+opportunity of feeling how hard and smooth his shirt-front was? It was
+like china, only not cold. As she thought Gwen's eyes became misty and
+sad, and she ceased to notice what the two ladies opposite to her were
+saying.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+THE LUNCHEON PARTY
+
+
+Boreham was in his dressing-room at Chartcote looking at himself in the
+mirror. The picture he saw in its depths was familiar to him. Had he
+(like prehistoric man) never had the opportunity of seeing his own face,
+and had he been suddenly presented with his portrait and asked whether
+he thought the picture pleasing, he would have replied, as do our
+Cabinet ministers: "The answer is in the negative."
+
+But the figure in the mirror had always been associated with his inmost
+thoughts. It had grown with his growth. It had smiled, it had laughed
+and frowned. It had looked dull and disappointed, it had looked
+flattered and happy in tune with his own feelings; and that rather
+colourless face with the drab beard, the bristly eyebrows, the pale blue
+eyes and the thin lips, were all part of Boreham's exclusive personal
+world to which he was passionately attached; something separate from the
+world he criticised, jeered at, scolded or praised, as the mood took
+him, also something separate from what he secretly and unwillingly
+envied. The portrait in the mirror represented Boreham's own particular
+self--the unmistakable "I."
+
+He gave a last touch with a brush to the stiff hair, and then stood
+staring at his completed image, at himself, ready for lunch, ready--and
+this was what dominated his thoughts--ready to receive May Dashwood.
+
+Some eight or nine years ago, when he had first met May, he had as
+nearly fallen in love with her as his constitution permitted; and he had
+been nettled at finding himself in a financial position that was, to say
+the best of it, rather fluctuating. He knew he was going to have
+Chartcote, but aunts of sixty frequently live to remain aunts at eighty.
+May had never shown any particular interest in him, but he attributed
+her indifference to the natural and selfish female desire to acquire a
+wealthy husband. As it was impossible for him to marry at that period in
+his life, he adopted that theory of marriage most likely to shed a
+cheerful light upon his compulsory bachelorhood. He maintained that the
+natural man tries to escape marriage, as it is incompatible with his
+"freedom," and is only "enchained" after much persistent hunting down by
+the female, who makes the most of the conventions of civilisation for
+her own protection and profit. He was able, therefore, at the age of
+forty-two to look round him and say: "I have successfully
+escaped--hitherto," and to feel that what he said was true. But now he
+was no longer poor. He was an eligible man.
+
+He was also less happy than he had been. He had lived at Chartcote for
+some interminable weeks! He had found it tolerable, only because he was
+well enough off to be always going away from it. But now he had again
+met May, free like himself, and if possible more attractive than she had
+been eight years ago!
+
+He had met her and had found her at the zenith of womanhood; without
+losing her youth, she had acquired maturer grace and self-possession.
+Had there been any room for improvement in himself he too would have
+matured! The wealth he had acquired was sufficient. And now the question
+was: whether with all his masculine longing to preserve his freedom he
+would be able to escape successfully again? This was why he was giving a
+lingering glance in the mirror, where his external personality was, as
+it were, painted with an exactness that no artist could command.
+
+Should this blond man with the beard and the stiff hair, below which lay
+a splendid brain, should he escape again?
+
+Boreham stared hard at his own image. He repeated the momentous
+question, firmly but inaudibly, and then went away without answering it.
+Time would show--that very day might show!
+
+Mrs. Greenleafe Potten had already arrived. Now Mrs. Greenleafe Potten
+was a cousin of Boreham's maternal aunt. She lived in rude though
+luxurious widowhood about a quarter of a mile from Chartcote, and she
+was naturally the person to whom Boreham applied whenever he wanted a
+lady to head his table. Besides, Mrs. Potten was a very old friend of
+Lady Dashwood's. Mrs. Potten was a little senior to Lady Dashwood, but
+in many ways appeared to be her junior. Mrs. Potten, too, retained her
+youthful interest in men. Lady Dashwood's long stay in Oxford had
+brought with it a new interest to Mrs. Potten's life. It had enabled her
+to call at King's College and claim acquaintance with the Warden. Mrs.
+Potten admired the Warden with the sentiment of early girlhood. Now Mrs.
+Potten was accredited with the possession of great wealth, of which she
+spent as little as possible. She practised certain strange economies,
+and on this occasion, learning that the Dashwoods were coming without
+the Warden, she decided to come in the costume in which she usually
+spent the morning hours, toiling in the garden.
+
+The party consisted of the three ladies from King's, Mr. Bingham, Fellow
+of All Souls, and Mr. and Mrs. Harding.
+
+Mr. Bingham was a man of real learning; he was a bachelor, and he made
+forcible remarks in the soft deliberate tone of a super-curate. He
+laughed discreetly as if in the presence of some sacred shrine. In the
+old pre-war days there had been many stories current in Oxford about
+Bingham, some true and some invented by his friends. All of them were
+reports of brief but effective conversations between himself and some
+other less sophisticated person. Bingham always accepted invitations
+from any one who asked him when he had time, and if he found himself
+bored, he simply did not go again. Boreham had got hold of Bingham and
+had asked him to lunch, so he had accepted. It was one of the days when
+he did _not_ go up to the War Office, but when he lectured to women
+students. He had to lunch somewhere, and he had bicycled out, intending
+to bicycle back, rain or no rain, for the sake of exercise.
+
+Then there were Mr. and Mrs. Harding. Harding, who had taken Orders
+(just as some men have eaten dinners for the Bar), was Fellow and Tutor
+of a sporting College. His tutorial business had been for many years to
+drive the unwilling and ungrateful blockhead through the Pass Degree.
+His private business was to assume that he was a "man of the world." It
+was a subject that engrossed what must (in the absence of anything more
+distinctive), be called the "spiritual" side of his nature. His wife,
+who had money, lived to set a good example to other Dons' wives in
+matters of dress and "tenue," and she had put on her best frock in
+anticipation of meeting the "County." Indeed, the Hardings had taken up
+Boreham because he was not a college Don but a member of "Society." They
+were, like Bingham, at Chartcote for the first time. It was an
+unpleasant shock to Mr. Harding to find that instead of the County,
+other Oxford people had been asked to luncheon. Fortunately, however,
+the Oxford people were the Dashwoods! The Hardings exchanged glances,
+and Harding, who had entered the room in his best manner, now looked
+round and heaved a sigh, letting himself spiritually down with a sort of
+thump. Bingham his old school-fellow and senior at Winchester, was,
+perhaps, the man in all Oxford to whom he felt most antipathy.
+
+Mrs. Harding very much regretted that she had not come in a smart Harris
+tweed. It would have been a good compromise between the Dashwoods and
+the pretty girl with them, and Mrs. Greenleafe Potten with her tweed
+skirt and not altogether spotless shirt. But it was too late!
+
+Boreham was quite unconscious of his guests' thoughts, and was busy
+plotting how best to give May Dashwood an opportunity of making love to
+him. He would have Lady Dashwood and Mrs. Harding on each side of him at
+table, giving to Mrs. Potten, Harding and Bingham. Then May Dashwood and
+Miss Scott would be wedged in at the sides. But, after lunch, he would
+give the men only ten minutes sharp for their coffee, and take off May
+Dashwood to look over the house. In this way he would be behaving with
+the futile orthodoxy required by our effete social system, and yet give
+the opportunity necessary to the female for the successful pursuit of
+the male.
+
+Only--and here a sudden spasm went through his frame, as he looked round
+on his guests--did he really wish to become a married man? Did he want
+to be obliged to be always with one woman, to be obliged to pay calls
+with her, dine out with her? Did he want to explain where he was going
+when he went by himself, and to give her some notion as to the hour when
+he would return, and to leave his address with her if he stayed away for
+a night? No! Marriage was a gross imposition on humanity, as his brother
+had discovered twice over. The woman in the world who would tempt him
+into harness would have to be exquisitely fascinating! But then--and
+this was the point--May Dashwood _had_ just that peculiar charm!
+Boreham's eyes were now resting on her face. She was sitting on his
+left, next Mrs. Harding, and Bingham's black head was bent and he was
+saying something to her that made her smile. Boreham wished that he had
+put Harding, the married man, next her! Harding was commonplace! Harding
+was safe! Look at Harding doing his duty with Mrs. Potten! Useful man,
+Harding! But Bingham was a bachelor, and not safe!
+
+And so the luncheon went on, and Boreham talked disconnectedly because
+he forgot the thread of his argument in his keenness to hear what May
+Dashwood and Bingham were saying to each other. He tried to drag in
+Bingham and force him to talk to the table, but his efforts were
+fruitless. Bingham merely looked absently and sweetly round the table,
+and then relapsed into talk that was inaudible except to his fair
+neighbour.
+
+Gwendolen Scott watched the table silently, and wondered how it was they
+found so much to talk about. Harding did not intend to waste any time in
+talking to an Oxford person. He put his elbow on the table on her side
+and conversed with Mrs. Potten. He professed interest in her
+agricultural pursuits, told her that he liked digging in the rain, and
+by the time lunch was over he had solemnly emphasised his opinion that
+the cricket bat and the shot gun and the covert and the moderate party
+in the Church of England were what made our Empire great. Mrs. Potten
+approved these remarks, and said that she was surprised and pleased to
+hear such sound views expressed by any one from Oxford. She was afraid
+that very wild and democratic views were not only tolerated, but born
+and bred in Oxford. She was afraid that Oxford wasn't doing poor, dear,
+clever Bernard any good, though she was convinced that the "dear
+Warden" would not tolerate any foolishness, and she was on the point of
+rising when her movements were delayed by the shock of hearing Mr.
+Bingham suddenly guffaw with extraordinary suavity and gentleness.
+
+She turned to him questioningly.
+
+"It depends upon what you mean by democratic," he said, smiling softly
+past Mrs. Potten and on to Harding. "The United States of America, which
+makes a point of talking the higher twaddle about all men being free and
+equal, can barely manage to bring any wealthy pot to justice. On the
+other hand, Oxford, which is slimed with Toryism, is always ready to
+make any son of any impecunious greengrocer the head of one's college.
+In Oxford, even at Christ Church"--and here Bingham showed two rows of
+good teeth at Harding,--"you may say what you like now. Oxford now
+swarms with political Humanitarians, who go about sticking their
+stomachs out and pretending to be inspired! Now, what do you mean by
+Democratic?"
+
+Mrs. Potten would have been shocked, but Bingham's mellifluous voice
+gave a "cachet" to his language. She looked nervously at Boreham; seeing
+that he had caught the talk and was about to plunge into it, she
+signified "escape" to Lady Dashwood and rose herself.
+
+"We will leave you men to quarrel together," she said to Harding. "You
+give it to them, Mr. Harding. Don't you spare 'em," and she passed to
+the door.
+
+For a moment the three men who were left behind in the dining-room
+glanced at each other--then they sat down. Boreham was torn between the
+desire to dispute whatever either of his guests put forward, and a still
+keener desire to get away rapidly to the drawing-room. Harding had
+already lost all interest in the subject of democracy, and was passing
+on the claret to Bingham. Bingham helped himself, wondering, as he did
+so, whether Mrs. Dashwood was in mourning for a brother, or perhaps had
+been mourning for a husband. It seemed to Bingham an interesting
+question.
+
+"Good claret this of yours," said Harding. "I conclude that you weren't
+one of those fanatics who tried to force us all to become teetotallers.
+My view is that at my age a man can judge for himself what is good for
+him."
+
+"That wasn't quite the point," said Bingham. "The point was whether the
+stay-at-homes should fill up their stomachs, or turn it into cash for
+war purposes."
+
+"Of course," sneered Harding, "you like to put it in that way."
+
+"It isn't any man's business," broke in Boreham, "whether another man
+can or can't judge what's good for him."
+
+Boreham had been getting up steam for an attack upon Christ Church
+because it was ecclesiastical, upon Balliol because it had been
+Bingham's college, and upon Oxford in general because he, Boreham, had
+not been bred within its walls. In other words, Boreham was going to
+speak with unbiassed frankness. But this sudden deviation of the talk to
+claret and Harding's cool assumption that his view was like his host's,
+could not be passed in silence.
+
+"What I say is," said Harding again, "that when a man gets to my
+age----"
+
+"Age isn't the question," interrupted Boreham. "Let every man have his
+own view about drink. Mine is that I'm not going to ask your permission
+to drink. If a man likes to get drunk, all I say is that it's not my
+business. The only thing any of your Bishops ever said that was worth
+remembering was: 'I'd rather see England free than England sober.'"
+
+Harding allowed that the saying was a good one. He nodded his head.
+Bingham sipped his claret. "You do get a bit free when you're not
+sober," he said sweetly. "I say, Harding, so you would rather see Mrs.
+Harding free than sober!"
+
+Harding made an inarticulate noise that indicated the place to which in
+a future life he would like to consign the speaker.
+
+"Every man does not get offensive when drunk," said Boreham, ignoring,
+in the manner peculiar to him, the inner meaning of Bingham's remark.
+
+"That's true," said Bingham. "A man may have as his family motto: 'In
+Vino Suavitas'(Courteous though drunk, Boreham); but when you're drunk
+and you still go on talking, don't you find the difficulty is not so
+much to be courteous as to be coherent? In the good old drinking days of
+All Souls, of which I am now an unworthy member, it was said that Tindal
+was supreme in Common Room _because_ 'his abstemiousness in drink gave
+him no small advantage over those he conversed with.'"
+
+"Talk about supreme in Common Room," said Boreham, catching at the
+opportunity to drive his dagger into the weak points of Oxford, "you
+chaps, even before the war, could hardly man your Common Rooms. You're
+all married men living out in the brick villas."
+
+"Harding's married," said Bingham. "I'm thinking about it. I've been
+thinking for twenty years. It takes a long time to mature thoughts. By
+the by, was that a Miss Dashwood who sat next Harding? I don't think I
+have ever met her in Oxford."
+
+"She is a Miss Scott," said Boreham, suddenly remembering that he wanted
+to join the ladies as soon as possible. He would get Bingham alone some
+day, and squeeze him. Just now there wasn't time. As to Harding--he was
+a hopeless idiot.
+
+"Not one of Scott of Oriel's eight daughters? Don't know 'em by sight
+even. Can't keep pace with 'em," said Harding.
+
+"She's the daughter of Lady Belinda Scott," said Boreham, "and staying
+with Lady Dashwood."
+
+"I thought she didn't belong to Oxford," said Bingham.
+
+Harding stared at his fellow Don, vaguely annoyed. He disliked to hear
+Bingham hinting at any Oxford "brand"--it was the privilege of himself
+and his wife to criticise Oxford. Also, why hadn't he talked to Miss
+Scott? He wondered why he hadn't seen that she was not an Oxford girl by
+her dress and by her look of self-satisfied simplicity, the right look
+for a well-bred girl to have.
+
+"I promised to show Mrs. Dashwood my house," said Boreham. "We mustn't
+keep the ladies too long waiting. Shall we go?" he added. "Oh, sorry,
+Harding, I didn't notice you hadn't finished!"
+
+The men rose and went into the drawing-room. Harding saw, as he entered,
+that his wife had discovered that Miss Scott was a stranger and she was
+talking to her, while Mrs. Greenleafe Potten had got the Dashwoods into
+a corner and was telling them all about Chartcote: a skeleton list of
+names with nothing attached to them of historical interest. It was like
+reading aloud a page of Bradshaw, and any interruption to such
+entertainment was a relief. Indeed, May Dashwood began to smile when she
+saw Boreham approaching her. Something, however, in his manner made the
+smile fade away.
+
+"Will you come over the house?" he asked, carefully putting his person
+between herself and Lady Dashwood so as to obliterate the latter lady.
+"I don't suppose Lady Dashwood wants to see it. Come along, Mrs.
+Dashwood."
+
+May could scarcely refuse. She rose. Harding was making his way to
+Gwendolen Scott and raising his eyebrows at his wife as a signal for her
+to appropriate Mrs. Potten. Bingham was standing in the middle of the
+room staring at Lady Dashwood. Some problems were working in his mind,
+in which that lady figured as an important item.
+
+Gwendolen Scott looked round her. Mr. Harding had ignored her at lunch,
+and she did not mean to have him sitting beside her again. She was quite
+sure she wouldn't know what to say to him, if he did speak. She got up
+hurriedly from her chair, passed the astonished Harding and plunged at
+Mrs. Dashwood.
+
+"Oh, do let me come and see over the house with you," she said, laying a
+cold hand nervously on May's arm. "I should love to--I simply love
+looking at portraits."
+
+"Come, of course," said May, with great cordiality.
+
+Boreham stiffened and his voice became very flat. "I've got no portraits
+worth looking at," said he, keeping his hand firmly on the door. "I have
+a couple of Lely's, they're all alike and sold with a pound of tea. The
+rest are by nobodies."
+
+"Oh, never mind," said Gwen, earnestly. "I love rooms; I
+love--anything!"
+
+Boreham's beard gave a sort of little tilt, and his innermost thoughts
+were noisy and angry, but he had to open the door and let Gwendolen
+Scott through if the silly little girl would come and spoil everything.
+
+Boreham could not conceal his vexation. His arrangements had been
+carefully made, and here they were knocked on the head, and how he was
+to get May Dashwood over to Chartcote again he didn't know.
+
+"What a nice hall!" exclaimed Gwen. "I do love nice halls," and she
+looked round at the renaissance decorations of the wall and the domed
+roof. "Oh, I do love that archway with the statue holding the electric
+light, it is sweet!"
+
+"It's bad style," said Boreham, walking gloomily in front of them
+towards a door which led into the library. "The house was decent enough,
+I believe, till some fool in the family, seeing other people take up
+Italian art, got a craze for it himself and knocked the place about."
+
+"Oh," said Gwen, crestfallen, "I really don't know anything about how
+houses ought to look. I only know my cousin Lady Goosemere's house and
+mother's father's old place, my grandfather's and--and--I do like the
+Lodgings, Mrs. Dashwood," she added in confusion.
+
+"So do I," said May Dashwood.
+
+"This is the library," said Boreham, opening the door.
+
+Boreham led them from one room to another, making remarks on them
+expressly for the enlightenment of Mrs. Dashwood, using language that
+was purposely complicated and obscure in order to show Miss Scott that
+he was not taking the trouble to give her any information. Whenever he
+spoke, he stared straight at May Dashwood, as if he were alone with her.
+He did not by any movement or look acknowledge the presence of the
+intruder, so that Gwendolen began to wonder how long she would be able
+to endure her ill-treatment at Chartcote, without dissolving into tears.
+She kept on stealing a glance at the watch on Mrs. Dashwood's wrist, but
+she could never make out the time, because the figures were not the
+right side up, and she never had time to count them round before Mrs.
+Dashwood moved her arm and made a muddle of the whole thing.
+
+But no lunch party lasts for ever, and at last Gwendolen found herself
+down in the hall with the taxi grunting at the door and a bustle of
+good-byes around her. The rain had stopped. Mrs. Greenleafe Potten and
+Bingham were standing together on the shallow steps like two children.
+The Hardings were already halfway down the drive. Lady Dashwood looked
+out of the window of the taxi at Boreham, as he fastened the door.
+
+"Wait a minute, Mr. Boreham," she said. "Tell Mr. Bingham we can take
+him into Oxford."
+
+"He's going to walk," said Boreham, coldly. "He's going to walk back
+with Mrs. Potten, who wants to walk, and then return for his bicycle."
+
+"Oh, very well," said Lady Dashwood, leaning back. "Good-bye, so many
+thanks, Mr. Boreham."
+
+Boreham's face wore an enigmatic look as he walked up the steps.
+
+Bingham had opened a pocket-book and was making a note in it with a
+pencil.
+
+"Excuse me just one moment, Mrs. Potten. I shan't remember if I don't
+make a note of it."
+
+The note that Bingham jotted down was: "Sat. Lady Dashwood, dinner 8
+o'clock."
+
+Boreham glanced keenly and suspiciously at him, for he heard him murmur
+aloud the words he was writing.
+
+Boreham did not see that Bingham had any right to the invitation.
+
+"I've forgotten my waterproof," exclaimed Mrs. Potten, as she went down
+the steps.
+
+Bingham dived into the hall after it and having found it in the arms of
+a servant, he hurried back to Mrs. Potten.
+
+"I do believe I've dropped my handkerchief," remarked Mrs. Potten, as he
+started her down the drive at a brisk trot.
+
+"Are you afraid of this pace?" asked Bingham evasively, for he did not
+intend to return to the house.
+
+Boreham gazed after them with his beard at a saturnine angle. "You
+couldn't expect her to remember everything," he muttered to himself.
+
+The sky was low, heavy and grey, and the air was chilly and yet close,
+and everything--sky, half-leafless trees, the gravelled drive
+too--seemed to be steaming with moisture. The words came to Boreham's
+mind:
+
+    "My very heart faints and my whole soul grieves,
+     At the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves."
+
+"That won't do," he said to himself, as he still stood on the steps
+motionless. "It's no use quoting from Victorian poets. 'What the people
+want' is nothing older than Masefield or Noyes, or Verhaeren. Because,
+though Verhaeren's old enough, they didn't know about him till just now,
+and so he seems new; then there are all the new small chaps. No, I can't
+finish that article. After all, what does it matter? They must wait, and
+I can afford now to say, 'Take it or leave it, and go to the Devil!'"
+
+He turned and went up the steps. There was no sound audible except the
+noise Boreham was making with his own feet on the strip of marble that
+met the parquetted floor of the hall. "It's a beastly distance from
+Oxford," he said, half aloud; "one can't just drop in on people in the
+evening, and who else is there? I'm not going to waste my life on half a
+dozen damned sport-ridden, parson-ridden neighbours who can barely spell
+out a printed book."
+
+One thing had become clear in Boreham's mind. Either he must marry May
+Dashwood for love, or he must try and let Chartcote, taking rooms in
+Oxford and a flat in town.
+
+If Boreham had found the morning unprofitable, the Hardings had not
+found it less so.
+
+"Did Mrs. Potten propose calling?" asked Harding of his wife, as they
+sat side by side, rolling over a greasy road towards Oxford.
+
+"No," said Mrs. Harding.
+
+"It's quite clear to me," said Harding, "that Mrs. G. P. only regards
+Boreham as a freak, so that _he_ won't be any use."
+
+"We needn't go there again," said Mrs. Harding, "unless, of course," she
+added thoughtfully, "we knew beforehand--somehow--that it wasn't just an
+Oxford party. And Lady Dashwood won't do anything for us."
+
+"It's not been worth the taxi," said Harding.
+
+"I wish you'd not made that mistake about Miss Scott," said Mrs.
+Harding, after a moment's silence.
+
+"How could I help it?" blurted Harding. "Scott's a common name. How on
+earth could I tell--and coming from Oxford!"
+
+"Yes, but you could see she powdered, and her dress! Besides, coming
+with the Dashwoods and knowing Mrs. Potten!" continued Mrs. Harding. "If
+only you had said one or two sentences to her; I saw she was offended.
+That's why she ran off with Mrs. Dashwood, she wouldn't be left to your
+tender mercies. I saw Lady Dashwood staring."
+
+Harding made no answer, he merely blew through his pursed-up mouth.
+
+"And we've got Boreham dining with us next Thursday!" he said after a
+pause. "Damn it all!"
+
+"No. I didn't leave the note," said Mrs. Harding. "I thought I'd 'wait
+and see.'"
+
+"Good!" said Harding.
+
+"It was a nuisance," said Mrs. Harding, "that we asked the Warden of
+King's when the Bishop was here and got a refusal. We can't ask the
+Dashwoods and Miss Scott even quietly. It's for the Warden to ask us."
+
+"Anyhow ask Bingham," said Harding; "just casually."
+
+Mrs. Harding looked surprised. "Why, I thought you couldn't stick him,"
+she said; "and he hasn't been near us for a couple of years at least."
+
+"Yes, but----"
+
+"Very well," said Mrs. Harding. "And meanwhile I've got Lady Dashwood to
+lend me Miss Scott for our Sale to-morrow! And shall I ask them to tea?
+We are so near that it would seem the natural thing to do."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+PARENTAL EFFUSIONS
+
+
+"Well, May," said Lady Dashwood, leaning back into her corner and
+speaking in a voice of satisfaction, "we've done our duty, I hope, and
+now, if you don't mind, we'll go on doing our duty and pay some calls. I
+ought to call at St. John's and Wadham, and also go into the suburbs.
+I've asked Mr. Bingham to dinner--just by ourselves, of course. Do you
+know what his nickname is in Oxford?"
+
+May did not know.
+
+"It is: 'It depends on what you mean,'" said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Oh!" said May. "Yes, in the Socratic manner."
+
+"I dare say," said Lady Dashwood. "What did you think of the Hardings?"
+
+May said she didn't know.
+
+"They are a type one finds everywhere," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+The afternoon passed slowly away. It was the busy desolation of the
+city, a willing sacrifice to the needs of war, that made both May and
+Lady Dashwood sit so silently as they went first to Wadham, and then,
+round through the noble wide expanse of Market Square opposite St.
+John's. Then later on out into the interminable stretch of villas
+beyond. By the time they returned to the Lodgings the grey afternoon
+light had faded into darkness.
+
+"Any letters?" asked Lady Dashwood, as Robinson relieved them of their
+wraps.
+
+Yes, there were letters awaiting them, and they had been put on the
+table in the middle of the hall; there was a wire also. The wire was
+from the Warden, saying that he would not be back to dinner.
+
+"He's coming later," said Lady Dashwood, aloud. "Late, May!"
+
+"Oh!" said May Dashwood.
+
+There was a letter for Gwen. It was lying by itself and addressed in her
+mother's handwriting. She laid her hand upon it and hurried up to her
+room.
+
+Lady Dashwood went upstairs slowly to the drawing-room. "H'm, one from
+Belinda," she said to herself, "asking me to keep Gwen longer, I
+suppose, on some absurd excuse! Well, I won't do it; she shall go on
+Monday."
+
+She turned up the electric light and seated herself on a couch at one
+side of the fire. She glanced through the other letters, leaving the one
+from Belinda to the last.
+
+"Now, what does the creature want?" she said aloud, and at the sound of
+her own voice, she glanced round the room. She had taken for granted
+that May had been following behind her and had sat down, somewhere,
+absorbed in her letters. There was no one in the room and the door was
+closed. She opened the letter and began to read:
+
+
+    "My dear Lena,
+
+    "I am a bit taken by surprise at Gwen's news! How rapidly it must
+    have happened! But I have no right to complain, for it sounds just
+    like a real old-fashioned love at first sight affair, and I can tell
+    by Gwen's letter that she knows her own mind and has taken a step
+    that will bring her happiness. Well, I suppose there is nothing that
+    a mother can do--in such a case--but to be submissive and very sweet
+    about it!"
+
+
+Lady Dashwood's hand that held the letter was trembling, and her eyes
+shifted from the lines. She clung to them desperately, and read on:
+
+
+    "I must try and not be jealous of Dr. Middleton. I must be very
+    'dood.' But just at the moment it is rather sudden and overpowering
+    and difficult to realise. I had always thought of my little Gwen,
+    with her great beauty and attractiveness, mated to some one in the
+    big world; but perhaps it was a selfish ambition (excusable in a
+    mother), for the Fates had decreed otherwise, and one must say
+    'Kismet!' I long to come and see you all. It is impossible for me to
+    get away to-morrow, but I could come on Saturday. Would that suit
+    you? It seems like a dream--a very real dream of happiness for Gwen
+    and for--I suppose I must call him 'Jim.' And I must (though I
+    shouldn't) congratulate you on so cleverly getting my little treasure
+    for your brother. I know how dear he is to you.
+
+                                                  "Yours affectionately,
+
+                                                        "Belinda Scott."
+
+
+Lady Dashwood laid the letter on her knees and sat thinking, with the
+pulses in her body throbbing. A dull flush had come into her cheeks, and
+just below her heart was a queer, empty, weak feeling, as if she had had
+no food for a long, long while.
+
+She moved at last and stood upon her feet.
+
+"I will not bear it," she said aloud.
+
+Her voice strayed through the empty room. The face of the portrait
+stared out remorselessly at her with its cynical smile. All the world
+had become cynical and remorseless. Lady Dashwood moved to the door and
+went into the corridor. She passed Gwen's room and went to May
+Dashwood's. There she knocked on the door. May's voice responded. She
+had already begun to dress.
+
+"Aunt Lena!" she exclaimed softly, as Lady Dashwood closed the door
+behind her without a word and came forward to the fireplace, "what has
+happened?"
+
+Lady Dashwood held towards her a letter. "Read that," she said, and then
+she turned to the fire and leaned her elbow on the mantelpiece and
+clasped her hot brow in her hands. She did not look at the tall slight
+figure with its aureole of auburn hair near her, and the serious sweet
+face reading the letter. What she was waiting for was--help--help in her
+dire need--help! She wanted May to say, "This can't be, must not be. _I_
+can help you"; and yet, as the silence grew, Lady Dashwood knew that
+there was no help coming--it was absurd to expect help.
+
+May Dashwood stood quite still and read the letter through. She read it
+twice, and yet said nothing.
+
+"Well!" said Lady Dashwood, her voice muffled. As no reply came, she
+glanced round. "You have read the letter?" she asked.
+
+"Yes," said May, "I've read it," and she laid the letter on the
+mantelpiece. There was a curious movement of her breathing--as if
+something checked it; otherwise her face was calm and she showed no
+emotion.
+
+"What's to be done?" demanded Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Nothing can be done," said May, and she spoke breathlessly.
+
+"Nothing!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood. "May!"
+
+"Nothing, not if it is his wish," said May Dashwood, and she cleared her
+throat and moved away.
+
+"If he knew, it would not be his wish," said Lady Dashwood. "If he knew
+about the other letter; if he knew what those women were like! Of
+course," she went on, "men are such fools, that he might think he was
+rescuing her from Belinda! But," she burst out suddenly, yet very
+quietly, "can't he see that Gwen has no moral backbone? Can't he see
+that she's a lump of jelly? No, he can't see anything;" then she turned
+round again to the fire. "Society backs up fraud in marriage. People
+will palm off a girl who drinks or who shows signs of inherited insanity
+with the shamelessness of horse-dealers. 'The man must look out for
+himself,' they say. Very well," said Lady Dashwood, pulling herself up
+to her full height, "I am going to do--whatever can be done." But she
+did not _feel_ brave.
+
+May had walked to the dressing-table and was taking up brushes and
+putting them down again without using them. She took a stopper out of a
+bottle, and then replaced it.
+
+Lady Dashwood stood looking at her, looking at the bent head silently.
+Then she said suddenly: "This letter was posted when?" She suddenly
+became aware that the envelope was missing. She had thrown it into the
+fire in the drawing-room or dropped it. It didn't matter--it was written
+last night. "Gwen must have posted her news at the latest yesterday
+morning by the first post. Then when could it have happened? He never
+saw her for a moment between dinner on Monday, when you arrived, and
+when she must have posted her letter." Lady Dashwood stared at her
+niece. "It must have happened before you arrived."
+
+"No," said May. "He must have _written_--you see;" and she turned round
+and looked straight at Lady Dashwood for the first time since she read
+that letter.
+
+"Written that same night, Monday, after Mr. Boreham left?"
+
+May moved her lips a moment and turned away again.
+
+"I don't believe it," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"If it is his wish--if he is in love," said May slowly, "you can do
+nothing!"
+
+"He is not in love with her," said Lady Dashwood, with a short bitter
+laugh. "If she speaks to me about it before his return, I--well, I shall
+know what to say. But she won't speak; she knows I read the first
+sentences of her mother's letter, and being the daughter of her
+mother--that is, having no understanding of 'honour'--she will take for
+granted that I read more--that I read that letter through."
+
+May remained silent. Just then the dressing gong sounded, and Lady
+Dashwood went to the door.
+
+"May, I am going to dress," she said. "I shall fight this affair; for if
+it hadn't been for me, Jim would still be a free man."
+
+May looked at her again fixedly.
+
+"What shall you say to Lady Belinda?" she asked.
+
+"I shall say nothing to Belinda--just now," said Lady Dashwood. "The
+letter may be--a lie!"
+
+"Suppose she comes on Saturday?" said May.
+
+Lady Dashwood's eyes flickered. "She can't come on Saturday," she said
+slowly. "There is no room for her, while you are here; the other
+bedrooms are not furnished. You"--here Lady Dashwood's voice became
+strangely cool and commanding--"you stay here, May, till Monday! I must
+go and dress."
+
+May did not reply. Lady Dashwood paused to listen to her silence--a
+silence which was assent, and then she left the room as rapidly and
+quietly as she had entered.
+
+Outside, the familiar staircase looked strange and unsympathetic, like
+territory lost to an enemy and possessed by that enemy--ruined and
+distorted to some disastrous end. Some disastrous end! The word "end"
+made Lady Dashwood stop and to think about it. Would this engagement
+that threatened to end in marriage, affect her brother's career in
+Oxford?
+
+It might! He might find it impossible to be an efficient Warden, if
+Gwendolen was his wife! There was no telling what she might not do to
+make his position untenable.
+
+Lady Dashwood went up the short stair that led to the other bedrooms.
+She passed Gwendolen's door. What was the girl inside that room thinking
+of? Was she triumphant?
+
+Had Lady Dashwood been able to see within that room, she would have
+found Gwendolen moving about restlessly. She had thrown her hat and
+outdoor things on the bed and was vaguely preparing to dress for dinner.
+Mrs. Potten had not said one word about asking her to come on
+Monday--not one word; but it didn't matter--no, not one little bit!
+Nothing mattered now!
+
+A letter lay on her dressing-table. From time to time Gwendolen came up
+to the dressing-table and glanced at the letter and then glanced at her
+own face in the mirror.
+
+The letter was as follows:--
+
+
+    "My Darling little girl,
+
+    "What you tell me puts me in a huge whirl of surprise and excitement.
+    I suppose I am a very vain mother when I say that I am not one little
+    bit astonished that Dr. Middleton proposes to marry you. But you must
+    not imagine for a moment that I think you were foolish in listening
+    to his offer. For many reasons, a very young pretty girl is safer
+    under the protection and care of a man a good deal older than
+    herself. Dr. Middleton in his prominent position in Oxford would not
+    promise to share his life and his home with you unless he really
+    meant to make you very, very happy, darling. May your future life as
+    mistress of the Lodgings be a veritable day-dream. Tell him how much
+    I long to come; but I can't till Saturday as I have promised to help
+    Bee with a concert on Friday; it is an engagement of honour, and you
+    know one must play up trumps. I rush this off to the post. My love,
+    darling,
+
+                                                    "Your own
+
+                                                       "Mother."
+
+
+Gwen had found a slip of paper folded in the letter, on which was
+written in pencil, "Of course you are engaged. Dr. Middleton is pledged
+to you. Tear up this slip of paper as soon as you have read it, and give
+my letter to you to the Warden to read. This is all-important. Let me
+know when you have given it to him."
+
+Gwen had read and had burned the slip of paper, and had even poked the
+ashes well into the red of the fire.
+
+When that was done, she had walked about the room excitedly.
+
+How was it possible to dress quietly when the world had suddenly become
+so dreadfully thrilling? So, after all her doubt and despair, after all
+her worry, she was engaged. It was all right! All she had to do was to
+give her mother's letter to the Warden and the matter was concluded. She
+was going to be Mrs. Middleton, and mistress of the Lodgings. How
+thrilling! How splendid it was of her mother to make it so plain and
+easy! And yet, how was she to put the letter into the Warden's hands?
+What was she to say when she handed the letter to him?
+
+When Louise appeared to attend to Gwen's dress, she found that young
+lady fastening up her black tresses with hands that showed suppressed
+excitement, and her eyes and cheeks were glowing.
+
+She turned and glanced at Louise. "I'm late, as usual, I suppose," she
+said and laughed.
+
+"Mademoiselle has the appearance of being _tr�s gaie ce soir_," said
+Louise.
+
+"Oh, not particularly," said Gwen; "only my hair won't go right; it's a
+beast, and refuses," and she laughed again.
+
+When she was Mrs. Middleton she would have a maid of her own, not a
+French maid. They were a nuisance, and looked shabby. Yes, she dared
+think of being engaged and of being married. It wasn't a dream: it was
+all real. She would buy a dog, a small little thing, and she would tie
+its front hair with a big orange bow and carry it about in her arms
+everywhere. It would be lovely to be dressed in a filmy tea-gown with
+the dog in her arms, and she would rise to meet callers and say, "I'm so
+sorry--the Warden isn't at home; but you know how busy he is," etc.,
+etc., and the men who called would pull the dog's ears and say "Lucky
+beggar!" and she would scold them for hurting her darling, darling pet,
+and she would sit in the best place in the Chapel, wearing the most
+cunning hats, and she would appear not to see that she was being
+admired.
+
+In this land of fairy dreams the Warden hovered near as a vague shadowy
+presence: he was there, but only as a name is over a shop window,
+something that marks its identity but has little to do with the delights
+to be bought within.
+
+And why shouldn't she imagine all this? There was the letter to be given
+to the Warden--that must be done first. She must think that over.
+Louise's presence suggested a plan. Suppose the Warden came home so late
+that she didn't see him? She would write a tiny note and put her
+mother's letter within it, and send it down to the library by Louise.
+That would be far easier than speaking to him. So much easier did it
+seem to Gwen, that she determined to go to bed very early, so that she
+should escape meeting the Warden.
+
+And what should she write in her little note?
+
+How exciting the world was; how funny it was going down into the
+drawing-room and meeting Lady Dashwood and Mrs. Dashwood, both looking
+so innocent, knowing nothing of the great secret! How funny it was going
+down to the great solemn dining-room, entered by its double doors--her
+dining-room--and sitting at table, thinking all the time that the whole
+house really belonged to her, and that she would in future sit in Lady
+Dashwood's chair! How deliciously exciting, indeed! All the plate and
+glass on the table was really hers. Old Robinson and young Robinson were
+really her servants. What a shock for Lady Dashwood when she found out!
+Gwen's eyes were luminous as she looked round the table. How envious
+some people would be of her! Mrs. Dashwood would not be pleased! For all
+her clever talk, Mrs. Dashwood had not done much. What a bustle there
+would be when the secret was discovered, when the Warden announced: "I
+am engaged to Miss Scott, Miss Gwendolen Scott!" How young, how awfully
+young to be a Warden's wife! What an excitement!
+
+During dinner, Lady Dashwood told Robinson to keep up a good fire in the
+library, as the Warden would probably arrive at about a quarter to
+eleven.
+
+That decided Gwen. She would go to bed at ten, and that would give her
+time to write her little note and get it taken to the library before the
+Warden arrived home. He would find it there, awaiting him.
+
+Dinner passed swiftly, though the two ladies were rather dull and
+silent. Gwen had so much to think of that she ate almost without knowing
+that she was eating. When they went upstairs to the drawing-room, the
+time went much more slowly, for there was nothing to do. Lady Dashwood
+and Mrs. Dashwood both took up books, and seemed to sink back into the
+very depths of their chairs, and disappear. It was very dismal. Perhaps
+Lady Dashwood hadn't read _that_ letter all through. Anyhow she had not
+been able to interfere. That was clear!
+
+Gwen went and fetched the book on Oxford, and read half a page of it,
+and when she had mastered that, she discovered that she had read it
+before. So she was no farther on for all her industry. How slowly the
+hands of the clock on the mantelpiece moved; how interminable the time
+was! Everybody was so silent that the clock could be heard ticking. That
+Lady Dashwood hadn't been able to interfere and make mischief with the
+Warden, showed how little power she had after all.
+
+At last the clock struck ten, and Gwen got up from her chair.
+
+"Ten," said Mrs. Dashwood, and she raised her face from her book.
+
+"Ten," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Yes, ten," said Gwendolen. "I think I'll go to bed, Lady Dashwood, if
+you don't mind."
+
+"Do, my dear," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+The girl stood up before her, slim and straight as an arrow. Both women
+sat and looked at her, and she glanced at both of them in silence. Her
+very beauty stung Lady Dashwood and made her eyes harden as she looked
+at the girl. What were May Dashwood's thoughts as she, too, leaning back
+in her large chair, looked at the dark hair and the flushed cheeks, the
+white brow and neck, the radiant pearly prettiness of eighteen!
+
+Gwen was conscious that they were examining her; that they knew she was
+pretty--they could not deny her prettiness. She felt a glow of pride in
+her youth and in her power--her power over a man who commanded other
+men. And this drawing-room was hers. She glanced at the portrait over
+the fireplace.
+
+"Mr. Thing-um-bob," she said dimpling, "is looking very sly this
+evening."
+
+May Dashwood took up her book again and turned over a few pages, as if
+she had lost her place. Lady Dashwood did not smile or speak. Gwen made
+a movement nearer to Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Good night," she said. She seemed to have a sudden intention of bending
+down, perhaps to kiss Lady Dashwood. Vague thoughts possessed the girl
+that this rather incomprehensible and imposing elderly woman, who wore
+such nice rings, was going to be a relation of hers. Would she be her
+sister-in-law? How funny to have anybody so old for a sister-in-law! It
+was a good thing she had, after all, so little influence over Dr.
+Middleton.
+
+"Good night, Gwen," said Lady Dashwood, without appearing to notice the
+girl's movement towards her. "Sleep well, child," she added and she
+turned her head towards May Dashwood.
+
+Gwen hesitated a brief moment, and then walked away. "I always sleep
+well," she said, with a laugh. "I once thought it would be so nice to
+wake up in the night, because one would know how comfy one was. But I
+did wake once--for about a quarter of an hour--and I soon got tired and
+hated it!"
+
+At the door she turned and said, "Good night, Mrs. Dashwood. I quite
+forgot--how rude of me!"
+
+"Good night," said May.
+
+The door closed.
+
+Lady Dashwood stared deeply at her book, and then raised her eyes
+suddenly to her niece.
+
+May had risen from her chair. "Do you mind, dear Aunt Lena, if I go off
+too?" She came close to Lady Dashwood and laid a caressing hand on her
+shoulder.
+
+Lady Dashwood looked up into her face, and May was startled at the
+expression of suffering in the eyes.
+
+"Go, dear, if you want to! I shall stay up--till he comes in. Yes, go,
+May!"
+
+"You won't feel lonely?" said May, and she sighed without knowing that
+she did so.
+
+"No," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+May bent down and kissed her aunt's brow. It was burning hot. She
+caressed her cheek with her hand, then kissed her again and went out. As
+May met the cooler air of the staircase, she murmured to herself, "I'm a
+coward to leave her alone--alone when she is so wretched. Oh, what a
+coward I am!"
+
+She shivered as she went up the stairs, and as soon as she was in her
+own room she put up the lights, and then she locked the door, and having
+done this she took off her dress and put on her dressing-gown. She sat
+down by the fire. How was she to stay on here till Monday: how was she
+to endure it? It would be intolerable! May groaned aloud. What right had
+she to call it intolerable? What had happened to her? What was
+demoralising her, turning her strength into weakness? What was it that
+had entered into her soul and was poisoning its health and destroying
+its purpose?
+
+A few days ago and she had been steadily pursuing her work. She had been
+stifling her sorrow, and filling the vacancy of her life with voluntary
+labour. Having no child of her own, she had been filling her empty arms
+with the children of other women. She had fed and nursed and loved
+babies that would never call her "Mother." She had had no time to think
+of herself--no time for regrets--for self-pity. And now, suddenly, her
+heart that had been quieted and comforted, her heart that had seemed
+quieted and comforted, her heart dismissed all this tender and sacred
+work and cried for something else--cried and would not be appeased. She
+felt as if all that she had believed fixed and certain in herself and in
+her life, was shaken and might topple over, and in the disaster her
+soul might be destroyed. She was appalled at herself.
+
+No, no; she must wrestle with this sin, with this devil of self; she
+must fight it!
+
+She got up from her chair and went to the dressing-table. There she took
+up with a trembling hand a little ivory case, and going back to her seat
+she opened it reverently and looked at the face of her boy husband.
+There he was in all the bloom of his twenty and six years. It was a
+young pleasant face. And he had been such a comrade of her childhood and
+girlhood. But strangely enough he had never seen the gulf widening
+between them as she grew into a woman older than her years and he into a
+man, young for his years; boyish in his view of life, mentally immature.
+He was quite unconscious that he never met the deeper wants of her
+nature; those depths meant nothing to him. There had been a tacit
+understanding between them from their childhood that they should marry;
+an understanding encouraged by their parents. When at last May found out
+her mistake; that this bondage was irksome and her heart unsatisfied, he
+had suddenly thrown the responsibility of his happiness, of his very
+life, upon her shoulders, not by threats of vengeance on himself, but by
+falling from his usual buoyant cheerfulness into a state of
+uncomplaining despondency.
+
+May had had more than her share of men's admiration. Her piquancy and
+ready sympathy more even than her good looks attracted them. But she had
+gone on her way heart whole, and meanwhile she could not endure to see
+her old comrade unhappy.
+
+They became formally engaged and he returned to his old careless
+cheerfulness. He was no longer a pathetic object, and she was a little
+disappointed and yet ashamed of her disappointment. Why should she have
+vague "wants" in her nature--these luxuries of the pampered soul? The
+face she now gazed upon, figured in the little ivory frame, was of a
+man, not over-wise, a man who was occupied with the enjoyment of life,
+yet without sinister motives. During those brief six months of married
+life, he had leant upon her, delighted and yet amused at her sterner
+virtues; and yet this man, not strong, not wise, when the call of duty
+came, when that ancient call to manhood, the call to rise up and meet
+the enemy, when that call came, he went out not shrinking, but with all
+honourable eagerness and fearlessness to offer his life. And his life
+was taken.
+
+So that he whom in life she had never looked to for moral help, had
+become to her--in death--something sacred and unapproachable. In her
+first fresh grief she had asked herself bitterly what she--in her young
+womanhood--had ever offered to humanity? Nothing at all comparable to
+his sacrifice! Had she ever offered anything at all? Had she not, from
+girlhood, taken all the joys that life put in her way, and taken them
+for granted?
+
+She had been aware of an underworld of misery, suffering and vice, had
+seen glimpses of it, heard its sounds breaking in upon her serenity. She
+had, like the travelling Levite, observed, noted, and had gone about her
+own business. So with passionate self-reproach she had thrown herself
+into work among the neglected children of the poor, and had tried to
+still the clamour of her conscience and fill the emptiness of her heart.
+
+And until now, that life had absorbed her and satisfied her--until now!
+
+"I am not worthy to look upon your face," she murmured, and she closed
+the ivory case, letting it fall upon her lap. She hid her face in her
+hands. Oh, why had she during those six months of marriage patronised
+him in her thoughts? Why had she told him he was "irresponsible,"
+jestingly calling him "her son," and now after his death, was she to
+add a further injustice and become unfaithful to his memory--the memory
+of her boy, who would never return?
+
+Sharp, burning tears oozed up painfully between her eyelids. She tried
+to pray, and into her whole being came a profound silent sense of
+self-abasement, absorbing her as if it were a prayer.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+NO ESCAPE
+
+
+Lady Dashwood sat on in the drawing-room. Now that she was alone it was
+not necessary to keep up the show of reading a book. She put it down on
+a table close at hand and gave herself up to thought.
+
+But what was the good of plans--until Jim came back? The first thing was
+to find out whether the engagement was a fact and not an invention of
+Belinda's. Then if it was a fact, whether Jim really wanted to marry
+Gwendolen? If he did want to, plans might be very difficult to make, and
+there was little time, with Belinda clamouring to come and play the
+mother-in-law. The vulture was already hovering with the scent of battle
+in its nostrils.
+
+Then, on the other hand, supposing Jim didn't want to marry Gwen, but
+had only been run into it--somehow--before he had had time to see May
+Dashwood, then plans might be easier. But in any case there were almost
+overwhelming difficulties in the way of "doing anything." It was easy to
+say that she would never allow the marriage to take place, but how was
+she to prevent it?
+
+"I must prevent it," she murmured to herself. "Must!"
+
+What still amazed and confounded Lady Dashwood and made her helpless
+was: why her brother showed such obvious interest--more than mere
+interest--in May Dashwood, if he was in love with Gwendolen Scott and
+secretly pledged to her? Jim playing the ordinary flirt was unthinkable.
+It did look as if he had proposed in some impulsive moment, before May
+arrived, and then---- Why, that was why he had not announced his
+engagement! Was he playing a double game? No, it was unthinkable that he
+should not be absolutely straight. Gwendolen had somehow entangled him.
+The very thought of it made Lady Dashwood get up from her chair and move
+about restlessly. Then an idea struck her. Jim coveted Gwendolen for her
+youth and freshness and only admired May! Yes, only admired her, and
+regarding her as still mourning for her young husband, still
+inconsolable, he had treated her with frankness and had shown his
+admiration without the restraint that he would have used otherwise.
+
+When would Jim return? How long would she have to wait?
+
+She had told Robinson to take a tray of refreshments for the Warden into
+the library. Now that she was alone in the drawing-room she would have
+the tray brought in here. When Jim did come in, she would have to
+approach her subject gradually. She must be as wily as a serpent--wily,
+when her pulses were beating and her head was aching? It would be more
+easy and natural for her to begin talking here than to go into the
+library and force him into conversation after the day's work was done.
+Yet the matter must be thrashed out at once. She could not go about with
+Belinda's letter announcing the engagement and yet pretend that she knew
+nothing about it. Gwendolen probably knew that her mother had written;
+or if she didn't already know, would very likely know by the morning's
+post.
+
+She rang the bell, and when Robinson appeared, she told him to bring the
+tray in, instead of taking it to the library.
+
+"When the Warden comes in, tell him the tray is here," she said. Oh, how
+the last few minutes dragged! It was some distraction to have Robinson
+coming in and putting the tray down on the wrong table, and to be able
+to tell him the right table and the most suitable chair to accompany it.
+Then, when he had gone and all was ready, she chose a chair for herself.
+Not too near and not too far. She had Belinda's letter safe? Yes, it was
+here! She was ready, she was prepared. She was going to do something
+more difficult than anything she had experienced in her life, because so
+much depended on it, so much; and a great emotion is not easy to hide,
+it takes one's breath sometimes, it makes one's voice harsh, or
+indistinct, or worse still, it suddenly benumbs the brain, and thoughts
+go astray and tangle themselves, and all one's power of argument, all
+one's grip of the situation, goes.
+
+And the minutes passed slowly and still more slowly. When at last she
+heard sounds on the stairs, the blood rushed to her cheeks and her hands
+became as cold as ice. That was a bad beginning! She went to the door
+and opened it. He had come in and had gone into the library. She called
+out to him to come into the drawing-room. She heard his voice answer
+"Coming!" She left the door open and went back to her chair, the chair
+she had chosen, and she stood by it, waiting, looking at the open door.
+
+He came in. He looked all round the room, and closed the door behind
+him.
+
+"All alone?" he said, and there was a question in his voice. Who was he
+thinking of? Who was absent? Whose absence was he thinking of?
+
+She sat down. "You're not cold?" she asked.
+
+"Not at all," he said, and he walked to the table arranged for him and
+sat down.
+
+"Did you have a satisfactory day?" she asked.
+
+"On the whole," he said slowly, "yes."
+
+"You're not tired?" she asked.
+
+"Not a bit," he answered. "Why should I be?" and he looked at her and
+smiled.
+
+"I don't know why you should be, Jim. I'm glad you're not. My guests
+seemed to be tired, for they both went off long ago."
+
+She was now making the first step in the direction which she must boldly
+travel.
+
+"I expect you are tired too," he said, "only--as usual--you wait up for
+me."
+
+The Warden poured himself out a cup of coffee, and took up a sandwich,
+adding: "I managed to get a scrappy dinner before seven; if I had waited
+longer I should have missed my train."
+
+"We were very dull at dinner without you," she said, bringing him back
+again to the point from which she was starting.
+
+The Warden looked pleased, and then pained. Lady Dashwood was watching
+him with keen tired eyes.
+
+"We lunched at Chartcote, and then we did all that you particularly
+wanted me to do," she said. "And then something rather amazing
+happened--I found a letter waiting me from Belinda Scott!"
+
+She paused. The Warden glanced at her: his face became coldly
+abstracted.
+
+"I don't mean that it was strange that she should write, but that what
+she said was strange."
+
+He glanced at her again, and she saw that he was arrested. She went on.
+It seemed now easier to speak. A strange cold despair had seized her,
+and with that despair a fearlessness.
+
+"I can't help thinking that there is some mistake, because you would
+have told me if--well, anything had happened to you--of consequence! You
+would not have left me to be told by an--an outsider."
+
+The Warden raised the cup of coffee to his lips, and then put it down
+carefully.
+
+"Anything that has happened," he said, "has not been communicated by me
+to anybody. It did not seem to me that--there was anything that ought to
+be."
+
+Lady Dashwood waited and finding her lips would stiffen and her voice
+sounded hollow, measured her words.
+
+"Will you read Belinda's letter, and then you will see what I mean?" she
+said, and she rose and held the paper out to him.
+
+His features had grown tense and severe. He half rose, and reached out
+over the table for the letter, and took it without a word. Then he put
+on his eye-glasses and read it through very slowly.
+
+Lady Dashwood sat, staring at her own hands that lay in her lap. She was
+not thinking, she was waiting for him to speak.
+
+He read the letter through, and sat with it in his hand, silent for a
+minute. For years he had been accustomed to looking over the
+compositions of men who had begun to think, and of men who never would
+begin to think. He was unable to read anything without reading it
+critically. But his criticism was criticism of ideas and the expression
+of ideas. He had no insight either by instinct or training for the
+detection of petty personal subterfuges, nor did he suspect crooked
+motives. But the discrepancy between this effusion of maternal emotion
+and Gwendolen's assertion that she had no home and that nobody cared was
+glaring.
+
+The writer of the letter was a bouncing, selfish woman of poor
+intelligence. That fact, indeed, had become established in the Warden's
+mind. The letter was in hopelessly bad taste. It became pretty plain,
+therefore, that Gwendolen had spoken the truth, and the lie belonged to
+the mother.
+
+Already, yes, already he was being drawn into an atmosphere of paltry
+humbug, of silly dishonesty, an atmosphere in which he could not
+breathe.
+
+Couldn't breathe! The Warden roused himself. What did he mean by "being
+drawn"? He had carried out his life with decisive and serious
+intentions, and whoever shared that life with him would have to live in
+the atmosphere he had created around him. Surely he was strong enough
+not only to hold his own against the mother, but to mould a pliable girl
+into a form that he could respect!
+
+"Somehow, I can't imagine how," said Lady Dashwood, breaking the
+silence, "I found a letter from Belinda to Gwendolen on my toilet table
+among other letters, and opened it and I began reading it--without
+knowing that it was not for me. Belinda's writing--all loops--did not
+make the distinction between Gwen and Lena so very striking. I read two
+sentences or so, and one phrase I can't forget; it was 'What are you
+doing about the Warden?' I turned the sheet and saw, 'Your affectionate
+mother, Belinda Scott.' I did not read any more. I gave the letter to
+Gwen, and I saw by her face that she had read the letter herself. 'What
+are you doing about the Warden?' Knowing Belinda, I draw conclusions
+from this sentence that do not match with the surprise she expresses in
+this letter you have just read. You understand what I mean?"
+
+The Warden moved on his seat uneasily.
+
+"Belinda speaks of your _engagement_ to Gwendolen," said Lady Dashwood,
+and her voice this time demanded an answer.
+
+"I am not engaged," he said, turning his eyes to his sister's face
+slowly, "but, I am pledged to marry her--if it is her wish."
+
+Lady Dashwood's eyes quavered.
+
+"Is it your wish?" she asked.
+
+The Warden rose from his chair as if to go.
+
+"I can't discuss the matter further, Lena. I cannot tell you more. I had
+no right, I had no reason, for telling you anything before, because
+nothing had been concluded--it may not be concluded. It depends on her,
+and she has not spoken to me decisively."
+
+He moved away from the table.
+
+"You haven't finished your coffee, your sandwiches," said Lady Dashwood,
+to give herself time, and to help her to self-control. Oh, why had he
+put himself and his useful life in the hands of a mere child--a child
+who would never become a real woman? Why did he deliberately plan his
+own martyrdom?
+
+"I don't want any more," he said, "and I have letters to write."
+
+"Jim," she called to him gently, "tell me at least--if you are
+happy--whether----"
+
+"I can't talk just now--not just now, Lena," he said.
+
+"But Belinda takes the matter as settled--otherwise the letter is not
+merely absurd--but outrageous!"
+
+The Warden hesitated in his slow stride towards the door.
+
+"I am not going to have Belinda here on Saturday. There is no room for
+her. She can't come till May has gone." Lady Dashwood spoke this in a
+firm, rapid voice.
+
+"That is for you to decide," he said. "You are mistress here."
+
+He was moving again when she said in a voice full of pain: "You say you
+can't talk just now, you can't speak to me of what is happening to you,
+of what may happen to you, when you, next to John, are more to me than
+anything else in the world. What happens to you means happiness or
+misery to me, and yet you _can't talk_!"
+
+The Warden was arrested, stood still, and turned towards her.
+
+"You owe me some consideration, Jim. I have no children, you have been a
+son as well as a brother to me. I can have no peace of mind, no joy in
+life if things go wrong with you. Yes, I repeat it--if things go wrong
+with you. I was your mother, Jim, for many years, and yet you say you
+can't discuss something that is of supreme importance! You are willing
+to go out of this room and leave me to spend a night sleepless with
+anxiety."
+
+What his engagement to Gwendolen would mean to her was expressed more in
+her voice even than in her words. The Warden stood motionless.
+
+"Be patient with me, Lena. I can't talk about it--I would if I could. I
+know all I owe to you--all I can never repay; but there is nothing more
+to tell you than that I have offered her a home. I have made a
+proposal--I was not aware that she had definitely accepted, and that is
+why I said nothing to you about it."
+
+Lady Dashwood got up. She did not approach her brother. Her instinct
+told her not to touch him, or entreat him by such means. She made a step
+towards the hearth, and said in a muffled voice--
+
+"Will you answer one question? You can answer it."
+
+He made no sound of assent.
+
+"Are you in love with her? or"--and here Lady Dashwood's voice
+shook--"do you feel that she will help you? Do you think she will be
+helpful to--the College?"
+
+There was a pause, and then the Warden's voice came to her; he was
+forcing himself to speak very calmly.
+
+"I have no right to speak of what may not happen. Lena, can't you see
+that I haven't?"
+
+The pause came again.
+
+"You have answered it," said Lady Dashwood, in a broken voice.
+
+There was no time to think now, for at that moment there came a sound
+that startled both of them and made them stand for a second with lifted
+heads listening.
+
+"Some one screamed!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood.
+
+The Warden was already at the door and had pulled it open. "The
+library!" he called out to her sharply, and he was gone. She hurried out
+after him, her heart beating with the sudden alarm. What had happened,
+what was it?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+THE GHOST
+
+
+As soon as she had reached her room Gwendolen Scott sat down seriously
+by the little writing-table. Here was the paper and here was the pen,
+but the composition of the letter to the Warden was not even projected
+in her mind. The thoughts would not come.
+
+"Dear Dr. Middleton," Gwen began with complete satisfaction. That was
+all right. After some thought she went on. "Mother asks me to give you
+her letter!" No, of course, that wouldn't do. Her mother wouldn't like
+him to know that she ordered the letter to be shown to him. Everything
+on the slip of paper was secret. It was not the first time that Gwen had
+received private slips of paper.
+
+Gwen was obliged to tear up the sheet and begin again: "Dear Dr.
+Middleton,"----
+
+Now what would she say? It would take her all night. Of course, Louise
+looked in at the door and muttered something volubly.
+
+"I can manage myself," called out Gwen from her table. "I'm not ready,
+and shan't be for hours."
+
+Louise went away. Then it occurred to Gwen that she ought to have asked
+Louise to come back again in a few minutes, and take the letter. She
+really must try and get the letter written. So putting all the
+determination she was capable of into a supreme effort, she began: "I
+hope mother won't mind my showing you this letter." Gwen had heard her
+mother often say with complete self-satisfaction: "Only a fool is afraid
+to tell a useful lie, but only a fool tells one that isn't necessary!"
+Indeed, Lady Belinda thought the second half of her maxim a bit clever,
+a bit penetrating, and Gwen had listened to it smiling and feeling that
+some reflected glory from her mother's wit was falling upon her, because
+she understood how clever it was. Now the implied untruth that Gwen was
+putting upon paper seemed to her very useful, and it looked satisfactory
+when written.
+
+She went on: "I hope it wasn't wrong of me to tell what you said. You
+didn't say tell, but I didn't know what to do, as I am afraid to speak
+if you don't speak to me. You are so awfully, awfully kind that I know I
+oughtn't to be afraid, but I am. Do forgive stupid little me, and be
+kind again to
+
+                                                   "Your solotory little
+
+                                                      "GWENDOLEN SCOTT."
+
+
+The spelling of "solitary" had caused Gwen much mental strain, and even
+when the intellectual conflict was over and the word written, it did not
+look quite right. Why had she not said "lonely"? But that, too, had its
+difficulties.
+
+However, the letter was now finished. Louise had taken her at her word
+and had not returned. Gwen looked at her watch. It was past a quarter to
+eleven. At this hour she knew she mustn't ring the bell for a servant.
+She could not search for Louise, she would be in Lady Dashwood's room.
+She must take the letter herself to the library. She put the letter into
+an envelope and addressed it to Dr. Middleton. Then she added her
+mother's letter and sealed the whole.
+
+Then she peeped out of her door and listened! All the lights were full
+on and there was no sound of any one moving.
+
+The Warden very likely hadn't yet returned. She would try and find out.
+She slipped quietly down the steps, and with her feet on the thick
+carpeted landing she waited. She could see that the hall below was
+brightly lighted, and all was still. She listened intently outside the
+drawing-room door. Not a sound. She might have time--if he really hadn't
+arrived.
+
+She fled across the head of the staircase and was at the door of the
+library in a second of time. There she paused. No, there was no sound
+behind her! No one was coming upstairs! No one was opening the front
+door or moving in the hall! But it was just possible that he had already
+arrived and was sitting in the library. He might be sitting there--and
+looking severe! That would be alarming! Though--and here Gwen suddenly
+decided that for all his severity she infinitely preferred his
+appearance to that of a man like Mr. Boreham--Mr. Boreham's beard was
+surely the limit! She listened at the door. She laid her cheek against
+it and listened. No sound! The whole house illuminated and yet silent!
+There was something strange about it! She would peep in and if there was
+no light within--except, of course, firelight--she would know instantly
+that the Warden wasn't there. It would only take her a flash of a minute
+to run in, throw the letter down on the desk, and fly for all she was
+worth.
+
+She turned the handle of the door slowly and noiselessly, and pushed
+ever so little. The door opened just an inch or two and
+disclosed--darkness! Except for a glimmer--just a faint glimmer of
+light!
+
+He could not have come in, he could not possibly be there, and yet Gwen
+had a curious impression that the room was not empty. But empty it must
+be. She pushed the door quietly open and peeped in. The fire was burning
+on the hearth in solemn silence, a cavernous red. There was nobody in
+the room, and yet, as Gwen stole in and passed the projecting book-case
+opposite the door, against which she had stumbled that evening of
+evenings, she felt that she was not alone. It was a strange unpleasant
+feeling. There she was standing in the full space of that shadowy room.
+Books, books were everywhere--books that seemed to her keeping secrets
+in their pages and purposely not saying anything. The room was too long,
+too full of dead things--like books--too full of shadows. The heavy
+curtains looked black, the desk, its chair standing with its back to the
+fire--had a look of expecting to be occupied and waiting. She would have
+liked to have thrown the letter on to the desk instead of having to
+cross the few feet that separated her from the desk. The silence of the
+room was alarming! Something seemed to be ready to jump at her! Was
+something in the room? Gwen made a dash for the desk and threw down the
+letter. As she did so, a sudden thrill passed up her spine and stiffened
+her hair. She was _not_ alone! There _was_ somebody in the room, a
+shadow, an outline, at the far end of the room against one of the
+curtains--a man, a strange figure, looking straight at her! He was
+standing, bending forward but motionless against the curtain, and
+staring with eyes that had no life in them--at her!
+
+Gwen gave a piercing scream and rushed blindly for the door. She dashed
+against the projecting book-case, striking her head with some violence.
+She tried to cry for help, but could not, the room swam in her vision.
+She struck out her arms to shield herself, and as she did so she felt
+rather than heard some one coming to her rescue, some one who flashed on
+the lights--and she flung herself into protecting arms.
+
+"It's all right, it's all right," said the Warden. "What made you cry
+out? Don't be frightened, child!" and he half led, half carried her
+towards a chair near the fire.
+
+"No, no!" sobbed Gwen, shrilly. "Not here--no, take me away--away
+from----"
+
+"From what?" asked Lady Dashwood quietly, at her elbow. "What is the
+matter, Gwen? You mustn't scream for nothing--what has frightened you?"
+
+Gwen groaned aloud and hid her face in the Warden's arm.
+
+"Something in this room has frightened you?" he asked.
+
+Gwen sobbed assent.
+
+"There is nothing in this room," said Lady Dashwood. "Put her on the
+chair, Jim. She must tell us what it is she is afraid of. Come, Gwen!"
+
+Although Gwendolen submitted to the commanding voice of Lady Dashwood
+and allowed herself to be placed in the chair, she still grasped the
+Warden's arm and hid her face in it.
+
+"What frightened you, Gwen?" asked Lady Dashwood. "No harm can come to
+you--we are by you. Pull yourself together and speak plainly and
+quietly."
+
+Gwen uttered some half-incoherent sounds--one only being intelligible to
+the two who were bending over her.
+
+"A man!" said the Warden, glancing round with surprise.
+
+"No man is in the room," said Lady Dashwood. "Did he go out? Did you see
+him go out?"
+
+Gwen raised her face slightly.
+
+"No. At the end there--looking!" and again she burst into uncontrollable
+sobs.
+
+The Warden released his arm and walked to the farther end of the room,
+and Gwen grasped Lady Dashwood's arm and clung to her. The two women
+could hear the Warden as he walked across to the farther end of the
+room.
+
+Gwen dared not look, but Lady Dashwood turned her head, supporting the
+girl's head as she did so on her shoulder.
+
+The Warden had reached the window. He opened the curtains and looked
+behind them, then he pulled one sharply back, and into the lighted room
+came a flood of pale moonlight, and through the chequered window panes
+could be seen the moon herself riding full above a slowly drifting mass
+of cloud.
+
+"There is nothing in the room. If there were we should see it," said
+Lady Dashwood quietly, and she turned the girl's face towards the
+moonlight. "Look for yourself, Gwen. Your fears are quite foolish, my
+dear, and you must try and control them."
+
+So peremptory was Lady Dashwood's voice that the girl, still resting her
+head on the protecting shoulder, slightly opened her eyelids and saw the
+moonlight, the drawn curtains and the Warden standing looking back at
+them.
+
+"You can see for yourself that there is nothing here," he said.
+
+It was true, there was nothing there--there wasn't _now_: and for the
+first time Gwen was conscious of pain in her head and put up her hand.
+There was a lump where she had knocked it, the lump was sore.
+
+"Why, you have hurt your head, Gwen," said Lady Dashwood. "That explains
+everything. A blow on the head is just the thing to make you think you
+see something that isn't there! Come now, we'll go upstairs and put
+something on that bruised head, and make it well again."
+
+"I struck my head after I saw _it_," said Gwen, laying a stress upon the
+word "it," averting her eyes from the moonlight and rising with the help
+of Lady Dashwood.
+
+"You may have thought so," said Lady Dashwood. "Come we mustn't stop
+here. Dr. Middleton probably has letters to write. Jim, good night. I'm
+sorry you have been so much disturbed, after a hard day's work."
+
+The tone in which Lady Dashwood made her last remark and her manner in
+leading Gwendolen out of the library, was that of a person who has
+"closed" a correspondence, terminated an interview. The affair of the
+scream and fright was over. It was a perfectly unnecessary incident to
+have occurred in a sane working day, so she had apologised for its
+intrusion. Why Gwendolen was in the library at all was a question that
+was of no consequence. It certainly was not in search of a book on which
+to spend the midnight oil. She _was_ there--that was all.
+
+When they had gone, the Warden stood for some moments in the library
+pondering. He had shut the door. The curtains he had forgotten to pull
+back, and now he discovered his omission and went to the farther end of
+the room.
+
+The opposite wall, the wall of the court, was just tipped with silver.
+Distant spires and gables were silver grey. The clouds were drifting
+over the city westwards, and as the moon rode higher and higher in the
+southern sky, so the clouds sped faster before it, and behind it lay
+clear unfathomable spaces in the east.
+
+The Warden pulled the heavy curtain across the window again, and walked
+to the fireplace. Outside was the infinite universe--its immensity awful
+to contemplate! Inside was the narrow security of the lighted room in
+which he worked and thought and would work and think--for a few years!
+
+For a few years?
+
+How did he know that he should have even a few years in which to think
+and work for his College?
+
+The Warden went to the fire and stood looking down into it, his hands
+clasped behind his back.
+
+The girl he was pledged to marry, if she wished to marry him, might
+wreck his life! She had only just a few moments ago showed signs of
+being weakly hysterical. "Helpful to the College!" His sister's
+question had filled him with a sudden new ominous thought.
+
+What about the College? He had forgotten his duty to the College!
+
+"My marriage is my own concern," he was blurting out to himself
+miserably, as he looked at the fire. But the inevitable answer was
+already drumming in his ears--his own answer: "A man's action is not his
+own concern, and so deeply is every man involved in the life of the
+community in which he lives, that even his thoughts are not his own
+concern."
+
+The Warden paced up and down.
+
+There were letters lying on his desk unopened, unread. He would not
+attempt to answer any of them to-night. He could not attend to them,
+while these words were beating in his brain: "Do you think she will be
+helpful to the College?"
+
+His College! More to him than anything else, more than his duty; his
+hope, his pride! And the College meant also the sacred memory of those
+who had fallen in the war, all the glorious hopeful youth that had
+sacrificed itself! And he had forgotten the College!
+
+He dared not think any longer. He must wrestle with his thoughts. He
+must force them aside and wait, till the moment came when he must act.
+That moment might not come! Possibly it might not! He would go to bed
+and try and sleep. He must not let thoughts so bitter and so deadly
+overwhelm him, eating into the substance of his brain, where they could
+breed and batten on the finest tissues and breed again.
+
+He was looking at his desk and saw that one letter had tumbled from it
+on to the floor by his chair. He went across and picked it up. It was
+addressed in a big straggling hand--and had not come by post. He tore it
+open. It was from Gwendolen Scott. This was why she had come into the
+library. Without moving from the position where he stood he read it
+through.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+THE EFFECT OF SUGGESTION
+
+
+The clock struck midnight, and yet the Warden had not done what he had
+intended to do before he picked up that letter and read it. He had not
+gone to bed. He was still in his library, not at his desk, but in a
+great shabby easy-chair by the fire. He had put the lights out and was
+smoking in the half-dark.
+
+So deeply absorbed was the Warden in his own thoughts that he did not
+hear the first knock on the door. But he heard the second knock, which
+was louder.
+
+"Come in," he called, and he leaned forward in his chair. Who wanted him
+at such an hour? It would not be any one from the college?
+
+The door opened and Lady Dashwood came in. She was in a dressing-gown.
+
+"You haven't gone to bed," she said.
+
+It was obvious that he hadn't gone to bed.
+
+"No, not yet," said the Warden. And he added, "Do you want me?"
+
+"I ought not to want you, dear," she said, "for I know you must be very
+tired."
+
+Then she came up to the fireplace and stood looking down at her brother.
+She saw that the spring and the hope had gone out of his face. He looked
+older.
+
+"I have put Gwen to bed in my room, but even that has not quieted her,"
+said Lady Dashwood, speaking slowly.
+
+The Warden's face in the twilight looked set. He did not glance at his
+sister now.
+
+"She has lost her self-control. Do you know what the silly child thinks
+she saw?"
+
+Here Lady Dashwood paused, and waited for his reply.
+
+"I hadn't thought. She fancied she saw something--a man!" he answered,
+in his deep voice.
+
+He hadn't thought! There had been no room in his mind for anything but
+the doom that was awaiting him. One of his most bitter thoughts in the
+twilight of that room had been that a woman he could have loved was
+already under his roof when he took his destiny into his own hands and
+wrecked it.
+
+"I don't know," he said, repeating mechanically an answer to his
+sister's question.
+
+"She thought she saw the Barber's ghost," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+The Warden looked up in surprise. There was a slight and bitter smile at
+the corners of his mouth. Then he straightened himself in his chair and
+looked frowning into the fire. That Gwendolen should have taken a
+college "story" seriously and "made a scene" about it was particularly
+repugnant to him.
+
+"She came in here; why I don't know, and no doubt was full of the story
+about the Barber appearing in the library," said Lady Dashwood. "We
+ought not to have talked about it to any one so excitable. Then she
+knocked her head against the book-case and was in a state of daze, in
+which she could easily mistake the moonlight coming through an opening
+in the curtains for a ghost, and if a ghost, then of course the Barber's
+ghost. And so all this fuss!"
+
+"I see," said the Warden, gloomily.
+
+"As soon as we got upstairs, I had to pack Louise off before she had
+time to hear anything, for I can't have the whole household upset simply
+because a girl allows herself to become hysterical. May is now sitting
+with Gwen, as she won't be left alone for a moment."
+
+"What are you going to do?" asked the Warden, in a slow hard voice.
+
+"That's the question," she said, looking down at him narrowly.
+
+"Do you want a doctor?" he asked. "Is it bad enough for that? It is
+rather late to ask any one to come in when there isn't any actual
+illness."
+
+"A doctor would be worse than useless."
+
+"Well, then, what do you suggest?" he asked.
+
+"Couldn't you say something to her to quiet her?" said Lady Dashwood.
+
+The Warden looked surprised. "I couldn't say anything, Lena, that you
+couldn't say. You can speak with authority when you like."
+
+"More is wanted than that. She must be made to think she saw nothing
+here in this library," said Lady Dashwood. "You used to be able to
+'suggest.' Don't you remember?"
+
+The Warden pondered and said nothing.
+
+"She would like to keep the whole house awake--if she had the chance,"
+said Lady Dashwood, and the bitterness in her voice made her brother
+wince.
+
+"Couldn't you make her believe that the ghost won't, or can't come
+again, or that there are no such things as ghosts?"
+
+The Warden sat still; the glow was dying out of the cigar he held
+between his fingers. He did not move.
+
+"When you were a boy you found it easy enough to suggest; I remember I
+disapproved of it. I want you to do it now, because we must have quiet
+in the house."
+
+"She may not be susceptible to suggestion!" said the Warden, still
+obstinately keeping his seat.
+
+"You think she is too flighty, that she has too little power of
+concentration," suggested Lady Dashwood, with a sting in her voice. "You
+must try: come, Jim! I want to get some rest, I'm very tired."
+
+She did, indeed, look hollow-eyed, and seeing this he rose and threw his
+cigar into the fire. So this was the first thing he had to do as an
+engaged man: he had to prevent his future wife from disturbing the
+household. He had to distract her attention from absurd fears, he had to
+impose his will upon her. Such a relationship between them, the husband
+and wife that were to be, would be a relationship that he did not wish
+to have with any one whom he ought to respect, much less any one whom he
+ought to love.
+
+The errand on which he was going was a repulsive one. If even a faint
+trace of romantic appreciation of the girl's beauty had survived in him,
+it would have vanished now. What he was going to do seemed like a denial
+of her identity, and yet it seemed necessary to do it. Had he still much
+of that "pity" left for her that had impelled him to offer her a home?
+
+They left the library and, as they passed the curtained door of the
+Warden's bedroom, Lady Dashwood said, "You'll go to bed afterwards,
+Jim?"
+
+She had spoken a moment ago of her own fatigue as if it was important.
+She had now forgotten it. Her mind was never occupied for many moments
+with herself, she was now back again at her old habit, thinking of him.
+He was tired. No wonder, worn out with worries, of his own making, alas!
+
+"Yes," said the Warden, "yes, dear."
+
+The lights in the hall were still burning, and he turned them out from
+the wall by the head of the staircase. Then they went up the short steps
+into the corridor. Lady Dashwood's room was at the end.
+
+At the door of her room Lady Dashwood paused and listened, and turned
+round to her brother as if she were going to say something.
+
+"What?" whispered the Warden, bending his head.
+
+"Oh, nothing!" said Lady Dashwood, as if exasperated with her own
+thoughts. Then she opened the door and went in, followed by the Warden.
+
+The room was not spacious, and the canopied bedstead looked too massive
+for the room. It had stood there through the reign of four of the
+Wardens, and Lady Dashwood had kept it religiously. Gwen was propped up
+on pillows at one side of it, looking out of her luminous eyes with
+great self-pity. Her dark hair was disordered. She glanced round
+tearfully and apprehensively. An acute observer might have detected that
+her alarm was a little over expressed: she had three spectators--and one
+of them was the Warden!
+
+Near her stood May Dashwood in a black dressing-gown illumined by her
+auburn hair. It was tied behind at her neck and spread on each side and
+down her back in glistening masses. She looked like some priestess of an
+ancient cult, ministering to a soul distressed. The Warden stood for a
+moment arrested, looking across at them, and then his eyes rested on May
+alone.
+
+Gwen made a curious movement into her pillows and May moved away from
+the bed. She seemed about to slip away from the room, but Lady Dashwood
+made her a sign to stay. It was such an imperative sign that May stayed.
+She went to the fireplace silently and stood there, and Lady Dashwood
+came to her. No one spoke. Lady Dashwood stood with face averted from
+the bed and closed her eyes, like one who waits patiently, but takes no
+part and no responsibility. May did not look at the bed, but she heard
+what was said and saw, without looking.
+
+The Warden was now walking quietly round to the side where Gwendolen was
+propped. She made a convulsive movement of her arms towards him and
+sobbed hysterically--
+
+"Oh, I'm so frightened!"
+
+He approached her without responding either to her exclamation or her
+gestures. He put his hand on the electric lamp by the bed, raised the
+shade, and turned it so as to cast its light on his own face. While he
+did this there was silence.
+
+Then he began to speak, and the sound of his voice made May's heart stir
+strangely. She leaned her elbow on the mantelpiece and pressed her hand
+over her eyes. All her prayers that night, all her self-reproach, meant
+very little. What were they but a pretence, a cloak to hide from herself
+the nakedness of her soul? No, they were not a pretence. Her prayer had
+been a real prayer for forgetfulness of herself. But in his presence the
+past seemed to slip away and leave her clamouring for relief from this
+strange present suffering, and from this dull empty aching below her
+heart when she drew her breath. She knew now how weak she was.
+
+She could hear his voice saying: "What is it you are afraid of?" and as
+he spoke, it seemed to May herself that fear, of all things in the
+world, was the least real, and fear of spirits was an amazing folly.
+
+"I thought I saw something," said Gwendolen, doubtfully; for already she
+was under the influence of his voice, his manner, his face; and her mind
+had begun to relax the tenacity of its hold on that one distracting
+fear.
+
+"You thought you saw something," he said, emphasising the word
+"thought"; "you made a mistake. You saw nothing--you imagined you
+saw--there _was_ nothing!"
+
+May could not hear whether Gwendolen made any reply.
+
+"And now I am going to prevent you from frightening yourself by
+imagining such foolish things again."
+
+Although she did not look towards them, but kept her eyes on the ground,
+May was aware that the Warden was now bending over the bed, and he was
+speaking in an inaudible voice. She could hear the girl move round on
+the pillow in obedience to some direction of his. After this there came
+a brief silence between them that seemed an age of intolerable misery to
+May, and then she perceived that the Warden was turning out the bed
+light, and she heard him move away from the bed. He walked to the door
+very quietly, as if to avoid awakening a sleeper.
+
+"Good night," he said in a low voice, and then, without turning towards
+them, he went out of the room.
+
+The door was closed. The two women moved, looked at each other, and then
+glanced at the bed. Gwen was lying still; she had slid down low on her
+pillows, with her face towards the windows and her eyes closed. They
+stood motionless and intent, till they could see in the dim light that
+the girl was breathing quietly and slowly in sleep. Then Lady Dashwood
+spoke in a whisper.
+
+"Now, I suppose, I can go to bed!"
+
+Then she looked round at May. "Go to bed, May! You look worn out."
+
+"Shall you sleep?" whispered May Dashwood, but she spoke as if she
+wasn't listening for an answer.
+
+"I don't know," said Lady Dashwood, in a whisper too. "It's so like
+life. The person who has made all the fuss is comfortably asleep, and we
+who have had to endure the fuss, we who are worn out with it, are awake
+and probably won't sleep."
+
+May moved towards the door and her aunt followed her. When May opened
+the door and went outside, Lady Dashwood did not close the door or say
+good night. She stood for a moment undecided, and then came outside
+herself and pulled the door to softly behind her.
+
+"May!" she said, and she laid a detaining hand on her niece's arm.
+
+"What, Aunt Lena?"
+
+"If he liked, he could repel her, make her dislike him! If he liked he
+could make her refuse to marry him! You understand what I mean? He must
+know this now. The idea will be in his mind. He'll think it over. But
+I've no hope. He won't act on it. He'll only think of it as a temptation
+that he must put aside."
+
+May did not answer.
+
+"He could," said Lady Dashwood; "but he won't. He thinks himself
+pledged. And he isn't even in love with her. He isn't even infatuated
+for the moment!"
+
+"You can't be sure."
+
+"I am sure," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"How?" And now May turned back and listened for an answer with downcast
+eyes.
+
+"I asked him a question--which he refused to answer. If he were in love
+he would have answered it eagerly. Why, he would have forced me to
+listen to it."
+
+May Dashwood moved away from her aunt. "Still--they are engaged," she
+said. "They are engaged--that is settled."
+
+Lady Dashwood spoke in a low, detaining voice. "Wait, May! Somehow she
+has got hold of him--somehow. Often the weak victimise the strong. Those
+who clamour for what they want, get it. Every day the wise are
+sacrificed to fools. I know it, and yet I sleep in peace. But when Jim
+is to be sacrificed--I can't sleep. I am like a withered leaf, blown by
+the wind."
+
+May took her aunt's arm and laid her cheek against her shoulder.
+
+"How can I sleep," said Lady Dashwood, "when I think of him, worried
+into the grave by petty anxieties, by the daily fretting of an
+irresponsible wife, by the hopeless daily task of trying to make
+something honourable and worthy--out of Belinda and Co.? When I say
+Belinda and Co., I think not merely of Belinda Scott and her child, but
+of all that Jim hates: the whole crew of noisy pleasure-hunters that
+float upon the surface of our social life. The time may come when we
+shall say to our social parasites, 'Take up your burden of life and
+work!' The time _will_ come! But meanwhile Jim has to be sacrificed
+because he is hopelessly just. And yet I wouldn't have him otherwise.
+Go, dear, try and sleep, for all my talk." Then, as she drew away from
+her niece, she said in a tense whisper: "What an unforgivable fool he
+has been!"
+
+May closed her eyes intently and said nothing.
+
+"Oh, May," sighed Lady Dashwood, "forgive me; I feel so bitter that I
+could speak against God."
+
+May looked up and laid her hand on her aunt's arm.
+
+"You know those lines, Aunt Lena--
+
+    "Measure thy life by loss and not by gain,
+     Not by the wine drunk, but the wine poured forth!"
+
+Lady Dashwood's eyes flashed. "If Jim had offered his life for England I
+could say that: but are we to pour forth wine to Belinda and Co.?"
+
+The two women looked at each other; stared, silently.
+
+Then Lady Dashwood began to turn the handle of the door.
+
+"Why should he be sacrificed to--to--futilities?" Then she added very
+softly: "I have had no son of my own, May, so Jim fills the vacant
+place. I think I could, like Abraham, have sacrificed my son to the
+Great God of my nation, but this sacrifice! Oh, May, it's so silly! He
+might have married some nice, quiet Oxford girl any day. And he has
+waited for this!"
+
+She saw the pain in May's eyes and added: "I am wearing you out with my
+talk. I am getting very selfish. I am thinking too much of my own
+suffering. You, too, have suffered, dear, and you say nothing," and as
+she spoke her voice softened to a whisper. "But, May, your sacrifice
+_was_ to the Great God of your nation--the Great God of all nations."
+
+"The sacrifice had nothing to do with me," said May, turning away. "It
+was his."
+
+"But you endure the loss, the vacant place," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"I know what a vacant place means," said May, quietly, "and my vacant
+place will never be filled--except by the children of other women! Good
+night, dear aunt," and she walked away quickly, without looking back.
+Then she found the door of her room and went in.
+
+Lady Dashwood's eyes followed her, till the door closed.
+
+"I ought not to have said what I did," murmured Lady Dashwood. "Oh, dear
+May, poor May," and she went back into her room.
+
+Gwen was still sleeping peacefully.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+DIFFERENT VIEWS
+
+
+The Lodgings at King's were built at a period when the college demanded
+that its Warden should be a bachelor and a divine, and it contained
+neither morning-room nor boudoir. The Warden's breakfast-room was used
+by Lady Dashwood for both purposes.
+
+It was not such an inconvenient arrangement, because the Warden, as the
+war advanced, had reduced his breakfast till it was now little more than
+the continental "petit d�jeuner," and it could be as rapidly removed as
+it was brought in.
+
+The breakfast-room was a small room and had no academic dignity, it was
+what Mrs. Robinson called "cosy." It was badly lighted by one window,
+and that barred, looking into the quadrangle. The walls were wainscoted.
+One or two pictures brightened it, landscapes in water-colour that had
+been bought by the Warden long ago for his rooms when he was a college
+tutor.
+
+At the breakfast table on the morning following Gwendolen's brief
+interview with the Barber's ghost, her place was empty.
+
+No one remarked on her absence. The Warden came in as if nothing had
+happened on the previous night. He did not even ask the ladies how they
+had slept, or if they had slept. He appeared to have forgotten all about
+last night, and he seated himself at the table and began opening his
+letters.
+
+Mrs. Dashwood gave him one furtive glance when he came in and responded
+to his salutation. Then she also sat in silence and looked over her
+letters. She was making a great effort not to mind what happened to her,
+not to feel that outside these few rooms in a corner of an ancient
+college, all the world stretched like a wilderness. And this effort made
+her face a little wan in the morning light.
+
+Lady Dashwood poured out the coffee with a hand that was not quite as
+steady as usual, but she, too, made no reference to the events of last
+night. Nobody, of course, had slept but Gwendolen, and Gwendolen had
+awakened from her sleep fresh and rosy.
+
+It was only after several minutes had passed that Lady Dashwood remarked
+across the table to the Warden--
+
+"I have kept Gwendolen in bed for breakfast, not because she is ill, she
+is perfectly well, but because I want her to be alone, and to understand
+that she has completely got over her little hysterical fit and is
+sensible again."
+
+The Warden looked up and then down again at his letters and said, "Yes!"
+
+Lady Dashwood went on with her breakfast. She evidently did not expect
+any discussion. She had merely wished to make some reference to the
+occurrence of last night in such a way as not to reopen the subject, but
+to close the subject--for ever.
+
+"Is it your club morning?" asked the Warden, as he looked over his
+letters.
+
+"Yes," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"I'll come and help you to cut out," said May. "I'm an old hand."
+
+"Why should you come?" said Lady Dashwood. "This is your holiday, and
+it's short enough."
+
+She thought that the Warden noted the words, "short enough."
+
+"I shall come," said May, and glancing at her aunt as she spoke, she now
+fancied her grown a little thinner in the face since last night only
+that it was impossible. The lines in the face were accentuated by want
+of sleep, it was that that made her face look thinner.
+
+"I shall take Gwen," said Lady Dashwood. "She can hand us scissors and
+pins, and can pick up the bits." She spoke quite boldly and quietly of
+Gwendolen, and met May's eye without a flicker. "Our plan, May, is to
+get these young mothers and teach them at least how to make and mend
+their clothes. It isn't war work. It's 'after the war' work. Those young
+mothers who have done factory work, know nothing about anything. We must
+get something into their noddles. Two or three ladies will be there this
+morning, and we shall get all the work ready for the next club
+meeting--mothers and babies. Babies are entertained in a separate room.
+We have tea and one half-hour's reading; the rest of the time gossip.
+Oh, how they do talk!"
+
+"How much do you expect to get from the Sale of work to-day for your
+club?" asked May, avoiding the Warden's eye when he put out his hand to
+her for the cup of coffee that she was passing him.
+
+"Not very much," said Lady Dashwood, "but enough, I hope."
+
+A moment later and Lady Dashwood was opening her letters.
+
+"Mr. Boreham," she remarked suddenly, "is bringing Mrs. Potten in to the
+Sale. He is the last person I should expect to meet at a Sale of work in
+aid of a mother's club."
+
+The Warden raised his eyes and apparently addressed the coffee-pot
+across the table.
+
+"Boreham is usually suspicious of anything that is organised by what he
+calls 'respectable people.'" Then he looked round at May Dashwood for
+the first time. The reason why Boreham was going to drive Mrs. Potten in
+to the Sale of work was obvious both to him and to Lady Dashwood. May
+did not meet the Warden's eye, though she was tinglingly conscious that
+they rested on her face.
+
+"I object," she said, imitating Boreham's voice, "not only to the
+respectable members of the British public, but to the British public in
+general. I am irritated with and express my animosity to the people
+around me with frankness and courage. But I have no inimical feelings
+towards people whom I have never met. Them I respect and love. Their
+institutions, of which I know nothing, I honour."
+
+The Warden's lips parted with a smile, as if the smile was wrung from
+him, but May did not smile. She was still making her effort, and was
+looking down into her plate, her eyebrows very much raised, as if she
+was contemplating there the portrait of somebody with compassionate
+interest.
+
+Lady Dashwood saw the Warden's smile, and saw him lean forward to look
+at the downcast face of May, as if to note every detail of it.
+
+Well into the early morning Lady Dashwood had lain awake thinking, and
+listening mechanically to the gentle breathing of the girl beside her,
+and thinking--thinking of May's strange exhibition of emotion. Was
+May----? No--that made things worse than ever--that made the irony of
+her brother's fate more acute! That was a tragic thought! But it was
+just this tragic thought that made Lady Dashwood now at the breakfast
+table observe with a subtle keenness of observation and yet without
+seeming to observe, or even to look. She sat there, absorbing May,
+absorbing the Warden, measuring them, weighing them while she tried to
+eat a piece of toast, biting it up as if she had pledged herself to
+reduce it to the minutest fragments.
+
+"Perhaps I'm not fair to Mr. Boreham," said May, shaking her head. "But
+I am an ignoramus. How can one," she said smiling, but keeping her
+eyelids still downcast, "how can one combine the bathing of babies and
+feeding them, the dressing and undressing of them, the putting them to
+bed and getting them up again, with any culture (spelt with a 'c'). I
+get only a short and rather tired hour of leisure in the evening in
+which to read?"
+
+"You do combine them," he said, still bending towards her with the same
+tense look. "Only one woman in a thousand would."
+
+The colour had slightly risen in May's face, and now it died away, for
+she was aware that no sooner were the last words spoken than the Warden
+seemed to regret them. At least he stiffened himself and looked away
+from her, stared at nothing in particular and then put out his hand to
+take a piece of toast, making that simple action seem as if it were a
+protest of resolute indifference to her.
+
+May felt as if his hand had struck her. She had partly succeeded in her
+effort and she had refused to glance at him. But she had not succeeded
+in thinking of something else, and now this simple movement of his hand
+made thoughts of him burn in her brain. Why did this man, with all his
+erudition, with his distinction, with all his force of character, his
+wide sympathies and his curious influence over others, why did this man
+with all his talk (and this she said bitterly) about life and death--and
+yes--about eternity, why did he bind himself hand and foot to a selfish
+and shallow girl? He who talked of life and of death, could he not stand
+the test of life himself?
+
+The Warden rose from the table the moment that he had finished and
+looked at his sister. She had put her letters aside and appeared to have
+fallen into a heavy preoccupation with her own thoughts.
+
+"Can I see you--afterwards--for a moment in the library, Lena?" he
+asked.
+
+Lady Dashwood's tired face flushed.
+
+"I will come very soon," she said, and she pushed her chair back a
+little, as if to cover her embarrassment, and looked at her niece.
+"May," she said, in a voice that did not quite conceal her trouble, "we
+ought to start at a quarter to ten. That will give us two clear hours
+for our work."
+
+May bent her head in assent. Neither of them was thinking of the Club.
+They could hear the Warden close the door behind him. Then Lady Dashwood
+rose and casting a silent look at May, went out of the room.
+
+In the library a fitful sunshine was coming and going from a clouded
+sky. The curtains were drawn back and there seemed nothing in the room
+that could have justified even a hysterical girl in imagining a ghost.
+The Warden had left the door open, for he heard his sister coming up the
+stairs behind him.
+
+Lady Dashwood came in, and she began speaking at once to cover her
+apprehension of the interview. "A funny sort of a day," she began. "I
+hope it will keep up for this afternoon."
+
+The Warden had gone to one of the windows, and he moved at the sound of
+her voice.
+
+"Mrs. Harding," she said, "has written to ask us to come in to tea, as
+she's so near. It is convenient, as we shall only have to walk a few
+steps from our Sale, so I am going to accept by telephone."
+
+The Warden came towards her, and taking a little case from his pocket,
+handed her some notes. "Will you spend that for me at your Sale?"
+
+That was not his reason for the interview! Lady Dashwood took the notes
+and put them into her bag, and then waited a moment.
+
+"I may possibly have to go to the Deanery this afternoon," he said, and
+then he paused too.
+
+"Very well," said Lady Dashwood. They both were painfully aware that
+this also was not what he wanted to say.
+
+"Please let me have my lunch early, at a quarter to one," he said.
+
+"I have asked Mr. Bingham here to dinner on Saturday, he seemed to
+interest May, and, well, of course, it is not a lively holiday for her
+just now."
+
+Lady Dashwood's eyes were on him as she spoke. He seemed not to hear. He
+went up to his desk and turned over some papers, nervously, and he was a
+man who rarely showed any nervousness in his movements.
+
+Then he suddenly said: "Gwendolen has practically accepted my offer."
+And he did not turn round and look at his sister.
+
+It had come! She knew it was coming, and yet it was as keenly painful as
+if she had been wholly unprepared.
+
+"I can't delay our engagement," he said. "I must speak to her
+to-day--some time."
+
+Then he moved so as to face his sister, and their eyes met. Misery was
+plainly visible in hers, in his the fixed determination to ignore that
+misery.
+
+"May I ask you one question?" she began in a shaky voice.
+
+He made no reply, but waited in silence for the question.
+
+"When did it happen? I've no right to ask, dear, but tell me when did it
+happen?"
+
+There was a strange look of conflict in his face that he was unable to
+control. "On Monday, just before dinner," he said, and he took some
+papers from the desk as if he were about to read them. Then he put them
+down again and took out his cigar case.
+
+Lady Dashwood walked slowly to the door. When she reached it, she
+turned.
+
+"No man," she said, still with an unsteady voice, "is bound to carry
+out a promise made in a reckless moment, against his better judgment, a
+promise which involves the usefulness of his life. As to Belinda, I
+suppose I must endure the presence of that woman next week; I must
+endure it, because I hadn't the sense--the foresight--to prevent her
+putting a foot in this house."
+
+The Warden's face twitched.
+
+"Am I expecting too much from you, Lena?" he asked.
+
+"Expecting too much!" Lady Dashwood made her way blindly to the door. "I
+have wrecked your life by sheer stupidity, and I am well punished." At
+the door she stayed. "Of course, Jim, I shall now back you up, through
+thick and thin."
+
+She went out and stood for a moment, her head throbbing. She had said
+all. She had spoken as she had never spoken in her life before, she had
+said her last word. Now she must be silent and go through with it all
+unless--unless--something happened--unless some merciful accident
+happened to prevent it. She went downstairs again and crossed the hall
+to the door of the breakfast-room. May was still there, holding a
+newspaper in her hands, apparently reading it.
+
+Lady Dashwood walked straight in, and then said quietly: "They are
+practically engaged." She saw the paper in May's hand quiver.
+
+"Yes," said May, without moving her paper. "Of course."
+
+Her voice sounded small and hard. Lady Dashwood moved about as if to
+arrange something, and then stood at the dull little window looking out
+miserably, seeing nothing.
+
+"I wonder--I hope, you won't be vexed with me. Aunt Lena," began May.
+"You won't be angry----"
+
+"I couldn't be angry with you," said Lady Dashwood briefly, "but----"
+She did not move, she kept her back to her niece.
+
+"I want you to let me go away rather earlier than Monday," said May, and
+speaking without looking towards her aunt. "I think I ought to go. The
+fact is----"
+
+Lady Dashwood turned round and came to her niece. "Do you think I am a
+selfish woman?" she asked. There was a strange note of purpose in her
+voice.
+
+May shook her head and tried to smile. She did smile at last.
+
+"Then, May," said Lady Dashwood, "I am going to be selfish now. I ask
+you to stop till Monday, and help me to get through what I have to get
+through, even if you stay at some sacrifice to yourself. Jim has
+decided, so I must support him. That's clear."
+
+May stared hard at the paper that was still in her hand, though she had
+ceased to read it.
+
+"As you wish, dear aunt," she said, and turned away.
+
+"Thanks," said Lady Dashwood, in a low voice. "I shall be ready to start
+in a few minutes," she went on, looking at her watch. Then she added
+bitterly, "I'm not going to talk about it any more, but I must say one
+thing. When you first shook hands with Jim he was already a pledged man.
+He is capable of yearning for the moon, but he has decided to put up
+with a penny bun;" here she laughed a hard painful laugh. "Nobody cares
+but I," she added. "I have said all I can say to him, and I am now going
+to be silent."
+
+The door of the breakfast-room was slightly open and they could hear the
+sound of steps outside in the hall, steps they both knew.
+
+The Warden was in the hall. Lady Dashwood listened, and then called out
+to him: "Jim!" Her voice now raised was a little husky, but quite calm.
+They could hear the swish of a gown and the Warden was there, looking at
+them. He was in his gown and hood, and held his cap in his hand. He was
+at all times a notable figure, but the long robe added to the dignity of
+his appearance. His face was very grave.
+
+"May has not seen the cathedral," said Lady Dashwood quietly, as if she
+had forgotten their interview in the library, "and we shall be close to
+Christ Church. Our Sale, you know."
+
+"Oh," said May, slowly and doubtfully, and not looking as if she were
+really concerned in the matter.
+
+"May ought to see the cathedral, Jim," said Lady Dashwood, "so, if you
+do happen to be going to Christ Church, would you have time to take her
+over it and make the proper learned observations on it, which I can't
+do, to save my life?"
+
+The Warden's eyes were now fixed on May. "You would like to see it?" he
+asked.
+
+"You, May," said Lady Dashwood. It seemed necessary to make it very
+clear to May that they were both talking about her.
+
+"I?" said May, with her eyes downcast. "Oh, please don't trouble. You
+mustn't when you're so busy. I can see the cathedral any time. I really
+like looking at churches--quite alone."
+
+The Warden's blue eyes darkened, but May did not see them, she had
+raised her paper and was smiling vaguely at the print.
+
+The Warden said, "As you like, Mrs. Dashwood. But I am not too busy to
+show you anything in Oxford you want to see."
+
+"Thank you," said May, vaguely. "Thanks so much! Some time when you are
+less busy, I shall ask you to show me something."
+
+The Warden looked at her for a more definite reply. She seemed to be
+unaware that he was waiting for it, and when she heard the movement of
+his robes, and his steps and then the hall-door close, she looked round
+the room and said "Oh!" again vaguely, and then she raised her eyebrows
+as if surprised.
+
+Lady Dashwood made no remark, she left the room and went into the hall.
+The irony of the situation was growing more and more acute, but there
+was nothing to be done but to keep silence.
+
+Another step was coming down the stairs, steps made by a youthful wearer
+of high heels. It was Gwendolen.
+
+She looked just a little serious, but otherwise there was no trace on
+her blooming countenance of last night's tragedy. A little lump on her
+head was all that remained to prove that she really had been frightened
+and really and truly had stupidly thought there was something to be
+frightened of. Gwen constantly put her finger up to feel the lump on her
+head, and as she did so she thought agreeably of the Warden.
+
+"You see I'm not a bit frightened," she said, and her cheeks dimpled.
+"When I passed near the library, I thought of Dr. Middleton."
+
+"You understand, don't you, Gwen," said Lady Dashwood, "that I don't
+want any talk about 'a ghost,' even though, you are now quite sensible
+about it. I don't think the Robinsons are silly, but Louise and the
+other two are like children, and must be treated as such."
+
+"Oh no," said Gwen, innocently, "I won't!" And she meant what she said.
+It was true that she had just hinted at something, perhaps she even used
+the word "ghost," to the housemaid that morning, but she had made her
+promise faithfully not to repeat what she had heard, so it was all
+right.
+
+"We start at half-past ten," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+Gwen said she would be punctual. Her face was full of mysterious and
+subdued pleasure when she looked into the breakfast-room to see if by
+any chance Mrs. Dashwood was still there. The girl's fancy was excited
+by the Warden's behaviour last night. She kept on thinking of his face
+in the lamp light. It looked very severe and yet so gentle. She was
+actually falling in love with him, so she said to herself. The Barber's
+ghost was no longer alarming, but something to recall with a thrill of
+interest, as it led on to the Warden. She was burning to talk about the
+Warden. She was so glad she had delivered her letter to the Warden. He
+would be simply obliged to speak some time to-day. How exciting! Now,
+was Mrs. Dashwood in the breakfast-room? Yes, there she was, standing in
+the window with a newspaper in her hand.
+
+"Oh, good morning," said Gwen, brightly. "I must thank you for having
+been so awfully sweet to me last night. It was funny, wasn't it, my
+getting that fright? I really and truly was frightened, till Dr.
+Middleton came up and told me I needn't. Isn't he wonderful?" Here
+Gwen's voice sank into a confidential whisper.
+
+Mrs. Dashwood said "Yes" in a lingering voice, and she seemed about to
+go.
+
+"I do think he is the nicest man I have ever met," said Gwen hurriedly,
+"don't you? But then, of course, I have reason to think so, after last
+night. It must have looked queer, I mean to any one merely looking on.
+How I _did_ sleep!" Then after a moment she said: "Don't you think he is
+very good-looking? Now, do tell me, Mrs. Dashwood! I promise you I won't
+repeat it."
+
+"He is a very charming man," said May, "that is obvious."
+
+"Wasn't it silly of me to think of the Barber's ghost--especially as it
+only appears when some disaster happens to the Warden? I mean that is
+the story. Now the Warden is perfectly well this morning, I
+particularly asked, though I knew he would be, of course. Now, if there
+had been a real ghost, he ought to die to-day, or perhaps to-morrow.
+Isn't it all funny?" Then, as there came another pause, Gwendolen added,
+"I suppose it couldn't mean that he might die in a week's time--or six
+months perhaps?" and her voice was a little anxious.
+
+"Death isn't the only disaster," said May, "that can happen to a man."
+
+"Don't you think it's about the worst?" said Gwen. "Worse even than
+losing lots of money. You see, if you are once dead, there you are! But
+I needn't bother--there was no ghost."
+
+"No, there was no ghost," said Mrs. Dashwood, and she laid her paper
+down on a side table.
+
+Gwen felt that she had not had a fair chance of a talk. In the absence
+of anybody really young it was some comfort to talk to Mrs. Dashwood.
+She much preferred Mrs. Dashwood to Lady Dashwood. Lady Dashwood was
+sometimes "nasty," since that letter affair. Fortunately she had not
+been able to _do_ anything nasty. She had not been able to make the
+Warden nasty.
+
+Gwen stood watching May, and then said in a low voice to detain her: "I
+wish mother would come!"
+
+"Do you expect her?" asked May, turning round and facing the girl.
+
+"I do and I don't and I do," said Gwen. "That sounds jolly vague, I
+know, and please don't even say to Lady Dashwood that I mentioned it.
+You won't, will you? It jumped out of my mouth. Things do sometimes."
+
+May smiled a little.
+
+"Mother is so plucky," said Gwen; "I'm sure you'd like her--you really
+would, and she would like you. She doesn't by any means like everybody.
+She's very particular, but I think she would like you."
+
+May smiled again, and this gave Gwen complete confidence.
+
+"Our relations, you know, have really been a bit stingy," she said. "Too
+bad, isn't it, and there's been a bother about my education. Of course,
+mother needn't have sent me to school at all, only she's so keen on
+doing all she can for me, much more keen than our relations have been.
+Why, would you believe it, Uncle Ted, my father's youngest brother, who
+is a parson in Essex, has been saving! What I mean is that the Scotts
+ain't a bit well off--isn't it hard lines? You see I tell you all this,
+I wouldn't to anybody else. Well, Uncle Ted had saved for years for his
+only son--for Eton and Oxford: I don't think he'd ever given mother a
+penny. Wasn't that rather hard luck on mother?"
+
+May said "Oh!" in a tone that was neutral.
+
+"Well, but I'll explain," said Gwen, eagerly, "and you'll see. When poor
+Ted was killed, almost at once in the war, there was all the Oxford
+money still there. Mother knew about it, and said it couldn't be less
+than five hundred pounds, and might be more. And mother just went to
+them and spoke ever so nicely about poor Ted being killed--it was such
+horrid luck on Uncle Ted--and then she just asked ever so quietly if she
+might borrow some of the Oxford money, as there would be no use for it
+now. She didn't even ask them to give it, she only asked to borrow, and
+she thought they would like it to be used for the last two years of my
+school, it would be such a nice thought for them. And would you believe
+it, they were quite angry and refused! So mother thought they ought to
+know how mean it was of them. She is so plucky! So she told them that
+they had no sympathy with anybody but themselves, and didn't care about
+any Scott except their own Ted, who was dead and couldn't come to life
+again, however much they hoarded. Mother does say things so straight.
+She is so sporting! But wasn't it horrid for her to have to do it?"
+
+May had gradually moved to the door ready to go out. Now she opened it.
+
+So this was the young woman to whom the Warden had bound himself, and
+this was his future mother-in-law!
+
+May left the breakfast-room abruptly and without a word.
+
+She mounted the stairs swiftly. She wanted to be alone. As the servants
+were still moving about upstairs, she went into the drawing-room.
+
+There was no one there but that living portrait of Stephen Langley, and
+he was looking at her across the wide space between them with an almost
+imperceptible sneer--so she thought.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+MRS. POTTEN'S CARELESSNESS
+
+
+There is little left in Christ Church of the simplicity and piety of the
+Age of Faith. It was rebuilt when the fine spiritual romanticism of our
+architectural adolescence had coarsened into a prosperous and prosaic
+middle age.
+
+The western fa�ade of the College is fine, but it is ostentatious for
+its purpose, and when one passes under Tom Tower and enters the
+quadrangle there is something dreary in the terraces that were intended
+to be cloistered and the mean windows of the ground floor that were
+intended to be hidden.
+
+"It is like Harding," said Bingham to himself, as he strolled in with a
+parcel under his arm. "He is always mistaking Mrs. Grundy for the Holy
+Ghost. But Harding has his uses," he went on thinking, "and so has Tom
+Quod--it makes one thankful that Wolsey died before he had time to
+finish ruining the cathedral."
+
+An elderly canon of Christ Church, with a fine profile and dignified
+manner, stopped Bingham and demanded to know what he was carrying under
+his arm.
+
+"Nothing for the wounded," said Bingham. "I've bought a green
+table-cloth and a pair of bedroom slippers for myself. I've just come
+from a Sale in which some Oxford ladies are interested. One of the many
+good works with which we are going strong nowadays."
+
+The Canon turned and walked with Bingham. "Do you know Boreham?" he
+asked rather abruptly.
+
+Bingham said he did.
+
+"I met him a moment ago. He is taking some lady over the college. I met
+him at Middleton's, I think, not so long ago."
+
+"He's a connection of Middleton's," said Bingham.
+
+"Oh," said the Canon, "is he? A remarkable person. He gave me his views
+on Eugenics, I remember."
+
+"He would be likely to give you his views," said Bingham. "Did he want
+to know yours?"
+
+The Canon laughed. "He pleaded so passionately in favour of our
+preserving the leaven of disease in our racial heredity, so as to insure
+originality and genius, that I was tempted to indulge in the logical
+fallacy: 'A dicto secundum quid ad dictum simpliciter,'" and the Canon
+laughed again.
+
+"His father was a first-rate old rapid," said Bingham, "who ended in an
+asylum, I believe. His aunt keeps cats; this I know as a fact. His
+brother, Lord Boreham, as everybody knows, has been divorced twice. What
+matter? The good old scrap-heap has produced Bernard Boreham; what more
+do you want?"
+
+Bingham's remarks were uttered with even more than his usual suavity of
+tone because he was annoyed. He had come to the Sale, he had bought the
+green table-cloth and the shoes, ostensibly as an act of patriotism, but
+really in order to meet Mrs. Dashwood. He had planned to take her over
+Christ Church and show her everything, and now Boreham, who had also
+planned the same thing, had turned up more punctually, had taken her
+off, and was at this moment going in and out, banging doors and giving
+erroneous information, along with much talk about himself and his ideas
+for the improvement of mankind.
+
+The two men walked very slowly along. Bingham was in no hurry. The Canon
+also was in no hurry. In these gloomy days he was glad of a few minutes'
+distraction in the company of Bingham, whom nothing depressed. They
+walked so slowly that Lady Dashwood and Mrs. Potten, who had just
+entered the quadrangle, attended by Miss Scott laden with parcels, came
+up to them, bowed and passed them on their way to the rooms of one of
+the Fellows who had begged them to deposit their parcels and rest, if
+they wished to.
+
+The two men went on talking, though their eyes watched the three ladies,
+who were looking for the rooms where they were going to deposit their
+purchases. Bingham took out his watch. It was half-past three. The
+ladies had found the right entrance, and disappeared. Then Lady
+Dashwood's face was to be seen for a moment at a window. Simultaneously
+Harding appeared from under Tom Tower.
+
+He came up and spoke to the two men, and while he did so Bingham
+observed Miss Scott suddenly appear and make straight for them, holding
+something in her hand.
+
+"Bravo! What a sprint," murmured Bingham, as Gwendolen reached them
+rather breathless.
+
+"Oh, Mr. Harding," she panted, "Lady Dashwood saw you coming and thought
+you wouldn't know where she and Mrs. Potten were. Have you got the
+Buckinghamshire collar?"
+
+Bingham burst into subdued laughter.
+
+"My wife sent me over with it," said Harding, who could not see anything
+amusing in the incident. "She said Lady Dashwood had got Mrs. Potten
+here. That's all right," and he gravely drew from his sleeve a piece of
+mauve paper, carefully rolled up, on which was stitched the collar in
+question.
+
+"Here's the money," said Gwen, holding out a folded paper.
+
+Harding took the paper.
+
+"Thirty shillings," said Gwen. "Is that right?"
+
+"Yes, thirty shillings," said Harding. "The price is marked on the
+paper."
+
+"Extraordinarily cheap at the price," remarked Bingham. "There is no
+other collar equal to it in Buckinghamshire."
+
+The Canon turned and walked off, wondering in his mind who the very
+pretty, smartly dressed girl was. Harding unfolded the paper. It was a
+pound note and inside was not one but two new ten-shilling notes--only
+stuck together.
+
+"You've given me too much, one pound and two tens," he said, and he
+separated the two notes and gave one back to Gwen. "You're a bit too
+generous, Miss Scott," he said.
+
+Gwen took the note, dimpling and smiling and Harding wrote "paid" in
+pencil on the mauve paper.
+
+"Here's your receipt," he said, handing her the paper, "the collar and
+all," and he turned away and went back to the sale room, with the money
+in his pocket.
+
+Meanwhile Gwendolen did not run, she walked back very deliberately. She
+had the collar in one hand and the ten-shilling note in the other. She
+heard the two men turn and walk towards the gate. The old gentleman with
+a gown on, by which she meant the Canon, had disappeared. The quadrangle
+was empty. Gwen was thinking, thinking.
+
+It wasn't she who was generous, it was Mrs. Potten, at least not
+generous but casual. She was probably casual because, although she was
+supposed to be stingy, a ten-shilling note made really no difference to
+her. It was too bad that some women had so much money and some so
+little. It was especially unjust that an old plain woman like Mrs.
+Potten could have hundreds of frocks if she wanted to, and that young
+pretty women often couldn't. It was very, very unjust and stupid. Why
+she, Gwen, hadn't enough money even to buy a wretched umbrella. It
+looked exactly as if it was going to rain later on, and yet there was
+no umbrella she could borrow. The umbrella she had borrowed before, had
+disappeared from the stand: it must have been left by somebody and been
+returned. You can't borrow an umbrella that isn't there. It was all very
+well for her mother to say "borrow" an umbrella, but suppose there
+wasn't an umbrella! The idea flashed into Gwen's mind that an umbrella
+could be bought for ten shillings. It wouldn't be a smart umbrella, but
+it would be an umbrella. Then she remembered very vividly how, a year
+ago, she was in a railway carriage with her mother and there was one
+woman there sitting in a corner at the other end. This woman fidgeted
+with her purse a great deal, and when she got out, a sovereign was lying
+on the floor just where her feet had been. Gwen remembered her mother
+moving swiftly, picking it up, and putting the coin into her own purse,
+remarking, "If people are so careless they deserve to lose things," and
+Gwen felt that the remark was keenly just, and made several little
+things "right" that other people had said were wrong. Now, as she
+thought this over, she said to herself that it was only a week ago she
+had lost that umbrella: somebody must have got that umbrella and had
+been using it for a week, and she didn't blame them; beside the handle
+had got rather bashed. Another dozen steps towards the rooms made her
+feel very, very sure she didn't blame them, and--Mrs. Potten deserved to
+lose her ten-shilling note. Now she had reached the doorway, an idea,
+that was a natural development of the previous idea, came to her very
+definitely. She slipped the note into the right-hand pocket of her coat
+just as she stood on the threshold of the doorway, and then she ran up
+the stone stairs. No one was looking out of the window. She had noticed
+that as she came along. Now, she would see if Mrs. Potten was really
+careless enough not to know that she had given away two ten-shilling
+notes instead of one.
+
+Gwendolen walked into the sitting-room. There were Mrs. Potten and Lady
+Dashwood sitting together and talking, as if they intended remaining
+there for ever.
+
+"Here's your collar, Mrs. Potten," said Gwen, coming in with the
+prettiest flush on her face, from the haste with which she had mounted
+the stairs.
+
+She handed the roll of mauve paper and stood looking at Mrs. Potten.
+Now, she would find out whether Mrs. Potten knew she had flung away her
+precious ten-shilling note or not. If she was so stingy why was she so
+careless? She was very, very short-sighted, of course, but still that
+was no excuse.
+
+"Thanks, my dear," said Mrs. Potten. "I doubt if it is really as nice as
+the one we saw that was sold. Thirty shillings--the receipt is on the
+paper. It's the first time I've ever had a receipt at a bazaar or sale.
+Very business-like; Mr Harding, of course. One can see the handwriting
+isn't a woman's!" So saying Mrs. Potten, who had been peering hard at
+the collar and the paper, passed it to Lady Dashwood to look at.
+
+"Charming!" said Lady Dashwood.
+
+Now Lady Dashwood knew Mrs. Potten's soul. Mrs. Potten had come into
+Oxford at no expense of her own. Mr. Boreham had driven her. She had
+also, so Lady Dashwood divined, the intention of helping the Sale as
+much as possible, by her moral approbation. Nothing pleased Mrs. Potten
+that she saw on the modest undecked tables. Then she had praised a
+shilling pincushion, had bought it with much ceremony, and put it into
+her bag. "There, I mustn't go and lose this," she had said as she
+clicked the fastening of her bag. Then she had praised a Buckinghamshire
+collar which was marked "Sold," and in an unwary moment had told Lady
+Dashwood that she would have bought that; that was exactly what she
+wanted, only it was unfortunately sold. But Lady Dashwood, who was
+business-like even in grief, had been equal to the occasion. "I know
+there is another one very like it," she had said in a slightly bullying
+voice; and when Mrs. Potten moved off as if she had not realised her
+luck, murmuring something about having to be somewhere almost
+immediately, Lady Dashwood had swiftly arranged with Mrs. Harding that
+the other collar, which was somewhere in reserve and was being searched
+for, should be sent after them.
+
+This was why Lady Dashwood had conveyed the reluctant Mrs. Potten into
+the quadrangle, and had made her climb the stairs with her into these
+rooms and wait.
+
+So here was Mrs. Potten, with her collar, trying to believe that she was
+not annoyed at having been deprived of thirty shillings in such an
+astute way by her dear friend.
+
+"Am I wanted any more?" asked Gwen, looking from one lady to the other.
+
+She took the collar from Lady Dashwood and returned it to Mrs. Potten.
+
+Mrs. Potten opened her bag disclosing the shilling pincushion (which now
+she need not have bought) and placed the collar within. Then she shut
+the bag with a snap, and looked so innocent that Gwendolen almost
+laughed.
+
+No, Gwen was not wanted any more. She turned and went. Mrs. Potten
+deserved to lose money! "Yes, she did, and in any case," thought Gwen,
+"at any moment I can say, 'Oh yes, I quite forgot I had the note. How
+stupid, how awfully stupid,' etc."
+
+So she went down the stairs and out into the terrace.
+
+A few steps away she saw Mr. Bingham, coming back again. This time
+alone.
+
+As soon as Gwen had gone Mrs. Potten remarked, "Now I must be going!"
+and then sat on, as people do.
+
+"Very pretty girl, Gwendolen Scott," she added.
+
+"Very pretty," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Lady Belinda wrote to me a day or two ago, asking me if Gwen could come
+on to me from you on Monday."
+
+"Oh!" said Lady Dashwood, but she uttered the exclamation wearily.
+
+"I have written and told her that I'm afraid I can't," said Mrs. Potten.
+"Can't!"
+
+Lady Dashwood looked away as if the subject was ended.
+
+"If I have the child, it will mean that the mother will insist on coming
+to fetch her away or something." Here Mrs. Potten fidgeted with her bag.
+"And I really scarcely know Lady Belinda. It was the husband we used to
+know, old General Scott, poor dear silly old man!"
+
+Lady Dashwood received the remark in silence.
+
+"I can't do with some of these modern women," continued Mrs. Potten.
+"There are women whose names I could tell you that I would not trust
+with a tin halfpenny. My dear, I've seen with my own eyes at a hotel
+restaurant a well-dressed woman sweep up the tip left for the waiter by
+the person who had just gone, I saw that the waiters saw it, but they
+daren't do anything. I saw a friend of mine speaking to her afterwards!
+Knew her! Quite respectable! Fancy the audacity of it!"
+
+Lady Dashwood now rested her head on the back of her chair and allowed
+Mrs. Potten to talk on.
+
+"I'm afraid there's nothing of the Good Samaritan in me," said Mrs.
+Potten, in a self-satisfied tone. "I can't undertake the responsibility
+of a girl who is billeted out by her mother--instead of being given a
+decent home. I think you're simply angelic to have had her for so long,
+Lena."
+
+Lady Dashwood's silence only excited Mrs. Potten's curiosity. "Most
+girls now seem to be doing something or other," she said. "Why, one
+even sees young women students wheeling convalescent soldiers about
+Oxford. I don't believe there is a woman or girl in Oxford who isn't
+doing something for the war."
+
+"Yes, but it is the busy women who almost always have time for more
+work," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Now, I suppose Gwendolen is doing nothing and eating her head off, as
+the phrase goes," said Mrs. Potten.
+
+Lady Dashwood was not to be drawn. "Talking of doing something," she
+said, to draw Mrs. Potten off the subject, and there was a touch of
+weariness in her voice: "I think a Frenchwoman can beat an Englishwoman
+any day at 'doing.' I am speaking now of the working classes. I have a
+French maid now who does twice the work that any English maid would do.
+I picked her up at the beginning of the war. Her husband was killed and
+she was stranded with two children. I've put the two children into a
+Catholic school in Kent and I have them in the holidays. Well, Louise
+makes practically all my things, makes her own clothes and the
+children's, and besides that we have made shirts and pyjamas till I
+could cut them out blindfolded. She's an object lesson to all maids."
+
+Lady Dashwood was successful, Mrs. Potten's attention was diverted, only
+unfortunately the word "maid" stimulated her to draw up an exhaustive
+inventory of all the servants she had ever had at Potten End, and she
+was doing this in her best Bradshaw style when Lady Dashwood exclaimed
+that she had a wire to send off and must go and do it.
+
+"I ought to be going too," said Mrs. Potten, her brain reeling for a
+moment at this sudden interruption to her train of thought. She rose
+with some indecision, leaving her bag on the floor. Then she stooped and
+picked up her bag and left her umbrella; and then at last securing both
+bag and umbrella, the two ladies made their way down the stairs and
+went back into St. Aldates.
+
+All the time that Mrs. Potten had been running through a list of the
+marriages, births, etc., of all her former servants, Lady Dashwood was
+contriving a telegram to Lady Belinda Scott. It was difficult to
+compose, partly because it had to be both elusive and yet firm, and
+partly because Mrs. Potten's voice kept on interrupting any flow of
+consecutive thought.
+
+When the two ladies had reached the post-office the wire was completed
+in Lady Dashwood's brain.
+
+"Good-bye," said Mrs. Potten, just outside the threshold of the door.
+"And if you see Bernard--I believe he means to go to tea at the
+Hardings--would you remind him that it is at Eliston's that he has to
+pick me up? There are attractions about!" added Mrs. Potten
+mysteriously, "and he may forget! Poor Bernard, such a good fellow in
+his way, but so wild, and he sometimes talks as if he were almost a
+conscientious objector, only he's too old for it to matter. I don't
+allow him to argue with me. I can't follow it--and don't want to. But
+he's a dear fellow."
+
+Lady Dashwood walked into the post-office. "Thank goodness, I can think
+now," she said to herself, as she went to a desk.
+
+The wire ran as follows:--
+
+"Sorry. Saturday quite impossible. Writing."
+
+It was far from cordial, but cordial Lady Dashwood had no intention of
+being. She meant to do her duty and no more by Belinda. Duty would be
+hard enough. And when she wrote the letter, what should she say?
+
+"If only something would happen, some providential accident," thought
+Lady Dashwood, unconscious of the contradiction involved in the terms.
+The word "providential" caused her to go on thinking. If there were such
+things as ghosts, the "ghost" of the previous night might have been
+providentially sent--sent as a warning! But the thought was a foolish
+one.
+
+"In any case," she argued, "what is the good of warnings? Did any one
+ever take warning? No, not even if one rose from the dead to deliver
+it."
+
+She was too tired to walk about and too tired to want to go again into
+the Sale room and talk to people. She went back to the rooms, climbed
+the stairs slowly and then sat down to wait till it was time to go to
+Mrs. Harding's. Perhaps May would soon have finished seeing Christ
+Church and come and join her. Her presence was always a comfort.
+
+It was a comfort, perhaps rather a miserable comfort, to Lady Dashwood
+because she had begun to suspect that May too was suffering, not
+suffering from wounded vanity, for May was almost devoid of vanity, but
+from--and here Lady Dashwood leaned back in her chair and closed her
+eyes. It was a strange thing that both Jim and May should have allowed
+themselves to be martyrised, only May's marriage had been so brief and
+had ended so worthily, the shallow young man becoming suddenly compelled
+to bear the burden of Empire, and bearing it to the utmost; but Gwen
+would meander along, putting all her burdens on other people; and she
+would live for ever!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+SEEING CHRIST CHURCH
+
+
+Boreham had been very successful that afternoon. He had managed to
+secure Mrs. Dashwood without having to be rude to her hostess. He had
+done it by exchanging Mrs. Potten for the younger lady with a deftness
+on which he congratulated himself, though it was true that Lady Dashwood
+had said to May Dashwood, "Go and see over the College with Mr.
+Boreham."
+
+Miss Scott was, most fortunately, absorbed in playing at shop with Mrs.
+Harding.
+
+Boreham's course was clear. He calculated with satisfaction that he had
+a good hour before him alone with Mrs. Dashwood. He could show her every
+corner of Christ Church and do it slowly; the brief explanation (of a
+disparaging nature) that he would be obliged to make on the details of
+that historic building would only serve to help him out at, perhaps,
+difficult moments. It would be easier for him to talk freely and prepare
+her mind for a proper appreciation of the future which lay before her,
+while he walked beside her and pointed out irrelevant things, than it
+would have been if he had been obliged to sit still in a chair facing
+her, for example, and stick to his subject. It seemed to him best to
+begin by speaking quite frankly in praise of himself. Boreham had his
+doubts whether any man is really humble in his estimation of himself,
+however much he may pretend to be; and if, indeed, any man were truly
+humble, then, in Boreham's opinion, that man was a fool.
+
+As soon as they had crossed St. Aldates and had entered the gate under
+Tom Tower, Boreham introduced the subject of his own merits, by glancing
+round the great quadrangle and remarking that he was thankful that he
+had never been subjected to the fossilising routine of a classical
+education.
+
+"The study of dead languages is a 'cul-de-sac,'" he explained. "You can
+see the effect it has had in the very atmosphere of Oxford. You can see
+the effect it has had on Middleton, dear fellow, who got a double First,
+and the Ireland, and everything else proper and useless, and who is
+now--what? A conscientious schoolmaster, and nothing more!"
+
+It was necessary to bring Middleton in because May Dashwood might not
+have had the time or the opportunity of observing all Middleton's
+limitations. She probably would imagine that he was a man of ideas and
+originality. She would take for granted (not knowing) that the head of
+an Oxford College was a weighty person, a successful person. Also
+Middleton was a good-looking-man, as good-looking as he, Boreham, was
+himself (only of a more conventional type), and therefore not to be
+despised from the mere woman's point of view.
+
+Boreham peered eagerly at his companion's profile to see how she took
+this criticism of Middleton.
+
+May was taking it quite calmly, and even smiled. "So far, good," said
+Boreham to himself, and he went on to compare his larger view of life
+and deeper knowledge of "facts" with the restricted outlook of the
+Oxford Don. This she apparently accepted as "understood," for she smiled
+again, and this triumph of Boreham's was achieved while they looked over
+the Christ Church library.
+
+"The first thing," said Boreham, when they came again into the open
+air--"the first thing that a man has to do is to be a man of the world
+that we actually live in, not of the world as it was!"
+
+"Yes," said Mrs. Dashwood "the world we actually live in."
+
+"You agree?" he said brightly.
+
+She smiled again.
+
+"Oxford might have been vitalised; might, I say, if, by good luck,
+somebody had discovered a coal mine under the Broad, or the High, and
+the University had been compelled to adjust itself to the practical
+requirements of the world of labour and of commerce, and to drop its
+medi�val methods for those of the modern world."
+
+May confessed that she had not thought of this way of improving the
+ancient University, but she suggested that some of the provincial
+universities had the advantage of being in the neighbourhood of coal
+mines or in industrial centres.
+
+Boreham, however, waived the point, for his spirits were rising, and the
+sight of Bingham in the distance, carrying his table-cloth and slippers
+and looking wistfully at nothing in particular, gave him increased
+confidence in his main plan.
+
+"This staircase," said Boreham, "leads to the hall. Shall we go in? I
+suppose you ought to see it."
+
+"What a lovely roof!" exclaimed May, when they reached the foot of the
+staircase.
+
+Boreham admitted that it was fine, but he insisted that it was too good
+for the place, and he went on with his main discourse.
+
+When they entered the dining-hall, the dignity of the room, with its
+noble ceiling, its rich windows and the glow of the portraits on the
+walls, brought another exclamation from May's lips.
+
+But all this academic splendour annoyed Boreham extremely. It seemed to
+jeer at him as an outsider.
+
+"It's too good for the collection of asses who dine here," he said.
+
+As to the portraits, he insisted that among them all, among all these
+so-called distinguished men, there was not one that possessed any real
+originality and power--except perhaps the painter Watts.
+
+"It's so like Oxford," he added, "to produce nothing distinctive."
+
+May laughed now, with a subdued laughter that was a little irritating,
+because it was uncalled for.
+
+"I am laughing," she explained, "because 'the world we actually live in'
+is such a funny place and is so full of funny people--ourselves
+included."
+
+That was not a reason for laughter if it were true, and it was not true
+that she was, or that he was "funny." If she had been "funny" he would
+not have been in love with her. He detained her in front of the portrait
+of Wesley.
+
+"I wonder they have had the sense to keep him here," said Boreham. "He
+is a perpetual reminder to them of the scandalous torpor of the Church
+which repudiated him. Yes, I wonder they tolerate him. Anyhow, I suppose
+they tolerate him because, after all, they tolerate anybody who tries to
+keep alive a lost cause. Religion was dying a natural death and, instead
+of letting it die, he revived it for a bit. It was as good as you could
+expect from an Oxford man! When an Oxford man revolts, he only revolts
+in order to take up some lost cause, some survival!"
+
+"I suppose," said May, "that if Wesley had had the advantage of being at
+one of the provincial colleges, he would have invented a new soap,
+instead of strewing the place with nonconformist chapels?"
+
+This sarcasm of May's would have been exasperating, only that the
+mention of soap quite naturally suggested children who had to be
+soaped, and children did bring Boreham actually to an important point.
+He did not really care two straws about Wesley. He went straight for
+this point. He put a few piercing questions to May about her work among
+children in London. Strangely enough she did not respond. She gave him
+one or two brief answers of the vaguest description, while she turned
+away to look at more portraits. Boreham, however, had only put the
+questions as a delicate approach to _the_ subject. He did not really
+want any answers, and he proceeded to point out to her that her work,
+though it was undertaken in the most altruistic spirit, and appeared to
+be useful to the superficial observer, was really not helpful but
+harmful to the community. And this for two reasons. He would explain
+them. Firstly, because it blinded people who were interested in social
+questions to the need for the endowment of mothers; and secondly, the
+care of other women's children did not really satisfy the maternal
+instinct in women. It excited their emotions and gave them the
+impression that these emotions were satisfying. They were not. He hinted
+that if May would consult any pathologist he would tell her that, in
+ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, a life like hers, seemingly so full,
+would not save a woman from the disastrous effects of being childless.
+
+Now, Boreham was convinced that women rarely understand what it is they
+really want. Women believe that they want to become clerks or postmen or
+lawyers, when all the time what they want and need is to become mothers.
+For instance, it was a common thing for a woman who had no interest in
+drama and who couldn't act, to want to be an actress. What she really
+wanted then was an increased opportunity of meeting the other sex.
+
+Boreham put this before May Dashwood, and was gratified at the reception
+of his remarks.
+
+"What you say _is_ true," she said, "though so few people have the
+courage to say it."
+
+Boreham went on. He felt that May Dashwood, in spite of all her
+sharpness, was profoundly ignorant of her own psychology. It was
+necessary to enlighten her, to make her understand that it was not her
+duty to go on mourning for a husband who was dead, but that it was her
+duty to make the best of her own life. He entirely exonerated her from
+the charge of humbug in her desire to mother slum children; all he
+wanted was for her to understand that it wasn't of any use either to
+herself or to the community. How well she was taking it!
+
+He had barely finished speaking when he became unpleasantly aware that
+two ladies, who had just entered, were staring at himself and his
+companion instead of examining the hall. The strangers were foreigners,
+to judge by the boldness with which they wore hats that bore no relation
+to the shape or the dignity of the human head. They were evidently
+arrested and curious.
+
+May did not speak for some moments, after they both moved away from the
+portraits. Boreham watched her, rather breathlessly, for things were
+going right and coming to a crisis.
+
+"You are quite right," she repeated, at last. "But people haven't the
+courage to say so!"
+
+"You think so?" he replied eagerly. He now appreciated, as he had never
+done before, how much he scored by possessing, along with the subtle
+intuitions of the Celt, the plain common-sense of his English mother.
+
+"I am preparing my mind," said May, as they approached the door of the
+hall, "to face a future chequered by fits of hysteria."
+
+"But why!" urged Boreham, and he could not conceal his agitation; "when
+I spoke of the endowment of mothers I did not mean that I personally
+wanted any interference (at present) with our system of monogamy. The
+British public thinks it believes in monogamy and I, personally, think
+that monogamy is workable, under certain circumstances. It would be
+possible for me under certain circumstances."
+
+The sublimity of his self-sacrifice almost brought tears to Boreham's
+eyes. May quickened her steps, and he opened the door for her to go into
+the lobby. As he went through himself he could see that the two
+strangers had turned and were watching them. He damned them under his
+breath and pulled the door to.
+
+"There are women," he went on, as he followed her down the stairs, "who
+have breadth of character and brains that command the fidelity of men. I
+need not tell _you_ this."
+
+May was descending slowly and looked as if she thought she was alone.
+
+"'Age cannot wither, nor custom stale thy infinite variety,'" he
+whispered behind her, and he found the words strangely difficult to
+pronounce because of his emotion. He moved alertly into step with her
+and gazed at her profile.
+
+"When that is said to a woman, well, a moderately young woman," remarked
+May, "a woman who is, say, twenty-eight--I am twenty-eight--it has no
+point I am afraid!"
+
+"No point?" exclaimed Boreham.
+
+"No point," repeated May. "How do you know that thirty years from now,
+when I am on the verge of sixty, that I shan't be withered--unless,
+indeed, I get too stout?" she added pensively.
+
+"You will always be young," said Boreham, fervently; "young, like Ninon
+de l'Enclos."
+
+May had now reached the ground, and she walked out on to the terrace
+into open daylight.
+
+Boreham was at her side immediately, and she turned and looked at him.
+His pale blue eyes blinked at her, for he was aware that hers were
+hostile! Why?
+
+"You would seem young to me," he said, trying to feel brave.
+
+"Men and women ought," she said, with emphasis on the word "ought"--"men
+and women ought to wither and grow old in the service of Humanity. I
+think nothing is more pathetic than the sight of an old woman trying to
+look young instead of learning the lesson of life, the lesson we are
+here to learn!"
+
+Boreham had had barely time to recover from the blow when she added in
+the sweetest tone--
+
+"There, that's a scolding for you and for Ninon de l'Enclos!"
+
+"But I don't mean----" began Boreham. "I haven't put it--you don't take
+my words quite correctly."
+
+May was already walking on into the open archway that led to the
+cathedral. Before them stood the great western doors, and she saw them
+and stopped. Boreham wished to goodness that he had waited till they
+were in the cathedral before he had made his quotation. Through the open
+doors of that ancient building he could hear somebody playing the organ.
+That would have been the proper emotional accompaniment for those
+immortal lines of Shakespeare. He pictured a corner of the Latin chapel
+and an obscure tender light. Why had he begun to talk in the glare of a
+public thoroughfare?
+
+"Shall we go inside?" he asked urgently. "One can't talk here."
+
+But May turned to go back. "I should like to see the cathedral some
+other time," she said. "I must thank you very much for having shown me
+over the College--and--explained everything."
+
+"Yes; but----" stammered Boreham. "We can get into the cathedral."
+
+She was actually beginning to hold out her hand as if to say Good-bye.
+
+"Not now," she said; and before he had time to argue further, Bingham
+came suddenly upon them from somewhere, and expressed so much surprise
+at seeing them that it was evident that he had been on the watch. He had
+disposed of his purchases and was a free man. He had actually pounced
+upon them like a bird of prey--and stealthily too. It was a mean trick
+to have played.
+
+"Are you coming out or going in?" asked Bingham.
+
+"Neither," said May, turning to him as if she was glad of his approach.
+
+"You've seen it before?" said Bingham.
+
+"No, not yet," said May.
+
+"It's as nice a place as you could find anywhere," said Bingham, calmly,
+"for doing a bit of Joss."
+
+Boreham's brain surged with indignation. This man's intrusion at such a
+moment was insupportable. Yes, and he had got rid of his miserable
+table-cloth and shoes, probably taken them to Harding's house, and was
+going to tea there too. Not only this, but here he was talking in his
+jesting way, exactly in the same soft drawling voice in which he reeled
+off Latin quotations, and so it went down--yes, went down when it ought
+to have given offence. May ought to have been offended. She didn't look
+offended!
+
+"You forget," said Boreham, looking through his eyeglass at Bingham and
+frowning, "that Mrs. Dashwood is, what is called a Churchwoman."
+
+"I'm a Churchman myself," said the imperturbable Don. "To me a church is
+always first a sanctuary, as I have just remarked to Mrs. Dashwood.
+Secondly, it is the artistic triumph of some blooming engineer. Nowadays
+our church architects aren't engineers; they don't _create_ a building,
+they just run it up from books. Our modern churches are failures not
+because we aren't religious, but because our architects are not big
+enough men to be great engineers."
+
+"Ah, yes," said May, looking up with relief at Bingham's swarthy
+features.
+
+"I deny that we are religious, as a whole," said Boreham, stoutly.
+
+"You may not be, my dear fellow," said Bingham, in his oily voice; "but
+then you are the only genuine conservative I meet nowadays. You are
+still faithful to the 'Eighties'--still impressed by the discovery that
+religion don't drop out of the sky as we thought it did, but had its
+origin in the funk and cunning of the humanoid ape."
+
+May was standing between the two men, and all three had their backs to
+the cathedral, just as if they had emerged from its doors. And it was at
+this moment that she caught a sudden sight through the open archway of
+two figures passing along the terrace outside; one figure she did not
+know, but which she thought might be the Dean of Christ Church, and the
+other figure was one which was becoming to her more significant than any
+other in the world. He saw her; he raised his hat, and was already gone
+before she had time to think. When she did think it came upon her, with
+a rush of remorse, that he must have thought that she had been looking
+over the cathedral with her two companions, after having refused his
+guidance on the pretext that she wished to be alone. Yes, there was in
+his face surely surprise, surprise and reproach! How could she explain?
+He had gone! She vaguely heard the two men beside her speaking; she
+heard Boreham's protesting voice but did not follow his words.
+
+"While we are engaged in peaceful persuasion," said Bingham in her ear,
+"you are white with fatigue."
+
+"I'm not tired," she said, "not really--only I think I will go to the
+rooms where Lady Dashwood is to meet me. Will you show me them?"
+
+She spoke to Bingham, and touched his arm with her hand as if to ask for
+his support.
+
+Boreham saw that he was excluded. It was obvious, and he stood staring
+after them, full of indignation.
+
+"I shall see you later," he said in a dry voice. How did it all happen?
+
+As soon as they were on the terrace, May released Bingham's arm.
+
+"You want to get a rest before you go to the Hardings," he said. Then he
+added, in a voice that threw out the words merely as a remark which
+demanded no answer, "Was it physical--or--moral or both? Umph!" he went
+on. "Now, we have only a step to make. It's the third doorway!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+A TEA PARTY
+
+
+Mrs. Harding had not succeeded in finding some chance of "casually"
+asking Mrs. Potten to have tea with her, but she had secured the
+Dashwoods. That was something. Mrs. Harding's drawing-room was spacious
+and looked out on the turreted walls of Christ Church. The house
+witnessed to Mrs. Harding's private means.
+
+"We have got Lady Dashwood in the further room," she murmured to some
+ladies who arrived punctually from the Sale in St. Aldates, "and we
+nearly got the Warden of Kings."
+
+The na�vet� of Mrs. Harding's remark was quite unconscious, and was due
+to that absence of humour which is the very foundation stone of
+snobbishness.
+
+"But the Warden is coming to fetch his party home," added Mrs. Harding,
+cheerfully.
+
+Harding, too, was in good spirits. He was all patriotism and full of
+courteous consideration for his friends. So heartened was he that, after
+tea, at the suggestion of Bingham, he sat down to the piano to sing a
+duet with his wife. This was also a sort of touching example of British
+respectability with a dash of "go" in it!
+
+Bingham was turning over some music.
+
+"What shall it be, Tina?" asked Harding, whose repertoire was limited.
+
+"This!" said Bingham, and he placed on the piano in front of Hording the
+duet from "Becket."
+
+The room was crowded, khaki prevailing. "All the women are workers,"
+Mrs. Harding had explained.
+
+Gwendolen Scott was there, of course, still conscious of the
+ten-shilling note in the pocket of her coat. Mrs. Potten had gone, along
+with the Buckinghamshire collar, just as if neither had ever existed.
+Boreham was there, talking to one or two men in khaki, because he could
+not get near May Dashwood. She had now somehow got wedged into a corner
+over which Bingham was standing guard.
+
+At the door the Warden had just made his appearance. He had got no
+further than the threshold, for he saw his hostess about to sing and
+would not advance to disturb her.
+
+From where he stood May Dashwood could be plainly seen, and Bingham
+stooping with his hands on his knees, making an inaudible remark to her.
+
+The remark that gentleman was actually making was: "You'll have a treat
+presently--the greatest surprise in your life."
+
+Mrs. Harding stood behind her husband. She was dressed with strict
+regard to the last fashion. Dressing in each fashion as it came into
+existence she used to call quite prettily, "the simple truth about it."
+Since the war she called it frankly and seriously "the true economy."
+Her face usually expressed a superior self-assurance, and now it wore
+also a look of indulgent amiability. Her whole appearance suggested a
+happy peacock with its tail spread, and the surprise which Bingham
+predicted came when she opened her mouth and, instead of emitting
+screams in praise of diamonds and of Paris hats (as one would have
+expected), she piped in a small melancholy voice the following pathetic
+inquiry--
+
+ "Is it the wind of the dawn that I hear in the pine overhead?"
+
+And then came Harding's growling baritone, avoiding any mention of
+cigars or cocktails and making answer--
+
+ "No! but the noise of the deep as it hollows the cliffs of the land."
+
+Mrs. Harding--
+
+ "Is there a voice coming up with the voice of the deep from the strand,
+ One coming up with the song in the flush of the glimmering red?"
+
+Mr. Harding--
+
+ "Love that is born of the deep coming up with the sun from the sea."
+
+Bingham was convulsed with inward laughter. May tried to smile a
+little--at the incongruity of the singers and the words they sang; but
+her thoughts were all astray. The Warden was here--so near!
+
+No one else was in the least amused. Boreham was plainly worried, and
+was staring through his eyeglass at Bingham's back, behind which May
+Dashwood was half obliterated. Gwendolen Scott had only just caught
+sight of the Warden and had flushed up, and wore an excited look on her
+face. She was glancing at him with furtive glances--ready to bow. Now
+she caught his eye and bowed, and he returned the bow very gravely.
+
+Lady Dashwood was leaning back in her chair listening with resigned
+misery.
+
+May looked straight before her, past Bingham's elbow. She knew the song
+from Becket well. Words in the song were soon coming that she dreaded,
+because of the Warden standing there by the door.
+
+The words came--
+
+  "Love that is born of the deep coming up with the sun from the sea,
+   Love that can shape or can shatter a life till the life shall have
+                                                                  fled."
+
+She raised her eyes to the Warden. She could see his profile. It looked
+noble among the faces around him, as he stood with his head bent,
+apparently very much aloof, absorbed in his own thoughts.
+
+He, of all men she had ever met, ought to have understood "love that is
+born of the deep," and did not. He turned his head slightly and met her
+eyes for the flash of a second. It was the look of a man who takes his
+last look.
+
+She did not move, but she grasped the arms of her chair and heard no
+more of the music but sounds, vaguely drumming at her ears, without
+meaning.
+
+She did not even notice Bingham's movement, the slow cautious movement
+with which he turned to see what had aroused her emotion. When he knew,
+he made a still more cautious and imperceptible movement away from her;
+the movement of a man who discerns that he had made a step too far and
+wishes to retrace that step without being observed.
+
+May did not even notice that the song was over and that people were
+talking and moving about.
+
+"We are going, May," said Lady Dashwood. "Mr. Boreham has to go and hunt
+for a ten-shilling note that Mrs. Potten thinks she dropped at Christ
+Church. She has just sent me a letter about it. She can't remember the
+staircase. In any case we have to go and pick up our purchases there, so
+we are all going together."
+
+"She's always dropping things," said Boreham, who had taken the
+opportunity of coming up and speaking to May. "She may have lost the
+note anywhere between here and Norham Gardens. She's incorrigible."
+
+The little gathering was beginning to melt away. Harding and Bingham had
+hurried off on business, and there was nobody now left but Boreham and
+the party from King's and Mrs. Harding, who was determined to help in
+the search for Mrs. Potten's lost note.
+
+"Miss Scott is coming back with me--to help wind up things at the Sale,"
+said Mrs. Harding, "and on our way we will go in and help you."
+
+Gwendolen's first impulse, when Mrs. Potten's note was discussed, was to
+get behind somebody else so as not to be seen. Would Mr. Harding and Mr.
+Bingham remember about the extra note? Probably--so her second impulse
+was to say aloud: "I wonder if it's the note I quite forgot to give to
+Mrs. Potten? I've got it somewhere." Alas! this impulse was short-lived.
+Ever since she had put the note in her pocket, the mental image of an
+umbrella had been before her eyes. She had begun to consider that mental
+umbrella as already a real umbrella and hers. She walked about already,
+in imagination, under it. She might have planned to spend money that had
+fallen into her hands on sweets. That would have been the usual thing;
+but no, she was going to spend it on something very useful and
+necessary. That ten shillings, in fact, so carelessly flung aside by
+Mrs. Potten, was going to be spent in a way very few girls would think
+of. To spend it on an umbrella was wonderfully virtuous and made the
+whole affair a sort of duty.
+
+The umbrella, in short, had become now part of Gwendolen's future.
+Virtue walking with an umbrella. Without that umbrella there would be a
+distinct blank in Gwendolen's life!
+
+If she obeyed her second impulse on the moment, that umbrella would
+never become hers. She would for ever lose that umbrella. But neither
+Mr. Harding nor Mr. Bingham seemed to think of her, or her note. They
+were already rushing off to lectures or chapels or something. The
+impulse died!
+
+So the poor silly child pretended to search in the rooms at Christ
+Church with no less energy than Mrs. Harding and Mrs. Dashwood, and
+much more thoroughly than Boreham, who did nothing more than put up the
+lights and stand about looking gloomy.
+
+The Warden was walking slowly with Lady Dashwood on the terrace below
+when the searchers came out announcing that no note could be found.
+
+Boreham's arms were full of parcels, and these were distributed among
+the Warden, Lady Dashwood, and Mrs. Dashwood.
+
+Mrs. Harding said "good-bye" outside the great gate.
+
+"I shall bring Miss Scott home, after the work is over," she said; and
+Gwendolen glanced at the Warden in the fading afternoon light with some
+confidence, for was not the affair of the note over? What more could
+happen? She could not be certain whether he looked at her or not. He
+moved away the moment that Mrs. Harding had ceased speaking. He bowed,
+and in another moment was talking to Mr. Boreham.
+
+May Dashwood had slipped her hand into her aunt's arm, making it obvious
+to Boreham that he and the Warden must walk on ahead, or else walk
+behind. They walked on ahead.
+
+"I've got to fetch Mrs. Potten from Eliston's," he said fretfully, as he
+walked beside the Warden. All four went along in silence. They passed
+Carfax. There, a little farther on, was Mrs. Potten just at the shop's
+door, looking out keenly through her glasses, peering from one side of
+the street to the other.
+
+She came forward to meet them, evidently charmed at seeing the Warden.
+
+"I'm afraid I made a great fuss over that note. Did you find it,
+Bernard?"
+
+Boreham felt too cross to answer.
+
+"We didn't," said May Dashwood. "I'm sorry!"
+
+"No, we couldn't find it," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"You really couldn't," repeated Mrs. Potten. "Well, I wonder---- But how
+kind of you!"
+
+Now, Mrs. Potten rarely saw the Warden, and this fact made her prize him
+all the more. Mrs. Potten's weakness for men was very weak for the
+Warden, so much so that for the moment she forgot the loss of her note,
+and--thinking of Wardens--burst into a long story about the Heads of
+colleges she had known personally and those she had not known
+personally.
+
+Her assumption that Heads of colleges were of any importance was all the
+more distasteful to Boreham because May Dashwood was listening.
+
+"Come along, Mrs. Potten," he said crossly; "we shall have to have the
+lamps lit if we wait any longer."
+
+But they were not her lamps that would have to be lit, burning _her_
+oil, and Mrs. Potten released the Warden with much regret.
+
+"So the poor little note was never found," she said, as she held out her
+hand for good-bye. "I know it's a trifle, but in these days everything
+is serious, everything! And after I had scribbled off my note to you
+from Eliston's I thought I might have given Miss Scott two ten-shilling
+notes instead of one, just by mistake, and that she hadn't noticed, of
+course."
+
+"I thought of that," said Lady Dashwood, "and I asked Mrs. Harding; but
+she said that she had got the correct notes--thirty shillings."
+
+"Well, good-bye," said Mrs. Potten. "I am sorry to have troubled
+everybody, but in war time one has to be careful. One never knows what
+may happen. Strange things have happened and will happen. Don't you
+think so, Warden?"
+
+"Stranger than perhaps we think of," said the Warden, and he raised his
+hat to go.
+
+"Come, Bernard," said Mrs. Potten, "I must try and tear you away.
+Good-bye, good-bye!" and even then she lingered and looked at the
+Warden.
+
+"Good-bye, Marian," said Lady Dashwood, firmly.
+
+"I am afraid you are very tired," whispered May in her aunt's ear, as
+they turned up the Broad.
+
+"Rather tired," said Lady Dashwood. "Too tired to hear Marian's list of
+names, nothing but names!"
+
+They walked on a few steps, and then there came a sound of whirring in
+the sky. It was a sound new to Oxford, but which had lately become
+frequent. All three looked up. An aeroplane was skimming low over
+steeples, towers, and ancient chimney stacks, going home to Port Meadow,
+like a bird going home to roost at the approach of night. It was going
+safely. The pilot was only learning, playing with air, overcoming it
+with youthful keenness and light-heartedness. They could see his little
+solitary figure sitting at the helm. Later on he would play no more; the
+air would be full of glory, and horror--over in France.
+
+The Warden sighed.
+
+When they reached the Lodgings they went into the gloom of the dark
+panelled hall. The portraits on the walls glowered at them. The Warden
+put up the lights and looked at the table for letters, as if he expected
+something. There was a wire for him; more business, but not unexpected.
+
+"I have to go to Town again," he said. "A meeting and other education
+business."
+
+"Ah!" said Lady Dashwood. She caught at the idea, and her eyes followed
+the figure of May Dashwood walking upstairs. When May turned out of
+sight she said: "Do you mean now?"
+
+"No, to-morrow early," he said. "And I shall be back on Saturday."
+
+Lady Dashwood seated herself on a couch; her letters were in her hand,
+but she did not open them. Her eyes were fixed on her brother.
+
+"Can you manage somehow so that I can speak to Gwendolen alone?" he
+asked. "I am dining in Hall, but I shall be back by half-past nine."
+
+Lady Dashwood felt her cheeks tingle. "Yes, I will manage it, if it is
+inevitable." She dwelt lingeringly upon the word "inevitable."
+
+"Thank you," said the Warden, and he turned and walked slowly upstairs.
+Very heavily he walked, so Lady Dashwood thought, as she sat listening
+to his footsteps. Of course it was inevitable. If vows are forgotten,
+promises are broken, there is an end to "honour," to "progress," to
+everything worth living for!
+
+At the drawing-room he paused; the door was wide open, and he could see
+May Dashwood standing near one of the windows pulling her gloves off.
+She turned.
+
+"I have to be in town early to-morrow and shall not return till the
+following day, Saturday," he said, coming up slowly to where she was
+standing.
+
+She glanced up at him.
+
+"This is the second time I have had to go away since you came, but it is
+a time when so much has to be considered and discussed, matters relating
+to the future of education, and of the universities, and with the future
+of Oxford. Things have suddenly changed; it is a new world that we live
+in to-day, a new world." Then he added bitterly, "Such as was the morrow
+of the Crucifixion."
+
+He glanced away from her and rested his eyes on the window. The curtains
+had not yet been drawn and the latticed panes were growing dim. The dull
+grey sky behind the battlements of the roof opposite showed no memory of
+sunset.
+
+"Of course you have to go away," said May, softly, and she too looked
+out at the dull sky now darkening into night.
+
+Should she now tell him that she had kept her word, that she had not
+seen the cathedral because she had not been alone. She had had a strong
+desire to tell him when it was impossible to do so. Now, when she had
+only to say the words for he was there, close beside her, she could not
+speak. Perhaps he wouldn't care whether she had kept her word--and yet
+she knew that he did care.
+
+They stood together for a moment in silence.
+
+"And you were not able to go with me to the cathedral," he said, turning
+and looking at her face steadily.
+
+May coloured as she felt his eyes upon her, but she braced herself to
+meet his question as if it was a matter about which they cared nothing.
+
+"I didn't want to waste your time," she said, and she drew her gloves
+through her hand and moved away.
+
+"Bingham," he said, "knows more than I do, perhaps more than any man in
+Oxford, about medi�val architecture."
+
+"Ah yes," said May, and she walked slowly towards the fireplace.
+
+"And he will have shown you everything," he persisted.
+
+May was now in front of the portrait, though she did not notice it.
+
+"I didn't go into the cathedral," she said.
+
+The Warden raised his head as if throwing off some invisible burden.
+Then he moved and came and stood near her--also facing the portrait. But
+neither noticed the large luminous eyes fixed upon them, visible even in
+the darkening room.
+
+"I suppose one ought not to be critical of a drawing-room song," said
+the Warden, and his voice now was changed.
+
+May moved her head slightly towards him, but did not meet his eyes.
+
+"I was inclined," he said, "but then I am by trade a college tutor, to
+criticise one line of Tennyson's verse."
+
+She knew what he meant. "What line do you object to?" she asked, and the
+line seemed to be already dinning in her ears.
+
+He quoted the line, pronouncing the words with a strange emphasis--
+
+  "'Love that can shape or can shatter a life, till the life shall have
+                                                                 fled.'"
+
+"Yes?" said May.
+
+"It is a pretty sentiment," he said. "I suppose we ought to accept it as
+such."
+
+"Oh!" said May, and her voice lingered doubtfully over the word.
+
+"Have we any right to expect so much, or fear so much," said the Warden,
+"from the circumstances of life?"
+
+May turned her head away and said nothing.
+
+"Why demand that life shall be made so easy?" Here he paused again.
+"Some of us," he went on, "want to be converted, in the Evangelical
+sense; in other words, some of us want to be given a sudden inspiring
+illumination, an irresistible motive for living the good life, a motive
+that will make virtue easy."
+
+May looked down into the fire and waited for him to go on.
+
+"Some of us demand a love that will make marriage easy, smooth for our
+temper, flattering to our vanity. Some demand"--and here there was a
+touch of passion in his voice that made May's heart heavy and
+sick--"they demand that it should be made easy to be faithful."
+
+And she gave no answer.
+
+"Isn't it our business to accept the circumstances of life, love among
+them, and refuse either to be shaped by them or shattered by them? But
+you will accuse me of being hyper-critical at a tea-party, of arguing
+on ethics when I should have been thinking of--of nothing particular."
+
+This was his Apologia. After this there would be silence. He would be
+Gwendolen's husband. May tried to gather up all her self-possession.
+
+"You don't agree with me?" he asked to break her obstinate silence.
+
+She could hear Robinson coming in. He put up the lights, and out of the
+obscurity flashed the face of the portrait almost to the point of
+speech.
+
+"Do you mean that one ought and can live in marriage without help and
+without sympathy?" she asked, and her voice trembled a little.
+
+He answered, "I mean that. May I quote you lines that you probably know,
+lines of a more strenuous character than that line from 'Becket.'" And
+he quoted--
+
+    "'For even the purest delight may pall,
+    And power must fail, and the pride must fall,
+    And the love of the dearest friends grow small,
+    But the glory of the Lord is all in all.'"
+
+They could hear the swish of the heavy curtains as Robinson pulled them
+over the windows.
+
+"And yet----" she said. Here a queer spasm came in her throat. She was
+moving towards the open door, for she felt that she could not bear to
+hear any more. He followed her.
+
+"And yet----?" he persisted.
+
+"I only mean," she said, and she compelled her voice to be steady, "what
+is the glory of the Lord? Is it anything but love--love of other
+people?"
+
+She went through the open door slowly and turned to the shallow stairs
+that led to her bedroom. She could not hear whether he went to his
+library or not. She was glad that she did not meet anybody in the
+corridor. The doors were shut.
+
+She locked her door and went up to the dressing-table. The little oval
+picture case was lying there. She laid her hand upon it, but did not
+move it. She stood, pressing her fingers upon it. Then she moved away.
+Even the memory of the past was fading from her life; her future would
+contain nothing--to remember.
+
+She moved about the room. Wasn't duty enough to fill her life? Wasn't it
+enough for her to know that she was helping in her small way to build up
+the future of the race? Why could she not be content with that? Perhaps,
+when white hairs came and wrinkles, and her prime was past, she might be
+content! But until then....
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+THE MORAL CLAIMS OF AN UMBRELLA
+
+
+The ghost was, so to speak, dead, as far as any mention of him was made
+at the Lodgings. But in the servants' quarters he was very much alive.
+
+The housemaid, who had promised not to tell "any one" that Miss Scott
+had seen a ghost, kept her word with literal strictness, by telling
+every one.
+
+Robinson was of opinion that the general question of ghosts was still an
+open one. Also that he had never heard in his time, or his father's, of
+the Barber's ghost actually appearing in the Warden's library. When the
+maids expressed alarm, he reproved them with a grumbling scorn. If
+ghosts did ever appear, he felt that the Lodgings had a first-class
+claim to one; ghosts were "classy," he argued. Had any one ever heard
+tell of a ghost haunting a red brick villa or a dissenting chapel?
+
+Louise had gathered up the story without difficulty, but she had secret
+doubts whether Miss Scott might not have invented the whole thing. She
+did not put much faith in Miss Scott. Now, if Lady Dashwood had seen the
+ghost, that would have been another matter!
+
+What really excited Louise was the story that the Barber came to warn
+Wardens of an approaching disaster. Now Louise was in any case prepared
+to believe that "disasters" might easily be born and bred in places
+like the Lodgings and in a city like Oxford; but in addition to all this
+there had been and was something going on in the Lodgings lately that
+was distressing Lady Dashwood, something in the behaviour of the Warden!
+A disaster! Hein?
+
+When she returned from St. Aldates, Gwendolen Scott had had only time to
+sit down in a chair and survey her boots for a few moments when Louise
+came into her bedroom and suggested that Mademoiselle would like to have
+her hair well brushed. Mademoiselle's hair had suffered from the passing
+events of the day.
+
+"Doesn't Lady Dashwood want you?" asked Gwendolen.
+
+No, Lady Dashwood was already dressed and was reposing herself on the
+couch, being fatigued. She was lying with her face towards the window,
+which was indeed wide open--wide open, and it was after sunset and at
+the end of October--par example!
+
+Gwendolen still stared at her boots and said she wanted to think; but
+Louise had an object in view and was firm, and in a few minutes she had
+deposited the young lady in front of the toilet-table and was brushing
+her black curly hair with much vigour.
+
+"Mademoiselle saw the ghost last night," began Louise.
+
+"Who said that?" exclaimed Gwendolen.
+
+"On dit," said Louise.
+
+"Then they shouldn't on dit," said Gwendolen. "I never said I saw the
+ghost, I may have said I thought I saw one, which is quite different.
+The Warden says there are no ghosts, and the whole thing is rubbish."
+
+"There comes no ghost here," said Louise, firmly, "except there is a
+disaster preparing for the Warden."
+
+"The Warden's quite all right," said Gwen, with some scorn.
+
+"Quite all right," repeated Louise. "But it may be some disaster
+domestic. Who can tell? There is not only death--there is--par exemple,
+marriage!" and Louise glanced over Gwendolen's head and looked at the
+girl's face reflected in the mirror.
+
+"Well, that is cool," thought Gwendolen; "I suppose that's French!"
+
+"The whole thing is rubbish," she said.
+
+"One cannot tell, it is not for us to know, perhaps, but it may be that
+the disaster is, that Mrs. Dashwood, so charming--so douce--will not
+permit herself to marry again--though she is still young. Such things
+happen. But how the Barber should have obtained the information--the
+good God only knows."
+
+Gwendolen blew the breath from her mouth with protruding lips.
+
+"What has that to do with the Warden? I do wish you wouldn't talk so
+much, Louise."
+
+"It may be a disaster that there can be no marriage between Mrs.
+Dashwood and Monsieur the Warden," continued Louise.
+
+"The Warden doesn't want to marry Mrs. Dashwood," replied Gwendolen,
+with some energy.
+
+"Mademoiselle knows!" said Louise, softly.
+
+"Yes, I know," said Gwendolen. "No one has thought of such a
+thing--except you."
+
+"But perhaps he is about to marry--some one whom Lady Dashwood esteems
+not; that would be indeed a disaster," said Louise, regretfully. "Ah,
+indeed a disaster," and she ran the brush lengthily down Gwendolen's
+hair.
+
+"I do wish you wouldn't talk," said Gwen. "It isn't your business,
+Louise."
+
+"Ah," murmured Louise, brushing away, "I will not speak of disasters;
+but I pray--I pray continually, and particularly I pray to St. Joseph
+to protect M. the Warden from any disaster whatever." Then she added: "I
+believe so much in St. Joseph."
+
+"St. Joseph!" said Gwendolen, sharply. "Why on earth?"
+
+"I believe much in him," said Louise.
+
+"I don't like him," said Gwendolen. "He always spoils those pictures of
+the Holy Family, he and his beard; he is like Abraham."
+
+"He spoils! That is not so; he is no doubt much, much older than the
+Blessed Virgin, but that was necessary, and he is un peu homme du
+monde--to protect the Lady Mother and Child. I pray to St. Joseph,
+because the good God, who was the Blessed Child, was always so gentle,
+so obedient, so tender. He will still listen to his kind protector, St.
+Joseph."
+
+"Oh, Louise, you are funny," said Gwendolen, laughing.
+
+"Funny!" exclaimed Louise. "Holy Jesus!"
+
+"Well, it all happened such ages ago, and you talk as if it were going
+on now."
+
+"It is now--always now--to God," exclaimed Louise, fervently; "there is
+no past--all is now."
+
+This was far too metaphysical for Gwendolen. "You are funny," she
+repeated.
+
+"Funny--again funny. Ah, but I forget, Mademoiselle is Protestant."
+
+"No, I'm not," said Gwen; "I belong to the English branch of the
+Catholic Church."
+
+"We have no branch, we are a trunk," said Louise, sadly.
+
+"Well, I'm exactly what the Warden is and what Lady Dashwood is," said
+Gwendolen.
+
+"Ah, my Lady Dashwood," said Louise, breaking into a tone of tragic
+melancholy. "I pray always for her. Ah! but she is good, and the good
+God knows it. But she is not well." And Louise changed her tone to one
+of mild speculation. "Madame perhaps is souffrante because of so much
+fresh air and the absence of shops."
+
+"It is foolish to suppose that the Warden does just what Lady Dashwood
+tells him. That doesn't happen in this part of the world," said
+Gwendolen, her mind still rankling on Louise's remark about Lady
+Dashwood not esteeming--as if, indeed, Lady Dashwood was the important
+person, as if, indeed, it was to please Lady Dashwood that the Warden
+was to marry!
+
+"Ah, no," said Louise. "The monsieurs here come and go just like guests
+in their homes. They do as they choose. The husband in England says
+never--as he does in France: 'I come back, my dearest, at the first
+moment possible, to assist you entertain our dear grandmamma and our
+dear aunt.' No, he says that not; and the English wife she never says:
+'Where have you been? It is an hour that our little Suzette demands that
+the father should show her again her new picture book!' Ah, no. I find
+that the English messieurs have much liberty."
+
+"It must be deadly for men in France," said Gwendolen.
+
+"It is always funny or deadly with Mademoiselle," replied Louise.
+
+But she felt that she had obtained enough information of an indirect
+nature to strengthen her in her suspicions that Lady Dashwood had
+arranged a marriage between the Warden and Mrs. Dashwood, but that the
+Warden had not played his part, and, notwithstanding his dignified
+appearance, was amusing himself with both his guests in a manner
+altogether reprehensible.
+
+Ah! but it was a pity!
+
+When Louise left the room Gwendolen went to the wardrobe, and took out
+the coat that Louise had put away. She felt in the wrong pocket first,
+which was empty, and then in the right one and found the ten-shilling
+note. Now that she had it in her hand it seemed to her amazing that Mrs.
+Potten, with her big income, should have fussed over such a small
+matter. It was shabby of her.
+
+Gwendolen took her purse out of a drawer which she always locked up.
+Even if her purse only contained sixpence, she locked it up because she
+took for granted that it would be "stolen."
+
+As she put away her purse and locked the drawer a sudden and
+disagreeable thought came into her mind. She would not like the Warden
+to know that she was going to buy an umbrella with money that Mrs.
+Potten had "thrown away." She would feel "queer" if she met him in the
+hall, when she came in from buying the umbrella. Why? Well, she would!
+Anyhow, she need not make up her mind yet what she would do--about the
+umbrella.
+
+Meanwhile the Warden surely would speak to her this evening, or would
+write or something? Was she never, never going to be engaged?
+
+She dressed and came down into the drawing-room. Dinner had already been
+announced, and Lady Dashwood was standing and Mrs. Dashwood was
+standing. Where was the Warden?
+
+"I ought not to have to tell you to be punctual, Gwen," said Lady
+Dashwood. "I expect you to be in the drawing-room before dinner is
+announced, not after."
+
+"So sorry," murmured Gwen; then added lightly, "but I am more punctual
+than Dr. Middleton!"
+
+"The Warden is dining in Hall," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+So the Warden had made himself invisible again! When was he going to
+speak to her? When was she going to be really engaged?
+
+Gwendolen held open the door for the two ladies and, as she did so,
+glanced round the room. Now that she knew that the Warden was out
+somehow the drawing-room looked rather dreary.
+
+Her eyes rested on the portrait over the fireplace. There was that
+odious man looking so knowing! She was not sure whether she shouldn't
+have that portrait removed when she was Mrs. Middleton. It would serve
+him right. She turned out the lights with some satisfaction, it left him
+in the dark!
+
+As she walked downstairs behind the two ladies, she thought that they
+too looked rather dreary. The hall looked dreary. Even the dining-room
+that she always admired looked dreary, and especially dreary looked old
+Robinson, and very shabby he looked, as he stood at the carving table.
+And young Robinson's nose looked more turned-up, and more stumpy than
+she had noticed before. It was so dull without the Warden at the head of
+the table.
+
+There was very little conversation at dinner. When the Warden was away,
+nobody seemed to want to talk. Lady Dashwood said she had a headache.
+
+But Gwendolen gathered some information of importance. Mrs. Potten had
+turned up again, and had been told that the right money had gone to Mrs.
+Harding.
+
+Gwendolen stared a good deal at her plate, and felt considerable relief
+when Lady Dashwood added: "She knows now that she did not lose her note
+in Christ Church. She is always dropping things--poor Marian! But she
+very likely hadn't the note at all, and only thought she had the note,"
+and so the matter _ended_.
+
+Just as dinner was over Gwen gathered more information. The Warden was
+going away early to-morrow! That was dreary, only--she would go and buy
+the umbrella while he was away, and get used to having it before he saw
+it.
+
+That the future Mrs. Middleton should not even have an umbrella to call
+her own was monstrous! She must keep up the dignity of her future
+position!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+HONOUR
+
+
+The drawing-room was empty except for the figure of Gwendolen Scott. Her
+slim length was in a great easy-chair, on the arms of which she was
+resting her hands, while she turned her head from side to side like a
+bird that anticipates the approach of enemies.
+
+Mrs. Dashwood and Lady Dashwood had gone upstairs, and, to her
+astonishment, when she prepared to follow them, Lady Dashwood had
+quietly made her wait behind for the Warden!
+
+The command, for it seemed almost like a command, came with startling
+abruptness. So Lady Dashwood knew all about it! She must have talked it
+over with the Warden, and now she was arranging it as if the Warden
+couldn't act without her! But the annoyance that Gwen felt at this proof
+of Lady Dashwood's power was swallowed up in the sense of a great
+victory, the prize was won! She was going to be really engaged at last!
+All the waiting and the bother was over!
+
+She was ready for him, at least as ready as she could be. She was glad
+she had got on her white frock; on the whole, she preferred it to the
+others. Even Louise, who never said anything nice, said that it suited
+her.
+
+When would he come? And when he did come, what would he do, what would
+he say?
+
+Would he come in quietly and slowly as he had done last night, looking,
+oh, so strong, so capable of driving ghosts away, fears away? She would
+never be afraid of anything in his presence, except perhaps of himself!
+Here he was!
+
+He came in, shut the door behind him, and advanced towards her. She
+couldn't help watching him.
+
+"You're quite alone," he said, and he came and stood by the hearth under
+the portrait and leaned his hand on the mantelshelf.
+
+"Yes," said Gwen, blushing violently. "Lady Dashwood and Mrs. Dashwood
+have gone. Lady Dashwood said I was to stay up!"
+
+"Thank you," said the Warden.
+
+Gwen looked up at him wistfully.
+
+"You wrote me a letter," he began, "and from it I gather that you have
+been thinking over what I said the other evening."
+
+"Yes," said Gwen; "I've been so--bothered. Oh, that's the wrong word--I
+mean----"
+
+"You have thought it over quietly and seriously?" said the Warden.
+
+Gwen's eyes flickered. "Yes," she said; and then, as he seemed to expect
+her to say more, she added:
+
+"I don't know whether you meant----" and here she stopped dead.
+
+"Between us there must be absolute sincerity," he said.
+
+Gwen felt a qualm. Did absolute sincerity mean that she would have to
+tell about the--the umbrella that she was going to get?
+
+"Yes," she said, "I like sincerity; it's right, isn't it?"
+
+He made no answer. She looked again at him wistfully.
+
+"Suppose you tell me," he said gently, "what you yourself think of your
+mother's letter in which she speaks to you with affection and pride,
+and even regrets that she will lose you. Her letter conveys the idea
+that you _are_ loved and wanted." He put emphasis on the "are."
+
+"It was a nice letter," said Gwen, thinking hard as she spoke. "But you
+see we haven't got any home now," she went on. "Mother stays about with
+people. It is hard lines, but she is so sporting."
+
+"Yes," said the Warden, "and," he said, as if to assist her to complete
+the picture, "yet she wants you!" As he spoke his eyes narrowed and his
+breath was arrested for a moment.
+
+"Oh no," said Gwen, eagerly. "She doesn't want to prevent--me--me
+marrying. You see she can't have me much, it's--it's difficult in other
+people's houses--at least it sometimes is--just now especially."
+
+"Thank you," said the Warden, "I understand." He sighed and moved
+slightly from his former position. "You mean that she wants you very
+much, but that she can't afford to give you a home."
+
+"Yes," said Gwen, with relief. The way was being made very clear to her.
+She was telling "the truth" and he was helping her so kindly. "You see
+mother couldn't stand a small house and servant bothers. It's been such
+hard luck on her, that father left nothing like what she thought he had
+got. Mother has been so plucky, she really has."
+
+"I see," said the Warden. "Then your mother's letter has your approval?"
+
+Her approval! Yes, of course; it was simply topping of her mother to
+have written in the way she did.
+
+"It was good of mother," she said. If it hadn't been for her mother she
+would not have known what to do.
+
+The Warden moved his hand away from the mantelshelf and now stood with
+his back against it, away from the blaze of the fire.
+
+"You have never mentioned, in my presence," he said, "what you think
+about the work that most girls of your age are doing for the war."
+
+"Oh yes," said Gwen, eagerly; "mother is so keen about that. She does do
+such a lot herself, and she took me away from school a fortnight before
+time was up to go to a hospital for three months' training."
+
+"And you are having a holiday and want to go on," suggested the Warden.
+
+"No; mother thought I had better have a change. You can't think how
+horrid the matron was to me--she had favourites, worse luck; and now
+mother is looking--has been"--Gwen corrected herself sharply--"for
+something for me to do that would be more suitable, but the difficulty
+is to find anything really nice."
+
+The Warden meditated. "Yes," he said.
+
+Gwen continued to look at him, her face full of questioning.
+
+"You have been thinking whether you should trust yourself to me," he
+said very gravely, "and whether you could face the responsibility and
+the cares of a house, a position, like that of a Warden's wife?"
+
+"Oh yes," said Gwen.
+
+"You think that you understand them?" he asked.
+
+"Oh yes," said Gwen. "At least, I would try; I would do my best."
+
+"There is nothing very amusing in my manner of life; in fact, I should
+describe it as--solemn. The business," he continued, "of a Warden is to
+ward his college. His wife's business is to assist him."
+
+"I should simply love that," said Gwen. "I should really! I'm not
+clever, I know, but I would try my best, and--I'm so--afraid of you,"
+she said with a gulp of emotion, "and admire you so awfully!"
+
+The Warden's face hardened a little, but Gwen did not observe it; all
+she saw and knew was that the dismal part of the interview was over,
+for he accepted this outburst as a definite reply on her part to his
+offer. She was so glad she had said just what she had said. It seemed to
+be all right.
+
+"That is your decision?" he said, only he did not move towards her. He
+stood there, standing with his back to the projection of the fireplace,
+his head on a level with the frame of the portrait. The two faces, of
+the present Warden of the year 1916 and the Warden of the eighteenth
+century, made a striking contrast. Both men had no lack of physical
+beauty, but the one had discovered the "rights" of man, and therefore of
+a Warden, and the other had discovered the "duties" of men, including
+Wardens.
+
+He stood there and did not approach her. He was hesitating.
+
+He could, if he wished it, exercise his power over her and make her
+answer "No." He could make her shrink away from him, or even deny that
+she had wished for an interview. And he could do this safely, for
+Gwendolen herself was ignorant of the fact that he had on the previous
+night exercised any influence over her except that of argument. She
+would have no suspicion that he was tampering with her will for his own
+purposes. He could extricate himself now and at this moment. Now, while
+she was still waiting for him to tell her whether he would marry her.
+
+The temptation was a heavy one. It was heavy, although he knew from the
+first that it was one which he could and would resist. There was no real
+question about it.
+
+He stood there by the hearth, a free man still. In a moment he would be
+bound hand and foot.
+
+Still, come what may, he must satisfy his honour. He must satisfy his
+honour at any price.
+
+Gwendolen saw that he did not move and she became suddenly alarmed.
+Didn't he mean to keep his promise after all? Had he taken a dislike to
+her?
+
+"Have I offended you?" she asked humbly. "You're not pleased with me.
+Oh, Dr. Middleton, you do make me so afraid!" She got up from her chair,
+looking very pale. "You've been so awfully kind and good to me, but you
+make me frightened!" She held out her hands to him and turned her face
+away, as if to hide it from him. "Oh, do be kind!" she pleaded.
+
+He was looking at her with profound attention, but the tenseness of his
+eyes had relaxed. Here was this girl. Foolish she might be naturally,
+badly brought up she certainly was, but she was utterly alone in the
+world. He must train her. He must oblige her to walk in the path he had
+laid out for her. She, too, must become a servant of the College. He
+willed it!
+
+"I hope, Gwendolen," he said gently, "that I shall never be anything but
+kind to you. But do you realise that if you are my wife, you will have
+to live, not for pleasure or ease; and you will have not merely to
+control yourself, but learn to control other people? This may sound
+hard. Does it sound hard?"
+
+Oh, she would try her very best. She would do whatever he told her to
+do. Just whatever he told her!
+
+Whatever he told her to do! What an unending task he had undertaken of
+telling her what to do! He must never relax his will or his attention
+from her. It would be no marriage for him; it would be a heavy
+responsibility. But at least the College should not suffer! Was he sure
+of that? He must see that it did not suffer. If he failed, he must
+resign. His promise to her was not to love her. He had never spoken of
+love. He had offered her a home, and he must give her a home.
+
+He braced himself up with a supreme effort and went towards her, taking
+her into his arms and kissing her brow and cheeks, and then, releasing
+himself from her clinging arms, he said--
+
+"Go now, Gwendolen. Go to bed. I have work to do."
+
+"Are you--is it----" she stammered.
+
+"We are engaged, if that is what you mean," he said.
+
+"Oh, Dr. Middleton!" she exclaimed. "And may I write to my mother?"
+
+The Warden did not answer for a moment.
+
+That was another burden, Gwendolen's mother! The Warden's face became
+hard. But he thought he knew how he should deal with Gwendolen's mother;
+he should begin from the very first.
+
+"Yes," he said; "but as to her coming here--she mentions it in her
+letter--Lady Dashwood will decide about that. I don't know what her
+plans are."
+
+Gwendolen looked disappointed. "And I may talk to Lady Dashwood, to Mrs.
+Dashwood, and anybody about our engagement?" she asked.
+
+"Certainly," he said, but he spoke stiffly.
+
+"And--and--" said the girl, following him to the door and stretching out
+her hand towards his arm as she walked but not touching it,--"shall I
+see you to-morrow morning before you go to town?"
+
+The Warden felt as if he had been dealt a light but acutely painful
+blow.
+
+Shall I see you to-morrow morning? Already she was claiming her right
+over him, her right to see him, to know of his movements. He had for
+many years been the servant of the College. He had given the College his
+entire allegiance, but he had also been its master. He had been the
+strong man among weaker men, and, as all men of his type are, he had
+been alone, uninterfered with, rather remote in matters concerning his
+private personal life. And now this mere child demanded explanations of
+him. It was a bitter moment for his pride and independence. However
+strictly he might bind his wife to his will, his own freedom had gone;
+he was no longer the man he had been. If this simple question, "Shall I
+see you to-morrow morning?" tortured his self-respect, how would he be
+able to bear what was coming upon him day by day? He had to bear it.
+That was the only answer to the question!
+
+"I am starting early," he said. "But I shall be back on Saturday, some
+time in the afternoon probably."
+
+Gwendolen's brain was in a whirl. Her desire had been consummated. The
+Warden was hers, but, somehow, he was not quite what he had been on that
+Monday evening. He was cold, at least rather cold. Still he was hers;
+that was fixed.
+
+She waited for a moment to see if he meant to kiss her again. He did not
+mean to, he held out his hand and smiled a little.
+
+She kissed his hand. "I shall long for you to come back," she said, and
+then ran out, leaving him alone to return to his desk with a heart sick
+and empty.
+
+"There can be no cohesion, no progress in the world, no hope for the
+future of man, if men break their word; if there is no such thing as
+inviolable honour," the Warden said to himself, just as he had said
+before. "After all, as long as honour is left, one has a right to live,
+to struggle on, to endure."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+SHOPPING
+
+
+Mrs. Potten found that it "paid" to do her own shopping, and she did it
+once every week, on Friday. For this purpose she was compelled to use
+her car. This grieved her. Her extreme desire to save petrol would have
+been more patriotic if she had not availed herself, on every possible
+occasion, of using other people's petrol, or, so to speak, other
+people's oats.
+
+She had gone to the Sale of work in Boreham's gig, but there was not
+much room in it for miscellaneous parcels, so she was obliged to come
+into Oxford on the following morning as usual and do her regular
+shopping.
+
+Mrs. Potten's acquaintance with the University consisted in knowing a
+member of it here and there, and in accepting invitations to any public
+function which did not involve the expenditure of her own money. No
+Greenleafe Potten had ever given any endowment to Oxford, nor, for the
+matter of that, had any Squire of Chartcote ever spent a penny for the
+advancement of learning. Indeed, the old County had been mostly occupied
+in preserving itself from gradual extinction, and the new County, the
+Nouveaux Riches, had been mainly occupied in the dissipation of energy.
+
+But Mrs. Potten had given the Potten revenues a new lease of life. Not
+only did she make a point of not reducing her capital, but she was
+increasing it year by year. She did this by systematic and often minute
+economies (which is the true secret of economy). The surface of her
+nature was emotional, enclosing a core of flint, so that when she (being
+short-sighted) dropped things about in moments of excitement, agreeable
+or disagreeable, she made such losses good by drawing in the household
+belt. If she inadvertently dropped a half-crown piece down a grating
+while exchanging controversial remarks with a local tradesman, or mixed
+up a note with her pocket handkerchief and mislaid both when forced to
+find a subscription to some pious object, or if she left a purse
+containing one shilling and fivepence behind her on a chair in the
+agitation of meeting a man whom she admired (a man like the Warden, for
+instance); when such misfortunes happened she made them up--somehow!
+
+Knowing her own weakness, she armed herself against it, by never
+carrying money about with her, except on rare occasions. When she
+travelled, her maid carried the money (with her head as the price of
+it).
+
+This Friday morning, therefore, Mrs. Potten had a business duty before
+her, she had to squeeze ten shillings out of the weekly bills--a matter
+difficult in times of peace and more difficult in war time. It was a
+difficulty she meant to overcome.
+
+Now on this Friday morning, after the Sale, Mrs. Potten motored into
+Oxford rather earlier than usual. She intended going to the Lodgings at
+King's before doing her shopping. Her reason for going to the Lodgings
+was an interesting one. She had just had a letter from Lady Belinda
+Scott, informing her that, even if she had been able to invite Gwendolen
+for Monday, Gwendolen could not accept the invitation, as the dear child
+was going to stay on at the Lodgings indefinitely. She was engaged to be
+married to the Warden! At this point in the letter Mrs. Potten put the
+paper upon the breakfast table and felt that the world was grey. Mrs.
+Potten liked men she admired to be bachelors or else widowers, either
+would do. She liked to feel that if only she had been ten years younger,
+and had not been so exclusively devoted to the memory of her husband,
+things might have---- She never allowed herself to state definitely,
+even to herself, what they might have----, but as long as they might
+have----, there was over the world in which Mrs. Potten moved and
+thought a subtle veil of emotional possibilities.
+
+So he was engaged! And what exasperated Mrs. Potten, as she read on, was
+Lady Belinda's playful hints that Lady Dashwood (dear old thing!) had
+manoeuvred Gwendolen's visit in the first instance, and then kept her
+firmly a prisoner till the knot was tied. Hadn't it been clever? Then as
+to the Warden, he was madly, romantically in love, and what could a
+mother do but resign herself to the inevitable? It wasn't what she had
+hoped for Gwen! It was very, very different--very! She must not trust
+herself to speak on that subject because she had given her consent and
+the thing was done, and she meant to make the best of it loyally.
+
+With this news surging in her head Mrs. Potten raced along the moist
+roadways towards the ancient and sacred city.
+
+Lena ought to have told her about this engagement when they were sitting
+together in the rooms at Christ Church. It wasn't the right thing for an
+old friend to have preserved a mysterious silence, unless (Mrs. Potten
+was a woman with her wits about her) the engagement had been not Lady
+Dashwood's plan, but exclusively Belinda's plan and the daughter's plan,
+and the Warden had been "caught"!
+
+"A liar," said Mrs. Potten, as she stared gloomily out of the open
+window, "is always a liar!"
+
+Mrs. Potten rang the door-bell at the Lodging and waited for the answer
+with much warmth of interest. Suppose Lena was not at home? What should
+she do? She must thrash out this matter. Lena would be certain to be at
+home, it was so early!
+
+She _was_ at home!
+
+Mrs. Potten walked upstairs, her mind agitated with mingled emotions,
+and also the hope of meeting the Warden, incidentally. But she did not
+meet the Warden. He was not either coming up or going down, and Mrs.
+Potten found herself alone in the drawing-room.
+
+She could not sit down, she walked up to the fireplace and stared
+through her glasses for a moment at the portrait. It was quite true that
+the man was a very good-looking Warden! Yes, but scarcely the sort of
+person she would have thought suitable to look after young men; and then
+she walked away to the window. She was framing in her mind the way in
+which she should open the subject of her call at this early hour. She
+almost started when she heard the door click, and turned round to see
+Lady Dashwood coming towards her.
+
+"Dear one, how tired you look!" said Mrs. Potten; "and I really ought
+not to have come at this unholy hour----"
+
+"It's not so early," said Lady Dashwood. "You know work begins in this
+house at eight o'clock in the morning."
+
+"So much the better," said Mrs. Potten. "I don't like the modern late
+hours. In old days our Prime Ministers were up at six in the morning
+attending to their correspondence. When are they up now, I should like
+to know? Well," she added, "I have come to offer you my congratulations.
+I got a letter this morning from Lady Belinda, telling me all about it.
+No, I won't sit down, I merely ran in for a moment."
+
+Lady Dashwood did not smile. She simply repeated: "From Belinda, telling
+you all about it!"
+
+Mrs. Potten noted the sarcasm underlying the remark.
+
+"Humph!" said Mrs. Potten. "And you, my dear, said nothing yesterday,
+though we sat together for half an hour."
+
+"They were not engaged till yesterday evening," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Belinda writing yesterday speaks of this engagement having already
+taken place," said Mrs. Potten; "but, of course, she is wrong."
+
+"Yes," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Ah!" cried Mrs. Potten, nodding her head up and down once or twice.
+
+"Jim has gone to town this morning," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"To buy a ring?" said Mrs. Potten. "Well, I really ought to have brought
+you Lady Belinda's letter to read. She thinks you have got your heart's
+desire. That's _her_ way of looking at it."
+
+Lady Dashwood made no answer.
+
+"I never think lies are amusing," said Mrs. Potten, "when you know they
+are lies. But you see, you never said a word. Well, well, so Dr.
+Middleton is engaged!"
+
+"Yes, engaged," repeated Lady Dashwood.
+
+"I'm afraid you're tired," said Mrs. Potten. "You did too much
+yesterday."
+
+"I'm tired," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"I always expected," said Mrs. Potten, "that the Warden would have found
+some nice, steady, capable country rector's daughter. But I suppose,
+being a man as well as a Warden, he fell in love with a pretty face,
+eh?" and Mrs. Potten moved as if to go. "Well, she is a lucky girl."
+
+"Very lucky," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+Then Mrs. Potten stared closely with her short-sighted eyes into her
+friend's face and saw such resigned miseries there that Mrs. Potten felt
+a stirring movement of those superficial emotions of which we have
+already spoken.
+
+"I could have wept for her, my dear," said Mrs. Potten, addressing an
+imaginary companion as she went through the court of the Warden's
+Lodgings to the car, which she had left standing in the street. "I could
+have wept for her and for the Warden--poor silly man--and he looks so
+wise," she added incredulously. "And," she went on, "she wouldn't say a
+word against the girl or against Belinda. Too proud, I suppose."
+
+Just as she was getting into the car Harding was passing. He stopped,
+and in his best manner informed her that his wife had told him that the
+proceeds of the Sale amounted to ninety-three pounds ten shillings and
+threepence.
+
+"Very good," said Mrs. Potten; "excellent!"
+
+"And we are much indebted to our kind friends who patronised the Sale."
+
+Mrs. Potten thought of her Buckinghamshire collar and the shilling
+pincushion that she need not have bought.
+
+"I shall tell my wife," said Harding, with much unction, "that you think
+it very satisfactory."
+
+It did indeed seem to Mrs. Potten (whose income was in thousands) that
+ninety-three pounds, ten shillings and threepence was a very handsome
+sum for the purpose of assisting fifty or sixty young mothers of the
+present generation.
+
+But she had little time to think of this for just by her, walking past
+her from the Lodgings, came Miss Gwendolen Scott. Now, what was Mrs.
+Potten to do? Why, congratulate her, of course! The thing had to be
+done! She called to Gwendolen, who came to the side of the car all
+blushes.
+
+"She's pleased--that's plain," said Mrs. Potten to herself.
+
+But Mrs. Potten was mistaken. Gwendolen's vivid colour came not from the
+cause which Mrs. Potten imagined. Gwendolen's colour came simply from
+alarm at the sight of Mrs. Potten and Mr. Harding speaking to one
+another, and this alarm was not lessened when Mrs. Potten exclaimed--
+
+"Mr. Harding has been telling me that you made ninety-three pounds, ten
+shillings and threepence from the Sale?"
+
+"Oh, did we?" murmured Gwendolen, and her colour came and went away.
+
+"We did, thanks to Mrs. Potten's purchases," said Harding, with
+obsequious playfulness, and he took his leave.
+
+Then Mrs. Potten leaned over the car towards Gwendolen and whispered--
+
+"I was waiting till he had gone, as I don't know if you intend all
+Oxford to know----"
+
+Gwendolen's lips were pouted into a terrified expression.
+
+"Your engagement, I mean," explained Mrs. Potten.
+
+Gwendolen breathed again, and now she laughed. Oh, why had she been so
+frightened? That silly little affair of yesterday was over, it was dead
+and buried! It was absolutely safe, and here was the first real proper
+congratulations and acknowledgment of her importance.
+
+"You've got a charming man, very charming," said Mrs. Potten.
+
+Gwendolen admitted that she had, and then Mrs. Potten waved her hand and
+was gone.
+
+That morning, when Gwendolen had come down to breakfast, she wondered
+how she was going to be received, and whether she would have to wait
+again for recognition as the future Mrs. Middleton. Breakfast had been
+put half an hour later.
+
+She had found Lady Dashwood and Mrs. Dashwood already at breakfast. The
+Warden had had breakfast alone a little before eight. Lady Dashwood
+called to her and, when she came near, kissed her, and said very
+quietly--
+
+"The Warden has told me."
+
+And then Mrs. Dashwood smiled and stretched out her hand and said: "I
+have been allowed to hear the news."
+
+And Gwendolen had looked at them both and said: "Thanks ever so much. I
+can scarcely believe it, only I know it's true!"
+
+However, the glamour of the situation was gone because the Warden's seat
+was empty. He could be heard in the hall; the taxi could be heard and
+the door slamming, and he never came in to say "Good-bye"! Still it was
+all exhilarating and wonderfully full of hope and promise, and
+mysterious to a degree!
+
+The conversation at breakfast was not about herself, but that did not
+matter, she was occupied with happy thoughts. Now all this, everything
+she looked at and everything she happened to touch, was hers. Everything
+was hers from the silver urn down to the very salt spoons. The cup that
+Lady Dashwood was just raising to her lips was hers, Gwendolen's.
+
+And now as she walked along Broad Street, after leaving Mrs. Potten, how
+gay the world seemed--how brilliant! Even the leaden grey sky was
+joyful! To Gwendolen there was no war, no sorrow, no pain! There was no
+world beyond, no complexity of moral forces, no great piteous struggle
+for an ideal, no "Christ that is to be!" She was engaged and was going
+shopping!
+
+It was, however, a pity that she had only ten shillings. That would not
+get a really good umbrella. Oh, look at those perfectly ducky gloves in
+the window they were only eight and elevenpence!
+
+Gwendolen stared at the window. Stopping to look at shop windows had
+been strictly forbidden by her mother, but her dear mother was not
+there! So Gwendolen peered in intently. What about getting those gloves
+instead of the umbrella?
+
+She marched into the shop, rather bewildered with her own thoughts. The
+gloves were shown her by the same woman who had served Lady Dashwood a
+day or two ago, and who recognised her and smiled respectfully. The
+gloves were sweet; the gauntlets were exactly what she preferred to any
+others. And the colour was right. Gwendolen was fingering her purse when
+the shopwoman said--
+
+"Do you want to pay for them, or shall I enter them, miss?"
+
+Gwendolen's brain worked. She was now definitely engaged, and in a few
+weeks no doubt would be Mrs. Middleton; after that a bill of eight and
+elevenpence would be a trifle.
+
+"Enter them, please," said Gwendolen, and she surprised herself by
+hearing her own voice asking for the umbrella department.
+
+After this, problems that had in the past appeared insoluble, arranged
+themselves without any straining effort on her part; they just
+straightened themselves out and went "right there."
+
+She looked at a plain umbrella for nine and sixpence, and then examined
+one at fifteen and eleven. Thereupon she was shown another at
+twenty-five shillings, which was more respectable looking and had a nice
+top. It was clearly her duty to choose this, anything poorer would lower
+the dignity of the future Mrs. Middleton. Gwendolen was learning the
+"duties" she owed to the station in life to which God had called her.
+She found no sort of difficulty in this kind of learning, and it was far
+more really useful than book learning which is proverbially deleterious
+to the character. She had the umbrella, too, put down to Miss Scott,
+the Lodgings, King's College. When she got out of the shop the
+ten-shilling note was still in her purse.
+
+"I shall get some chocolates," she said. "A few!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+THE SOUL OF MRS. POTTEN
+
+
+Mrs. Potten was emerging from a shop in Broad Street when she caught
+sight of Mr. Bingham, in cap and gown, passing her and called to him. He
+stopped and walked a few steps with her, while she informed him that the
+proceeds of the Sale had come to ninety-three pounds, ten shillings and
+threepence; but this was only in order to find out whether he had heard
+of that poor dear Warden's engagement. It was all so very foolish!
+
+"Only that!" said Bingham, who was evidently in ignorance of the event;
+"and after I bought a table-cloth, which I find goes badly with my
+curtains, and bedroom slippers, that are too small now I've tried them
+on. Well, Mrs. Potten, you did your best, anyhow, flinging notes about
+all over Christ Church. Was the second note found?"
+
+"The second note?" exclaimed Mrs. Potten. "What d'ye mean?"
+
+"You dropped one note at Christ Church, and you would have lost another
+if Harding hadn't discovered that you had given him an extra note and
+restored it to Miss Scott. I suppose Miss Scott pretended that it was
+she who had been clever enough to rescue the note for you?"
+
+"No, she did not," said Mrs. Potten; and here she paused and remained
+silent, for her brain was seething with tumultuous thoughts.
+
+"Well, but for Harding, the Sale would have made a cool ninety-three
+pounds, fifteen shillings and threepence. Do you follow me?"
+
+Mrs. Potten did follow him and with much agitation.
+
+"How do you know it was my note and not Miss Scott's own note?" she
+asked, and there was in her tone a twang of cunning, for Bingham's
+remarks had roused not only the emotional superficies of Mrs. Potten's
+nature, but had pierced to the very core where lay the thought of money.
+
+"Because," replied Bingham, "Miss Scott, who was running like a
+two-year-old, was not likely to have unfastened your note and fitted one
+of her own under it so tightly that Harding, whose mind is quite
+accustomed to the solution of simple problems, had to blow 'poof' to
+separate them. No, take the blame on yourself, Mrs. Potten, and in
+future have a purse-bearer."
+
+Mrs. Potten's mind was in such a state of inward indignation that she
+went past the chemist's shop, and was now within a few yards of the
+Sheldonian Theatre. She had become forgetful of time and place, and was
+muttering to herself--
+
+"What a little baggage--what a little minx!" and other remarks unheard
+by Bingham.
+
+"I see you are admiring that semicircle of splendid heads that crown the
+palisading of the Sheldonian," said Bingham, as they came up close to
+the historic building.
+
+"Admiring them!" exclaimed Mrs. Potten. "They are monstrosities."
+
+"They are perfectly sweet, as ladies say," contradicted Bingham; "we
+wouldn't part with them for the world."
+
+"What are they?" demanded Mrs. Potten, trying hard to preserve an
+outward calm and discretion.
+
+"Jupiter Tonans--or Plato," said Bingham, "and in progressive stages of
+senility."
+
+"Why don't you have handsome heads?" said Mrs. Potten, and she began to
+cross the road with Bingham. Bingham was crossing the road because he
+was going that way, and Mrs. Potten drifted along with him because she
+was too much excited to think out the matter.
+
+"They are handsome," said Bingham.
+
+Mrs. Potten was speechless. Suddenly she discovered that she was
+hurrying in the wrong direction, just as if she were running away with
+Mr. Bingham. She paused at the curb of the opposite pavement.
+
+"Mr. Bingham," she said, arresting him.
+
+He stopped.
+
+"I must go back," she said. "I quite forgot that my car may be waiting
+for me at the chemist's!" and then she fumbled with her bag, and then
+looked thoughtfully into Bingham's face as they stood together on the
+curb. "Bernard always lunches with me on Sundays," she said; "I shall be
+glad to see you any Sunday if you want a walk, and we can talk about the
+removal of those heads."
+
+Bingham gave a cordial but elusive reply, and, raising his cap, he
+sauntered away eastwards, his gown flying out behind him in the light
+autumn wind.
+
+Mrs. Potten re-crossed the road and walked slowly back to the chemist's.
+Her car was there waiting for her, and it contained her weekly
+groceries, her leg of mutton, and the unbleached calico for the making
+of hospital slings which she had bought in Queen's Street, because she
+could obtain it there at 4 1/2d. per yard.
+
+She went into the chemist's and bought some patent pills, all the time
+thinking hard. She had two witnesses to Gwendolen Scott's having
+possession of the note: Mr. Harding and Mr. Bingham; and one witness,
+Lady Dashwood, to her having delivered the collar and not the note! All
+these witnesses were unconscious of the meaning of the transaction.
+She, Mrs. Potten, alone could piece together the evidence and know what
+it meant, and it was by a mere chance that she had been able to do this.
+If she had not met Mr. Bingham (and she had never met him before in the
+street), and if she had not happened to have mentioned the proceeds of
+the Sale, she would still be under the impression that the note had been
+mislaid.
+
+"And the impertinence of the young woman!" exclaimed Mrs. Potten, as she
+paid for her pills. "And she fancies herself in a position of trust, if
+you please! She means to figure, if you please, at the head of an
+establishment where we send our sons to be kept out of mischief for a
+bit! Well, I never heard of anything like it. Why, she'll be tampering
+with the bills!"
+
+Mrs. Potten's indignation did not wane as the moments passed, but rather
+waxed.
+
+"And her mother is condescending about the engagement! Why," added Mrs.
+Potten to herself with emphasis, as she got into her car--"why, if this
+had happened with one of my maids, I should have put it into the hands
+of the police."
+
+"The Lodgings, King's," she said to the chauffeur. What was she going to
+do when she got there?
+
+Mrs. Potten had no intention of bursting into the Lodgings in order to
+demand an explanation from Miss Scott. No, thank you, Miss Scott must
+wait upon Mrs. Potten. She must come out to Potten End and make her
+explanation! But Mrs. Potten was going to the Lodgings merely to ensure
+that this would be done on the instant.
+
+"Don't drive in," she called, and getting out of the car she walked into
+the court and went up the two shallow steps of the front door and rang
+at the bell.
+
+The retrouss� nose of Robinson Junior appeared at the opened door. Lady
+Dashwood was not at home and was not expected till half-past one. It
+was then one o'clock. Mrs. Potten mused for a little and then asked if
+she might see Lady Dashwood's maid for a moment. Robinson Junior
+suppressed his scornful surprise that any one should want to see Louise,
+and ushered Mrs. Potten into the Warden's breakfast-room, and there,
+seating herself near the window, she searched for a visiting card and a
+pencil. Louise appeared very promptly.
+
+"Madame wishes something?" she remarked as she closed the door behind
+her, and stood surveying Mrs. Potten from that distance.
+
+"I do," said Mrs. Potten, taking in Louise's untidy blouse, her plain
+features, thick complexion and luminous brown eyes in one comprehensive
+glance. "Can you tell me if Miss Scott will be in for luncheon?" Mrs.
+Potten spoke French with a strong English accent and much originality of
+style.
+
+Yes, Miss Scott was returning to luncheon.
+
+"And do you know if the ladies have afternoon engagements?"
+
+Louise thought they had none, because Lady Dashwood was to be at home to
+tea. That she knew for certain, and she added in a voice fraught with
+import: "I shall urge Madame to rest after lunch."
+
+"Humph! I see you look after her properly," said Mrs. Potten, beginning
+to write on her card with the pencil; "I thought she was looking very
+tired when I saw her this morning."
+
+"Tired!" exclaimed Louise; "Madame is always tired in Oxford."
+
+"Relaxing climate," said Mrs. Potten as she wrote.
+
+"And this house does not suit Madame," continued Louise, motionless at
+the door.
+
+"The drains wrong, perhaps," said Mrs. Potten, with absolute
+indifference.
+
+"I know nothing of drains, Madame," said Louise, "I speak of other
+things."
+
+"Sans doute il y a du 'dry rot,'" said Mrs. Potten, looking at what she
+had written.
+
+"Ah!" exclaimed Louise, clasping her hands, "Madame has heard; I did not
+know his name, but what matter? Ghosts are always ghosts, and my Lady
+Dashwood has never been the same since that night, never!"
+
+Mrs. Potten stared but she did not express surprise, she wanted to hear
+more without asking for more.
+
+"Madame knows that the ghost comes to bring bad news about the Warden!"
+
+"Bad news!" said Mrs. Potten, and she put her pencil back into her bag
+and wondered whether the news of the Warden's engagement had reached the
+servants' quarters.
+
+"A disaster," said Louise. "Always a disaster--to Monsieur the Warden.
+Madame understands?"
+
+Louise gazed at Mrs. Potten as if she hoped that that lady had
+information to give her. But Mrs. Potten had none. She was merely
+thinking deeply.
+
+"Well," she said, rising, "I suppose most old houses pretend to have
+ghosts. We have one at Potten End, but I have never seen it myself, and,
+as far as I know, it does no harm and no good. But Madame didn't see the
+ghost you speak of?" and here Mrs. Potten smiled a little satirically.
+
+"It was Miss Scott," said Louise, darkly.
+
+"Oh!" said Mrs. Potten, with a short laugh. "Oh, well!" and she came
+towards the maid with the card in her hand. "Now, will you be good
+enough to give this to Madame the moment that she returns and say that
+it is 'Urgent,' d'une importance extr�me."
+
+"Well," said Mrs. Potten to herself, as she walked through the court and
+gained the street, "and I should think it _was_ a disaster for a quiet,
+respectable Warden of an Oxford college to marry a person of the Scott
+type."
+
+As to Louise, when she had closed the front door on Mrs. Potten's
+retreating figure, she gazed hard at the card in her hand. The writing
+was as follows:--
+
+
+    "Dear Lena,
+
+    "Can Miss Scott come to see me this afternoon without fail? Very
+    kindly allow her to come early.
+
+                                                  "M. P."
+
+
+It did not contain anything more.
+
+Now, Mrs. Potten really believed in ghosts, but she thought of them as
+dreary, uninteresting intruders on the world's history. There was
+Hamlet's father's ghost that spoke at such length, and there was the
+spirit that made Abraham's hair stand on end as it passed before him,
+and then there was the ghost of Samuel that appeared to Saul and
+prophesied evil. But of all ghosts, the one that Mrs. Potten thought
+most dismal, was the ghost of the man-servant who came out from a
+mansion, full of light and music, one winter night on a Devon bye-road.
+There he stood in the snow directing the lost travellers to the nearest
+inn, and (this was what struck Mrs. Potten's soul to the core) the
+half-crown (an actual precious piece of money) that was dropped into his
+hand--fell through the palm--on to the snow--and so the travellers knew
+that they had spoken to a spirit, and were leaving behind them a ghostly
+house with ghostly lights and the merriment of the dead.
+
+Mrs. Potten's mind worked in columns, and had she been calm and happy
+she would have spent the time returning to Potten End in completing the
+list of ghosts she was acquainted with; but she was excited and full of
+tumultuous thoughts.
+
+There was, indeed, in Mrs. Potten's soul the strife of various passions:
+there was the desire to act in a high-handed, swift Potten manner, the
+desire to pursue and flatten any one who invaded the Potten preserves.
+There was the desire to put her heavy individual foot upon a specimen of
+the modern female who betrays the honour and the interest of her own
+class. There was also the general desire to show a fool that she was a
+fool. There was also the desire to snub Belinda Scott; and lastly, but
+not least, there was the desire to put her knife into any giddy young
+girl who had thrown her net over the Warden.
+
+These desires fought tooth and nail with a certain dogged sentiment of
+fear--a fear of the Warden. If he was deeply in love, what might he do
+or not do? Would he put Potten End under a ban? Would he excommunicate
+her, Marian Potten?
+
+And so Mrs. Potten's mind whirled.
+
+At a certain shop in the High there was May Dashwood, looking at a
+window full of books. No doubt Lady Dashwood was inside, or, more
+probably, in the shop next door.
+
+An inspiration came to Mrs. Potten. Was the Warden so very much in love?
+Belinda Scott laid great stress on his being very much in love, and the
+whole thing being a surprise! Belinda Scott was a liar! And the little
+daughter who could stoop to thieving ten shillings at a bazaar, might
+well have been put on by her mother to some equally noxious behaviour to
+the Warden. She might have lain in wait for him behind doors and on
+staircases; she might----Mrs. Potten stopped her car, got out of it, and
+went behind May Dashwood and whispered in her ear.
+
+May turned, her eyebrows very much raised, and listened to what Mrs.
+Potten had to say.
+
+Great urgency made Mrs. Potten as astute as a French detective.
+
+"I'm quite sorry," she whispered, "to find that your Aunt Lena seems
+worried about the engagement. Now why on earth, oh why, did the Warden
+run himself into an engagement with a girl he doesn't really care
+about?"
+
+This question was a master-stroke. There was no getting out of this for
+May Dashwood. Mrs. Potten clapped her hand over her mouth and drew in a
+breath. Then she listened breathless for the answer. The answer must
+either be: "But he _does_ really care about her," or something evasive.
+
+Not only Mrs. Potten's emotional superficies but her core of flint
+feared the emphatic answer, and yearned for an evasive one. What was it
+to be?
+
+May's face had suddenly blanched. Had her Aunt Lena told? No--surely
+not; and yet Mrs. Potten seemed to _know_.
+
+"How can I tell, Mrs. Potten?" said May, unsteadily. "I----"
+
+"Evasive!" said Mrs. Potten to herself triumphantly.
+
+"Never mind! things do happen," she said, interrupting May. "I suppose,
+at any rate, he has to make the best of it, now it's done."
+
+Mrs. Potten was afraid that she was now going too far, and she swiftly
+turned the subject sideways before May had time to think out a reply.
+
+"Tell your Aunt Lena that I expect Gwendolen, without fail, after lunch.
+Please tell her; so kind of you! Good-bye, good-bye," and Mrs. Potten
+got fiercely into her car.
+
+"Well, I never!" she said, and she said it over and over again. A cloud
+of thoughts seemed to float with her as the car skimmed along the road,
+and through that cloud seemed to peer at her, though somewhat dimly, the
+"beaux yeux" of the Warden of King's.
+
+"I think I shall," said Mrs. Potten, "I think I shall; but I shall make
+certain first--absolutely certain--first."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+MR. BOREHAM'S PROPOSAL
+
+
+Boreham's purpose had been thwarted for the moment. But there was still
+time for him to make another effort, and this time it was to be a
+successful effort.
+
+A letter to May would have been the easiest way in which to achieve his
+purpose, but Boreham shrank from leaving to posterity a written proposal
+of marriage, because there always was just the chance that such a letter
+might not be answered in the right spirit, and in that case the letter
+would appear to future readers of Boreham's biography as an unsolicited
+testimonial in favour of marriage--as an institution. So Boreham decided
+to continue "feeling" his way!
+
+After all, there was not very much time in which to feel the way, for
+May was leaving Oxford on Monday. To-day was Friday, and Boreham knew
+the King's party were going to chapel at Magdalen. If he went, too, it
+would be possible for him to get May to himself on the way back to the
+Lodgings (in the dark).
+
+So to Magdalen he went, hurrying along on that Friday afternoon, and the
+nearer he got to Magdalen the more sure he was that only fools lived in
+the country; the more convinced he was that Chartcote had become, even
+in three months, a hateful place.
+
+Boreham was nearly late, he stumbled into the ante-chapel just as they
+were closing the doors with solemn insistence. He uncovered his head as
+he entered, and his nostrils were struck with a peculiar odour of stone
+and mortar; a sense of space around him and height above him; also with
+the warmth of some indefinable sense of community of purpose that
+annoyed him. He was, indeed, already warm enough physically with his
+haste in coming; he was also spiritually in a glow with the
+consciousness of his own magnanimity and toleration. Here was the
+enlightened Boreham entering a temple where they repeated "Creeds
+outworn." Here he was entering it without any exhibition of violent
+hostility or even of contempt. He was entering it decorously, though not
+without some speed. He was warm and did not wish to be made warmer.
+
+What he had not anticipated, and what disappointed him, was that from
+the ante-chapel he could not see whether the Dashwoods were in the
+Chapel or not. The screen and organ loft were in the way, they blocked
+his vision, and not having any "permit" for the Chapel, he had to remain
+in the ante-chapel, and just hope for the best. He seated himself as
+near to the door as he could, on the end of the back bench, already
+crowded. There he disposed of his hat and prepared himself to go through
+with the service.
+
+Boreham did not, of course, follow the prayers or make any responses; he
+merely uttered a humming noise with the object of showing his mental
+aloofness, and yet impressing the fact of his presence on the devout
+around him.
+
+Many a man who has a conscientious objection to prayer, likes to hear
+himself sing. But Boreham's singing voice was not altogether under his
+own control. It was as if the machinery that produced song was mislaid
+somewhere down among his digestive organs and had got rusted, parts of
+it being actually impaired.
+
+It had been, in his younger days, a source of regret to Boreham that he
+could never hope to charm the world by song as well as by words. As he
+grew older that regret faded, and was now negligible.
+
+Is there any religious service in the world more perfect than evensong
+at Magdalen? Just now, in the twilight of the ante-chapel, a twilight
+faintly lit above at the spring of the groined roof, the voices of the
+choir rose and fell in absolute unison, with a thrill of subdued
+complaint; a complaint uttered by a Hebrew poet dead and gone these many
+years, a complaint to the God of his fathers, the only true God.
+
+Boreham marked time (slightly out of time) muttering--
+
+    "Tum/tum tum/ti:
+     Tum/tum tum/tum ti/tum?"
+
+loud enough to escape the humiliation of being confounded with those
+weak-minded strangers who are carried away (in spite of their reason) by
+the charm of sacerdotal blandishments.
+
+He stood there among the ordinary church-goers, conscious that he was a
+free spirit. He was happy. At least not so much happy as agreeably
+excited by the contrast he made with those around him, and excited, too,
+at what was going to happen in about half an hour. That is, if May
+Dashwood was actually behind that heavy absurd screen in the Chapel. He
+went on "tum-ing" as if she was there and all was well.
+
+And within the chapel, in one of those deep embrasures against the
+walls, was May Dashwood. But she was alone. Lady Dashwood had been too
+tired to come with her, and Gwendolen had been hurried off to Potten End
+immediately after lunch, strangely reluctant to go. So May had come to
+the Chapel alone, and, not knowing that Boreham was in the ante-chapel
+waiting for her, she had some comfort in the seclusion and remoteness of
+that sacred place. Not that the tragedy of the world was shut out and
+forgotten, as it is in those busy market-places where men make money and
+listen too greedily to the chink of coin to hear any far-off sounds from
+the plain of Armageddon. May got comfort, not because she had forgotten
+the tragedy of the world and was soothed by soft sounds, but because
+that tragedy was remembered in this hour of prayer; because she was
+listening to the cry of the Hebrew poet, uttered so long ago and echoed
+now by distressful souls who feel just as he felt the desperate problem
+of human suffering and the desire for peace.
+
+    "Why art thou so vexed, O my soul;
+     And why art thou so disquieted within me?"
+
+And then the answer; an answer which to some is meaningless, but which,
+to the seeker after the "things that are invisible," is the only
+answer--the answer that the soul makes to itself--
+
+    "O put thy trust in God!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+May observed no one in the Chapel; she saw nothing but the written words
+in the massive Prayer-book on the desk before her; and when at last the
+service was over, she came out looking neither to right nor left, and
+was startled to find herself emerging into the fresh air with Boreham by
+her side, claiming her company back to the Lodgings.
+
+It was just dusk and the moon was rising in the east. Though it could
+not be seen, its presence was visible in the thin vaporous lightness of
+the sky. The college buildings stood out dimly, as if seen by a pallid
+dawn.
+
+"You leave Oxford on Monday?" began Boreham, as they went through the
+entrance porch out into the High and turned to the right.
+
+"Yes," said May, and a sigh escaped her. That Boreham noticed.
+
+"I don't deny the attractions of Oxford," he said. "All I object to is
+its pretensions."
+
+"You don't like originality," murmured May.
+
+She was thinking of the slums of London where she worked. What a
+contrast with this noble street! Why should men be allowed to build dens
+and hovels for other men to live in? Why should men make ugliness and
+endure squalor?
+
+"I thought you knew me better," said Boreham, reproachfully, "than to
+say that."
+
+"If you do approve of originality," said May, "then why not let Oxford
+work out its own evolution, in its own way?"
+
+"It needs entire reconstruction," said Boreham, stubbornly.
+
+"You would like to pass everything through a mill and turn it out to a
+pattern," said May. "But that's not the way the world progresses. Entire
+reconstruction would spoil Oxford. What it wants is what we all
+want--the pruning of our vices and the development of our virtues. We
+don't want to be shorn of all that makes up our personality."
+
+Boreham said, "That is a different matter; but why should we argue?"
+
+"To leave Oxford and speak of ourselves, of you and me," said May,
+persisting. "You don't want to be made like me; but we both want to have
+the selfishness squeezed out of us. There! I warn you that, having once
+started, I shall probably go on lamenting like the prophet Jeremiah
+until I reach the Lodgings! So if you want to escape, do find some
+pressing engagement. I shan't be offended in the very least."
+
+How she longed for him to go! But was he capable of discovering this
+even when it was broadly hinted?
+
+Boreham's beard moved irritably. The word "selfish" stung him. There was
+no such thing as being "unselfish"--one man wanted one thing, another
+man wanted another--and there you are!
+
+"Human nature is selfish," he retorted. "Saints are selfish. They want
+to have a good time in the next world. Each man always wants to please
+himself, only tastes differ."
+
+Boreham spoke in emphatic tones. If May was thinking of her husband,
+then this piece of truth must be put before her without delay. War
+widows had the habit of speaking of their husbands as heroes, when all
+they had done was to have got themselves blown to pieces while they were
+trying to blow other people to pieces.
+
+"You make questions of taste very important," said May, looking down the
+misty street. "Some men have a taste for virtue and generosity, and
+others have taste for vice and meanness."
+
+Boreham looked at her features closely in the dim light.
+
+"Are you angry with me?" he asked.
+
+"Not at all," said May. "We are arguing about words. You object to the
+use of the word 'selfish,' so I adopt your term 'taste.'"
+
+"There's no reason why we should argue just now," said Boreham. "Not
+that argument affects friendship! Friendship goes behind all that,
+doesn't it?" He asked this anxiously.
+
+"I don't expect my friends to agree with me in all points," said May,
+smiling. "That would be very selfish!" She laughed. "I beg your pardon.
+I mean that my taste in friends is pretty catholic," and here Boreham
+detected a sudden coldness in her voice.
+
+"Friendship--I will say more than that--love--has nothing to do with
+'points of view,'" he began hastily. "A man may fall in love with a
+woman as she passes his window, though he may never exchange a word with
+her. Such things have happened."
+
+"And it is just possible," suggested May, "that a protracted
+conversation with the lady might have had the effect of destroying the
+romance."
+
+Here Boreham felt a wave of fear and hope and necessity surge through
+his whole being. The moment had arrived!
+
+"Not if you were the lady," he said in a convinced tone.
+
+May still gazed down the street, etherealised beyond its usual beauty in
+this thin pale light.
+
+"I don't think any man, however magnanimous, could stand a woman long if
+she made protracted lamentations after the manner of Jeremiah," she
+said.
+
+"You are purposely speaking ill of yourself," said Boreham. "Yet,
+whatever you do or say makes a man fall in love with you." He was
+finding words now without having to think.
+
+"I was not aware of it," said May, rather coldly.
+
+"It is true," he persisted. "You are different from other women; you are
+the only woman I have ever met whom I wanted to marry."
+
+It was out! Not as well put as he would have liked, but it was out. Here
+was a proposal of marriage by word of mouth. Here was the orthodox
+woman's definite opportunity. May would see the seriousness of it now.
+
+"As a personal friend of yours," said May, and her tone was not as
+serious as he had feverishly hoped, "I do not think you are consulting
+your own interests at this moment, Mr. Boreham."
+
+"No!" began Boreham. "Not mine exclusively----"
+
+"Your remark was hasty--ill considered," she said, interrupting him.
+"You don't really want to marry. You would find it an irksome bondage,
+probably dull as well as irksome."
+
+"Not with you!" exclaimed Boreham, and he touched her arm.
+
+May's arm became miraculously hard and unsympathetic.
+
+"Marriage is a great responsibility," she said.
+
+"I have thought that all out," said Boreham. "There may be----"
+
+"Then you know," she replied, "that it means----"
+
+"I have calculated the cost," he said. "I am willing----"
+
+"You have not only to save your own soul but to help some one else to
+save theirs," she went on. "You have to exercise justice and mercy. You
+have to forgive every day of your life, and"--she added--"to be
+forgiven. Wouldn't that bore you?"
+
+Boreham's heart thumped with consternation. It might take months to make
+her take a reasonable view of marriage. She was more difficult than he
+had anticipated.
+
+"Marriage is a dreary business," continued May, "unless you go into it
+with much prayer and fasting--Jeremiah again."
+
+Into Boreham's consternation broke a sudden anger.
+
+"That is why," continued May, "Herod ordered Mariamne to be beheaded,
+and why the young woman who married the 'beloved disciple' said she
+couldn't realise her true self and went off with Judas Iscariot." May
+turned round and looked at him as she spoke.
+
+"I was serious!" burst out Boreham.
+
+"Not more serious than I am," said May; "I am serious enough to treat
+the subject you have introduced with the fearless criticism you consider
+right to apply to all important subjects. You ought to approve!"
+
+And yet she smiled just a little at the corners of her mouth, because
+she knew that, when Boreham demanded the right of every man to criticise
+fearlessly--what he really had in his mind was the vision of himself,
+Boreham, criticising fearlessly. He thought of himself, for instance, as
+trying to shame the British public for saying slimily: "Let's pretend
+to be monogamous!" He thought of himself calling out pluckily: "Here,
+you self-satisfied humbugs, I'm going to say straight out--we ain't
+monogamous----"
+
+He never contemplated May Dashwood coming and saying to him: "And are
+_you_ not a self-satisfied humbug, pretending that there is no courage,
+no endurance, no moral effort superior to your own?" It was this that
+made May smile a little.
+
+"The fact remains," he said, feeling his way hotly, blindly, "that a man
+can, and does, make a woman happy, if he loves her. All I ask," he went
+on, "is to be allowed the chance of doing this, and you gibe."
+
+"I don't gibe," said May, "I'm preaching. And, after all, I ought not to
+preach, because marriage does not concern me--directly. I shall not
+marry again, Mr. Boreham."
+
+Boreham stared hard at her and his eyebrows worked. All she had just
+been saying provoked his anger; it disagreed with him, made him dismal,
+and yet, at least, he had no rival! She hadn't got hold of any so-called
+saint as a future husband. Middleton hadn't been meddling, nor Bingham,
+and there was no shadowy third anywhere in town. She was heart free!
+That was something!
+
+There was the dead husband, of course, but his memory would fade as time
+went on. "Just now, people who are dead or dying, are in the swim,"
+thought Boreham; "but just wait till the war is over!" He swiftly
+imagined publishers and editors of journals refusing anything that
+referred to the war or to any dismal subject connected with it. The
+British public would have no use for the dead when the war was over. The
+British public would be occupied with the future; how to make money, how
+to spend it. Stories about love and hate among the living would be
+wanted, or pleasant discourses about the consolations of religion and
+blessed hopes of immortality for those who were making the money and
+spending it!
+
+Boreham sneered as he thought this, and yet he himself desired intensely
+that men, and especially women, should forget the dead, and, above all,
+that May should forget her dead and occupy herself in being a pretty and
+attractive person of the female sex.
+
+"I will wait," said Boreham, eagerly; "I won't ask you for an answer
+now."
+
+"Now you know my position, you will not put any question to me!" said
+May, very quietly.
+
+There came a moment's oppressive silence.
+
+"I may continue to be your friend," he demanded; "you won't punish me?"
+and his voice was urgent.
+
+"Of course not," she said.
+
+"I may come and see you?" he urged again.
+
+"Any friends of mine may come and see me, if they care to," she said;
+"but I am very much occupied during the day--and tired in the evenings."
+
+"Sundays?" he interrupted.
+
+"My Sundays I spend with friends in Surrey."
+
+Boreham jerked his head nervously. "I shall be living in Town almost
+immediately," he said; "I will come and see what times would be
+convenient."
+
+"I am very stupid when my day's work is done," said May.
+
+"Stupid!" Boreham laughed harshly. "But your work is too hard and most
+unsuitable. Any woman can attend to babies."
+
+"I flatter myself," said May, "that I can wash a baby without forgetting
+to dry it."
+
+"Why do you hide yourself?" he exclaimed. "Why do you throw yourself
+away?" He felt that, with her beside him, he could dictate to the world
+like a god. "Why don't you organise?"
+
+"Do you mean run about and talk," asked May, "and leave the work to
+other people? Don't you think that we are beginning to hate people who
+run about and talk?"
+
+"Because the wrong people do it," said Boreham.
+
+"The people who do it are usually the wrong people," corrected May; "the
+right people are generally occupied with skilled work--technical or
+intellectual. That clears the way for the unskilled to run about and
+talk, and so the world goes round, infinite labour and talent quietly
+building up the Empire, and idleness talking about it and interrupting
+it."
+
+Boreham stared at her with petulant admiration. "You could do anything,"
+he said bluntly.
+
+"I shall put an advertisement into the _Times_," said May. "'A
+gentlewoman of independent means, unable to do any work properly, but
+anxious to organise.'"
+
+They had now turned into a narrow lane and were almost at the gates of
+the Lodgings. May did not want Boreham to come into the Court with her,
+she wanted to dismiss him now. She had a queer feeling of dislike that
+he should tread upon the gravel of the Court, and perhaps come actually
+to the front door of the Lodgings. She stopped and held out her hand.
+
+"I have your promise," he said, "I can come and see you?" He looked
+thwarted and miserable.
+
+"If you happen to be in town," she said.
+
+"But I mean to live there," he said. This insinuation on her part, that
+she had not accepted the fact that he was going to live in town, was
+unsympathetic of her. "I can't stand the loneliness of Chartcote, it has
+become intolerable."
+
+The word "loneliness" melted May. She knew what loneliness meant. After
+all, how could he help being the man he was? Was it his fault that he
+had been born with his share of the Boreham heredity? Was he able to
+control his irritability, to suppress his exaggerated self-esteem; both
+of them, perhaps, symptoms of some obscure form of neurosis?
+
+May felt a pang of pity for him. His face showed signs of pain and
+discontent and restlessness.
+
+"I shall leave Chartcote any day, immediately. London draws me back to
+it. I can think there. I can't at Chartcote, the atmosphere is sodden at
+Chartcote, my neighbours are clods."
+
+May looked at him anxiously. "It is dull for you," she said.
+
+Encouraged by this he went on rapidly. "Art, literature is nothing to
+them. They are centaurs. They ought to eat grass. They don't know a
+sunset from a swede. They don't know the name of a bird, except game
+birds; they are ignorant fools, they are damned----" Boreham's breathing
+was loud and rapid.
+
+"And yet you hate Oxford," murmured May, as she held out her hand. She
+still did not mean Boreham to come inside the Court, her hand was a
+dismissal.
+
+"Because Oxford is so smug," said Boreham. "And the country is smug.
+England is the land that begets effeteness and smuggishness. Yes, I
+should be pretty desperate," he added, and he held her hand with some
+pressure--"I should be pretty desperate, only you have promised to let
+me come and see you."
+
+May withdrew her hand. "As a friend," she said. "Yes, come as a friend."
+
+Boreham gave a curious toss to his head. "I am under your orders," he
+said, "I obey. You don't wish me to come with you to the door--I obey!"
+
+"Thank you," said May, simply. "And if you are lonely, well, so am I.
+There are many lonely people in this world just now, and many, many
+lonely women!" She turned away and left him.
+
+Boreham raced rather than walked away from the Lodgings towards the
+stables where he had put up his horse. He hardly knew what his thoughts
+were. He was more strangely moved than he had ever thought he could be.
+And how solitary he was! What permanent joy is there in the world, after
+all? There _is_ nothing permanent in life! It takes years to find that
+out--years--if you are well in health and full of vanity! But you do
+find it out--at last.
+
+As he went headlong he came suddenly against an obstacle. Somebody
+caught him by the arm and slowed him down.
+
+"Hullo, Boreham!" said Bingham. "Stop a moment!"
+
+Boreham allowed himself to be fastened upon, and suffered Bingham's arm
+to rest on his, but he puffed with irritation. He felt like a poet who
+has been interrupted in a fit of inspiration.
+
+"I thought this was one of your War Office days," he said bluntly.
+
+"It is," replied Bingham, in his sweetest curate tones. "But there is
+special College business to-day, and I'm putting in an extra day next
+week instead. Look here, do you want a job of work?"
+
+No, of course, Boreham didn't.
+
+"I'm leaving Chartcote," he said, and was glad to think it was true.
+
+"This week?" asked Bingham.
+
+"No," said Boreham, suddenly wild with indignation, "but any time--next
+week, perhaps."
+
+"This job will only take four or five days," said Bingham.
+
+"What job?" demanded Boreham.
+
+"There's a small library just been given us by the widow of a General."
+
+"Didn't know soldiers ever read books," said Boreham.
+
+"I don't know if he read them," said Bingham, "but there they are. We
+want some one to look through them--put aside the sort suitable for
+hospitals, and make a _catalogue raisonn�_ of the others for the camps
+in Germany."
+
+Boreham wanted to say, "Be damned with your _raisonn�_," but he limited
+himself to saying: "Can't you get some college chaplain, or some bloke
+of the sort to do it?"
+
+"All are thick busy," said Bingham--"those that are left."
+
+"It must be a new experience for them," said Boreham.
+
+"There are plenty of new experiences going," said Bingham.
+
+"And you won't deny," said Boreham, smiling the smile of
+self-righteousness, as he tried to assume a calm bantering tone, "that
+experience--of life, I mean--is a bit lacking in Oxford?"
+
+"It depends on what you mean," said Bingham, sweetly. "We haven't the
+experience of making money here. Also Oxford Dons are expected to go
+about with the motto 'Pereunt et imputantur' written upon our brows (see
+the sundial in my college), 'The hours pass and we must give an account
+of them.'"
+
+Bingham always translated his Latin, however simple, for Boreham's
+benefit. Just now this angered Boreham.
+
+"This motto," continued Bingham, "isn't for ornament but for an example.
+In short, my dear man, we avoid what I might call, for want of a more
+comprehensive term, the Pot-house Experience of life."
+
+Boreham threw back his head.
+
+"Well, you'll take the job, will you?" and Bingham released his arm.
+
+"Can't you get one of those elderly ladies who frequent lectures during
+their lifetime to do the job?"
+
+"We may be reduced to that," said Bingham, "but even they are busy. It's
+a nice job," he added enticingly.
+
+"I know what it will be like," grunted Boreham, and he hesitated. If May
+Dashwood had been staying on in Oxford it would have been different, but
+she was going away. So Boreham hesitated.
+
+"Telephone me this evening, will you?" said Bingham.
+
+"Very well," said Boreham. "I'll see what I have got on hand, and if I
+have time----" and so the two men parted.
+
+Boreham got into his gig with a heavy heart and drove back to Chartcote.
+How he hated the avenue that cut him off from the world outside. How he
+hated the clean smell of the country that came into his windows. How he
+hated to see the moon, when it glinted at him from between the tops of
+trees. He longed for streets, for the odour of dirt and of petrol and of
+stale-cooked food.
+
+The noise of London soothed him, the jostling of men and women; he
+hungered for it. And yet he did not love those human beings. He knew
+their weaknesses, their superstitions, their follies, their unreason!
+Boreham remembered a much over-rated Hebrew (possibly only a mythical
+figure) who once said to His followers that when they prayed they should
+say: "Father, forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass
+against us."
+
+He got out of his gig slowly. "I don't forgive them," he said, and,
+unconscious of his own sins, he walked up the steps into his lonely
+house.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+BY MOONLIGHT
+
+
+May waited within the gates of the Lodgings for some moments. She did
+not open the door and enter the house. She walked up and down on the
+gravelled court. She wanted to be alone, to speak to no one just now;
+her heart was full of weariness and loneliness.
+
+When she felt certain that Boreham was safely away, she went to the
+gates and out into the narrow street again, where she could hear subdued
+sounds of the evening traffic of the city.
+
+The dusky streets had grown less dim; the shining overhead was more
+luminous as the moon rose.
+
+The old buildings, as she passed them on her solitary walk, looked
+mysterious and aloof, as if they had been placed there magically for
+some secret purpose and might vanish before the dawn. This was the
+ancient Oxford, the Oxford of the past, the Oxford that was about to
+pass away, leaving priceless memories of learning and romance behind it,
+something that could never be again quite what it had been. Before dawn
+would it vanish and something else, still called Oxford, would be
+standing there in its place?
+
+May was tempted to let her imagination wander thus, and to see in this
+mysterious Oxford the symbol of the personality of a single man, a
+personality that haunted her when she was alone, a personality which,
+when it stood before her in flesh and blood, seemed to fill space and
+obliterate other objects.
+
+She had, in the chapel, re-affirmed over and over again her resolution
+to overcome this obsession, and now, as she walked that evening, her
+heart cried out for indulgence just for one brief moment, for permission
+to think of this personality, and to read details of it in every moonlit
+fa�ade of old Oxford, in every turn of the time-worn lanes and passages.
+
+The temptation had come upon her, because it was so dreary to be loved
+by Boreham. His talk seemed to mark her spiritual loneliness with such
+poignant insistence; it made it so desperately plain to her that those
+sharp cravings of her heart could not be satisfied except by one man. It
+had made her see, for the first time, that the sacred dead, to whom she
+had raised a shrine, was a memory and not a present reality to her; and
+this thought only added to her confusion and her grief.
+
+What was there to hold on to in life?
+
+"O, put thy trust in God!" came the answer.
+
+"Help me to make the mischance of my life a motive for greater moral
+effort. Help me to be a willing sacrifice and not an unwilling victim."
+And as she uttered these words she moved with more rapid steps.
+
+Shadows were visible on the roadway; roofs glimmered and the edges of
+the deep window recesses were tinged with a dark silver. She passed
+under the walls of All Souls and emerged again into the High. A figure
+she recognised confronted her. She tried to pass it without appearing to
+be aware of it, and she hurried on with bent head. But it turned, and
+Bingham's voice spoke to her.
+
+"Mrs. Dashwood," he called softly.
+
+She was forced to slacken her pace. "Oh, Mr. Bingham!" she said, and he
+came and walked by her, making pretence that he was disturbing her
+solitude because he had never been told the dinner-hour at the Lodgings,
+when Lady Dashwood invited him, and, what was more important, he had
+forgotten to say that he would be very glad if Mrs. Dashwood would make
+use of him as a cicerone if she wanted any more sight-seeing in Oxford
+and the Warden was unable to accompany her. This was the pretence he put
+before her.
+
+Then, when he had said all this and had walked a few yards along the
+street with her, he seemed to forget that his business with her ought to
+be over, and remarked that he had been trying to save Boreham's soul.
+
+"His soul!" said May, with a sigh.
+
+"I've been trying to make him work."
+
+"Doesn't he work?" asked May.
+
+"No, he preaches," said Bingham. "If he had a touch of genius he might
+invent some attractive system of ethics in which his own characteristics
+would be the right characteristics; some system in which humility and
+patience would take a back seat."
+
+May could not help smiling a little, Bingham's voice was so smooth and
+soft; but she felt Boreham's loneliness again and ceased smiling.
+
+"Or he might invent a new god," said Bingham, "a sort of composite
+photograph of himself and the old gods. He might invent a new creed to
+go along with it and damn all the old creeds. But he is incapable of
+construction, so he merely preaches the destruction of Sodom and
+Gomorrah, which is a soft job. Wherever he is, there is Sodom and
+Gomorrah! You see my point? Egotism is always annoyed at egotisms. An
+egotist always sees the egotism of other people. The egotism of those
+round him, jump at him, they get on his nerves! He has to love people
+who are far, far away! You see my point? Well, I've been trying to make
+him take on a small bit of war work!"
+
+"And will he take it?" asked May.
+
+"I don't know," said Bingham; "I've just left him, a prey to conflicting
+passions."
+
+May was silent.
+
+"Are you going back to King's?" asked Bingham.
+
+She and Bingham were walking along, just as she and Boreham had been
+walking along the same street, past these same colleges not an hour ago.
+Was she going back to the Lodgings? Yes, she thought, in fact she knew
+she was going back to the Lodgings.
+
+"May I see you to the Lodgings?" asked Bingham.
+
+There seemed no alternative but to say "Yes."
+
+"There are many things I should like to talk over with you, Mrs.
+Dashwood," said Bingham, stepping out cheerfully. "I should like to roam
+the universe with you."
+
+"I'm afraid you would find me very ignorant," said May.
+
+"I would present you with facts. I would sit at your feet and hold them
+out for your inspection, and you, from your throne above, would
+pronounce judgment on them."
+
+"It is the ignorant people who always do pronounce judgment," said May.
+"So that will be all right. You spoke of Mr. Boreham preaching. Well,
+I've just been preaching. It's a horrid habit."
+
+Bingham gave one of his surprising and most cultured explosions of
+laughter. May turned and looked at him with her eyebrows very much
+raised.
+
+"I am laughing at myself," he explained. "I thought to buy things too
+cheaply."
+
+May looked away, pondering on the meaning of his words. At last the
+meaning occurred to her.
+
+"You mean you wanted to flatter me, and--and I began to talk about
+something else. Was that what made you laugh?" she asked.
+
+"That's it," said Bingham. "I wanted to flatter you because it is a
+pleasure to flatter you, and I forgot what a privilege it was."
+
+"Ah!" said May, quietly.
+
+"Cheap, cheap, always cheap!" said Bingham. "Cheapness is the curse of
+our age. The old Radical belief in the right to buy cheaply, that poison
+has soaked into the very bone of politics. It has contaminated our
+religion. The pulpit has decided in favour of cheap salvation."
+
+May looked round again at Bingham's moonlit profile.
+
+"No more hell!" he said, "no more narrow way, no more strait gate to
+heaven! On the contrary, we bawl ourselves blue asserting that the way
+is broad, and that every blessed man Jack of us will find it. Yes," he
+went on more slowly, "we have no use now for a God who can deny to any
+one a cheap suburban residence in the New Jerusalem. And so," he added,
+"I flatter you, stupidly, and--and you forgive me."
+
+They walked on together for a moment in silence.
+
+"I don't deserve your forgiveness," he said. "But I desire your
+forgiveness. I desire your toleration as far as it will go. Perhaps, if
+you were to let me talk on, I might go too far for your toleration," and
+now he turned and looked at her.
+
+"You would not go too far," said May. "You are too much detached; you
+look on----" and here she hesitated.
+
+"Oh, damn!" said Bingham, softly; "that is the accursed truth," and he
+stared before him at the cracks in the pavement as they stood out
+sharply in the moonlight.
+
+"You mustn't mind," said May, soothingly.
+
+"I do mind," said Bingham; "I should like to be able to take my own
+emotions seriously. I should like to feel the importance of my being
+highly strung, imaginative, a lover of beauty and susceptible to the
+charms of women. Instead of which I am hopelessly critical of myself. I
+see myself a blinking fool, among other fools." Bingham's lips went on
+moving as if he were continuing to speak to himself.
+
+"When a woman takes you and your emotions seriously, what happens then?"
+asked May very softly, and she looked at him with wide open eyes and her
+eyebrows full of inquiry.
+
+"Ah!" sighed Bingham, "that was long ago. I have forgotten--or nearly."
+Then he added, after a moment's silence: "May I talk to you about the
+present?"
+
+"Yes, do," said May.
+
+"There!" said Bingham, resentfully, "see how you trust me! You know that
+if I begin to step on forbidden ground, you have only to put out your
+finger and say 'Stop!' and I shall retire amiably, with a jest."
+
+"That is part of--of your--your charm," said May, hesitatingly.
+
+"My charm!" repeated Bingham, in a tone of sarcasm.
+
+"I'm sorry I used the word charm," said May. "I will use a better term,
+your personality. You are so alarming and yet so gentle."
+
+Bingham turned and gazed at her silently. They were now very near the
+Lodgings.
+
+"Thanks," he said at last. "I know where I am. But I knew it before."
+
+A great silence came upon them. Sounds passed them as they walked; men
+hurried past them, occasionally a woman, a Red Cross nurse in uniform.
+The sky above was still growing more and more luminous. All the rest of
+the way they walked in silence, each thinking their own thoughts,
+neither wishing to speak. When they reached the Lodgings Bingham walked
+into the court with her.
+
+"Won't you come in?" she asked, but it was a mere formality, for she
+knew that he would refuse.
+
+"It's too late," he said.
+
+"And you are coming to dinner to-morrow at eight?" She laid emphasis on
+the hour, to hide the fact that she was really asking whether he meant
+to come at all, after their talk about his personality.
+
+"Yes, at eight," he said. "Good-bye."
+
+As he spoke the moon showed full and gloriously, coming out for a moment
+sharply from the fine gauzy veil of grey that overspread the sky, and
+the Court was distinct to its very corners. The gravel, the shallow
+stone steps at the door, the narrow windows on each side of the door,
+the sombre walls; all were illumined. And Bingham's face, as he lifted
+his cap, was illumined too. It was a very dark face, so dark that May
+doubted if she really had quite grasped the details of it in her own
+mind. His eyes seemed scarcely to notice her as she smiled, and yet he
+too smiled. Then he went back over the gravel to the gate without saying
+another word. She did not look at his retreating figure. She opened the
+door and went in. Other people in the world were suffering. Why can't
+one always realise that? It would make one's own suffering easier to
+bear.
+
+The house seemed empty. There was not a sound in it. The dim portraits
+on the walls looked out from their frames at her. But they had nothing
+to do with her, she was an outsider!
+
+She walked up the broad staircase. She must endure torture for
+two--nearly three more days! The hours must be dealt with one by one,
+even the minutes. It would take all her strength.
+
+At the head of the stairs she paused. Her desire was to go straight to
+her room, and not to go into the drawing-room and greet her Aunt Lena.
+Gwendolen would very likely be there in high spirits--the future
+mistress of the house--the one person in the world to whom the Warden
+would have to say, "May I? Can I?"
+
+"Don't be a coward! Other people in the world are suffering besides
+you," said the inner voice; and May went straight to the drawing-room
+door and opened it.
+
+The room was dark except for a glimmer from a red fire. May was going
+out again, and about to close the door, when her aunt's voice called to
+her, and the lights went up on each side of the fireplace. May pushed
+the door back again and came inside.
+
+"Aunt Lena!" she called.
+
+Lady Dashwood had been sitting on the couch near it. She was standing
+now. It was she who had put up the lights. Her face was pale and her
+eyes brilliant.
+
+"May, it's all over!" she called under her breath.
+
+May stood by the door. It was still ajar and in her hand.
+
+"All over! What is all over?" she asked apprehensively.
+
+"Shut the door!" said Lady Dashwood, in a low voice.
+
+May shut the door.
+
+"Gwendolen has broken off her engagement!" said Lady Dashwood,
+controlling her voice.
+
+May always remembered that moment. The room seemed to stretch about her
+in alleys fringed with chairs and couches. There was plenty of room to
+walk, plenty of room to sit down. There was plenty of time too. It was
+extraordinary what a lot of time there was in the world, time for
+everything you wanted to do. Then there was the portrait over the
+mantelpiece. He seemed to have nothing to do. She had not thought of
+that before. He was absolutely idle, simply looking on. And below these
+trivial thoughts, tossed on the surface of her mind, flowed a strange,
+confused, almost overwhelming, tide of joy.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+A CAUSE AND IMPEDIMENT
+
+
+"Oh!" was all that May said.
+
+Lady Dashwood looked at her and looked again. She put out her hand and
+rested it on the mantelshelf, and still looked at May. May was taking
+off one of her gloves. When she had unfastened the buttons she
+discovered that she was wearing a watch on her wrist, and she wound it
+up carefully.
+
+Lady Dashwood was still looking, all her excitement was suppressed for
+the moment. What was May thinking of--what had happened to her?
+
+"For how long?" asked May, and she suddenly perceived that there had
+been a rigid silence between them.
+
+"For how long?" exclaimed Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Yes," said May.
+
+"The engagement is broken off!" said Lady Dashwood. "Broken off, dear!"
+
+"Not permanently?" said May, as if she were speaking of an incident of
+no particular importance.
+
+Lady Dashwood's eyes gleamed. "For ever," she said.
+
+May looked at her watch again and began to wind it up again. It refused
+to be wound any more. May looked at it anxiously.
+
+"Gwendolen goes to-morrow," said Lady Dashwood. "It is she who has
+broken off the engagement, and she is going away before Jim returns. It
+is all over, May, and I have been waiting for half an hour to tell you
+the news. I have scarcely known how to wait."
+
+May went up and kissed her silently.
+
+"You are the only person I can speak to," said Lady Dashwood. "May, I
+feel as if this couldn't be true. Will you read this?" And she put a
+letter into May's hands. As she did so she saw, for the first time, that
+May's hands were trembling. She drew the letter back and said quietly:
+"No, let me read Marian Potten's letter to you. I want to read it again
+for my own sake, though I have read it half a dozen times already."
+
+"Mrs. Potten!" said May. "Aunt Lena, you'll think me stupid, but I
+haven't grasped things."
+
+"Of course not," said Lady Dashwood. "And I am too much excited to
+explain properly. I suppose my nerves have been strained lately. I want
+to hear Marian's letter read aloud. Listen, May! Oh, my dear, do
+listen!"
+
+Lady Dashwood turned the letter up to the light and began to read in a
+slow, emphatic, husky voice--
+
+
+    "Dear Lena,
+
+    "Certain things have happened of which I cannot speak, and which
+    necessitated a private interview between Gwendolen and myself. But
+    what I am going to tell you now concerns you, because it concerns
+    the Warden. In our interview Gwendolen confided to me that she had
+    serious misgivings about the wisdom of her engagement. They are more
+    than misgivings. She feels that she ought not to have accepted the
+    Warden's offer. She feels that she never considered the
+    responsibilities she was undertaking, and she had nobody to talk the
+    matter over with who could have given her sensible advice. She feels
+    that neither her character nor her education fit her to be a
+    Warden's wife, and she shrinks from the duties that it involves.
+    All this came out! I hope that you and the Warden will forgive the
+    fact that all this came out before me, and that I found myself in
+    the position of Gwen's adviser. She has come to the conclusion that
+    she ought to break off this engagement--so hastily made--and I agree
+    with her that there should not be an hour's delay in breaking it
+    off. She is afraid of meeting the Warden and having to give him a
+    personal explanation. It is a natural fear, for she is only a silly
+    child and he is a man of years and experience. She does not feel
+    strong enough to meet him and tell him to his face that she cannot
+    be his wife. You will understand how unpleasant it would be for you
+    all. So, with my entire approval and help, she has taken the
+    opportunity of his absence to write him a decisive letter. She will
+    hand you over this letter and ask you to give it to the Warden on
+    his return home. This letter is to tell him that she releases him
+    from his promise of marriage. And to avoid a very serious
+    embarrassment I have invited her to come to Potten End to-morrow
+    morning and stay with me till I have heard from Lady Belinda. I am
+    writing myself to Lady Belinda, giving her full details. I am sure
+    she will be convinced of the wisdom of Gwendolen so suddenly
+    breaking off her engagement. I will send the car for Gwendolen
+    to-morrow at ten o'clock, and meanwhile will you spare her feelings
+    and make no reference to what has taken place? The poor child is
+    feeling very sore and very much ashamed of all the fuss, but feels
+    that she is doing the right thing--at last.
+
+                                             "Yours ever,
+
+                                                  "MARIAN POTTEN."
+
+
+Lady Dashwood folded up the letter and put it back into its envelope.
+She avoided looking at May just now.
+
+"Marian must feel very strongly on the subject to offer to send her own
+car," she said. "I have never known her do such a thing before," and
+Lady Dashwood smiled and looked at the fire. "So the whole thing is
+over! But how did it all come about? What happened? I've been thinking
+over every possible accident that could have happened to make Gwen
+change her mind in this sudden way, and I am still in the dark," she
+went on. "Do you think that Gwendolen had any misgivings about her
+engagement when she left this house after lunch, May? I'm sure she
+hadn't." Here Lady Dashwood paused and looked towards May but not at
+her. "It all happened at Potten End! I'm certain of it," she added.
+
+May, having at last completely drawn off both her gloves, was folding
+and unfolding them with unsteady hands.
+
+"It's a mystery," said May.
+
+"But I don't care what happened!" said Lady Dashwood, solemnly; "I don't
+really want to know. It is over! I can't rest, I can't read, I can't
+think coherently. I can only be thankful--thankful beyond words."
+
+May walked slowly in the direction of the door. "Yes, all your troubles
+are over," she said.
+
+"Do you remember, May," went on Lady Dashwood, "how you and I stood
+together just here, under the portrait, when you arrived on Monday?
+Well, all that torment is over. All that happened between then and now
+has been wiped clean out, as if it had never been."
+
+But all had not been wiped out. Some of what happened had been written
+down in May's mind and couldn't be wiped out.
+
+"Don't go this moment; sit down for a little, before you go and dress,"
+said Lady Dashwood, "and I'll try and sit, for I must talk, I must talk,
+and, May dear, you must listen. Come back, dear!"
+
+Lady Dashwood sat down on one side of the fireplace and looked at May,
+as she came back and seated herself on the opposite side. There was the
+fireplace between them.
+
+"Aren't you glad?" asked Lady Dashwood. "Aren't you glad, May?"
+
+"I am very glad," said May. "I rejoice--in your joy."
+
+Lady Dashwood leaned back in her chair, and let her eyes rest on May's
+face.
+
+"I can't describe to you what I felt when Gwendolen came in half an hour
+ago. She came in quietly, her face pale and her eyes swollen, and said
+quite abruptly: 'I have broken on my engagement with Dr. Middleton.
+Please don't scold me, please don't talk about it; please let me go. I'm
+miserable enough as it is,' and she put two letters into my hand and
+went. May, I took the letter addressed to Jim and locked it up, for a
+horrible fear came on me that some one might destroy that letter.
+Besides, I had also the fear that because the thing was so sudden it
+might somehow not be true. Well, then I came down here again and waited
+for you. I waited in the dark, trying to rest. You came in very late. I
+scarcely knew how to wait. I suppose I am horribly excited. I am feeling
+now as Louise feels constantly, but I can't get any relief in the way
+she does. A Frenchwoman never bottles up anything; her method is to wear
+other people out and save her own strength by doing so. From our cradles
+we are smacked if we express our emotions; but foreigners have been
+encouraged to express their emotions. They believe it necessary and
+proper to do so. They gesticulate and scream. It is a confirmed habit
+with them to do so, and it doesn't mean much. I dare say when you or I
+just say 'Oh!' it means more than if Louise uttered persistent shrieks
+for half an hour. But she is a good soul----" And Lady Dashwood ran on
+in this half-consequent, half-inconsequent way, while May sat in her
+chair, busy trying to hide the trembling of her knees. They would
+tremble. She tried holding them with her hands, but they refused to stop
+shaking. Once they trembled too obviously, and Lady Dashwood said, in a
+changed tone, as if she had suddenly observed May: "You have caught
+cold! You have caught a chill!"
+
+"Perhaps I have," said May, and her knees knocked against each other.
+
+"You have, my dear," said Lady Dashwood; and as she pronounced this
+verdict, she rose from her chair with great suddenness. There was on her
+face no anxiety, not a trace of it, but a certain great content. But as
+she rose she became aware that her head ached and she felt a little
+dizzy. What matter!
+
+"I may have got just the slightest chill," said May, rising too, "but if
+so, it's nothing!"
+
+"Most people like having chills, and that's why they never take any
+precautions, and refuse all remedies," said Lady Dashwood, making her
+way to the door with care, and speaking more slowly and deliberately;
+"but I know you're not like that, and I'm going to give you an
+infallible cure and preventive. It'll put you right, I promise. Come
+along, dear child. I ought to have known you had a chill. I ought to
+have seen it written on your brow 'Chill' when you came in; but I've
+been too much excited by events to see anything. I've been chattering
+like a silly goose. Come upstairs, I'm going to dose you."
+
+And May submitted, and the two women went out of the drawing-room
+together up the two or three steps and into the corridor. They walked
+together, both making a harmless, pathetic pretence: the one to think
+the other had a chill, the other to own that a chill it was, indeed,
+though not a bad chill!
+
+What was Gwendolen doing now? Was she crying? "Poor thing, poor little
+neglected thing!" thought Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Marian can be very high-handed," she whispered to May. "I have known
+her do many arbitrary things. She would be quite capable of---- But
+what's the good! Poor Gwen! I couldn't pity her before, I felt too hard.
+But now Jim is safe I can think reasonably. I'm sorry for her. But," she
+added, "I'm not sorry for Belinda."
+
+Now that they had reached May's room, May declared that she was not as
+sure as she had been that she had got a chill.
+
+But the chill could not be dropped like that. Lady Dashwood felt the
+impropriety of suddenly giving up the chill, and she left the room and
+went to search for the infallible cure and preventive. As she did so she
+began to wonder why she could not will to have no headache. She was so
+happy that a headache was ridiculous.
+
+When she returned, May was in her dressing-gown and was moving about
+with decision, and her limbs no longer trembled.
+
+"I don't pity Belinda," said Lady Dashwood, pretending not to see the
+change. "I don't pity her, though I suppose that she, too, is merely a
+symptom of the times we live in." Here she began to pour out a dose from
+the bottle in her hand. "It can't be a good thing, May, for the
+community that there should be women who live to organise amusement for
+themselves; who merely live to meet each other and their men folk, and
+play about. It can't be good for the community? We ought all to work,
+May, every one of us. Writing invitations to each other to come and
+play, buying things for ourselves, seeing dressmakers isn't work. There,
+May!" She held out the glass to May. Each kept up the
+pretence--pretending with solemnity that May had been trembling because
+she had possibly got a chill. It was a pretence that was necessary. It
+was a pretence that covered and protected both of them. It was a brave
+pretence. "No," said Lady Dashwood again, and firmly, as she released
+the glass. "It isn't good for the community to have a class of busy
+idlers at the top of the ladder."
+
+May had taken the glass, and now she tipped it up and drank the
+contents. They were hot and stinging!
+
+Then May broke her silence, and imitating a voice that Lady Dashwood
+knew well, uttered these words:
+
+"Oh, damn the community!"
+
+"Was it very nasty?" said Lady Dashwood, laughing. "Ah, May, I can laugh
+now at Belinda! Alas! I can laugh!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+CONFESSIONS
+
+
+What stung Gwendolen, what made her smart almost beyond endurance, was
+that she had exchanged the Warden for an umbrella. The transaction had
+been simple, and sudden, and inevitable. The Warden was in London, a
+free man, and there was the umbrella in the corner of the room, hers. It
+was looking at her, and she had not paid for it. The bill would be sent
+to the Lodgings, the bill for the umbrella and the gloves. The bill
+would be re-directed and would reach her--bills always did reach one,
+however frequently one changed one's address. Private letters sometimes
+got misdirected and mislaid, but never bills. Friends sometimes say, "We
+couldn't write because we didn't know your address." Tradespeople never
+say this, they don't omit to send their bills merely because they don't
+know your address. If they don't know your address, they search for it!
+
+The pure imbecility of her behaviour at Christ Church about that
+ten-shilling note was now apparent to Gwendolen. She could not think,
+now, how she could have done anything so inconceivably silly, and so
+useless as to put herself in the power of Mrs. Potten. She would never,
+never in all her life, do such a thing again. Another time, when hard up
+and needing something necessary, she would borrow, or she would go
+straight to the shop and order "the umbrella" (as after all, she had
+done), and she would take the sporting chance of being able to pay the
+bill some time. But never would she again touch notes or coins that
+belonged to people she knew, and especially those belonging to Mrs.
+Potten! Oh, what a wickedly cruel punishment she had to bear, merely
+because she had had a sort of joke about ten shillings belonging to Mrs.
+Potten.
+
+One thing she would never forgive as long as she lived, and that was
+Mrs. Potten's meanness. She would never forget the way in which Mrs.
+Potten took advantage of her by getting her into Potten End alone, with
+nobody to protect her.
+
+First of all Mrs. Potten had pretended to be merely sorry. Then she
+spoke about Mr. Harding and Mr. Bingham being witnesses and made the
+whole thing appear as a sort of crime, and then she ended up with
+saying: "The Warden must not be kept in ignorance of all this! That is
+out of the question. He has a right to know." That came as an awful
+shock to Gwendolen, and made her burst into tears.
+
+"Are you afraid, child, he will break off the engagement?" was all that
+Mrs. Potten said, and then the horrid old woman asked all sorts of
+horrid questions, and wormed out all kinds of things: that the Warden
+had not actually said he was in love, that he had scarcely spoken to her
+for three days, and that he had not said "good-bye" that morning when he
+left for London. How Mrs. Potten had managed to sneak it out of her
+Gwendolen did not know, but Mrs. Potten gave her no time to think of
+what she was saying, and being so much upset and so much afraid of Mrs.
+Potten lots of things came out. And yet all the time she knew things
+were going wrong because of the wicked look on Mrs. Potten's face.
+
+However, Gwendolen had all through stuck to it (and it was the truth)
+that she had never intended to do more than "sort of joke" with the
+note, and this Mrs. Potten simply wouldn't understand. And when she,
+Gwendolen, promised, on her honour, to make it "all right," by wiring to
+her mother to send her a postal order for ten shillings by return, Mrs.
+Potten sprang like a tiger on her: "Why wire for it? Why not return it
+now?" Oh, the whole thing was awful!
+
+After this Mrs. Potten's voice had changed to ice, and she put on a
+perfectly beastly tone.
+
+"Gwendolen, you shock me beyond words, and oblige me to take a very
+decided step in the matter."
+
+Then she stopped, and Gwendolen could recall that horrible moment of
+suspense. Then came words that made Gwendolen shudder to think of.
+
+"I have a very great respect for the position of a Warden--it is a
+position of trust; and I have also personally a very great respect for
+the Warden of King's. I give you an alternative. Break off your
+engagement with him at once, quietly, or I shall make this little affair
+of the note known in Oxford, so that the Warden will have to break the
+engagement off. Which alternative do you choose?"
+
+The very words repeated themselves over and over in Gwendolen's memory,
+and she flung herself on her bed and gave way to a passion of tears. No,
+she would never forgive Mrs. Potten.
+
+When the bell sounded for dinner, Gwendolen struggled off the bed and
+went to look at herself in the glass. She couldn't possibly go
+downstairs looking like that, even if she were dressed. Yet pangs of
+hunger seized Gwendolen. She had eaten one wretched little slice of
+bread and butter at Potten End, moistening it with her tears, and now
+she wanted food. Several minutes passed.
+
+"They won't care even if I'm dead," moaned Gwendolen, and she listened.
+
+A knock came at her door, and Louise entered.
+
+"If mademoiselle has a headache would she like to have some dinner
+brought up to her?"
+
+"Yes, thanks," said Gwendolen, and she kept her face away from the
+direction of the door so that Louise could not see it.
+
+"What would mademoiselle like? Some soup?"
+
+Oh, how wretched it all was! And when all might have been so different!
+And soup--only soup!
+
+"I don't care," said Gwendolen, "some sort of dinner--any dinner."
+
+"Ah, dinner!" said Louise.
+
+When she had gone, Gwendolen tied two handkerchiefs together and
+fastened them round her forehead to look as if she had a
+headache--indeed, she had a headache--and a heartache too!
+
+Presently dinner was brought up, and Gwendolen ate it in loneliness and
+sadness. She did not leave anything. She had thought of leaving some of
+the meat, but decided against it. After she had finished, and it had
+been cleared away, she had sat looking at the fire for a few minutes
+with eyes that were sore from weeping. Then she got up and began to
+undress. Life was a miserable thing! She got into bed and laid her hot
+head down on the cool pillow and tried not to think. But she listened to
+every sound that passed her door. It was horrible to be alone and
+forgotten. She had asked to be left alone, but she had not meant to be
+alone so long. Then there suddenly sprang into her mind the recollection
+of the strange form she thought she had seen in the library. She really
+had thought she had seen him. Were such things true?
+
+What about the disaster? Perhaps it was _her_ disaster he had come to
+warn _her_ about and that was why _she_ saw him. Perhaps God sent him!
+This thought thrilled her whole being, and she lay very still. Perhaps
+God had meant to tell _her_ that she must be careful, and she had not
+been careful. But then how could she have guessed?
+
+Gwendolen had been confirmed only two years ago. She remembered that the
+preparation for confirmation had been a bore, and yet had given her a
+pleasant sensation of self-approbation, because she was serving God in a
+manner peculiarly agreeable to Him by being in the right Church,
+especially now in these times of unbelief and neglect of religion. She
+had a pleasant feeling that there were a great many people disobeying
+Him; and that heaps of priggish people who fussed about living
+goody-goody lives, were not really approved of by Him, because they
+didn't go to church or only went to wrong churches.
+
+Then she recalled the afternoon when she was confirmed. She was at
+school and there were other girls with her, and the old bishop preached
+to them, and went on and on and on so long, and was so dull that
+Gwendolen ceased to listen. But she had gone through it all, and had
+felt very happy to have it over. She felt safe in God's keeping. But now
+she was alone and miserable, and felt strangely unprotected by God, as
+if God didn't care!
+
+Was that strange form she had seen in the library sent not by God but by
+the devil to frighten her? If the Warden had been in the house she would
+have felt less frightened, only now--now she was so horribly alone. Even
+if he had been in the house, though she couldn't speak to him, she would
+have been less frightened.
+
+Gwendolen listened for footsteps in the corridor--would any one come to
+her? Why had she spoken to Lady Dashwood as if she didn't want to be
+disturbed? Suppose nobody came? And what about the devil? Should she
+ring?
+
+At last, unable to bear herself and her thoughts any longer she rose
+from her bed and put on her dressing-gown. She opened her door and
+peeped out into the corridor. There was just a glimpse of light, and
+she could see pretty clearly from end to end. She could hear what
+sounded like a person near the head of the staircase. Gwendolen darted
+forwards towards the curtained end of the corridor. But when she reached
+the curtain she saw old Robinson going down the staircase.
+
+Gwendolen went back a few steps along the corridor and returned to her
+room. She pushed the door open. It was too silent and too empty, it
+frightened her. Should she ring the bell? If she rang the bell what
+would she say? The dinner had been cleared away. What should she ask for
+if she rang?
+
+With a groan of despair she went outside again and again listened.
+Somebody was approaching the corridor. Somebody was coming into the
+corridor. She stood where she was. It was Mrs. Dashwood who was coming.
+She had mounted the steps, and here she was walking towards her.
+Gwendolen stood still and waited.
+
+May saw the figure of the girl, clutching her dressing-gown round her,
+and staring with large distended eyes like a hunted animal.
+
+"What is it?" asked May. "Do you feel ill, Gwen?"
+
+"Oh!" said the girl, with a shiver, "I'm so glad you've come! I can't go
+into my bedroom alone. Oh, I am so wretched!"
+
+"I'll take you into your bedroom," said May, and she led Gwen in and
+closed the door behind them.
+
+"You were in bed," she said. "Get in again and I will straighten you
+up." She helped Gwendolen to take off her dressing-gown.
+
+"You can't stay with me a little?" demanded Gwen, and her lips trembled.
+"I've such a headache."
+
+The handkerchiefs were still bound round her head, and were making her
+hot and uncomfortable.
+
+"Poor Gwen!" said May. "Yes, I'll stay a little. I dare say some
+Eau-de-Cologne would help your headache to go."
+
+"I haven't got any. I've only got scent," said Gwen, as she stepped into
+bed.
+
+"I have some," said May. "I'll go and fetch it. I'll be back in a
+moment."
+
+Gwendolen sat up in bed, drawing the clothes up to her neck, waiting.
+The moment she was alone in the room, the room seemed so dismal, and the
+solitude alarming. There was always the devil----
+
+"Sitting up?" said May, when she came back with the Eau-de-Cologne in
+her hand.
+
+Gwendolen sank down in the bed. How comforting it was to have Mrs.
+Dashwood waiting on her and talking about her and being sympathetic. She
+had always loved Mrs. Dashwood. She was so sweet. Now, if only, only she
+had not made that horrible blunder, she would have had the whole
+household waiting on her, talking about her and being sympathetic! Oh!
+
+May brought a chair to the bed, and began to smooth the dark hair away
+from Gwen's face.
+
+"I think you would be cooler with those handkerchiefs off," she said. "I
+can't get to your forehead very well with the Eau-de-Cologne."
+
+Gwen signified her consent with a deep sigh, and May slipped the bandage
+off and put it away on the dressing-table.
+
+Then she dabbed some of the Eau-de-Cologne softly on to the girl's
+forehead.
+
+"I suppose you _know_," whispered Gwen, as the scent of the perfume came
+into her nostrils.
+
+"Yes," said May.
+
+"I hope the servants don't know," groaned Gwen.
+
+"I don't think any one knows, but just ourselves," said May, in a
+soothing voice; "and no one but ourselves need know about it."
+
+"Oh, it's horrible!" groaned Gwen again. "I can't bear it!"
+
+"It is hard to bear," said May, as she smoothed the girl's brow.
+
+After a little silence Gwendolen suddenly said--
+
+"You don't believe in that ghost?"
+
+"The ghost?" said May, a little surprised at this sudden deviation from
+the cause of Gwendolen's grief.
+
+"You thought it was silly?" said Gwen, tentatively.
+
+"Not silly, but fanciful," said May.
+
+Gwendolen moved her head. "I think I was; but I still see him, and I
+don't want to. I have begun to think about him, now, this evening. I had
+forgotten before----"
+
+"You must make up your mind not to think of it. It isn't a real person,
+Gwen."
+
+Gwendolen still kept her head slightly round towards May Dashwood,
+though she had her eyes closed so as not to interfere with the movements
+of May's hand on her brow.
+
+"Do you think the devil does things?" she asked in an awed voice.
+
+May hesitated for a moment and then said: "We do things, and some of us
+call it the devil doing things."
+
+"Then you don't believe in the devil?" asked Gwendolen, opening her
+eyes.
+
+"I don't think so, Gwen," said May. "But God I am sure of."
+
+Gwendolen lay still for a little while. She was thinking now of her
+troubles.
+
+"You don't do any wrong things?" asked Gwendolen, tentatively.
+
+"We all do wrong things," said May.
+
+"I mean wrong things that people make a fuss about," said Gwendolen,
+thinking of Mrs. Potten, and the drawing-room at Potten End.
+
+"Some things are more wrong than others," said May. "It depends upon
+whether they do much harm or not."
+
+Gwendolen pondered. This was a new proof of Mrs. Potten's meanness. What
+she, Gwen, had done had harmed nobody practically.
+
+"I'm miserable!" she burst out.
+
+"Poor Gwen!" murmured May.
+
+Gwendolen lay still. Her heart was full. When she had once left the
+Lodgings, and was at Mrs. Potten's she would be among enemies. Now,
+here, at least she had one friend--some one who was not mean and didn't
+scold. She must speak to this one kind friend--she would tell her
+troubles. She must have some one to confide in.
+
+"I didn't want to break off the engagement," she said at last, unable to
+keep her thoughts much longer to herself.
+
+"You didn't want to!" said May gently. It was scarcely a question, but
+it drew Gwendolen to an explanation of her words.
+
+"Mrs. Potten made me," she said.
+
+"No one could make you," said May, quietly. "Could they?"
+
+"She did," said Gwen, with a burst of tears. "I wanted to make it all
+right, and she wouldn't let me. If only I could have seen the Warden, he
+would have taken my side, perhaps," and here Gwen's voice became less
+emphatic. "But Mrs. Potten simply made me. She was determined. She hates
+me. I can't bear her."
+
+"Had you done absolutely nothing to make her so determined?" asked May
+wondering.
+
+"Nothing--except a little joke----" began Gwen. "It was merely a sort of
+a joke."
+
+"A joke!" said May, and her voice was very low and strange.
+
+The umbrella standing in the corner of the room in the shadow seemed to
+make faces at Gwen. Why hadn't she put the horrid thing in the wardrobe?
+
+"It was only meant as a sort of joke," she repeated, and then the
+overwhelming flood of bitter memory coming upon her, she yielded to her
+instinct and poured out to May, bit by bit, a broken garbled history of
+the whole affair--a story such as Belinda and Co. would tell--a story
+made, unconsciously, all the more sordid and pitiful because it was
+obviously not the whole truth.
+
+And this was a story told by one who might have been the Warden's wife!
+May went on soothing the girl's hair and brow with her hand.
+
+"And Mrs. Potten wouldn't let me make it all right. She refused to let
+me, though I begged her to, and gave her my word of honour," wept Gwen,
+indignantly. Then she suddenly said, "Oh, the fire's going out and
+perhaps you're cold!" for she was fearful lest her visitor would leave
+her. "When my dinner was taken away too much coal was put on my fire,
+and I was too miserable to make a fuss."
+
+"I'm not cold," said May. "But I will stir up the fire." She rose from
+her chair and went to the fire, and poked it up into a blaze.
+
+"I'm afraid, Gwen, that you couldn't make it all right with Mrs. Potten,
+except by----"
+
+"By what?" asked Gwen, becoming suddenly excited. "If only Dr. Middleton
+had not been away, I might have borrowed from him. Do you mean that?"
+
+"No," said May, with a profound sigh, as she came back to the bedside.
+"It was a question of honour, don't you see? You couldn't have made it
+right, except by being horrified at what you had done and feeling that
+you could never, never make it right! Do you understand what I mean?"
+
+Gwen was trying to understand.
+
+"That would have made Mrs. Potten worse," she said hoarsely.
+
+"No," said May, with a quiet emphasis on the word. "If you had really
+been terribly unhappy about your honour, Mrs. Potten would have
+sympathised! Don't you see what I mean?"
+
+"But how could I be so terribly unhappy about such a mere accident?"
+protested Gwen, tearfully. "I might have returned the money. I very
+nearly did twice, only somehow I didn't. It just seemed to happen like
+that, and it was such a little affair."
+
+May sat down again and put her cool hand on the girl's brow. It was no
+use talking about honour to the child. To Belinda and Co. honour was,
+what was expected of you by people who were in the swim, and if Mrs.
+Potten had made no discovery, or had forgiven it when it was made,
+Gwendolen's "honour" would have remained bright and untarnished. That
+was Gwendolen's sense of the moral situation! Her vision went no
+further. Still May's silence was disturbing. Gwendolen felt that she had
+not been understood, and that she was being reproved by that silence,
+though the reproof was gentle, very different from the kind of reproof
+that would probably be administered by her mother. On the other hand,
+the reproof was not merited.
+
+"Would you," said Gwendolen, with a gulp in her throat, "would you spoil
+somebody's whole life because they took some trifle that nobody really
+missed or wanted, intending to give it back, only didn't somehow get the
+opportunity? Would you?"
+
+"Your whole life isn't spoiled," said May. "If you take what has
+happened very seriously you may make your life more honourable in the
+future than it has been. Don't you see that if what you had done had not
+been discovered you might have gone on doing these things all your
+life. That would have spoiled your life!"
+
+"But my engagement!" moaned Gwen. "I shall have to go to that horrid
+Stow, unless mother has got an invitation for me, and mother will be so
+upset. She'll be so angry!"
+
+What could May say to give the girl any real understanding of her own
+responsibilities? Was she to drift about like a leaf in the wind,
+without principles, with no firm basis upon which she could stand and
+take her part in the struggle of human life?
+
+What was to be done?
+
+May did her best to put her thoughts into the plainest, simplest words.
+She had to begin at the beginning, and speak as to a child. As she went
+on May discovered that one thing, and one thing only, really impressed
+Gwen, and that was the idea of courage. Coward as she was, she did grasp
+that courage was of real value. Gwen had a faint gleam of the meaning of
+honour, when it was a question of courage, and upon this one string May
+played, for it gave a clear note, striking into the silence of the poor
+girl's moral nature.
+
+She got the girl to promise that she would try and take the misfortune
+of her youth with courage and meet the future bravely. She even induced
+Gwendolen then and there to pray for more courage, moral and physical,
+and she did not leave her till she had added also a prayer for help in
+the future when difficulties and temptations were in her path. They were
+vague words, "difficulties and temptations," and May knew that, but it
+is not possible in half an hour to straighten the muddle of many years
+of Belinda and Co.
+
+"Have courage," she said at last, "I must go, Gwen. Good-night," and May
+stooped down to kiss the dark head on the pillow. "God protect you; God
+help you!"
+
+"Good-night," sighed Gwen; "I'll try and go to sleep. But could
+you--could you put that umbrella into the wardrobe and poke up the fire
+again to make a little light?"
+
+And May put the umbrella away in the wardrobe and poked up the fire.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+THE ANXIETIES OF LOUISE
+
+
+The one definite thought in May's mind now was that she must leave
+Oxford before the Warden's return. A blind instinct compelled her to
+take this course.
+
+It was not easy for her to say to Lady Dashwood quite unconcernedly:
+"You won't mind my running away to-morrow, will you? You won't mind if I
+run off, will you? All your troubles are over, and I do want to get back
+to-morrow. I have lots of things to do--to get ready before Monday."
+
+It was not easy to say all this, but May did say it. She said it in the
+corridor as they were bidding each other good night.
+
+Lady Dashwood's surprise was painful. "I do mind your running off," she
+said, and she looked a little bewildered. "Must you go to-morrow? Must
+you? To-morrow!"
+
+Lady Dashwood had talked a great deal, both before May went into
+Gwendolen's room and afterwards, when May came back again to the
+drawing-room. May had told the reason for her long absence from the
+drawing-room, but in an abstracted manner; and Lady Dashwood, observing
+this, looked long and wistfully at her, but had asked no questions. All
+she had said was, "I'm glad you've been with the child," and she spoke
+in a low voice. Then she had begun talking again of things relevant and
+irrelevant, and in doing so had betrayed her excitement. It was indeed
+May now who was calm and self-contained, all trace of her "chill" gone,
+whereas Lady Dashwood was obviously over-excited.
+
+It was only when May said good night, and made this announcement about
+going away on the following day, that Lady Dashwood's spirits showed
+signs of flagging.
+
+That moment all her vivacity suddenly died down and she looked no longer
+brisk and brilliant, but limp and tired, a hollow-eyed woman.
+
+"I do mind," she repeated. But she gave no reason for minding, she
+merely added: "Don't go!" and stared at her niece pathetically.
+
+But May was firm. She kissed her aunt very affectionately, and was very
+tender in her manner and voice, but she was immovable.
+
+"I must go, dear," she said; and then she repeated again: "Your troubles
+are over! Seriously, Aunt Lena, I want to go!"
+
+Lady Dashwood sighed. "You have done a great deal for me, May," she
+said, and this gratitude from her Aunt Lena shook May's courage more
+than any protest.
+
+"I don't want to go," she said, "but I must go." That was her last word.
+
+And May wanted to go early. Everything must be ready. She wanted to get
+away as soon as Gwendolen had gone. She must not risk meeting the
+Warden! He might return to lunch, she must go before lunch. She must not
+see him come back. She could not bear to be in the house when he read
+the letter from Gwendolen. _That_ was what made her fly. To stay on and
+witness in cold blood his feelings at being rescued, to witness his
+humiliation, because he was rescued, would be an intrusion on the
+privacy of a human soul. She must go. So May packed up over night, slept
+uneasily and in snatches, conscious of Oxford all the time, conscious of
+all that it meant to her!
+
+It was a grey morning when she got up and looked out of narrow window's
+on to the quiet, narrow grey street. She heard no one moving about when
+she came down the broad staircase and into the hall, prepared to go,
+hardening herself to go, because to stop would be impossible.
+
+In the breakfast-room she found Lady Dashwood. The two women looked at
+each other silently with a smile only of greeting. They could hear steps
+outside, and Gwendolen came in with swollen eyes and smiled vaguely
+round the room.
+
+"Good morning," she said, and then gulped. Poor girl! She was making an
+effort to be brave, and May gave her a glance that said plainly her
+approval and her sympathy.
+
+Lady Dashwood was almost tender in her manner.
+
+Gwen ate hurriedly, and once or twice made spasmodic faces in trying not
+to break down.
+
+Of course, no reference was made to anything that had happened, but it
+was necessary to talk a little. Silence would have made things worse. So
+Lady Dashwood praised Potten End, and said it was more bracing there
+than at Oxford; and May said she had not seen Potten End. Then both
+ladies looked at each other and started some other subject. They spoke
+at great length about the weather. At last breakfast was over, and Lady
+Dashwood rose from her chair and looked rather nervously across at
+Gwendolen.
+
+"I'm ready," said Gwendolen, bravely. "At least, I've only got to put my
+hat on."
+
+"There is no hurry, dear," said Lady Dashwood. "Let me see, you have
+nearly an hour." The car was to come at ten--an unearthly hour except in
+Oxford and at Potten End.
+
+Gwendolen disappeared upstairs, and the two ladies lingered about in the
+breakfast-room, neither able to attend to the papers, though both read
+ostentatiously. At last the car was announced and they went into the
+hall.
+
+Gwendolen came downstairs hastily. That horrible umbrella was in her
+hand, in the other hand was a handkerchief. She was frowning under her
+veil to keep herself from crying.
+
+"Well, good-bye, Gwen," said Lady Dashwood, and she kissed the girl on
+both cheeks. "Good-bye, dear; give my love to Mrs. Potten."
+
+"Thanks----" began Gwen, but her voice began to fail her. "Thanks----"
+
+"My love to Mrs. Potten," repeated Lady Dashwood hurriedly, and
+Gwendolen turned away without finishing her sentence.
+
+May kissed Gwendolen and murmured in her ear: "Brave girl!" "Good-bye,"
+she said aloud.
+
+"Good-bye," said Gwen.
+
+There was the familiar hall, its great bevelled doors, its oak panelling
+and its wide oak staircase. There was the round table in the middle
+under the electric chandelier and the dim portraits on the walls. All
+was familiar, and all had been thought of as hers for a time, all too
+short; for a day that now seemed as if it could never have been; for a
+dream and no part of the reality of Gwen's life.
+
+There outside was the car which was to take her away for ever. Robinson
+Junior was holding open the door, his snub nose well in the air, his
+cheeks reddened by the chill autumn wind. He was waiting for her to get
+in. Then he would bang the door to, and have done with her, and the
+Lodgings would never again have anything to do with her--nor Oxford.
+
+Oh, it was too wretched, but brave she would be, and Mrs. Dashwood at
+least would pity her and understand. What Lady Dashwood thought she did
+not care so very much.
+
+Gwen went down the steps and got into the car. Robinson Junior did bang
+the door. He banged it and caught a piece of Gwendolen's skirt. Then he
+opened the door with ferocity as if it was somebody else's fault.
+Gwendolen pulled her skirt and he banged the door to again. This time it
+shut her out from the Lodgings. The last moment had come. The car moved.
+The two ladies waved their hands. Robinson Junior raised his finger to
+his ear. The car turned and went out of the Court into the narrow
+street.
+
+It was all over! Robinson Junior did not come in. He slipped somewhere
+round at the back with mysterious swiftness, and Lady Dashwood shut the
+door herself. It was like closing a book at "The End" or writing a last
+Will and Testament. It was all over!
+
+Then Lady Dashwood, who had been so composed that May had been deceived
+into thinking that she had almost recovered from her excitement and
+fatigue, suddenly leaned against the hall table. "May!" she called.
+
+May did not hear her name called, she was already retreating up the
+staircase to her room as hastily as she dared. There was not much time,
+and yet she had not told her Aunt Lena yet that she meant to leave that
+very morning; she had mentioned no hour.
+
+Her luggage was packed and labelled. Her hat and coat and gloves,
+exactly the things she had arrived in from Malvern, were there waiting
+for her to put them on and go away. Meanwhile _he_ was in Town, little
+dreaming of what was happening. He would be back soon. It would be
+horrible if he arrived before she left, and there was still an hour
+before she must start for the station! She would put on her hat and then
+go down, tell her Aunt Lena that she must go in an hour, and talk to
+her, give herself up to her till the taxi came. No, it would be
+impossible for him to arrive before she left; she was foolish to worry
+about it. It was pure nonsense--merely a nervous fear.
+
+When she had put on her hat, it flashed into her mind that Mr. Bingham
+was coming to dinner, ostensibly to meet her. After their talk together
+she must write to him. She must scribble a little note and get it taken
+to All Souls. She must tell him that she had to leave Oxford quite
+unexpectedly.
+
+She sat down at her writing table and took up a pen. She wrote a few
+words, and thought the words too cold and too abrupt. She must begin
+again, and she tore up the letter and threw it into the waste-paper
+basket. She wanted to write sympathetically and yet not to appear to
+think he needed sympathy. She wanted to write as if she was very much
+disappointed at not meeting him again, but without putting it into words
+that would sound self-assured--as if she knew and counted on his being
+grateful at her disappointment. And indeed, she thought, he was not much
+in love with her. Why should he be? That was a question May always asked
+herself when a man professed to be in love with her. Why? Why in the
+name of all----, etc. May always failed to see why.
+
+This lack of vanity in May had led many people, who did not understand
+her, to accuse her of flirting.
+
+But May, in writing to Bingham, realised to the full _his_ attractions.
+He was too interesting a personality to be going about unclaimed. He
+ought to make some woman happy--some nice woman--not herself.
+
+She began a fresh letter and was at the first sentence when a knock came
+at the door.
+
+"Come in," she called.
+
+In came Louise, looking full of sinister importance. Her hair, which was
+never very tidy, looked as if it had taken an intelligent interest in
+some crisis.
+
+Louise glanced round the room at the luggage, at the coat, at the hat on
+May's head.
+
+"Oh, Madame, what a desolation!" cried Louise, and she wrung her hands.
+
+"I have packed very well, Louise," said May Dashwood. "I am accustomed
+to do it--I have no maid."
+
+"Oh, what a desolation!" repeated Louise, as she advanced further into
+the room. Then she stopped and announced, with an affectation of
+horrible composure: "I come to inform Madame that it is impossible for
+her to depart."
+
+May put down her pen. "What is the matter, Louise?"
+
+Louise drew in her breath. "My lady suffers," she began, and as she
+proceeded her words flowed more and more quickly: "while Madame prepares
+to forsake her, my lady faints upon the floor in the breakfast parlour,
+she expires."
+
+May rose, her heart beating.
+
+"She now swallows a glass of brandy and a biscuit brought by Mrs.
+Robinson, who is so slow, so slow and who understands nothing, but has
+the keys. I call and I call, eh bien, I call--oh, but what slowness,
+what insupportable delay."
+
+May put her letter inside the writing case and moved away from the
+writing-table. She was composed now.
+
+"Is she very ill?" she asked quietly.
+
+"My lady has died every day for two weeks," continued Louise; "for many
+days she has died, and no one observes it but myself and the angels in
+heaven. Madame agonises, over what terrible events I know not. But they
+know, the spirits of the dead--they know and they come. I believe that,
+for this house, this Lodgings is gloomy, this Oxford is so full of
+sombre thought. My Lady Dashwood martyrs herself for others. I see it
+always with Monsieur le General Sir John Dashwood, excellent man as he
+is, but who insists on catching severe colds in the head--colds heavy,
+overpowering--he sneezing with a ferocity that is impossible. At last
+old Robinson telephones for a doctor at my demand, oh, how I demand! It
+was necessary to overcome the phlegm and the stupidity of the Robinson
+family. I say! I demand! It is only when Mrs. Robinson comes to assist
+at this terrible crisis, that I go to rush upstairs for Madame. I go to
+rush, but I am detained! 'Stay!' cries my lady, 'I forbid you to speak
+of it. I am not ill--it is an indisposition of the mildest.' You see,
+Madame, the extraordinary generosity of my Lady Dashwood! Her soul full
+of sublime resignation! 'I go to prevent Madame Mrs. Dashwood's
+departure,' I cry! My lady replies with immense self-renunciation, like
+that of the blessed saints: 'Say nothing, my poor Louise. I exist only
+to do good on this earth. I ask for nothing for myself. I suffer alone.
+I endure without complaint. I speak not of my extreme agony in the head.
+I do not mention the insupportable nausea of the stomach. I subdue my
+cries! I weep silently, alone in the presence of my God.'"
+
+Louise paused for a second for breath.
+
+Nothing at this moment could have made May smile. She looked at Louise
+with gravity.
+
+"But," continued Louise, with the same vehement swiftness, "a good
+moment arrives. The form too full of Mrs. Robinson hides me as I escape
+from the room. I come to Madame here. Eh bien!" Here Louise broke off
+and, glancing round the room, made a gesture that implied unpacking
+May's luggage and putting everything back in the proper place. "I unpack
+for Madame, immediately, while Madame descends and assures my lady that
+she does not forsake her at the supreme moment."
+
+Louise's eyes now seemed to pierce the space in front of her, she defied
+contradiction.
+
+"I will go and see Lady Dashwood," said May, calmly. "But don't unpack
+yet for me. I shall put her ladyship to bed, Louise. Go and see that
+everything is ready, please."
+
+"I go to countermand Madame's taxi," said Louise, astutely.
+
+"You can do that," said May; "I shall wait till the doctor
+comes--anyhow. Ask Robinson to telephone at once."
+
+May went down to the breakfast-room, and found Mrs. Robinson's stout
+form coming out of the door. Within Lady Dashwood was seated in a chair
+by the fire.
+
+"I am perfectly well, May," said Lady Dashwood, lifting up a white face
+to her niece as she came up to her. "I have sent Mrs. Robinson away.
+That silly old fool, Louise, has made Robinson telephone for a doctor."
+
+"Quite right of her," said May, quietly, "and I shall stop till he has
+come and gone."
+
+"You didn't mean to go before lunch?" murmured Lady Dashwood.
+
+"I can go after lunch," said May.
+
+Lady Dashwood leaned her head back in a weak manner.
+
+"Not so convenient to you perhaps, dear," she murmured, but in a voice
+that accepted the delay to May's departure. She accepted it and sighed
+and stared into the fire, and said not one word about the Warden, but
+she said: "I'm not going to bed. The house will be empty enough as it
+is;" and May knew she was thinking of the Warden's return.
+
+"You must go to bed," May replied.
+
+"I can't go to bed, child. I shall stay up and look after things," said
+Lady Dashwood, and she knew she was speaking with guile. "You forget,
+dear, that--the house will be so empty!"
+
+"I shall put you to bed," said May.
+
+"How do you know I shall remain?" said Lady Dashwood. "The doctor will
+say that there is nothing wrong." She looked white and obstinate and
+clung to her chair.
+
+Then at last May said: "I am going to stay on till the doctor comes.
+Like all managing people, you are absolutely irresponsible about
+yourself, Aunt Lena. I shall have to stay and make you obey me."
+
+"Oh, I didn't know I was so wicked!" sighed Lady Dashwood, in a suddenly
+contented voice. Now she allowed herself to be helped out of her chair
+and led upstairs to her room. "And can you _really_ stay, May? _Really_,
+dear?"
+
+"I must," said May. "You are so wicked."
+
+"Oh dear, am I wicked?" said Lady Dashwood. "I knew my dear old John was
+very tiresome, but I didn't know I was!"
+
+So May remained. What else could she do? She left Lady Dashwood in
+Louise's hands and went to her room. What was to be done about Mr.
+Bingham? May looked round the room.
+
+Her boxes had disappeared. Her clothes were all put away and the toilet
+table carefully strewn with her toilet things. Louise had done it. On
+the little table by the bed stood something that had not been there
+before. It was a little plaster image of St. Joseph. It bore the traces
+of wear and tear from the hands of the pious believer--also
+deterioration from dust, and damage from accidents. Something, perhaps
+coffee, had been spilt upon it. The machine-made features of the face
+also had shared this accidental ablution, and one foot was slightly
+damaged. The saint was standing upon a piece of folded paper. May pulled
+out the paper and unfolded it. Written in faultless copper-plate were
+the words: "Louise Dumont prays for the protection of Madame every
+day."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+THE FORGIVENESS OF THE FATES
+
+
+Lady Dashwood submitted gracefully to being put to bed and propped up by
+pillows.
+
+The doctor had come, pronounced his patient very greatly over-fatigued
+though not seriously ill, but he had forbidden her to leave her bed till
+he gave permission.
+
+"Keep a strict watch over her," he had said to May, outside in the
+corridor. "She has got to the point when rest will put her right, or
+fatigue will put her all wrong."
+
+When he had gone May came back into her aunt's room.
+
+"Now you know what it is to be under orders," she said with a smile.
+
+"And what about you, dear?" murmured Lady Dashwood, sweetly. "You can't
+stay on, of course, darling?"
+
+May frowned to herself and then smiled. "I shall stay till the doctor
+comes again, because I can't trust you, dear aunt, to keep in bed, if I
+go."
+
+"You can't trust me," sighed Lady Dashwood, blissfully. "I am beginning
+to realise that I am not the only reasonable person in the world. I
+suppose it is good for me, but it is very sad for you, May, to be
+sacrificed like this."
+
+May said she wasn't being sacrificed, and refused to discuss the matter
+any longer.
+
+So Lady Dashwood lay quietly looking at the narrow windows, from which
+college roofs opposite could be seen in a grey Oxford daylight. She made
+no reference to the Warden's return. She did not tell May when he was
+expected home, whether he was coming back to lunch, or whether he was
+coming by a late afternoon train. She did not even mention his name. And
+May, too, kept up the appearance of not thinking about him. She merely
+looked up with a rather strained attention if the door opened, or there
+were sounds in the corridor.
+
+The time came for her to go down to lunch, and Lady Dashwood did not
+even say: "You will have to take lunch alone." But she said: "I wonder
+what Marian Potten and Gwendolen are doing?"
+
+So May went into the dining-room and glanced round her with
+apprehension.
+
+Two places were laid, one for the Warden at the head of the table and
+one at his right hand.
+
+"You expect the Warden?" she asked of Robinson, who was standing in the
+room alone, and she came towards the table apprehensively.
+
+He pulled out her chair and said: "No, m'm, I don't think 'e will be in
+to lunch."
+
+May sat down and breathed again. "You think he will be late?" she asked,
+speaking as one who cares not, but who needs the information for
+purposes of business.
+
+"'E said to me, m'm," said Robinson, as he handed a dish to her with old
+gnarled hands that were a little shaky but still full of service, "as I
+was 'andin' 'im 'is 'at what 'e wears in London: 'If I'm not 'ome in
+time for lunch, I shall be 'ome by 'alf-past five.'"
+
+"Oh yes," said May. "Then you'll be putting tea for him in the library,
+won't you, Robinson?"
+
+Robinson assented. "Yes, m'm, if you 'as tea with 'er ladyship." Then he
+added, "We're glad, m'm, that you're stayin' on,"--now he dropped his
+voice to a confidential whisper, and wore the air of one who is
+privileged to communicate private information to a member of the
+family--"because that French Louise is so exactin' and that jealous of
+Mrs. Robinson, and no one can't expect a learned gentleman, what 'as the
+'ole college on 'is shoulders and ain't used to ladies, to know what to
+do."
+
+"No, of course not," said May.
+
+"But we've all noticed," said Robinson, solemnly, as he poured out some
+water into May's glass, "as 'ow 'er ladyship's indisposition 'as come on
+gradual."
+
+Here he ended his observations, and he went and stood by his carving
+table with his accustomed bearing of humble importance.
+
+But it would have been a mistake to suppose that Robinson was really
+humble. He was, on the contrary, proud. Proud because he was part of
+King's College and had been a part thereof for fifty years, and his
+father had been part before him. But his pride went further. He was
+proud of the way he waited. He moved about the room, skimming the edges
+of the long table and circumventing chairs and protruding backs of
+awkward guests with peculiar skill. Robinson would have had much
+sympathy with the Oxford chaplain who offered to give any other clerical
+gentlemen a generous handicap in the Creed and beat them. Robinson, had
+he been an ecclesiastic, would have made such a boast himself. As it
+was, he prided himself on being able to serve round an "ontray" on his
+own side of the table and lap over two out of the other man's, easy.
+Robinson was also proud of having a master with a distinguished
+appearance, and this without any treachery to the late Warden's bald
+head and exceedingly casual nose. There was no obligation on Robinson's
+part to back up the old Warden against the new, or indeed the new
+against the old, because all Wardens were Wardens, and the College was
+continuous and eternal.
+
+Robinson gloried on there being many thousand volumes in the library.
+Mrs. Robinson did not share his enthusiasm. He enjoyed opening the door
+to other Heads of colleges and saying: "Not at 'ome, sir. Is there any
+message I can take, sir?" for Robinson felt that he was negotiating
+important affairs that affected the welfare of Oxford. When waiting on
+the Warden, Robinson's solemnity was not occasioned by pure meekness,
+nor was his deferential smile (when a smile was suitable) an exposition
+of snobbery nor the flattery of the wage-earner. Robinson was gratifying
+his own vanity; he was showing how he grasped the etiquette of his
+profession. Also he experienced pleasure in being necessary to a human
+being whose manner and tastes were as impressive as they were
+unaccountable.
+
+"There's more of these 'ere periodicals coming in," he said that very
+afternoon, as he arranged the lamp in the library, "though there aren't
+no more Germans among 'em, than there ever were before in my time." He
+spoke to Robinson Junior, who had followed him into the library.
+
+"'E don't read 'em," said Robinson Junior, his nose elevated, in the act
+of drawing the curtains.
+
+"'Ow d'you know?" asked Robinson.
+
+"They ain't cut, not all of 'em," said Junior.
+
+"'E don't read the stuff what is familiar to 'im," explained Robinson,
+and so saying, he took from some corner of the room a little table and
+set it up by a chair by the fire, for the Warden's tea-tray.
+
+Meanwhile May Dashwood had taken tea with her Aunt Lena and then had
+gone to her own room. So that when the Warden did arrive, just about
+half-past five, he found no one moving about, no one visible. He came in
+like a thief in the night, pale and silent. He glanced round the hall,
+preoccupied apparently, but really aware of things that were around him
+to a high degree of sensitiveness. He moved noiselessly, rang the bell,
+and then looked at the table for letters. Robinson appeared immediately.
+The Warden's narrow eyes, that seemed to absorb the light that fell upon
+them, rested upon Robinson's face with that steady but veiled regard
+with which a master controls those who are under him.
+
+The Warden did not ask "Where are the ladies?" he asked whether Lady
+Dashwood was in.
+
+"In 'er room, sir," said Robinson; and he then proceeded to explain why,
+and gave the doctor's report. "Nothin' alarmin', sir."
+
+The Warden said "Ah!" and looked down at the table. He glanced over the
+letters that were waiting for him. He gathered them in his hands.
+
+"Tea is in the library for you, sir," said old Robinson; "I will bring
+it in a minute."
+
+The Warden went upstairs.
+
+He went past the drawing-room and past his bedroom into the library. He
+threw his letters down on the writing-desk, walked to the fire, and then
+walked back again to the desk. Then he finally went out of the room and
+passed the head of the staircase and up the two or three steps into the
+corridor.
+
+He had been into the corridor three times since the arrival of his
+sister. Once when he conducted her to her room, on her arrival, once
+again when she had made alterations in the bedrooms and had asked for
+his approval, and then on that wretched night when he had gone to calm
+Gwendolen and assure her that there were no such things as ghosts. Now
+he went along over the noiseless floor, anxious to meet no one. Why was
+Lena ill? He knew why Lena was ill, but for a moment he felt wearily
+vexed with her. Why did she make things worse? This feeling vanished
+when he opened her door and went in, and saw her sitting up in bed
+supported by pillows. Then his feeling was of remorse, of anger
+increased against himself, and himself only.
+
+She was turning the pages of a paper, ostentatiously looking at the
+illustrations, but she was really waiting in suspense for his arrival
+and thinking of nothing else.
+
+She looked up at him with a strange smile. "Back!" she said. "And you
+find me malingering!"
+
+He came up to the bed. "You've been ill," he said, and he did not return
+her smile. "I'm very sorry, Lena."
+
+"No, only tired," she said. "And I am already better, Jim," she went on,
+and now she showed great nervousness and her voice was jerky. "I have a
+letter for you. I want you to read it at once, dear, but not here; read
+it in the library. Don't stay now; go away, dear, and come and see me
+afterwards."
+
+She gave him the letter with the handwriting downwards. She had thought
+this out beforehand. She feared the sight of his emotion. She could not
+bear it--just now. She was still feeling very shaky and very weak.
+
+He took the letter and turned it over to see the handwriting. She
+thought he made a movement of surprise. His face she did not look at,
+she looked at the paper that was lying before her. She longed for him to
+go away, now that the letter was safely in his hands. He guessed, no
+doubt, what the letter was about! He must guess!
+
+She little knew. He no more guessed its contents than he would have
+guessed that in order to secure his salvation some one would be allowed
+to rise from the dead! The letter he regarded as ominous--of some
+trouble, some dispute, something inevitable and miserable.
+
+"I hope you have everything you want, Lena," he said as he walked to the
+door. "I hope Louise doesn't fuss you." Then he asked: "Have you ever
+fainted before?"
+
+Lady Dashwood said she hadn't, but added that people over fifty
+generally fainted, and that she would not have gone to bed had not dear
+May insisted on it as well as Louise.
+
+He went out. He found the corridor silent. He walked along with that
+letter in his pocket, feeling a great solitude within him. When he
+passed Gwendolen's door, something gripped him painfully. And then there
+was _her_ door, too!
+
+He returned to the library and sat down by the tea-table and the fire.
+
+From his chair his eyes rested upon the great window at the end of the
+library. It was screened by curtains now. It was there, at that exact
+spot by the right-hand curtain, that Gwendolen had fancied she saw the
+ghost. A ghost, a thin filmy shape was probably her only conception of
+something Spiritual. That the story of the Barber's ghost, the story
+that he came as a prophet of ill tidings to the Warden of the College,
+seemed to fit in with recent events, the events of the last few days;
+this only made the whole episode more repulsive. He must train
+Gwendolen--if indeed she were capable of being trained! The mother would
+be perhaps even a greater obstacle to a sane and useful life than
+Gwendolen herself.
+
+Very likely Gwendolen's letter was to announce that Lady Belinda
+insisted on coming at once, whether there was room for her or not; or
+possibly the letter contained some foolish enclosure from Lady Belinda,
+and Gwendolen was shy of communicating it, but had been ordered to do
+so.
+
+Possibly the letter contained a cutting announcing the engagement! He
+had glanced through the _Times_ yesterday and this morning very hastily.
+Gwendolen's mother might be capable of announcing the engagement before
+it had actually taken place!
+
+He poured out a cup of tea and drank it, and then took the letter from
+his pocket.
+
+He started at the opening of his door. Robinson brought in an American
+visitor, who came with an introduction. The introduction was lying on
+the desk, not yet opened. The Warden rose--escape was impossible. He put
+the letter back into his pocket.
+
+"Bring fresh tea, Robinson," said the Warden.
+
+But the stranger declined it. He had business in view. He had a string
+of solemn questions to ask upon world matters. He wanted the answers. He
+was writing a book, he wanted copy. He had come, metaphorically
+speaking, note-book and pencil in hand.
+
+The Warden, with his mind upon private matters, looked gloomily at this
+visitor to Oxford. Even about "world" matters, with that letter in his
+pocket, he found it difficult to tolerate an interviewer. How was he to
+get through his work if he felt like this?
+
+The American, too, became uneasy. He found the Warden unwilling to give
+him any dogmatic pronouncements on the subject of Literature, on the
+subject of Education, or the subject of Woman now and Woman in the
+immediate future. The Warden declined to say whether the Church of
+England would work for union or whether it was going to split up and
+dwindle into rival sects. He was also guarded in his remarks about the
+political situation in England. He would not prophesy the future of
+Labour, or the fate of Landowners. The Warden was not encouraging. With
+that letter in his pocket the Warden found it difficult to assume the
+patient attention that was due to note-book visitors from afar.
+
+This was a bad beginning, surely! How was the future to be met?
+
+The American was about to take his leave, considerably disappointed
+with the Heads of Oxford colleges, but he suspected that American
+neutrality might be at the bottom of the Warden's reticence.
+
+"I am not one of those Americans," he said, rising, "who regard
+President Woodrow Wilson as the only statesman in the world at this
+present moment."
+
+The Warden threw his cigarette into the fire. "Wilson has one
+qualification for statesmanship," he said, rising and speaking as if he
+was suddenly roused to interest by this highly contentious subject.
+
+The American was surprised. "I presume, coming from you, Professor, that
+you speak of the President's academic training?" he said.
+
+"I am not a Professor," said the Warden, at last sufficiently awakened
+from his preoccupation to make a correction that he should have made
+before. "The University has not conferred that honour upon me. Yes, I
+mean an academic training. When a man who is trained to think meets a
+new problem in politics he pauses to consider it; he takes time; and for
+this the crowd jeer at him! The so-called practical man rarely pauses;
+he doesn't see, unless he has genius, that he mustn't treat a new
+problem as if it were an old one. He decides at once, and for this the
+crowd admire him. 'He knows his own mind,' they say!"
+
+The Warden spoke with a ring of sarcasm in his voice. It was a sarcasm
+secretly directed against himself. That letter in his pocket was the
+cause.
+
+He had been confronted in the small world of his own life with a new
+problem--marriage, and he ought to have understood that it was new, new
+to himself, complicated by his position and needing thought; and he had
+not thought, he had acted. He had belied the use and dignity of his
+training. Had he any excuse? There was the obligation to marry, and
+there was "pity." Were these excuses? They were miserable excuses.
+
+But he had no time to argue further with himself, the inexorable voice
+of the man standing opposite to him broke in.
+
+"In your view, Warden, the practical man is too previous?" said the
+American, making notes (in his own mind).
+
+"He is too confident," said the Warden. "It is difficult enough to make
+an untrained man accept a new fact. It is still more difficult to make
+him think out a new method!"
+
+"I opine," said the American, "that in your view President Wilson has
+only one qualification for statesmanship?"
+
+"I didn't say that," said the Warden. "He may have the other, I mean
+character. Wilson may have the moral courage to act in accordance with
+his mental insight, and if so, if he has both the mental and moral force
+necessary, he might well be, what you do not yourself hold, the only
+living statesman in the world. Time will tell."
+
+Here the Warden smiled a curious smile and made a movement to indicate
+that the visit must come to an end. He must be alone--he needed to
+think--alone. How was he at this moment showing "character, moral
+courage?" Here he was, unable to bear the friction of an ordinary
+interview. Here he was, almost inclined to be discourteous. Here he was,
+determined to bear no longer with his visitor.
+
+When the door closed upon the stranger, the Warden, sick with himself
+and sick with the world, turned to his desk. His letters must be looked
+through at once. Very well, let him begin with the letter in his pocket.
+
+But he first sorted his other letters, throwing away advertisements and
+useless papers. Then he took the letter from his pocket. The very
+handwriting showed incapacity and slackness. At dinner he would have
+the writer of this letter on one side of him, and on the other--he dared
+not think! The Warden ground his teeth and tore open the letter, and
+then a knock came at his door.
+
+"Come in," he said almost fiercely.
+
+Robinson came in. "I was to remind you, sir, that Mr. Bingham would be
+here to dinner."
+
+So much the better. "Very well, Robinson," he said.
+
+Robinson withdrew.
+
+The letter was a long one. It was addressed at the top "Potten End."
+
+"Potten End," said the Warden, half aloud. This was strange! Then she
+was not in the house!
+
+The letter began--
+
+    "Dear Dr. Middleton,
+
+    "When you get this letter I shall have left your house and I shan't
+    return. I hope you will forgive me. I don't know how to tell you,
+    but I have broken off our engagement----"
+
+
+The Warden stared at the words. There were more to come, but
+these--these that he had read! Were they true?
+
+"My God!" he exclaimed, below his breath, "I don't deserve it!" and he
+made some swift strides in the room; "I don't deserve it!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+ALMA MATER
+
+
+The Warden went to the door and turned the key. Why, he did not know. He
+simply did it instinctively. Then he finished reading the letter; and
+having read it through, read it again a second time. He was a free man,
+and he had obtained his freedom through a circumstance that was
+pitifully silly, a circumstance almost incredibly sordid and futile.
+
+Her humiliation was his humiliation, for had he not chosen her to be his
+companion for life? Had he not at this time, when the full
+responsibility of manhood was placed on every man, had he not chosen as
+the mother of his children, a moral weakling?
+
+He locked the letter up in his desk and paced the length of the room
+once or twice. Then he threw himself into a chair and, clasping his head
+in his hands, remained there motionless. Could he be the same man who
+had a few days ago, of his own free will, without any compulsion,
+without any kind of necessity, offered himself for life to a girl of
+whom he knew absolutely nothing, except that she had had a miserable
+upbringing and an heredity that he could not respect? Was it her slender
+beauty, her girlishness, that had made him so passionately pitiful?
+
+From an ordinary man this action would have been folly, but from him it
+was an offence! A very great offence, now, in these times. On the desk
+lay some pages of notes--notes of a course of public lectures he was
+about to give, lectures on the responsibility of citizenship, in which
+he was going to make a strong appeal to his audience for a more
+conscious philosophy of life. He was going to urge the necessity for
+greater reverence for education. He was going to speak not only of the
+burden of Empire, but of the new burden, the burden of Democracy, a
+Democracy that is young, independent, and feeling its way. He was going
+to speak of the true meaning of a free Democracy, no chaotic meaningless
+freedom, but the sane and ordered freedom of educated men, Democracy
+open-eyed and training itself, like a strong man, to run a race for some
+far-off, some desired goal to which "all creation moves."
+
+He was in these lectures going to pose not only as a practical man but
+as a preacher, one of those who "point the way"; and meanwhile he had
+bound himself to a girl who not only would be unable to grasp the
+meaning of any strenuous moral effort, but who would have to be herself
+guarded from every petty temptation that came in her way. He was (so he
+said to himself, as he groaned in his spirit) one of those many
+preachers who, in all ages, have talked of moral progress, and who have
+missed the road that they themselves have pointed out!
+
+He was fiercely angry with himself because he had called the emotion
+that he had felt for Gwendolen in her mischance a "passionate pity." It
+was a very different emotion from that which wrung him when his old
+pupils, one by one, gave up their youth and hope in the service of their
+country. That indeed was a passionate pity, a pity full of remorseful
+gratitude, full of great pride in their high purpose and their noble
+self-sacrifice. On his mantelpiece, within arm's length of him, lay an
+open book. It was a book of poems, and there were verses that the
+Warden had read more than once.
+
+    "City of hope and golden dreaming."
+
+A farewell to Oxford. It was the farewell of youth in its heyday to
+
+    "All the things we hoped to do."
+
+And then followed the lines that pierced him now with poignant sadness
+as he thought of them--
+
+    "Dreams that will never be clothed in being,
+     Mother, your sons have left with you."
+
+The Warden groaned within himself. He was part of that Alma Mater; that
+city left behind in charge of that sacred gift!
+
+He loathed himself, and this deep self-humiliation of a scrupulous
+gentleman was what his sister had shrunk from witnessing. It was this
+deep humiliation that May Dashwood fled from when she hid herself in her
+room that afternoon.
+
+The Warden was not a man who spent much time in introspection. He had no
+subtlety of self-analysis, but what insight he had was spent in
+condemning himself, not in justifying himself. But now he added this to
+his self-accusations, that if May Dashwood had not suddenly stepped
+across his path and revealed to him true womanhood, gilded--yes, he used
+that term sardonically--gilded by beauty, he might not have seen the
+whole depth of his offence until now, when the crude truth about
+Gwendolen was forced upon him by her letter.
+
+The Warden sat on, crushed by the weight of his humiliation. And he had
+been forgiven, he had been rescued from his own folly. His mistake had
+been wiped out, his offence pardoned.
+
+And what about Gwendolen herself? What about this poor solitary foolish
+girl? What was to be her future? Swiftly she had come into his life and
+swiftly gone! What, indeed, was to become of her and her life?
+
+And so the Warden sat on till the dressing-bell rang, and then he got up
+from his chair blindly.
+
+He had been forgiven and rescued too easily. He did not deserve it. How
+was it that he had dared to quote to May Dashwood those solemn, awful
+words--
+
+    "And the glory of the Lord is all in all!"
+
+It must have seemed to her a piece of arrogant self-righteousness.
+
+And she had said: "What is the glory of the Lord?" and had answered the
+question herself. Her answer had condemned him; the glory of the Lord
+was not merely self-restraint, stoical resignation, it was something
+more, it was "Love" that "beareth all things, believeth all things,
+hopeth all things, endureth all things."
+
+"For he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love
+God whom he hath not seen?"
+
+The Warden dressed, moving about automatically, not thinking of what he
+was doing. When he left his bedroom he passed the head of the staircase.
+There were letters lying on the table, just as letters had lain waiting
+for him on that evening, on that Monday evening, when he found Gwendolen
+reading the letter from her mother and crying over it. Within those few
+short days he had risked the happiness and the usefulness of his whole
+life, and--God had forgiven him.
+
+He passed the table and went on. Lena must have been waiting for him,
+expecting him! Perhaps she had been worrying. The thought made him walk
+rapidly along the corridor.
+
+He knocked at her door. Louise opened it.
+
+"Entrez, Monsieur," she said, in the tone and manner of one who mounts
+guard and whose permission must be obtained.
+
+She stood aside to let him pass, and then went out and pulled the door
+to after her.
+
+The Warden walked up to the bed.
+
+Lady Dashwood's face was averted from him. "Jim," she said wistfully,
+and she put her hand over her eyes and waited for the sound of his
+voice.
+
+She was there, waiting for him to show her what sort of sympathy he
+needed. He did not speak. He came round to the side of the bed where she
+was lying, by the windows. There he stood for a moment looking down upon
+her. She did not look up. She looked, indeed, like a culprit, like one
+humbled, who longed for pardon but did not like to ask for it. And it
+was this profound humble sympathy that smote his heart through and
+through. What if anything had happened to this dear sister of his? What
+if her unhappiness had been too great a strain upon her?
+
+He knelt down by the bed and laid his face on her shoulder, just as he
+used to do when he was a child. Neither of them spoke. She moved her
+hand and clasped his arm that he placed over her, and they remained like
+this for some minutes, while a great peace enclosed them. In those few
+minutes it seemed as if years dropped away from them and they were young
+again. She the motherly young woman, and he the motherless boy to whom
+she stood as mother. All the interval was forgotten and there they were
+still, mother and son.
+
+When at last he raised himself he found that her eyes were dim with
+tears. As to himself, he felt strangely quieted and composed. He pulled
+a chair to the bedside and sat down, not facing her, but sideways, and
+he rested his elbow on the edge of her pillow his other hand resting on
+hers.
+
+"Did you get through all you wanted to, in Town?" she asked, smiling
+through her tears.
+
+"Lena!" he said in a low voice, "you want to spare me. You always do."
+
+His voice overwhelmed her. His humility pierced her like a sword.
+
+"It was all my fault, dear," she began; "entirely my fault."
+
+"No," he said, in a low emphatic voice.
+
+"It was." She reiterated this with almost a sullen persistence.
+
+"How could it possibly be your fault?" he said, with deep self-reproach.
+
+"It was," she said, "though I cannot make you understand it. Jim, you
+must forget it all, for my sake. You must forget it at once, you have
+things to do."
+
+"I have things to do," he said. "I seemed in danger of forgetting those
+things," he said huskily. "As to forgetting, that is a difficult
+matter."
+
+"You must put it aside," she said, and now she raised herself on her
+pillows and stared anxiously into his face. "You made a mistake such as
+the best man _would_ make," she argued passionately. "How can a strong
+man suspect weakness in others? You know how it is, we suspect in others
+virtues and vices that we have ourselves. You know what I mean, dear. A
+drunkard always suspects other men of wanting to drink!" and she laughed
+a little, and her voice trembled with an excitement she found it
+difficult to suppress. "Thieves always suspect others of thieving. An
+amorous man sees sex motives in everything. Do you suppose an honourable
+man doesn't also suspect others of honourable intentions?"
+
+He made no reply.
+
+"Besides, you have always been eager to think the best of women. You've
+credited them, even with mental gifts that they haven't got! You have
+been over-loyal to them all your life! And now"--here Lady Dashwood put
+out her hand and laid it on his arm as if to compel him to agree--"and
+now you are suffering for it, or rather you have suffered. You thought
+you were doing your duty, that you ought to marry. You were right; you
+ought to marry, and I, just at that moment, thrust somebody forward who
+looked innocent and helpless. And how could you tell? Of course you
+couldn't tell," and now her voice dropped a little and she seemed
+suddenly to have become tired out, and she sank back on her pillows.
+
+The Warden leant over her. Her special pleading for him was so familiar
+to him. She had corrected his faults, admonished him when necessary, but
+had always upheld his self-respect, even in small matters. She was
+fighting now for the preservation of his sense of honour.
+
+"Anyhow, darling," she said, "you must forget!"
+
+"You are exhausted," he said, "in trying to make black white. I ought
+not to have come in and let you talk. Lena, what has happened this week
+has knocked you up. I know it, and even now you are worrying because of
+me. I will forget it, dear, if you will pick up again and get strong."
+
+"I am better already," she said, and the very faintest smile was on her
+face. "I am rather tired, but I shall be all right to-morrow. All I want
+is a good night's sleep. I want to sleep for hours, and I shall sleep
+for hours now that I have seen you."
+
+A knock came on the door.
+
+"They are looking for you, dear," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+The Warden slowly rose from his seat. "I must go now, Lena," he said,
+"but I shall come in again the last thing. I shall come in without
+knocking if I may, because I hope you will be asleep, and I don't want
+to wake you."
+
+"Very well," she said smiling. "You'll find me asleep. I feel so calm,
+so happy."
+
+He bent down and kissed her and then went to the door. She turned her
+head and looked after him. Louise was at the door.
+
+"Monsieur Bingham is arrived," she said; "I regret to have disturbed
+Monsieur."
+
+The Warden walked slowly down the corridor. There was something that he
+dreaded, something that was going to happen--the first meeting of the
+eyes--the first moment when May Dashwood would look at him, knowing all
+that had happened!
+
+He passed the table again on which lay his letters. He would look
+through all that pile of correspondence after Bingham had gone.
+
+Robinson was hovering at the stairhead. "Mr. Bingham is in the
+drawing-room, sir."
+
+"Alone?" asked the Warden.
+
+"Mrs. Dashwood is there, sir," said Robinson.
+
+"How have you arranged the table?" asked the Warden.
+
+"I've put Mrs. Dashwood close on your right, sir," said Robinson,
+secretly amazed at the question; "Mr. Bingham on your left, sir."
+
+"Yes," said the Warden. "Yes, of course!" passing his servant with an
+abstracted air.
+
+"Shall I announce dinner, sir?" asked Robinson, hurrying behind and
+measuring his strength for what he was about to perform in the exercise
+of his duty.
+
+"Yes," said the Warden, still moving on, and now near the drawing-room
+door.
+
+Robinson made a wondrous skip, a miracle it was of service in honour of
+the Warden; he flew past his master like an aged but agile Mercury and
+pounced upon the drawing-room door handle. Then he threw the door open.
+He waited till the Warden had advanced to a sufficient distance in the
+room towards the guests who were waiting by the fireside, and then he
+uttered, in his penetrating but quavering voice, the familiar and
+important word--
+
+"Dinner!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX
+
+DINNER
+
+
+"I am sorry I'm late," said the Warden quietly, and he looked at both
+his guests. "I have been with Lady Dashwood. I must apologise, Bingham,
+for her absence. I expect Mrs. Dashwood has already told you that she is
+not well."
+
+The bow with which the Warden offered his arm to May was one which
+included more than the mere formal invitation to go down to dinner, it
+meant a greeting after absence and an acknowledgment that she was acting
+as his hostess. It was one of those ceremonial bows which men are rarely
+able to make without looking pompous. He had the reputation, in Oxford,
+of being one of the very few men who, in his tutorial days, could
+present men for degrees with academic grace.
+
+"I'm sorry, Bingham," he said; "I have only just returned, or I might
+have secured a fourth to dinner--yes, even in war time."
+
+May went downstairs, wondering. Wondering how it was that the worst was
+so soon over, and that, after all, instead of feeling a painful pity for
+the man whose arm held hers in a light grasp, she felt strangely
+timorous of him.
+
+She was profoundly thankful for the presence of Bingham, who was
+following behind, cheerful and chatty, having put aside, apparently, all
+recollection of the conversation of the evening before. Yes, whatever
+his secret thoughts might have been, Bingham appeared to have forgotten
+that there were any moonlight nights in the streets of Oxford. For this,
+May blessed him.
+
+They entered the long dining-room and, sitting at the Warden's end of
+the table, formed a bright living space of light and movement. Outside
+that bright space the room gradually sombred to the dark panelled walls.
+The Warden, in his high-backed chair, looked the very impersonation of
+Oxford. This was what struck Bingham as he glanced at his host, and the
+thought suggested that hater of Oxford, the Warden's relative, Bernard
+Boreham.
+
+"I have just got your friend Boreham to undertake a job of work," said
+Bingham. "It'll do him a world of good to have work, a library to
+catalogue for the use of our prisoners. He wanted to shove off the job
+to some chaplain. I was to procure the chaplain, just as if all men
+weren't scarce, even chaplains!"
+
+Composed as the Warden was, he looked at Bingham with something of eager
+attention on his face, as if relying on him for support and
+conversation.
+
+"Poor old Boreham, he is a connection of mine by marriage," he said, and
+as the words fell from his lips, he, in his present sensitive mood,
+recoiled from them, for they implied that Boreham was not a friend. Why
+was he posing as one who was too superior to choose Boreham as a friend?
+
+"Talking of chaplains," said Bingham, who knew nothing of what was going
+on in the Warden's mind, and thought this sudden stop came from dislike
+of any reference to Boreham--"talking of parsons, why not release all
+parsons in West End churches for the war?"
+
+A smile came into May's face at the extreme sweetness of Bingham's
+voice; a warning that he was about to say something biting.
+
+"Release all parsons who have smart congregations," continued Bingham,
+in honied tones; "parsons with congregations of jolly, well-dressed
+women, women who enjoy having their naughtiness slanged from the pulpit
+just as they enjoy having their photographs in the picture papers. Their
+spiritual necessities would be more than adequately provided for if they
+were given a dummy priest and a gramophone."
+
+May's smile seemed to stimulate Bingham's imagination.
+
+"To waste on them a real parson with a soul and a rudimentary
+intellect," he went on, "is like giving a glass of Moselle to an
+agricultural labourer when he would be happy with a mug of beer. But the
+Church wastes its energies even in this time of heartbreakings."
+
+"I should like to see you, Bingham," said the Warden, smiling too, and
+turning his narrow eyes, in his slow deliberate manner, towards his
+guest, "as chairman to a committee of English bishops, on the
+Reconstruction of the Church."
+
+"I've no quarrel with our bishops," said Bingham; "I don't want them to
+extol every new point of view as they pass along. I don't expect them to
+behave like young men. Nor do I expect them to be like the Absolute,
+without 'body, parts or passions.' My indictment is not even against
+that mere drop in the ocean, 'good Christian souls,' but against
+humanity and human nature!" Bingham looked from one to the other of his
+listeners. "Until now, the only people we have taken quite seriously are
+the very well dressed and the--well, the undressed. The two classes
+overlap continually. But now we've got to take everybody seriously; we
+are going to have a Democracy. Human nature has got a new tool, and the
+tool is Democracy. The new tool is to be put into the same foolish old
+hands, and we shall very soon discover what we shall call 'the sins of
+Democracy.' What is fundamentally wrong with us is what apparently we
+can't help: it's that we are ourselves, that we are human beings."
+Bingham smiled into his plate. "We adopt Christianity, and because we
+are human beings we make it intellectually rigid and morally sloppy. We
+are patronising Democracy, and we shall make it intellectually rigid and
+morally sloppy too--if we don't take care. Everything we handle becomes
+intellectually rigid and morally sloppy. And yet we still fancy that, if
+only we could get hold of the right tools, our hands would do the right
+work."
+
+"The Reconstruction of Human Nature is what you are demanding," said the
+Warden.
+
+"Yes, that's what we want," sighed Bingham. "When we have got rid of the
+Huns, we must begin to think about it."
+
+"If you saw the children I have seen, Mr. Bingham," said May, quietly,
+"you would want to begin at once, and I think you would be hopeful."
+
+There was on the Warden's face a sudden passionate assent that Bingham
+detected.
+
+"All men," said Bingham, leaning back in his chair and regarding his two
+listeners with veiled attention--"all men like to hear a woman say
+sweet, tender, hopeful things, even if they don't believe them. As for
+myself, Mrs. Dashwood, I admit that your 'higher optimism' haunts me too
+at times; at rare times when, for instance, the weather in Oxford is dry
+and bright and bracing."
+
+If he had for a moment doubted it since the afternoon at the Hardings',
+Bingham was now sure, as sure as a man can be of what is unconfessed in
+words, that between this man and woman sitting at the table with him was
+some secret sensitive interest that was not friendship.
+
+How did this conviction affect Bingham and Bingham's spirits? It
+certainly did not put a stop to his flow of talk. Rather, he talked the
+more; he was even more sweetly cynical and amiably scintillating than
+usual. If his heart was wounded, and he himself was not sure whether it
+was or not, he hid that heart successfully in a sheath of his own
+sparks.
+
+A pause came when Robinson put out the light over the carving-table and
+withdrew with Robinson Junior. The dining-room was silent. Bingham drank
+some wine, the Warden mused, and May Dashwood sat with her eyes on a
+glass of water by her, looking at it as if she could see some vision in
+its transparency. The fire was glowing a deep red in the great stone
+chimney-piece at the further end of the room. A coal fell forward upon
+the hearth with a strangely solitary sound. Bingham glanced towards the
+fire and then round the room, and then at his host, and lastly at May
+Dashwood.
+
+"I heard a rumour," he said, and he took a sip of his claret, "that your
+college ghost had made an appearance!"
+
+There came another silence in the room.
+
+"One doesn't know how such rumours come about," continued Bingham;
+"perhaps you hadn't even heard of this one?" He looked across at May and
+round at the Warden. Neither of them seemed to be aware that a question
+was being asked.
+
+"I didn't know King's even claimed a ghost," said Bingham again. "I've
+heard of the ghost of Shelley in the High," he added, smiling. "A ghost
+for the tourist who comes to see the Shelley Memorial."
+
+May looked down rather closely at the table.
+
+The Warden moved stiffly. "I don't believe Shelley would want to come,"
+he said. "He always despised his Alma Mater."
+
+"He was a bit of an _enfant terrible_," said Bingham, "from the tutor's
+point of view."
+
+May raised her eyes with relief; the Warden had parried the question of
+the ghost with skill.
+
+"And I don't believe," said the Warden, "that any one returns who has
+merely roystered within our walls," and he smiled.
+
+Bingham was now looking very attentively at the Warden out of his dark
+eyes.
+
+"Jeremy Bentham," he said, "seems to have been afraid of ghosts, when he
+was an undergraduate here. He was afraid of barging against them on dark
+college staircases. It's a fear I can't grasp. I would much rather come
+into collision with any ghost than with the Stroke of the 'Varsity
+Eight, whether the staircase was dark or not."
+
+"If there are ghosts," said the Warden, pensively, "I should expect to
+see Cranmer, on some wild night, wandering near the places where he
+endured his passion and his death. Or I should expect to see Laud pacing
+the streets, amazed at the order and discipline of modern Oxford. If
+personal attachment could bring a man from the grave," he went on,
+meeting Bingham's eyes with a smile, "why shouldn't that least ghostly
+of all scholars, your old master, Jowett--why shouldn't he walk at night
+when Balliol is asleep?"
+
+"Then there was nothing in the rumour," said Bingham, "that your King's
+ghost has turned up?"
+
+"The Warden doesn't believe in ghosts," said May, looking across the
+table eagerly. She remembered how he had stood by the bedside of
+Gwendolen that night. She recalled the room vividly, the gloom of the
+room and he alone standing in the light thrown upon him by the lamp. She
+could recall every tone of his voice as he said: "You thought you saw
+something. You made a mistake. You saw nothing, you imagined that you
+saw--there was nothing," and how his voice convinced _her_, as she stood
+by the fire and listened. How long ago was that--only three days--it
+seemed like a month.
+
+"No," said the Warden, "I don't believe in ghosts. At least, I don't
+believe that our dead"--and he pronounced the last word reverently--"are
+such that they can return to us in human form, or through the
+intervention of some hired medium. But if there are ghosts in Oxford,"
+he went on, and now he turned to Bingham, as if he were answering his
+question--"if there are ghosts in Oxford they will be the ghosts of
+those who were, in life, bone of her bone and flesh of her flesh. I am
+thinking of those men who lived and died in Oxford, recluses who knew no
+other world, and of whom the world knew nothing--men who used to flit
+like shadows from their solitary rooms to the Lecture hall and to High
+table and to the Common room. Those men were monks in all but name;
+celibates, solitaries--men to whom the laughter of youth was maddening
+pain."
+
+May's eyes dropped! What the Warden was saying stabbed her, not merely
+because of the words he said, but because his voice conveyed the sense
+of that poignant pain.
+
+"Such men as I speak of," he went on, "Oxford must always have
+possessed, even in the boisterous days when you fellows of All Souls,"
+he said, addressing Bingham, "used to pull your doors off their hinges
+to make bonfires in honour of the mallard. There always have been these
+men, students shy and sensitive, shrinking from the rougher side of the
+ordinary man, shrinking from ordinary social life; men who are only
+courageous in their devotion to learning and to truth; men who are
+lonely with that awful loneliness of those who live in the world of
+thoughts. I knew one such man myself. Those who believe in ghosts may
+come upon the shades of these men in the passages and in the cloisters
+at night, or hiding in the dark recesses of our college windows. Why, I
+can feel them everywhere--and yet I don't believe in ghosts." The Warden
+placed his elbows upon the table and rested his chin upon his hands, and
+looked down at the table-cloth.
+
+May said nothing; she was listening, her face bent but expressive even
+to her eyebrows.
+
+"Neither do I," said Bingham, in an altered voice. "I don't believe in
+ghosts, and yet, what do we know of this world? We talk of it glibly.
+But what do we know of the forces which make up the phantasmagoria that
+we call the World? What do we know of this vast universe? We perceive
+something of it by touch, by sight, sound and smell. These are the doors
+through which its forces penetrate the brain of man. These doors are our
+way of 'being aware' of life. The psychology of man is in its infancy.
+And remember"--here Bingham leaned over the table and rested his eyes on
+May--"it is man studying himself! That makes the difficulty!" Bingham
+was serious now, and he had slipped from slang into the academic form in
+which his thoughts really moved.
+
+"And we don't even know whether our ways of perceiving are the only
+ways," said the Warden.
+
+"Anyhow," said Bingham, turning to him, "the ghosts you 'feel,' and
+which you and I don't believe in, belong to the old Oxford, the Oxford
+which is gone."
+
+There came a sudden silence in the long room, and May felt that she
+ought to make a move. She looked at the Warden.
+
+"That Oxford," continued Bingham, "is gone for ever. It began to go when
+men hedged it round with red brick, and went to live under red-tiled
+roofs with wives and children."
+
+"Yes, it has gone," said the Warden. "Must you leave us!" he asked,
+rising, as May looked at him and made a movement to rise.
+
+Bingham rose to his feet, but he stood with his hand holding the foot
+of his glass and gazing into its crimson depths.
+
+"Pardon, Middleton! Mrs. Dashwood, one moment," he said, and he raised
+his glass solemnly till it was almost on a level with his dark face.
+"Will you pledge me?" he asked. "To the old Oxford that is past and
+gone!"
+
+The Warden and May were both drinking water. They raised their glasses
+and touched Bingham's wine which glowed in the light from above, almost
+suggesting something sacramental. And Bingham himself looked like a
+smooth, swarthy priest of medi�val story, half-serious and half-gay,
+disguised in modern dress.
+
+"To the Oxford of sacred memory," he said.
+
+They drank.
+
+May was thinking deeply and as she was about to place her glass back
+upon the table, the thought that was struggling for expression came to
+her. She lifted her glass: "To the Oxford that is to be," she said
+gently. She glanced first at Bingham, and then her eyes rested for a
+moment upon the Warden.
+
+Bingham watched her keenly. He could see that at that moment she had no
+thought of herself. Her thoughts were of Oxford alone, and, Bingham
+guessed, with the man with whom she identified Oxford.
+
+Bingham hesitated to raise his glass. Was it a flash of jealousy that
+went through him? A jealousy of the new Oxford and all that it might
+mean to the two human beings beside him? If it was jealousy it died out
+as swiftly as it had come.
+
+He raised his glass.
+
+"To the Oxford of the Future," said the Warden.
+
+"Ad multos annos," said Bingham.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX
+
+THE END OF BELINDA AND CO.
+
+
+Lady Dashwood professed to be very much better the next morning when May
+looked in to see how she had slept.
+
+"I'm a new woman," she said to May; "I slept till seven, and then, my
+dear, I began to think, and what do you think my thoughts were?"
+
+May shook her head. "You thought it was Sunday morning."
+
+"Quite true," said Lady Dashwood; "I heard the extra bells going on
+round us. No, what I was thinking of was, what on earth Marian Potten
+did with Gwendolen yesterday afternoon. I'm quite sure she will have
+made her useful. I can picture Marian making her guest put on a big
+apron and some old Potten gloves and taking her out into the garden to
+gather beans. I can picture them gathering beans till tea-time. Marian
+is sure to be storing beans, and she wouldn't let the one aged gardener
+she has got left waste his time on gathering beans. I can see Marian
+raking the pods into a heap and setting fire to the heap. I imagined
+that after tea Gwendolen played the 'Reverie' by Slapovski. After
+dinner: 'Patience.'"
+
+May pondered.
+
+"And now. May," said Lady Dashwood, looking tired in spite of her theory
+that she had become a new woman, "it's a lovely day; even Louise allows
+that the sun is shining, and I can't have you staying indoors on my
+account. I won't allow you in my bedroom to-day. I shall be very busy."
+
+"No!" said May, reproachfully. "I shall not allow business."
+
+"I'm just going to write a letter to my dear old John, whom I've treated
+shamefully for a week, only sending him a scrawl on half a page. Now, I
+want you to go to church, or else for a walk. I can tell you what the
+doctor says when you come back."
+
+May said neither "Yes" nor "No." She laughed a little and went out of
+the room.
+
+In the breakfast-room the Warden was already there. They greeted each
+other and sat down together, and talked strict commonplaces till the
+meal was over. He did not ask May what she was going to do, neither did
+she ask him any questions. They both were following a line of action
+that they thought was the right one. Neither intended meeting the other
+unless circumstances compelled the meeting; circumstances like
+breakfast, lunch and dinner. It was clear to both of them that, except
+on these occasions, they had no business with each other. The Warden was
+clear about it because he was a man still ashamed.
+
+May was clear that she had no business to see the Warden except when
+necessity occasioned it, because each moment made her more unfaithful to
+the memory of the dead, to the memory of the dead man who could no
+longer claim her, who had given away his all at the call of duty and who
+had no power to hold her now. So she, too, being honourably proud, felt
+ashamed in the presence of the Warden.
+
+All that morning was wasted. The doctor did not come, and May spent the
+time waiting for him. Lady Dashwood sat up in bed and wrote an
+apparently interminable letter to her husband. Whenever May appeared she
+said: "Go away, May!" and then she looked long and wistfully at her
+niece.
+
+Two or three men came to lunch and went into the library afterwards with
+the Warden, and May went to her Aunt Lena's room.
+
+"The doctor won't come now till after three, May, so you must go out, or
+you will really grieve me," said Lady Dashwood. "Jim will take you out.
+He came in just after you left me before lunch, and I told him you would
+go out."
+
+"You are supposed to be resting," said May, "and I can't have you making
+arrangements, dear Aunt Lena. I shall do exactly what I please, and
+shall not even tell you what I please to do. I do believe," she added,
+as she shook up the pillows, "that in the next world, dear, you will
+want to make plans for God, and that will get you into serious trouble."
+
+Lady Dashwood sighed deeply. "Oh dear, oh dear," she said, "I suppose I
+must go on pretending I'm ill."
+
+May shook her head at her and pulled down the blinds, and left her in
+the darkness suitable for repose.
+
+The Warden had not mentioned a walk. Perhaps he hadn't found an
+opportunity with those men present! Should she go for a walk alone? She
+found herself dressing, putting on her things with a feverish haste.
+Then she took off her coat and sat down, and took her hat off and held
+it on her knees.
+
+She thought she heard the sound of a voice in the corridor outside, and
+she put on her hat with trembling fingers and caught up the coat and
+scarf and her gloves.
+
+She went out into the corridor and found it empty and still. She went to
+the head of the stairs. There was no sound coming from the library. But
+even if the Warden were still there with the other men, she might not
+hear any sounds of their talk. They might be there or they might not. It
+was impossible to tell.
+
+Perhaps he had gone to look for her in the drawing-room and, finding no
+one there, had gone out.
+
+The drawing-room door was open. She glanced in. The room was empty, of
+course, and the afternoon sunshine was coming in through the windows,
+falling across the floor towards the fireplace. It would soon creep up
+to the portrait over the fireplace.
+
+May waited several minutes, walking about the room and listening, and
+then she went out and closed the door behind her. She went down the
+staircase into the hall, opened the front door very slowly and went out.
+
+An indescribable loneliness seized her as she walked over the gravelled
+court to the gates. The afternoon sunshine was less friendly than rain
+and bitter wind. She took the road to the parks, meeting the signs of
+the war that had obliterated the old Sunday afternoons of Oxford in the
+days of peace. Here was suffering, a deliberate preparation for more
+suffering. Did all this world-suffering make her small personal grief
+any less? Yes, it did; it would help her to get over the dreary space of
+time, the days, months, years till she was a grey-haired woman and was
+resigned, having learned patience and even become thankful!
+
+Once she thought she saw the figure of the Warden in the distance, and
+then her heart beat suffocatingly, but it was not he. Once she thought
+she saw Bingham walking with some other man. He rounded the walk by the
+river and--no, it was not Mr. Bingham--the face was different. She began
+asking herself questions that had begun to disturb her. Was the real
+tragedy of the Warden's engagement to him not the discovery that
+Gwendolen was silly and weak, but that she was not honourable? Had he
+suspected something of the kind before he received that letter? Wasn't
+it a suspicion of the kind that had made him speak as he did in the
+drawing-room after they had returned from Christ Church? Might he not
+have been contented with Gwendolen if she had been straight and true,
+however weak and foolish? Was he the sort of man who demands sympathy
+and understanding from friends, men and women, but something very
+different from a wife? Was the Warden one of those men who prefer a wife
+to be shallow because they shrink from any permanent demand being made
+upon their moral nature or their intellect? Perhaps the Warden craved a
+wife who was thoughtless, and, choosing Gwendolen, was disappointed in
+her, solely because he found she was not trustworthy. That suspicion was
+a bitter one. Was it an unjust suspicion?
+
+As May walked, the river beside her slipped along slowly under the
+melancholy willows. The surface of the water was laden with fallen
+leaves and the wreckage of an almost forgotten summer. It was strangely
+sad, this river!
+
+May turned away and began walking back to the Lodgings. There was a
+deepening sunshine in the west, a glow was coming into the sky. Oh, the
+sadness of that glorious sunset!
+
+May was glad to hide away from it in the narrow streets. She was glad to
+get back to the court and to enter the darkened house, and yet there was
+no rest for her there. Soon, very soon, she would say good-bye to this
+calm secluded home and go out alone into the wilderness!
+
+She walked straight to her room and took off her things, and then went
+into Lady Dashwood's room. Louise was arranging a little table for tea
+between the bed and the windows.
+
+"Well!" cried Lady Dashwood. "So you have had a good walk!"
+
+"It was a lovely afternoon," said May. She looked out of the window and
+could see the colour of the sunset reflected on the roof opposite.
+
+Lady Dashwood watched Louise putting a cloth on the table, and remarked
+that "poor Jim" would be having tea all alone!
+
+"I think the Warden is out," said May, as she stood at the window.
+
+"Oh!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood, but at that moment the doctor was ushered
+into the room. He apologised for coming so late in the day, he had been
+pressed with work. "I'm perfectly well," said Lady Dashwood; "I don't
+need a doctor, you are simply wasted on me. I can come down to dinner."
+
+There was no doubt that she was better. The doctor admitted it and
+praised her, but he refused to let her get up till the next day, and
+then only for tea in the drawing-room; and, strange to say, Lady
+Dashwood did not argue the point, merely remarking that she wasn't sure
+whether she could be trusted to remain in bed. She wouldn't promise that
+she could be trusted.
+
+When the doctor left May slipped out with him, and they went along the
+corridor together.
+
+"How much better is she?" she asked. "Is she really on the road to being
+quite well?"
+
+"She's all right," said the doctor, as they went down the staircase,
+"but she mustn't be allowed to get as low as she was yesterday, or there
+will be trouble."
+
+"And," said May, "what about me?" and she explained to him that she was
+only in Oxford on a visit and had work in London that oughtn't to be
+left.
+
+"Has she got a good maid?" asked the doctor.
+
+"An excitable Frenchwoman, but otherwise useful." They were at the front
+door now.
+
+"And you really ought to go to-morrow?"
+
+"I ought," said May, and her heart seemed to be sinking low down--lower
+and lower.
+
+"Very well," said the doctor, "I suppose we must let you go, Mrs.
+Dashwood," and as he spoke he pulled the door wide open. "Here is the
+Warden!" he said.
+
+There was the Warden coming in at the gate. May was standing so that
+she could not see into the court. She started at the doctor's remark.
+
+"I'll speak to him," he said, and, bowing, he went down the steps,
+leaving the door open behind him. May turned away and walked upstairs.
+She wouldn't have to tell the Warden that she was going to-morrow; the
+doctor would tell him, of course. Would he care?
+
+She went back to the bedroom, and Lady Dashwood looked round eagerly at
+her, but did not ask her any questions.
+
+"Now, dear, pour out the tea," she said. "The doctor was a great
+interruption. My dear May, I wish I wasn't such an egotist."
+
+"You aren't," said May, sitting down and pouring out two cups of tea.
+
+"I am," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Why?" asked May.
+
+"Well, you see," said Lady Dashwood, "I was terribly upset about Belinda
+and Co., because Belinda and Co. had pushed her foot in at my front
+door, or rather at Jim's front door; but she's gone now, as far as I'm
+personally concerned. She's a thing of the past. But, and here it comes,
+Belindas are still rampant in the world, and there are male as well as
+female Belindas; and I bear it wonderfully. I shall quite enjoy a cup of
+tea. Thanks, darling."
+
+"If anybody were to come and say to you," said May, looking deeply into
+her cup, "'Will you join a Society for the painless extermination of
+Belindas--Belindas of both classes--Belindas in expensive furs, and
+tattered Belindas,' wouldn't you become a member, or at least give a
+guinea?"
+
+Lady Dashwood smiled a little. "Dear May, how satirical you are with
+your poor old aunt!"
+
+"I'm not satirical," said May.
+
+"I'm afraid," groaned Lady Dashwood, "it's mainly because we think
+things will be made straight in the next world that we don't do enough
+here. Now, I haven't that excuse, May, because you know I never have
+looked forward to the next world. Somehow I can't!"
+
+Something in her aunt's voice made May look round at her.
+
+"Don't be sorrowful, dear," she said.
+
+"Now that I've slanged Belinda," murmured Lady Dashwood, "I've begun to
+think about my own short-comings."
+
+"Nonsense, dear aunt," said May. "You are not accustomed to think about
+yourself; it must be a sign that you are not feeling well. I shall ring
+for Louise." May spoke in a bantering voice, but her eyes did not smile.
+
+"For mercy's sake, don't," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+The glow had faded from the roof of the college opposite, and had become
+grey and cold when May got up and took the little tea tray from her Aunt
+Lena's bed.
+
+"Now, I've got just a few lines more to add to my letter to my old dear
+one," said Lady Dashwood. "Suppose you go down and see what's
+happening?"
+
+"What's happening!" said May, but she did not ask a question, merely she
+repeated her aunt's words.
+
+"Yes, dear," said Lady Dashwood. "What's happening. All sorts of things
+happen, you know; things go on! Please ring, I want Louise to clear
+away. Now, go down into the drawing-room and, if you see Jim, give him
+my love."
+
+May went into the empty drawing-room and sat there till it grew dark,
+doing nothing. Robinson came in to make up the fire and draw the
+curtains. He apologised for his lateness, explaining that he did not
+think any one was in the drawing-room.
+
+"Will you have dinner with 'er ladyship?" he asked, "or in the
+dining-room, m'm? The Warden is dining in 'all."
+
+May walked to a little table and took up one of the books that were
+lying there.
+
+"Upstairs, please, Robinson," she answered.
+
+She began looking through the book, turning over the pages, but the
+print seemed unintelligible. She stood listening to Robinson's movements
+in the room. Then the door opened and the Warden came in and startled
+her so much that she dropped the book upon the table.
+
+He was in his gown, just come back from chapel. He came some way into
+the room and stood at a little distance from her. She did not look at
+him, though she turned towards him in acknowledgment of his presence.
+
+"Wasn't the sunset wonderful?" she said.
+
+"It was a wonderful sunset!" he said.
+
+Robinson was still busy in the room, and the Warden moved to the
+fireplace and stood looking as if he was undecided whether to stay or to
+go.
+
+"I'm sorry I have to dine out this evening," said the Warden. "I have no
+choice in the matter, unfortunately."
+
+"Of course," said May. "Please don't think of me. I have Aunt Lena to
+look after."
+
+"You are very good to her," he said, and lingered for a moment.
+
+Robinson was now going towards the door with his soft, light, though
+rather shambling movements.
+
+The Warden moved towards the door too, and then stopped and said--
+
+"There isn't anything I can do for you, any book I can lend you for this
+evening?"
+
+"No, thanks very much," said May. "I have all I want," and she took up
+the book she had dropped with an air of wanting it very much, and went
+towards the chair she had been sitting in before Robinson disturbed her.
+
+The Warden swung himself round. She could hear the sound of his robe
+against the lintel of the door as he went out and left her alone. He
+might have stayed a few minutes if he had wished! He didn't wish!
+
+When she went to her Aunt Lena's bedroom, half an hour later, she found
+that he had been there, sitting with her and talking, and had gone five
+minutes ago. The Warden seemed to move like some one in a dream. He came
+and went and never stayed.
+
+During dinner Lady Dashwood said, not � propos of anything--
+
+"Your poor Uncle John is beginning to get restive, and I suppose I shall
+have to go back to him in a few days. Having done all the mischief that
+I could, I suppose it is time I should leave Oxford. Louise will be glad
+and Jim will be sorry, I am afraid. I haven't broken to him yet that my
+time is coming to an end. I really dread telling him. It was different
+when he was a college tutor--he had only rooms then. Now he has a house.
+It's very dismal for him to be alone."
+
+Here Lady Dashwood stopped abruptly and went on eating. About nine
+o'clock she professed to be ready "to be put to bed," and May, who had
+been knitting by her side, got up and prepared to leave her for the
+night.
+
+As she kissed her she wondered why her Aunt Lena had never asked her how
+long she was going to stay. Why hadn't she told her after seeing the
+doctor, and got it over? The Warden knew and yet did not say a word, but
+that was different!
+
+Should she tell her aunt now? She hesitated. No, it might perhaps make
+her wakeful. It would be better to give her nothing to think about.
+There would be time to-morrow. She would tell her before breakfast, on
+the way downstairs. It would be giving her long enough notice if she put
+off her journey till the late afternoon. And there _was_ no need to
+leave on Monday till the late afternoon.
+
+"You are going down into the drawing-room again?" said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Yes; you must sleep well, dear," said May, bending down and kissing
+her.
+
+"Oh, very well," said Lady Dashwood, closing her eyes.
+
+Later on disturbing thoughts came to her. Why had May ceased to show any
+emotion? Why had she become quiet and self-contained? That wasn't a good
+sign. And what about to-morrow? Did she mean to go? She had said
+nothing, but she might have made up her mind to go. And there was Jim
+going in and out and doing _nothing_! Oh, why couldn't the dear things
+see that they were made for one another? Why couldn't they go about
+mysterious, blown up with self-importance--and engaged?
+
+When Louise came in she found her mistress still awake.
+
+"Louise, before you settle me, see if Mrs. Dashwood has gone to bed.
+Don't disturb her, of course."
+
+"Bien, Madame," said Louise; and she left the room with the air of one
+who is going to fathom a mystery.
+
+"What a nuisance Louise is," sighed Lady Dashwood, turning on her
+pillow. She did not turn her head again when Louise came back.
+
+"Madame is not in her room," said Louise, in a voice of profound
+interest, and she waited to hear the result.
+
+"Oh!" said Lady Dashwood, brightening a little. "Well, Louise, light a
+night light and leave it at the other end of the room, so that the light
+doesn't come on my face! I don't want to be in complete darkness or the
+Warden will not come in. He will think I am asleep."
+
+"Madame will not sleep?" demanded Louise.
+
+"Of course I shall sleep," said Lady Dashwood, and she began thinking
+again.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI
+
+A FAREWELL
+
+
+When May went back again to the drawing-room she did not sit down
+immediately but walked round, taking up the books that were lying about.
+Some she had read, and the book she had taken up by accident before
+dinner did not interest her. She took up one after another and read the
+title, and then, seeing a small soft yellow volume full of verse, she
+carried it with her to her chair. She might be able to read and follow
+something slight; she could not concentrate herself on anything that
+needed thought.
+
+She opened the volume. It was an anthology of Victorian verse. She began
+looking through it. She read and read--at least she turned over page
+after page, following the sense here and there. Books could not distract
+her from painful thoughts about herself; hard work with hands and eyes,
+work such as hers would be able to distract her. She was relying upon it
+to do so; she felt that her work was her refuge. She was thankful that
+she had a refuge--very thankful, and yet she was counting how many more
+hours she still had before her in Oxford. There she showed her weakness;
+she knew that every hour in Oxford meant pain, and yet she did not want
+to go away! At last she had turned over all the pages and had come to
+the last page. There her eyes were caught, and they held on to some
+printed words. She read! The words were like the echo of a voice, a
+voice that thrilled her even in memory!
+
+    "And the Glory of the Lord shall be all in all."
+
+She read the poem through and through again. It took hold of her.
+
+She sat musing over it. The clock struck ten. To sit on and on was like
+waiting for him! She resented the thought bitterly. She rose from her
+chair, meaning to take the book up with her to her room. To have it
+beside her would be a little consolation. She would read it through
+again the last thing before trying to sleep. She was already walking to
+the door, very slowly, her will compelling unwilling limbs.
+
+"You are just going?" said the Warden's voice. He had suddenly opened
+the door and stood before her.
+
+"I was going," she said, and held on to the book, open as it was at the
+last page. "Have you just come back from dinner?"
+
+"I have just come back," he said, and he closed the door behind him. But
+he stayed near the door, for May was standing just where she had stood
+when he came in, the book in her hand. "I regretted very much that you
+should be alone this last evening of your stay----" He paused and looked
+at her.
+
+"I ought to have asked some one to dine with you. I am so little
+accustomed to guests, but I ought to have thought of it."
+
+"I am used to being alone in the evening," said May, now smoothing the
+page of her book with her free hand. "Except on Saturdays and Sundays,
+when I go to friends of mine, I am usually alone--and generally glad to
+be, after my day's work. Besides, I have been with Aunt Lena this
+evening. I only left her an hour ago."
+
+He came nearer and stood looking at her and at the book in her hands. He
+seemed suddenly to recognise the book, and saw that it was open at the
+last page.
+
+"I ought not to have quoted that to you," he said in a low voice; "those
+words of that poem--there under your hand."
+
+"Why not?" she asked, shutting the book up and holding it closed between
+her hands. "Why shouldn't you have quoted it?" and she looked at the
+book intently, listening for his voice again.
+
+"Because it savoured of self-righteousness, and that was not becoming in
+a man who had brought his own troubles upon himself."
+
+May did not look up at him; she felt, too keenly the poignancy of that
+brief confession, dignified in its simplicity, a confession that a
+weaker man would have been afraid to make, and a man of less
+intelligence could not have made because he would not have understood
+the dignity of it. May found no words with which to speak to him; she
+could only look at the carpet stupidly and admire him with all the
+pulses in her body.
+
+"Your interpretation of 'the Glory of the Lord' is the right one; I
+think--I feel convinced of it."
+
+He stood before her, wearing a curiously pathetic expression of
+diffidence.
+
+That moment passed, and then he seemed to force himself back into his
+old attitude of courteous reserve.
+
+"You were just going when I came in," he said, moving and putting out
+his hand to open the door for her. "I am keeping you."
+
+"I was going," said May, "but, Dr. Middleton----"
+
+He let his arm drop. "Yes?" he said.
+
+"You have, I am afraid, a totally wrong idea of me."
+
+He stared straight into her face as she spoke, but it was his veiled
+stare, in which he held himself aloof for reasons of his own.
+
+"I don't think so," he said quickly.
+
+"I talked about 'my interpretation' of the words you quoted," she said,
+"just as if I spoke from some special knowledge, from personal
+experience, I mean. I had no intention of giving you that idea; it was
+merely a _thought_ I expressed."
+
+How could she say what her heart was full of without betraying herself?
+He was waiting for her to speak with a strained look in his eyes.
+
+"And, of course, any one can 'think.' I am afraid----Somehow--I find it
+impossible to say what I mean--I--I am horribly stupid to-night."
+
+She moved forward and he opened the door, and held it open for her. She
+went out with only a brief "Good-night," because no more words would
+come. She had said all she was able to say, and now she walked along
+trying to get her breath again. In the corridor she came upon Louise,
+who seemed to have sprung suddenly from nowhere.
+
+"Can I assist Madame?" said Louise, her face full of unrestrained
+curiosity. "Can I brush Madame's hair?"
+
+May made one or two more steps without finding her voice, then she
+said--
+
+"No, thank you, Louise." And feeling more than seeing the Frenchwoman's
+ardent stare of interrogation, she added: "Louise, you may bring back my
+travelling things, please, the first thing to-morrow morning. I shall
+want them."
+
+Louise was silent for a moment, just as a child is voiceless for a
+moment before it bursts into shrieks. She followed May to her door.
+
+"I shall pack everything for Madame," she exclaimed, and her voice
+twanged like steel. She followed May into her bedroom. "I shall pack
+everything when Madame goes truly." Here she glanced round the room, and
+her large dark eyes rested with wild indignation on the little stained
+figure of St. Joseph standing on the table by the bed.
+
+The small pathetic saint stood all unconscious, its machine-made face
+looking down amiably upon the branch of lilies in its hands.
+
+"I want them early," said May, "because I prefer to pack myself, Louise.
+You are such a kind creature, but I really prefer waiting upon myself."
+
+"I shall pack for Madame," repeated Louise.
+
+May went to the toilet table and put down the book that she was
+carrying.
+
+"Good night, Louise," was all she said.
+
+Louise moved. She groaned, then she took hold of the door and began to
+withdraw herself behind it.
+
+"I wish Madame a good repose. I shall pack for Madame, comme il faut,"
+she said with superb obstinacy, and she closed the door after her.
+
+Good repose! Repose seemed to May the last word that was suitable. Fall
+asleep she might, for she was strong and full of vigour, but repose----!
+
+She read the poem once again through when she was in bed. Then she laid
+the book under the pillow and turned out the light.
+
+How many hours had she still in Oxford? About seventeen hours. And even
+when she was back again at her work--sundered for ever from the place
+that she had learned to love better than any other place in the
+world--she would have something precious to remember. Even if they never
+met again after those seventeen hours were over, even though they never
+saw each other's faces again, she would have something to remember:
+words of his spoken only to her, words that betrayed the fineness of his
+nature. Those words of his belonged to her.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+And it was in this spirit of resignation, held more fully than before,
+that she met him again at breakfast. She was in the breakfast-room
+first and seized the paper, determined to behave as cheerfully as if she
+had arrived, and not as if she was going away. She was going to make a
+successful effort to start her new life at once, her life with Oxford
+behind her. She was not going to be found by him, when he entered,
+silent and reminiscent of last evening.
+
+When the Warden came in she put down the paper with the air of one who
+has seen something that suggests conversation.
+
+"I suppose," she said, starting straight away without any preliminary
+but a smile at him and an inclination of her head in answer to his
+old-fashioned courteous bow as he entered--"I suppose when I come back
+to Oxford--say in ten years' time, if any one invites me--I shall find
+things changed. The New Oxford we talked of with Mr. Bingham will be in
+full swing. You will perhaps be Vice-Chancellor."
+
+The Warden did not smile. "Ah, yes!" he remarked, and he looked
+abstractedly at the coffee-pot and at the chair that May was about to
+seat herself in. "Ah, yes!" he said again; then he added: "Have I kept
+you waiting?"
+
+"Not a bit," said May.
+
+"I ran in to see Lena," he explained.
+
+May took her place opposite the coffee. He watched her, and then went
+and sat down at the opposite end of the table in his own seat. Then he
+got up and went to the side table.
+
+Try as they would they were painfully conscious of each other's
+movements. Everything seemed strangely, cruelly important at that meal.
+May poured out the Warden's cup, and that in itself was momentous. He
+would come and take it, of course! She moved the cup a little. He waited
+on her from the side table and then looked at his coffee.
+
+"Is this for me?" he asked.
+
+"Yes," said May; "it is yours."
+
+He took up the cup and went round with it to his place, as if he was
+carrying something rare and significant.
+
+They sat opposite each other, these two, alone together, and for the
+last time--possibly. They talked stiffly in measured sentences to each
+other, talk that merely served as a defence. And behind this talk both
+were painfully aware that the precious moments were slipping away, and
+yet nothing could be done to stay them. It was only when the meal was
+over, and there was nothing left for them to do but to rise and go, that
+they stopped talking and looked at each other apprehensively.
+
+"You are not going till the afternoon?" he questioned.
+
+"Not till the afternoon," she answered, but she did not say whether she
+was going early or late. She rose from the table and stood by it.
+
+"The reason why I ask," he said, rising too, "is that I cannot be at
+home for lunch, and afterwards there is hospital business with which I
+am concerned."
+
+May had as yet only vaguely decided on her train, though she knew the
+trains by heart. She had now to fix it definitely, it was wrung from
+her.
+
+"I may not be able to get back in time to go with you to the station,
+but I hope to be in time to meet you there, to see you off," he said;
+and he added: "I hope to be in time," as if he doubted it nevertheless.
+
+"You mustn't make a point of seeing me off," said May. "And don't you
+think railway-stations are places which one avoids as much as possible?"
+She asked the question a little tremulously and smiled, but did not look
+at him.
+
+"Ours is pretty bad," he said, without a smile. "But I hope it won't
+have the effect of making you forget that there is any beauty in our old
+city. I hope you will carry away with you some regret at parting--some
+memory of us."
+
+"Of course I shall," said May; and detecting the plaintiveness of her
+own voice, she added: "I shall have to come and see it again--as I
+said--perhaps ten years hence, when--when it will be different! It will
+be most interesting."
+
+He moved slowly away as if he was going out, and then stopped.
+
+"I shall manage to be in time to see you off," he said, as if some
+alteration in his plans suddenly occurred to him. "I shall manage it."
+
+"You mustn't put off anything important for me," May called softly after
+him. "In these days women don't expect to be looked after; we are
+getting mighty independent," and there was much courage in her voice.
+
+He wavered at the door. "You don't forbid me to come?" he questioned,
+and he turned and looked at her.
+
+"Of course not," said May, and she turned away quickly and went to the
+window and looked out. "I hope I am not brazenly independent!" She added
+this last sentence airily at the window and stared out of it, as if
+attracted by something in the quadrangle.
+
+She heard him go out and shut the door.
+
+She waited some little time doing nothing, standing still by the
+window--very still. Then she went out of the room, up the staircase and
+into the corridor towards her aunt's bedroom.
+
+She knocked and went in.
+
+Lady Dashwood turned round and looked at her. Something in May's face
+arrested her.
+
+"A lovely morning, May. Just the day for seeing Oxford at its best."
+
+And this forced May to say, at once, what she was going to say. She was
+going away in the afternoon.
+
+Lady Dashwood received May's news quietly. She gave May a look of meek
+resignation that was harder to bear than any expostulation would have
+been.
+
+"Everybody is going," she said slowly, and lying back on her pillows
+with a sigh. "I must be going directly, as soon as I am up and about. I
+can't leave your Uncle John alone any longer, and there is so much that
+even an old woman can do, and that I had to put aside to come here."
+
+May was standing at the foot of the bed looking at her very gravely.
+
+"I can't imagine you not doing a lot," she said.
+
+"I shall be all right in a couple of days," said Lady Dashwood. "What
+was wrong with me, dear, was nerves, nerves, nothing but nerves, and I
+am ashamed of it. When I am bouncing with vigour again, May, I shall go.
+I shall leave Oxford. I shall leave Jim."
+
+"I suppose you will have to," said May, vaguely.
+
+"Jim will be horribly lonely," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"I'm afraid so," said May, slowly.
+
+"Imagine," said Lady Dashwood, "Jim seeing me off at the station and
+then coming back here. Imagine him coming back alone, crunching over the
+gravel and going up the steps into the hall. You know what the hall is
+like--a sweet place--and those dim portraits on the walls all looking
+down at him out of their faded eyes! All men!"
+
+May looked at her Aunt Lena gravely.
+
+"Then see him look round! Silence--nobody there. Then see him go up that
+staircase. He looks into the drawing-room, that big empty room. Nobody,
+my dear, but that fast-looking clergyman over the fireplace. That's not
+all, May. I can see him go out and go to his library. Nobody
+there--everything silent--books--the Cardinal--and the ghost."
+
+"Oh!" said May. She did not smile.
+
+"Now, my dear," said Lady Dashwood, "I'm not going to think about it
+any more! I've done with it. Let's talk of something else." That,
+indeed, was the last that Lady Dashwood said about it.
+
+When lunch time came May found herself seized with a physical
+contraction over her heart that prevented food from taking its usual
+course downward. She endured as long as she could, but at last she got
+up from the long silent table just as Robinson was about to go for a
+moment into the pantry. She threw a hurried excuse for going at his thin
+stooping back. She said she found she "hadn't time," and she examined
+her watch ostentatiously as she went out of the room.
+
+"I'm going to take my last farewell of Oxford," May said, looking for a
+moment into Lady Dashwood's room. "I'm going for a walk. I am going to
+look at the High and at Magdalen Bridge."
+
+Lady Dashwood smiled rather sadly. "Ah, yes," she said.
+
+May found Louise packing with a slowness and an elaborate care that was
+a reproof somehow in itself. It seemed to say: "Ungrateful! All is
+thrown away on you. You care not----"
+
+May put on her hat, and through the mirror she saw Louise rolling up
+Saint Joseph with some roughness in a silk muffler.
+
+"Madame does not like Oxford?" said Louise, drily, as she stuffed the
+saint into a hat.
+
+"I care for it very much, Louise," said May, hastily putting on her
+coat. "Oxford is a place one can never forget."
+
+"Eh, bien oui," said Louise, enigmatically.
+
+Then May went out and said farewell to the towers and spires and the
+ancient walls, and went to look at the trees weeping by Magdalen Bridge.
+It was all photographed on her memory. In the squalid streets of London,
+where her work lay, she would remember all this beauty and this ancient
+peace. There would be no possibility of her forgetting it! She would
+dream of it at night. It would form the background of her life.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Back again in the Lodgings, she found that she had only a few minutes
+more to spare before she must leave. She took farewell of Louise, and
+left her standing, her hand clasping money and her eyes luminous with
+reproach. There was, indeed, more than reproach, a curious incredulity,
+a wonder at something. May did not fathom what it was. She did not hear
+Louise muttering below her breath--
+
+"Ah, mon Dieu! these English people--this Monsieur the Warden--this
+Madame la niece. Ah, this Lodgings! Ah, this Oxford!"
+
+In the drawing-room May found Lady Dashwood in a loose gown, seated on a
+couch and "Not at home" to callers.
+
+Only a few minutes more!
+
+"I'm afraid I've been very long," said May. "But it is difficult to part
+with Oxford."
+
+"Is it so difficult?" asked Lady Dashwood, then she suddenly pulled
+herself up and said: "Oh, May, a note was left just after you went out
+by Mrs. Potten. She wouldn't come in. Mark that, May! She had been
+seeing Gwendolen off. The girl has gone to her mother. Marian wants me
+to lunch with her to-morrow. I telephoned her a few moments ago that I
+would go and see her later in the week. I wonder if she wants to speak
+to me about Gwen? I can't help wondering. Oh dear, the whole thing seems
+like a dream now! Don't you think so?"
+
+May was drinking a hurried cup of tea. "No, it seems very real to me,"
+she said.
+
+Lady Dashwood looked at her silently. The Warden had not returned. At
+least there was no sign of his being in the house.
+
+Robinson came in to announce the taxi.
+
+"Is the Warden in?" asked Lady Dashwood, half raising herself.
+
+No, the Warden was not in.
+
+"He will meet you at the station," said Lady Dashwood, nodding her head
+slowly at her niece.
+
+"He may not be able to," said May, going up to the sofa. She spoke as if
+it were a matter of unconcern. She must keep this up. She had counselled
+Gwendolen to be brave! This thought brought with it a little sob of
+laughter that nearly choked her. "Good-bye, Aunt Lena," she said,
+throwing her arms round Lady Dashwood, and the two rested their heads
+together for a moment in a silent embrace. Then they parted.
+
+"Good-bye," said Lady Dashwood. "Look out for poor Jim on the platform.
+Look out for him!"
+
+They kissed once or twice in formal fashion, and then May walked away to
+the door and went out without looking back.
+
+The door closed behind her and Lady Dashwood was left alone.
+
+She lay back on the cushions. The sun was coming in through the windows
+much as it had done that afternoon when she was reading the telegram
+from May.
+
+"I can't do any more," she murmured half aloud; "I can't."
+
+Her eyes wandered to the fire and up to the portrait over the fireplace.
+The light falling on the painted face obliterated the shadows at the
+corners of the mouth, so that he seemed to be smiling.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII
+
+THE WARDEN HURRIES
+
+
+The Warden was on his way to the station. For three days he had done
+what he could to keep out of May Dashwood's presence. He had invented no
+excuses for seeing her, he had invented reasons for not seeing her.
+These three days of self-restraint were almost over.
+
+He could have returned home in time to take her to the railway-station
+himself if he had intended to do so. His business was over and he
+lingered, a desperate conscientiousness forcing him to linger. He
+allowed himself to be button-holed by other men, not completely aware of
+what was being said to him, because all the time in his imagination he
+saw May waiting for him. He pictured her going down the staircase to the
+hall and getting into her taxi alone. He pictured this while some one
+propounded to him plans, not only for successfully getting rid of party
+politics, but for the regeneration of the whole human race. It was at
+that point that he broke away. Some one else proposed walking back to
+King's with him.
+
+"I'm going to the station," said the Warden, and he struck off by
+himself and began to walk faster. He had run it too close, he risked
+missing her altogether. That he did not intend. He meant to arrive a
+moment before the train started. It was surely not part of his duty to
+be absolutely discourteous! He must just say "Good-bye." He began to
+walk still faster, for it seemed likely that he might be too late even
+to say "Good-bye."
+
+In Beaumont Street a taxi was in sight. He hailed it and got in. The man
+seemed an outrageously long time getting the car round and started. He
+seemed to be playing with the curb of the pavement. At last he started.
+
+The squalor of the approach to the station did not strike the Warden
+this afternoon. It always had struck him before unpleasantly. Just now
+he was merely aware of vehicles to be passed before he could reach the
+station, and he had his eyes on his watch continually to see how the
+moments were going. Suppose the train moved off just as he reached the
+platform? The Warden put his hand on the door ready to jump out. He had
+the fare already in the other hand. The station at last!
+
+He got out of the taxi swiftly. No, the train was there and the platform
+was sprinkled with people--some men in khaki; many women. He was just in
+time, but only just--not in time to help her, or to speak with her or
+say anything more than just "Good-bye."
+
+A sudden rage filled him. He ran his eyes along the whole length of the
+platform. She was probably seated in a carriage already, reading, Oxford
+forgotten perhaps! In that case why was he hurrying like this? Why was
+he raging?
+
+No, there she was! The sight of her made his heart beat wildly. She was
+there, standing by an open carriage door, looking wistfully along the
+platform, looking for him! A porter was slamming the doors to already.
+
+The Warden strode along and came face to face with her. Under the large
+brimmed hat and through the veil, he could see that she had turned ashy
+pale. They stared for a moment at each other desperately, and he could
+see that she was trembling. The porter laid his hand on the door. "Are
+you getting in, m'm?"
+
+Only a week ago the Warden had committed the one rash and foolish action
+of his life. He had done it in ignorance of his own personal needs and
+with, perhaps, the unconscious cynicism of a man who has lived for forty
+years unable to find his true mate. But since then his mind had been lit
+up with the flash of a sudden poignant experience. He knew now what he
+wanted; what he must have, or fail. He knew that there was nothing else
+for him. It was this or nothing. The sight of her face, her trembling,
+pierced his soul with an amazing joy, and it seemed as if the voice of
+some invisible Controller of all human actions, great and small,
+breathed in his ear saying: "Now! Take your chance! This is your true
+destiny!"
+
+There was no one in the carriage but a young girl at the further end
+huddled behind a novel. But had there been twenty there, it would not
+have altered his resolution. The Warden placed his hand on May's arm.
+
+"I am travelling with this lady as far as Reading," he said to the
+porter, "but I have come too late to get a ticket. Tell the guard,
+please."
+
+The Warden showed no sign now of haste or excitement; he had regained
+his usual courteous and deliberate manner, for the purpose of his life
+was his again. He helped her in and followed her. The door was banged
+behind them. There was May's little bundle of rug and umbrella on the
+seat. He moved it on one side so that she could sit there. The train
+began to slide off.
+
+May sank into her seat too dazed to think. He sat down opposite to her.
+They both knew that the moment of their lives had come.
+
+Then he leaned forward, not caring whether he was observed or not
+observed from the other end of the carriage. He leaned forward and
+grasping both of May's hands in his, he looked into her eyes with his
+own slow moving, narrow eyes that absorbed the light. The corners of her
+mouth were trembling, her eyelids trembling.
+
+They never spoke a word as the train moved away and left behind that
+fair ancient city enshrined in squalor and in raucous brick; left behind
+the flat meadows, the sluggish river and the leafless crooked willows;
+but a strange glory came from the west and flooded the whole earth and
+the carriage where they sat.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES,
+ENGLAND
+
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  +--------------------------------------------------------------------+
+  |                       Transcriber's Notes                          |
+  |                                                                    |
+  | Obvious typographical errors have been corrected, with the         |
+  | exception of those contained within letters, which are thought to  |
+  | be deliberate.                                                     |
+  |                                                                    |
+  | The oe ligature has been replaced by oe.                           |
+  |                                                                    |
+  | Where a word has been spelled inconsistently within the text (e.g. |
+  | to-day and today), the spellings have been changed to the one more |
+  | frequently used.                                                   |
+  |                                                                    |
+  | All other spellings and punctuation are as in the original text.   |
+  |                                                                    |
+  +--------------------------------------------------------------------+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The New Warden, by Mrs. David G. Ritchie
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+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of The New Warden, by Mrs. David G. Ritchie.
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The New Warden, by Mrs. David G. Ritchie
+
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+Title: The New Warden
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+Author: Mrs. David G. Ritchie
+
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+</pre>
+
+
+<h1><a name="top" id="top">THE NEW WARDEN</a></h1>
+
+
+<p class="center"><b>BY MRS. DAVID G. RITCHIE</b></p>
+<p class="above2"></p>
+<p class="center">AUTHOR OF "TWO SINNERS," ETC.</p>
+<p class="above4"></p>
+<p class="center">LONDON<br />
+
+JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.<br /><br />
+
+1919</p>
+
+<p class="above4"></p>
+
+<p class="center">FIRST EDITION, <i>Nov., 1918</i>.<br />
+
+<i>Reprinted ... March, 1919</i>.<br />
+
+<i>All rights reserved</i></p><hr />
+
+
+<p class="above4"></p>
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+<div class="center">
+<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="2" summary="Table of Contents">
+<tr><td align="left" colspan="2">CHAPTER</td><td align="right">PAGE</td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">I.</td><td align="left">The Warden's Lodgings</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">II.</td><td align="left">Moral Support</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_14">14</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">III.</td><td align="left">Passionate Pity</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">IV.</td><td align="left">The Unforeseen Happens</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_37">37</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">V.</td><td align="left">Waiting</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_50">50</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">VI.</td><td align="left">More Than One Conclusion</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">VII.</td><td align="left">Men Marching Past</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">VIII.</td><td align="left">The Lost Letter</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">IX.</td><td align="left">The Luncheon Party</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_92">92</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">X.</td><td align="left">Parental Effusions</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_108">108</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XI.</td><td align="left">No Escape</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_124">124</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XII.</td><td align="left">The Ghost</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XIII.</td><td align="left">The Effect of Suggestion</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XIV.</td><td align="left">Different Views</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_151">151</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XV.</td><td align="left">Mrs. Potten's Carelessness</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XVI.</td><td align="left">Seeing Christ Church</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_177">177</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XVII.</td><td align="left">A Tea Party</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XVIII.</td><td align="left">The Moral Claims of an Umbrella</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_201">201</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XIX.</td><td align="left">Honour</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_209">209</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XX.</td><td align="left">Shopping</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_217">217</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XXI.</td><td align="left">The Soul of Mrs. Potten</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_227">227</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XXII.</td><td align="left">Mr. Boreham's Proposal</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_236">236</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XXIII.</td><td align="left">By Moonlight</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_251">251</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XXIV.</td><td align="left">A Cause and Impediment</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_259">259</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XXV.</td><td align="left">Confessions</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_267">267</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XXVI.</td><td align="left">The Anxieties of Louise</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_280">280</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XXVII.</td><td align="left">The Forgiveness of the Fates</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_290">290</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XXVIII.</td><td align="left">Alma Mater</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_301">301</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XXIX.</td><td align="left">Dinner</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_310">310</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XXX.</td><td align="left">The End of Belinda and Co.</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_319">319</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XXXI.</td><td align="left">A Farewell</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_331">331</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="right">XXXII.</td><td align="left">The Warden Hurries</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_343">343</a></td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>THE NEW WARDEN</h2>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Page 1]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER I</h2>
+
+<h3>THE WARDEN'S LODGINGS</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">The Founders and the Benefactors of Oxford, Princes,
+wealthy priests, patriotic gentlemen, noble ladies with
+a taste for learning; any of these as they travelled along
+the high road, leaving behind them pastures, woods and
+river, and halted at the gates of the grey sacred city,
+had they been in melancholy mood, might have pictured
+to themselves all possible disasters by fire and by siege
+that could mar this garnered glory of spiritual effort
+and pious memory. Fire and siege were the disasters
+of the old days. But a new age has it own disasters&mdash;disasters
+undreamed of in the old days, and none
+of these lovers of Oxford as they entered that fair city,
+ever could have foretold that in time to come Oxford
+would become enclosed and well-nigh stifled by the
+peaceful encroachment of an endless ocean of friendly
+red brick, lapping to its very walls.</p>
+
+<p>The wonder is that Oxford still exists, for the free
+jerry-builder of free England, with his natural right to
+spoil a landscape or to destroy the beauty of an ancient
+treasure house, might have forced his cheap villas into
+the very heart of the city; might have propped his
+shameless bricks, for the use of Don and of shopkeeper,
+against the august grey college walls: he might even
+have insulted and defaced that majestic street whose
+towers and spires dream above the battlemented roofs
+and latticed windows of a more artistic age.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Page 2]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>But why didn't he? Why didn't he, clothed in
+the sanctity of cheapness, desecrate the inner shrine?</p>
+
+<p>The Wardens and the Bursars of colleges could tell
+us much, but the stranger and the pilgrim, coming to
+worship, feel as if there must have flashed into being
+some sudden Hand from Nowhere and a commanding
+Voice saying&mdash;"Thus far shalt thou come and no
+farther," so that the accursed jerry-builder (under the
+impression that he was moved by some financial
+reasons of his own) must have obediently picked up his
+little bag of tools and trotted off to destroy some other
+place.</p>
+
+<p>Anyhow the real Oxford has been spared&mdash;but
+it is like a fair mystic gem in a coarse setting. No
+green fields and no rustling woods lead the lover of
+Oxford gently to her walls.</p>
+
+<p>The Beauty of England lies there&mdash;ringed about
+with a desolation of ugliness&mdash;for ever. Still she is
+there.</p>
+
+<p>Oxford has never been merely a city of learning,
+it has been a fighting city.</p>
+
+<p>In the twelfth century it sheltered Matilda in that
+terrible, barbaric struggle of young England.</p>
+
+<p>In the seventeenth century it was a city in arms for
+the Stuarts. But these were civil wars. Now in
+the twentieth century Oxford has risen like one man,
+like Galahad&mdash;youthful and knightly&mdash;urgent at the
+Call of Freedom and the Rights of Nations.</p>
+
+<p>And this Oxford is filled with the "sound of the
+forging of weapons," the desk has become a couch for
+the wounded, the air is full of the wings of war.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>In this Oxford where the black gown has been laid
+aside and young men hurry to and fro in the dress of
+the battle-field&mdash;in this Oxford no man walked at
+times more heavily, feeling the grief that cannot be
+made articulate, than did the Warden of King's College<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Page 3]</a></span>
+as he went about his work, a lonely man, without wife
+or child and with poignant memories of the very
+blossom of young manhood plucked from his hand and
+gone for ever.</p>
+
+<p>And of the men who passed under his college gates
+and through the ivy-clad quadrangles, most were
+strangers&mdash;coming and going&mdash;learning the arts of war&mdash;busy
+under orders, and the few, a poor remnant of
+academic youth&mdash;foreigners or weaklings. And he, the
+Warden himself, felt himself almost a stranger&mdash;for
+into his life had surged new thoughts, anxious fears
+and ambitious hopes&mdash;for England, the England of the
+years to come&mdash;an England rising up from her desolation
+and her mourning and striving to become greater,
+more splendid and more spiritual than she had been
+before.</p>
+
+<p>It was a late October afternoon in 1916 and the
+last rays of autumn sunshine fell through the drawing-room
+windows of the Warden's lodgings. These rays
+of sunshine lit up a notable portrait over the stone
+fireplace. The portrait was of a Warden of the
+eighteenth century; a fine fleshy face it was, full of
+the splendid noisy paganism of his time. You can
+stand where you will in the room, but you cannot
+escape the sardonic stare that comes from his relentless,
+wide-open, luminous eyes. He seems as if he challenged
+you to stop and listen to the secret of his double life&mdash;the
+life of a scholar and divine of easy morals. Words
+seemed actually upon his lips, thoughts glowing in
+his eyes&mdash;and yet&mdash;there is silence.</p>
+
+<p>There was only one person in the room, a tall
+vigorous woman, still handsome in spite of middle
+age, and she was looking up at the portrait with her
+hands clasped behind her back. She was not thinking
+of the portrait&mdash;her thoughts were too intent on
+something else. Her thoughts indeed had nothing
+to do with the past&mdash;they were about the future, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Page 4]</a></span>
+future of the new Warden, Dr. Middleton, the future of
+this only brother of hers whom she loved more than
+anyone in the world&mdash;except her own husband;
+a brother more than ten years younger than herself,
+to whom she had been a mother till she married and who
+remained in her eyes a sort of son, all the more precious
+to her because children had been denied her.</p>
+
+<p>She had come at her brother's call to arrange his
+new home for him. She had arranged everything
+with sober economy, because Oxford was mourning.
+She had retained all that she found endurable of the
+late Warden's. And now she turned round and looked
+on her handiwork.</p>
+
+<p>The room wore an air of comfort, it was devoid
+of all distressful knick-knacks and it was arranged as
+were French "<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Salons</span>" of the time of <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mademoiselle
+de Lespinasse</span> for conversation, for groups of talkers,
+for books and papers; the litter of culture. It was a
+drawing-room for scholars in their leisure moments
+and for women to whom they could talk. But there
+was no complaisance in Lady Dashwood's face as
+she looked at her brother's drawing-room, just because
+her thoughts were deeply occupied with his future.
+What was his future to be like? What was in store
+for him? And these thoughts led her to give expression
+to a sudden outspoken remark&mdash;unflattering to that
+future.</p>
+
+<p>"And now, what woman is going to become mistress
+of this room?"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood's voice had a harshness in it that
+startled even herself. "What woman is going to
+reign here?" she went on, as if daring herself to be
+gentle and resigned. After she had looked round the
+room her eye rested upon the portrait over the mantelpiece.
+He looked as if he had heard her speak and
+stared back at her with his large persistent selfish
+eyes&mdash;full of cynical wonder. But he remained silent.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Page 5]</a></span>
+These were times that he did not understand&mdash;but
+he observed!</p>
+
+<p>"It's on Jim's conscience that he <em>must</em> marry, now
+that men are so scarce. He's obsessed with the idea,"
+continued Lady Dashwood, thinking to herself. "And
+being like all really good and great men&mdash;absolutely
+helpless&mdash;he is prepared to marry any fool who is
+presented to him." Then she added, "Any fool&mdash;or
+worse!"</p>
+
+<p>"And," she went on, speaking angrily to herself,
+"knowing that he is helpless&mdash;I stupidly go and
+introduce into this house, a silly girl with a pretty
+face whose object in coming is to be&mdash;Mrs.
+Middleton."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood was mentally lashing herself for
+this stupidity.</p>
+
+<p>"I go and actually put her in his way&mdash;at least,"
+she added swiftly, "I allow her mother to bring her
+and force her upon us and leave her&mdash;for the purpose
+of entrapping him&mdash;and so&mdash;I've risked his future!
+And yet," she went on as her self-accusation became
+too painful, "I never dreamt that he would think of
+a girl so young&mdash;as eighteen&mdash;and he forty&mdash;and full
+of thoughts about the future of Oxford&mdash;and the
+New World. Somehow I imagined some pushing
+female of thirty would pretend to sympathise with
+his aspirations and marry him: I never supposed&mdash;&mdash;But
+I ought to have supposed! It was my business
+to suppose. Here have I left my husband alone,
+when he hates being alone, for a whole month, in
+order to put Jim straight&mdash;and then I go and 'don't
+suppose'&mdash;I'm more than a fool&mdash;I'm&mdash;&mdash;" The
+right word did not come to her mind.</p>
+
+<p>Here Lady Dashwood's indignation against herself
+made the blood tingle hotly in her hands and face.
+She was by nature calm, but this afternoon she was
+excited. She mentally pictured the Warden&mdash;just<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Page 6]</a></span>
+when there was so much for him to do&mdash;wasting his
+time by figuring as a sacrifice upon the Altar of a
+foolish Marriage. She saw the knife at his throat&mdash;she
+saw his blood flow.</p>
+
+<p>At this moment the door opened and the old butler,
+who had served other Wardens and who had been
+retained along with the best furniture as a matter of
+course, came into the room and handed a telegram to
+Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>She tore open the envelope and read the paper:
+"Arrive this evening&mdash;about seven. May."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank&mdash;&mdash;!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood&mdash;and
+then she suddenly paused, for she met the old thoughtful
+eye of Robinson.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes!" she remarked irrelevantly. Then she
+folded the paper. "There is no answer," she said.
+"When you've taken the tea away&mdash;please tell Mrs.
+Robinson that quite unexpectedly Mrs. Jack Dashwood
+is arriving at seven. She must have the blue room&mdash;there
+isn't another one ready. Don't let in any callers
+for me, Robinson."</p>
+
+<p>All that concerned the Warden's lodgings concerned
+Robinson. Oxford&mdash;to Robinson meant King's
+College. He had "heard tell" of "other colleges";
+in fact he had passed them by and had seen "other
+college" porters standing about at their entrance
+doors as if they actually were part of Oxford. Robinson
+felt about the other colleges somewhat as the old-fashioned
+Evangelical felt about the godless, unmanageable,
+tangled, nameless rabble of humanity (observe the
+little "h") who were not elected. The "Elect"
+being a small convenient Body of which he was a
+member.</p>
+
+<p>King's was the "Elect" and Robinson was an
+indispensable member of it.</p>
+
+<p>Robinson went downstairs with his orders, which,
+dropping like a pebble into the pool of the servants'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Page 7]</a></span>
+quarters, started a quiet expanding ripple to the upper
+floor, reaching at last to the blue bedroom.</p>
+
+<p>Alone in the drawing-room Lady Dashwood was
+able to complete her exclamatory remark that Robinson's
+solemn eye had checked.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank Heaven!" she said, and she said it again
+more than once. She laughed even and opened the
+telegram again and re-read it for the pure pleasure of
+seeing the words. "Arrive this evening."</p>
+
+<p>"I've risked Jim's life&mdash;and now I've saved it."
+Then Lady Dashwood began to think carefully.
+There was no train arriving at seven from Malvern&mdash;but
+there was one arriving at six and one at seven
+fifteen. Anyhow May was coming. Lady Dashwood
+actually laughed with triumph and said&mdash;"May is
+coming&mdash;<em>that</em> for 'Belinda and Co.'!"</p>
+
+<p>"Did you speak to me, Lady Dashwood?" asked
+a girlish voice, and Lady Dashwood turned swiftly
+at the sound and saw just within the doorway a girlish
+figure, a pretty face with dark hair and large wandering
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"No, Gwen!" said Lady Dashwood. "I didn't
+know you were there&mdash;&mdash;" and again she folded the
+telegram and her features resumed their normal calm.
+With that folded paper in her hand she could look
+composedly now at that pretty face and slight figure.
+If she had made a criminal blunder she had&mdash;though
+she didn't deserve it&mdash;been able to rectify the blunder.
+May Dashwood was coming! Again: "<em>That</em> for Belinda
+and Co.!"</p>
+
+<p>The girl came forward and looked round the room.
+She held two books in her hand, one the Warden had
+lent her on her arrival&mdash;a short guide to Oxford. She
+was still going about with it gazing earnestly at the
+print from time to time in bird-like fashion.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Jack Dashwood is arriving this afternoon,"
+said Lady Dashwood as she moved towards the door.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Page 8]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Oh," said Gwen, and she stood still in the glow of
+the windows, her two books conspicuous in her hand.
+She looked at the nearest low easy-chair and dropped
+into it, propped one book on her knee and opened the
+other at random. Then she gazed down at the page
+she had opened and then looked round the room at
+Lady Dashwood, keenly aware that she was a beautiful
+young girl looking at an elderly woman.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Dashwood is my husband's niece by marriage,"
+said Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes," said Gwen, who would have been more
+interested if the subject of the conversation had been
+a man and not a woman.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't happen to know if the Warden has
+come back?" asked Lady Dashwood as she moved to
+the door.</p>
+
+<p>"He is back," said Gwen, and a slightly deeper colour
+came into her cheeks and spread on to the creamy
+whiteness of her slender neck.</p>
+
+<p>"In his library?" asked Lady Dashwood, stopping
+short and listening for the reply.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes!" said Gwen, and then she added: "He
+has lent me another book." Here she fingered the
+book on her knee. "A book about the&mdash;what-you-may-call-'ems
+of King's, I'm sorry but I can't remember.
+We were talking about them at lunch&mdash;a word like
+'jumps'!"</p>
+
+<p>If a man had been present Gwen would have dimpled
+and demanded sympathy with large lingering glances;
+she would have demanded sympathy and approbation
+for not knowing the right word and only being able to
+suggest "jumps."</p>
+
+<p>One thing Gwen had already learned: that men
+are kinder in their criticism than women! It was
+priceless knowledge.</p>
+
+<p>"Founders, I suppose you mean," said Lady Dashwood
+and she opened the door. "Never mind," she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Page 9]</a></span>
+said to herself as she closed the door behind her. "Never
+mind&mdash;May is coming&mdash;'Jumps!' What a self-satisfied
+little monkey the girl is!"</p>
+
+<p>At the head of the staircase it was rather dark and
+Lady Dashwood put on the lights. Immediately at
+right angles to the drawing-room door two or three
+steps led up to a corridor that ran over the premises
+of the College porter. In this corridor were three
+bedrooms looking upon the street, bedrooms occupied
+by Lady Dashwood and by Gwendolen Scott, and the
+third room, the blue room, about to be occupied by
+Mrs. Dashwood. Lady Dashwood passed the corridor
+steps, passed the head of the staircase, and went
+towards a curtained door. This was the Warden's
+bedroom. Beyond was his library door. At this door
+beyond, she knocked.</p>
+
+<p>An agreeable voice answered her knock. She went
+in. The library was a noble room. Opposite the door
+was a wide, high latticed window, hung with heavy
+curtains and looking on to the Entrance Court. To
+the right was a great fireplace with a small high window
+on each side of it. On the left hand the walls were
+lined with books&mdash;and a great winged book-case stood
+out from the wall, like a screen sheltering the door
+which Lady Dashwood entered. Over the door was
+the portrait of a Cardinal once a member of King's.
+Over the mantelpiece was a large engraving of King's
+as it was in the sixteenth century. At a desk in the
+middle of the room sat the Warden with his back to the
+fire and his face towards the serried array of books.
+He was just turning up a reading-lamp&mdash;for he always
+read and wrote by lamplight.</p>
+
+<p>"Robinson hasn't drawn your curtains," said Lady
+Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"I am going to draw them&mdash;he came in too soon,"
+said the Warden, without moving from his seat. His
+face was lit up by the flame of the lamp which he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Page 10]</a></span>
+staring at intently. There was just a faint sprinkling
+of grey in his brown hair, but on the regular features
+there was almost no trace of age.</p>
+
+<p>"You have given Gwen another book to read," said
+Lady Dashwood coming up to the writing-table.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden raised his eyes very slowly to hers.
+His eyes were peculiar. They were very narrow and
+blue, seeming to reflect little. On the other hand, they
+seemed to absorb everything. He moved them very
+slowly as if he were adjusting a photographic apparatus.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"You might just as well, my dear, hand out a volume
+of the <i>Encyclop�dia Britannica</i> to the sparrows in
+your garden," said his sister.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden made no reply, he merely moved the
+lamp very slightly nearer to the writing pad in front
+of him.</p>
+
+<p>He had a stored-up memory of pink cheeks, a
+pure curve of chin and neck, a dark curl by the ear;
+objects young and graceful and gradually absorbed
+by those narrow eyes and stored in the brain. He also
+had memories less pleasant of the slighting way in
+which once or twice his sister had spoken of "Belinda
+and Co.," meaning by that the mother of this pretty
+piece of pretty girlhood, and the girl herself.</p>
+
+<p>"She tries hard to read because we expect her to,"
+continued Lady Dashwood. "If she had her own way
+she would throw the books into the fire, as tiresome
+stodge."</p>
+
+<p>The Warden was listening with an averted face and
+now he remarked&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Did you come in, Lena, to tell me this?"</p>
+
+<p>When the Warden was annoyed there was in his
+voice and in his manner a "something" which many
+people called "formidable." As Lady Dashwood stood
+looking down at him, there flashed into her mind a
+scene of long ago, where the Warden, then an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Page 11]</a></span>
+undergraduate, had (for a joke at a party in his rooms)
+induced by suggestion a very small weak man with
+peaceful principles to insist on fighting the Stroke of
+the college Eight, a man over six feet and broad in
+proportion. She remembered how she had laughed,
+and yet how she made her brother promise not to
+exercise that power again. Probably he had completely
+forgotten the incident. Why! it was nearly eighteen
+years ago, nearly nineteen; and here was James
+Middleton no longer an undergraduate but the Warden!
+Lady Dashwood bent over him smiling and laid her
+solid motherly hand upon his head. "Oh, dear,
+how time passes!" she said. "Jim, you are such
+a sweet lamb. No, I didn't come to tell you that. I
+came to ask you if you were going to dine with us this
+evening?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said the Warden. "Why?" and he now
+looked round at his sister without a trace of irritability
+and smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"Because Mrs. Jack Dashwood is coming here.
+I didn't mention it before. Well, the fact is she happens
+to have a few days' rest from her work in London.
+She is with some relative in Malvern and coming on
+here this afternoon."</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Jack Dashwood!" repeated the Warden
+with evident indifference.</p>
+
+<p>"Jack Dashwood's widow. You remember my
+John's nephew Jack? Poor Jack who was killed at
+Mons!"</p>
+
+<p>Yes, the Warden remembered, and his face clouded
+as it always did when war was mentioned.</p>
+
+<p>"May and he were engaged as boy and girl&mdash;and I
+think she stuck to it&mdash;because she thought she was in
+honour bound. Some women are like that&mdash;precious
+few; and some men."</p>
+
+<p>The Warden listened without remark.</p>
+
+<p>"And I am just going to telephone to Mr. Boreham,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Page 12]</a></span>
+said Lady Dashwood, "to ask him to come in to dinner
+to meet her!"</p>
+
+<p>"Boreham!" groaned the Warden, and he took
+up his pen from the table.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm so sorry," said Lady Dashwood, "but he
+used to know May Dashwood, so we must ask him, and
+I thought it better to get him over at once and have done
+with it."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps so," said the Warden, and he stretched
+out his left hand for paper. "Only&mdash;one never has
+done&mdash;with Boreham."</p>
+
+<p>"Poor old Jim!" said Lady Dashwood, "and
+now, dear, you can get back to your book," and she
+moved away.</p>
+
+<p>"Book!" grumbled the Warden. "It's business
+I have to do; and anyhow I don't see how anyone can
+write books now! Except prophecies of the future,
+admonitions, sketches of possible policies, heart-searchings."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood moved away. "Well, that's what
+you're doing, dear," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," said the Warden gloomily, and
+he reached out his hand, pulling towards him some
+papers. "One seems to be at the beginning of things."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood closed the door softly behind her.</p>
+
+<p>"He's perplexed," she said to herself. "He is
+perplexed&mdash;not merely because we are at 'the beginning
+of things,' but because&mdash;I have been a fool and&mdash;&mdash;"
+She did not finish the sentence. She went up early to
+her room and dressed for dinner.</p>
+
+<p>It was impossible to be certain when May would
+come, so it would be better to get dressed and have
+the time clear. May's arrival was serious business&mdash;so
+serious that Lady Dashwood shuddered at the mere
+thought that it was by a mere stroke of extraordinary
+luck that she could come and would come! If May
+came by the six train she would arrive before seven.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Page 13]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>But seven o'clock struck and May had not arrived.
+She might arrive about eight o'clock. Lady Dashwood,
+who was already dressed, gave orders that dinner was
+to be put off for twenty minutes, and then she telephoned
+this news to Mr. Boreham and sent in a message
+to the Warden. But she quite forgot to tell Gwen that
+dinner was to be later. Gwen had gone upstairs early
+to dress for dinner, for she was one of those individuals
+who take a long time to do the simplest thing. This
+omission on the part of Lady Dashwood, trifling as it
+seemed, had far-reaching consequences&mdash;consequences
+that were not foreseen by her. She sat in the drawing-room
+actively occupied in imagining obstacles that
+might prevent May Dashwood from keeping the promise
+in her telegram: railway accidents, taxi accidents, the
+unexpected sudden deaths of relatives. As she sat
+absorbed in these wholly unnecessary and exhausting
+speculations, the door opened and she heard Robinson's
+quavering voice make the delicious announcement,
+"Mrs. Dashwood!"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Page 14]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER II</h2>
+
+<h3>MORAL SUPPORT</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">May Dashwood's features were not faultless. For
+instance, her determined little nose was rather short
+and just a trifle <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">retrouss�</span> and her eyebrows sometimes
+looked a little surprised. Her great charm lay not
+in her clear complexion and her bright brown hair,
+admirable as they were, but in her full expressive grey
+eyes, and when she smiled, it was not the toothy smile
+of professional gaiety, but a subtle, archly animated
+and sympathetic smile; so that both men and women
+who were once smiled at by her, immediately felt the
+necessity of being smiled at again!</p>
+
+<p>May was still dressed in mourning, very plainly,
+and she wore no furs. She came into the room and
+looked round her.</p>
+
+<p>"May!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought you were ill, Aunt Lena!" said May
+amazed at the sight of Lady Dashwood, dressed for
+dinner and apparently in robust health.</p>
+
+<p>"I <em>am</em> ill," exclaimed Lady Dashwood, and she
+tapped her forehead. "I'm ill here," and she advanced
+to meet her niece with open arms.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Dashwood, hastening up to
+her aunt.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm still partially sane, May&mdash;but&mdash;if you hadn't
+come!" said Lady Dashwood, kissing her niece on
+both cheeks. She did not finish her sentence.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Dashwood put both hands on her aunt's
+shoulders and examined her face carefully.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I see you're quite sane, Aunt Lena."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Page 15]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Will you minister to a mind&mdash;not actually diseased
+but oppressed by a consuming worry?" asked Lady
+Dashwood earnestly. "Don't think I'm a humbug&mdash;I
+need you much more, just now, than if I'd been merely
+ill&mdash;with a bilious attack, say. You've saved my
+life! I wish I could explain&mdash;but it is difficult to
+explain&mdash;sometimes."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm glad I've saved your life," said May, and she
+smiled her peculiar smile.</p>
+
+<p>"I see victory&mdash;the battle won&mdash;already," said
+Lady Dashwood, looking at her intently. "I wish I
+could explain&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Let it ooze out, Aunt Lena. I can stay for three
+days&mdash;if you want&mdash;if I can really do anything for
+you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Can't you stay a week?" asked Lady Dashwood.
+"May, I'm not joking. I want your presence badly&mdash;can't
+you spare the time? Relieve my mind, dear,
+at once, by telling me you can!"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood's face suddenly became puckered
+and her voice was so urgent that May's smile died
+away.</p>
+
+<p>"If it is really important I'll stay a week. Nothing
+wrong about you&mdash;or&mdash;Uncle John?" May looked
+into her aunt's eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"No!" said Lady Dashwood. "John doesn't
+like my being away. An old soldier has much to make
+him sad now, but no&mdash;&mdash;" Then she added in an
+undertone, "Jim ..." and she stared into her
+niece's face.</p>
+
+<p>Under the portrait of that bold, handsome, unscrupulous
+Warden of King's a faithful clock ticked to
+the passing of time. The time it showed now was twenty
+minutes to eight. Both ladies in silence had turned
+to the fire and they were now both standing each with
+one foot on the fender and were looking up at the
+portrait and not at the clock. Neither of them,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Page 16]</a></span>
+however, thought of the portrait. They merely looked
+at it&mdash;as one must look at something.</p>
+
+<p>"Jim," sighed Lady Dashwood. "You don't
+know him, May."</p>
+
+<p>"Is it he who is ill?" asked May.</p>
+
+<p>"He's not ill. He is terribly depressed at times
+because so many of his old pupils are gone&mdash;for ever.
+But it's not that, not that that I mean. You know
+what learned men are, May?" Lady Dashwood did
+not ask a question, she was making an assertion.</p>
+
+<p>May Dashwood still gazed at the portrait but now
+she lowered her eyelids, looking critically through the
+narrowed space with her grey eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I don't know what learned men are," she
+replied very slowly. "I have met so few."</p>
+
+<p>"Jim has taken&mdash;&mdash;" and again Lady Dashwood
+hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>"Not to <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Eau Perrier?</span>" almost whispered Mrs.
+Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly not," exclaimed Lady Dashwood. "I
+don't think he has touched alcohol since the War.
+It's nothing so elementary as that. I feel as if I were
+treacherous in talking about it&mdash;and yet I must talk
+about it&mdash;because you have to help me. A really
+learned man is so&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean that he knows all about Julius
+C�sar," said May, "and nothing about himself?"</p>
+
+<p>"I shouldn't mind that so much," said the elder
+lady, grasping eagerly at this introduction to an analysis
+of the learned man. "I had better blurt it all out,
+May. Well&mdash;he knows nothing about women&mdash;&mdash;"
+Lady Dashwood spoke with angry emphasis, but in a
+whisper.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" said Mrs. Dashwood, and now she stared
+deeply at one particular block of wood that was spitting
+quietly at the attacking flames. She raised her arm
+and laid her hand on her aunt Lena's shoulder. Then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Page 17]</a></span>
+she squeezed the shoulder slightly as if to gently
+squeeze out a little more information.</p>
+
+<p>"Jim is&mdash;I'm not sure&mdash;but I'm suspicious&mdash;on
+the verge of getting into a mess," said her aunt still
+in a low voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" said May again. "With some woman?"</p>
+
+<p>"All perfectly proper," said Lady Dashwood,
+"but&mdash;oh, May&mdash;it's so unspeakably dreary and
+desolating."</p>
+
+<p>"Much older than he is?" asked May softly, with
+an emphasis on "much."</p>
+
+<p>"Very much younger," said Lady Dashwood.
+"Only eighteen!"</p>
+
+<p>"Not nice then?" asked May again softly.</p>
+
+<p>"Not anything&mdash;except pretty&mdash;and"&mdash;here Lady
+Dashwood had a strident bitterness in her voice&mdash;"and&mdash;she
+has a mother."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" said May.</p>
+
+<p>"You know Lady Belinda Scott?" asked Lady
+Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>May Dashwood moved her head in assent. "Not
+having enough money for everything one wants is the
+root of all evil?" she said imitating somebody.</p>
+
+<p>"Belinda exactly! And all that you and I believe
+worth having in life&mdash;is no more to her&mdash;than to&mdash;to
+a monkey up a tree!"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Dashwood spoke thoughtfully. "We've come
+from monkeys and Lady Belinda thinks a great deal of
+her ancestry."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you understand why I'm anxious? You
+can imagine&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>May moved her head in response, and then she
+suddenly turned her face towards her aunt and said
+in the same voice in which she had imitated Belinda
+before&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"If dull people like to be dull, it's no credit to
+'em!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Page 18]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood laughed, but it was a hard bitter
+laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, May, you understand. Well, for the twenty-four
+hours that Belinda was here, she was on her
+best behaviour. You see, she had plans! You know
+her habit of sponging for weeks on people&mdash;she finds
+herself appreciated by the 'Nouveaux Riches.' Her
+title appeals to them. Well, Belinda has never made
+a home for her one child&mdash;not she!"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Dashwood's lips moved. "Poor child!" she
+said softly, and there was something in her voice that
+made Lady Dashwood aware of what she had momentarily
+forgotten in her excitement, that the arm resting
+on her shoulder was the arm of a woman not yet
+thirty, whose home had suddenly vanished. It had
+been riddled with bullets and left to die at the retreat
+from Mons.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood fell into a sudden silence.</p>
+
+<p>"Go on, dear Aunt Lena," said May Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, dear," said Lady Dashwood, drawing in a
+deep breath, "Linda got wind of my coming here to
+put Jim straight and she pounced down upon me like
+a vulture, with Gwen, asked herself for one night, and
+then talked of 'old days, etc.,' and how she longed for
+Gwen to see something of our 'old-world city.' So
+she simply made me keep the child for 'a couple of
+days,' then 'a week,' and then 'ten days'&mdash;and how
+could I turn the child out of doors? And so&mdash;I gave
+in&mdash;like a fool!" Then, after a pause, Lady Dashwood
+exclaimed&mdash;"Imagine Belinda as Jim's mother-in-law!"</p>
+
+<p>"But why should she be?" asked May.</p>
+
+<p>"That's the point. Belinda would prefer an
+American Wall Street man as a son-in-law or
+a Scotch Whisky Merchant, but they're not so
+easily got&mdash;it's a case of get what you can. So Jim is
+to be sacrificed."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Page 19]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"But why?" persisted May quietly.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, because&mdash;although Jim has seen Belinda
+and heard her hard false voice, he doesn't see what she
+is. He is too responsible to imagine Belindas and too
+clever to imagine Gwens. Gwen is very pretty!"</p>
+
+<p>May looked again into the fire.</p>
+
+<p>"Now do you see what a weak fool I've been?"
+asked Lady Dashwood fiercely.</p>
+
+<p>"Lady Belinda will bleed him," said May.</p>
+
+<p>"When Belinda is Jim's mother-in-law, he'll have
+to pay for everything&mdash;even for her funeral!"</p>
+
+<p>"Wouldn't her funeral expenses be cheap at any
+price?" asked May.</p>
+
+<p>"They would," said Lady Dashwood. "How are
+we to kill her off? She'll live&mdash;for ever!"</p>
+
+<p>Then Mrs. Dashwood seemed to meditate briefly
+but very deeply, and at the end of her short silence she
+asked&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"And where do I come in, Aunt Lena? What can
+I do for you?"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood looked a little startled.</p>
+
+<p>What May had actually got to do was: well, not
+to do anything but just to be sweet and amusing as she
+always was. She had got to show the Warden what
+a charming woman was like. And the rest, he had to
+do. He had to be fascinated! Lady Dashwood could
+see a vision of Gwen and her boxes going safely away
+from Oxford&mdash;even the name of Scott disappearing
+altogether from the Warden's recollection.</p>
+
+<p>But after that, what would happen? May too
+would have to go away. She was still mourning for
+her husband&mdash;still dreaming at night of that awful
+sudden news from France. May would, of course,
+go back to her work and leave the Warden to&mdash;well&mdash;anything
+in the wide world was better than "Belinda
+and Co." And it was this certainty that anything
+was better than Belinda and Co., this passionate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Page 20]</a></span>
+conviction, that had filled Lady Dashwood's mind&mdash;to
+the exclusion of all other things.</p>
+
+<p>It had not occurred to her that May would ask
+the definite question, "What am I to do?" It
+was an awkward question.</p>
+
+<p>"What I want you to do," said Lady Dashwood,
+speaking slowly, while she swiftly sought in her mind
+for an answer that would be truthful and yet&mdash;inoffensive.
+"Why, May, I want you to give me your
+moral support."</p>
+
+<p>May looked away from the fire and contemplated
+the point of her boot, and then she looked at the point
+of Lady Dashwood's shoe&mdash;they were both on the
+fender rim side by side&mdash;May's right boot, Lady Dashwood's
+left shoe.</p>
+
+<p>"Your moral support," repeated Lady Dashwood.
+"Well, then you stay a week. Many, many thanks.
+To-night I shall sleep well."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood was conscious that "moral
+support" did not quite serve the purpose she wanted,
+she had not quite got hold of the right words.</p>
+
+<p>May's profile was absolutely in repose, but Lady
+Dashwood could feel that she was pondering over that
+expression "moral support." So Lady Dashwood
+was driven to repeat it once more. "Moral support,"
+she said very firmly. "Your moral support is what
+I want, dear May."</p>
+
+<p>They had not heard the drawing-room door open,
+but they heard it close although it was done softly,
+and both ladies turned away from the fire.</p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen Scott had come in and was walking
+towards them, dressed in white and looking very self-conscious
+and pretty.</p>
+
+<p>"But you haven't told me," said Mrs. Dashwood
+tactfully, as if merely continuing their talk, "who
+that portrait represents?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, an old Warden," replied Lady Dashwood<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Page 21]</a></span>
+indifferently. "Moral support" or not&mdash;the compact
+had been made. May was pledged for the week.
+All was well! Lady Dashwood could look at Gwen
+now with an easy, even an affectionate smile. "Gwen,
+let me introduce you to Mrs. Jack Dashwood," she
+said.</p>
+
+<p>Gwen had expected Mrs. Dashwood to be an elderly
+relative of the family who would not introduce any
+new element into the Warden's little household.
+She had not for a moment anticipated <em>this</em>! It was
+disconcerting. Gwen was very much afraid of clever
+women, they moved and looked and spoke as if they
+had been given a key "to the situation," though
+what that key was and what that situation exactly
+was Gwen did not quite grasp.</p>
+
+<p>Even the way in which Mrs. Dashwood put her
+hand out for a scarf she had thrown on to a chair; the
+way she moved her feet, moved her head; the way her
+plain black dress and the long plain coat hung about
+her, her manner of looking at Gwen and accepting her
+as a person whom she was about to know, all this
+mysterious "cachet" of her personality&mdash;made Gwen
+uneasy. Besides this elegant woman was not exactly
+elderly&mdash;about twenty-eight perhaps. Gwen was very
+much disconcerted at this unexpected complication
+at the Lodgings&mdash;her life had been for the last few
+months since she left school in July, crowded with
+difficulties.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think I want that man to speak," said
+Mrs. Dashwood, turning her head to look back at the
+portrait.</p>
+
+<p>"What a funny thing to say!" thought Gwen,
+about a mere portrait, and she sniggled a little. "He's
+got a ghost," she said aloud. "Hasn't he, Lady
+Dashwood?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Lady Dashwood briefly. "He hasn't
+got a ghost. The college has got a ghost&mdash;&mdash;"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Page 22]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes," said Gwen, "I mean that, of course."</p>
+
+<p>"If the ghost is&mdash;all that remains of the gentleman
+over the fireplace," said Mrs. Dashwood, "I hope
+he doesn't appear often." She was still glancing back
+at the portrait.</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't it exciting?" said Gwen. "The ghost
+appears whenever anything is going to happen&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Gwen," said Lady Dashwood, "in
+that case the ghost might as well bring his bag and
+baggage and remain here."</p>
+
+<p>"What sort of ghost?" asked Mrs. Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, only an eighteenth-century ghost&mdash;the ghost
+of the college barber," said Lady Dashwood. "When
+that man was Warden, the college barber went and
+cut his throat in the Warden's Library."</p>
+
+<p>"What for?" asked Mrs. Dashwood simply.</p>
+
+<p>"Because the Warden insisted on his doing the
+Fellows' hair in the new elaborate style of the period&mdash;on
+his old wages."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Dashwood pondered, still looking at the
+portrait.</p>
+
+<p>"I should have cut the Warden's throat&mdash;not my
+own," she said, "if I had, on my old wages, to curl
+and crimp instead of merely putting a bowl on the
+gentlemen's heads and snipping round."</p>
+
+<p>"But he had his revenge," said Gwen eagerly,
+"he comes and shows himself in the Library when a
+Warden dies."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood had not during these last few
+minutes been really thinking of the Warden or of the
+college barber, nor of his ghost. She was thinking
+that it was characteristic of Gwen to be excited by
+and interested in a silly ghost story&mdash;and it was equally
+characteristic of her to be unable to tell the story
+correctly.</p>
+
+<p>"He is supposed to appear in the Library when
+anything disastrous is going to happen to a Warden,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Page 23]</a></span>
+she said, and no sooner were the words out of her mouth
+than she paused and began thinking of what she was
+saying. "Anything disastrous to a Warden!" She
+had not thought of the matter before&mdash;Jim was now
+Warden! Anything disastrous! A marriage may
+be a disaster. Death is not so disastrous as utter
+disappointment with life and the pain of an empty
+heart!</p>
+
+<p>"Come along, May," she said, trying to suppress
+a shiver that went through her frame. "Come along,
+May. Goodness gracious, it's nearly eight o'clock and
+we are going to dine at eight fifteen!"</p>
+
+<p>"I can dress in two shakes," said May Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"I've asked Mr. Boreham," said Lady Dashwood,
+pushing her niece gently before her towards the door
+and blessing her&mdash;in her under-thoughts ("Bless you,
+May, dear dear May!"). "He talked so much about
+you the other day," she went on aloud, "that when
+I got your wire&mdash;I felt bound to ask him&mdash;I hope you
+don't mind."</p>
+
+<p>"Nobody does mind Mr. Boreham," said May.
+"I haven't seen him&mdash;for years."</p>
+
+<p>"You know his aunt left him Chartcote, so he has
+taken to haunting Oxford for the last three months.
+Talk of ghosts&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Then the door closed behind the two ladies and
+Gwen was left alone in the drawing-room. She went
+up to the clock. It was striking eight. Fifteen
+minutes and nothing to do! She would go and see
+if there were any letters. She went outside. Letters
+by the first post and by the last post were all placed
+on a table at the head of the staircase. Gwen went and
+looked at the table. Letters there were, all for the
+Warden! No! there was one for her, from her mother.
+She opened it nervously. Was it a scolding about losing
+that umbrella? Gwen began to read:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Page 24]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">My dear Gwen</span>,<br /></p>
+
+<p>"I hope you understand that Lady Dashwood
+will keep you till the 3rd. You don't mention the
+Warden! Does that mean that you are making no
+progress in that direction? Perhaps taking no trouble!</p>
+
+<p>"The question is, where you will go on the 3rd?"</p></div>
+
+<p class="above2">Here Gwen's heart gave a thump of alarm and
+dismay.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"It is all off with your cousin Bridget. She writes
+that she can't have you, because she has to be in town
+unexpectedly. This is only an excuse. I am disappointed
+but not surprised, after that record behaviour
+to me when the war broke out and after promising
+that I should be in her show in France, and then
+backing out of it. Exactly why, I found out only
+yesterday! You remember that General X. had
+actually to separate two of the 'angels' that were
+flitting about on their work of mercy and had come
+to blows over it. Well, one of the two was your
+cousin Bridget. That didn't get photographed in
+the papers. It would have looked sweet. But now
+I'm going to give you a scolding. Bridget did get
+wind of your muddling about at the Ringwood's
+little hospital this summer, and spending all your
+time and energy on a man who I told you was no use.
+What's the good of talking any more about it? I've
+talked till I'm blue&mdash;and yet you will no doubt go and
+do the same thing again.</p>
+
+<p>"I ought not to have to tell you that if you do come
+across any stray Undergraduates, don't go for them.
+Nothing will come of it. Try and keep this in your
+noddle. Go for Dr. Middleton&mdash;men of that age are
+often silliest about girls&mdash;and don't simply go mooning
+along. Then why did you go and lose your umbrella?
+You have nothing in this wide world to think of but to
+keep yourself and your baggage together.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Page 25]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"It's the second you have lost this year. I can't
+afford another. You must 'borrow' one. Your
+new winter rig-out is more than I can afford. I'm
+being dunned for bills that have only run two years.
+Why can't I make you realise all this? What is
+the matter with you? Give the maid who waits on
+you half a crown, nothing to the butler. Lady D.
+is sure to see you off&mdash;and you can leave the taxi to
+her. Leave your laundry bill at the back of a drawer&mdash;as
+if you had mislaid it. I will send you a P.O. for
+your ticket to Stow."</p></div>
+
+<p class="above2">Here Gwen made a pause, for her heart was thumping
+loudly.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"There's nothing for it but to go to Nana's cottage
+at Stow for the moment. I know it's beastly dull
+for you&mdash;but it's partly your own fault that you are
+to have a dose of Stow. I'm full up for two months
+and more, but I'll see what I can do for you at once.
+I am writing to Mrs. Greenleafe Potten, to ask her if
+she will have you for a week on Monday, but I'm afraid
+she won't. At Stow you won't need anything but a
+few stamps and a penny for Sunday collection. I've
+written to Nana. She only charges me ten shillings a
+week for you. She will mend up your clothes and make
+two or three blouses for you into the bargain. Don't
+attempt to help her. They must be done properly.
+Get on with that flannelette frock for the Serb relief.
+Address me still here.</p></div>
+
+<p class="signoff">"Your very loving,<br />
+<br />
+"<span class="smcap">Mother</span>."</p>
+
+<p class="above2">Nana's cottage at Stow! Thatch smelling of
+the November rains; a stuffy little parlour with a
+smoky fire. Forlorn trees outside shedding their
+last leaves into the ditch at the side of the lane. Her
+old nurse, nearly stone deaf, as her sole companion.</p>
+
+<p>Gwen felt her knees trembling under her. Her
+eyes smarted and a great sob came into her throat. She
+had no home. Nobody wanted her!</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Page 26]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER III</h2>
+
+<h3>PASSIONATE PITY</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">A tear fell upon the envelope in her hand, and one
+fell upon the red carpet under her feet. She must try
+and not cry, crying made one ugly. She must go
+to her room as quickly as she could.</p>
+
+<p>Then came noiselessly out from the curtained door
+at Gwen's right hand the figure of Dr. Middleton. He
+was already dressed for dinner, his face composed and
+dignified as usual, but preoccupied as if the business
+of the day was not over. There were these letters
+waiting for him on the table. He came on, and Gwen,
+blinded by a big tear in each eye, vaguely knew that
+he stooped and swept up the letters in his hand. Then
+he turned his face towards her in his slow, deliberate
+way and looked. She closed her eyes, and the two
+tears squeezed between the lids, ran down her cheeks
+leaving the delicate rosy skin wet and shining under
+the electric light.</p>
+
+<p>Tears had rarely been seen by the Warden: never&mdash;in
+fact&mdash;until lately! He was startled by them and
+disconcerted.</p>
+
+<p>"Has anything happened?" he asked. "Anything
+serious?" It would need to be something very
+serious for tears!</p>
+
+<p>The gentleness of his voice only made the desolation
+in Gwen's heart the more poignant. In a week's time
+she would have to leave this beautiful kindly little
+home, this house of refuge. The fear she had had
+before of the Warden vanished at his sudden tenderness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Page 27]</a></span>
+of tone; he seemed now something to cling to, something
+solid and protective that belonged to the world
+of ease and comfort, of good things; things to be
+desired above all else, and from which she was going
+to be cruelly banished&mdash;to Stow. She made a convulsive
+noise somewhere in her young throat, but was
+inarticulate.</p>
+
+<p>There came sounds of approaching steps. The
+Warden hesitated but only for a moment. He moved
+to the door of the library.</p>
+
+<p>"Come in here," he said, a little peremptorily, and
+he turned and opened it for Gwen.</p>
+
+<p>Gwen slid within and moving blindly, knocked
+herself against the protruding wing of his book-shelves.
+That made the Warden vexed with somebody, the
+somebody who had made the child cry so much that
+she couldn't see where she was going. He closed the
+door behind her.</p>
+
+<p>"You have bad news in that letter?" he asked.
+"Your mother is not ill?"</p>
+
+<p>Gwen shook her head and stared upon the floor,
+her lips twitching.</p>
+
+<p>"Anything you can talk over with Lady Dashwood?"
+he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"No," was the stifled answer with a shake of the
+dark head.</p>
+
+<p>"Can you tell me about it? I might be able to
+advise, help you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No!" This time the sound was long drawn out
+with a shrill sob.</p>
+
+<p>What was to be done?</p>
+
+<p>"Try not to cry!" he said gently. "Tell me what
+it is all about. If you need help&mdash;perhaps I can help
+you!"</p>
+
+<p>So much protecting sympathy given to her, after
+that letter, made Gwen feel the joy of utter weakness
+in the presence of strength, of saving support.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Page 28]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Shall I read that letter?" he asked, putting out
+his hand.</p>
+
+<p>Gwen clutched it tighter. No, no, that would be
+fatal! He laid his hand upon hers. Gwen began to
+tremble. She shook from head to foot, even her teeth
+chattered. She held tight on to that letter&mdash;but she
+leaned nearer to him.</p>
+
+<p>"Then," said the Warden, without removing his
+hand, "tell me what is troubling you? It is something
+in that letter?"</p>
+
+<p>Gwen moved her lips and made a great effort to
+speak.</p>
+
+<p>"It's&mdash;it's nothing!" she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing!" repeated the Warden, just a little
+sternly.</p>
+
+<p>This was too much for Gwen, the tears rose again
+swiftly into her eyes and began to drop down her
+cheeks. "It's only&mdash;&mdash;" she began.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, tell me," said the Warden, coaxingly, for
+those tears hurt him, "tell me, child, never mind what
+it is."</p>
+
+<p>"It's only&mdash;," she began again, and now her
+teeth chattered, "only&mdash;that nobody cares what
+happens to me&mdash;I've got no home!"</p>
+
+<p>That this pretty, inoffensive, solitary child had no
+home, was no news to the Warden. His sister had
+hinted at it on the day that Gwen was left behind by
+her mother. But he had dismissed the matter, as not
+concerning the college or the reconstruction of National
+Education. Since then whenever it cropped up again,
+he again dismissed it, because&mdash;well, because his mind
+was not clear. Now, suddenly, he seemed to be more
+certain, his thoughts clearer. Each tear that Gwen
+dropped seemed to drop some responsibility upon him.
+His face must have betrayed this&mdash;perhaps his hands
+also. How it happened the Warden did not quite
+know, but he was conscious that the girl made a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Page 29]</a></span>
+movement towards him, and then he found himself
+holding her in his arms. She was weeping convulsively
+into his shirt-front&mdash;weeping out the griefs
+of her childhood and girlhood and staining his shirt
+front with responsibility for them all, soaking him
+with petty cares, futile recollections, mean subterfuges,
+silly triumphs, sordid disappointments, all the small
+squalid moral muddle that Belinda Scotts call "life."</p>
+
+<p>All this smothered the Warden's shirt-front and
+trickled sideways into the softer part of that article
+of his dress.</p>
+
+<p>For the first few moments his power of thinking
+failed him. He was conscious only of his hands on
+her waist and shoulder, of the warmth of her dark
+hair against his face. He could feel her heart thumping,
+thumping in her slender body against his.</p>
+
+<p>A knock came at the door.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden came to himself. He released the
+weeping girl gently and walked to the door.</p>
+
+<p>He opened it, holding it in his hand. "What is it,
+Robinson?" he asked, for he had for the moment
+forgotten that it was dinner time, and that a guest was
+expected.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Boreham is in the drawing-room, sir," said
+the old servant very meekly, for he met the narrow
+eyes fixed coldly upon him.</p>
+
+<p>"Very well," said the Warden, and he closed the
+door again.</p>
+
+<p>Then he turned round and looked at Gwendolen
+Scott. She was standing exactly where he had left
+her, standing with her hands clutching at a little
+pocket-handkerchief and her letter. She was waiting.
+Her wet eyelashes almost rested on her flushed cheeks.
+Her lips were slightly swollen. She was not crying,
+she was still and silent. She was waiting&mdash;her conceit
+for the moment gone&mdash;she was waiting to know from
+him what was going to become of her. Her whole<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Page 30]</a></span>
+drooping attitude was profoundly humble. The
+humility of it gave Middleton a strange pang of pain
+and pleasure.</p>
+
+<p>The way in which the desire for power expresses
+itself in a man or woman is the supreme test of character.
+The weak fritter away on nothings the driving
+force of this priceless instinct; this instinct that has
+raised us from primeval slime to the mastery of the
+world. The weak waste it, it seems to slip through
+their fingers and vanish. Only the strong can bend
+this spiritual energy to the service of an important
+issue, and the strongest of all do this unconsciously,
+so that He, who is supreme Master of the souls of
+men, could say, "Why callest thou <em>Me</em> good?"</p>
+
+<p>The Warden in his small sphere of academic life
+showed himself to be one of the strong sort. His
+mind was analytical rather than constructive, but
+among all the crowded teaching staff of Oxford only
+one other man&mdash;and he, too, now the head of a famous
+college&mdash;had given as much of himself to his pupils.
+Indeed, so much had the Warden given, that he had
+left little for himself. His time and his extraordinarily
+wide knowledge, materials that he had gathered for
+his own use, all were at the service of younger men
+who appealed to him for guidance. He grasped at
+opportunities for them, found gaps that they could
+fill, he criticised, suggested, pushed; and so the years
+went on, and his own books remained unwritten. Only
+now, when a new world seemed to him to be in the
+making&mdash;he sat down deliberately to give his own
+thoughts expression.</p>
+
+<p>Men like Middleton are rare in any University;
+a man unselfish enough and able enough to spend
+himself, sacrifice himself in "making men." And
+even this outstanding usefulness, this masterly hold
+he had of the best men who passed through King's
+would not have forced his colleagues to elect him as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Page 31]</a></span>
+Warden. They made him Warden because they
+couldn't help themselves, because he was in all ways
+the dominating personality of the college, and even the
+book weary, the dull, the frankly cynical among the
+Fellows could not escape from the conviction that
+King's would be safe in Middleton's hands, so there
+was no reason to seek further afield.</p>
+
+<p>But women and sentiment had played a very small
+part in the Warden's life. His acquaintance with
+women had been superficial. He did not profess to
+understand them. Gwendolen Scott had for several
+days sat at his table, looking like a flower. That
+her emotions were shallow and her mind vacant did
+not occur to the Warden. She was like a flower&mdash;that
+was all! His business had been with men&mdash;young
+men. And just now, as one by one, these young men,
+once the interest and pride of his college, were stricken
+down as they stood upon the very threshold of life,
+the Warden's heart had become empty and aching.</p>
+
+<p>And now, on this autumn evening, this sobbing
+girl seemed, somehow, all part of the awful tragedy
+that was being enacted, only in her case&mdash;he had the
+power to help. He need not let her wander alone into
+the wilderness of life.</p>
+
+<p>For the first time in his life, his sense of power
+betrayed him. It was in his own hands to mould
+the future of this helpless girl&mdash;so he imagined!</p>
+
+<p>He experienced two or three delicious moments
+as he walked towards her, knowing that she would
+melt into his arms and give up all her sorrows into his
+keeping. She was waiting on his will! But was
+this love?</p>
+
+<p>The Warden was well aware that it was not love,
+such as a man of his temperament conceived love to be.</p>
+
+<p>But his youth was passed. The time had gone
+when he could fall in love and marry a common
+mortal under the impression that she was an angel.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Page 32]</a></span>
+Was it likely that now, in middle life, he would find
+a woman who would rouse the deepest of his emotions
+or satisfy the needs of his life?</p>
+
+<p>Why should he expect to find at forty, what few
+men meet in the prime of youth? All that he could
+expect now&mdash;hope for&mdash;was standing there waiting
+for him. Waiting with blushes, timid, dawning hope;
+full of trust and so pathetically humble!</p>
+
+<p>He took her into his arms and spoke, and his voice
+was steady but very low and a little husky.</p>
+
+<p>"There is no time to talk now. But you shall not
+go out into the wilderness of life, if you are afraid."</p>
+
+<p>She pressed her face closer to him&mdash;in answer.</p>
+
+<p>"If you want to, if you care to&mdash;come to me, I
+shall not refuse you a home. You understand?"</p>
+
+<p>She did fully understand. Her mother's letter
+had made it clearer than ever to her that marriage
+with somebody sufficiently well off is a haven of refuge
+for a woman, a port to be steered for with all available
+strength.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly and unexpectedly Gwen had found herself
+in harbour, and the stormy sea passed.</p>
+
+<p>"Run up to your room now," he said, "and bathe
+your face and come down to the drawing-room as if
+nothing had happened."</p>
+
+<p>He did not kiss her. A thought, such as only
+disturbs a man of scrupulous honour, came to him.
+He was so much older than she was that she must have
+time to think&mdash;she must come to him and ask for what
+he could give her&mdash;not, as she was just now&mdash;convulsed
+with grief; she must come quietly and confidently and
+with her mind made up. There must be no working
+upon her emotions, no urgency of his own will over
+a weaker will; no compulsion such as a strong man can
+exercise over a weak woman.</p>
+
+<p>He pushed her gently away, and she raised her
+head, smiling through her tears and murmuring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Page 33]</a></span>
+something: what was it? Was it "Thanks;" but she
+did not look him in the face, she dare not meet those
+narrow blue eyes that were bent upon her.</p>
+
+<p>He stood watching her as she moved lightly to the
+door. There she turned back, and even then she did
+not raise her eyes to his face, but she smiled a strange
+bewildered smile into the air and fled.</p>
+
+<p>It was really <em>she</em> who had conquered, and with
+such feeble weapons.</p>
+
+<p>She had gone. The door was closed. The Warden
+was alone.</p>
+
+<p>He looked round the room, at the book-lined walls,
+at his desk strewn with papers, and then the whole
+magnitude and meaning of what he had done&mdash;came
+to him!</p>
+
+<p>He took out his watch. It was twenty past
+eight&mdash;all but a minute. In less than twenty minutes
+he had disposed of and finally settled one of the most
+important affairs of life. Was this the action of a sane
+man?</p>
+
+<p>During the last few days he had gradually been
+drifting towards this, just drifting. He had been
+dreaming of it all the time, dreaming in that part of
+his brain where the mind works out its problems underground,
+waiting until the higher world of consciousness
+calls for them, and they are flung out into the open
+daylight&mdash;solved. A solution found without real
+solid premeditation.</p>
+
+<p>Was the solution to his life's problem a good one,
+or a bad one? Was it true to his past life, or was it
+false? Can a man successfully live out a plan that he
+has only dimly outlined in a dream and swiftly
+finished in a passion of pity?</p>
+
+<p>It was Middleton's duty as host to go into the
+drawing-room. He must go at once and think
+afterwards. And yet he lingered. She might not claim
+him. She too might have been moved only by a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Page 34]</a></span>
+momentary emotion! But what right had he to be
+speculating on the chance of release? It was a bad
+beginning!</p>
+
+<p>On the floor lay a letter. The Warden had not
+noticed it before. He picked it up. It was the letter
+that she had held in her trembling hands.</p>
+
+<p>He stood holding it, and then suddenly he opened
+the flap and pulled the sheet from its cover. He
+unfolded it and looked at the signature. Yes, it was
+from her mother. He folded the paper again and put
+it back in the envelope.</p>
+
+<p>Then as he stood for a moment, with the letter
+in his hand, he perceived that his shirt-front was
+stained&mdash;with her tears.</p>
+
+<p>He left the library and went towards his bedroom
+behind the curtained door. He had the letter in his
+hand. He caught sight of Louise, Lady Dashwood's
+maid, near the drawing-room door. The Warden held
+the letter out to her.</p>
+
+<p>"Please put this letter in Miss Scott's room," he
+said. "I found it lying on the floor;" and he went
+back into his room.</p>
+
+<p>Louise had gone to the drawing-room with a handkerchief
+forgotten by Lady Dashwood. She took the
+letter and went upstairs to her mistress's room, gazing
+at the letter as she walked. Now Louise was not a
+French woman for nothing. A letter&mdash;even an open
+letter&mdash;passing between a male and a female, must
+relate to an affair of the heart. This was interesting&mdash;exciting!
+Louise felt the necessity of thinking the
+matter out. Here was a pretty young lady, Miss
+Scott, and here was the Warden, not indeed very
+young, but <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tr�s tr�s bien, tr�s distingu�!</i> Very well,
+if the young lady was married, then well, naturally
+something would happen! But she was "Miss,"
+and that was quite other thing. Young unmarried
+girls must be protected&mdash;it is so in <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">la belle France</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Page 35]</a></span>
+Louise pulled the envelope apart and drew out the
+contents. She opened the letter, and searched for
+the missive between its folds which was destined for
+the hands of "Miss." There was none. Louise
+spread out the letter. Her knowledge of English as
+a spoken language was limited, and as a written
+language it was an unending puzzle.</p>
+
+<p>She could, however, read the beginning and the end.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear Gwen" ... and "Mother." <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Hein!</i></p>
+
+<p>The reason why the letter had been put into her
+hands was just because she could not read it.</p>
+
+<p>What cunning! Without doubt, there were some
+additions added by the Warden here and there to
+the maternal messages, which would have their significance
+to "Miss." Again, what cunning!</p>
+
+<p>And the Warden, so dignified and so just as he
+ought to be! Ah, my God, but one never knows!</p>
+
+<p>Louise folded up the letter and replaced it in its
+envelope.</p>
+
+<p>Doubtless my Lady Dashwood was in the dark.
+Oh, completely! That goes without saying. Louise
+had already tidied the room. There was nothing more
+for her to do. She had been on the point of going
+down to the servants' quarters. Should she take the
+letter as directed to the room occupied by "Miss"?
+That was the momentous question. Now Louise was
+bound hand and foot to the service of Lady Dashwood.
+Only for the sake of that lady would Louise have
+endured the miseries of Oxford and the taciturnity of
+Robinson, and the impertinence of Robinson's grandson,
+Robinson aged fifteen, and the stupid solemnity of
+Mrs. Robinson, the daughter-in-law of Robinson and
+the widowed mother of the young Robinson.</p>
+
+<p>Louise loved Lady Dashwood. Lady Dashwood
+was munificent and always amiable, things very rare.
+Also Louise was a widow and had two children in whom
+Lady Dashwood took an interest.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Page 36]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>That <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Monsieur</span>, the head of the College, should
+secretly communicate with a "Miss" was a real
+scandal. <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Propos d'amour</i> are not for young ladies
+who are unmarried. The Warden ought to have
+known better than that&mdash;&mdash; Ah, poor Lady Dashwood!</p>
+
+<p>Torn between the desire to participate in an
+interesting affair and her duty not to assist scandals
+in the family of my Lady Dashwood, Louise stood for
+some time plunged in painful argument with herself.
+At last her sense of duty prevailed! She would not
+deliver the letter. No, not if her life depended on it.
+The question was&mdash;&mdash; Ah, this would be what she
+would do. A brilliant idea had struck her. Louise
+went to the dressing-table. It was covered with
+Lady Dashwood's toilet things, all neatly arranged.
+On the top of the jewel drawers at one side lay two
+envelopes, letters that had come by the last post and
+had been put aside hurriedly by Lady Dashwood.
+Louise lifted these two letters and underneath them
+placed the letter addressed to Miss Gwendolen Scott.</p>
+
+<p>"Good!" exclaimed Louise to the empty room.
+"The letter is now in the disposition of the Good God!
+And the Warden! All that there is of the most as it
+ought to be! Ah, but it is incredible!"</p>
+
+<p>Louise went to the door and put out the lights.
+Then she closed the door softly behind her and went
+downstairs.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Page 37]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2>
+
+<h3>THE UNFORESEEN HAPPENS</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">Before his maternal aunt had left him Chartcote,
+the Honourable Bernard Boreham's income had been
+just sufficient to enable him to live without making
+himself useful. The Boreham estate in Ireland was
+burdened with obligations to female relatives who
+lived in various depressing watering-places in England.
+Bernard, the second son, had not been sent to a public
+school or University. He had struggled up as best
+he might, and like all the members of his family, he
+had left his beloved country as soon as he possibly
+could, and had picked up some extra shillings in London
+by writing light articles of an inflammatory nature
+for papers that required them. Boreham had had
+no real practical acquaintance with the world. He
+had never been responsible for any one but himself.
+He was a floating cloudlet. Ideas came to him easily&mdash;all
+the more easily because he was scantily acquainted
+with the mental history of the past. He did not know
+what had been already thought out and dismissed,
+nor what had been tried and had failed. The world
+was new to him&mdash;new&mdash;and full of errors.</p>
+
+<p>From the moment that Chartcote became his and
+he was his own master, it occurred to him that he might
+write a really great book. A book that would make
+the world conscious of its follies. He felt that it was
+time that some one&mdash;like himself&mdash;who could shed the
+superstitions and the conventions of the past and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Page 38]</a></span>
+step out a new man with new ideas, uncorrupted by
+kings or priests (or Oxford traditions), and give a lead
+to the world.</p>
+
+<p>It was, of course, an unfortunate circumstance that
+Oxford was now so military, so smitten by the war
+and shorn of her pomp, so empty of academic life. But
+after the war Boreham meant among other things to
+study Oxford, and if perfectly frank criticism could help
+her to a better understanding of her faults in view of
+the world's requirements&mdash;well, it should have that
+criticism. Boreham had considerable leisure, for apart
+from his big Book which he began to sketch, he
+found nothing to do. Every sort of work that others
+were doing for the war he considered radically faulty,
+and he had no scheme of his own&mdash;at the moment.
+Besides, he felt that England was not all she ought to
+be. He did not love England&mdash;he only liked living in
+England.</p>
+
+<p>Boreham had arrived punctually for dinner on that
+October evening; in fact, he had arrived too early;
+but he told Lady Dashwood that his watch was fast.</p>
+
+<p>"All the clocks in Oxford are wrong," he said to
+her, as he stood on the hearthrug in the drawing-room,
+"and mine is wrong!"</p>
+
+<p>Boreham was tall and fair and wore a fair pointed
+beard. His features were not easy to describe in
+detail, they gave one the impression that they had
+been cut with insufficient premeditation by the hand
+of his Creator, from some pale fawn-coloured material.
+He wore a single eyeglass which he stuck into a pale
+blue eye, mainly as an aid to conversation. With
+Boreham conversation meant an exposition of his own
+"ideas." He was disappointed at finding only Lady
+Dashwood in the drawing-room; but she had been
+really good natured in asking him to come and meet
+May Dashwood, so he was "conversing" freely with
+her when the door opened and Gwendolen Scott came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Page 39]</a></span>
+in. Boreham started and put his eyeglass in the same
+eye again, instead of exercising the other eye. He
+was agitated. When he saw that it was not May
+Dashwood who had come in, but a youthful female
+unknown to him and probably of no conversational
+significance, he dropped his glass on to his shirt-front,
+where it made a dull thud. Gwen's face was flushed,
+and her lips still a little swollen; but there was nothing
+that betrayed tears to strangers, though Lady Dashwood
+saw at once that she had been crying. As soon
+as the introduction was over Gwen sank into a large
+easy-chair where her slight figure was almost obliterated.</p>
+
+<p>She had got back her self-control. It had not,
+after all, been so difficult to get it back&mdash;for the glow
+of a new excitement possessed her. For the first time
+in her life she had succeeded. Until to-day she had
+had no luck. At a cheap school for the "Education
+of Daughters of Officers" Gwen had not learnt more
+than she could possibly help. Her first appearance
+in the world, this last summer, had been, considering
+her pretty face, on the whole a disappointment.
+But now she was successful. Gwen tingled with the
+comfortable warmth of self-esteem. She looked giddily
+round the spacious room&mdash;was it possible that all
+this might be hers? It was amazing that luck should
+have just dropped into her lap.</p>
+
+<p>Boreham had turned again to Lady Dashwood
+as soon as he had been introduced and had executed
+the reverential bow that he considered proper, however
+contemptuously he might feel towards the female
+he saluted.</p>
+
+<p>"As we were saying," he went on, "Middleton&mdash;except
+to-day&mdash;has always been punctual to the
+minute, by that I mean punctual to the fastest Oxford
+time. He is the sort of man who is born punctual.
+Punctually he came into the world. Punctually he will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Page 40]</a></span>
+go out of it. He has never been what I call a really
+free man. In other words, he is a slave to what's called
+'Duty.'"</p>
+
+<p>Here the door opened again, and again Boreham
+was unable to conceal his vivid curiosity as he turned
+to see who it was coming in. This time it was the
+Warden&mdash;the Warden in a blameless shirt-front. He
+had changed in five minutes. He walked in composed
+as usual. There was not a trace in his face that
+in the library only a few minutes ago he had been
+disposing of his future with amazing swiftness.</p>
+
+<p>"Go on, Boreham," said the Warden, giving his
+guest, along with the glance that serves in Oxford as
+sufficient greeting to frequenters of Common Room,
+a slight grasp of the hand because he was not a
+member of Common Room. The Warden had not
+heard Boreham's remarks, he merely knew that he
+had interrupted some exposition of "ideas."</p>
+
+<p>In a flash the Warden saw, without looking at her,
+that Gwen was there, half hidden in a chair; and Gwen,
+on her side, felt her heart thump, and was proudly
+and yet fearfully conscious of every movement of the
+Warden as he walked across the room and stood on
+the other side of the hearthrug. "Does he&mdash;does that
+important person belong to me?" she thought. The
+conviction was overpowering that if that important
+person did belong to her, and it appeared that he did,
+she also must be important.</p>
+
+<p>Boreham's appearance did not gain in attractiveness
+by the proximity of his host. He began again in his
+rapid rather high voice.</p>
+
+<p>"You see for yourself," he said, turning back to
+Lady Dashwood: "here he is&mdash;the very picture of
+what is conventionally correct, his features, his manner,
+before which younger men who are not so correct
+actually quail. I'm afraid that now he is Warden he
+has lost the chance of becoming a free man. I had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Page 41]</a></span>
+hopes of one day seeing him carried off his feet by some
+impulse which fools call 'folly.' If he could have
+been even once divinely drunk, he might have realised
+his true self, I am afraid now he is hopeless."</p>
+
+<p>"My dear man, your philosophy of freedom is
+only suitable for the 'idle rich.' You would be the
+first person to object to your cook becoming divinely
+drunk instead of soberly preparing your dinner."</p>
+
+<p>Boreham always ignored an argument that told
+against him, so he merely continued&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"As it is, Middleton, who might have been magnificent,
+is bound hand and foot to the service of mere
+propriety, and will end by saddling himself with some
+dull wife."</p>
+
+<p>The Warden stood patient and composed while
+Boreham was talking about him. He took out his
+watch and glanced at Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"I've given May five minutes' grace," she said,
+and then turned her face again to Boreham. "But
+why should Jim marry a dull wife? It will be his own
+fault if he does."</p>
+
+<p>Gwen in her large chair sat stupefied at the word
+"wife."</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Boreham, emphatically. "It won't
+be his fault. The best of our sex are daily sacrificed
+to the most dismal women. Men being in the minority
+now&mdash;dangerously in the minority&mdash;are, as all
+minorities are, imposed upon by the gross majority.
+Supposing Middleton meets, to speak to, in his whole
+life, a couple of hundred women here and elsewhere,
+none of whom are in the least charming; well, then,
+one out of these two hundred, the one with the most
+brazen determination to be married, will marry him,
+and there'll be an end of it. The kindest thing, Lady
+Dashwood," continued Boreham, "and I speak from
+the great love I have for Middleton, is for you just to
+invite with sisterly discrimination some women, not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Page 42]</a></span>
+quite unbearable to Middleton, and he, like the
+Emperor Theophilus, will come into this room with an
+apple in his hand and present it to one of them. He
+can make the same remark that Theophilus made to the
+lady he first approached."</p>
+
+<p>"And what was that?" asked Lady Dashwood.
+She was amused at finding the conversation turn on
+the very subject nearest her heart. Even Mr. Boreham
+was proving himself useful in uttering this blunt warning
+of dangers ahead.</p>
+
+<p>"His remark was: 'Woman is the source of
+evil.' And the lady's reply was&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Both Lady Dashwood and Gwen were gazing
+intently at Boreham and Boreham was staring fixedly
+at the ornament in Lady Dashwood's grey hair. No
+one but the Warden noticed the door open and May
+Dashwood enter. She was dressed in black and wore
+no ornaments. She had caught the gist of what
+Boreham was saying, and she made the most delightful
+movement of her hands to Middleton that expressed
+both respectful greeting to him as her host, and an
+apology for remaining motionless on the threshold
+of the room, so that she should not break Boreham's
+story.</p>
+
+<p>"And her reply was," went on the unconscious
+Boreham, "'But surely also of much good!'"</p>
+
+<p>So that was all! May Dashwood came forward
+and walked straight up to the Warden. She held
+out both her hands to him in apology for her
+behaviour.</p>
+
+<p>"I hope he&mdash;whoever he was&mdash;did not marry the
+young woman who made such an obvious retort,"
+she said. "Fancy what the conversation would be
+like at the breakfast table."</p>
+
+<p>Boreham was too much occupied with his own
+interesting emotions at the sudden appearance of Mrs.
+Dashwood to notice what was plain to Lady Dashwood<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Page 43]</a></span>
+and Gwendolen Scott, that the Warden seemed wholly
+taken by surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"He didn't marry her," he said, as he held May
+Dashwood's hands for a moment and stared down into
+her upturned face with his narrow eyes. "But,"
+he added, "the story is probably a fake."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" said Mrs. Dashwood, as she released her
+hands. Then she turned to Boreham, who was waiting&mdash;a
+picture of self-consciousness in pale fawn.</p>
+
+<p>Gwen's recently regained self-confidence was already
+oozing out of every pore of her skin. It didn't matter
+when the Warden and Mr. Boreham talked queer talk,
+that was to be expected; but what did matter was
+this Mrs. Dashwood talking queerly with them.
+Rubbish she, Gwen, called it. What did that Mrs.
+Dashwood mean by saying that the retort, "And also
+of much good," was obvious? What did "obvious"
+mean? To Gwen the retort seemed profoundly
+clever&mdash;and so true! How was she, Gwen, to cope
+with this sort of thing? And then there was the
+Warden already giving this terrible woman his arm
+and looking at her far too closely.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, Gwen," said Lady Dashwood, "Mr.
+Boreham must take us both!"</p>
+
+<p>Gwen's head swam. Along with this new and
+painful sensation had come a sudden recollection of
+something! That letter of her mother's! It had not
+been in her hand when she went into her bedroom.
+No, it had not. Had she dropped it in the library,
+when the Warden had&mdash;&mdash; Oh!</p>
+
+<p>"I've lost my handkerchief," murmured the girl,
+"somewhere&mdash;&mdash;" Her voice was very small and sad,
+and she looked helplessly round the room.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Boreham, stop and help her find it," said
+Lady Dashwood, "I must go down."</p>
+
+<p>Boreham stood rigidly at the door. He saw his
+hostess go out and still he did not move.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Page 44]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Gwen looked at him in despair. What she had
+intended, of course, was to have flown into the library
+and looked for her letter. How could she now, with
+Mr. Boreham standing in the way? And that terrible
+woman had gone off arm-in-arm with the Warden.
+Gwen stared at Boreham. An idea struck her. She
+would go into the library&mdash;after dinner&mdash;before the
+men came up. But she must pretend to look for her
+handkerchief for a minute or two.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you call Mrs. Dashwood pretty?" she asked
+tremulously, not looking at Boreham, but diving her
+hand into the corners of the chair she had been sitting
+in. She must find out what men thought of Mrs.
+Dashwood. She must know the worst&mdash;now, when
+she had the opportunity.</p>
+
+<p>"Pretty!" said Boreham, still motionless at the
+door. "That's not a useful word. She's alluring."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said Gwen. She had left off thumping
+the chair, and now walked slowly to him&mdash;wide-eyed
+with anxiety. To Gwen, a man past his youth, wearing
+a fair beard and fair eyebrows that were stiff and
+stuck out like spikes, was scarcely a person of sex at
+all; but still he would probably know what men
+thought.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think she is pretty&mdash;very," she said,
+her lips trembling a little as she spoke, and she gazed
+in a challenging way at Boreham.</p>
+
+<p>"She is the most womanly woman I know," said
+Boreham. "Middleton is probably finding that out
+already."</p>
+
+<p>Gwen patted her waistband where it bulged ever
+so slightly with her handkerchief. "Womanly!"
+she repeated in a doubtful voice.</p>
+
+<p>"He'll fall in love with her to-day and propose
+to-morrow. Do him a world of good," said Boreham.</p>
+
+<p>"Propose!" Gwen caught her breath. "But
+he couldn't&mdash;she couldn't&mdash;he couldn't&mdash;marry!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Page 45]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Couldn't marry&mdash;I didn't say marry&mdash;I said he
+will propose to-morrow." Boreham laughed a little
+in his beard.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't understand," stammered the girl. "You
+mean&mdash;she would refuse?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Boreham. "It mightn't go as far as
+that&mdash;the whole thing is a matter of words&mdash;words&mdash;words.
+It's a part of a man's education to fall in
+love with Mrs. Dashwood!"</p>
+
+<p>Gwen blinked at him. A piercing thought struck
+her brain. Spoken words&mdash;they didn't count! Words
+alone didn't clinch the bargain! Words didn't tie
+a man up to his promise. Was this the "law"?
+She must get at the actual "law" of the matter.
+She knew something about love-making, but nothing
+about the "law."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean," she said, and she scarcely recognised
+her own voice, so great was her concentration
+of thought and so slowly did she pronounce the enigmatic
+words, "if he had kissed you as well, he would
+be obliged to marry one?"</p>
+
+<p>Boreham knitted his brows. "If I was, at this
+moment to kiss you, my dear lady," he began, "I
+should not be compelled to marry you. Even the
+gross injustice meted out to us men by the laws
+(backed up by Mrs. Grundy) dares not go as far as
+that. But there is no knowing what new oppression
+is in store for us&mdash;in the future."</p>
+
+<p>"I only mean," stammered Gwen, "<em>if</em> he had
+already said&mdash;something."</p>
+
+<p>Boreham simply stared at her. "I am confused,"
+he said. "Confused!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, please don't imagine that I meant you,"
+she entreated. "I never for one single instant thought
+of you. I should never have imagined! I am so
+sorry!"</p>
+
+<p>And yet this humble apology did not mollify him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Page 46]</a></span>
+Gwen almost felt frightened. Everything seemed going
+to pieces, and she was no nearer knowing what the
+legal aspects of her case were.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you found your handkerchief?" Boreham
+asked, and the spikes in his eyebrows seemed to twitch.</p>
+
+<p>"It was in my band, all the time," said Gwen,
+smiling deprecatingly. "Oh, what a bother everything
+was!"</p>
+
+<p>"Then we have wasted precious time for nothing,"
+said Boreham. "All the fun is going on downstairs&mdash;come
+along, Miss Wallace."</p>
+
+<p>Boreham knew her name wasn't Wallace, but
+Wallace was Scotch and that was near enough, when he
+was angry.</p>
+
+<p>Gwen went downstairs as if she were in an ugly
+dream. Her brief happiness and security and pleasure
+at her own importance was vanishing. This broad
+staircase that she was descending on Boreham's stiff
+and rebellious arm; this wall with its panelling and
+its dim pictures of strange men's faces; these wide
+doors thrown back through which one went solemnly
+into the long dining-room; this dining-room itself
+dim and dignified; all this was going to be hers&mdash;only&mdash;&mdash;.
+Gwendolen, as she emerged into the glow of
+the long oval table, could see nothing but the face
+of Mrs. Dashwood, gently brilliant, and the Warden
+roused to attentive interest. What was Gwen to do?
+There was nobody whom she could consult. Should
+she write to her mother? Her mother would scold
+her! What, then, was she to do? Perhaps she had
+better write to her mother, and let her see that she had,
+at any rate, tried her best. And in saying the words
+to herself "tried her best," Gwen was not speaking
+the truth even to herself. She had not tried at all;
+the whole thing had come about accidentally. It
+had somehow happened!</p>
+
+<p>Instead of going straight to bed that evening<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Page 47]</a></span>
+Gwen seated herself at the writing-table in her bedroom.
+She must write a letter to her mother and ask
+for advice. The letter must go as soon as possible.
+Gwen knew that if she put it off till the morning, it
+might never get written. She was always too sleepy
+to get up before breakfast. In Oxford breakfast
+for Dons was at eight o'clock, and that was far too
+early, as it was, for Gwen. Then after breakfast,
+there was "no time" to do anything, and so on, during
+the rest of the day.</p>
+
+<p>So Gwen sat at her writing-table and wrote the
+longest letter she had ever written. Gwen's handwriting
+was pointed, it was also shaky, and generally
+ran downhill, or else uphill.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Mummy</span>,<br /></p>
+
+<p>"Please write and tell me what to do? I've
+done all I could, but everything is in a rotten muddle.
+This evening I was crying, crying a little at your
+letter&mdash;I really couldn't help it&mdash;but anyhow it turned
+out all right&mdash;and the Warden suddenly came along
+the passage and saw me. He took me into his library,
+I don't know how it all happened, Mummy, but he
+put his arms round me and told me to come to him
+if I wanted a home. He was sweet, and I naturally
+thought this was true, and I said 'Yes' and 'Thanks.'
+There wasn't time for more, because of dinner. But
+a Mr. Boarham, who is a sort of cousin of Dr. Middleton,
+says that proposals are all words and that you
+needn't be married. What am I to do? I don't
+know if I am really engaged or not&mdash;because the
+Warden hasn't said anything more&mdash;and suppose he
+doesn't&mdash;&mdash; Isn't it rotten? Do write and tell me what
+to do, for I feel so queer. What makes me worried is
+Mrs. Dashwood, a widow, talks so much. At dinner
+the Warden seemed so much taken up by her&mdash;quite
+different. But then after dinner it wasn't like that.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Page 48]</a></span>
+We sat in the drawing-room all the time and at least
+the men smoked and Lady Dashwood and me, but not
+Mrs. Dashwood, who said she was Early Victorian,
+and ought to have died long ago. She worked. Lady
+Dashwood said that she smoked because she was a
+silly old heathen, and that made me feel beastly.
+It wasn't fair&mdash;but Lady Dashwood is often rather
+nasty. But afterwards <em>he</em> was nice, and asked me to
+play my reverie by Slapovski. I have never forgotten
+it, Mummy, though I haven't been taught it for six
+months. I am telling you everything so that you
+know what has happened. Well, Mr. Borham said,
+'For God's sake don't let's have any music.' He
+said that like he always does. It is very rude. Of
+course I refused to play, and the Warden was so nice,
+and he looked at me very straight and did not look at
+Mrs. Dashwood now. I think it must be all right.
+He sat in an armchair opposite us, and put his elbow
+on the arm and held the back of his neck&mdash;he does that,
+and smoked again and stared all the time at the carpet
+by Mrs. Dashwood's shoes, and never looked at her,
+but talked a lot. I can't understand what they say,
+and it is worse now Mrs. D. is here. Only once I saw
+him look up at her, and then he had that severe look.
+So I don't think any harm has happened. You know
+what I mean, Mummie. I was afraid he might like
+her. I tell you everything so as you can judge and
+advise me, for I could not tell all this to old Lady Dashwood,
+of course. Lady Dashwood says smoking
+cigars in the drawing-room is good for the furniture!!!
+I thought it very disgusting of Mr. Borham to say,
+'For God's sake.' He used not to believe in God,
+and even now he hasn't settled whether there is a God.
+We are all to go to Chartcote House for lunch. There
+is to be a Bazaar&mdash;I forget what for, somewhere.
+I have no money except half-a-crown. I have not paid
+for my laundry, so I can leave that in a drawer. Now,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Page 49]</a></span>
+dear Mummy, do write at once and say exactly what
+I am to do, and tell me if I am engaged or not.</p></div>
+
+<p class="signoff">"Your affectionate daughter,<br />
+<br />
+"<span class="smcap">Gwen</span>.<br />
+</p>
+
+<p class="blockquot">"I like the Warden ever so much, and partly
+because he does not wear a beard. I feel very excited,
+but am trying not to. Mrs. D. is to stay a whole
+week, till I go on the 3rd."</p>
+
+
+<p class="above2">Gwen laid down her pen and sat looking at the
+sheet of paper before her. She had told her mother
+"everything." She had omitted nothing, except that
+her mother's letter had dropped somewhere, either in
+the library or the staircase, and she could not find it
+again. If it had dropped in the library, somebody
+had picked it up. Supposing the Warden had picked
+it up and read it? The clear sharp understanding
+of "honour" possessed by the best type of Englishman
+and Englishwoman was not possessed by Gwen&mdash;it
+has not been acquired by the Belindas of Society or
+of the Slums. But no, Gwen felt sure that the Warden
+hadn't found it, or he would have been very, very
+angry. Then who had picked it up?</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Page 50]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER V</h2>
+
+<h3>WAITING</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">If Pilate had uttered the sardonic remark "What is
+truth?" in Boreham's presence, he would certainly
+have compelled that weary official to wait for definite
+enlightenment. Boreham would have explained to
+him that although Absolute Truth (if there is such a
+thing) lies, like our Destiny, in the lap of the gods,
+he, Boreham, had a thoroughly reliable stock of useful
+truths with which he could supply any inquirer.
+Indeed to Boreham, the discussing of truths was a
+comparatively simple matter. Truths were of two
+kinds. Firstly, they were what he, himself, was convinced
+of at the moment of speaking; and secondly,
+they were <em>not</em> what the man next him believed in.
+Boreham found intolerable any assertion made by
+people he knew. He knew them! <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Voila!</i> But he
+felt he could very fairly well trust opinions expressed
+by the native inhabitants of&mdash;say Pomerania&mdash;or still
+better&mdash;India.</p>
+
+<p>Boreham had already some acquaintances in
+Oxford to whom he spoke, as he said himself, "frankly
+and fearlessly," and who tolerated him, whenever they
+had time to listen to him, because he was entirely
+harmless and merely tiresome. But he was not
+surprised (it had occurred before) that the Warden
+refused his invitation to lunch at Chartcote. The
+ladies had accepted; and when Boreham said "the
+ladies," on this occasion he was thinking solely of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Page 51]</a></span>
+Mrs. Dashwood. Lady Dashwood had accepted the
+invitation because it was given verbally. She made
+no purely social engagements. The Warden, himself,
+did not entertain during the war, and the only engagements
+were those of business, or of hospitality of an
+academic nature.</p>
+
+<p>The day following May Dashwood's arrival was
+entirely uneventful. The Warden was mostly invisible.
+May was as bright as she had been on her
+arrival. Gwen went about wide-eyed and wistful,
+and spoke spasmodically. Lady Dashwood was serene
+and satisfied. A shy Don accompanied by a very
+nice, untidy wife, appeared at lunch, and they were
+introduced by the Warden as Mr. and Mrs. Stockwell.
+Mr. Stockwell was struck dumb at finding himself
+seated next to Mrs. Dashwood, a type of female little
+known to him. But May bravely taking him in hand,
+he recovered his powers of speech and became epigrammatic
+and sparkling. This round-shouldered,
+spectacled scholar, with a large nose and receding chin,
+poured out brilliant observations, subtile and suggestive,
+and had an apparently inexhaustible store of
+the literature of Europe. He sat sideways in his
+chair and spoke into May's sympathetic ear, giving
+an occasional swift appealing glance at the Warden,
+who came within the range of his vision.</p>
+
+<p>How Stockwell ate his food was impossible to
+discover. He seemed to give automatic twiddles to
+his fork and apparently swallowed something afterwards,
+for when Robinson's underling, Robinson <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">petit
+fils</i>, removed Stockwell's plates, they contained only
+wreckage.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden, aided by Lady Dashwood, struggled
+courteously with Mrs. Stockwell. She was obliged to
+talk across Gwendolen, who spent her time silently
+observing Mrs. Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Stockwell had pathetic pretensions to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Page 52]</a></span>
+intellectuality, based on a masterly acquaintance
+with the names of her husband's books and the fact
+that she lived in the academic circle. She had drooped
+visibly at the first sight of her hostess and Mrs. Dashwood,
+but was soon put at her ease by Lady Dashwood,
+who deftly drew her away from vague hints at the
+possession of learning into talk about her children.
+Gwen, watching the Warden and Mrs. Dashwood
+across Mrs. Stockwell's imitation lace front, could not
+be moved to speech. To any one in the secret there
+was written on her face two absorbing questions:
+"Am I engaged or not?" "Is she trying to oust me?"</p>
+
+<p>The Warden's enigmatic eyes held no information
+in them. He looked at her gravely when he did look,
+and&mdash;that was all. Was <em>he</em> waiting to know whether
+he was engaged or not? Gwen doubted it. He would
+be sure to know everything. He would know. Think
+of all those books in the library! Supposing he had
+found that letter&mdash;suppose he <em>had</em> read it? No, if
+he <em>had</em>, he would have looked not merely grave, but
+angry!</p>
+
+<p>When the ladies rose from the table, Stockwell
+rose too, reluctantly and as if waking from a pleasant
+dream. He stared in a startled way at the Warden,
+who moved to open the door; he looked as if about
+to spring&mdash;then refrained, and resigning himself to
+the unmistakable decision of the Fates, he remained
+standing, staring down at the table-cloth through his
+spectacles, with his cheeks flushed and his heart glad.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Stockwell passed out of the room in front of
+May Dashwood, gratified, warm and trying to conceal
+the backs of her boots.</p>
+
+<p>Finally the Stockwells went away, and then Lady
+Dashwood took her niece to the Magdalen walk.
+There among the last shreds of autumn, and in that
+muzzy golden sunshine of Oxford, they walked and
+talked with the constraint of Gwen's presence.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Page 53]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>At tea two or three people called, but the Warden
+did not appear even for a hasty cup. At dinner an old
+pupil of the Warden's&mdash;lamed by the war&mdash;occupied
+the attention of the little party.</p>
+
+<p>Gwen's spirits rose at the sight of a really young
+man, but she remembered her mother's admonition
+and did not make any attempt to attract his attention
+beyond opening her eyes now and then suddenly and
+widely and with an ecstasy of interest at some invisible
+object just above his head. Whether the
+youthful warrior's imagination was excited by this
+"passage of arms" Gwen never knew, because the
+Warden took his pupil off to the library after dinner,
+and did not even bring him into the drawing-room to
+bid farewell.</p>
+
+<p>In the quiet of the drawing-room Gwen fell into
+thought. She wondered whether the Warden expected
+her to come and knock on his library door and walk in
+and tell him that she really did want to be married to
+him? Or had he read that letter and&mdash;&mdash;? Why, she
+had thought all this over a hundred times, and was no
+farther on than she had been before.</p>
+
+<p>After playing the Reverie by Slapovski, which
+Mrs. Dashwood had not yet heard, and which she
+expressed a desire to hear, Gwen settled down to
+knitting a sock. She had been knitting that sock for
+five months. It was surprising how small the foot was,
+at least the toe part; the heel indeed was ample. She
+had followed the directions with great care, and yet
+the stupid thing would come out wrong. It was
+irritating to see Mrs. Dashwood knitting away at such
+a pace. It made Gwen giddy to look at her hands.
+Lady Dashwood took up a book and read passages
+aloud. This was so intolerably dull that Gwen found
+it difficult to keep her eyes open. It is always more
+tiring when nothing is going on than when plenty of
+things are going on!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Page 54]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood had just finished reading a passage
+and looked up to make a remark to May Dashwood,
+when she became aware of Gwen's face.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear, you looked just like a melancholy peach.
+Go to bed!"</p>
+
+<p>Gwen smiled and tumbled her pins into her knitting.
+She rose and said "Good night," glad to be
+released. Outside the drawing-room she stood holding
+her breath to hear if there was any sound audible from
+the library. She heard nothing. She moved over
+the soft carpet and listened again, at the door.
+She could hear the Warden's deep, masculine voice&mdash;like
+the vibration of an organ, and then a higher
+voice, but what they said Gwen could not tell. She
+turned away and went up to bed. She was beginning
+to lose that feeling of not being afraid of the Warden.
+He was becoming more and more what he had been at
+first, an impressive and alarming personage, a human
+being entirely remote from her understanding and
+experience. At moments during dinner when she had
+glanced at him, he had seemed to her to be like a
+handsomely carved figure animated by some living
+force completely unknown to her. That such an
+incomprehensible being should become her husband
+was surely unlikely&mdash;if not impossible! Gwen's
+thoughts became more and more confused. Notwithstanding
+this confusion in what (if compelled to
+describe it) she would have called her soul, she closed her
+eyes and settled upon her pillow. She was conscious
+that she was disappointed and not happy. Then she
+suddenly became indifferent to her fate&mdash;saw in her
+mind's eye a hat&mdash;it absorbed her. The hat was lying
+on a chair. It was trimmed like some other hat. Then
+the hat disappeared, and Gwen was asleep.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as Gwendolen had left the drawing-room
+Lady Dashwood closed her book and looked at her
+niece.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Page 55]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Now," said Lady Dashwood, "I begin to think
+that I was unnecessarily alarmed about Jim. But
+it may be because you are here&mdash;giving me moral
+support." Lady Dashwood spoke the words "moral
+support" with great firmness. Having once said it
+and seen that it was wrong, she meant to stick to it.</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder," began Mrs. Dashwood, and then she
+remained silent and looked hard at her knitting.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood still stared at her niece. But May
+did not conclude her sentence, if indeed she had meant
+to say any more.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, you haven't noticed anything?" asked
+Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing!" said May, and she knitted on.</p>
+
+<p>"To-day," said Lady Dashwood, "Jim has been
+practically invisible except at meals, but you've no
+idea how busy he is just now. All one's old ideas are in
+the melting-pot," she went on, "and Jim has schemes.
+He is full of plans. He thinks there is much to be
+done, in Oxford, with Oxford&mdash;nothing revolutionary&mdash;but
+a lot that is evolutionary."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Dashwood dropped her knitting to listen,
+though she could have heard quite well without doing
+this.</p>
+
+<p>"Imagine!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood, with a
+little burst of anger, "what a man like Jim, a scholar,
+a man of business, an organiser, what on earth he
+would do with a wife like Gwendolen Scott! The
+idea is absurd."</p>
+
+<p>"The absurd often happens," said May, and as she
+said this she took up her knitting again with such
+a jerk that her ball of wool tumbled to the floor and
+began rolling; and being a tight ball it rolled some
+distance sideways from May's chair in the direction of
+the far distant door. She gave the wool a little tug,
+but the ball merely shook itself, turned over and released
+still more wool.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Page 56]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Very well, remain there if you prefer that place,"
+said May, and as she spoke there came a slight noise
+at the door.</p>
+
+<p>Both ladies looked to see who was coming in.
+It was the Warden. He held a cigar in his hand, a
+sign (Lady Dashwood knew it) that he intended merely
+to bid them "Good night," and retire again to his
+library. But he now stood in the half-light with his
+hand on the door, and looked towards the glow of
+the hearth where the two ladies sat alone, each lighted
+by a tall, electric candle stand on the floor. And as
+he looked at this little space of light and warmth
+he hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>Then he closed the door behind him and came in.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Page 57]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2>
+
+<h3>MORE THAN ONE CONCLUSION</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">The Warden came slowly towards them over the wide
+space of carpeted floor.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood, who knew every passing change
+in his face and manner (they were photographed over
+and over again in every imaginable style in her book
+of life), noticed that the sight of herself and May alone,
+that is, without Gwen&mdash;had made him decide to come
+in. She drew her own conclusions and smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"When you pass that ball of wool, pick it up,
+Jim," she said.</p>
+
+<p>She spoke too late, however, and the Warden
+kicked the ball with one foot, and sent it rolling
+under a chair. It took the opportunity of flinging
+itself round one leg, and tumbling against the second.
+With its remaining strength it rolled half way round
+the third leg, and then lay exhausted.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not going to apologise," said the Warden,
+in his most courteous tones.</p>
+
+<p>"You needn't do that, my dear, if you don't want
+to," said Lady Dashwood. "But pick up the ball,
+please."</p>
+
+<p>"If I pick the ball up," said the Warden, "the
+result will be disastrous to somebody."</p>
+
+<p>He looked at the ball and at the chair, and then,
+putting his cigar between his teeth, he lifted the chair
+from the labyrinth of wool and placed it out of mischief.
+Then he picked up the ball and stood holding it in his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Page 58]</a></span>
+hand. Who was the "somebody"? To whom did
+it belong? It was obvious to whom it belonged!
+A long line of wool dropped from the ball to the carpet.
+There it described a foolish pattern of its own, and then
+from one corner of that pattern the line of wool ran
+straight to Mrs. Dashwood's hands. She was sitting
+there, pretending that she didn't know that she was
+very, very slowly and deliberately jerking out the very
+vitals of that pattern, in fact disembowelling it. Then
+the Warden pretended to discover suddenly that it
+was Mrs. Dashwood's ball, and this discovery obliged
+him to look at her, and she, without glancing at him,
+slightly nodded her head, very gravely. Lady Dashwood
+grasped her book and pretended to read it.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose I must clear up this mess," said the
+Warden, as articulately as a man can who is holding
+a cigar between his teeth.</p>
+
+<p>He began to wind up the ball.</p>
+
+<p>"How beautifully you are winding it!" said May
+Dashwood, without looking up from her knitting.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden cleared the pattern from the floor,
+and now a long line of wool stretched tautly from his
+hands to those of Mrs. Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"Please stop winding," she said quietly, and still
+she did not look up, though she might have easily done
+so for she had left off knitting.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden stopped, but he stood looking at her
+as if to challenge her eyes. Then, as she remained
+obstinately unmoved, he came towards her chair and
+dropped the ball on her lap.</p>
+
+<p>"You couldn't know I was winding it beautifully
+because you never looked."</p>
+
+<p>"I knew without looking," said May. "I took for
+granted that you did everything well."</p>
+
+<p>"If you will look now," said the Warden, "you will
+see how crookedly I've done it. So much for flattery."</p>
+
+<p>He stood looking down at her bent head<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Page 59]</a></span>
+with its gold-brown hair lit up to splendour by the
+electric light behind her. Her face was slightly in
+shadow. The Warden stood so long that Lady Dashwood
+was seized with an agreeable feeling of embarrassment.
+May Dashwood was apparently unconscious
+of the figure beside her. But she raised
+her eyebrows. Her eyebrows were often slightly
+raised as if inquiring into the state of the world with
+sympathy tinged with surprise. She raised her eyebrows
+instead of making any reply, as if she said:
+"I could make a retort, but I am far too busy with
+more important matters."</p>
+
+<p>The Warden at last moved, and putting a chair
+between the two ladies he seated himself exactly
+opposite the glowing fire and the portrait above it.
+Leaning back, he smoked in silence for a few moments
+looking straight in front of him for the most part,
+only now and then turning his eyes to Mrs. Dashwood,
+just to find out if her eyebrows were still raised.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood began smiling at her book because
+she had discovered that she held it upside down.</p>
+
+<p>"You were interested in Stockwell?" said the
+Warden suddenly. "He is doing multifarious things
+now. He is an accomplished linguist, and we couldn't
+manage without him&mdash;besides he is over military age
+by a long way."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood felt quite sure that his silence had
+been occupied by the Warden in thinking of May,
+so that his question, "You were interested," etc., was
+merely the point at which his thoughts broke into
+words.</p>
+
+<p>"I was very much interested in him," said May.
+"It was like reading a witty book&mdash;only much more
+delightful."</p>
+
+<p>"Stockwell is always worth listening to," said the
+Warden, "but he is sometimes very silent. He needs
+the right sort of audience to draw him out. Two<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Page 60]</a></span>
+or three congenial men&mdash;or one sympathetic woman."
+Here the Warden paused and looked away from May
+Dashwood, then he added: "I'm obliged to go to
+Cambridge to-morrow. You will be at Chartcote and
+you will get some amusement out of Boreham. You
+find everybody interesting?" He turned again and
+looked at her&mdash;this time so searchingly that a little
+colour rose in May Dashwood's cheek.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, not everybody," she said. "I wish I could!"</p>
+
+<p>"My dear May," said Lady Dashwood, briskly
+seizing this brilliant opportunity of pointing the moral
+and adorning the tale, "even you can't pretend to
+be interested in little Gwendolen, though you have
+done your best. Now that you have seen something
+of her, what do you think of her?"</p>
+
+<p>"Very pretty," said May Dashwood, and she
+became busy again with her work.</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly," said Lady Dashwood. "If she were
+plain even Belinda would not have the impertinence to
+deposit her on people's doorsteps in the way she does."</p>
+
+<p>The Warden took his cigar out of his mouth, as if
+he had suddenly remembered something that he had
+forgotten. He laid his hands on the arms of his chair
+and seemed about to rise.</p>
+
+<p>"You're not going, Jim!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood.
+"I thought you had come to talk to us. We
+have been doing our duty since dawn of day, and this
+is May's little holiday, you know. Stop and talk
+nicely to us. Do cheer us up!" Her voice became
+appealing.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden rose from his chair and stood with one
+hand resting on the back of it as if about to make some
+excuse for going away. Except for the glance, necessitated
+by courtesy, that May Dashwood gave the
+Warden when he entered, she had kept her eyes obstinately
+upon her work. Now she looked up and met
+his eyes, only for a moment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Page 61]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I'm not going," he said, "but I find the fire
+too hot. Excuse me if I move away. It has got
+muggy and warm&mdash;Oxford weather!"</p>
+
+<p>"Open one of the windows," said Lady Dashwood.
+"I'm sure May and I shall be glad of it."</p>
+
+<p>He moved away and walked slowly down the
+length of the room. Going behind the heavy curtains
+he opened a part of the casement and then drew aside
+one of the curtains slightly. Then he slowly came
+back to them in silence.</p>
+
+<p>This silence that followed was embarrassing, so
+embarrassing that Lady Dashwood broke into it
+urgently with the first subject that she could think of.
+"Tell May about the Barber's ghost, Jim."</p>
+
+<p>"Where does he appear?" asked May, interestedly,
+but without looking up. "What part of the college?"</p>
+
+<p>"In the library," said the Warden.</p>
+
+<p>"And at the witching hour of midnight, I suppose?"
+said May.</p>
+
+<p>"Birds of ill omen, I believe, appear at night,"
+said the Warden. "All Souls College ought to have
+had an All Souls' ghost, but it hasn't, it has only its
+'foolish Mallard.'"</p>
+
+<p>"And if he does appear," said May, "what apology
+are you going to offer him for the injustice of your
+predecessor in the eighteenth century?"</p>
+
+<p>The Warden turned and stood looking back across
+the room at the warm space of light and the two women
+sitting in it, with the firelight flickering between them.</p>
+
+<p>"If I were to make myself responsible for all the
+misdemeanours of the Reverend Charles Langley," he
+said, "I should have my hands full;" and he came
+slowly towards them as he spoke. "You have only
+to look at Langley's face, over the mantelpiece, and
+you will see what I mean."</p>
+
+<p>May Dashwood glanced up at the portrait and
+smiled.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Page 62]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Do you admire our Custos dilectissimus?" he
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>The lights were below the level of the portrait,
+but the hard handsome face with its bold eyes, was
+distinctly visible. He was looking lazily watchful,
+listening sardonically to the conversation about himself.</p>
+
+<p>"I admire the artist who painted his portrait,"
+said May.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, the artist knew what he was doing when he
+painted Langley," said the Warden. He seemed now
+to have recovered his ease, and stood leaning his arms
+on the back of the chair he had vacated. "Your
+idea is a good one," he went on. "I don't suppose
+it has occurred to any Warden since Langley's time
+that a frank and pleasant apology might lay the
+Barber's ghost for ever. Shall I try it?" he asked,
+looking at his guest.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear," said Lady Dashwood slowly, "I wish
+you wouldn't even joke about it&mdash;I dislike it. I
+wish people wouldn't invent ghost stories," she went
+on. "They are silly, and they are often mischievous.
+I wish you wouldn't talk as if you believed it."</p>
+
+<p>"It was you, Lena, who brought up the subject,"
+said Middleton. "But I won't talk about him if
+you dislike it. You know that I am not a believer in
+ghosts."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood nodded her head approvingly,
+and began turning more pages of her book.</p>
+
+<p>"I sometimes wonder," said the Warden, and now
+he turned his face towards May Dashwood&mdash;"I
+wonder if men like Langley really believed in a future
+life?"</p>
+
+<p>May looked up at the portrait, but was silent.</p>
+
+<p>"The eighteenth century was not tormented with
+the question as we are now!" said the Warden,
+and again he looked at the auburn head and the dark
+lashes hiding the downcast eyes. "Those who doubt,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Page 63]</a></span>
+he said slowly and tentatively, "whether after all the
+High Gods want us&mdash;those who doubt whether there
+are High Gods&mdash;even those doubt with regret&mdash;now."
+He waited for a response and May Dashwood suddenly
+raised her eyes to his.</p>
+
+<p>"There is no truculence in modern unbelief," he
+said, "it is a matter of passionate regret. And belief
+has become a passionate hope."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood knew that not a word of this was
+meant for her. She disliked all talk about the future
+world. It made her feel dismal. Her life had been
+spent in managing first her father, then her brother,
+and now her husband, and incidentally many of her
+friends.</p>
+
+<p>Some people dislike having plans made for them,
+some endure it, some positively like it, and for those
+who liked it, Lady Dashwood made extensive plans.
+Her brain worked now almost automatically in plans.
+For herself she had no plans, she was the planner.
+But her plans were about this world. To the "other
+world" Lady Dashwood felt secretly inimical; that
+"unknown" lurking in the future, would probably, not
+so long hence, engulf her husband, leaving her, alas!
+still on this side&mdash;with no heart left for making any
+more plans.</p>
+
+<p>If she had been alone with the Warden he would
+not have mentioned the "future life," nor would he
+have spoken of the "High Gods." He knew her mind
+too well. Was he probing the mind of May Dashwood?
+Either he was deliberately questioning her, or there
+was something in her presence that drew from him his
+inmost thoughts. Lady Dashwood felt a pang of
+indignation at herself for "being in the way" when
+to be "out of the way" at such a moment was absolutely
+necessary. She must leave these two people
+alone together&mdash;now&mdash;at this propitious moment.
+What should she do? She began casting about wildly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Page 64]</a></span>
+in her brain for a plan of escape that would not be too
+obvious in its intention. The Warden had never been
+with May alone for five minutes. To-morrow would
+be a blank day&mdash;there was Chartcote first and then
+when they returned the Warden would be still away
+and very probably would not be visible that
+evening.</p>
+
+<p>She could see May's raised face looking very expressive&mdash;full
+of thoughts. Lady Dashwood rose from
+her chair confident that inspired words would come to
+her lips&mdash;and they came!</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Jim," she heard herself saying, "your
+mentioning the High Gods has made me remember
+that I left about some letters that ought to be
+answered. Horribly careless of me&mdash;I must go and
+find them. I'll only be away a moment. So sorry
+to interrupt when you are just getting interesting!"
+And still murmuring Lady Dashwood made her escape.</p>
+
+<p>She had done the best she could under the circumstances,
+and she smiled broadly as she went through
+the corridor.</p>
+
+<p>"That for Belinda and Co.!" she exclaimed half
+aloud, and she snapped her fingers.</p>
+
+<p>And what was going to happen after Belinda and
+Co. were defeated, banished for ever from the Lodgings?
+What was going to happen to the Warden? He had
+been successfully rescued from one danger&mdash;but what
+about the future? Was he going to fall in love with
+May Dashwood?</p>
+
+<p>"It sounded to me uncommonly like a metaphysical
+wooing of May," said Lady Dashwood to herself.
+"<em>That</em> I must leave in the hands of Providence;" and
+she went up to her room smiling. There she found
+Louise.</p>
+
+<p>"Madame is gay," said the Frenchwoman, catching
+sight of the entering smile. "Gay in this sad Oxford!"</p>
+
+<p>"Sad!" said Lady Dashwood, her smile still<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Page 65]</a></span>
+lingering. "The hospitals are sad, Louise, yes, very
+sad, and the half-empty Colleges."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it is sad, incredibly sad," said the maid. "What
+kind of city is it, it contains only grey monasteries,
+no boulevards, no shops. There is one shop, perhaps,
+but what is that?"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood had gone to the toilet table, for
+she caught sight of the letters lying on the top of
+the jewel drawers. She had seen them several times
+that day, and had always intended tearing them up,
+for neither of them needed an answer. But they had
+served a good purpose. She had escaped from the
+drawing-room with their aid. She took them up
+and opened them and looked at them again. Louise
+watched her covertly. She glanced at the first and
+tore it up; then at the second and tore that up. She
+opened the third and glanced at it. And now the
+faint remains of the smile that had lingered on her face
+suddenly vanished.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Gwen," (Lena badly written, of
+course).</p>
+
+<p>"I hope you understood that Lady Dashwood will
+keep you till the 3rd. You don't mention the Warden!
+Does that mean that you are making no progress
+in that direction? Perhaps taking no trouble! The
+question is&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Here Lady Dashwood stopped. She looked at the
+signature of the writer. But that was not necessary&mdash;the
+handwriting was Belinda Scott's.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment or two Lady Dashwood stood as if
+she intended to remain in the same position for the rest
+of her life. Then she breathed rather heavily and her
+nostrils dilated.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! Well!" said Louise to herself, and she
+nodded her head ominously.</p>
+
+<p>Soon Lady Dashwood recovered herself and folded
+up the letter. She looked at the envelope. It was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Page 66]</a></span>
+addressed to Miss Gwendolen Scott. She put the
+letter back into its envelope.</p>
+
+<p>Had she opened the letter and then laid it aside
+with the others, without perceiving that the letter
+was not addressed to her and without reading it?
+Was it possible that she, in her hurry last evening, had
+done this? If so, Gwen had never received the letter
+or read it.</p>
+
+<p>Of course she could not have read it. If she had,
+it would not have been laid on the toilet table. If
+Gwen had read it and left it about, it would have either
+been destroyed or taken to her room.</p>
+
+<p>"Does <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> wish to go to bed immediately?"
+asked Louise innocently. She had been waiting nearly
+twenty-four hours for something to happen about that
+letter. She was beginning to be afraid that it might
+be discovered when she would not be there to see the
+effect it had on <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>. Ah! the letter was all that
+Louise's fancy had painted it. See the emotion in
+<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame's</span> back! How expressive is the back! What
+abominable intrigue! It was not necessary, indeed,
+to go to Paris to find wickedness. And, above all,
+the Warden&mdash;&mdash; Oh, my God! Never, never shall
+I repose confidence even in the Englishman the most
+respectable!</p>
+
+<p>"Presently," said Lady Dashwood, in answer to
+Louise's question.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood had made up her mind. She must
+have opened all three letters but only read two of them.
+There was no other explanation possible. What was
+to be done with Gwen's letter? What was to be done
+with this&mdash;vile scribble?</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood's fingers were aching to tear the
+letter up, but she refrained. It would need some
+thinking over. The style of this letter was probably
+familiar to Gwendolen&mdash;her mind had already been
+corrupted. And to think that Jim might have had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Page 67]</a></span>
+Belinda and Co., and all that Belinda and Co. implied,
+hanging round his neck and dragging him down&mdash;till
+he dropped into his grave from the sheer dead
+weight of it!</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, immediately," said Lady Dashwood. She
+would not go downstairs again. It was of vital importance
+that Jim and May should be alone together,
+yes, alone together.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood put the letter away in a drawer
+and locked it. She must have time to think.</p>
+
+<p>A few minutes later Louise was brushing out her
+mistress's hair&mdash;a mass of grey hair, still luxuriant,
+that had once been black.</p>
+
+<p>"I find that Oxford does not agree with <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame's</span>
+hair," said Louise, as she plied vigorously with the
+brush.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood made no reply.</p>
+
+<p>"I find that Oxford does not agree with <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame's</span>
+hair at all, at all," repeated Louise, firmly.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it going greyer?" said Lady Dashwood indifferently,
+for her mind was working hard on another
+subject.</p>
+
+<p>"It grows not greyer, but it becomes dead, like the
+hair of a corpse&mdash;in this atmosphere of Oxford," said
+Louise, even more firmly.</p>
+
+<p>"Try not to exaggerate, Louise," said Lady Dashwood,
+quite unmoved.</p>
+
+<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> cannot deny that the humidity of
+Oxford is bad both for skin and hair," said Louise,
+with some resentment in her tone.</p>
+
+<p>"Damp is not bad for the skin, Louise," said her
+mistress, "but it may be for the hair; I don't know
+and I don't care."</p>
+
+<p>"It's bad for the skin," said Louise. "I have seen
+<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> looking grave, the skin folded, in Oxford.
+It is the climate. It is impossible to smile&mdash;in Oxford.
+One lies as if under a tomb."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Page 68]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Every place has its bad points," said Lady Dashwood.
+"It is important to make the best of them."</p>
+
+<p>"But I do not like to see <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> depressed by
+the climate here," continued Louise, obstinately,
+"and <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> has been depressed here lately."</p>
+
+<p>"Not at all," said Lady Dashwood. "You needn't
+worry, Louise; any one who can stand India would
+find the climate of Oxford admirable. Now, as soon
+as you have done my hair, I want you to go down to
+the drawing-room, where you will find Mrs. Dashwood,
+and apologise to her for my not coming down again.
+Say I have a letter that will take me some time to
+answer. Bid her good night, also the Warden, who
+will be with her, I expect."</p>
+
+<p>Louise had been momentarily plunged into despair.
+She had been unsuccessful all the way round. It
+looked as if the visit to Oxford was to go on indefinitely,
+and as to the letter&mdash;well&mdash;<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> was unfathomable&mdash;as
+she always was. She was English, and one must
+not expect them to behave as if they had a heart.</p>
+
+<p>But now her spirits rose! This message to the
+drawing-room! The Warden was alone with Mrs.
+Dashwood! The Warden, this man of apparent uprightness
+who was the seducer of the young! Lady
+Dashwood had discovered his wickedness and dared
+not leave Mrs. Dashwood, a widow and of an age
+(twenty-eight) when a woman is still young, alone
+with him. So she, Louise, was sent down, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bien entendu</i>,
+to break up the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">t�te-�-t�te!</i></p>
+
+<p>Louise put down the brush and smiled to herself
+as she went down to the drawing-room.</p>
+
+<p>She, through her devotion to duty, had become an
+important instrument in the hands of Providence.</p>
+
+<p>When Lady Dashwood found herself alone, she took
+up her keys and jingled them, unable to make up her
+mind.</p>
+
+<p>She had only read the first two or three sentences<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Page 69]</a></span>
+of Belinda's letter; she had only read&mdash;until the
+identity and meaning of the letter had suddenly come
+to her.</p>
+
+<p>She opened the drawer and took out the letter.
+Then she walked a few steps in the room, thinking as
+she walked. No, much as she despised Belinda, she
+could not read a private letter of hers. Perhaps,
+because she despised her, it was all the more urgent
+that she should not read anything of hers.</p>
+
+<p>What Lady Dashwood longed to do was to have
+done with Belinda and never see her or hear from her
+again. She wanted Belinda wiped out of the world
+in which she, Lena Dashwood, moved and thought.</p>
+
+<p>What was she to do with the letter? Jim was
+safe now, the letter was harmless&mdash;as far as he was
+concerned. But what about Gwen? Was it not like
+handing on to her a dose of moral poison?</p>
+
+<p>On the other hand, the poison belonged to Gwen
+and had been sent to her by her mother!</p>
+
+<p>The matter could not be settled without more
+reflection. Perhaps some definite decision would frame
+itself during the night; perhaps she would awake
+in the morning, knowing exactly what was the best
+to be done.</p>
+
+<p>She put away the letter again, and again locked the
+drawer. She was putting away her keys when the door
+opened and she heard her maid come in.</p>
+
+<p>There was something in the way Louise entered
+and stood at the door that made Lady Dashwood turn
+round and look at her. That excellent Frenchwoman
+was standing very stiffly, her eyes wide and agitated,
+and her features expressive of extreme excitement.
+She breathed loudly.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter?" demanded Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> Dashwood was not visible in the drawing-room!"
+said Louise, and she tightened her lips after
+this pronouncement.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Page 70]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"She had gone up to her bedroom?"</p>
+
+<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> Dashwood is not in her bedroom!" said
+Louise, with ever deepening tragedy in her voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you look for her in the library?" demanded
+Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> Dashwood is not in the library!" said
+Louise. She did not move from her position in front
+of the door. She stood there looking the personification
+of domestic disaster, her chest heaving.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Dashwood isn't ill?" Lady Dashwood felt
+a sudden pang of fear at her heart.</p>
+
+<p>"No, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>!" said Louise.</p>
+
+<p>"Then what is the matter?" demanded Lady
+Dashwood, sternly. "Don't be a fool, Louise. Say
+what has happened!"</p>
+
+<p>"How can I tell <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>? It is indeed unbelievably
+too sad! I did not see <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> Dashwood
+but I heard her voice," began Louise. "Oh, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>,
+that I should have to pronounce such words to you!
+I open the door of the drawing-room! It is scarcely
+at all lighted! No one is visible! I stand and for a
+moment I look around me! I hear sounds! I listen
+again! I hear the voice of <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> Dashwood! Ah!
+what surprise! Where is she? She is hidden behind
+the great curtains of the window, completely hidden!
+Why? And to whom does she speak? Ah, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>,
+what frightful surprise, what shock to hear reply the
+voice, also behind the curtain, of <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Monsieur</span> the Warden!
+I cannot believe it, it is incredible, but also it is true!
+I stop no longer, for shame! I fly, I meet Robinson
+in the gallery, but I pass him&mdash;like lightning&mdash;I speak
+not! No word escapes from my mouth! I come
+direct to <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame's</span> room! In entering, I know not
+what to say, I say nothing! I dare not! I stand
+with the throat swelling, the heart oppressed, but with
+the lips closed! I speak only because <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> insists,
+she commands me to speak, to say all! I trust in God!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Page 71]</a></span>
+I obey <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame's</span> command! I speak! I disclose
+frankly the painful truth! I impart the boring information!"</p>
+
+<p>While Louise was speaking Lady Dashwood's face
+had first expressed astonishment, and then it relaxed
+into amusement, and when her maid stopped speaking
+for want of breath, she sank down upon a chair and
+burst into laughter.</p>
+
+<p>"My poor Louise?" she said. "You never will
+understand English people. If Mrs. Dashwood and
+the Warden are behind the window curtains, it is
+because they want to look out of the window!"</p>
+
+<p>Louise's face became passionately sceptical.</p>
+
+<p>"In the rain, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>!" she remarked. "In
+a darkness of the tomb?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, in the rain and darkness," said Lady Dashwood.
+"You must go down again in a moment, and
+give them my message!"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Page 72]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2>
+
+<h3>MEN MARCHING PAST</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">After the Warden had closed the door on his sister
+he came back to the fireplace. He had been interrupted,
+and he stood silently with his hand on the back
+of the chair, just as he had stood before. He was
+waiting, perhaps, for an invitation to speak; for some
+sign from Mrs. Dashwood that now that they were
+alone together, she expected him to talk on, freely.</p>
+
+<p>She had no suspicion of the real reason why her
+Aunt Lena had gone away. May took for granted
+that she had fled at the first sign of a religious discussion.
+May knew that General Sir John Dashwood,
+like many well regulated persons, was under the impression
+that he had, at some proper moment in his
+juvenile existence now forgotten, at his mother's
+knee or in his ancestral cradle, once and for all weighed,
+considered and accepted the sacred truths containing
+the Christian religion, and that therefore there was no
+need to poke about among them and distrust them.
+Lady Dashwood had encouraged that sentiment of
+silent loyalty: it left more time and energy over for
+the discussion and arrangement of the practical affairs
+of life. May knew all this.</p>
+
+<p>May, sitting by the fire, with her eyes on her work,
+observed the hesitation in the Warden's mind. She
+knew that he was waiting. She glanced up.</p>
+
+<p>"What was it you were saying?" she asked in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Page 73]</a></span>
+softest of voices, for now that they were alone there
+was no one to be annoyed by a religious discussion.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden moved round and seated himself.
+But even then he could not bring his thoughts to the
+surface: they lay in the back of his mind urgent, yet
+reluctant. Meanwhile he began talking about the
+portrait again. It served as a stalking horse. He
+told her some of the old college stories, stories not
+only of Langley, but of other Wardens in the tempestuous
+days of the Reformation and of the Civil
+War.</p>
+
+<p>"And yet," he said suddenly, "what were those
+days compared with these? Has there been any
+tragedy like this?" He gazed at her now; with his
+narrow eyes strained and sad.</p>
+
+<p>"Just at the beginning of the war," he said, "I
+heard&mdash;&mdash; It was one hot brilliant morning in that
+early September. It was only a passing sound&mdash;but
+I shall never forget it, till I die."</p>
+
+<p>May Dashwood's hands dropped to her lap, and she
+sat listening with her eyes lowered.</p>
+
+<p>"There was a sound of the feet of men marching
+past, though I could not see them. Their feet were
+trampling the ground rhythmically, and all to the
+'playing' of a bugler. I have never heard, before
+or since, a bugle played like that! The youth&mdash;I
+could picture him in my mind&mdash;blew from his bugle
+strangely ardent, compelling notes. It was simple,
+monotonous music, but there came from the bugler's
+own soul a magnificent courage and buoyancy; and
+the trampling feet responded&mdash;responded to the light
+springing notes, the high ardour and gay fearlessness
+of youth. There was such hope, such joy in the call
+of duty! No thought of danger, no thought of
+suffering! All hearts leapt to the sounds! And
+the bugler passed and the trampling feet! I could
+hear the swift, high, passionate notes die in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Page 74]</a></span>
+distance; and I knew that the flower of our youth
+was marching to its doom."</p>
+
+<p>The Warden got up from his chair, and walked
+away, and there was silence in the room.</p>
+
+<p>Then he came up to where May sat and looked
+down at her.</p>
+
+<p>"The High Gods," she said, quietly quoting his
+own phrase, "wanted them."</p>
+
+<p>He moved away again. "I have no argument
+for my faith," he said. "The question for us is no
+longer 'I must believe,' but 'Dare I believe?' The
+old days of certainty have gone. Inquisitions, Solemn
+Leagues and Covenants have gone&mdash;never to return.
+All the clamour of men who claim 'to know' has died
+down."</p>
+
+<p>And as he gazed at her with eyes that demanded
+an answer she said simply: "I am content with the
+silence of God."</p>
+
+<p>He made no answer and leaned heavily on the back
+of his chair. A moment later he began to walk again.
+"I don't think I <em>can</em> believe that the heroic sacrifice
+of youth, their bitter suffering, will be mixed up indistinguishably
+with the cunning meanness of pleasure-seekers,
+with the sordid humbug of money-makers&mdash;in
+one vast forgotten grave. No, I can't believe that&mdash;because
+the world we know is a rational world."</p>
+
+<p>May glanced round at him as he moved about.
+The great dimly-lit room was full of shadows, and
+Middleton's face was dark, full of shadows too, shadows
+of mental suffering. She looked back at her work and
+sighed.</p>
+
+<p>"Even if we straighten the crooked ways of life,
+so that there are no more starving children, no men and
+women broken with the struggle of life: even if we
+are able, by self-restraint, by greater scientific knowledge
+to rid the earth of those diseases that mean
+martyrdom to its victims; even if hate is turned to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Page 75]</a></span>
+love, and vice and moral misery are banished: even
+if the Kingdom of Heaven does come upon this earth&mdash;even
+then! That will not be a Kingdom of Heaven
+that is Eternal! This Earth will, in time, die. This
+Earth will die, that we know; and with it must vanish
+for ever even the memory of a million years of human
+effort. Shall we be content with that? I fail to
+conceive it as rational, and therefore I cling to the
+<em>hope</em> of some sort of life beyond the grave&mdash;Eternal
+Life. But," and here he spoke out emphatically,
+"I have no argument for my belief."</p>
+
+<p>He came and stood close beside her now, and looked
+down at her. "I have no argument for my belief,"
+he repeated.</p>
+
+<p>"And you are content with the silence of God,"
+he added. Then he spoke very slowly: "I must be
+content."</p>
+
+<p>If he had stretched out his hand to touch hers, it
+would not have meant any more than did the prolonged
+gaze of his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>The clock on the mantelpiece ticked&mdash;its voice
+alone striking into the silence. It seemed to tick
+sometimes more loudly, sometimes more softly.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden appeared to force himself away from
+his own thoughts. With his hands still grasping the
+back of his chair, he raised his head and stood upright.
+The tick of the clock fell upon his ear; a monotonous
+and mechanical sound&mdash;indifferent to human life and
+yet weighted with importance to human life; marking
+the moments as they passed; moments never to be
+recalled; steps that are leading irretrievably the
+human race to their far-off destiny.</p>
+
+<p>As the Warden's eyes watched the hands of the
+clock, they pointed to five minutes to eleven. A
+thought came to him.</p>
+
+<p>"All the bells are silent now," he said, "except
+in the safe daylight."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Page 76]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>May looked up at him.</p>
+
+<p>"Even 'Tom' is silent. The Clusius is not
+tolled now."</p>
+
+<p>He got up and walked along the room to the open
+window. There he held the curtain well aside and
+looked back at her. Why it was, May did not know,
+but it seemed imperative to her to come to him. She
+put her work aside and came through into the broad
+embrasure of the bay. Then he let the curtain fall and
+they stood together in the darkness. The Warden
+pushed out the latticed frame wider into the dark
+night. The air was scarcely stirring, it came in warm
+and damp against their faces.</p>
+
+<p>The quadrangle below them was dimly visible.
+Eastwards the sky was heavy with a great blank pale
+space stretching over the battlemented roof and full
+of the light of a moon that had just risen, but overhead
+a heavy cloud slowly moved westwards.</p>
+
+<p>They both leaned out and breathed the night air.</p>
+
+<p>"It will rain in a moment," said the Warden.</p>
+
+<p>"In the old days," he said, "there would have been
+sounds coming from these windows. There would
+have been men coming light-heartedly from these
+staircases and crossing to one another. Now all is
+under military rule: the poor remnant left of undergraduate
+life&mdash;poor mentally and physically&mdash;this
+poor remnant counts for nothing. All that is best
+has gone, gone voluntarily, eagerly, and the men who
+fill their places are training for the Great Sacrifice.
+It's the most glorious and the most terrible thing
+imaginable!"</p>
+
+<p>May leaned down lower and the silence of the night
+seemed oppressive when the Warden ceased speaking.</p>
+
+<p>After a moment he said, "In the old days you
+would have heard some far-off clock strike the hour,
+probably a thin, cracked voice, and then it would have
+been followed by other voices. You would have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Page 77]</a></span>
+heard them jangle together, and then into their discordance
+you would have heard the deep voice of
+'Tom' breaking."</p>
+
+<p>"But he is at his best," went on the Warden,
+"when he tolls the Clusius. It is his right to toll
+it, and his alone. He speaks one hundred and one
+times, slowly, solemnly and with authority, and then
+all the gates in Oxford are closed."</p>
+
+<p>Drops of rain fell lightly in at them, and May drew
+in her head.</p>
+
+<p>"Oxford has become a city of memories to me,"
+said the Warden, and he put out his arm to draw in
+the window.</p>
+
+<p>"That is only when you are sad," said May.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said the Warden slowly, "it is only when
+I give way to gloom. After all, this is a great time,
+it can be made a great time. If only all men and
+women realised that it might be the beginning of the
+'Second Coming.' As it is, the chance may slip."</p>
+
+<p>He pulled the window further in and secured it.</p>
+
+<p>May pushed aside the curtain and went back into
+the glow and warmth of the room.</p>
+
+<p>She gathered up her knitting and thrust it into
+the bag.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you going?" asked the Warden. He was
+standing now in the middle of the room watching her.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going," said May.</p>
+
+<p>"I've driven you away," he said, "by my dismal
+talk."</p>
+
+<p>"Driven me away!" she repeated. "Oh no!"
+Her voice expressed a great reproach, the reproach
+of one who has suffered too, and who has "dreamed
+dreams." Surely he knew that she could understand!</p>
+
+<p>"Forgive me!" he said, and held out his hand
+impulsively. At least it seemed strangely impulsive
+in this self-contained man.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Page 78]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>She put hers into it, withdrew it, and together they
+went to the door. For the first time in her life May
+felt the sting of a strange new pain. The open door
+led away from warmth and a world that was full and
+satisfying&mdash;at least it would have led away from
+such a world&mdash;a world new to her&mdash;only that she was
+saying "Good night" and not "Good-bye." Later on
+she would have to say "Good-bye." How many days
+were there before that&mdash;five whole days? She walked
+up the steps, and went into the corridor. Louise
+was there, just coming towards her.</p>
+
+<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> desires me to say good night," said
+Louise, giving May's face a quick searching glance.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll come and say good night to her," said May,
+"if it's not too late."</p>
+
+<p>No, it was not too late. Louise led the way,
+marvelling at the callous self-assurance of English
+people.</p>
+
+<p>Louise opened her mistress's door, and though
+consumed with raging curiosity, left Mrs. Dashwood
+to enter alone.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, May!" cried Lady Dashwood. She was
+moving about the room in a grey dressing-gown, looking
+very restless, and with her hair down.</p>
+
+<p>"You didn't come down again," said May;
+"you were tired?"</p>
+
+<p>"I wasn't tired!" Here Lady Dashwood paused.
+"May, I have, by pure accident, come upon a letter&mdash;from
+Belinda to Gwen. I don't know how it came
+among my own letters, but there it was, opened.
+I don't know if I opened it by mistake, but anyhow
+there it was opened; I began reading the nauseous
+rubbish, and then realised that I was reading Belinda.
+Now the question is, what to do with the letter? It
+contains advice. May, Gwen is to secure the Warden!
+It seems odd to see it written down in black and
+white."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Page 79]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood stared hard at her niece&mdash;who
+stood before her, thoughtful and silent.</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I give it to Gwen&mdash;or what?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," began May, and then she stopped.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, I blame myself for being such a fool
+as to have taken in Belinda," said Lady Dashwood
+(for the hundredth time). "But the question now is&mdash;what
+to do with the letter? It isn't fit for a nice girl
+to read; but, no doubt, she's read scores of letters
+like it. The girl is being hawked round to see who will
+have her&mdash;and she knows it! She probably isn't
+nice! Girls who are exhibited, or who exhibit themselves
+on a tray ain't nice. Jim knows this; he
+knows it. Oh, May! as if he didn't know it. You
+understand!"</p>
+
+<p>May Dashwood stood looking straight into her
+aunt's face, revolving thoughts in her own mind.</p>
+
+<p>"Some people, May," said Lady Dashwood, "who
+want to be unkind and only succeed in being stupid,
+say that I am a matchmaker. I <em>have</em> always conscientiously
+tried to be a matchmaker, but I have rarely
+succeeded. I have been so happy with my dear old
+husband that I want other people to be happy too,
+and I am always bringing young people together&mdash;who
+were just made for each other. But they won't
+have it, May! I introduce a sweet girl full of womanly
+sense and affection to some nice man, and he won't
+have her at any price. He prefers some cheeky little
+brat who after marriage treats him rudely and decorates
+herself for other men. I introduce a really good man
+to a really nice girl and she won't have him, she 'loves,'
+if you please, a man whom decent men would like to
+kick, and she finds herself spending the rest of her life
+trying hard to make her life bearable. I dare say
+your scientists would say&mdash;Nature likes to keep things
+even, bad and good mixed together. Well, I'm against
+Nature. My under-housemaid develops scarlet fever,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Page 80]</a></span>
+and dear old Nature wants her to pass it on to the
+other maids, and if possible to the cook. Well, I
+circumvent Nature."</p>
+
+<p>May Dashwood's face slowly smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"But I did not bring Gwendolen Scott to this
+house&mdash;she was forced upon me&mdash;and I was weak
+enough to give in. Now, I should very much like
+to say something when I give the letter to Gwen.
+But I shall have to say nothing. Yes, nothing,"
+repeated Lady Dashwood, "except that I must tell
+her that I have, by mistake, read the first few lines."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said May Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"After all, what else could I say?" exclaimed
+Lady Dashwood. "You can't exactly tell a daughter
+that you think her mother is a shameless hussy, even
+if you may think that she ought to know it."</p>
+
+<p>"Poor Gwen and poor Lady Belinda!" said May
+Dashwood sighing, and moving to go, and trying hard
+to feel real pity in her heart.</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Lady Dashwood, raising her voice, "I
+don't say 'poor Belinda.' I don't feel a bit sorry for
+the old reprobate, I feel more angry with her. Don't
+you see yourself&mdash;now you know Jim," continued
+Lady Dashwood, throwing out her words at her
+niece's retreating figure&mdash;"don't you see that Jim
+deserves something better than Belinda and Co.?
+Now, would you like to see him saddled for life with
+Gwendolen Scott?"</p>
+
+<p>May Dashwood did not reply immediately; she
+seemed to be much occupied in walking very slowly
+to the door and then in slowly turning the handle of
+the door. Surely Gwendolen and her mother were
+pitiable objects&mdash;unsuccessful as they were?</p>
+
+<p>"Now, would you?" demanded Lady Dashwood.
+"Would you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I should trust him not to do that," said May, as
+she opened the door. She looked back at the tall<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Page 81]</a></span>
+erect figure in the grey silk dressing-gown. "Good
+night, dear aunt." And she went out. "You see,
+I am running away, and I order you to go to bed.
+You are tired." She spoke through the small open
+space she had left, and then she closed the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Trust him! Oh, Lord!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood,
+in a loud voice.</p>
+
+<p>But she was not altogether displeased with the
+word "trust" in May Dashwood's mouth. "She
+seems pretty confident that Jim isn't going to make a
+martyr of himself," she said to herself happily.</p>
+
+<p>The door opened and Louise entered with an
+enigmatical look on her face. Louise had been listening
+outside for the tempestuous sounds that in her
+country would have issued from any two normal women
+under the same circumstances.</p>
+
+<p>But no such sounds had reached her attentive
+ears, and here was Lady Dashwood moving about with
+a serene countenance. She was even smiling. Oh,
+what a country, what people!</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Page 82]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2>
+
+<h3>THE LOST LETTER</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">The next morning it was still raining. It was a
+typical Oxford day, a day of which there are so many
+in the year that those who have best known Oxford
+think of her fondly in terms of damp sandstone.</p>
+
+<p>They remember her gabled roofs, narrow pavements,
+winding alleys humid and shining from recent
+rain; her mullioned windows looking out on high-walled
+gardens where the over-hanging trees drip and
+drip in chastened melancholy. They remember her floating
+spires piercing the lowering sodden sky, her grey
+courts and solemn doorways, her echoing cloisters;
+all her incomparable monastic glory soaked through
+and through with heavy languorous moisture, and
+slowly darkening in a misty twilight.</p>
+
+<p>It is this sobering atmosphere that has brought to
+birth and has bred the "Oxford tone;" the remorseless,
+if somewhat playful handling of ideas.</p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen Scott was no more aware of the existence
+of an "Oxford tone," bred (as all organic life has
+been) in the damp, than was the maidservant who
+brought her tea in the morning; but she perceived the
+damp. She could see through the latticed windows of
+the breakfast-room that it rained, rained and rained,
+and the question was what she should do to make
+the time pass till they must start for Chartcote? No<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Page 83]</a></span>
+letter had yet come from her mother&mdash;and the old
+letter was still lost.</p>
+
+<p>The best Gwen could hope for was that it had been
+picked up and thrown into the paper basket and
+destroyed.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile what should she do? Lady Dashwood
+was always occupied during the mornings. Mrs.
+Dashwood did not seem to be at her disposal. What
+was she to do? Should she practise the "Reverie"?
+No, she didn't want to "fag" at that. She had asked
+the housemaid to mend a pair of stockings, and she
+found these returned to her room&mdash;boggled! How
+maddening&mdash;what idiots servants were! She found
+another pair that wanted mending. She hadn't the
+courage to ask Louise to mend it. If she tried to mend
+it herself she would only make a mess of it&mdash;besides
+she hadn't any lisle thread or needles.</p>
+
+<p>She would look at her frocks and try and decide
+what to wear at lunch. If she couldn't decide she
+would have to consult Lady Dashwood. Her room was
+rather dark. The window looked, not on to the
+quadrangle, but on to the street. She took each piece
+of dress to the window and gazed at it. The blue coat
+and skirt wouldn't do. She had worn that often,
+and the blouse was not fresh now. That must go back
+into the wardrobe. The likely clothes must be spread
+on the bed, where she could review them.</p>
+
+<p>She ran her hand down a stiff rustling costume of
+brown silk. It gave her a pleasurable sensation.
+It was dark brown and inconspicuous, and yet "dressy."
+But would, after all, the blue coat and skirt be more
+suitable, as Oxford people never dressed? Yes; but
+she might meet other sort of people at Chartcote!
+It was a difficult question.</p>
+
+<p>She passed on to a thin black and white cloth that
+was very "smart" and showed off her dark beauty.
+That and the white cloth hat would do! She had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Page 84]</a></span>
+worn it once before and the Warden had talked a great
+deal to her when she had it on. She took out the
+dress and laid it on the bed, and she laid the hat upon
+it. Mrs. Dashwood had not seen the dress! By
+the by, Mrs. Dashwood and the Warden had scarcely
+talked at all at breakfast! He had once made a remark
+to her, and she had looked up and said "Yes," in a funny
+sort of way, just as if she agreed of course! H'm,
+there was really no need to be afraid of that! Supposing
+and if she, Gwen, were ever to be Mrs. Middleton,
+what sort of new clothes would she buy? Oh,
+all sorts of things would be necessary! And yet&mdash;the
+Warden seemed to be quietly drifting farther and
+farther away from her. Was that talk in the library
+a dream? Then if not, why didn't he say something?
+Did he say nothing, because in the library he had said,
+"If you want a home, etc., etc.?" Did he mean by
+that, "If you come and tell me that you want a home,
+etc., etc.?"</p>
+
+<p>Gwen was not sure whether he meant "If you come
+and <em>say</em> you want a home, etc., etc.," or only, "If you
+want a home, etc., etc." How tiresome! He knew
+she wanted a home! But perhaps he wasn't sure
+whether she really wanted a home! Ought she to go
+and knock at the door and say that she really did want
+a home? Was he waiting for her to come and knock
+on the door and say, "I really do want a home, etc.,
+etc.," and then come near enough to be kissed?</p>
+
+<p>But after what Mr. Boreham had said, even if she
+did go and knock at the door and say that she really
+did want a home, etc., etc., and go and stand quite
+near him, the Warden might pretend not to understand
+and merely say, "I'm sorry," and go on
+writing.</p>
+
+<p>How did girls make sure that a proposal was
+binding? Did they manage somehow to have it in
+writing? But how could she have said to the Warden,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Page 85]</a></span>
+"Would you mind putting it all down in writing"?
+She really couldn't have said such a thing!</p>
+
+<p>Gwen could not quite make up her mind what to
+wear. She had put the brown silk and one or two
+more dresses on the bed without being able to come
+to any conclusion.</p>
+
+<p>It would be necessary to ask advice. Having
+covered the bed with "possible" dresses, Gwen went
+out to search for Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>She had not to go far, for she met her just outside
+the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Lady Dashwood," began Gwen, "could you,
+would you mind telling me what I am to wear for
+lunch? I'm so sorry to be such a bother, but I'm&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Here Gwen stopped short, for her eyes caught sight
+of a letter in Lady Dashwood's hand&mdash;the letter!
+If Gwen had known how to faint she would have tried
+to faint then; but she didn't know how it was
+done.</p>
+
+<p>"I found this letter addressed to you," said Lady
+Dashwood, "in my room&mdash;it had got there somehow."
+She held it out to the girl, who took it, reddening as
+she did so to the roots of her hair. "I found it opened&mdash;I
+hope I didn't open it by mistake?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh no," said Gwen, stammering. "I&mdash;lost it&mdash;somehow.
+Oh, thanks so much! Oh, thanks!"</p>
+
+<p>Tears of embarrassment were starting to the girl's
+eyes, and she turned away, letter in hand, and went
+towards her door like a beaten child.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood gazed after her, pity uppermost
+in her heart&mdash;pity, now that Belinda and Co. were no
+longer dangerous.</p>
+
+<p>Safely inside the door, Gwen gave way to regret,
+and from regret for her carelessness she went on to
+wondering wildly what effect the letter might have had
+on Lady Dashwood! Had she told the Warden its
+contents? Had she read the letter to him?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Page 86]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Gwen squirmed as she walked about her room.
+There was a look in Lady Dashwood's face! Oh dear,
+oh dear!</p>
+
+<p>The dresses lay neglected on the bed; the sight of
+them only made Gwen's heart ache the more, for they
+reminded her of those bright hopes that had flitted
+through her brain&mdash;hopes of having more important
+clothes as the Warden's wife. Gwen had even gone
+as far as wondering whether Cousin Bridget might
+not give her some furs as a wedding present. Cousin
+Bridget had spent over a thousand pounds in new furs
+for herself that first winter of the war, when the
+style changed; so was it too much to expect that
+Cousin Bridget, who was the wealthy member of the
+family, though her husband's title was a new one,
+might give her a useful wedding present? Now, the
+mischance with this letter had probably destroyed all
+chances of the Warden marrying her!</p>
+
+<p>She was glad that he had gone away to-day,
+so that she would not see him again till the next
+morning; that gave more time.</p>
+
+<p>She did not want to go to Chartcote to lunch.
+She would not be able to eat anything if she felt as
+miserable as she did now, and she would find it impossible
+to talk to any one.</p>
+
+<p>Even her mother's letter of advice might not help
+her very much&mdash;now that old letter had been seen.</p>
+
+<p>Gwen walked about her room, sometimes leaning
+over the foot of her bed and staring blankly at the
+dresses spread out before her, and sometimes stopping
+to look at herself in a long mirror on the way, feeling
+very sorry for that poor pretty girl whose image she
+saw reflected there. When she heard a knock at the
+door she almost jumped. Was it Lady Dashwood?
+Gwen's answering voice sounded very soft and meek,
+as if a mouse was saying "Come in" to a cat that
+demanded entrance.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Page 87]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>It was Mrs. Dashwood who opened the door and
+walked in.</p>
+
+<p>"You want advice about what to wear for lunch?"
+said Mrs. Dashwood. "Lady Dashwood is finishing
+off some parcels, and asked me to come and offer you
+my services&mdash;if you'll have me?" and she actually
+laughed as she caught sight of the display on the bed.</p>
+
+<p>"Very business-like," she said, walking up to the
+bed. She did not seem to have noticed Gwen's distracted
+appearance, and this gave Gwen time and
+courage to compose her features and assume her
+ordinary bearing.</p>
+
+<p>"Thanks so much," she said, going to the foot of
+the bed. "I was afraid I bothered Lady Dashwood
+when I asked about the lunch."</p>
+
+<p>"It really doesn't much matter what it is you wear
+for Chartcote," said May Dashwood slowly, as her eye
+roamed over the bed. She did not appear to have
+heard Gwen's last remark.</p>
+
+<p>"People do dress so funnily here," said Gwen,
+beginning to feel happy again, "but I thought perhaps
+that&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I think I should recommend that dark brown
+silk," said Mrs. Dashwood, "and if you have a black
+hat&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I have!" cried Gwen, with animation, and
+she rushed to the wardrobe. After all she did like
+Mrs. Dashwood. She was not so bad after all.</p>
+
+<p>May received the black hat into her hands and
+praised it. She put it on the girl's head and then stood
+back to see the effect.</p>
+
+<p>Gwen stood smiling, her face and dark hair framed
+by the black velvet.</p>
+
+<p>"The very thing," said Mrs. Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"Do try it on. You'd look lovely in it," gushed
+Gwen. The expression "You'd look lovely in it"
+came from her lips before she could stop it. Her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Page 88]</a></span>
+instinctive antagonism to Mrs. Dashwood was fast
+oozing away.</p>
+
+<p>May took the hat and put it on her own head, and
+then she looked round at the mirror.</p>
+
+<p>"There!" said Gwen. "I told you so!"</p>
+
+<p>May Dashwood regarded herself critically in the
+mirror and no smile came to her lips. She looked at
+her tall slender figure and the auburn hair under the
+black velvet brim as if she was looking at somebody
+else. May took off the hat and placed it on the bed
+by the dark brown silk.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, you're complete," she said. "Quite complete;"
+but she looked out of her grey eyes at something
+far away, and did not see Gwendolen.</p>
+
+<p>"If only I had a nice fur!" exclaimed the girl.
+"Mine is old, and it's the wrong shape, of course,"
+she went on confidentially. She found herself suddenly
+desirous of making a life-long friend of Mrs. Dashwood.
+In spite of her age and the fact that she was very clever
+and all that, and that the Warden had begun by taking
+too much notice of her, Mrs. Dashwood was nice.
+Gwen wanted at that moment to "tell her everything,"
+all about the "proposal," and see what she
+thought about it!</p>
+
+<p>Gwen's emotions came and went in little spurts,
+and they were very absorbing for the moment.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be ashamed of yours," said Mrs. Dashwood,
+and as she spoke she went towards the door. "I
+can't say I admire the sisterhood of women who spend
+their pence on sham or their guineas on real fur and
+jewellery just now."</p>
+
+<p>Gwen stared. She was not quite sure what the
+remark really meant&mdash;the word "sisterhood" confused
+her.</p>
+
+<p>"If I were you," said Mrs. Dashwood, smiling,
+"I should begin to dress; we are to be ready at one
+punctually."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Page 89]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Oh, thanks so much," said Gwen. "I know I
+take an age. I always do," she laughed.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as Mrs. Dashwood had gone Gwen found it
+necessary to sit down and think whether she really
+liked Mrs. Dashwood so very much, or whether she
+only "just liked her," and this subject brought her
+back to the letter and the Warden, and all her lost
+opportunities! Gwen was startled by a knock at the
+door which she knew was produced by the knuckles
+of Lady Dashwood's maid.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mademoiselle!</span>" cried Louise. "You have
+not commenced, and <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> is ready."</p>
+
+<p>"The brown one," exclaimed Gwen, as Louise
+rushed towards the bed.</p>
+
+<p>Louise fell upon the bed like a wild beast and began
+dressing Gwen with positive ferocity, protesting all the
+time in tones of physical agony mingled with moral
+indignation, her astonishment at <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mademoiselle's</span> indifference
+to the desires of <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>.</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't know it was so late," said Gwen, who was
+not accustomed to such freedom from a servant.</p>
+
+<p>More exclamations from Louise, who was hooking
+and buttoning and pulling and pushing like a fury.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, leave off talking," said Gwen, looking very
+hot, "and don't pull so much."</p>
+
+<p>More exclamations from Louise and more pulling,
+and at last Gwen stood complete in her brown
+dress and black hat. While she was thinking about
+what shoes she should put on, Louise had already
+seized a pair and was now pulling and pushing at
+her feet.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood was giving instructions to
+Robinson in the hall, when Gwen came precipitately
+downstairs. The taxi was at the door, and Mrs.
+Dashwood was already seated in it.</p>
+
+<p>It was still raining. Of course! Everything was
+wretched!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Page 90]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Now, what about an umbrella? Gwen gazed about
+her and seized an umbrella, earnestly trusting that it
+was not one that Lady Dashwood meant to use. How
+hot and flushed and late she was, and then&mdash;the letter!
+Oh, that letter! How horrible to be obliged to sit
+opposite to Lady Dashwood!</p>
+
+<p>She ran down the steps without opening the umbrella,
+and dashed into the taxi, Lady Dashwood following
+under an umbrella held by Robinson.</p>
+
+<p>"Here we are!" said Lady Dashwood. She seemed
+to have forgotten all about the letter, and she smiled
+at Gwen.</p>
+
+<p>They passed out of the entrance court of the
+Lodgings and into the narrow street, and then into the
+High Street. The sky and the air and the road and
+the pavements and the buildings were grey. The
+Cherwell was grey, and its trees wept into it. The
+meadows were sodden; it was difficult to imagine that
+they could ever stand in tall ripe hay. There was a
+smell of damp decay in the air.</p>
+
+<p>Gwen stared fixedly out of the window in order
+to avoid looking at the ladies opposite her. They
+seemed to be occupied with the continuance of a conversation
+that they had begun before. Now, Gwen's
+mind failed and fainted before conversation that
+was at all impersonal, and though she was listening,
+she did not grasp the whole of any one sentence. But
+she caught isolated words and phrases here and there,
+dreary words like "Education," "Oxford methods,"
+and her attention was absorbed by the discovery that
+every time Mrs. Dashwood spoke, she said: "Does the
+Warden think?" just as if she knew what the Warden
+would think!</p>
+
+<p>This was nasty of her. If only she always talked
+about Gwen's hat suiting her, and about other things
+that were really interesting, Gwen believed she could
+make a life-long friend of her, in spite of her age; but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Page 91]</a></span>
+she would talk about stupid incomprehensible things&mdash;and
+about the Warden!</p>
+
+<p>The Warden was growing a more and more remote
+figure in Gwen's mind. He was fading into something
+unsubstantial&mdash;something that Gwen could not lean
+against, or put her arms round. Would she never
+again have the opportunity of feeling how hard and
+smooth his shirt-front was? It was like china, only
+not cold. As she thought Gwen's eyes became misty
+and sad, and she ceased to notice what the two
+ladies opposite to her were saying.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Page 92]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2>
+
+<h3>THE LUNCHEON PARTY</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">Boreham was in his dressing-room at Chartcote
+looking at himself in the mirror. The picture he saw
+in its depths was familiar to him. Had he (like prehistoric
+man) never had the opportunity of seeing his
+own face, and had he been suddenly presented with
+his portrait and asked whether he thought the
+picture pleasing, he would have replied, as do our
+Cabinet ministers: "The answer is in the negative."</p>
+
+<p>But the figure in the mirror had always been associated
+with his inmost thoughts. It had grown with
+his growth. It had smiled, it had laughed and frowned.
+It had looked dull and disappointed, it had looked
+flattered and happy in tune with his own feelings;
+and that rather colourless face with the drab beard,
+the bristly eyebrows, the pale blue eyes and the thin
+lips, were all part of Boreham's exclusive personal
+world to which he was passionately attached; something
+separate from the world he criticised, jeered at,
+scolded or praised, as the mood took him, also something
+separate from what he secretly and unwillingly
+envied. The portrait in the mirror represented Boreham's
+own particular self&mdash;the unmistakable "I."</p>
+
+<p>He gave a last touch with a brush to the stiff
+hair, and then stood staring at his completed image,
+at himself, ready for lunch, ready&mdash;and this was what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Page 93]</a></span>
+dominated his thoughts&mdash;ready to receive May
+Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>Some eight or nine years ago, when he had first
+met May, he had as nearly fallen in love with her as his
+constitution permitted; and he had been nettled at
+finding himself in a financial position that was, to say
+the best of it, rather fluctuating. He knew he was
+going to have Chartcote, but aunts of sixty frequently
+live to remain aunts at eighty. May had never shown
+any particular interest in him, but he attributed her
+indifference to the natural and selfish female desire
+to acquire a wealthy husband. As it was impossible
+for him to marry at that period in his life, he adopted
+that theory of marriage most likely to shed a cheerful
+light upon his compulsory bachelorhood. He maintained
+that the natural man tries to escape marriage, as it is
+incompatible with his "freedom," and is only "enchained"
+after much persistent hunting down by the
+female, who makes the most of the conventions of
+civilisation for her own protection and profit. He
+was able, therefore, at the age of forty-two to look
+round him and say: "I have successfully escaped&mdash;hitherto,"
+and to feel that what he said was true. But
+now he was no longer poor. He was an eligible man.</p>
+
+<p>He was also less happy than he had been. He had
+lived at Chartcote for some interminable weeks! He
+had found it tolerable, only because he was well enough
+off to be always going away from it. But now he had
+again met May, free like himself, and if possible
+more attractive than she had been eight years ago!</p>
+
+<p>He had met her and had found her at the zenith
+of womanhood; without losing her youth, she had
+acquired maturer grace and self-possession. Had there
+been any room for improvement in himself he too
+would have matured! The wealth he had acquired
+was sufficient. And now the question was: whether
+with all his masculine longing to preserve his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Page 94]</a></span>
+freedom he would be able to escape successfully
+again? This was why he was giving a lingering
+glance in the mirror, where his external personality
+was, as it were, painted with an exactness that no
+artist could command.</p>
+
+<p>Should this blond man with the beard and the stiff
+hair, below which lay a splendid brain, should he
+escape again?</p>
+
+<p>Boreham stared hard at his own image. He
+repeated the momentous question, firmly but
+inaudibly, and then went away without answering it.
+Time would show&mdash;that very day might show!</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Greenleafe Potten had already arrived. Now
+Mrs. Greenleafe Potten was a cousin of Boreham's
+maternal aunt. She lived in rude though luxurious
+widowhood about a quarter of a mile from Chartcote,
+and she was naturally the person to whom
+Boreham applied whenever he wanted a lady to head
+his table. Besides, Mrs. Potten was a very old friend
+of Lady Dashwood's. Mrs. Potten was a little senior
+to Lady Dashwood, but in many ways appeared to
+be her junior. Mrs. Potten, too, retained her youthful
+interest in men. Lady Dashwood's long stay in
+Oxford had brought with it a new interest to Mrs.
+Potten's life. It had enabled her to call at King's
+College and claim acquaintance with the Warden.
+Mrs. Potten admired the Warden with the sentiment
+of early girlhood. Now Mrs. Potten was accredited
+with the possession of great wealth, of which she spent
+as little as possible. She practised certain strange
+economies, and on this occasion, learning that the
+Dashwoods were coming without the Warden, she
+decided to come in the costume in which she usually
+spent the morning hours, toiling in the garden.</p>
+
+<p>The party consisted of the three ladies from King's,
+Mr. Bingham, Fellow of All Souls, and Mr. and Mrs.
+Harding.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Page 95]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Mr. Bingham was a man of real learning; he was
+a bachelor, and he made forcible remarks in the soft
+deliberate tone of a super-curate. He laughed discreetly
+as if in the presence of some sacred shrine. In the old
+pre-war days there had been many stories current in
+Oxford about Bingham, some true and some invented
+by his friends. All of them were reports of brief but
+effective conversations between himself and some other
+less sophisticated person. Bingham always accepted
+invitations from any one who asked him when he had
+time, and if he found himself bored, he simply did not
+go again. Boreham had got hold of Bingham and had
+asked him to lunch, so he had accepted. It was one
+of the days when he did <em>not</em> go up to the War Office,
+but when he lectured to women students. He had
+to lunch somewhere, and he had bicycled out, intending
+to bicycle back, rain or no rain, for the sake of exercise.</p>
+
+<p>Then there were Mr. and Mrs. Harding. Harding,
+who had taken Orders (just as some men have
+eaten dinners for the Bar), was Fellow and Tutor of
+a sporting College. His tutorial business had been
+for many years to drive the unwilling and ungrateful
+blockhead through the Pass Degree. His private
+business was to assume that he was a "man of the
+world." It was a subject that engrossed what must (in
+the absence of anything more distinctive), be called
+the "spiritual" side of his nature. His wife, who
+had money, lived to set a good example to other
+Dons' wives in matters of dress and "<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tenue</span>," and she
+had put on her best frock in anticipation of meeting
+the "County." Indeed, the Hardings had taken up
+Boreham because he was not a college Don but a member
+of "Society." They were, like Bingham, at Chartcote
+for the first time. It was an unpleasant shock to
+Mr. Harding to find that instead of the County, other
+Oxford people had been asked to luncheon. Fortunately,
+however, the Oxford people were the Dashwoods!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Page 96]</a></span>
+The Hardings exchanged glances, and Harding, who
+had entered the room in his best manner, now looked
+round and heaved a sigh, letting himself spiritually
+down with a sort of thump. Bingham his old school-fellow
+and senior at Winchester, was, perhaps, the
+man in all Oxford to whom he felt most antipathy.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Harding very much regretted that she had not
+come in a smart Harris tweed. It would have been
+a good compromise between the Dashwoods and the
+pretty girl with them, and Mrs. Greenleafe Potten
+with her tweed skirt and not altogether spotless shirt.
+But it was too late!</p>
+
+<p>Boreham was quite unconscious of his guests'
+thoughts, and was busy plotting how best to give
+May Dashwood an opportunity of making love to him.
+He would have Lady Dashwood and Mrs. Harding on
+each side of him at table, giving to Mrs. Potten, Harding
+and Bingham. Then May Dashwood and Miss Scott
+would be wedged in at the sides. But, after lunch,
+he would give the men only ten minutes sharp for their
+coffee, and take off May Dashwood to look over the
+house. In this way he would be behaving with the
+futile orthodoxy required by our effete social system,
+and yet give the opportunity necessary to the female
+for the successful pursuit of the male.</p>
+
+<p>Only&mdash;and here a sudden spasm went through
+his frame, as he looked round on his guests&mdash;did he
+really wish to become a married man? Did he want
+to be obliged to be always with one woman, to be
+obliged to pay calls with her, dine out with her? Did
+he want to explain where he was going when he went
+by himself, and to give her some notion as to the hour
+when he would return, and to leave his address with
+her if he stayed away for a night? No! Marriage
+was a gross imposition on humanity, as his brother
+had discovered twice over. The woman in the world
+who would tempt him into harness would have to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Page 97]</a></span>
+exquisitely fascinating! But then&mdash;and this was the
+point&mdash;May Dashwood <em>had</em> just that peculiar charm!
+Boreham's eyes were now resting on her face. She was
+sitting on his left, next Mrs. Harding, and Bingham's
+black head was bent and he was saying something to
+her that made her smile. Boreham wished that he
+had put Harding, the married man, next her! Harding
+was commonplace! Harding was safe! Look
+at Harding doing his duty with Mrs. Potten! Useful
+man, Harding! But Bingham was a bachelor, and
+not safe!</p>
+
+<p>And so the luncheon went on, and Boreham talked
+disconnectedly because he forgot the thread of his
+argument in his keenness to hear what May Dashwood
+and Bingham were saying to each other. He tried to
+drag in Bingham and force him to talk to the table,
+but his efforts were fruitless. Bingham merely looked
+absently and sweetly round the table, and then relapsed
+into talk that was inaudible except to his fair
+neighbour.</p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen Scott watched the table silently, and
+wondered how it was they found so much to talk
+about. Harding did not intend to waste any time
+in talking to an Oxford person. He put his elbow on
+the table on her side and conversed with Mrs. Potten.
+He professed interest in her agricultural pursuits, told
+her that he liked digging in the rain, and by the time
+lunch was over he had solemnly emphasised his opinion
+that the cricket bat and the shot gun and the covert
+and the moderate party in the Church of England
+were what made our Empire great. Mrs. Potten
+approved these remarks, and said that she was surprised
+and pleased to hear such sound views expressed
+by any one from Oxford. She was afraid that very
+wild and democratic views were not only tolerated,
+but born and bred in Oxford. She was afraid that
+Oxford wasn't doing poor, dear, clever Bernard any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Page 98]</a></span>
+good, though she was convinced that the "dear
+Warden" would not tolerate any foolishness, and she
+was on the point of rising when her movements were
+delayed by the shock of hearing Mr. Bingham suddenly
+guffaw with extraordinary suavity and gentleness.</p>
+
+<p>She turned to him questioningly.</p>
+
+<p>"It depends upon what you mean by democratic,"
+he said, smiling softly past Mrs. Potten and on to
+Harding. "The United States of America, which
+makes a point of talking the higher twaddle about all
+men being free and equal, can barely manage to bring
+any wealthy pot to justice. On the other hand, Oxford,
+which is slimed with Toryism, is always ready to make
+any son of any impecunious greengrocer the head of
+one's college. In Oxford, even at Christ Church"&mdash;and
+here Bingham showed two rows of good teeth at
+Harding,&mdash;"you may say what you like now. Oxford
+now swarms with political Humanitarians, who go
+about sticking their stomachs out and pretending to
+be inspired! Now, what do you mean by Democratic?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Potten would have been shocked, but
+Bingham's mellifluous voice gave a "cachet" to his
+language. She looked nervously at Boreham; seeing
+that he had caught the talk and was about to plunge
+into it, she signified "escape" to Lady Dashwood
+and rose herself.</p>
+
+<p>"We will leave you men to quarrel together," she
+said to Harding. "You give it to them, Mr. Harding.
+Don't you spare 'em," and she passed to the door.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment the three men who were left behind
+in the dining-room glanced at each other&mdash;then they
+sat down. Boreham was torn between the desire to
+dispute whatever either of his guests put forward,
+and a still keener desire to get away rapidly to the
+drawing-room. Harding had already lost all interest
+in the subject of democracy, and was passing on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Page 99]</a></span>
+claret to Bingham. Bingham helped himself, wondering,
+as he did so, whether Mrs. Dashwood was in
+mourning for a brother, or perhaps had been mourning
+for a husband. It seemed to Bingham an interesting
+question.</p>
+
+<p>"Good claret this of yours," said Harding. "I
+conclude that you weren't one of those fanatics who
+tried to force us all to become teetotallers. My
+view is that at my age a man can judge for himself
+what is good for him."</p>
+
+<p>"That wasn't quite the point," said Bingham.
+"The point was whether the stay-at-homes should
+fill up their stomachs, or turn it into cash for war
+purposes."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course," sneered Harding, "you like to
+put it in that way."</p>
+
+<p>"It isn't any man's business," broke in Boreham,
+"whether another man can or can't judge what's
+good for him."</p>
+
+<p>Boreham had been getting up steam for an attack
+upon Christ Church because it was ecclesiastical,
+upon Balliol because it had been Bingham's college,
+and upon Oxford in general because he, Boreham, had
+not been bred within its walls. In other words, Boreham
+was going to speak with unbiassed frankness. But
+this sudden deviation of the talk to claret and Harding's
+cool assumption that his view was like his host's, could
+not be passed in silence.</p>
+
+<p>"What I say is," said Harding again, "that when
+a man gets to my age&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Age isn't the question," interrupted Boreham.
+"Let every man have his own view about drink.
+Mine is that I'm not going to ask your permission to
+drink. If a man likes to get drunk, all I say is that
+it's not my business. The only thing any of your
+Bishops ever said that was worth remembering was:
+'I'd rather see England free than England sober.'"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Page 100]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Harding allowed that the saying was a good one.
+He nodded his head. Bingham sipped his claret.
+"You do get a bit free when you're not sober," he
+said sweetly. "I say, Harding, so you would rather
+see Mrs. Harding free than sober!"</p>
+
+<p>Harding made an inarticulate noise that indicated
+the place to which in a future life he would like to
+consign the speaker.</p>
+
+<p>"Every man does not get offensive when drunk,"
+said Boreham, ignoring, in the manner peculiar to him,
+the inner meaning of Bingham's remark.</p>
+
+<p>"That's true," said Bingham. "A man may have
+as his family motto: 'In Vino Suavitas'(Courteous
+though drunk, Boreham); but when you're drunk and
+you still go on talking, don't you find the difficulty
+is not so much to be courteous as to be coherent?
+In the good old drinking days of All Souls, of which
+I am now an unworthy member, it was said that
+Tindal was supreme in Common Room <em>because</em> 'his
+abstemiousness in drink gave him no small advantage
+over those he conversed with.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Talk about supreme in Common Room," said
+Boreham, catching at the opportunity to drive his
+dagger into the weak points of Oxford, "you chaps,
+even before the war, could hardly man your Common
+Rooms. You're all married men living out in the
+brick villas."</p>
+
+<p>"Harding's married," said Bingham. "I'm thinking
+about it. I've been thinking for twenty years.
+It takes a long time to mature thoughts. By the by,
+was that a Miss Dashwood who sat next Harding?
+I don't think I have ever met her in Oxford."</p>
+
+<p>"She is a Miss Scott," said Boreham, suddenly
+remembering that he wanted to join the ladies as soon
+as possible. He would get Bingham alone some day,
+and squeeze him. Just now there wasn't time. As
+to Harding&mdash;he was a hopeless idiot.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Page 101]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Not one of Scott of Oriel's eight daughters?
+Don't know 'em by sight even. Can't keep pace with
+'em," said Harding.</p>
+
+<p>"She's the daughter of Lady Belinda Scott,"
+said Boreham, "and staying with Lady Dashwood."</p>
+
+<p>"I thought she didn't belong to Oxford," said
+Bingham.</p>
+
+<p>Harding stared at his fellow Don, vaguely annoyed.
+He disliked to hear Bingham hinting at any Oxford
+"brand"&mdash;it was the privilege of himself and his
+wife to criticise Oxford. Also, why hadn't he talked
+to Miss Scott? He wondered why he hadn't seen that
+she was not an Oxford girl by her dress and by her
+look of self-satisfied simplicity, the right look for a
+well-bred girl to have.</p>
+
+<p>"I promised to show Mrs. Dashwood my house,"
+said Boreham. "We mustn't keep the ladies too
+long waiting. Shall we go?" he added. "Oh, sorry,
+Harding, I didn't notice you hadn't finished!"</p>
+
+<p>The men rose and went into the drawing-room.
+Harding saw, as he entered, that his wife had discovered
+that Miss Scott was a stranger and she was talking
+to her, while Mrs. Greenleafe Potten had got the Dashwoods
+into a corner and was telling them all about
+Chartcote: a skeleton list of names with nothing
+attached to them of historical interest. It was like
+reading aloud a page of Bradshaw, and any interruption
+to such entertainment was a relief. Indeed,
+May Dashwood began to smile when she saw
+Boreham approaching her. Something, however, in
+his manner made the smile fade away.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you come over the house?" he asked, carefully
+putting his person between herself and Lady
+Dashwood so as to obliterate the latter lady. "I
+don't suppose Lady Dashwood wants to see it. Come
+along, Mrs. Dashwood."</p>
+
+<p>May could scarcely refuse. She rose. Harding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Page 102]</a></span>
+was making his way to Gwendolen Scott and raising
+his eyebrows at his wife as a signal for her to appropriate
+Mrs. Potten. Bingham was standing in the
+middle of the room staring at Lady Dashwood. Some
+problems were working in his mind, in which that lady
+figured as an important item.</p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen Scott looked round her. Mr. Harding
+had ignored her at lunch, and she did not mean to
+have him sitting beside her again. She was quite
+sure she wouldn't know what to say to him, if he did
+speak. She got up hurriedly from her chair, passed
+the astonished Harding and plunged at Mrs. Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, do let me come and see over the house with
+you," she said, laying a cold hand nervously on May's
+arm. "I should love to&mdash;I simply love looking at
+portraits."</p>
+
+<p>"Come, of course," said May, with great cordiality.</p>
+
+<p>Boreham stiffened and his voice became very
+flat. "I've got no portraits worth looking at," said
+he, keeping his hand firmly on the door. "I have
+a couple of Lely's, they're all alike and sold with
+a pound of tea. The rest are by nobodies."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, never mind," said Gwen, earnestly. "I love
+rooms; I love&mdash;anything!"</p>
+
+<p>Boreham's beard gave a sort of little tilt, and his
+innermost thoughts were noisy and angry, but he
+had to open the door and let Gwendolen Scott through
+if the silly little girl would come and spoil everything.</p>
+
+<p>Boreham could not conceal his vexation. His
+arrangements had been carefully made, and here they
+were knocked on the head, and how he was to get May
+Dashwood over to Chartcote again he didn't know.</p>
+
+<p>"What a nice hall!" exclaimed Gwen. "I do
+love nice halls," and she looked round at the renaissance
+decorations of the wall and the domed roof.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Page 103]</a></span>
+"Oh, I do love that archway with the statue holding
+the electric light, it is sweet!"</p>
+
+<p>"It's bad style," said Boreham, walking gloomily
+in front of them towards a door which led into the
+library. "The house was decent enough, I believe,
+till some fool in the family, seeing other people take up
+Italian art, got a craze for it himself and knocked the
+place about."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," said Gwen, crestfallen, "I really don't
+know anything about how houses ought to look. I
+only know my cousin Lady Goosemere's house and
+mother's father's old place, my grandfather's and&mdash;and&mdash;I
+do like the Lodgings, Mrs. Dashwood," she
+added in confusion.</p>
+
+<p>"So do I," said May Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"This is the library," said Boreham, opening the
+door.</p>
+
+<p>Boreham led them from one room to another, making
+remarks on them expressly for the enlightenment of
+Mrs. Dashwood, using language that was purposely
+complicated and obscure in order to show Miss Scott
+that he was not taking the trouble to give her any
+information. Whenever he spoke, he stared straight
+at May Dashwood, as if he were alone with her. He
+did not by any movement or look acknowledge the
+presence of the intruder, so that Gwendolen began to
+wonder how long she would be able to endure her ill-treatment
+at Chartcote, without dissolving into tears.
+She kept on stealing a glance at the watch on Mrs.
+Dashwood's wrist, but she could never make out the
+time, because the figures were not the right side up,
+and she never had time to count them round before
+Mrs. Dashwood moved her arm and made a muddle
+of the whole thing.</p>
+
+<p>But no lunch party lasts for ever, and at last
+Gwendolen found herself down in the hall with the
+taxi grunting at the door and a bustle of good-byes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Page 104]</a></span>
+around her. The rain had stopped. Mrs. Greenleafe
+Potten and Bingham were standing together on the
+shallow steps like two children. The Hardings were
+already halfway down the drive. Lady Dashwood
+looked out of the window of the taxi at Boreham, as
+he fastened the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Wait a minute, Mr. Boreham," she said. "Tell
+Mr. Bingham we can take him into Oxford."</p>
+
+<p>"He's going to walk," said Boreham, coldly.
+"He's going to walk back with Mrs. Potten, who
+wants to walk, and then return for his bicycle."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, very well," said Lady Dashwood, leaning
+back. "Good-bye, so many thanks, Mr. Boreham."</p>
+
+<p>Boreham's face wore an enigmatic look as he walked
+up the steps.</p>
+
+<p>Bingham had opened a pocket-book and was making
+a note in it with a pencil.</p>
+
+<p>"Excuse me just one moment, Mrs. Potten. I
+shan't remember if I don't make a note of it."</p>
+
+<p>The note that Bingham jotted down was: "Sat.
+Lady Dashwood, dinner 8 o'clock."</p>
+
+<p>Boreham glanced keenly and suspiciously at him,
+for he heard him murmur aloud the words he was
+writing.</p>
+
+<p>Boreham did not see that Bingham had any right
+to the invitation.</p>
+
+<p>"I've forgotten my waterproof," exclaimed Mrs.
+Potten, as she went down the steps.</p>
+
+<p>Bingham dived into the hall after it and having
+found it in the arms of a servant, he hurried back to
+Mrs. Potten.</p>
+
+<p>"I do believe I've dropped my handkerchief,"
+remarked Mrs. Potten, as he started her down the
+drive at a brisk trot.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you afraid of this pace?" asked Bingham
+evasively, for he did not intend to return to the house.</p>
+
+<p>Boreham gazed after them with his beard at a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Page 105]</a></span>
+saturnine angle. "You couldn't expect her to remember
+everything," he muttered to himself.</p>
+
+<p>The sky was low, heavy and grey, and the air was
+chilly and yet close, and everything&mdash;sky, half-leafless
+trees, the gravelled drive too&mdash;seemed to be steaming
+with moisture. The words came to Boreham's mind:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"My very heart faints and my whole soul grieves,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>"That won't do," he said to himself, as he still
+stood on the steps motionless. "It's no use quoting
+from Victorian poets. 'What the people want' is
+nothing older than Masefield or Noyes, or Verhaeren.
+Because, though Verhaeren's old enough, they didn't
+know about him till just now, and so he seems new;
+then there are all the new small chaps. No, I can't
+finish that article. After all, what does it matter?
+They must wait, and I can afford now to say, 'Take it
+or leave it, and go to the Devil!'"</p>
+
+<p>He turned and went up the steps. There was no
+sound audible except the noise Boreham was making
+with his own feet on the strip of marble that met the
+parquetted floor of the hall. "It's a beastly distance
+from Oxford," he said, half aloud; "one can't just
+drop in on people in the evening, and who else is there?
+I'm not going to waste my life on half a dozen damned
+sport-ridden, parson-ridden neighbours who can barely
+spell out a printed book."</p>
+
+<p>One thing had become clear in Boreham's mind.
+Either he must marry May Dashwood for love, or he
+must try and let Chartcote, taking rooms in Oxford and
+a flat in town.</p>
+
+<p>If Boreham had found the morning unprofitable,
+the Hardings had not found it less so.</p>
+
+<p>"Did Mrs. Potten propose calling?" asked Harding
+of his wife, as they sat side by side, rolling over a greasy
+road towards Oxford.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Page 106]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"No," said Mrs. Harding.</p>
+
+<p>"It's quite clear to me," said Harding, "that
+Mrs. G. P. only regards Boreham as a freak, so that <em>he</em>
+won't be any use."</p>
+
+<p>"We needn't go there again," said Mrs. Harding,
+"unless, of course," she added thoughtfully, "we
+knew beforehand&mdash;somehow&mdash;that it wasn't just an
+Oxford party. And Lady Dashwood won't do anything
+for us."</p>
+
+<p>"It's not been worth the taxi," said Harding.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish you'd not made that mistake about Miss
+Scott," said Mrs. Harding, after a moment's silence.</p>
+
+<p>"How could I help it?" blurted Harding.
+"Scott's a common name. How on earth could I
+tell&mdash;and coming from Oxford!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but you could see she powdered, and her
+dress! Besides, coming with the Dashwoods and
+knowing Mrs. Potten!" continued Mrs. Harding.
+"If only you had said one or two sentences to her;
+I saw she was offended. That's why she ran off with
+Mrs. Dashwood, she wouldn't be left to your tender
+mercies. I saw Lady Dashwood staring."</p>
+
+<p>Harding made no answer, he merely blew through
+his pursed-up mouth.</p>
+
+<p>"And we've got Boreham dining with us next
+Thursday!" he said after a pause. "Damn it all!"</p>
+
+<p>"No. I didn't leave the note," said Mrs. Harding.
+"I thought I'd 'wait and see.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Good!" said Harding.</p>
+
+<p>"It was a nuisance," said Mrs. Harding, "that we
+asked the Warden of King's when the Bishop was here
+and got a refusal. We can't ask the Dashwoods and
+Miss Scott even quietly. It's for the Warden to
+ask us."</p>
+
+<p>"Anyhow ask Bingham," said Harding; "just
+casually."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Harding looked surprised. "Why, I thought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Page 107]</a></span>
+you couldn't stick him," she said; "and he hasn't
+been near us for a couple of years at least."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Very well," said Mrs. Harding. "And meanwhile
+I've got Lady Dashwood to lend me Miss Scott for our
+Sale to-morrow! And shall I ask them to tea? We
+are so near that it would seem the natural thing
+to do."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Page 108]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER X</h2>
+
+<h3>PARENTAL EFFUSIONS</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">"Well, May," said Lady Dashwood, leaning back
+into her corner and speaking in a voice of satisfaction,
+"we've done our duty, I hope, and now, if you don't
+mind, we'll go on doing our duty and pay some calls.
+I ought to call at St. John's and Wadham, and also
+go into the suburbs. I've asked Mr. Bingham to
+dinner&mdash;just by ourselves, of course. Do you know
+what his nickname is in Oxford?"</p>
+
+<p>May did not know.</p>
+
+<p>"It is: 'It depends on what you mean,'" said
+Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said May. "Yes, in the Socratic manner."</p>
+
+<p>"I dare say," said Lady Dashwood. "What did
+you think of the Hardings?"</p>
+
+<p>May said she didn't know.</p>
+
+<p>"They are a type one finds everywhere," said
+Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>The afternoon passed slowly away. It was the
+busy desolation of the city, a willing sacrifice to the
+needs of war, that made both May and Lady Dashwood
+sit so silently as they went first to Wadham, and then,
+round through the noble wide expanse of Market
+Square opposite St. John's. Then later on out into
+the interminable stretch of villas beyond. By the
+time they returned to the Lodgings the grey afternoon
+light had faded into darkness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Page 109]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Any letters?" asked Lady Dashwood, as Robinson
+relieved them of their wraps.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, there were letters awaiting them, and they
+had been put on the table in the middle of the hall;
+there was a wire also. The wire was from the Warden,
+saying that he would not be back to dinner.</p>
+
+<p>"He's coming later," said Lady Dashwood, aloud.
+"Late, May!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said May Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>There was a letter for Gwen. It was lying by
+itself and addressed in her mother's handwriting.
+She laid her hand upon it and hurried up to her room.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood went upstairs slowly to the
+drawing-room. "H'm, one from Belinda," she said
+to herself, "asking me to keep Gwen longer, I suppose,
+on some absurd excuse! Well, I won't do it;
+she shall go on Monday."</p>
+
+<p>She turned up the electric light and seated herself
+on a couch at one side of the fire. She glanced through
+the other letters, leaving the one from Belinda to the
+last.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, what does the creature want?" she said
+aloud, and at the sound of her own voice, she glanced
+round the room. She had taken for granted that
+May had been following behind her and had sat down,
+somewhere, absorbed in her letters. There was no
+one in the room and the door was closed. She opened
+the letter and began to read:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">My dear Lena</span>,<br /></p>
+
+<p>"I am a bit taken by surprise at Gwen's
+news! How rapidly it must have happened! But
+I have no right to complain, for it sounds just like a
+real old-fashioned love at first sight affair, and I can
+tell by Gwen's letter that she knows her own mind and
+has taken a step that will bring her happiness. Well,
+I suppose there is nothing that a mother can do&mdash;in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Page 110]</a></span>
+such a case&mdash;but to be submissive and very sweet
+about it!"</p></div>
+
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood's hand that held the letter was
+trembling, and her eyes shifted from the lines. She
+clung to them desperately, and read on:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>"I must try and not be jealous of Dr. Middleton.
+I must be very 'dood.' But just at the moment it
+is rather sudden and overpowering and difficult to
+realise. I had always thought of my little Gwen,
+with her great beauty and attractiveness, mated to
+some one in the big world; but perhaps it was a selfish
+ambition (excusable in a mother), for the Fates had
+decreed otherwise, and one must say 'Kismet!' I
+long to come and see you all. It is impossible for me
+to get away to-morrow, but I could come on Saturday.
+Would that suit you? It seems like a dream&mdash;a very
+real dream of happiness for Gwen and for&mdash;I suppose
+I must call him 'Jim.' And I must (though I shouldn't)
+congratulate you on so cleverly getting my little
+treasure for your brother. I know how dear he is
+to you.</p></div>
+
+<p class="signoff">"Yours affectionately,<br />
+<br />
+"<span class="smcap">Belinda Scott.</span>"<br />
+</p>
+
+
+<p class="above2">Lady Dashwood laid the letter on her knees and
+sat thinking, with the pulses in her body throbbing.
+A dull flush had come into her cheeks, and just below
+her heart was a queer, empty, weak feeling, as if she
+had had no food for a long, long while.</p>
+
+<p>She moved at last and stood upon her feet.</p>
+
+<p>"I will not bear it," she said aloud.</p>
+
+<p>Her voice strayed through the empty room. The
+face of the portrait stared out remorselessly at her
+with its cynical smile. All the world had become
+cynical and remorseless. Lady Dashwood moved
+to the door and went into the corridor. She passed
+Gwen's room and went to May Dashwood's. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Page 111]</a></span>
+she knocked on the door. May's voice responded.
+She had already begun to dress.</p>
+
+<p>"Aunt Lena!" she exclaimed softly, as Lady
+Dashwood closed the door behind her without a word
+and came forward to the fireplace, "what has
+happened?"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood held towards her a letter. "Read
+that," she said, and then she turned to the fire and
+leaned her elbow on the mantelpiece and clasped her
+hot brow in her hands. She did not look at the tall
+slight figure with its aureole of auburn hair near her,
+and the serious sweet face reading the letter. What
+she was waiting for was&mdash;help&mdash;help in her dire need&mdash;help!
+She wanted May to say, "This can't be, must
+not be. <em>I</em> can help you"; and yet, as the silence
+grew, Lady Dashwood knew that there was no help
+coming&mdash;it was absurd to expect help.</p>
+
+<p>May Dashwood stood quite still and read the letter
+through. She read it twice, and yet said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>"Well!" said Lady Dashwood, her voice muffled.
+As no reply came, she glanced round. "You have
+read the letter?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said May, "I've read it," and she laid
+the letter on the mantelpiece. There was a curious
+movement of her breathing&mdash;as if something checked
+it; otherwise her face was calm and she showed no
+emotion.</p>
+
+<p>"What's to be done?" demanded Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing can be done," said May, and she spoke
+breathlessly.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood. "May!"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing, not if it is his wish," said May Dashwood,
+and she cleared her throat and moved away.</p>
+
+<p>"If he knew, it would not be his wish," said Lady
+Dashwood. "If he knew about the other letter;
+if he knew what those women were like! Of course,"
+she went on, "men are such fools, that he might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Page 112]</a></span>
+think he was rescuing her from Belinda! But," she
+burst out suddenly, yet very quietly, "can't he see that
+Gwen has no moral backbone? Can't he see that she's
+a lump of jelly? No, he can't see anything;" then
+she turned round again to the fire. "Society backs
+up fraud in marriage. People will palm off a girl
+who drinks or who shows signs of inherited insanity
+with the shamelessness of horse-dealers. 'The man
+must look out for himself,' they say. Very well,"
+said Lady Dashwood, pulling herself up to her full
+height, "I am going to do&mdash;whatever can be done."
+But she did not <em>feel</em> brave.</p>
+
+<p>May had walked to the dressing-table and was
+taking up brushes and putting them down again
+without using them. She took a stopper out of a
+bottle, and then replaced it.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood stood looking at her, looking at
+the bent head silently. Then she said suddenly:
+"This letter was posted when?" She suddenly
+became aware that the envelope was missing. She
+had thrown it into the fire in the drawing-room or
+dropped it. It didn't matter&mdash;it was written last
+night. "Gwen must have posted her news at the
+latest yesterday morning by the first post. Then
+when could it have happened? He never saw her for
+a moment between dinner on Monday, when you
+arrived, and when she must have posted her letter."
+Lady Dashwood stared at her niece. "It must have
+happened before you arrived."</p>
+
+<p>"No," said May. "He must have <em>written</em>&mdash;you
+see;" and she turned round and looked straight at
+Lady Dashwood for the first time since she read that
+letter.</p>
+
+<p>"Written that same night, Monday, after Mr.
+Boreham left?"</p>
+
+<p>May moved her lips a moment and turned away
+again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Page 113]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I don't believe it," said Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"If it is his wish&mdash;if he is in love," said May slowly,
+"you can do nothing!"</p>
+
+<p>"He is not in love with her," said Lady Dashwood,
+with a short bitter laugh. "If she speaks to me about
+it before his return, I&mdash;well, I shall know what to
+say. But she won't speak; she knows I read the first
+sentences of her mother's letter, and being the daughter
+of her mother&mdash;that is, having no understanding of
+'honour'&mdash;she will take for granted that I read more&mdash;that
+I read that letter through."</p>
+
+<p>May remained silent. Just then the dressing gong
+sounded, and Lady Dashwood went to the door.</p>
+
+<p>"May, I am going to dress," she said. "I shall
+fight this affair; for if it hadn't been for me, Jim
+would still be a free man."</p>
+
+<p>May looked at her again fixedly.</p>
+
+<p>"What shall you say to Lady Belinda?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall say nothing to Belinda&mdash;just now," said
+Lady Dashwood. "The letter may be&mdash;a lie!"</p>
+
+<p>"Suppose she comes on Saturday?" said May.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood's eyes flickered. "She can't
+come on Saturday," she said slowly. "There is no
+room for her, while you are here; the other bedrooms
+are not furnished. You"&mdash;here Lady Dashwood's
+voice became strangely cool and commanding&mdash;"you
+stay here, May, till Monday! I must go and
+dress."</p>
+
+<p>May did not reply. Lady Dashwood paused to
+listen to her silence&mdash;a silence which was assent, and
+then she left the room as rapidly and quietly as she
+had entered.</p>
+
+<p>Outside, the familiar staircase looked strange and
+unsympathetic, like territory lost to an enemy and
+possessed by that enemy&mdash;ruined and distorted to some
+disastrous end. Some disastrous end! The word
+"end" made Lady Dashwood stop and to think about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Page 114]</a></span>
+it. Would this engagement that threatened to end
+in marriage, affect her brother's career in Oxford?</p>
+
+<p>It might! He might find it impossible to be an
+efficient Warden, if Gwendolen was his wife! There
+was no telling what she might not do to make his
+position untenable.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood went up the short stair that led to
+the other bedrooms. She passed Gwendolen's door.
+What was the girl inside that room thinking of? Was
+she triumphant?</p>
+
+<p>Had Lady Dashwood been able to see within that
+room, she would have found Gwendolen moving about
+restlessly. She had thrown her hat and outdoor
+things on the bed and was vaguely preparing to dress
+for dinner. Mrs. Potten had not said one word about
+asking her to come on Monday&mdash;not one word; but
+it didn't matter&mdash;no, not one little bit! Nothing
+mattered now!</p>
+
+<p>A letter lay on her dressing-table. From time to
+time Gwendolen came up to the dressing-table and
+glanced at the letter and then glanced at her own face
+in the mirror.</p>
+
+<p>The letter was as follows:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">My Darling Little Girl</span>,<br /></p>
+
+<p>"What you tell me puts me in a huge whirl
+of surprise and excitement. I suppose I am a very
+vain mother when I say that I am not one little bit
+astonished that Dr. Middleton proposes to marry you.
+But you must not imagine for a moment that I think
+you were foolish in listening to his offer. For many
+reasons, a very young pretty girl is safer under the
+protection and care of a man a good deal older than
+herself. Dr. Middleton in his prominent position in
+Oxford would not promise to share his life and his home
+with you unless he really meant to make you very,
+very happy, darling. May your future life as mistress<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Page 115]</a></span>
+of the Lodgings be a veritable day-dream. Tell him
+how much I long to come; but I can't till Saturday
+as I have promised to help Bee with a concert on Friday;
+it is an engagement of honour, and you know one
+must play up trumps. I rush this off to the post.
+My love, darling,</p></div>
+
+<p class="signoff">"Your own<br />
+<br />
+"<span class="smcap">Mother</span>."<br />
+</p>
+
+
+<p class="above2">Gwen had found a slip of paper folded in the letter,
+on which was written in pencil, "Of course you are
+engaged. Dr. Middleton is pledged to you. Tear up
+this slip of paper as soon as you have read it, and give
+my letter to you to the Warden to read. This is all-important.
+Let me know when you have given it to
+him."</p>
+
+<p>Gwen had read and had burned the slip of paper, and
+had even poked the ashes well into the red of the fire.</p>
+
+<p>When that was done, she had walked about the
+room excitedly.</p>
+
+<p>How was it possible to dress quietly when the
+world had suddenly become so dreadfully thrilling?
+So, after all her doubt and despair, after all her worry,
+she was engaged. It was all right! All she had to do
+was to give her mother's letter to the Warden and the
+matter was concluded. She was going to be Mrs.
+Middleton, and mistress of the Lodgings. How thrilling!
+How splendid it was of her mother to make it
+so plain and easy! And yet, how was she to put the
+letter into the Warden's hands? What was she to
+say when she handed the letter to him?</p>
+
+<p>When Louise appeared to attend to Gwen's dress,
+she found that young lady fastening up her black
+tresses with hands that showed suppressed excitement,
+and her eyes and cheeks were glowing.</p>
+
+<p>She turned and glanced at Louise. "I'm late, as
+usual, I suppose," she said and laughed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Page 116]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mademoiselle</span> has the appearance of being <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tr�s
+gaie ce soir</i>," said Louise.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, not particularly," said Gwen; "only my
+hair won't go right; it's a beast, and refuses," and
+she laughed again.</p>
+
+<p>When she was Mrs. Middleton she would have
+a maid of her own, not a French maid. They were
+a nuisance, and looked shabby. Yes, she dared think
+of being engaged and of being married. It wasn't
+a dream: it was all real. She would buy a dog,
+a small little thing, and she would tie its front hair
+with a big orange bow and carry it about in her
+arms everywhere. It would be lovely to be dressed
+in a filmy tea-gown with the dog in her arms, and she
+would rise to meet callers and say, "I'm so sorry&mdash;the
+Warden isn't at home; but you know how busy he is,"
+etc., etc., and the men who called would pull the dog's
+ears and say "Lucky beggar!" and she would scold
+them for hurting her darling, darling pet, and she would
+sit in the best place in the Chapel, wearing the most
+cunning hats, and she would appear not to see that she
+was being admired.</p>
+
+<p>In this land of fairy dreams the Warden hovered
+near as a vague shadowy presence: he was there,
+but only as a name is over a shop window, something
+that marks its identity but has little to do with the
+delights to be bought within.</p>
+
+<p>And why shouldn't she imagine all this? There
+was the letter to be given to the Warden&mdash;that must be
+done first. She must think that over. Louise's
+presence suggested a plan. Suppose the Warden came
+home so late that she didn't see him? She would write
+a tiny note and put her mother's letter within it, and
+send it down to the library by Louise. That would be
+far easier than speaking to him. So much easier did
+it seem to Gwen, that she determined to go to bed very
+early, so that she should escape meeting the Warden.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Page 117]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>And what should she write in her little note?</p>
+
+<p>How exciting the world was; how funny it was going
+down into the drawing-room and meeting Lady Dashwood
+and Mrs. Dashwood, both looking so innocent,
+knowing nothing of the great secret! How funny it was
+going down to the great solemn dining-room, entered
+by its double doors&mdash;her dining-room&mdash;and sitting at
+table, thinking all the time that the whole house really
+belonged to her, and that she would in future sit in
+Lady Dashwood's chair! How deliciously exciting,
+indeed! All the plate and glass on the table was
+really hers. Old Robinson and young Robinson were
+really her servants. What a shock for Lady Dashwood
+when she found out! Gwen's eyes were luminous
+as she looked round the table. How envious some
+people would be of her! Mrs. Dashwood would not
+be pleased! For all her clever talk, Mrs. Dashwood
+had not done much. What a bustle there would be
+when the secret was discovered, when the Warden
+announced: "I am engaged to Miss Scott, Miss
+Gwendolen Scott!" How young, how awfully young
+to be a Warden's wife! What an excitement!</p>
+
+<p>During dinner, Lady Dashwood told Robinson to
+keep up a good fire in the library, as the Warden would
+probably arrive at about a quarter to eleven.</p>
+
+<p>That decided Gwen. She would go to bed at ten,
+and that would give her time to write her little note
+and get it taken to the library before the Warden
+arrived home. He would find it there, awaiting
+him.</p>
+
+<p>Dinner passed swiftly, though the two ladies were
+rather dull and silent. Gwen had so much to think
+of that she ate almost without knowing that she was
+eating. When they went upstairs to the drawing-room,
+the time went much more slowly, for there was
+nothing to do. Lady Dashwood and Mrs. Dashwood
+both took up books, and seemed to sink back into the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Page 118]</a></span>
+very depths of their chairs, and disappear. It was
+very dismal. Perhaps Lady Dashwood hadn't read
+<em>that</em> letter all through. Anyhow she had not been able
+to interfere. That was clear!</p>
+
+<p>Gwen went and fetched the book on Oxford, and
+read half a page of it, and when she had mastered
+that, she discovered that she had read it before. So
+she was no farther on for all her industry. How
+slowly the hands of the clock on the mantelpiece
+moved; how interminable the time was! Everybody
+was so silent that the clock could be heard ticking.
+That Lady Dashwood hadn't been able to interfere
+and make mischief with the Warden, showed how little
+power she had after all.</p>
+
+<p>At last the clock struck ten, and Gwen got up from
+her chair.</p>
+
+<p>"Ten," said Mrs. Dashwood, and she raised her
+face from her book.</p>
+
+<p>"Ten," said Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, ten," said Gwendolen. "I think I'll go to
+bed, Lady Dashwood, if you don't mind."</p>
+
+<p>"Do, my dear," said Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>The girl stood up before her, slim and straight as an
+arrow. Both women sat and looked at her, and she
+glanced at both of them in silence. Her very beauty
+stung Lady Dashwood and made her eyes harden as
+she looked at the girl. What were May Dashwood's
+thoughts as she, too, leaning back in her large chair,
+looked at the dark hair and the flushed cheeks, the
+white brow and neck, the radiant pearly prettiness of
+eighteen!</p>
+
+<p>Gwen was conscious that they were examining
+her; that they knew she was pretty&mdash;they could not
+deny her prettiness. She felt a glow of pride in her
+youth and in her power&mdash;her power over a man who
+commanded other men. And this drawing-room was
+hers. She glanced at the portrait over the fireplace.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Page 119]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Thing-um-bob," she said dimpling, "is
+looking very sly this evening."</p>
+
+<p>May Dashwood took up her book again and turned
+over a few pages, as if she had lost her place. Lady
+Dashwood did not smile or speak. Gwen made a
+movement nearer to Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"Good night," she said. She seemed to have a
+sudden intention of bending down, perhaps to kiss
+Lady Dashwood. Vague thoughts possessed the girl
+that this rather incomprehensible and imposing elderly
+woman, who wore such nice rings, was going to be
+a relation of hers. Would she be her sister-in-law?
+How funny to have anybody so old for a sister-in-law!
+It was a good thing she had, after all, so little influence
+over Dr. Middleton.</p>
+
+<p>"Good night, Gwen," said Lady Dashwood, without
+appearing to notice the girl's movement towards her.
+"Sleep well, child," she added and she turned her head
+towards May Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>Gwen hesitated a brief moment, and then walked
+away. "I always sleep well," she said, with a laugh.
+"I once thought it would be so nice to wake up in the
+night, because one would know how comfy one was.
+But I did wake once&mdash;for about a quarter of an hour&mdash;and
+I soon got tired and hated it!"</p>
+
+<p>At the door she turned and said, "Good night,
+Mrs. Dashwood. I quite forgot&mdash;how rude of me!"</p>
+
+<p>"Good night," said May.</p>
+
+<p>The door closed.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood stared deeply at her book, and then
+raised her eyes suddenly to her niece.</p>
+
+<p>May had risen from her chair. "Do you mind,
+dear Aunt Lena, if I go off too?" She came close to
+Lady Dashwood and laid a caressing hand on her
+shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood looked up into her face, and May
+was startled at the expression of suffering in the eyes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Page 120]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Go, dear, if you want to! I shall stay up&mdash;till
+he comes in. Yes, go, May!"</p>
+
+<p>"You won't feel lonely?" said May, and she
+sighed without knowing that she did so.</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>May bent down and kissed her aunt's brow. It
+was burning hot. She caressed her cheek with her
+hand, then kissed her again and went out. As May met
+the cooler air of the staircase, she murmured to herself,
+"I'm a coward to leave her alone&mdash;alone when she
+is so wretched. Oh, what a coward I am!"</p>
+
+<p>She shivered as she went up the stairs, and as soon
+as she was in her own room she put up the lights, and
+then she locked the door, and having done this she
+took off her dress and put on her dressing-gown. She
+sat down by the fire. How was she to stay on here till
+Monday: how was she to endure it? It would be
+intolerable! May groaned aloud. What right had
+she to call it intolerable? What had happened to
+her? What was demoralising her, turning her strength
+into weakness? What was it that had entered into
+her soul and was poisoning its health and destroying
+its purpose?</p>
+
+<p>A few days ago and she had been steadily pursuing
+her work. She had been stifling her sorrow, and filling
+the vacancy of her life with voluntary labour. Having
+no child of her own, she had been filling her empty
+arms with the children of other women. She had
+fed and nursed and loved babies that would never call
+her "Mother." She had had no time to think of herself&mdash;no
+time for regrets&mdash;for self-pity. And now, suddenly,
+her heart that had been quieted and comforted, her
+heart that had seemed quieted and comforted, her
+heart dismissed all this tender and sacred work and
+cried for something else&mdash;cried and would not be
+appeased. She felt as if all that she had believed
+fixed and certain in herself and in her life, was shaken<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Page 121]</a></span>
+and might topple over, and in the disaster her soul
+might be destroyed. She was appalled at herself.</p>
+
+<p>No, no; she must wrestle with this sin, with this
+devil of self; she must fight it!</p>
+
+<p>She got up from her chair and went to the dressing-table.
+There she took up with a trembling hand a little
+ivory case, and going back to her seat she opened it
+reverently and looked at the face of her boy husband.
+There he was in all the bloom of his twenty and six
+years. It was a young pleasant face. And he had
+been such a comrade of her childhood and girlhood.
+But strangely enough he had never seen the gulf
+widening between them as she grew into a woman
+older than her years and he into a man, young for his
+years; boyish in his view of life, mentally immature.
+He was quite unconscious that he never met the deeper
+wants of her nature; those depths meant nothing to
+him. There had been a tacit understanding between
+them from their childhood that they should marry;
+an understanding encouraged by their parents. When
+at last May found out her mistake; that this bondage
+was irksome and her heart unsatisfied, he had suddenly
+thrown the responsibility of his happiness, of his very
+life, upon her shoulders, not by threats of vengeance
+on himself, but by falling from his usual buoyant cheerfulness
+into a state of uncomplaining despondency.</p>
+
+<p>May had had more than her share of men's admiration.
+Her piquancy and ready sympathy more even
+than her good looks attracted them. But she had gone
+on her way heart whole, and meanwhile she could not
+endure to see her old comrade unhappy.</p>
+
+<p>They became formally engaged and he returned to
+his old careless cheerfulness. He was no longer a
+pathetic object, and she was a little disappointed and
+yet ashamed of her disappointment. Why should she
+have vague "wants" in her nature&mdash;these luxuries
+of the pampered soul? The face she now gazed upon,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Page 122]</a></span>
+figured in the little ivory frame, was of a man, not
+over-wise, a man who was occupied with the enjoyment
+of life, yet without sinister motives. During
+those brief six months of married life, he had leant
+upon her, delighted and yet amused at her sterner
+virtues; and yet this man, not strong, not wise, when
+the call of duty came, when that ancient call to manhood,
+the call to rise up and meet the enemy, when that
+call came, he went out not shrinking, but with all
+honourable eagerness and fearlessness to offer his life.
+And his life was taken.</p>
+
+<p>So that he whom in life she had never looked to
+for moral help, had become to her&mdash;in death&mdash;something
+sacred and unapproachable. In her first fresh
+grief she had asked herself bitterly what she&mdash;in her
+young womanhood&mdash;had ever offered to humanity?
+Nothing at all comparable to his sacrifice! Had she
+ever offered anything at all? Had she not, from
+girlhood, taken all the joys that life put in her way, and
+taken them for granted?</p>
+
+<p>She had been aware of an underworld of misery,
+suffering and vice, had seen glimpses of it, heard its
+sounds breaking in upon her serenity. She had,
+like the travelling Levite, observed, noted, and had
+gone about her own business. So with passionate
+self-reproach she had thrown herself into work among
+the neglected children of the poor, and had tried to
+still the clamour of her conscience and fill the emptiness
+of her heart.</p>
+
+<p>And until now, that life had absorbed her and
+satisfied her&mdash;until now!</p>
+
+<p>"I am not worthy to look upon your face," she
+murmured, and she closed the ivory case, letting it fall
+upon her lap. She hid her face in her hands. Oh,
+why had she during those six months of marriage
+patronised him in her thoughts? Why had she told
+him he was "irresponsible," jestingly calling him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Page 123]</a></span>
+"her son," and now after his death, was she to add
+a further injustice and become unfaithful to his memory&mdash;the
+memory of her boy, who would never return?</p>
+
+<p>Sharp, burning tears oozed up painfully between
+her eyelids. She tried to pray, and into her whole
+being came a profound silent sense of self-abasement,
+absorbing her as if it were a prayer.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Page 124]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2>
+
+<h3>NO ESCAPE</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">Lady Dashwood sat on in the drawing-room. Now
+that she was alone it was not necessary to keep up the
+show of reading a book. She put it down on a table close
+at hand and gave herself up to thought.</p>
+
+<p>But what was the good of plans&mdash;until Jim came
+back? The first thing was to find out whether the
+engagement was a fact and not an invention of Belinda's.
+Then if it was a fact, whether Jim really
+wanted to marry Gwendolen? If he did want to,
+plans might be very difficult to make, and there was
+little time, with Belinda clamouring to come and play
+the mother-in-law. The vulture was already hovering
+with the scent of battle in its nostrils.</p>
+
+<p>Then, on the other hand, supposing Jim didn't
+want to marry Gwen, but had only been run into it&mdash;somehow&mdash;before
+he had had time to see May Dashwood,
+then plans might be easier. But in any case
+there were almost overwhelming difficulties in the way
+of "doing anything." It was easy to say that she
+would never allow the marriage to take place, but
+how was she to prevent it?</p>
+
+<p>"I must prevent it," she murmured to herself.
+"Must!"</p>
+
+<p>What still amazed and confounded Lady Dashwood
+and made her helpless was: why her brother showed
+such obvious interest&mdash;more than mere interest&mdash;in May<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Page 125]</a></span>
+Dashwood, if he was in love with Gwendolen Scott
+and secretly pledged to her? Jim playing the ordinary
+flirt was unthinkable. It did look as if he had proposed
+in some impulsive moment, before May arrived, and
+then&mdash;&mdash; Why, that was why he had not announced his
+engagement! Was he playing a double game? No,
+it was unthinkable that he should not be absolutely
+straight. Gwendolen had somehow entangled him.
+The very thought of it made Lady Dashwood get up
+from her chair and move about restlessly. Then an
+idea struck her. Jim coveted Gwendolen for her youth
+and freshness and only admired May! Yes, only
+admired her, and regarding her as still mourning for
+her young husband, still inconsolable, he had treated
+her with frankness and had shown his admiration
+without the restraint that he would have used otherwise.</p>
+
+<p>When would Jim return? How long would she
+have to wait?</p>
+
+<p>She had told Robinson to take a tray of refreshments
+for the Warden into the library. Now that she
+was alone in the drawing-room she would have the tray
+brought in here. When Jim did come in, she would
+have to approach her subject gradually. She must
+be as wily as a serpent&mdash;wily, when her pulses were
+beating and her head was aching? It would be more
+easy and natural for her to begin talking here than
+to go into the library and force him into conversation
+after the day's work was done. Yet the matter must
+be thrashed out at once. She could not go about with
+Belinda's letter announcing the engagement and yet
+pretend that she knew nothing about it. Gwendolen
+probably knew that her mother had written; or if
+she didn't already know, would very likely know by
+the morning's post.</p>
+
+<p>She rang the bell, and when Robinson appeared,
+she told him to bring the tray in, instead of taking it
+to the library.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Page 126]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"When the Warden comes in, tell him the tray
+is here," she said. Oh, how the last few minutes
+dragged! It was some distraction to have Robinson
+coming in and putting the tray down on the wrong
+table, and to be able to tell him the right table and
+the most suitable chair to accompany it. Then, when
+he had gone and all was ready, she chose a chair for
+herself. Not too near and not too far. She had
+Belinda's letter safe? Yes, it was here! She was
+ready, she was prepared. She was going to do something
+more difficult than anything she had experienced
+in her life, because so much depended on it, so much;
+and a great emotion is not easy to hide, it takes one's
+breath sometimes, it makes one's voice harsh, or
+indistinct, or worse still, it suddenly benumbs the brain,
+and thoughts go astray and tangle themselves, and all
+one's power of argument, all one's grip of the situation,
+goes.</p>
+
+<p>And the minutes passed slowly and still more
+slowly. When at last she heard sounds on the stairs,
+the blood rushed to her cheeks and her hands became
+as cold as ice. That was a bad beginning! She
+went to the door and opened it. He had come in and
+had gone into the library. She called out to him to
+come into the drawing-room. She heard his voice
+answer "Coming!" She left the door open and went
+back to her chair, the chair she had chosen, and she
+stood by it, waiting, looking at the open door.</p>
+
+<p>He came in. He looked all round the room, and
+closed the door behind him.</p>
+
+<p>"All alone?" he said, and there was a question
+in his voice. Who was he thinking of? Who was
+absent? Whose absence was he thinking of?</p>
+
+<p>She sat down. "You're not cold?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Not at all," he said, and he walked to the table
+arranged for him and sat down.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you have a satisfactory day?" she asked.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Page 127]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"On the whole," he said slowly, "yes."</p>
+
+<p>"You're not tired?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Not a bit," he answered. "Why should I be?"
+and he looked at her and smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know why you should be, Jim. I'm glad
+you're not. My guests seemed to be tired, for they
+both went off long ago."</p>
+
+<p>She was now making the first step in the direction
+which she must boldly travel.</p>
+
+<p>"I expect you are tired too," he said, "only&mdash;as
+usual&mdash;you wait up for me."</p>
+
+<p>The Warden poured himself out a cup of coffee,
+and took up a sandwich, adding: "I managed to get
+a scrappy dinner before seven; if I had waited longer
+I should have missed my train."</p>
+
+<p>"We were very dull at dinner without you," she
+said, bringing him back again to the point from which
+she was starting.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden looked pleased, and then pained.
+Lady Dashwood was watching him with keen tired
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"We lunched at Chartcote, and then we did all
+that you particularly wanted me to do," she said.
+"And then something rather amazing happened&mdash;I
+found a letter waiting me from Belinda Scott!"</p>
+
+<p>She paused. The Warden glanced at her: his
+face became coldly abstracted.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't mean that it was strange that she should
+write, but that what she said was strange."</p>
+
+<p>He glanced at her again, and she saw that he was
+arrested. She went on. It seemed now easier to
+speak. A strange cold despair had seized her, and with
+that despair a fearlessness.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't help thinking that there is some mistake,
+because you would have told me if&mdash;well, anything
+had happened to you&mdash;of consequence! You would
+not have left me to be told by an&mdash;an outsider."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Page 128]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The Warden raised the cup of coffee to his lips,
+and then put it down carefully.</p>
+
+<p>"Anything that has happened," he said, "has not
+been communicated by me to anybody. It did not
+seem to me that&mdash;there was anything that ought to be."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood waited and finding her lips would
+stiffen and her voice sounded hollow, measured her
+words.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you read Belinda's letter, and then you will
+see what I mean?" she said, and she rose and held the
+paper out to him.</p>
+
+<p>His features had grown tense and severe. He half
+rose, and reached out over the table for the letter,
+and took it without a word. Then he put on his
+eye-glasses and read it through very slowly.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood sat, staring at her own hands that
+lay in her lap. She was not thinking, she was waiting
+for him to speak.</p>
+
+<p>He read the letter through, and sat with it in his
+hand, silent for a minute. For years he had been
+accustomed to looking over the compositions of men
+who had begun to think, and of men who never would
+begin to think. He was unable to read anything without
+reading it critically. But his criticism was criticism
+of ideas and the expression of ideas. He had no
+insight either by instinct or training for the detection
+of petty personal subterfuges, nor did he suspect
+crooked motives. But the discrepancy between this
+effusion of maternal emotion and Gwendolen's assertion
+that she had no home and that nobody cared
+was glaring.</p>
+
+<p>The writer of the letter was a bouncing, selfish
+woman of poor intelligence. That fact, indeed, had
+become established in the Warden's mind. The letter
+was in hopelessly bad taste. It became pretty plain,
+therefore, that Gwendolen had spoken the truth, and
+the lie belonged to the mother.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Page 129]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Already, yes, already he was being drawn into
+an atmosphere of paltry humbug, of silly dishonesty,
+an atmosphere in which he could not breathe.</p>
+
+<p>Couldn't breathe! The Warden roused himself.
+What did he mean by "being drawn"? He had
+carried out his life with decisive and serious intentions,
+and whoever shared that life with him would have
+to live in the atmosphere he had created around him.
+Surely he was strong enough not only to hold his own
+against the mother, but to mould a pliable girl into a
+form that he could respect!</p>
+
+<p>"Somehow, I can't imagine how," said Lady Dashwood,
+breaking the silence, "I found a letter from
+Belinda to Gwendolen on my toilet table among other
+letters, and opened it and I began reading it&mdash;without
+knowing that it was not for me. Belinda's writing&mdash;all
+loops&mdash;did not make the distinction between Gwen
+and Lena so very striking. I read two sentences or
+so, and one phrase I can't forget; it was 'What are
+you doing about the Warden?' I turned the sheet
+and saw, 'Your affectionate mother, Belinda Scott.' I
+did not read any more. I gave the letter to Gwen,
+and I saw by her face that she had read the letter
+herself. 'What are you doing about the Warden?'
+Knowing Belinda, I draw conclusions from this
+sentence that do not match with the surprise she
+expresses in this letter you have just read. You
+understand what I mean?"</p>
+
+<p>The Warden moved on his seat uneasily.</p>
+
+<p>"Belinda speaks of your <em>engagement</em> to Gwendolen,"
+said Lady Dashwood, and her voice this time
+demanded an answer.</p>
+
+<p>"I am not engaged," he said, turning his eyes to
+his sister's face slowly, "but, I am pledged to marry
+her&mdash;if it is her wish."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood's eyes quavered.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it your wish?" she asked.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Page 130]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The Warden rose from his chair as if to go.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't discuss the matter further, Lena. I
+cannot tell you more. I had no right, I had no reason,
+for telling you anything before, because nothing had
+been concluded&mdash;it may not be concluded. It depends
+on her, and she has not spoken to me decisively."</p>
+
+<p>He moved away from the table.</p>
+
+<p>"You haven't finished your coffee, your sandwiches,"
+said Lady Dashwood, to give herself time,
+and to help her to self-control. Oh, why had he put
+himself and his useful life in the hands of a mere child&mdash;a
+child who would never become a real woman? Why
+did he deliberately plan his own martyrdom?</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want any more," he said, "and I have
+letters to write."</p>
+
+<p>"Jim," she called to him gently, "tell me at
+least&mdash;if you are happy&mdash;whether&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I can't talk just now&mdash;not just now, Lena," he
+said.</p>
+
+<p>"But Belinda takes the matter as settled&mdash;otherwise
+the letter is not merely absurd&mdash;but outrageous!"</p>
+
+<p>The Warden hesitated in his slow stride towards
+the door.</p>
+
+<p>"I am not going to have Belinda here on Saturday.
+There is no room for her. She can't come till May has
+gone." Lady Dashwood spoke this in a firm, rapid voice.</p>
+
+<p>"That is for you to decide," he said. "You are
+mistress here."</p>
+
+<p>He was moving again when she said in a voice full
+of pain: "You say you can't talk just now, you
+can't speak to me of what is happening to you, of
+what may happen to you, when you, next to John,
+are more to me than anything else in the world. What
+happens to you means happiness or misery to me, and
+yet you <em>can't talk</em>!"</p>
+
+<p>The Warden was arrested, stood still, and turned
+towards her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Page 131]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"You owe me some consideration, Jim. I have
+no children, you have been a son as well as a brother
+to me. I can have no peace of mind, no joy in life
+if things go wrong with you. Yes, I repeat it&mdash;if
+things go wrong with you. I was your mother, Jim,
+for many years, and yet you say you can't discuss
+something that is of supreme importance! You are
+willing to go out of this room and leave me to spend
+a night sleepless with anxiety."</p>
+
+<p>What his engagement to Gwendolen would mean
+to her was expressed more in her voice even than in
+her words. The Warden stood motionless.</p>
+
+<p>"Be patient with me, Lena. I can't talk about it&mdash;I
+would if I could. I know all I owe to you&mdash;all I can
+never repay; but there is nothing more to tell you than
+that I have offered her a home. I have made a proposal&mdash;I
+was not aware that she had definitely accepted,
+and that is why I said nothing to you about it."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood got up. She did not approach
+her brother. Her instinct told her not to touch him,
+or entreat him by such means. She made a step towards
+the hearth, and said in a muffled voice&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Will you answer one question? You can
+answer it."</p>
+
+<p>He made no sound of assent.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you in love with her? or"&mdash;and here Lady
+Dashwood's voice shook&mdash;"do you feel that she will
+help you? Do you think she will be helpful to&mdash;the
+College?"</p>
+
+<p>There was a pause, and then the Warden's voice
+came to her; he was forcing himself to speak very
+calmly.</p>
+
+<p>"I have no right to speak of what may not happen.
+Lena, can't you see that I haven't?"</p>
+
+<p>The pause came again.</p>
+
+<p>"You have answered it," said Lady Dashwood, in
+a broken voice.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Page 132]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>There was no time to think now, for at that
+moment there came a sound that startled both of them
+and made them stand for a second with lifted heads
+listening.</p>
+
+<p>"Some one screamed!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden was already at the door and had
+pulled it open. "The library!" he called out to her
+sharply, and he was gone. She hurried out after him,
+her heart beating with the sudden alarm. What
+had happened, what was it?</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Page 133]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2>
+
+<h3>THE GHOST</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">As soon as she had reached her room Gwendolen Scott
+sat down seriously by the little writing-table. Here
+was the paper and here was the pen, but the composition
+of the letter to the Warden was not even projected
+in her mind. The thoughts would not come.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear Dr. Middleton," Gwen began with complete
+satisfaction. That was all right. After some thought
+she went on. "Mother asks me to give you her
+letter!" No, of course, that wouldn't do. Her mother
+wouldn't like him to know that she ordered the letter to
+be shown to him. Everything on the slip of paper
+was secret. It was not the first time that Gwen had
+received private slips of paper.</p>
+
+<p>Gwen was obliged to tear up the sheet and begin
+again: "Dear Dr. Middleton,"&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>Now what would she say? It would take her all
+night. Of course, Louise looked in at the door and
+muttered something volubly.</p>
+
+<p>"I can manage myself," called out Gwen from her
+table. "I'm not ready, and shan't be for hours."</p>
+
+<p>Louise went away. Then it occurred to Gwen that
+she ought to have asked Louise to come back again in
+a few minutes, and take the letter. She really must
+try and get the letter written. So putting all the
+determination she was capable of into a supreme
+effort, she began: "I hope mother won't mind my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Page 134]</a></span>
+showing you this letter." Gwen had heard her mother
+often say with complete self-satisfaction: "Only a fool
+is afraid to tell a useful lie, but only a fool tells one that
+isn't necessary!" Indeed, Lady Belinda thought the
+second half of her maxim a bit clever, a bit penetrating,
+and Gwen had listened to it smiling and feeling that some
+reflected glory from her mother's wit was falling upon
+her, because she understood how clever it was. Now
+the implied untruth that Gwen was putting upon
+paper seemed to her very useful, and it looked satisfactory
+when written.</p>
+
+<p>She went on: "I hope it wasn't wrong of me to
+tell what you said. You didn't say tell, but I didn't
+know what to do, as I am afraid to speak if you don't
+speak to me. You are so awfully, awfully kind that
+I know I oughtn't to be afraid, but I am. Do forgive
+stupid little me, and be kind again to</p>
+
+<p class="signoff">"Your solotory little<br />
+<br />
+"<span class="smcap">Gwendolen Scott.</span>"<br />
+</p>
+
+
+<p class="above2">The spelling of "solitary" had caused Gwen much
+mental strain, and even when the intellectual conflict
+was over and the word written, it did not look quite
+right. Why had she not said "lonely"? But that, too,
+had its difficulties.</p>
+
+<p>However, the letter was now finished. Louise had
+taken her at her word and had not returned. Gwen
+looked at her watch. It was past a quarter to eleven.
+At this hour she knew she mustn't ring the bell for a
+servant. She could not search for Louise, she would
+be in Lady Dashwood's room. She must take the letter
+herself to the library. She put the letter into an
+envelope and addressed it to Dr. Middleton. Then
+she added her mother's letter and sealed the whole.</p>
+
+<p>Then she peeped out of her door and listened!
+All the lights were full on and there was no sound of
+any one moving.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Page 135]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The Warden very likely hadn't yet returned. She
+would try and find out. She slipped quietly down the
+steps, and with her feet on the thick carpeted landing
+she waited. She could see that the hall below was
+brightly lighted, and all was still. She listened
+intently outside the drawing-room door. Not a sound.
+She might have time&mdash;if he really hadn't arrived.</p>
+
+<p>She fled across the head of the staircase and was at
+the door of the library in a second of time. There she
+paused. No, there was no sound behind her! No one
+was coming upstairs! No one was opening the front
+door or moving in the hall! But it was just possible
+that he had already arrived and was sitting in the
+library. He might be sitting there&mdash;and looking
+severe! That would be alarming! Though&mdash;and
+here Gwen suddenly decided that for all his severity
+she infinitely preferred his appearance to that of a man
+like Mr. Boreham&mdash;Mr. Boreham's beard was surely
+the limit! She listened at the door. She laid her cheek
+against it and listened. No sound! The whole house
+illuminated and yet silent! There was something
+strange about it! She would peep in and if there was
+no light within&mdash;except, of course, firelight&mdash;she would
+know instantly that the Warden wasn't there. It
+would only take her a flash of a minute to run in, throw
+the letter down on the desk, and fly for all she was
+worth.</p>
+
+<p>She turned the handle of the door slowly and
+noiselessly, and pushed ever so little. The door opened
+just an inch or two and disclosed&mdash;darkness! Except
+for a glimmer&mdash;just a faint glimmer of light!</p>
+
+<p>He could not have come in, he could not possibly
+be there, and yet Gwen had a curious impression that
+the room was not empty. But empty it must be.
+She pushed the door quietly open and peeped in. The
+fire was burning on the hearth in solemn silence, a
+cavernous red. There was nobody in the room, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Page 136]</a></span>
+yet, as Gwen stole in and passed the projecting book-case
+opposite the door, against which she had stumbled
+that evening of evenings, she felt that she was not
+alone. It was a strange unpleasant feeling. There she
+was standing in the full space of that shadowy room.
+Books, books were everywhere&mdash;books that seemed to
+her keeping secrets in their pages and purposely not
+saying anything. The room was too long, too full
+of dead things&mdash;like books&mdash;too full of shadows. The
+heavy curtains looked black, the desk, its chair standing
+with its back to the fire&mdash;had a look of expecting
+to be occupied and waiting. She would have liked to
+have thrown the letter on to the desk instead of having
+to cross the few feet that separated her from the desk.
+The silence of the room was alarming! Something
+seemed to be ready to jump at her! Was something in
+the room? Gwen made a dash for the desk and threw
+down the letter. As she did so, a sudden thrill passed
+up her spine and stiffened her hair. She was <em>not</em> alone!
+There <em>was</em> somebody in the room, a shadow, an outline,
+at the far end of the room against one of the curtains&mdash;a
+man, a strange figure, looking straight at her! He was
+standing, bending forward but motionless against the
+curtain, and staring with eyes that had no life in them&mdash;at
+her!</p>
+
+<p>Gwen gave a piercing scream and rushed blindly
+for the door. She dashed against the projecting
+book-case, striking her head with some violence. She
+tried to cry for help, but could not, the room swam in
+her vision. She struck out her arms to shield herself,
+and as she did so she felt rather than heard some one
+coming to her rescue, some one who flashed on the
+lights&mdash;and she flung herself into protecting arms.</p>
+
+<p>"It's all right, it's all right," said the Warden.
+"What made you cry out? Don't be frightened,
+child!" and he half led, half carried her towards a
+chair near the fire.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Page 137]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"No, no!" sobbed Gwen, shrilly. "Not here&mdash;no,
+take me away&mdash;away from&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"From what?" asked Lady Dashwood quietly,
+at her elbow. "What is the matter, Gwen? You
+mustn't scream for nothing&mdash;what has frightened
+you?"</p>
+
+<p>Gwen groaned aloud and hid her face in the Warden's
+arm.</p>
+
+<p>"Something in this room has frightened you?"
+he asked.</p>
+
+<p>Gwen sobbed assent.</p>
+
+<p>"There is nothing in this room," said Lady Dashwood.
+"Put her on the chair, Jim. She must tell
+us what it is she is afraid of. Come, Gwen!"</p>
+
+<p>Although Gwendolen submitted to the commanding
+voice of Lady Dashwood and allowed herself to be
+placed in the chair, she still grasped the Warden's
+arm and hid her face in it.</p>
+
+<p>"What frightened you, Gwen?" asked Lady
+Dashwood. "No harm can come to you&mdash;we are by
+you. Pull yourself together and speak plainly and
+quietly."</p>
+
+<p>Gwen uttered some half-incoherent sounds&mdash;one only
+being intelligible to the two who were bending over her.</p>
+
+<p>"A man!" said the Warden, glancing round with
+surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"No man is in the room," said Lady Dashwood.
+"Did he go out? Did you see him go out?"</p>
+
+<p>Gwen raised her face slightly.</p>
+
+<p>"No. At the end there&mdash;looking!" and again
+she burst into uncontrollable sobs.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden released his arm and walked to the
+farther end of the room, and Gwen grasped Lady
+Dashwood's arm and clung to her. The two women
+could hear the Warden as he walked across to the
+farther end of the room.</p>
+
+<p>Gwen dared not look, but Lady Dashwood turned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Page 138]</a></span>
+her head, supporting the girl's head as she did so on
+her shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden had reached the window. He opened
+the curtains and looked behind them, then he pulled
+one sharply back, and into the lighted room came a
+flood of pale moonlight, and through the chequered
+window panes could be seen the moon herself riding
+full above a slowly drifting mass of cloud.</p>
+
+<p>"There is nothing in the room. If there were we
+should see it," said Lady Dashwood quietly, and she
+turned the girl's face towards the moonlight. "Look
+for yourself, Gwen. Your fears are quite foolish, my
+dear, and you must try and control them."</p>
+
+<p>So peremptory was Lady Dashwood's voice that
+the girl, still resting her head on the protecting shoulder,
+slightly opened her eyelids and saw the moonlight, the
+drawn curtains and the Warden standing looking back
+at them.</p>
+
+<p>"You can see for yourself that there is nothing
+here," he said.</p>
+
+<p>It was true, there was nothing there&mdash;there wasn't
+<em>now</em>: and for the first time Gwen was conscious of
+pain in her head and put up her hand. There was a
+lump where she had knocked it, the lump was sore.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, you have hurt your head, Gwen," said
+Lady Dashwood. "That explains everything. A blow
+on the head is just the thing to make you think you
+see something that isn't there! Come now, we'll
+go upstairs and put something on that bruised head,
+and make it well again."</p>
+
+<p>"I struck my head after I saw <em>it</em>," said Gwen,
+laying a stress upon the word "it," averting her eyes
+from the moonlight and rising with the help of Lady
+Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"You may have thought so," said Lady Dashwood.
+"Come we mustn't stop here. Dr. Middleton probably
+has letters to write. Jim, good night. I'm<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Page 139]</a></span>
+sorry you have been so much disturbed, after a hard
+day's work."</p>
+
+<p>The tone in which Lady Dashwood made her last
+remark and her manner in leading Gwendolen out of
+the library, was that of a person who has "closed"
+a correspondence, terminated an interview. The
+affair of the scream and fright was over. It was a
+perfectly unnecessary incident to have occurred in a
+sane working day, so she had apologised for its intrusion.
+Why Gwendolen was in the library at all was
+a question that was of no consequence. It certainly
+was not in search of a book on which to spend the
+midnight oil. She <em>was</em> there&mdash;that was all.</p>
+
+<p>When they had gone, the Warden stood for some
+moments in the library pondering. He had shut the
+door. The curtains he had forgotten to pull back, and
+now he discovered his omission and went to the farther
+end of the room.</p>
+
+<p>The opposite wall, the wall of the court, was just
+tipped with silver. Distant spires and gables were
+silver grey. The clouds were drifting over the city
+westwards, and as the moon rode higher and higher
+in the southern sky, so the clouds sped faster before it,
+and behind it lay clear unfathomable spaces in the east.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden pulled the heavy curtain across the
+window again, and walked to the fireplace. Outside
+was the infinite universe&mdash;its immensity awful to
+contemplate! Inside was the narrow security of the
+lighted room in which he worked and thought and would
+work and think&mdash;for a few years!</p>
+
+<p>For a few years?</p>
+
+<p>How did he know that he should have even a few
+years in which to think and work for his College?</p>
+
+<p>The Warden went to the fire and stood looking
+down into it, his hands clasped behind his back.</p>
+
+<p>The girl he was pledged to marry, if she wished to
+marry him, might wreck his life! She had only just a few
+moments ago showed signs of being weakly hysterical.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Page 140]</a></span>
+"Helpful to the College!" His sister's question had
+filled him with a sudden new ominous thought.</p>
+
+<p>What about the College? He had forgotten his
+duty to the College!</p>
+
+<p>"My marriage is my own concern," he was blurting
+out to himself miserably, as he looked at the fire. But
+the inevitable answer was already drumming in his
+ears&mdash;his own answer: "A man's action is not his own
+concern, and so deeply is every man involved in the
+life of the community in which he lives, that even his
+thoughts are not his own concern."</p>
+
+<p>The Warden paced up and down.</p>
+
+<p>There were letters lying on his desk unopened,
+unread. He would not attempt to answer any of them
+to-night. He could not attend to them, while these
+words were beating in his brain: "Do you think she
+will be helpful to the College?"</p>
+
+<p>His College! More to him than anything else,
+more than his duty; his hope, his pride! And the
+College meant also the sacred memory of those who had
+fallen in the war, all the glorious hopeful youth that had
+sacrificed itself! And he had forgotten the College!</p>
+
+<p>He dared not think any longer. He must wrestle
+with his thoughts. He must force them aside and wait,
+till the moment came when he must act. That moment
+might not come! Possibly it might not! He would
+go to bed and try and sleep. He must not let thoughts
+so bitter and so deadly overwhelm him, eating into
+the substance of his brain, where they could breed and
+batten on the finest tissues and breed again.</p>
+
+<p>He was looking at his desk and saw that one letter
+had tumbled from it on to the floor by his chair. He
+went across and picked it up. It was addressed in a
+big straggling hand&mdash;and had not come by post.
+He tore it open. It was from Gwendolen Scott. This
+was why she had come into the library. Without moving
+from the position where he stood he read it through.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Page 141]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2>
+
+<h3>THE EFFECT OF SUGGESTION</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">The clock struck midnight, and yet the Warden had
+not done what he had intended to do before he picked
+up that letter and read it. He had not gone to bed.
+He was still in his library, not at his desk, but in a
+great shabby easy-chair by the fire. He had put the
+lights out and was smoking in the half-dark.</p>
+
+<p>So deeply absorbed was the Warden in his own
+thoughts that he did not hear the first knock on the
+door. But he heard the second knock, which was
+louder.</p>
+
+<p>"Come in," he called, and he leaned forward in
+his chair. Who wanted him at such an hour? It
+would not be any one from the college?</p>
+
+<p>The door opened and Lady Dashwood came in.
+She was in a dressing-gown.</p>
+
+<p>"You haven't gone to bed," she said.</p>
+
+<p>It was obvious that he hadn't gone to bed.</p>
+
+<p>"No, not yet," said the Warden. And he added,
+"Do you want me?"</p>
+
+<p>"I ought not to want you, dear," she said, "for
+I know you must be very tired."</p>
+
+<p>Then she came up to the fireplace and stood looking
+down at her brother. She saw that the spring and the
+hope had gone out of his face. He looked older.</p>
+
+<p>"I have put Gwen to bed in my room, but even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Page 142]</a></span>
+that has not quieted her," said Lady Dashwood, speaking
+slowly.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden's face in the twilight looked set.
+He did not glance at his sister now.</p>
+
+<p>"She has lost her self-control. Do you know
+what the silly child thinks she saw?"</p>
+
+<p>Here Lady Dashwood paused, and waited for his
+reply.</p>
+
+<p>"I hadn't thought. She fancied she saw something&mdash;a
+man!" he answered, in his deep voice.</p>
+
+<p>He hadn't thought! There had been no room in
+his mind for anything but the doom that was awaiting
+him. One of his most bitter thoughts in the
+twilight of that room had been that a woman he
+could have loved was already under his roof when he
+took his destiny into his own hands and wrecked it.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," he said, repeating mechanically
+an answer to his sister's question.</p>
+
+<p>"She thought she saw the Barber's ghost," said
+Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden looked up in surprise. There was
+a slight and bitter smile at the corners of his mouth.
+Then he straightened himself in his chair and looked
+frowning into the fire. That Gwendolen should have
+taken a college "story" seriously and "made a scene"
+about it was particularly repugnant to him.</p>
+
+<p>"She came in here; why I don't know, and no
+doubt was full of the story about the Barber appearing
+in the library," said Lady Dashwood. "We
+ought not to have talked about it to any one so
+excitable. Then she knocked her head against the
+book-case and was in a state of daze, in which she could
+easily mistake the moonlight coming through an
+opening in the curtains for a ghost, and if a ghost,
+then of course the Barber's ghost. And so all this
+fuss!"</p>
+
+<p>"I see," said the Warden, gloomily.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Page 143]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"As soon as we got upstairs, I had to pack Louise
+off before she had time to hear anything, for I can't
+have the whole household upset simply because a
+girl allows herself to become hysterical. May is now
+sitting with Gwen, as she won't be left alone for a
+moment."</p>
+
+<p>"What are you going to do?" asked the Warden,
+in a slow hard voice.</p>
+
+<p>"That's the question," she said, looking down at
+him narrowly.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you want a doctor?" he asked. "Is it bad
+enough for that? It is rather late to ask any one to
+come in when there isn't any actual illness."</p>
+
+<p>"A doctor would be worse than useless."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then, what do you suggest?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Couldn't you say something to her to quiet
+her?" said Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden looked surprised. "I couldn't say
+anything, Lena, that you couldn't say. You can speak
+with authority when you like."</p>
+
+<p>"More is wanted than that. She must be made
+to think she saw nothing here in this library," said
+Lady Dashwood. "You used to be able to 'suggest.'
+Don't you remember?"</p>
+
+<p>The Warden pondered and said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>"She would like to keep the whole house awake&mdash;if
+she had the chance," said Lady Dashwood, and the
+bitterness in her voice made her brother wince.</p>
+
+<p>"Couldn't you make her believe that the ghost
+won't, or can't come again, or that there are no such
+things as ghosts?"</p>
+
+<p>The Warden sat still; the glow was dying out of
+the cigar he held between his fingers. He did not move.</p>
+
+<p>"When you were a boy you found it easy enough
+to suggest; I remember I disapproved of it. I want
+you to do it now, because we must have quiet in the
+house."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Page 144]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"She may not be susceptible to suggestion!"
+said the Warden, still obstinately keeping his seat.</p>
+
+<p>"You think she is too flighty, that she has too
+little power of concentration," suggested Lady Dashwood,
+with a sting in her voice. "You must try:
+come, Jim! I want to get some rest, I'm very tired."</p>
+
+<p>She did, indeed, look hollow-eyed, and seeing
+this he rose and threw his cigar into the fire. So
+this was the first thing he had to do as an engaged
+man: he had to prevent his future wife from disturbing
+the household. He had to distract her attention
+from absurd fears, he had to impose his will upon her.
+Such a relationship between them, the husband and
+wife that were to be, would be a relationship that he
+did not wish to have with any one whom he ought to
+respect, much less any one whom he ought to love.</p>
+
+<p>The errand on which he was going was a repulsive
+one. If even a faint trace of romantic appreciation
+of the girl's beauty had survived in him, it would have
+vanished now. What he was going to do seemed like
+a denial of her identity, and yet it seemed necessary
+to do it. Had he still much of that "pity" left for
+her that had impelled him to offer her a home?</p>
+
+<p>They left the library and, as they passed the curtained
+door of the Warden's bedroom, Lady Dashwood
+said, "You'll go to bed afterwards, Jim?"</p>
+
+<p>She had spoken a moment ago of her own fatigue
+as if it was important. She had now forgotten it.
+Her mind was never occupied for many moments
+with herself, she was now back again at her old habit,
+thinking of him. He was tired. No wonder, worn
+out with worries, of his own making, alas!</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said the Warden, "yes, dear."</p>
+
+<p>The lights in the hall were still burning, and he
+turned them out from the wall by the head of the
+staircase. Then they went up the short steps into
+the corridor. Lady Dashwood's room was at the end.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Page 145]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>At the door of her room Lady Dashwood paused
+and listened, and turned round to her brother as if
+she were going to say something.</p>
+
+<p>"What?" whispered the Warden, bending his
+head.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, nothing!" said Lady Dashwood, as if
+exasperated with her own thoughts. Then she
+opened the door and went in, followed by the
+Warden.</p>
+
+<p>The room was not spacious, and the canopied
+bedstead looked too massive for the room. It had
+stood there through the reign of four of the Wardens,
+and Lady Dashwood had kept it religiously. Gwen
+was propped up on pillows at one side of it, looking
+out of her luminous eyes with great self-pity. Her
+dark hair was disordered. She glanced round tearfully
+and apprehensively. An acute observer might
+have detected that her alarm was a little over expressed:
+she had three spectators&mdash;and one of them
+was the Warden!</p>
+
+<p>Near her stood May Dashwood in a black dressing-gown
+illumined by her auburn hair. It was tied
+behind at her neck and spread on each side and down
+her back in glistening masses. She looked like some
+priestess of an ancient cult, ministering to a soul distressed.
+The Warden stood for a moment arrested,
+looking across at them, and then his eyes rested on
+May alone.</p>
+
+<p>Gwen made a curious movement into her pillows
+and May moved away from the bed. She seemed
+about to slip away from the room, but Lady Dashwood
+made her a sign to stay. It was such an imperative
+sign that May stayed. She went to the
+fireplace silently and stood there, and Lady Dashwood
+came to her. No one spoke. Lady Dashwood stood
+with face averted from the bed and closed her eyes,
+like one who waits patiently, but takes no part and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Page 146]</a></span>
+no responsibility. May did not look at the bed,
+but she heard what was said and saw, without
+looking.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden was now walking quietly round to
+the side where Gwendolen was propped. She made
+a convulsive movement of her arms towards him and
+sobbed hysterically&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I'm so frightened!"</p>
+
+<p>He approached her without responding either to
+her exclamation or her gestures. He put his hand
+on the electric lamp by the bed, raised the shade, and
+turned it so as to cast its light on his own face. While
+he did this there was silence.</p>
+
+<p>Then he began to speak, and the sound of his
+voice made May's heart stir strangely. She leaned
+her elbow on the mantelpiece and pressed her hand
+over her eyes. All her prayers that night, all her
+self-reproach, meant very little. What were they
+but a pretence, a cloak to hide from herself the nakedness
+of her soul? No, they were not a pretence. Her
+prayer had been a real prayer for forgetfulness of
+herself. But in his presence the past seemed to slip
+away and leave her clamouring for relief from this
+strange present suffering, and from this dull empty
+aching below her heart when she drew her breath.
+She knew now how weak she was.</p>
+
+<p>She could hear his voice saying: "What is it you
+are afraid of?" and as he spoke, it seemed to May
+herself that fear, of all things in the world, was the
+least real, and fear of spirits was an amazing folly.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought I saw something," said Gwendolen,
+doubtfully; for already she was under the influence
+of his voice, his manner, his face; and her mind had
+begun to relax the tenacity of its hold on that one
+distracting fear.</p>
+
+<p>"You thought you saw something," he said,
+emphasising the word "thought"; "you made a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Page 147]</a></span>
+mistake. You saw nothing&mdash;you imagined you saw&mdash;there
+<em>was</em> nothing!"</p>
+
+<p>May could not hear whether Gwendolen made any
+reply.</p>
+
+<p>"And now I am going to prevent you from frightening
+yourself by imagining such foolish things again."</p>
+
+<p>Although she did not look towards them, but kept
+her eyes on the ground, May was aware that the Warden
+was now bending over the bed, and he was speaking
+in an inaudible voice. She could hear the girl move
+round on the pillow in obedience to some direction of
+his. After this there came a brief silence between
+them that seemed an age of intolerable misery to
+May, and then she perceived that the Warden was
+turning out the bed light, and she heard him move
+away from the bed. He walked to the door very
+quietly, as if to avoid awakening a sleeper.</p>
+
+<p>"Good night," he said in a low voice, and then,
+without turning towards them, he went out of the room.</p>
+
+<p>The door was closed. The two women moved,
+looked at each other, and then glanced at the bed.
+Gwen was lying still; she had slid down low on her
+pillows, with her face towards the windows and her
+eyes closed. They stood motionless and intent, till they
+could see in the dim light that the girl was breathing
+quietly and slowly in sleep. Then Lady Dashwood
+spoke in a whisper.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, I suppose, I can go to bed!"</p>
+
+<p>Then she looked round at May. "Go to bed, May!
+You look worn out."</p>
+
+<p>"Shall you sleep?" whispered May Dashwood,
+but she spoke as if she wasn't listening for an answer.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," said Lady Dashwood, in a whisper
+too. "It's so like life. The person who has made
+all the fuss is comfortably asleep, and we who have
+had to endure the fuss, we who are worn out with it,
+are awake and probably won't sleep."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Page 148]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>May moved towards the door and her aunt followed
+her. When May opened the door and went outside,
+Lady Dashwood did not close the door or say good
+night. She stood for a moment undecided, and then
+came outside herself and pulled the door to softly
+behind her.</p>
+
+<p>"May!" she said, and she laid a detaining hand on
+her niece's arm.</p>
+
+<p>"What, Aunt Lena?"</p>
+
+<p>"If he liked, he could repel her, make her dislike
+him! If he liked he could make her refuse to marry
+him! You understand what I mean? He must
+know this now. The idea will be in his mind. He'll
+think it over. But I've no hope. He won't act on
+it. He'll only think of it as a temptation that he must
+put aside."</p>
+
+<p>May did not answer.</p>
+
+<p>"He could," said Lady Dashwood; "but he
+won't. He thinks himself pledged. And he isn't even
+in love with her. He isn't even infatuated for the
+moment!"</p>
+
+<p>"You can't be sure."</p>
+
+<p>"I am sure," said Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"How?" And now May turned back and listened
+for an answer with downcast eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"I asked him a question&mdash;which he refused to
+answer. If he were in love he would have answered it
+eagerly. Why, he would have forced me to listen
+to it."</p>
+
+<p>May Dashwood moved away from her aunt. "Still&mdash;they
+are engaged," she said. "They are engaged&mdash;that
+is settled."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood spoke in a low, detaining voice.
+"Wait, May! Somehow she has got hold of him&mdash;somehow.
+Often the weak victimise the strong.
+Those who clamour for what they want, get it. Every
+day the wise are sacrificed to fools. I know it, and yet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Page 149]</a></span>
+I sleep in peace. But when Jim is to be sacrificed&mdash;I
+can't sleep. I am like a withered leaf, blown by
+the wind."</p>
+
+<p>May took her aunt's arm and laid her cheek against
+her shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"How can I sleep," said Lady Dashwood, "when
+I think of him, worried into the grave by petty
+anxieties, by the daily fretting of an irresponsible wife,
+by the hopeless daily task of trying to make something
+honourable and worthy&mdash;out of Belinda and Co.?
+When I say Belinda and Co., I think not merely of
+Belinda Scott and her child, but of all that Jim hates:
+the whole crew of noisy pleasure-hunters that float
+upon the surface of our social life. The time may
+come when we shall say to our social parasites, 'Take
+up your burden of life and work!' The time <em>will</em>
+come! But meanwhile Jim has to be sacrificed because
+he is hopelessly just. And yet I wouldn't have him
+otherwise. Go, dear, try and sleep, for all my talk."
+Then, as she drew away from her niece, she said in
+a tense whisper: "What an unforgivable fool he
+has been!"</p>
+
+<p>May closed her eyes intently and said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, May," sighed Lady Dashwood, "forgive me;
+I feel so bitter that I could speak against God."</p>
+
+<p>May looked up and laid her hand on her aunt's arm.</p>
+
+<p>"You know those lines, Aunt Lena&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Measure thy life by loss and not by gain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not by the wine drunk, but the wine poured forth!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood's eyes flashed. "If Jim had
+offered his life for England I could say that: but are
+we to pour forth wine to Belinda and Co.?"</p>
+
+<p>The two women looked at each other; stared,
+silently.</p>
+
+<p>Then Lady Dashwood began to turn the handle
+of the door.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Page 150]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Why should he be sacrificed to&mdash;to&mdash;futilities?"
+Then she added very softly: "I have had no son of
+my own, May, so Jim fills the vacant place. I think
+I could, like Abraham, have sacrificed my son to the
+Great God of my nation, but this sacrifice! Oh, May,
+it's so silly! He might have married some nice, quiet
+Oxford girl any day. And he has waited for this!"</p>
+
+<p>She saw the pain in May's eyes and added: "I
+am wearing you out with my talk. I am getting
+very selfish. I am thinking too much of my own
+suffering. You, too, have suffered, dear, and you
+say nothing," and as she spoke her voice softened to
+a whisper. "But, May, your sacrifice <em>was</em> to the Great
+God of your nation&mdash;the Great God of all nations."</p>
+
+<p>"The sacrifice had nothing to do with me," said
+May, turning away. "It was his."</p>
+
+<p>"But you endure the loss, the vacant place," said
+Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"I know what a vacant place means," said May,
+quietly, "and my vacant place will never be filled&mdash;except
+by the children of other women! Good night,
+dear aunt," and she walked away quickly, without
+looking back. Then she found the door of her room
+and went in.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood's eyes followed her, till the door
+closed.</p>
+
+<p>"I ought not to have said what I did," murmured
+Lady Dashwood. "Oh, dear May, poor May," and
+she went back into her room.</p>
+
+<p>Gwen was still sleeping peacefully.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Page 151]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2>
+
+<h3>DIFFERENT VIEWS</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">The Lodgings at King's were built at a period when
+the college demanded that its Warden should be a
+bachelor and a divine, and it contained neither morning-room
+nor boudoir. The Warden's breakfast-room was
+used by Lady Dashwood for both purposes.</p>
+
+<p>It was not such an inconvenient arrangement,
+because the Warden, as the war advanced, had reduced
+his breakfast till it was now little more than the
+continental "<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">petit d�jeuner</span>," and it could be as
+rapidly removed as it was brought in.</p>
+
+<p>The breakfast-room was a small room and had no
+academic dignity, it was what Mrs. Robinson called
+"cosy." It was badly lighted by one window, and that
+barred, looking into the quadrangle. The walls were
+wainscoted. One or two pictures brightened it,
+landscapes in water-colour that had been bought by the
+Warden long ago for his rooms when he was a college
+tutor.</p>
+
+<p>At the breakfast table on the morning following
+Gwendolen's brief interview with the Barber's ghost,
+her place was empty.</p>
+
+<p>No one remarked on her absence. The Warden
+came in as if nothing had happened on the previous
+night. He did not even ask the ladies how they had
+slept, or if they had slept. He appeared to have
+forgotten all about last night, and he seated himself
+at the table and began opening his letters.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Page 152]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Dashwood gave him one furtive glance when
+he came in and responded to his salutation. Then she
+also sat in silence and looked over her letters. She
+was making a great effort not to mind what happened
+to her, not to feel that outside these few rooms in a
+corner of an ancient college, all the world stretched
+like a wilderness. And this effort made her face a
+little wan in the morning light.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood poured out the coffee with a hand
+that was not quite as steady as usual, but she, too,
+made no reference to the events of last night. Nobody,
+of course, had slept but Gwendolen, and Gwendolen
+had awakened from her sleep fresh and rosy.</p>
+
+<p>It was only after several minutes had passed that
+Lady Dashwood remarked across the table to the
+Warden&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I have kept Gwendolen in bed for breakfast,
+not because she is ill, she is perfectly well, but because
+I want her to be alone, and to understand that she has
+completely got over her little hysterical fit and is
+sensible again."</p>
+
+<p>The Warden looked up and then down again at his
+letters and said, "Yes!"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood went on with her breakfast. She
+evidently did not expect any discussion. She had
+merely wished to make some reference to the occurrence
+of last night in such a way as not to reopen the
+subject, but to close the subject&mdash;for ever.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it your club morning?" asked the Warden,
+as he looked over his letters.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll come and help you to cut out," said May.
+"I'm an old hand."</p>
+
+<p>"Why should you come?" said Lady Dashwood.
+"This is your holiday, and it's short enough."</p>
+
+<p>She thought that the Warden noted the words,
+"short enough."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Page 153]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I shall come," said May, and glancing at her
+aunt as she spoke, she now fancied her grown a
+little thinner in the face since last night only that it
+was impossible. The lines in the face were accentuated
+by want of sleep, it was that that made her face look
+thinner.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall take Gwen," said Lady Dashwood. "She
+can hand us scissors and pins, and can pick up the bits."
+She spoke quite boldly and quietly of Gwendolen,
+and met May's eye without a flicker. "Our plan,
+May, is to get these young mothers and teach them at
+least how to make and mend their clothes. It isn't
+war work. It's 'after the war' work. Those young
+mothers who have done factory work, know nothing
+about anything. We must get something into their
+noddles. Two or three ladies will be there this morning,
+and we shall get all the work ready for the next
+club meeting&mdash;mothers and babies. Babies are entertained
+in a separate room. We have tea and one half-hour's
+reading; the rest of the time gossip. Oh, how
+they do talk!"</p>
+
+<p>"How much do you expect to get from the Sale of
+work to-day for your club?" asked May, avoiding
+the Warden's eye when he put out his hand to her for
+the cup of coffee that she was passing him.</p>
+
+<p>"Not very much," said Lady Dashwood, "but
+enough, I hope."</p>
+
+<p>A moment later and Lady Dashwood was opening
+her letters.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Boreham," she remarked suddenly, "is
+bringing Mrs. Potten in to the Sale. He is the last
+person I should expect to meet at a Sale of work in aid
+of a mother's club."</p>
+
+<p>The Warden raised his eyes and apparently
+addressed the coffee-pot across the table.</p>
+
+<p>"Boreham is usually suspicious of anything that is
+organised by what he calls 'respectable people.'"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Page 154]</a></span>
+Then he looked round at May Dashwood for the first
+time. The reason why Boreham was going to drive
+Mrs. Potten in to the Sale of work was obvious both to
+him and to Lady Dashwood. May did not meet the
+Warden's eye, though she was tinglingly conscious that
+they rested on her face.</p>
+
+<p>"I object," she said, imitating Boreham's voice,
+"not only to the respectable members of the British
+public, but to the British public in general. I am
+irritated with and express my animosity to the people
+around me with frankness and courage. But I have
+no inimical feelings towards people whom I have
+never met. Them I respect and love. Their institutions,
+of which I know nothing, I honour."</p>
+
+<p>The Warden's lips parted with a smile, as if the
+smile was wrung from him, but May did not smile.
+She was still making her effort, and was looking down
+into her plate, her eyebrows very much raised, as if she
+was contemplating there the portrait of somebody
+with compassionate interest.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood saw the Warden's smile, and saw
+him lean forward to look at the downcast face of May,
+as if to note every detail of it.</p>
+
+<p>Well into the early morning Lady Dashwood had
+lain awake thinking, and listening mechanically to the
+gentle breathing of the girl beside her, and thinking&mdash;thinking
+of May's strange exhibition of emotion. Was
+May&mdash;&mdash;? No&mdash;that made things worse than ever&mdash;that
+made the irony of her brother's fate more acute!
+That was a tragic thought! But it was just this
+tragic thought that made Lady Dashwood now at the
+breakfast table observe with a subtle keenness of
+observation and yet without seeming to observe, or
+even to look. She sat there, absorbing May, absorbing
+the Warden, measuring them, weighing them while
+she tried to eat a piece of toast, biting it up as if she had
+pledged herself to reduce it to the minutest fragments.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Page 155]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps I'm not fair to Mr. Boreham," said May,
+shaking her head. "But I am an ignoramus. How
+can one," she said smiling, but keeping her eyelids still
+downcast, "how can one combine the bathing of babies
+and feeding them, the dressing and undressing of them,
+the putting them to bed and getting them up again,
+with any culture (spelt with a 'c'). I get only a
+short and rather tired hour of leisure in the evening in
+which to read?"</p>
+
+<p>"You do combine them," he said, still bending
+towards her with the same tense look. "Only one
+woman in a thousand would."</p>
+
+<p>The colour had slightly risen in May's face, and now
+it died away, for she was aware that no sooner were the
+last words spoken than the Warden seemed to regret
+them. At least he stiffened himself and looked away
+from her, stared at nothing in particular and then put
+out his hand to take a piece of toast, making that simple
+action seem as if it were a protest of resolute indifference
+to her.</p>
+
+<p>May felt as if his hand had struck her. She had
+partly succeeded in her effort and she had refused to
+glance at him. But she had not succeeded in thinking
+of something else, and now this simple movement of
+his hand made thoughts of him burn in her brain.
+Why did this man, with all his erudition, with his distinction,
+with all his force of character, his wide sympathies
+and his curious influence over others, why did
+this man with all his talk (and this she said bitterly)
+about life and death&mdash;and yes&mdash;about eternity, why
+did he bind himself hand and foot to a selfish and
+shallow girl? He who talked of life and of death,
+could he not stand the test of life himself?</p>
+
+<p>The Warden rose from the table the moment that
+he had finished and looked at his sister. She had put
+her letters aside and appeared to have fallen into
+a heavy preoccupation with her own thoughts.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Page 156]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Can I see you&mdash;afterwards&mdash;for a moment in
+the library, Lena?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood's tired face flushed.</p>
+
+<p>"I will come very soon," she said, and she pushed
+her chair back a little, as if to cover her embarrassment,
+and looked at her niece. "May," she said, in
+a voice that did not quite conceal her trouble, "we
+ought to start at a quarter to ten. That will give us
+two clear hours for our work."</p>
+
+<p>May bent her head in assent. Neither of them was
+thinking of the Club. They could hear the Warden close
+the door behind him. Then Lady Dashwood rose and
+casting a silent look at May, went out of the room.</p>
+
+<p>In the library a fitful sunshine was coming and
+going from a clouded sky. The curtains were drawn
+back and there seemed nothing in the room that could
+have justified even a hysterical girl in imagining a ghost.
+The Warden had left the door open, for he heard his
+sister coming up the stairs behind him.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood came in, and she began speaking
+at once to cover her apprehension of the interview.
+"A funny sort of a day," she began. "I hope it will
+keep up for this afternoon."</p>
+
+<p>The Warden had gone to one of the windows, and
+he moved at the sound of her voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Harding," she said, "has written to ask us
+to come in to tea, as she's so near. It is convenient,
+as we shall only have to walk a few steps from our
+Sale, so I am going to accept by telephone."</p>
+
+<p>The Warden came towards her, and taking a little
+case from his pocket, handed her some notes. "Will
+you spend that for me at your Sale?"</p>
+
+<p>That was not his reason for the interview! Lady
+Dashwood took the notes and put them into her bag,
+and then waited a moment.</p>
+
+<p>"I may possibly have to go to the Deanery this
+afternoon," he said, and then he paused too.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Page 157]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Very well," said Lady Dashwood. They both
+were painfully aware that this also was not what he
+wanted to say.</p>
+
+<p>"Please let me have my lunch early, at a quarter
+to one," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"I have asked Mr. Bingham here to dinner on
+Saturday, he seemed to interest May, and, well, of
+course, it is not a lively holiday for her just now."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood's eyes were on him as she spoke.
+He seemed not to hear. He went up to his desk and
+turned over some papers, nervously, and he was a man
+who rarely showed any nervousness in his movements.</p>
+
+<p>Then he suddenly said: "Gwendolen has practically
+accepted my offer." And he did not turn round
+and look at his sister.</p>
+
+<p>It had come! She knew it was coming, and yet
+it was as keenly painful as if she had been wholly
+unprepared.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't delay our engagement," he said. "I must
+speak to her to-day&mdash;some time."</p>
+
+<p>Then he moved so as to face his sister, and their
+eyes met. Misery was plainly visible in hers, in his
+the fixed determination to ignore that misery.</p>
+
+<p>"May I ask you one question?" she began in a
+shaky voice.</p>
+
+<p>He made no reply, but waited in silence for the
+question.</p>
+
+<p>"When did it happen? I've no right to ask, dear,
+but tell me when did it happen?"</p>
+
+<p>There was a strange look of conflict in his face that
+he was unable to control. "On Monday, just before
+dinner," he said, and he took some papers from the
+desk as if he were about to read them. Then he put
+them down again and took out his cigar case.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood walked slowly to the door. When
+she reached it, she turned.</p>
+
+<p>"No man," she said, still with an unsteady voice,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Page 158]</a></span>
+"is bound to carry out a promise made in a reckless
+moment, against his better judgment, a promise which
+involves the usefulness of his life. As to Belinda, I
+suppose I must endure the presence of that woman
+next week; I must endure it, because I hadn't the
+sense&mdash;the foresight&mdash;to prevent her putting a foot in
+this house."</p>
+
+<p>The Warden's face twitched.</p>
+
+<p>"Am I expecting too much from you, Lena?"
+he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Expecting too much!" Lady Dashwood made her
+way blindly to the door. "I have wrecked your life
+by sheer stupidity, and I am well punished." At the
+door she stayed. "Of course, Jim, I shall now back
+you up, through thick and thin."</p>
+
+<p>She went out and stood for a moment, her head
+throbbing. She had said all. She had spoken as she
+had never spoken in her life before, she had said her
+last word. Now she must be silent and go through
+with it all unless&mdash;unless&mdash;something happened&mdash;unless
+some merciful accident happened to prevent it. She
+went downstairs again and crossed the hall to the door
+of the breakfast-room. May was still there, holding
+a newspaper in her hands, apparently reading it.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood walked straight in, and then said
+quietly: "They are practically engaged." She saw
+the paper in May's hand quiver.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said May, without moving her paper.
+"Of course."</p>
+
+<p>Her voice sounded small and hard. Lady Dashwood
+moved about as if to arrange something, and then
+stood at the dull little window looking out miserably,
+seeing nothing.</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder&mdash;I hope, you won't be vexed with
+me. Aunt Lena," began May. "You won't be
+angry&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I couldn't be angry with you," said Lady<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Page 159]</a></span>
+Dashwood briefly, "but&mdash;&mdash;" She did not move, she
+kept her back to her niece.</p>
+
+<p>"I want you to let me go away rather earlier than
+Monday," said May, and speaking without looking
+towards her aunt. "I think I ought to go. The
+fact is&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood turned round and came to her
+niece. "Do you think I am a selfish woman?" she
+asked. There was a strange note of purpose in her
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>May shook her head and tried to smile. She did
+smile at last.</p>
+
+<p>"Then, May," said Lady Dashwood, "I am going
+to be selfish now. I ask you to stop till Monday, and
+help me to get through what I have to get through,
+even if you stay at some sacrifice to yourself. Jim has
+decided, so I must support him. That's clear."</p>
+
+<p>May stared hard at the paper that was still in her
+hand, though she had ceased to read it.</p>
+
+<p>"As you wish, dear aunt," she said, and turned
+away.</p>
+
+<p>"Thanks," said Lady Dashwood, in a low voice.
+"I shall be ready to start in a few minutes," she went
+on, looking at her watch. Then she added bitterly,
+"I'm not going to talk about it any more, but I must
+say one thing. When you first shook hands with Jim
+he was already a pledged man. He is capable of
+yearning for the moon, but he has decided to put up
+with a penny bun;" here she laughed a hard painful
+laugh. "Nobody cares but I," she added. "I have
+said all I can say to him, and I am now going to be
+silent."</p>
+
+<p>The door of the breakfast-room was slightly open
+and they could hear the sound of steps outside in the
+hall, steps they both knew.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden was in the hall. Lady Dashwood
+listened, and then called out to him: "Jim!" Her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Page 160]</a></span>
+voice now raised was a little husky, but quite calm.
+They could hear the swish of a gown and the Warden
+was there, looking at them. He was in his gown and
+hood, and held his cap in his hand. He was at all times
+a notable figure, but the long robe added to the dignity
+of his appearance. His face was very grave.</p>
+
+<p>"May has not seen the cathedral," said Lady
+Dashwood quietly, as if she had forgotten their interview
+in the library, "and we shall be close to Christ
+Church. Our Sale, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," said May, slowly and doubtfully, and not
+looking as if she were really concerned in the matter.</p>
+
+<p>"May ought to see the cathedral, Jim," said Lady
+Dashwood, "so, if you do happen to be going to Christ
+Church, would you have time to take her over it and
+make the proper learned observations on it, which I
+can't do, to save my life?"</p>
+
+<p>The Warden's eyes were now fixed on May. "You
+would like to see it?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"You, May," said Lady Dashwood. It seemed
+necessary to make it very clear to May that they were
+both talking about her.</p>
+
+<p>"I?" said May, with her eyes downcast. "Oh,
+please don't trouble. You mustn't when you're so
+busy. I can see the cathedral any time. I really
+like looking at churches&mdash;quite alone."</p>
+
+<p>The Warden's blue eyes darkened, but May did not
+see them, she had raised her paper and was smiling
+vaguely at the print.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden said, "As you like, Mrs. Dashwood.
+But I am not too busy to show you anything in Oxford
+you want to see."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," said May, vaguely. "Thanks so
+much! Some time when you are less busy, I shall ask
+you to show me something."</p>
+
+<p>The Warden looked at her for a more definite reply.
+She seemed to be unaware that he was waiting for it,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Page 161]</a></span>
+and when she heard the movement of his robes, and
+his steps and then the hall-door close, she looked round
+the room and said "Oh!" again vaguely, and then she
+raised her eyebrows as if surprised.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood made no remark, she left the room
+and went into the hall. The irony of the situation was
+growing more and more acute, but there was nothing
+to be done but to keep silence.</p>
+
+<p>Another step was coming down the stairs, steps
+made by a youthful wearer of high heels. It was
+Gwendolen.</p>
+
+<p>She looked just a little serious, but otherwise there
+was no trace on her blooming countenance of last
+night's tragedy. A little lump on her head was all
+that remained to prove that she really had been
+frightened and really and truly had stupidly thought
+there was something to be frightened of. Gwen constantly
+put her finger up to feel the lump on her head,
+and as she did so she thought agreeably of the Warden.</p>
+
+<p>"You see I'm not a bit frightened," she said, and
+her cheeks dimpled. "When I passed near the library,
+I thought of Dr. Middleton."</p>
+
+<p>"You understand, don't you, Gwen," said Lady
+Dashwood, "that I don't want any talk about 'a ghost,'
+even though, you are now quite sensible about it. I
+don't think the Robinsons are silly, but Louise and the
+other two are like children, and must be treated
+as such."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh no," said Gwen, innocently, "I won't!"
+And she meant what she said. It was true that
+she had just hinted at something, perhaps she even
+used the word "ghost," to the housemaid that morning,
+but she had made her promise faithfully not to repeat
+what she had heard, so it was all right.</p>
+
+<p>"We start at half-past ten," said Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>Gwen said she would be punctual. Her face was
+full of mysterious and subdued pleasure when she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Page 162]</a></span>
+looked into the breakfast-room to see if by any chance
+Mrs. Dashwood was still there. The girl's fancy was
+excited by the Warden's behaviour last night. She
+kept on thinking of his face in the lamp light. It
+looked very severe and yet so gentle. She was actually
+falling in love with him, so she said to herself. The
+Barber's ghost was no longer alarming, but something
+to recall with a thrill of interest, as it led on to the
+Warden. She was burning to talk about the Warden.
+She was so glad she had delivered her letter to the
+Warden. He would be simply obliged to speak some
+time to-day. How exciting! Now, was Mrs. Dashwood
+in the breakfast-room? Yes, there she was,
+standing in the window with a newspaper in her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, good morning," said Gwen, brightly. "I
+must thank you for having been so awfully sweet to
+me last night. It was funny, wasn't it, my getting that
+fright? I really and truly was frightened, till Dr.
+Middleton came up and told me I needn't. Isn't he
+wonderful?" Here Gwen's voice sank into a confidential
+whisper.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Dashwood said "Yes" in a lingering voice,
+and she seemed about to go.</p>
+
+<p>"I do think he is the nicest man I have ever met,"
+said Gwen hurriedly, "don't you? But then, of course,
+I have reason to think so, after last night. It must
+have looked queer, I mean to any one merely looking
+on. How I <em>did</em> sleep!" Then after a moment she
+said: "Don't you think he is very good-looking?
+Now, do tell me, Mrs. Dashwood! I promise you I
+won't repeat it."</p>
+
+<p>"He is a very charming man," said May, "that
+is obvious."</p>
+
+<p>"Wasn't it silly of me to think of the Barber's
+ghost&mdash;especially as it only appears when some disaster
+happens to the Warden? I mean that is the story.
+Now the Warden is perfectly well this morning, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Page 163]</a></span>
+particularly asked, though I knew he would be, of
+course. Now, if there had been a real ghost, he ought
+to die to-day, or perhaps to-morrow. Isn't it all
+funny?" Then, as there came another pause, Gwendolen
+added, "I suppose it couldn't mean that he might
+die in a week's time&mdash;or six months perhaps?" and
+her voice was a little anxious.</p>
+
+<p>"Death isn't the only disaster," said May, "that
+can happen to a man."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you think it's about the worst?" said
+Gwen. "Worse even than losing lots of money.
+You see, if you are once dead, there you are! But I
+needn't bother&mdash;there was no ghost."</p>
+
+<p>"No, there was no ghost," said Mrs. Dashwood,
+and she laid her paper down on a side table.</p>
+
+<p>Gwen felt that she had not had a fair chance of a
+talk. In the absence of anybody really young it was
+some comfort to talk to Mrs. Dashwood. She much
+preferred Mrs. Dashwood to Lady Dashwood. Lady
+Dashwood was sometimes "nasty," since that letter
+affair. Fortunately she had not been able to <em>do</em>
+anything nasty. She had not been able to make the
+Warden nasty.</p>
+
+<p>Gwen stood watching May, and then said in a low
+voice to detain her: "I wish mother would come!"</p>
+
+<p>"Do you expect her?" asked May, turning round
+and facing the girl.</p>
+
+<p>"I do and I don't and I do," said Gwen. "That
+sounds jolly vague, I know, and please don't even say
+to Lady Dashwood that I mentioned it. You won't,
+will you? It jumped out of my mouth. Things do
+sometimes."</p>
+
+<p>May smiled a little.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother is so plucky," said Gwen; "I'm sure
+you'd like her&mdash;you really would, and she would like
+you. She doesn't by any means like everybody.
+She's very particular, but I think she would like you."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Page 164]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>May smiled again, and this gave Gwen complete
+confidence.</p>
+
+<p>"Our relations, you know, have really been a bit
+stingy," she said. "Too bad, isn't it, and there's
+been a bother about my education. Of course, mother
+needn't have sent me to school at all, only she's so
+keen on doing all she can for me, much more keen
+than our relations have been. Why, would you
+believe it, Uncle Ted, my father's youngest brother,
+who is a parson in Essex, has been saving! What I
+mean is that the Scotts ain't a bit well off&mdash;isn't it hard
+lines? You see I tell you all this, I wouldn't to anybody
+else. Well, Uncle Ted had saved for years for
+his only son&mdash;for Eton and Oxford: I don't think
+he'd ever given mother a penny. Wasn't that rather
+hard luck on mother?"</p>
+
+<p>May said "Oh!" in a tone that was neutral.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, but I'll explain," said Gwen, eagerly, "and
+you'll see. When poor Ted was killed, almost at once
+in the war, there was all the Oxford money still there.
+Mother knew about it, and said it couldn't be less than
+five hundred pounds, and might be more. And mother
+just went to them and spoke ever so nicely about poor
+Ted being killed&mdash;it was such horrid luck on Uncle Ted&mdash;and
+then she just asked ever so quietly if she might
+borrow some of the Oxford money, as there would be no
+use for it now. She didn't even ask them to give it,
+she only asked to borrow, and she thought they would
+like it to be used for the last two years of my school,
+it would be such a nice thought for them. And would
+you believe it, they were quite angry and refused! So
+mother thought they ought to know how mean it was
+of them. She is so plucky! So she told them that they
+had no sympathy with anybody but themselves, and
+didn't care about any Scott except their own Ted, who
+was dead and couldn't come to life again, however
+much they hoarded. Mother does say things so straight.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Page 165]</a></span>
+She is so sporting! But wasn't it horrid for her to
+have to do it?"</p>
+
+<p>May had gradually moved to the door ready to go
+out. Now she opened it.</p>
+
+<p>So this was the young woman to whom the Warden
+had bound himself, and this was his future mother-in-law!</p>
+
+<p>May left the breakfast-room abruptly and without
+a word.</p>
+
+<p>She mounted the stairs swiftly. She wanted to be
+alone. As the servants were still moving about upstairs,
+she went into the drawing-room.</p>
+
+<p>There was no one there but that living portrait
+of Stephen Langley, and he was looking at her across
+the wide space between them with an almost imperceptible
+sneer&mdash;so she thought.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Page 166]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2>
+
+<h3>MRS. POTTEN'S CARELESSNESS</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">There is little left in Christ Church of the simplicity
+and piety of the Age of Faith. It was rebuilt when
+the fine spiritual romanticism of our architectural
+adolescence had coarsened into a prosperous and prosaic
+middle age.</p>
+
+<p>The western fa�ade of the College is fine, but it is
+ostentatious for its purpose, and when one passes under
+Tom Tower and enters the quadrangle there is something
+dreary in the terraces that were intended to be
+cloistered and the mean windows of the ground floor
+that were intended to be hidden.</p>
+
+<p>"It is like Harding," said Bingham to himself, as
+he strolled in with a parcel under his arm. "He is
+always mistaking Mrs. Grundy for the Holy Ghost.
+But Harding has his uses," he went on thinking, "and
+so has Tom Quod&mdash;it makes one thankful that Wolsey
+died before he had time to finish ruining the cathedral."</p>
+
+<p>An elderly canon of Christ Church, with a fine
+profile and dignified manner, stopped Bingham and
+demanded to know what he was carrying under his arm.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing for the wounded," said Bingham. "I've
+bought a green table-cloth and a pair of bedroom slippers
+for myself. I've just come from a Sale in which some
+Oxford ladies are interested. One of the many good
+works with which we are going strong nowadays."</p>
+
+<p>The Canon turned and walked with Bingham.
+"Do you know Boreham?" he asked rather abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>Bingham said he did.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Page 167]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I met him a moment ago. He is taking some
+lady over the college. I met him at Middleton's,
+I think, not so long ago."</p>
+
+<p>"He's a connection of Middleton's," said Bingham.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," said the Canon, "is he? A remarkable
+person. He gave me his views on Eugenics, I remember."</p>
+
+<p>"He would be likely to give you his views," said
+Bingham. "Did he want to know yours?"</p>
+
+<p>The Canon laughed. "He pleaded so passionately
+in favour of our preserving the leaven of disease in our
+racial heredity, so as to insure originality and genius,
+that I was tempted to indulge in the logical fallacy:
+'<span lang="la" xml:lang="la">A dicto secundum quid ad dictum simpliciter</span>,'" and
+the Canon laughed again.</p>
+
+<p>"His father was a first-rate old rapid," said Bingham,
+"who ended in an asylum, I believe. His aunt
+keeps cats; this I know as a fact. His brother,
+Lord Boreham, as everybody knows, has been divorced
+twice. What matter? The good old scrap-heap has
+produced Bernard Boreham; what more do you want?"</p>
+
+<p>Bingham's remarks were uttered with even more than
+his usual suavity of tone because he was annoyed.
+He had come to the Sale, he had bought the green
+table-cloth and the shoes, ostensibly as an act of
+patriotism, but really in order to meet Mrs. Dashwood.
+He had planned to take her over Christ Church and
+show her everything, and now Boreham, who had also
+planned the same thing, had turned up more punctually,
+had taken her off, and was at this moment going in and
+out, banging doors and giving erroneous information,
+along with much talk about himself and his ideas for
+the improvement of mankind.</p>
+
+<p>The two men walked very slowly along. Bingham
+was in no hurry. The Canon also was in no hurry.
+In these gloomy days he was glad of a few minutes'
+distraction in the company of Bingham, whom nothing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Page 168]</a></span>
+depressed. They walked so slowly that Lady Dashwood
+and Mrs. Potten, who had just entered the
+quadrangle, attended by Miss Scott laden with parcels,
+came up to them, bowed and passed them on their
+way to the rooms of one of the Fellows who had begged
+them to deposit their parcels and rest, if they wished to.</p>
+
+<p>The two men went on talking, though their eyes
+watched the three ladies, who were looking for the
+rooms where they were going to deposit their purchases.
+Bingham took out his watch. It was half-past three.
+The ladies had found the right entrance, and disappeared.
+Then Lady Dashwood's face was to be
+seen for a moment at a window. Simultaneously
+Harding appeared from under Tom Tower.</p>
+
+<p>He came up and spoke to the two men, and while he
+did so Bingham observed Miss Scott suddenly appear
+and make straight for them, holding something in
+her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Bravo! What a sprint," murmured Bingham,
+as Gwendolen reached them rather breathless.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Mr. Harding," she panted, "Lady Dashwood
+saw you coming and thought you wouldn't know where
+she and Mrs. Potten were. Have you got the Buckinghamshire
+collar?"</p>
+
+<p>Bingham burst into subdued laughter.</p>
+
+<p>"My wife sent me over with it," said Harding,
+who could not see anything amusing in the incident.
+"She said Lady Dashwood had got Mrs. Potten here.
+That's all right," and he gravely drew from his sleeve
+a piece of mauve paper, carefully rolled up, on which
+was stitched the collar in question.</p>
+
+<p>"Here's the money," said Gwen, holding out a
+folded paper.</p>
+
+<p>Harding took the paper.</p>
+
+<p>"Thirty shillings," said Gwen. "Is that right?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, thirty shillings," said Harding. "The price
+is marked on the paper."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Page 169]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Extraordinarily cheap at the price," remarked
+Bingham. "There is no other collar equal to it in
+Buckinghamshire."</p>
+
+<p>The Canon turned and walked off, wondering in
+his mind who the very pretty, smartly dressed girl
+was. Harding unfolded the paper. It was a pound
+note and inside was not one but two new ten-shilling
+notes&mdash;only stuck together.</p>
+
+<p>"You've given me too much, one pound and two
+tens," he said, and he separated the two notes and gave
+one back to Gwen. "You're a bit too generous,
+Miss Scott," he said.</p>
+
+<p>Gwen took the note, dimpling and smiling and
+Harding wrote "paid" in pencil on the mauve paper.</p>
+
+<p>"Here's your receipt," he said, handing her the
+paper, "the collar and all," and he turned away and
+went back to the sale room, with the money in his
+pocket.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile Gwendolen did not run, she walked back
+very deliberately. She had the collar in one hand and
+the ten-shilling note in the other. She heard the two
+men turn and walk towards the gate. The old gentleman
+with a gown on, by which she meant the Canon,
+had disappeared. The quadrangle was empty. Gwen
+was thinking, thinking.</p>
+
+<p>It wasn't she who was generous, it was Mrs. Potten,
+at least not generous but casual. She was probably
+casual because, although she was supposed to be stingy,
+a ten-shilling note made really no difference to her.
+It was too bad that some women had so much money
+and some so little. It was especially unjust that an
+old plain woman like Mrs. Potten could have hundreds
+of frocks if she wanted to, and that young pretty
+women often couldn't. It was very, very unjust and
+stupid. Why she, Gwen, hadn't enough money even
+to buy a wretched umbrella. It looked exactly as
+if it was going to rain later on, and yet there was no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Page 170]</a></span>
+umbrella she could borrow. The umbrella she had
+borrowed before, had disappeared from the stand:
+it must have been left by somebody and been returned.
+You can't borrow an umbrella that isn't there. It
+was all very well for her mother to say "borrow" an
+umbrella, but suppose there wasn't an umbrella!
+The idea flashed into Gwen's mind that an umbrella
+could be bought for ten shillings. It wouldn't be a
+smart umbrella, but it would be an umbrella. Then she
+remembered very vividly how, a year ago, she was in
+a railway carriage with her mother and there was one
+woman there sitting in a corner at the other end.
+This woman fidgeted with her purse a great deal,
+and when she got out, a sovereign was lying on the
+floor just where her feet had been. Gwen remembered
+her mother moving swiftly, picking it up, and putting
+the coin into her own purse, remarking, "If people are
+so careless they deserve to lose things," and Gwen
+felt that the remark was keenly just, and made several
+little things "right" that other people had said were
+wrong. Now, as she thought this over, she said to
+herself that it was only a week ago she had lost that
+umbrella: somebody must have got that umbrella
+and had been using it for a week, and she didn't
+blame them; beside the handle had got rather bashed.
+Another dozen steps towards the rooms made her feel
+very, very sure she didn't blame them, and&mdash;Mrs. Potten
+deserved to lose her ten-shilling note. Now she had
+reached the doorway, an idea, that was a natural
+development of the previous idea, came to her very
+definitely. She slipped the note into the right-hand
+pocket of her coat just as she stood on the threshold of
+the doorway, and then she ran up the stone stairs. No
+one was looking out of the window. She had noticed
+that as she came along. Now, she would see if Mrs.
+Potten was really careless enough not to know that
+she had given away two ten-shilling notes instead of one.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Page 171]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen walked into the sitting-room. There were
+Mrs. Potten and Lady Dashwood sitting together and
+talking, as if they intended remaining there for ever.</p>
+
+<p>"Here's your collar, Mrs. Potten," said Gwen,
+coming in with the prettiest flush on her face, from
+the haste with which she had mounted the stairs.</p>
+
+<p>She handed the roll of mauve paper and stood
+looking at Mrs. Potten. Now, she would find out
+whether Mrs. Potten knew she had flung away her
+precious ten-shilling note or not. If she was so stingy
+why was she so careless? She was very, very short-sighted,
+of course, but still that was no excuse.</p>
+
+<p>"Thanks, my dear," said Mrs. Potten. "I doubt
+if it is really as nice as the one we saw that was sold.
+Thirty shillings&mdash;the receipt is on the paper. It's
+the first time I've ever had a receipt at a bazaar or
+sale. Very business-like; Mr Harding, of course.
+One can see the handwriting isn't a woman's!" So
+saying Mrs. Potten, who had been peering hard at the
+collar and the paper, passed it to Lady Dashwood to
+look at.</p>
+
+<p>"Charming!" said Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>Now Lady Dashwood knew Mrs. Potten's soul. Mrs.
+Potten had come into Oxford at no expense of her own.
+Mr. Boreham had driven her. She had also, so Lady
+Dashwood divined, the intention of helping the Sale as
+much as possible, by her moral approbation. Nothing
+pleased Mrs. Potten that she saw on the modest undecked
+tables. Then she had praised a shilling pincushion,
+had bought it with much ceremony, and put it into
+her bag. "There, I mustn't go and lose this," she had
+said as she clicked the fastening of her bag. Then she
+had praised a Buckinghamshire collar which was marked
+"Sold," and in an unwary moment had told Lady
+Dashwood that she would have bought that; that was
+exactly what she wanted, only it was unfortunately
+sold. But Lady Dashwood, who was business-like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Page 172]</a></span>
+even in grief, had been equal to the occasion. "I
+know there is another one very like it," she had said in
+a slightly bullying voice; and when Mrs. Potten moved
+off as if she had not realised her luck, murmuring
+something about having to be somewhere almost immediately,
+Lady Dashwood had swiftly arranged with
+Mrs. Harding that the other collar, which was somewhere
+in reserve and was being searched for, should
+be sent after them.</p>
+
+<p>This was why Lady Dashwood had conveyed the
+reluctant Mrs. Potten into the quadrangle, and had
+made her climb the stairs with her into these rooms
+and wait.</p>
+
+<p>So here was Mrs. Potten, with her collar, trying to
+believe that she was not annoyed at having been
+deprived of thirty shillings in such an astute way by
+her dear friend.</p>
+
+<p>"Am I wanted any more?" asked Gwen, looking
+from one lady to the other.</p>
+
+<p>She took the collar from Lady Dashwood and
+returned it to Mrs. Potten.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Potten opened her bag disclosing the shilling
+pincushion (which now she need not have bought) and
+placed the collar within. Then she shut the bag with
+a snap, and looked so innocent that Gwendolen
+almost laughed.</p>
+
+<p>No, Gwen was not wanted any more. She turned
+and went. Mrs. Potten deserved to lose money!
+"Yes, she did, and in any case," thought Gwen, "at any
+moment I can say, 'Oh yes, I quite forgot I had the
+note. How stupid, how awfully stupid,' etc."</p>
+
+<p>So she went down the stairs and out into the terrace.</p>
+
+<p>A few steps away she saw Mr. Bingham, coming
+back again. This time alone.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as Gwen had gone Mrs. Potten remarked,
+"Now I must be going!" and then sat on, as people do.</p>
+
+<p>"Very pretty girl, Gwendolen Scott," she added.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Page 173]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Very pretty," said Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"Lady Belinda wrote to me a day or two ago,
+asking me if Gwen could come on to me from you on
+Monday."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said Lady Dashwood, but she uttered the
+exclamation wearily.</p>
+
+<p>"I have written and told her that I'm afraid I
+can't," said Mrs. Potten. "Can't!"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood looked away as if the subject was
+ended.</p>
+
+<p>"If I have the child, it will mean that the mother
+will insist on coming to fetch her away or something."
+Here Mrs. Potten fidgeted with her bag. "And I
+really scarcely know Lady Belinda. It was the
+husband we used to know, old General Scott, poor dear
+silly old man!"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood received the remark in silence.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't do with some of these modern women,"
+continued Mrs. Potten. "There are women whose
+names I could tell you that I would not trust with a tin
+halfpenny. My dear, I've seen with my own eyes at
+a hotel restaurant a well-dressed woman sweep up
+the tip left for the waiter by the person who had just
+gone, I saw that the waiters saw it, but they daren't
+do anything. I saw a friend of mine speaking to her
+afterwards! Knew her! Quite respectable! Fancy
+the audacity of it!"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood now rested her head on the back
+of her chair and allowed Mrs. Potten to talk on.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid there's nothing of the Good Samaritan
+in me," said Mrs. Potten, in a self-satisfied tone. "I
+can't undertake the responsibility of a girl who is
+billeted out by her mother&mdash;instead of being given
+a decent home. I think you're simply angelic to have
+had her for so long, Lena."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood's silence only excited Mrs. Potten's
+curiosity. "Most girls now seem to be doing something<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Page 174]</a></span>
+or other," she said. "Why, one even sees young
+women students wheeling convalescent soldiers about
+Oxford. I don't believe there is a woman or girl in
+Oxford who isn't doing something for the war."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but it is the busy women who almost always
+have time for more work," said Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, I suppose Gwendolen is doing nothing and
+eating her head off, as the phrase goes," said Mrs.
+Potten.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood was not to be drawn. "Talking
+of doing something," she said, to draw Mrs. Potten
+off the subject, and there was a touch of weariness in
+her voice: "I think a Frenchwoman can beat an
+Englishwoman any day at 'doing.' I am speaking
+now of the working classes. I have a French maid
+now who does twice the work that any English maid
+would do. I picked her up at the beginning of the war.
+Her husband was killed and she was stranded with
+two children. I've put the two children into a Catholic
+school in Kent and I have them in the holidays. Well,
+Louise makes practically all my things, makes her own
+clothes and the children's, and besides that we have
+made shirts and pyjamas till I could cut them out
+blindfolded. She's an object lesson to all maids."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood was successful, Mrs. Potten's
+attention was diverted, only unfortunately the word
+"maid" stimulated her to draw up an exhaustive
+inventory of all the servants she had ever had at
+Potten End, and she was doing this in her best Bradshaw
+style when Lady Dashwood exclaimed that she had a
+wire to send off and must go and do it.</p>
+
+<p>"I ought to be going too," said Mrs. Potten,
+her brain reeling for a moment at this sudden interruption
+to her train of thought. She rose with some
+indecision, leaving her bag on the floor. Then she
+stooped and picked up her bag and left her umbrella;
+and then at last securing both bag and umbrella, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Page 175]</a></span>
+two ladies made their way down the stairs and went
+back into St. Aldates.</p>
+
+<p>All the time that Mrs. Potten had been running
+through a list of the marriages, births, etc., of all her
+former servants, Lady Dashwood was contriving a
+telegram to Lady Belinda Scott. It was difficult to
+compose, partly because it had to be both elusive and
+yet firm, and partly because Mrs. Potten's voice kept
+on interrupting any flow of consecutive thought.</p>
+
+<p>When the two ladies had reached the post-office the
+wire was completed in Lady Dashwood's brain.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye," said Mrs. Potten, just outside the
+threshold of the door. "And if you see Bernard&mdash;I
+believe he means to go to tea at the Hardings&mdash;would
+you remind him that it is at Eliston's that he has to
+pick me up? There are attractions about!" added
+Mrs. Potten mysteriously, "and he may forget!
+Poor Bernard, such a good fellow in his way, but so
+wild, and he sometimes talks as if he were almost a
+conscientious objector, only he's too old for it to matter.
+I don't allow him to argue with me. I can't follow
+it&mdash;and don't want to. But he's a dear fellow."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood walked into the post-office.
+"Thank goodness, I can think now," she said to herself,
+as she went to a desk.</p>
+
+<p>The wire ran as follows:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Sorry. Saturday quite impossible. Writing."</p>
+
+<p>It was far from cordial, but cordial Lady Dashwood
+had no intention of being. She meant to do her
+duty and no more by Belinda. Duty would be hard
+enough. And when she wrote the letter, what should
+she say?</p>
+
+<p>"If only something would happen, some providential
+accident," thought Lady Dashwood, unconscious
+of the contradiction involved in the terms. The word
+"providential" caused her to go on thinking. If
+there were such things as ghosts, the "ghost" of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Page 176]</a></span>
+the previous night might have been providentially
+sent&mdash;sent as a warning! But the thought was a
+foolish one.</p>
+
+<p>"In any case," she argued, "what is the good of
+warnings? Did any one ever take warning? No, not
+even if one rose from the dead to deliver it."</p>
+
+<p>She was too tired to walk about and too tired to want
+to go again into the Sale room and talk to people.
+She went back to the rooms, climbed the stairs slowly
+and then sat down to wait till it was time to go to
+Mrs. Harding's. Perhaps May would soon have
+finished seeing Christ Church and come and join her.
+Her presence was always a comfort.</p>
+
+<p>It was a comfort, perhaps rather a miserable comfort,
+to Lady Dashwood because she had begun to suspect
+that May too was suffering, not suffering from wounded
+vanity, for May was almost devoid of vanity, but
+from&mdash;and here Lady Dashwood leaned back in her
+chair and closed her eyes. It was a strange thing
+that both Jim and May should have allowed themselves
+to be martyrised, only May's marriage had been so
+brief and had ended so worthily, the shallow young
+man becoming suddenly compelled to bear the burden
+of Empire, and bearing it to the utmost; but Gwen
+would meander along, putting all her burdens on other
+people; and she would live for ever!</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Page 177]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2>
+
+<h3>SEEING CHRIST CHURCH</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">Boreham had been very successful that afternoon.
+He had managed to secure Mrs. Dashwood without
+having to be rude to her hostess. He had done it by
+exchanging Mrs. Potten for the younger lady with a
+deftness on which he congratulated himself, though
+it was true that Lady Dashwood had said to May
+Dashwood, "Go and see over the College with Mr.
+Boreham."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Scott was, most fortunately, absorbed in
+playing at shop with Mrs. Harding.</p>
+
+<p>Boreham's course was clear. He calculated with
+satisfaction that he had a good hour before him alone
+with Mrs. Dashwood. He could show her every
+corner of Christ Church and do it slowly; the brief
+explanation (of a disparaging nature) that he would
+be obliged to make on the details of that historic
+building would only serve to help him out at, perhaps,
+difficult moments. It would be easier for him to
+talk freely and prepare her mind for a proper appreciation
+of the future which lay before her, while he walked
+beside her and pointed out irrelevant things, than it
+would have been if he had been obliged to sit still in a
+chair facing her, for example, and stick to his subject.
+It seemed to him best to begin by speaking quite
+frankly in praise of himself. Boreham had his doubts
+whether any man is really humble in his estimation of
+himself, however much he may pretend to be; and if,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Page 178]</a></span>
+indeed, any man were truly humble, then, in Boreham's
+opinion, that man was a fool.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as they had crossed St. Aldates and had
+entered the gate under Tom Tower, Boreham introduced
+the subject of his own merits, by glancing
+round the great quadrangle and remarking that he
+was thankful that he had never been subjected to
+the fossilising routine of a classical education.</p>
+
+<p>"The study of dead languages is a 'cul-de-sac,'"
+he explained. "You can see the effect it has had in
+the very atmosphere of Oxford. You can see the effect
+it has had on Middleton, dear fellow, who got a double
+First, and the Ireland, and everything else proper
+and useless, and who is now&mdash;what? A conscientious
+schoolmaster, and nothing more!"</p>
+
+<p>It was necessary to bring Middleton in because
+May Dashwood might not have had the time or the
+opportunity of observing all Middleton's limitations.
+She probably would imagine that he was a man of
+ideas and originality. She would take for granted
+(not knowing) that the head of an Oxford College
+was a weighty person, a successful person. Also
+Middleton was a good-looking-man, as good-looking
+as he, Boreham, was himself (only of a more conventional
+type), and therefore not to be despised
+from the mere woman's point of view.</p>
+
+<p>Boreham peered eagerly at his companion's profile
+to see how she took this criticism of Middleton.</p>
+
+<p>May was taking it quite calmly, and even smiled.
+"So far, good," said Boreham to himself, and he
+went on to compare his larger view of life and deeper
+knowledge of "facts" with the restricted outlook of the
+Oxford Don. This she apparently accepted as "understood,"
+for she smiled again, and this triumph of
+Boreham's was achieved while they looked over the
+Christ Church library.</p>
+
+<p>"The first thing," said Boreham, when they came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Page 179]</a></span>
+again into the open air&mdash;"the first thing that a man
+has to do is to be a man of the world that we actually
+live in, not of the world as it was!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Mrs. Dashwood "the world we
+actually live in."</p>
+
+<p>"You agree?" he said brightly.</p>
+
+<p>She smiled again.</p>
+
+<p>"Oxford might have been vitalised; might, I
+say, if, by good luck, somebody had discovered a
+coal mine under the Broad, or the High, and the
+University had been compelled to adjust itself to the
+practical requirements of the world of labour and of
+commerce, and to drop its medi�val methods for
+those of the modern world."</p>
+
+<p>May confessed that she had not thought of this
+way of improving the ancient University, but she
+suggested that some of the provincial universities had
+the advantage of being in the neighbourhood of coal
+mines or in industrial centres.</p>
+
+<p>Boreham, however, waived the point, for his
+spirits were rising, and the sight of Bingham in the
+distance, carrying his table-cloth and slippers and
+looking wistfully at nothing in particular, gave him
+increased confidence in his main plan.</p>
+
+<p>"This staircase," said Boreham, "leads to the
+hall. Shall we go in? I suppose you ought to see it."</p>
+
+<p>"What a lovely roof!" exclaimed May, when
+they reached the foot of the staircase.</p>
+
+<p>Boreham admitted that it was fine, but he insisted
+that it was too good for the place, and he went on with
+his main discourse.</p>
+
+<p>When they entered the dining-hall, the dignity
+of the room, with its noble ceiling, its rich windows
+and the glow of the portraits on the walls, brought
+another exclamation from May's lips.</p>
+
+<p>But all this academic splendour annoyed Boreham
+extremely. It seemed to jeer at him as an outsider.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Page 180]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"It's too good for the collection of asses who dine
+here," he said.</p>
+
+<p>As to the portraits, he insisted that among them
+all, among all these so-called distinguished men,
+there was not one that possessed any real originality
+and power&mdash;except perhaps the painter Watts.</p>
+
+<p>"It's so like Oxford," he added, "to produce
+nothing distinctive."</p>
+
+<p>May laughed now, with a subdued laughter that
+was a little irritating, because it was uncalled for.</p>
+
+<p>"I am laughing," she explained, "because 'the
+world we actually live in' is such a funny place and
+is so full of funny people&mdash;ourselves included."</p>
+
+<p>That was not a reason for laughter if it were true,
+and it was not true that she was, or that he was
+"funny." If she had been "funny" he would not
+have been in love with her. He detained her in front
+of the portrait of Wesley.</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder they have had the sense to keep him
+here," said Boreham. "He is a perpetual reminder
+to them of the scandalous torpor of the Church which
+repudiated him. Yes, I wonder they tolerate him.
+Anyhow, I suppose they tolerate him because, after
+all, they tolerate anybody who tries to keep alive a
+lost cause. Religion was dying a natural death and,
+instead of letting it die, he revived it for a bit. It
+was as good as you could expect from an Oxford
+man! When an Oxford man revolts, he only
+revolts in order to take up some lost cause, some
+survival!"</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose," said May, "that if Wesley had
+had the advantage of being at one of the provincial
+colleges, he would have invented a new soap,
+instead of strewing the place with nonconformist
+chapels?"</p>
+
+<p>This sarcasm of May's would have been exasperating,
+only that the mention of soap quite naturally<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Page 181]</a></span>
+suggested children who had to be soaped, and children
+did bring Boreham actually to an important point. He
+did not really care two straws about Wesley. He went
+straight for this point. He put a few piercing questions
+to May about her work among children in London.
+Strangely enough she did not respond. She gave him one
+or two brief answers of the vaguest description, while
+she turned away to look at more portraits. Boreham,
+however, had only put the questions as a delicate
+approach to <em>the</em> subject. He did not really want any
+answers, and he proceeded to point out to her that her
+work, though it was undertaken in the most altruistic
+spirit, and appeared to be useful to the superficial
+observer, was really not helpful but harmful to the
+community. And this for two reasons. He would
+explain them. Firstly, because it blinded people
+who were interested in social questions to the need
+for the endowment of mothers; and secondly, the care
+of other women's children did not really satisfy the
+maternal instinct in women. It excited their emotions
+and gave them the impression that these emotions
+were satisfying. They were not. He hinted that if
+May would consult any pathologist he would tell her
+that, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, a life like
+hers, seemingly so full, would not save a woman from
+the disastrous effects of being childless.</p>
+
+<p>Now, Boreham was convinced that women rarely
+understand what it is they really want. Women
+believe that they want to become clerks or postmen
+or lawyers, when all the time what they want and
+need is to become mothers. For instance, it was a
+common thing for a woman who had no interest
+in drama and who couldn't act, to want to be an
+actress. What she really wanted then was an increased
+opportunity of meeting the other sex.</p>
+
+<p>Boreham put this before May Dashwood, and was
+gratified at the reception of his remarks.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Page 182]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"What you say <em>is</em> true," she said, "though so
+few people have the courage to say it."</p>
+
+<p>Boreham went on. He felt that May Dashwood,
+in spite of all her sharpness, was profoundly ignorant
+of her own psychology. It was necessary to enlighten
+her, to make her understand that it was not her duty
+to go on mourning for a husband who was dead, but
+that it was her duty to make the best of her own life.
+He entirely exonerated her from the charge of humbug
+in her desire to mother slum children; all he wanted
+was for her to understand that it wasn't of any use
+either to herself or to the community. How well she
+was taking it!</p>
+
+<p>He had barely finished speaking when he became
+unpleasantly aware that two ladies, who had just
+entered, were staring at himself and his companion
+instead of examining the hall. The strangers were
+foreigners, to judge by the boldness with which they
+wore hats that bore no relation to the shape or the
+dignity of the human head. They were evidently
+arrested and curious.</p>
+
+<p>May did not speak for some moments, after they
+both moved away from the portraits. Boreham
+watched her, rather breathlessly, for things were
+going right and coming to a crisis.</p>
+
+<p>"You are quite right," she repeated, at last. "But
+people haven't the courage to say so!"</p>
+
+<p>"You think so?" he replied eagerly. He now
+appreciated, as he had never done before, how much
+he scored by possessing, along with the subtle intuitions
+of the Celt, the plain common-sense of his English
+mother.</p>
+
+<p>"I am preparing my mind," said May, as they
+approached the door of the hall, "to face a future
+chequered by fits of hysteria."</p>
+
+<p>"But why!" urged Boreham, and he could not
+conceal his agitation; "when I spoke of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Page 183]</a></span>
+endowment of mothers I did not mean that I personally
+wanted any interference (at present) with our
+system of monogamy. The British public thinks it
+believes in monogamy and I, personally, think that
+monogamy is workable, under certain circumstances.
+It would be possible for me under certain circumstances."</p>
+
+<p>The sublimity of his self-sacrifice almost brought
+tears to Boreham's eyes. May quickened her steps,
+and he opened the door for her to go into the lobby.
+As he went through himself he could see that the two
+strangers had turned and were watching them. He
+damned them under his breath and pulled the door to.</p>
+
+<p>"There are women," he went on, as he followed
+her down the stairs, "who have breadth of character
+and brains that command the fidelity of men. I need
+not tell <em>you</em> this."</p>
+
+<p>May was descending slowly and looked as if she
+thought she was alone.</p>
+
+<p>"'Age cannot wither, nor custom stale thy infinite
+variety,'" he whispered behind her, and he found the
+words strangely difficult to pronounce because of his
+emotion. He moved alertly into step with her and
+gazed at her profile.</p>
+
+<p>"When that is said to a woman, well, a moderately
+young woman," remarked May, "a woman who is,
+say, twenty-eight&mdash;I am twenty-eight&mdash;it has no
+point I am afraid!"</p>
+
+<p>"No point?" exclaimed Boreham.</p>
+
+<p>"No point," repeated May. "How do you know
+that thirty years from now, when I am on the verge
+of sixty, that I shan't be withered&mdash;unless, indeed, I
+get too stout?" she added pensively.</p>
+
+<p>"You will always be young," said Boreham, fervently;
+"young, like <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Ninon de l'Enclos.</span>"</p>
+
+<p>May had now reached the ground, and she walked
+out on to the terrace into open daylight.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Page 184]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Boreham was at her side immediately, and she
+turned and looked at him. His pale blue eyes blinked
+at her, for he was aware that hers were hostile!
+Why?</p>
+
+<p>"You would seem young to me," he said, trying
+to feel brave.</p>
+
+<p>"Men and women ought," she said, with emphasis
+on the word "ought"&mdash;"men and women ought to
+wither and grow old in the service of Humanity.
+I think nothing is more pathetic than the sight of an
+old woman trying to look young instead of learning
+the lesson of life, the lesson we are here to learn!"</p>
+
+<p>Boreham had had barely time to recover from
+the blow when she added in the sweetest tone&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"There, that's a scolding for you and for Ninon de
+l'Enclos!"</p>
+
+<p>"But I don't mean&mdash;&mdash;" began Boreham. "I
+haven't put it&mdash;you don't take my words quite correctly."</p>
+
+<p>May was already walking on into the open archway
+that led to the cathedral. Before them stood the
+great western doors, and she saw them and stopped.
+Boreham wished to goodness that he had waited till
+they were in the cathedral before he had made his
+quotation. Through the open doors of that ancient
+building he could hear somebody playing the organ.
+That would have been the proper emotional accompaniment
+for those immortal lines of Shakespeare.
+He pictured a corner of the Latin chapel and an
+obscure tender light. Why had he begun to talk in
+the glare of a public thoroughfare?</p>
+
+<p>"Shall we go inside?" he asked urgently. "One
+can't talk here."</p>
+
+<p>But May turned to go back. "I should like to
+see the cathedral some other time," she said. "I
+must thank you very much for having shown me over
+the College&mdash;and&mdash;explained everything."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Page 185]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Yes; but&mdash;&mdash;" stammered Boreham. "We can
+get into the cathedral."</p>
+
+<p>She was actually beginning to hold out her hand
+as if to say Good-bye.</p>
+
+<p>"Not now," she said; and before he had time to
+argue further, Bingham came suddenly upon them
+from somewhere, and expressed so much surprise at
+seeing them that it was evident that he had been on
+the watch. He had disposed of his purchases and
+was a free man. He had actually pounced upon them
+like a bird of prey&mdash;and stealthily too. It was a mean
+trick to have played.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you coming out or going in?" asked Bingham.</p>
+
+<p>"Neither," said May, turning to him as if she was
+glad of his approach.</p>
+
+<p>"You've seen it before?" said Bingham.</p>
+
+<p>"No, not yet," said May.</p>
+
+<p>"It's as nice a place as you could find anywhere,"
+said Bingham, calmly, "for doing a bit of Joss."</p>
+
+<p>Boreham's brain surged with indignation. This
+man's intrusion at such a moment was insupportable.
+Yes, and he had got rid of his miserable table-cloth
+and shoes, probably taken them to Harding's house,
+and was going to tea there too. Not only this, but
+here he was talking in his jesting way, exactly in the
+same soft drawling voice in which he reeled off Latin
+quotations, and so it went down&mdash;yes, went down
+when it ought to have given offence. May ought to
+have been offended. She didn't look offended!</p>
+
+<p>"You forget," said Boreham, looking through his
+eyeglass at Bingham and frowning, "that Mrs. Dashwood
+is, what is called a Churchwoman."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm a Churchman myself," said the imperturbable
+Don. "To me a church is always first a sanctuary,
+as I have just remarked to Mrs. Dashwood. Secondly,
+it is the artistic triumph of some blooming engineer.
+Nowadays our church architects aren't engineers;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Page 186]</a></span>
+they don't <em>create</em> a building, they just run it up from
+books. Our modern churches are failures not because
+we aren't religious, but because our architects are not
+big enough men to be great engineers."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, yes," said May, looking up with relief at
+Bingham's swarthy features.</p>
+
+<p>"I deny that we are religious, as a whole," said
+Boreham, stoutly.</p>
+
+<p>"You may not be, my dear fellow," said Bingham,
+in his oily voice; "but then you are the only genuine
+conservative I meet nowadays. You are still faithful
+to the 'Eighties'&mdash;still impressed by the discovery
+that religion don't drop out of the sky as we thought
+it did, but had its origin in the funk and cunning of the
+humanoid ape."</p>
+
+<p>May was standing between the two men, and all
+three had their backs to the cathedral, just as if
+they had emerged from its doors. And it was at this
+moment that she caught a sudden sight through the
+open archway of two figures passing along the terrace
+outside; one figure she did not know, but which she
+thought might be the Dean of Christ Church, and the
+other figure was one which was becoming to her more
+significant than any other in the world. He saw her;
+he raised his hat, and was already gone before she had
+time to think. When she did think it came upon her,
+with a rush of remorse, that he must have thought
+that she had been looking over the cathedral with
+her two companions, after having refused his guidance
+on the pretext that she wished to be alone. Yes,
+there was in his face surely surprise, surprise and
+reproach! How could she explain? He had gone!
+She vaguely heard the two men beside her speaking;
+she heard Boreham's protesting voice but did not
+follow his words.</p>
+
+<p>"While we are engaged in peaceful persuasion,"
+said Bingham in her ear, "you are white with fatigue."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Page 187]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I'm not tired," she said, "not really&mdash;only I
+think I will go to the rooms where Lady Dashwood is
+to meet me. Will you show me them?"</p>
+
+<p>She spoke to Bingham, and touched his arm with
+her hand as if to ask for his support.</p>
+
+<p>Boreham saw that he was excluded. It was
+obvious, and he stood staring after them, full of
+indignation.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall see you later," he said in a dry voice.
+How did it all happen?</p>
+
+<p>As soon as they were on the terrace, May released
+Bingham's arm.</p>
+
+<p>"You want to get a rest before you go to the
+Hardings," he said. Then he added, in a voice that
+threw out the words merely as a remark which demanded
+no answer, "Was it physical&mdash;or&mdash;moral or
+both? Umph!" he went on. "Now, we have only
+a step to make. It's the third doorway!"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Page 188]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2>
+
+<h3>A TEA PARTY</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">Mrs. Harding had not succeeded in finding some
+chance of "casually" asking Mrs. Potten to have
+tea with her, but she had secured the Dashwoods.
+That was something. Mrs. Harding's drawing-room
+was spacious and looked out on the turreted walls of
+Christ Church. The house witnessed to Mrs. Harding's
+private means.</p>
+
+<p>"We have got Lady Dashwood in the further
+room," she murmured to some ladies who arrived
+punctually from the Sale in St. Aldates, "and we
+nearly got the Warden of Kings."</p>
+
+<p>The na�vet� of Mrs. Harding's remark was quite
+unconscious, and was due to that absence of humour
+which is the very foundation stone of snobbishness.</p>
+
+<p>"But the Warden is coming to fetch his party
+home," added Mrs. Harding, cheerfully.</p>
+
+<p>Harding, too, was in good spirits. He was all
+patriotism and full of courteous consideration for his
+friends. So heartened was he that, after tea, at the
+suggestion of Bingham, he sat down to the piano to
+sing a duet with his wife. This was also a sort of
+touching example of British respectability with a dash
+of "go" in it!</p>
+
+<p>Bingham was turning over some music.</p>
+
+<p>"What shall it be, Tina?" asked Harding, whose
+repertoire was limited.</p>
+
+<p>"This!" said Bingham, and he placed on the piano
+in front of Hording the duet from "Becket."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Page 189]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The room was crowded, khaki prevailing. "All
+the women are workers," Mrs. Harding had explained.</p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen Scott was there, of course, still conscious
+of the ten-shilling note in the pocket of her coat. Mrs.
+Potten had gone, along with the Buckinghamshire
+collar, just as if neither had ever existed. Boreham
+was there, talking to one or two men in khaki, because
+he could not get near May Dashwood. She had now
+somehow got wedged into a corner over which Bingham
+was standing guard.</p>
+
+<p>At the door the Warden had just made his appearance.
+He had got no further than the threshold, for
+he saw his hostess about to sing and would not advance
+to disturb her.</p>
+
+<p>From where he stood May Dashwood could be
+plainly seen, and Bingham stooping with his hands on
+his knees, making an inaudible remark to her.</p>
+
+<p>The remark that gentleman was actually making
+was: "You'll have a treat presently&mdash;the greatest
+surprise in your life."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Harding stood behind her husband. She was
+dressed with strict regard to the last fashion. Dressing
+in each fashion as it came into existence she used to
+call quite prettily, "the simple truth about it." Since
+the war she called it frankly and seriously "the true
+economy." Her face usually expressed a superior
+self-assurance, and now it wore also a look of indulgent
+amiability. Her whole appearance suggested a
+happy peacock with its tail spread, and the surprise
+which Bingham predicted came when she opened her
+mouth and, instead of emitting screams in praise of
+diamonds and of Paris hats (as one would have expected),
+she piped in a small melancholy voice the
+following pathetic inquiry&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Is it the wind of the dawn that I hear in the pine overhead?"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>And then came Harding's growling baritone,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Page 190]</a></span>
+avoiding any mention of cigars or cocktails and making
+answer&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"No! but the noise of the deep as it hollows the cliffs of the land."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Mrs. Harding&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Is there a voice coming up with the voice of the deep from the strand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One coming up with the song in the flush of the glimmering red?"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Mr. Harding&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Love that is born of the deep coming up with the sun from the sea."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Bingham was convulsed with inward laughter.
+May tried to smile a little&mdash;at the incongruity of the
+singers and the words they sang; but her thoughts
+were all astray. The Warden was here&mdash;so near!</p>
+
+<p>No one else was in the least amused. Boreham
+was plainly worried, and was staring through his
+eyeglass at Bingham's back, behind which May Dashwood
+was half obliterated. Gwendolen Scott had
+only just caught sight of the Warden and had flushed
+up, and wore an excited look on her face. She was
+glancing at him with furtive glances&mdash;ready to bow.
+Now she caught his eye and bowed, and he returned
+the bow very gravely.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood was leaning back in her chair
+listening with resigned misery.</p>
+
+<p>May looked straight before her, past Bingham's
+elbow. She knew the song from Becket well. Words
+in the song were soon coming that she dreaded, because
+of the Warden standing there by the door.</p>
+
+<p>The words came&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Love that is born of the deep coming up with the sun from the sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love that can shape or can shatter a life till the life shall have fled."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>She raised her eyes to the Warden. She could see<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Page 191]</a></span>
+his profile. It looked noble among the faces around
+him, as he stood with his head bent, apparently very
+much aloof, absorbed in his own thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>He, of all men she had ever met, ought to have
+understood "love that is born of the deep," and did
+not. He turned his head slightly and met her eyes
+for the flash of a second. It was the look of a man who
+takes his last look.</p>
+
+<p>She did not move, but she grasped the arms of
+her chair and heard no more of the music but
+sounds, vaguely drumming at her ears, without
+meaning.</p>
+
+<p>She did not even notice Bingham's movement, the
+slow cautious movement with which he turned to see
+what had aroused her emotion. When he knew, he
+made a still more cautious and imperceptible movement
+away from her; the movement of a man who
+discerns that he had made a step too far and wishes to
+retrace that step without being observed.</p>
+
+<p>May did not even notice that the song was over and
+that people were talking and moving about.</p>
+
+<p>"We are going, May," said Lady Dashwood. "Mr.
+Boreham has to go and hunt for a ten-shilling note
+that Mrs. Potten thinks she dropped at Christ Church.
+She has just sent me a letter about it. She can't
+remember the staircase. In any case we have to go
+and pick up our purchases there, so we are all going
+together."</p>
+
+<p>"She's always dropping things," said Boreham,
+who had taken the opportunity of coming up and
+speaking to May. "She may have lost the note anywhere
+between here and Norham Gardens. She's
+incorrigible."</p>
+
+<p>The little gathering was beginning to melt away.
+Harding and Bingham had hurried off on business,
+and there was nobody now left but Boreham and the
+party from King's and Mrs. Harding, who was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Page 192]</a></span>
+determined to help in the search for Mrs. Potten's
+lost note.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Scott is coming back with me&mdash;to help
+wind up things at the Sale," said Mrs. Harding, "and
+on our way we will go in and help you."</p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen's first impulse, when Mrs. Potten's
+note was discussed, was to get behind somebody else
+so as not to be seen. Would Mr. Harding and Mr.
+Bingham remember about the extra note? Probably&mdash;so
+her second impulse was to say aloud: "I wonder
+if it's the note I quite forgot to give to Mrs. Potten?
+I've got it somewhere." Alas! this impulse was short-lived.
+Ever since she had put the note in her pocket,
+the mental image of an umbrella had been before her
+eyes. She had begun to consider that mental umbrella
+as already a real umbrella and hers. She walked about
+already, in imagination, under it. She might have
+planned to spend money that had fallen into her hands
+on sweets. That would have been the usual thing;
+but no, she was going to spend it on something very
+useful and necessary. That ten shillings, in fact, so
+carelessly flung aside by Mrs. Potten, was going to be
+spent in a way very few girls would think of. To
+spend it on an umbrella was wonderfully virtuous and
+made the whole affair a sort of duty.</p>
+
+<p>The umbrella, in short, had become now part of
+Gwendolen's future. Virtue walking with an umbrella.
+Without that umbrella there would be a distinct blank
+in Gwendolen's life!</p>
+
+<p>If she obeyed her second impulse on the moment,
+that umbrella would never become hers. She would
+for ever lose that umbrella. But neither Mr. Harding
+nor Mr. Bingham seemed to think of her, or her note.
+They were already rushing off to lectures or chapels or
+something. The impulse died!</p>
+
+<p>So the poor silly child pretended to search in the
+rooms at Christ Church with no less energy than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Page 193]</a></span>
+Mrs. Harding and Mrs. Dashwood, and much more
+thoroughly than Boreham, who did nothing more than
+put up the lights and stand about looking gloomy.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden was walking slowly with Lady Dashwood
+on the terrace below when the searchers came out
+announcing that no note could be found.</p>
+
+<p>Boreham's arms were full of parcels, and these
+were distributed among the Warden, Lady Dashwood,
+and Mrs. Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Harding said "good-bye" outside the great gate.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall bring Miss Scott home, after the work is
+over," she said; and Gwendolen glanced at the Warden
+in the fading afternoon light with some confidence,
+for was not the affair of the note over? What more
+could happen? She could not be certain whether he
+looked at her or not. He moved away the moment
+that Mrs. Harding had ceased speaking. He bowed,
+and in another moment was talking to Mr. Boreham.</p>
+
+<p>May Dashwood had slipped her hand into her
+aunt's arm, making it obvious to Boreham that he
+and the Warden must walk on ahead, or else walk
+behind. They walked on ahead.</p>
+
+<p>"I've got to fetch Mrs. Potten from Eliston's," he
+said fretfully, as he walked beside the Warden. All
+four went along in silence. They passed Carfax.
+There, a little farther on, was Mrs. Potten just at the
+shop's door, looking out keenly through her glasses,
+peering from one side of the street to the other.</p>
+
+<p>She came forward to meet them, evidently charmed
+at seeing the Warden.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid I made a great fuss over that note.
+Did you find it, Bernard?"</p>
+
+<p>Boreham felt too cross to answer.</p>
+
+<p>"We didn't," said May Dashwood. "I'm sorry!"</p>
+
+<p>"No, we couldn't find it," said Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"You really couldn't," repeated Mrs. Potten.
+"Well, I wonder&mdash;&mdash; But how kind of you!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Page 194]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Now, Mrs. Potten rarely saw the Warden, and
+this fact made her prize him all the more. Mrs.
+Potten's weakness for men was very weak for the
+Warden, so much so that for the moment she forgot
+the loss of her note, and&mdash;thinking of Wardens&mdash;burst
+into a long story about the Heads of colleges
+she had known personally and those she had not
+known personally.</p>
+
+<p>Her assumption that Heads of colleges were of any
+importance was all the more distasteful to Boreham
+because May Dashwood was listening.</p>
+
+<p>"Come along, Mrs. Potten," he said crossly; "we
+shall have to have the lamps lit if we wait any longer."</p>
+
+<p>But they were not her lamps that would have to
+be lit, burning <em>her</em> oil, and Mrs. Potten released the
+Warden with much regret.</p>
+
+<p>"So the poor little note was never found," she
+said, as she held out her hand for good-bye. "I know
+it's a trifle, but in these days everything is serious,
+everything! And after I had scribbled off my note
+to you from Eliston's I thought I might have given
+Miss Scott two ten-shilling notes instead of one, just
+by mistake, and that she hadn't noticed, of course."</p>
+
+<p>"I thought of that," said Lady Dashwood, "and
+I asked Mrs. Harding; but she said that she had got
+the correct notes&mdash;thirty shillings."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, good-bye," said Mrs. Potten. "I am sorry
+to have troubled everybody, but in war time one has
+to be careful. One never knows what may happen.
+Strange things have happened and will happen. Don't
+you think so, Warden?"</p>
+
+<p>"Stranger than perhaps we think of," said the
+Warden, and he raised his hat to go.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, Bernard," said Mrs. Potten, "I must try
+and tear you away. Good-bye, good-bye!" and even
+then she lingered and looked at the Warden.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye, Marian," said Lady Dashwood, firmly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Page 195]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I am afraid you are very tired," whispered May
+in her aunt's ear, as they turned up the Broad.</p>
+
+<p>"Rather tired," said Lady Dashwood. "Too
+tired to hear Marian's list of names, nothing but
+names!"</p>
+
+<p>They walked on a few steps, and then there came
+a sound of whirring in the sky. It was a sound new
+to Oxford, but which had lately become frequent.
+All three looked up. An aeroplane was skimming
+low over steeples, towers, and ancient chimney stacks,
+going home to Port Meadow, like a bird going home
+to roost at the approach of night. It was going safely.
+The pilot was only learning, playing with air, overcoming
+it with youthful keenness and light-heartedness.
+They could see his little solitary figure sitting
+at the helm. Later on he would play no more;
+the air would be full of glory, and horror&mdash;over in
+France.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden sighed.</p>
+
+<p>When they reached the Lodgings they went into
+the gloom of the dark panelled hall. The portraits
+on the walls glowered at them. The Warden put up
+the lights and looked at the table for letters, as if he
+expected something. There was a wire for him; more
+business, but not unexpected.</p>
+
+<p>"I have to go to Town again," he said. "A
+meeting and other education business."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" said Lady Dashwood. She caught at
+the idea, and her eyes followed the figure of May
+Dashwood walking upstairs. When May turned out
+of sight she said: "Do you mean now?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, to-morrow early," he said. "And I shall be
+back on Saturday."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood seated herself on a couch; her
+letters were in her hand, but she did not open them.
+Her eyes were fixed on her brother.</p>
+
+<p>"Can you manage somehow so that I can speak<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Page 196]</a></span>
+to Gwendolen alone?" he asked. "I am dining in
+Hall, but I shall be back by half-past nine."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood felt her cheeks tingle. "Yes, I
+will manage it, if it is inevitable." She dwelt lingeringly
+upon the word "inevitable."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," said the Warden, and he turned and
+walked slowly upstairs. Very heavily he walked, so
+Lady Dashwood thought, as she sat listening to his
+footsteps. Of course it was inevitable. If vows are
+forgotten, promises are broken, there is an end to
+"honour," to "progress," to everything worth living for!</p>
+
+<p>At the drawing-room he paused; the door was
+wide open, and he could see May Dashwood standing
+near one of the windows pulling her gloves off. She
+turned.</p>
+
+<p>"I have to be in town early to-morrow and shall
+not return till the following day, Saturday," he said,
+coming up slowly to where she was standing.</p>
+
+<p>She glanced up at him.</p>
+
+<p>"This is the second time I have had to go away
+since you came, but it is a time when so much has to
+be considered and discussed, matters relating to the
+future of education, and of the universities, and with
+the future of Oxford. Things have suddenly changed;
+it is a new world that we live in to-day, a new world."
+Then he added bitterly, "Such as was the morrow of
+the Crucifixion."</p>
+
+<p>He glanced away from her and rested his eyes on
+the window. The curtains had not yet been drawn
+and the latticed panes were growing dim. The dull
+grey sky behind the battlements of the roof opposite
+showed no memory of sunset.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course you have to go away," said May, softly,
+and she too looked out at the dull sky now darkening
+into night.</p>
+
+<p>Should she now tell him that she had kept her word,
+that she had not seen the cathedral because she had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Page 197]</a></span>
+not been alone. She had had a strong desire to tell
+him when it was impossible to do so. Now, when she
+had only to say the words for he was there, close
+beside her, she could not speak. Perhaps he wouldn't
+care whether she had kept her word&mdash;and yet she knew
+that he did care.</p>
+
+<p>They stood together for a moment in silence.</p>
+
+<p>"And you were not able to go with me to the
+cathedral," he said, turning and looking at her face
+steadily.</p>
+
+<p>May coloured as she felt his eyes upon her, but she
+braced herself to meet his question as if it was a matter
+about which they cared nothing.</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't want to waste your time," she said, and
+she drew her gloves through her hand and moved away.</p>
+
+<p>"Bingham," he said, "knows more than I do,
+perhaps more than any man in Oxford, about medi�val
+architecture."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah yes," said May, and she walked slowly towards
+the fireplace.</p>
+
+<p>"And he will have shown you everything," he
+persisted.</p>
+
+<p>May was now in front of the portrait, though she
+did not notice it.</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't go into the cathedral," she said.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden raised his head as if throwing off
+some invisible burden. Then he moved and came
+and stood near her&mdash;also facing the portrait. But
+neither noticed the large luminous eyes fixed upon
+them, visible even in the darkening room.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose one ought not to be critical of a drawing-room
+song," said the Warden, and his voice now was
+changed.</p>
+
+<p>May moved her head slightly towards him, but did
+not meet his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"I was inclined," he said, "but then I am by trade
+a college tutor, to criticise one line of Tennyson's verse."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Page 198]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>She knew what he meant. "What line do you
+object to?" she asked, and the line seemed to be
+already dinning in her ears.</p>
+
+<p>He quoted the line, pronouncing the words with a
+strange emphasis&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"'Love that can shape or can shatter a life, till the life shall have fled.'"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>"Yes?" said May.</p>
+
+<p>"It is a pretty sentiment," he said. "I suppose
+we ought to accept it as such."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said May, and her voice lingered doubtfully
+over the word.</p>
+
+<p>"Have we any right to expect so much, or fear
+so much," said the Warden, "from the circumstances
+of life?"</p>
+
+<p>May turned her head away and said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>"Why demand that life shall be made so easy?"
+Here he paused again. "Some of us," he went on,
+"want to be converted, in the Evangelical sense; in
+other words, some of us want to be given a sudden
+inspiring illumination, an irresistible motive for living
+the good life, a motive that will make virtue
+easy."</p>
+
+<p>May looked down into the fire and waited for him
+to go on.</p>
+
+<p>"Some of us demand a love that will make marriage
+easy, smooth for our temper, flattering to our vanity.
+Some demand"&mdash;and here there was a touch of passion
+in his voice that made May's heart heavy and sick&mdash;"they
+demand that it should be made easy to be
+faithful."</p>
+
+<p>And she gave no answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't it our business to accept the circumstances
+of life, love among them, and refuse either to be shaped
+by them or shattered by them? But you will accuse
+me of being hyper-critical at a tea-party, of arguing on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Page 199]</a></span>
+ethics when I should have been thinking of&mdash;of nothing
+particular."</p>
+
+<p>This was his Apologia. After this there would be
+silence. He would be Gwendolen's husband. May
+tried to gather up all her self-possession.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't agree with me?" he asked to break
+her obstinate silence.</p>
+
+<p>She could hear Robinson coming in. He put up
+the lights, and out of the obscurity flashed the face of
+the portrait almost to the point of speech.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean that one ought and can live in
+marriage without help and without sympathy?" she
+asked, and her voice trembled a little.</p>
+
+<p>He answered, "I mean that. May I quote you
+lines that you probably know, lines of a more strenuous
+character than that line from 'Becket.'" And he
+quoted&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"'For even the purest delight may pall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And power must fail, and the pride must fall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the love of the dearest friends grow small,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the glory of the Lord is all in all.'"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>They could hear the swish of the heavy curtains as
+Robinson pulled them over the windows.</p>
+
+<p>"And yet&mdash;&mdash;" she said. Here a queer spasm came
+in her throat. She was moving towards the open door,
+for she felt that she could not bear to hear any more.
+He followed her.</p>
+
+<p>"And yet&mdash;&mdash;?" he persisted.</p>
+
+<p>"I only mean," she said, and she compelled her
+voice to be steady, "what is the glory of the Lord?
+Is it anything but love&mdash;love of other people?"</p>
+
+<p>She went through the open door slowly and turned
+to the shallow stairs that led to her bedroom. She
+could not hear whether he went to his library or not.
+She was glad that she did not meet anybody in the
+corridor. The doors were shut.</p>
+
+<p>She locked her door and went up to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Page 200]</a></span>
+dressing-table. The little oval picture case was lying
+there. She laid her hand upon it, but did not move
+it. She stood, pressing her fingers upon it. Then she
+moved away. Even the memory of the past was fading
+from her life; her future would contain nothing&mdash;to
+remember.</p>
+
+<p>She moved about the room. Wasn't duty enough
+to fill her life? Wasn't it enough for her to know that
+she was helping in her small way to build up the future
+of the race? Why could she not be content with that?
+Perhaps, when white hairs came and wrinkles, and her
+prime was past, she might be content! But until
+then....</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Page 201]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2>
+
+<h3>THE MORAL CLAIMS OF AN UMBRELLA</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">The ghost was, so to speak, dead, as far as any mention
+of him was made at the Lodgings. But in the servants'
+quarters he was very much alive.</p>
+
+<p>The housemaid, who had promised not to tell "any
+one" that Miss Scott had seen a ghost, kept her word
+with literal strictness, by telling every one.</p>
+
+<p>Robinson was of opinion that the general question
+of ghosts was still an open one. Also that he had
+never heard in his time, or his father's, of the Barber's
+ghost actually appearing in the Warden's library.
+When the maids expressed alarm, he reproved them
+with a grumbling scorn. If ghosts did ever appear, he
+felt that the Lodgings had a first-class claim to one;
+ghosts were "classy," he argued. Had any one ever
+heard tell of a ghost haunting a red brick villa or a
+dissenting chapel?</p>
+
+<p>Louise had gathered up the story without difficulty,
+but she had secret doubts whether Miss Scott might
+not have invented the whole thing. She did not put
+much faith in Miss Scott. Now, if Lady Dashwood
+had seen the ghost, that would have been another
+matter!</p>
+
+<p>What really excited Louise was the story that the
+Barber came to warn Wardens of an approaching
+disaster. Now Louise was in any case prepared to
+believe that "disasters" might easily be born and bred<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Page 202]</a></span>
+in places like the Lodgings and in a city like Oxford;
+but in addition to all this there had been and was
+something going on in the Lodgings lately that was
+distressing Lady Dashwood, something in the behaviour
+of the Warden! A disaster! Hein?</p>
+
+<p>When she returned from St. Aldates, Gwendolen
+Scott had had only time to sit down in a chair and
+survey her boots for a few moments when Louise came
+into her bedroom and suggested that <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mademoiselle</span>
+would like to have her hair well brushed. <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mademoiselle's</span>
+hair had suffered from the passing events of the
+day.</p>
+
+<p>"Doesn't Lady Dashwood want you?" asked
+Gwendolen.</p>
+
+<p>No, Lady Dashwood was already dressed and was
+reposing herself on the couch, being fatigued. She
+was lying with her face towards the window, which
+was indeed wide open&mdash;wide open, and it was after
+sunset and at the end of October&mdash;par example!</p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen still stared at her boots and said
+she wanted to think; but Louise had an object in
+view and was firm, and in a few minutes she had
+deposited the young lady in front of the toilet-table
+and was brushing her black curly hair with much
+vigour.</p>
+
+<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mademoiselle</span> saw the ghost last night," began
+Louise.</p>
+
+<p>"Who said that?" exclaimed Gwendolen.</p>
+
+<p>"On dit," said Louise.</p>
+
+<p>"Then they shouldn't on dit," said Gwendolen.
+"I never said I saw the ghost, I may have said I
+thought I saw one, which is quite different. The
+Warden says there are no ghosts, and the whole thing
+is rubbish."</p>
+
+<p>"There comes no ghost here," said Louise,
+firmly, "except there is a disaster preparing for the
+Warden."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Page 203]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"The Warden's quite all right," said Gwen, with
+some scorn.</p>
+
+<p>"Quite all right," repeated Louise. "But it may
+be some disaster domestic. Who can tell? There is
+not only death&mdash;there is&mdash;<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">par exemple</span>, marriage!"
+and Louise glanced over Gwendolen's head and looked
+at the girl's face reflected in the mirror.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, that is cool," thought Gwendolen; "I
+suppose that's French!"</p>
+
+<p>"The whole thing is rubbish," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"One cannot tell, it is not for us to know, perhaps,
+but it may be that the disaster is, that Mrs. Dashwood,
+so charming&mdash;so <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">douce</span>&mdash;will not permit herself to
+marry again&mdash;though she is still young. Such things
+happen. But how the Barber should have obtained
+the information&mdash;the good God only knows."</p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen blew the breath from her mouth with
+protruding lips.</p>
+
+<p>"What has that to do with the Warden? I do
+wish you wouldn't talk so much, Louise."</p>
+
+<p>"It may be a disaster that there can be no marriage
+between Mrs. Dashwood and <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Monsieur</span> the Warden,"
+continued Louise.</p>
+
+<p>"The Warden doesn't want to marry Mrs. Dashwood,"
+replied Gwendolen, with some energy.</p>
+
+<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mademoiselle</span> knows!" said Louise, softly.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I know," said Gwendolen. "No one has
+thought of such a thing&mdash;except you."</p>
+
+<p>"But perhaps he is about to marry&mdash;some one whom
+Lady Dashwood esteems not; that would be indeed a
+disaster," said Louise, regretfully. "Ah, indeed a
+disaster," and she ran the brush lengthily down Gwendolen's
+hair.</p>
+
+<p>"I do wish you wouldn't talk," said Gwen. "It
+isn't your business, Louise."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah," murmured Louise, brushing away, "I will
+not speak of disasters; but I pray&mdash;I pray continually,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Page 204]</a></span>
+and particularly I pray to St. Joseph to protect M.
+the Warden from any disaster whatever." Then she
+added: "I believe so much in St. Joseph."</p>
+
+<p>"St. Joseph!" said Gwendolen, sharply. "Why
+on earth?"</p>
+
+<p>"I believe much in him," said Louise.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't like him," said Gwendolen. "He always
+spoils those pictures of the Holy Family, he and his
+beard; he is like Abraham."</p>
+
+<p>"He spoils! That is not so; he is no doubt much,
+much older than the Blessed Virgin, but that was
+necessary, and he is <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">un peu homme du monde</span>&mdash;to
+protect the Lady Mother and Child. I pray to St.
+Joseph, because the good God, who was the Blessed
+Child, was always so gentle, so obedient, so tender.
+He will still listen to his kind protector, St. Joseph."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Louise, you are funny," said Gwendolen,
+laughing.</p>
+
+<p>"Funny!" exclaimed Louise. "Holy Jesus!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, it all happened such ages ago, and you talk
+as if it were going on now."</p>
+
+<p>"It is now&mdash;always now&mdash;to God," exclaimed
+Louise, fervently; "there is no past&mdash;all is now."</p>
+
+<p>This was far too metaphysical for Gwendolen.
+"You are funny," she repeated.</p>
+
+<p>"Funny&mdash;again funny. Ah, but I forget, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mademoiselle</span>
+is Protestant."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I'm not," said Gwen; "I belong to the
+English branch of the Catholic Church."</p>
+
+<p>"We have no branch, we are a trunk," said Louise,
+sadly.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I'm exactly what the Warden is and what
+Lady Dashwood is," said Gwendolen.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, my Lady Dashwood," said Louise, breaking
+into a tone of tragic melancholy. "I pray always for
+her. Ah! but she is good, and the good God knows it.
+But she is not well." And Louise changed her tone<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Page 205]</a></span>
+to one of mild speculation. "<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> perhaps is
+<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">souffrante</span> because of so much fresh air and the
+absence of shops."</p>
+
+<p>"It is foolish to suppose that the Warden does
+just what Lady Dashwood tells him. That doesn't
+happen in this part of the world," said Gwendolen,
+her mind still rankling on Louise's remark about Lady
+Dashwood not esteeming&mdash;as if, indeed, Lady Dashwood
+was the important person, as if, indeed, it was
+to please Lady Dashwood that the Warden was to
+marry!</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, no," said Louise. "The <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">monsieurs</span> here
+come and go just like guests in their homes. They do
+as they choose. The husband in England says never&mdash;as
+he does in France: 'I come back, my dearest, at
+the first moment possible, to assist you entertain our
+dear grandmamma and our dear aunt.' No, he says
+that not; and the English wife she never says:
+'Where have you been? It is an hour that our little
+Suzette demands that the father should show her
+again her new picture book!' Ah, no. I find that the
+English messieurs have much liberty."</p>
+
+<p>"It must be deadly for men in France," said
+Gwendolen.</p>
+
+<p>"It is always funny or deadly with <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mademoiselle</span>,"
+replied Louise.</p>
+
+<p>But she felt that she had obtained enough information
+of an indirect nature to strengthen her in her
+suspicions that Lady Dashwood had arranged a marriage
+between the Warden and Mrs. Dashwood, but
+that the Warden had not played his part, and, notwithstanding
+his dignified appearance, was amusing
+himself with both his guests in a manner altogether
+reprehensible.</p>
+
+<p>Ah! but it was a pity!</p>
+
+<p>When Louise left the room Gwendolen went to the
+wardrobe, and took out the coat that Louise had put<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Page 206]</a></span>
+away. She felt in the wrong pocket first, which was
+empty, and then in the right one and found the ten-shilling
+note. Now that she had it in her hand it
+seemed to her amazing that Mrs. Potten, with her big
+income, should have fussed over such a small matter.
+It was shabby of her.</p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen took her purse out of a drawer which
+she always locked up. Even if her purse only contained
+sixpence, she locked it up because she took for
+granted that it would be "stolen."</p>
+
+<p>As she put away her purse and locked the drawer
+a sudden and disagreeable thought came into her mind.
+She would not like the Warden to know that she was
+going to buy an umbrella with money that Mrs. Potten
+had "thrown away." She would feel "queer" if she
+met him in the hall, when she came in from buying the
+umbrella. Why? Well, she would! Anyhow, she
+need not make up her mind yet what she would do&mdash;about
+the umbrella.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile the Warden surely would speak to her
+this evening, or would write or something? Was she
+never, never going to be engaged?</p>
+
+<p>She dressed and came down into the drawing-room.
+Dinner had already been announced, and Lady Dashwood
+was standing and Mrs. Dashwood was standing.
+Where was the Warden?</p>
+
+<p>"I ought not to have to tell you to be punctual,
+Gwen," said Lady Dashwood. "I expect you to be
+in the drawing-room before dinner is announced, not
+after."</p>
+
+<p>"So sorry," murmured Gwen; then added lightly,
+"but I am more punctual than Dr. Middleton!"</p>
+
+<p>"The Warden is dining in Hall," said Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>So the Warden had made himself invisible again!
+When was he going to speak to her? When was she
+going to be really engaged?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Page 207]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen held open the door for the two ladies
+and, as she did so, glanced round the room. Now
+that she knew that the Warden was out somehow the
+drawing-room looked rather dreary.</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes rested on the portrait over the fireplace.
+There was that odious man looking so knowing! She
+was not sure whether she shouldn't have that portrait
+removed when she was Mrs. Middleton. It would
+serve him right. She turned out the lights with some
+satisfaction, it left him in the dark!</p>
+
+<p>As she walked downstairs behind the two ladies,
+she thought that they too looked rather dreary. The
+hall looked dreary. Even the dining-room that she
+always admired looked dreary, and especially dreary
+looked old Robinson, and very shabby he looked, as
+he stood at the carving table. And young Robinson's
+nose looked more turned-up, and more stumpy than she
+had noticed before. It was so dull without the Warden
+at the head of the table.</p>
+
+<p>There was very little conversation at dinner.
+When the Warden was away, nobody seemed to
+want to talk. Lady Dashwood said she had a headache.</p>
+
+<p>But Gwendolen gathered some information of importance.
+Mrs. Potten had turned up again, and had
+been told that the right money had gone to Mrs.
+Harding.</p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen stared a good deal at her plate,
+and felt considerable relief when Lady Dashwood
+added: "She knows now that she did not lose her
+note in Christ Church. She is always dropping things&mdash;poor
+Marian! But she very likely hadn't the note
+at all, and only thought she had the note," and so the
+matter <em>ended</em>.</p>
+
+<p>Just as dinner was over Gwen gathered more information.
+The Warden was going away early to-morrow!
+That was dreary, only&mdash;she would go and buy the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Page 208]</a></span>
+umbrella while he was away, and get used to having
+it before he saw it.</p>
+
+<p>That the future Mrs. Middleton should not even
+have an umbrella to call her own was monstrous!
+She must keep up the dignity of her future position!</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Page 209]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2>
+
+<h3>HONOUR</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">The drawing-room was empty except for the figure of
+Gwendolen Scott. Her slim length was in a great
+easy-chair, on the arms of which she was resting her
+hands, while she turned her head from side to side
+like a bird that anticipates the approach of enemies.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Dashwood and Lady Dashwood had gone
+upstairs, and, to her astonishment, when she prepared
+to follow them, Lady Dashwood had quietly made her
+wait behind for the Warden!</p>
+
+<p>The command, for it seemed almost like a command,
+came with startling abruptness. So Lady
+Dashwood knew all about it! She must have talked
+it over with the Warden, and now she was arranging
+it as if the Warden couldn't act without her! But the
+annoyance that Gwen felt at this proof of Lady Dashwood's
+power was swallowed up in the sense of a great
+victory, the prize was won! She was going to be really
+engaged at last! All the waiting and the bother was
+over!</p>
+
+<p>She was ready for him, at least as ready as she
+could be. She was glad she had got on her white
+frock; on the whole, she preferred it to the others.
+Even Louise, who never said anything nice, said that
+it suited her.</p>
+
+<p>When would he come? And when he did come,
+what would he do, what would he say?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Page 210]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Would he come in quietly and slowly as he had
+done last night, looking, oh, so strong, so capable of
+driving ghosts away, fears away? She would never
+be afraid of anything in his presence, except perhaps
+of himself! Here he was!</p>
+
+<p>He came in, shut the door behind him, and advanced
+towards her. She couldn't help watching him.</p>
+
+<p>"You're quite alone," he said, and he came and
+stood by the hearth under the portrait and leaned his
+hand on the mantelshelf.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Gwen, blushing violently. "Lady
+Dashwood and Mrs. Dashwood have gone. Lady
+Dashwood said I was to stay up!"</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," said the Warden.</p>
+
+<p>Gwen looked up at him wistfully.</p>
+
+<p>"You wrote me a letter," he began, "and from
+it I gather that you have been thinking over what I
+said the other evening."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Gwen; "I've been so&mdash;bothered. Oh,
+that's the wrong word&mdash;I mean&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You have thought it over quietly and seriously?"
+said the Warden.</p>
+
+<p>Gwen's eyes flickered. "Yes," she said; and then,
+as he seemed to expect her to say more, she added:</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know whether you meant&mdash;&mdash;" and here
+she stopped dead.</p>
+
+<p>"Between us there must be absolute sincerity,"
+he said.</p>
+
+<p>Gwen felt a qualm. Did absolute sincerity mean
+that she would have to tell about the&mdash;the umbrella
+that she was going to get?</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," she said, "I like sincerity; it's right, isn't
+it?"</p>
+
+<p>He made no answer. She looked again at him
+wistfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Suppose you tell me," he said gently, "what you
+yourself think of your mother's letter in which she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Page 211]</a></span>
+speaks to you with affection and pride, and even
+regrets that she will lose you. Her letter conveys the
+idea that you <em>are</em> loved and wanted." He put emphasis
+on the "are."</p>
+
+<p>"It was a nice letter," said Gwen, thinking hard
+as she spoke. "But you see we haven't got any home
+now," she went on. "Mother stays about with people.
+It is hard lines, but she is so sporting."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said the Warden, "and," he said, as if
+to assist her to complete the picture, "yet she wants
+you!" As he spoke his eyes narrowed and his breath
+was arrested for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh no," said Gwen, eagerly. "She doesn't want
+to prevent&mdash;me&mdash;me marrying. You see she can't
+have me much, it's&mdash;it's difficult in other people's
+houses&mdash;at least it sometimes is&mdash;just now especially."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," said the Warden, "I understand."
+He sighed and moved slightly from his former position.
+"You mean that she wants you very much, but that
+she can't afford to give you a home."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Gwen, with relief. The way was being
+made very clear to her. She was telling "the truth"
+and he was helping her so kindly. "You see mother
+couldn't stand a small house and servant bothers.
+It's been such hard luck on her, that father left nothing
+like what she thought he had got. Mother has been so
+plucky, she really has."</p>
+
+<p>"I see," said the Warden. "Then your mother's
+letter has your approval?"</p>
+
+<p>Her approval! Yes, of course; it was simply topping
+of her mother to have written in the way she did.</p>
+
+<p>"It was good of mother," she said. If it hadn't
+been for her mother she would not have known what
+to do.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden moved his hand away from the mantelshelf
+and now stood with his back against it, away from
+the blaze of the fire.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Page 212]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"You have never mentioned, in my presence," he
+said, "what you think about the work that most girls
+of your age are doing for the war."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh yes," said Gwen, eagerly; "mother is so keen
+about that. She does do such a lot herself, and she
+took me away from school a fortnight before time was
+up to go to a hospital for three months' training."</p>
+
+<p>"And you are having a holiday and want to go on,"
+suggested the Warden.</p>
+
+<p>"No; mother thought I had better have a change.
+You can't think how horrid the matron was to me&mdash;she
+had favourites, worse luck; and now mother is
+looking&mdash;has been"&mdash;Gwen corrected herself sharply&mdash;"for
+something for me to do that would be more
+suitable, but the difficulty is to find anything really
+nice."</p>
+
+<p>The Warden meditated. "Yes," he said.</p>
+
+<p>Gwen continued to look at him, her face full of
+questioning.</p>
+
+<p>"You have been thinking whether you should
+trust yourself to me," he said very gravely, "and
+whether you could face the responsibility and the cares
+of a house, a position, like that of a Warden's wife?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh yes," said Gwen.</p>
+
+<p>"You think that you understand them?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh yes," said Gwen. "At least, I would try;
+I would do my best."</p>
+
+<p>"There is nothing very amusing in my manner of
+life; in fact, I should describe it as&mdash;solemn. The
+business," he continued, "of a Warden is to ward his
+college. His wife's business is to assist him."</p>
+
+<p>"I should simply love that," said Gwen. "I should
+really! I'm not clever, I know, but I would try my
+best, and&mdash;I'm so&mdash;afraid of you," she said with a gulp
+of emotion, "and admire you so awfully!"</p>
+
+<p>The Warden's face hardened a little, but Gwen did
+not observe it; all she saw and knew was that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Page 213]</a></span>
+dismal part of the interview was over, for he accepted
+this outburst as a definite reply on her part to his offer.
+She was so glad she had said just what she had said.
+It seemed to be all right.</p>
+
+<p>"That is your decision?" he said, only he did not
+move towards her. He stood there, standing with his
+back to the projection of the fireplace, his head on a
+level with the frame of the portrait. The two faces,
+of the present Warden of the year 1916 and the Warden
+of the eighteenth century, made a striking contrast.
+Both men had no lack of physical beauty, but the one
+had discovered the "rights" of man, and therefore of
+a Warden, and the other had discovered the "duties"
+of men, including Wardens.</p>
+
+<p>He stood there and did not approach her. He was
+hesitating.</p>
+
+<p>He could, if he wished it, exercise his power over
+her and make her answer "No." He could make her
+shrink away from him, or even deny that she had
+wished for an interview. And he could do this safely,
+for Gwendolen herself was ignorant of the fact that he
+had on the previous night exercised any influence over
+her except that of argument. She would have no suspicion
+that he was tampering with her will for his own
+purposes. He could extricate himself now and at this
+moment. Now, while she was still waiting for him to
+tell her whether he would marry her.</p>
+
+<p>The temptation was a heavy one. It was heavy,
+although he knew from the first that it was one which
+he could and would resist. There was no real question
+about it.</p>
+
+<p>He stood there by the hearth, a free man still. In
+a moment he would be bound hand and foot.</p>
+
+<p>Still, come what may, he must satisfy his honour.
+He must satisfy his honour at any price.</p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen saw that he did not move and she
+became suddenly alarmed. Didn't he mean to keep<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Page 214]</a></span>
+his promise after all? Had he taken a dislike to
+her?</p>
+
+<p>"Have I offended you?" she asked humbly.
+"You're not pleased with me. Oh, Dr. Middleton,
+you do make me so afraid!" She got up from her
+chair, looking very pale. "You've been so awfully
+kind and good to me, but you make me frightened!"
+She held out her hands to him and turned her face
+away, as if to hide it from him. "Oh, do be kind!"
+she pleaded.</p>
+
+<p>He was looking at her with profound attention,
+but the tenseness of his eyes had relaxed. Here was
+this girl. Foolish she might be naturally, badly
+brought up she certainly was, but she was utterly
+alone in the world. He must train her. He must
+oblige her to walk in the path he had laid out for her.
+She, too, must become a servant of the College. He
+willed it!</p>
+
+<p>"I hope, Gwendolen," he said gently, "that I shall
+never be anything but kind to you. But do you
+realise that if you are my wife, you will have to live,
+not for pleasure or ease; and you will have not merely
+to control yourself, but learn to control other people?
+This may sound hard. Does it sound hard?"</p>
+
+<p>Oh, she would try her very best. She would do
+whatever he told her to do. Just whatever he told
+her!</p>
+
+<p>Whatever he told her to do! What an unending
+task he had undertaken of telling her what to do! He
+must never relax his will or his attention from her. It
+would be no marriage for him; it would be a heavy
+responsibility. But at least the College should not
+suffer! Was he sure of that? He must see that it
+did not suffer. If he failed, he must resign. His
+promise to her was not to love her. He had never
+spoken of love. He had offered her a home, and he
+must give her a home.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Page 215]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>He braced himself up with a supreme effort and
+went towards her, taking her into his arms and kissing
+her brow and cheeks, and then, releasing himself from
+her clinging arms, he said&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Go now, Gwendolen. Go to bed. I have work
+to do."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you&mdash;is it&mdash;&mdash;" she stammered.</p>
+
+<p>"We are engaged, if that is what you mean," he
+said.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Dr. Middleton!" she exclaimed. "And may
+I write to my mother?"</p>
+
+<p>The Warden did not answer for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>That was another burden, Gwendolen's mother!
+The Warden's face became hard. But he thought he
+knew how he should deal with Gwendolen's mother;
+he should begin from the very first.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he said; "but as to her coming here&mdash;she
+mentions it in her letter&mdash;Lady Dashwood will
+decide about that. I don't know what her plans are."</p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen looked disappointed. "And I may
+talk to Lady Dashwood, to Mrs. Dashwood, and anybody
+about our engagement?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly," he said, but he spoke stiffly.</p>
+
+<p>"And&mdash;and&mdash;" said the girl, following him to the
+door and stretching out her hand towards his arm as
+she walked but not touching it,&mdash;"shall I see you
+to-morrow morning before you go to town?"</p>
+
+<p>The Warden felt as if he had been dealt a light but
+acutely painful blow.</p>
+
+<p>Shall I see you to-morrow morning? Already she
+was claiming her right over him, her right to see him,
+to know of his movements. He had for many years
+been the servant of the College. He had given the
+College his entire allegiance, but he had also been its
+master. He had been the strong man among weaker
+men, and, as all men of his type are, he had been alone,
+uninterfered with, rather remote in matters concerning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Page 216]</a></span>
+his private personal life. And now this mere child
+demanded explanations of him. It was a bitter moment
+for his pride and independence. However strictly he
+might bind his wife to his will, his own freedom had
+gone; he was no longer the man he had been. If this
+simple question, "Shall I see you to-morrow morning?"
+tortured his self-respect, how would he be able to bear
+what was coming upon him day by day? He had to
+bear it. That was the only answer to the question!</p>
+
+<p>"I am starting early," he said. "But I shall
+be back on Saturday, some time in the afternoon
+probably."</p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen's brain was in a whirl. Her desire
+had been consummated. The Warden was hers, but,
+somehow, he was not quite what he had been on that
+Monday evening. He was cold, at least rather cold.
+Still he was hers; that was fixed.</p>
+
+<p>She waited for a moment to see if he meant to kiss
+her again. He did not mean to, he held out his hand
+and smiled a little.</p>
+
+<p>She kissed his hand. "I shall long for you to come
+back," she said, and then ran out, leaving him alone to
+return to his desk with a heart sick and empty.</p>
+
+<p>"There can be no cohesion, no progress in the
+world, no hope for the future of man, if men break
+their word; if there is no such thing as inviolable
+honour," the Warden said to himself, just as he had
+said before. "After all, as long as honour is left, one
+has a right to live, to struggle on, to endure."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Page 217]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2>
+
+<h3>SHOPPING</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">Mrs. Potten found that it "paid" to do her own
+shopping, and she did it once every week, on Friday.
+For this purpose she was compelled to use her car.
+This grieved her. Her extreme desire to save petrol
+would have been more patriotic if she had not availed
+herself, on every possible occasion, of using other
+people's petrol, or, so to speak, other people's oats.</p>
+
+<p>She had gone to the Sale of work in Boreham's gig,
+but there was not much room in it for miscellaneous
+parcels, so she was obliged to come into Oxford on the
+following morning as usual and do her regular shopping.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Potten's acquaintance with the University
+consisted in knowing a member of it here and there,
+and in accepting invitations to any public function
+which did not involve the expenditure of her own
+money. No Greenleafe Potten had ever given any
+endowment to Oxford, nor, for the matter of that, had
+any Squire of Chartcote ever spent a penny for the
+advancement of learning. Indeed, the old County
+had been mostly occupied in preserving itself from
+gradual extinction, and the new County, the Nouveaux
+Riches, had been mainly occupied in the dissipation of
+energy.</p>
+
+<p>But Mrs. Potten had given the Potten revenues a
+new lease of life. Not only did she make a point of
+not reducing her capital, but she was increasing it year
+by year. She did this by systematic and often minute<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Page 218]</a></span>
+economies (which is the true secret of economy). The
+surface of her nature was emotional, enclosing a core
+of flint, so that when she (being short-sighted) dropped
+things about in moments of excitement, agreeable or
+disagreeable, she made such losses good by drawing
+in the household belt. If she inadvertently dropped
+a half-crown piece down a grating while exchanging
+controversial remarks with a local tradesman, or mixed
+up a note with her pocket handkerchief and mislaid
+both when forced to find a subscription to some pious
+object, or if she left a purse containing one shilling and
+fivepence behind her on a chair in the agitation of
+meeting a man whom she admired (a man like the
+Warden, for instance); when such misfortunes happened
+she made them up&mdash;somehow!</p>
+
+<p>Knowing her own weakness, she armed herself against
+it, by never carrying money about with her, except on
+rare occasions. When she travelled, her maid carried
+the money (with her head as the price of it).</p>
+
+<p>This Friday morning, therefore, Mrs. Potten had
+a business duty before her, she had to squeeze ten
+shillings out of the weekly bills&mdash;a matter difficult in
+times of peace and more difficult in war time. It was
+a difficulty she meant to overcome.</p>
+
+<p>Now on this Friday morning, after the Sale, Mrs.
+Potten motored into Oxford rather earlier than usual.
+She intended going to the Lodgings at King's before
+doing her shopping. Her reason for going to the
+Lodgings was an interesting one. She had just had a
+letter from Lady Belinda Scott, informing her that,
+even if she had been able to invite Gwendolen for
+Monday, Gwendolen could not accept the invitation,
+as the dear child was going to stay on at the Lodgings
+indefinitely. She was engaged to be married to the
+Warden! At this point in the letter Mrs. Potten put
+the paper upon the breakfast table and felt that the
+world was grey. Mrs. Potten liked men she admired<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Page 219]</a></span>
+to be bachelors or else widowers, either would do. She
+liked to feel that if only she had been ten years younger,
+and had not been so exclusively devoted to the memory
+of her husband, things might have&mdash;&mdash; She never
+allowed herself to state definitely, even to herself,
+what they might have&mdash;&mdash;, but as long as they might
+have&mdash;&mdash;, there was over the world in which Mrs.
+Potten moved and thought a subtle veil of emotional
+possibilities.</p>
+
+<p>So he was engaged! And what exasperated Mrs.
+Potten, as she read on, was Lady Belinda's playful
+hints that Lady Dashwood (dear old thing!) had
+man&oelig;uvred Gwendolen's visit in the first instance,
+and then kept her firmly a prisoner till the knot was
+tied. Hadn't it been clever? Then as to the Warden,
+he was madly, romantically in love, and what could a
+mother do but resign herself to the inevitable? It
+wasn't what she had hoped for Gwen! It was very,
+very different&mdash;very! She must not trust herself to
+speak on that subject because she had given her consent
+and the thing was done, and she meant to make
+the best of it loyally.</p>
+
+<p>With this news surging in her head Mrs. Potten
+raced along the moist roadways towards the ancient
+and sacred city.</p>
+
+<p>Lena ought to have told her about this engagement
+when they were sitting together in the rooms at Christ
+Church. It wasn't the right thing for an old friend
+to have preserved a mysterious silence, unless (Mrs.
+Potten was a woman with her wits about her) the
+engagement had been not Lady Dashwood's plan, but
+exclusively Belinda's plan and the daughter's plan,
+and the Warden had been "caught"!</p>
+
+<p>"A liar," said Mrs. Potten, as she stared gloomily
+out of the open window, "is always a liar!"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Potten rang the door-bell at the Lodging
+and waited for the answer with much warmth of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Page 220]</a></span>
+interest. Suppose Lena was not at home? What
+should she do? She must thrash out this matter.
+Lena would be certain to be at home, it was so early!</p>
+
+<p>She <em>was</em> at home!</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Potten walked upstairs, her mind agitated
+with mingled emotions, and also the hope of meeting
+the Warden, incidentally. But she did not meet the
+Warden. He was not either coming up or going down,
+and Mrs. Potten found herself alone in the drawing-room.</p>
+
+<p>She could not sit down, she walked up to the fireplace
+and stared through her glasses for a moment at
+the portrait. It was quite true that the man was a very
+good-looking Warden! Yes, but scarcely the sort of
+person she would have thought suitable to look after
+young men; and then she walked away to the window.
+She was framing in her mind the way in which she
+should open the subject of her call at this early hour.
+She almost started when she heard the door click, and
+turned round to see Lady Dashwood coming towards
+her.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear one, how tired you look!" said Mrs. Potten;
+"and I really ought not to have come at this unholy
+hour&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"It's not so early," said Lady Dashwood. "You
+know work begins in this house at eight o'clock in the
+morning."</p>
+
+<p>"So much the better," said Mrs. Potten. "I don't
+like the modern late hours. In old days our Prime
+Ministers were up at six in the morning attending to
+their correspondence. When are they up now, I
+should like to know? Well," she added, "I have come
+to offer you my congratulations. I got a letter this
+morning from Lady Belinda, telling me all about it.
+No, I won't sit down, I merely ran in for a moment."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood did not smile. She simply repeated:
+"From Belinda, telling you all about it!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Page 221]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Potten noted the sarcasm underlying the remark.</p>
+
+<p>"Humph!" said Mrs. Potten. "And you, my
+dear, said nothing yesterday, though we sat together
+for half an hour."</p>
+
+<p>"They were not engaged till yesterday evening,"
+said Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"Belinda writing yesterday speaks of this engagement
+having already taken place," said Mrs. Potten;
+"but, of course, she is wrong."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" cried Mrs. Potten, nodding her head up
+and down once or twice.</p>
+
+<p>"Jim has gone to town this morning," said Lady
+Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"To buy a ring?" said Mrs. Potten. "Well, I
+really ought to have brought you Lady Belinda's
+letter to read. She thinks you have got your heart's
+desire. That's <em>her</em> way of looking at it."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood made no answer.</p>
+
+<p>"I never think lies are amusing," said Mrs. Potten,
+"when you know they are lies. But you see, you
+never said a word. Well, well, so Dr. Middleton is
+engaged!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, engaged," repeated Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid you're tired," said Mrs. Potten. "You
+did too much yesterday."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm tired," said Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"I always expected," said Mrs. Potten, "that the
+Warden would have found some nice, steady, capable
+country rector's daughter. But I suppose, being a
+man as well as a Warden, he fell in love with a pretty
+face, eh?" and Mrs. Potten moved as if to go. "Well,
+she is a lucky girl."</p>
+
+<p>"Very lucky," said Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>Then Mrs. Potten stared closely with her short-sighted
+eyes into her friend's face and saw such resigned
+miseries there that Mrs. Potten felt a stirring movement<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Page 222]</a></span>
+of those superficial emotions of which we have already
+spoken.</p>
+
+<p>"I could have wept for her, my dear," said Mrs.
+Potten, addressing an imaginary companion as she
+went through the court of the Warden's Lodgings to
+the car, which she had left standing in the street. "I
+could have wept for her and for the Warden&mdash;poor
+silly man&mdash;and he looks so wise," she added incredulously.
+"And," she went on, "she wouldn't say a
+word against the girl or against Belinda. Too proud,
+I suppose."</p>
+
+<p>Just as she was getting into the car Harding was
+passing. He stopped, and in his best manner informed
+her that his wife had told him that the proceeds of the
+Sale amounted to ninety-three pounds ten shillings
+and threepence.</p>
+
+<p>"Very good," said Mrs. Potten; "excellent!"</p>
+
+<p>"And we are much indebted to our kind friends
+who patronised the Sale."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Potten thought of her Buckinghamshire collar
+and the shilling pincushion that she need not have
+bought.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall tell my wife," said Harding, with much
+unction, "that you think it very satisfactory."</p>
+
+<p>It did indeed seem to Mrs. Potten (whose income
+was in thousands) that ninety-three pounds, ten shillings
+and threepence was a very handsome sum for the
+purpose of assisting fifty or sixty young mothers of the
+present generation.</p>
+
+<p>But she had little time to think of this for just by
+her, walking past her from the Lodgings, came Miss
+Gwendolen Scott. Now, what was Mrs. Potten to do?
+Why, congratulate her, of course! The thing had to
+be done! She called to Gwendolen, who came to the
+side of the car all blushes.</p>
+
+<p>"She's pleased&mdash;that's plain," said Mrs. Potten to
+herself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Page 223]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>But Mrs. Potten was mistaken. Gwendolen's vivid
+colour came not from the cause which Mrs. Potten
+imagined. Gwendolen's colour came simply from
+alarm at the sight of Mrs. Potten and Mr. Harding
+speaking to one another, and this alarm was not
+lessened when Mrs. Potten exclaimed&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Harding has been telling me that you made
+ninety-three pounds, ten shillings and threepence from
+the Sale?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, did we?" murmured Gwendolen, and her
+colour came and went away.</p>
+
+<p>"We did, thanks to Mrs. Potten's purchases," said
+Harding, with obsequious playfulness, and he took his
+leave.</p>
+
+<p>Then Mrs. Potten leaned over the car towards
+Gwendolen and whispered&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I was waiting till he had gone, as I don't know if
+you intend all Oxford to know&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen's lips were pouted into a terrified
+expression.</p>
+
+<p>"Your engagement, I mean," explained Mrs.
+Potten.</p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen breathed again, and now she laughed.
+Oh, why had she been so frightened? That silly little
+affair of yesterday was over, it was dead and buried!
+It was absolutely safe, and here was the first real
+proper congratulations and acknowledgment of her
+importance.</p>
+
+<p>"You've got a charming man, very charming,"
+said Mrs. Potten.</p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen admitted that she had, and then Mrs.
+Potten waved her hand and was gone.</p>
+
+<p>That morning, when Gwendolen had come down
+to breakfast, she wondered how she was going to be
+received, and whether she would have to wait again
+for recognition as the future Mrs. Middleton. Breakfast
+had been put half an hour later.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Page 224]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>She had found Lady Dashwood and Mrs. Dashwood
+already at breakfast. The Warden had had breakfast
+alone a little before eight. Lady Dashwood called to
+her and, when she came near, kissed her, and said very
+quietly&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"The Warden has told me."</p>
+
+<p>And then Mrs. Dashwood smiled and stretched out
+her hand and said: "I have been allowed to hear
+the news."</p>
+
+<p>And Gwendolen had looked at them both and said:
+"Thanks ever so much. I can scarcely believe it,
+only I know it's true!"</p>
+
+<p>However, the glamour of the situation was gone
+because the Warden's seat was empty. He could be
+heard in the hall; the taxi could be heard and the door
+slamming, and he never came in to say "Good-bye"!
+Still it was all exhilarating and wonderfully full of hope
+and promise, and mysterious to a degree!</p>
+
+<p>The conversation at breakfast was not about herself,
+but that did not matter, she was occupied with
+happy thoughts. Now all this, everything she looked
+at and everything she happened to touch, was hers.
+Everything was hers from the silver urn down to the
+very salt spoons. The cup that Lady Dashwood was
+just raising to her lips was hers, Gwendolen's.</p>
+
+<p>And now as she walked along Broad Street, after
+leaving Mrs. Potten, how gay the world seemed&mdash;how
+brilliant! Even the leaden grey sky was joyful! To
+Gwendolen there was no war, no sorrow, no pain!
+There was no world beyond, no complexity of moral
+forces, no great piteous struggle for an ideal, no
+"Christ that is to be!" She was engaged and was
+going shopping!</p>
+
+<p>It was, however, a pity that she had only ten shillings.
+That would not get a really good umbrella.
+Oh, look at those perfectly ducky gloves in the window
+they were only eight and elevenpence!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Page 225]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen stared at the window. Stopping to
+look at shop windows had been strictly forbidden by
+her mother, but her dear mother was not there! So
+Gwendolen peered in intently. What about getting
+those gloves instead of the umbrella?</p>
+
+<p>She marched into the shop, rather bewildered with
+her own thoughts. The gloves were shown her by
+the same woman who had served Lady Dashwood a
+day or two ago, and who recognised her and smiled
+respectfully. The gloves were sweet; the gauntlets
+were exactly what she preferred to any others. And
+the colour was right. Gwendolen was fingering her
+purse when the shopwoman said&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Do you want to pay for them, or shall I enter
+them, miss?"</p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen's brain worked. She was now definitely
+engaged, and in a few weeks no doubt would be
+Mrs. Middleton; after that a bill of eight and elevenpence
+would be a trifle.</p>
+
+<p>"Enter them, please," said Gwendolen, and she
+surprised herself by hearing her own voice asking for
+the umbrella department.</p>
+
+<p>After this, problems that had in the past appeared
+insoluble, arranged themselves without any straining
+effort on her part; they just straightened themselves
+out and went "right there."</p>
+
+<p>She looked at a plain umbrella for nine and sixpence,
+and then examined one at fifteen and eleven.
+Thereupon she was shown another at twenty-five
+shillings, which was more respectable looking and had
+a nice top. It was clearly her duty to choose this,
+anything poorer would lower the dignity of the future
+Mrs. Middleton. Gwendolen was learning the "duties"
+she owed to the station in life to which God had called
+her. She found no sort of difficulty in this kind of
+learning, and it was far more really useful than
+book learning which is proverbially deleterious to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Page 226]</a></span>
+character. She had the umbrella, too, put down to
+Miss Scott, the Lodgings, King's College. When she
+got out of the shop the ten-shilling note was still in
+her purse.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall get some chocolates," she said. "A few!"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Page 227]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2>
+
+<h3>THE SOUL OF MRS. POTTEN</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">Mrs. Potten was emerging from a shop in Broad Street
+when she caught sight of Mr. Bingham, in cap and
+gown, passing her and called to him. He stopped and
+walked a few steps with her, while she informed him
+that the proceeds of the Sale had come to ninety-three
+pounds, ten shillings and threepence; but this was
+only in order to find out whether he had heard of that
+poor dear Warden's engagement. It was all so very
+foolish!</p>
+
+<p>"Only that!" said Bingham, who was evidently
+in ignorance of the event; "and after I bought a table-cloth,
+which I find goes badly with my curtains, and
+bedroom slippers, that are too small now I've tried
+them on. Well, Mrs. Potten, you did your best, anyhow,
+flinging notes about all over Christ Church. Was
+the second note found?"</p>
+
+<p>"The second note?" exclaimed Mrs. Potten.
+"What d'ye mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"You dropped one note at Christ Church, and you
+would have lost another if Harding hadn't discovered
+that you had given him an extra note and restored it
+to Miss Scott. I suppose Miss Scott pretended that it
+was she who had been clever enough to rescue the note
+for you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, she did not," said Mrs. Potten; and here she
+paused and remained silent, for her brain was seething
+with tumultuous thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, but for Harding, the Sale would have made<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Page 228]</a></span>
+a cool ninety-three pounds, fifteen shillings and threepence.
+Do you follow me?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Potten did follow him and with much agitation.</p>
+
+<p>"How do you know it was my note and not Miss
+Scott's own note?" she asked, and there was in her
+tone a twang of cunning, for Bingham's remarks had
+roused not only the emotional superficies of Mrs. Potten's
+nature, but had pierced to the very core where lay the
+thought of money.</p>
+
+<p>"Because," replied Bingham, "Miss Scott, who
+was running like a two-year-old, was not likely to have
+unfastened your note and fitted one of her own under
+it so tightly that Harding, whose mind is quite accustomed
+to the solution of simple problems, had to blow
+'poof' to separate them. No, take the blame on yourself,
+Mrs. Potten, and in future have a purse-bearer."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Potten's mind was in such a state of inward
+indignation that she went past the chemist's shop,
+and was now within a few yards of the Sheldonian
+Theatre. She had become forgetful of time and place,
+and was muttering to herself&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"What a little baggage&mdash;what a little minx!" and
+other remarks unheard by Bingham.</p>
+
+<p>"I see you are admiring that semicircle of splendid
+heads that crown the palisading of the Sheldonian,"
+said Bingham, as they came up close to the historic
+building.</p>
+
+<p>"Admiring them!" exclaimed Mrs. Potten. "They
+are monstrosities."</p>
+
+<p>"They are perfectly sweet, as ladies say," contradicted
+Bingham; "we wouldn't part with them for
+the world."</p>
+
+<p>"What are they?" demanded Mrs. Potten, trying
+hard to preserve an outward calm and discretion.</p>
+
+<p>"Jupiter Tonans&mdash;or Plato," said Bingham, "and
+in progressive stages of senility."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Page 229]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Why don't you have handsome heads?" said
+Mrs. Potten, and she began to cross the road with
+Bingham. Bingham was crossing the road because he
+was going that way, and Mrs. Potten drifted along with
+him because she was too much excited to think out the
+matter.</p>
+
+<p>"They are handsome," said Bingham.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Potten was speechless. Suddenly she discovered
+that she was hurrying in the wrong direction,
+just as if she were running away with Mr. Bingham.
+She paused at the curb of the opposite pavement.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Bingham," she said, arresting him.</p>
+
+<p>He stopped.</p>
+
+<p>"I must go back," she said. "I quite forgot that
+my car may be waiting for me at the chemist's!" and
+then she fumbled with her bag, and then looked thoughtfully
+into Bingham's face as they stood together on the
+curb. "Bernard always lunches with me on Sundays,"
+she said; "I shall be glad to see you any Sunday if
+you want a walk, and we can talk about the removal of
+those heads."</p>
+
+<p>Bingham gave a cordial but elusive reply, and,
+raising his cap, he sauntered away eastwards, his gown
+flying out behind him in the light autumn wind.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Potten re-crossed the road and walked slowly
+back to the chemist's. Her car was there waiting for
+her, and it contained her weekly groceries, her leg of
+mutton, and the unbleached calico for the making of
+hospital slings which she had bought in Queen's Street,
+because she could obtain it there at 4 &frac12;d. per yard.</p>
+
+<p>She went into the chemist's and bought some patent
+pills, all the time thinking hard. She had two witnesses
+to Gwendolen Scott's having possession of the
+note: Mr. Harding and Mr. Bingham; and one witness,
+Lady Dashwood, to her having delivered the
+collar and not the note! All these witnesses were
+unconscious of the meaning of the transaction. She,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Page 230]</a></span>
+Mrs. Potten, alone could piece together the evidence
+and know what it meant, and it was by a mere chance
+that she had been able to do this. If she had not met
+Mr. Bingham (and she had never met him before in
+the street), and if she had not happened to have mentioned
+the proceeds of the Sale, she would still be under
+the impression that the note had been mislaid.</p>
+
+<p>"And the impertinence of the young woman!" exclaimed
+Mrs. Potten, as she paid for her pills. "And
+she fancies herself in a position of trust, if you please!
+She means to figure, if you please, at the head of an
+establishment where we send our sons to be kept out
+of mischief for a bit! Well, I never heard of anything
+like it. Why, she'll be tampering with the bills!"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Potten's indignation did not wane as the
+moments passed, but rather waxed.</p>
+
+<p>"And her mother is condescending about the engagement!
+Why," added Mrs. Potten to herself with
+emphasis, as she got into her car&mdash;"why, if this had
+happened with one of my maids, I should have put it
+into the hands of the police."</p>
+
+<p>"The Lodgings, King's," she said to the chauffeur.
+What was she going to do when she got there?</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Potten had no intention of bursting into the
+Lodgings in order to demand an explanation from Miss
+Scott. No, thank you, Miss Scott must wait upon Mrs.
+Potten. She must come out to Potten End and make
+her explanation! But Mrs. Potten was going to the
+Lodgings merely to ensure that this would be done on
+the instant.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't drive in," she called, and getting out of
+the car she walked into the court and went up the two
+shallow steps of the front door and rang at the
+bell.</p>
+
+<p>The <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">retrouss�</span> nose of Robinson Junior appeared
+at the opened door. Lady Dashwood was not at
+home and was not expected till half-past one. It was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Page 231]</a></span>
+then one o'clock. Mrs. Potten mused for a little and
+then asked if she might see Lady Dashwood's maid
+for a moment. Robinson Junior suppressed his scornful
+surprise that any one should want to see Louise,
+and ushered Mrs. Potten into the Warden's breakfast-room,
+and there, seating herself near the window, she
+searched for a visiting card and a pencil. Louise
+appeared very promptly.</p>
+
+<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> wishes something?" she remarked as
+she closed the door behind her, and stood surveying
+Mrs. Potten from that distance.</p>
+
+<p>"I do," said Mrs. Potten, taking in Louise's untidy
+blouse, her plain features, thick complexion and luminous
+brown eyes in one comprehensive glance. "Can
+you tell me if Miss Scott will be in for luncheon?"
+Mrs. Potten spoke French with a strong English accent
+and much originality of style.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, Miss Scott was returning to luncheon.</p>
+
+<p>"And do you know if the ladies have afternoon
+engagements?"</p>
+
+<p>Louise thought they had none, because Lady Dashwood
+was to be at home to tea. That she knew for
+certain, and she added in a voice fraught with import:
+"I shall urge <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> to rest after lunch."</p>
+
+<p>"Humph! I see you look after her properly,"
+said Mrs. Potten, beginning to write on her card with
+the pencil; "I thought she was looking very tired
+when I saw her this morning."</p>
+
+<p>"Tired!" exclaimed Louise; "<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> is always
+tired in Oxford."</p>
+
+<p>"Relaxing climate," said Mrs. Potten as she wrote.</p>
+
+<p>"And this house does not suit <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>," continued
+Louise, motionless at the door.</p>
+
+<p>"The drains wrong, perhaps," said Mrs. Potten,
+with absolute indifference.</p>
+
+<p>"I know nothing of drains, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>," said Louise,
+"I speak of other things."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Page 232]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Sans doute il y a du</span> 'dry rot,'" said Mrs. Potten,
+looking at what she had written.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" exclaimed Louise, clasping her hands,
+"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> has heard; I did not know his name, but
+what matter? Ghosts are always ghosts, and my Lady
+Dashwood has never been the same since that night,
+never!"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Potten stared but she did not express surprise,
+she wanted to hear more without asking for more.</p>
+
+<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> knows that the ghost comes to bring bad
+news about the Warden!"</p>
+
+<p>"Bad news!" said Mrs. Potten, and she put her
+pencil back into her bag and wondered whether the
+news of the Warden's engagement had reached the
+servants' quarters.</p>
+
+<p>"A disaster," said Louise. "Always a disaster&mdash;to
+<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Monsieur</span> the Warden. <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> understands?"</p>
+
+<p>Louise gazed at Mrs. Potten as if she hoped that
+that lady had information to give her. But Mrs.
+Potten had none. She was merely thinking deeply.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," she said, rising, "I suppose most old
+houses pretend to have ghosts. We have one at Potten
+End, but I have never seen it myself, and, as far as I
+know, it does no harm and no good. But <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>
+didn't see the ghost you speak of?" and here Mrs.
+Potten smiled a little satirically.</p>
+
+<p>"It was Miss Scott," said Louise, darkly.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said Mrs. Potten, with a short laugh. "Oh,
+well!" and she came towards the maid with the card
+in her hand. "Now, will you be good enough to give
+this to <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> the moment that she returns and say
+that it is 'Urgent,' <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">d'une importance extr�me</span>."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Mrs. Potten to herself, as she walked
+through the court and gained the street, "and I
+should think it <em>was</em> a disaster for a quiet, respectable
+Warden of an Oxford college to marry a person of the
+Scott type."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Page 233]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>As to Louise, when she had closed the front door
+on Mrs. Potten's retreating figure, she gazed hard at
+the card in her hand. The writing was as follows:&mdash;</p>
+
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Lena</span>,<br /></p>
+
+<p>"Can Miss Scott come to see me this afternoon
+without fail? Very kindly allow her to come
+early.</p></div>
+
+<p class="signoff">"M. P."<br /></p>
+
+
+<p class="above2">It did not contain anything more.</p>
+
+<p>Now, Mrs. Potten really believed in ghosts, but she
+thought of them as dreary, uninteresting intruders on
+the world's history. There was Hamlet's father's
+ghost that spoke at such length, and there was the
+spirit that made Abraham's hair stand on end as it
+passed before him, and then there was the ghost
+of Samuel that appeared to Saul and prophesied evil.
+But of all ghosts, the one that Mrs. Potten thought
+most dismal, was the ghost of the man-servant who
+came out from a mansion, full of light and music, one
+winter night on a Devon bye-road. There he stood
+in the snow directing the lost travellers to the nearest
+inn, and (this was what struck Mrs. Potten's soul to
+the core) the half-crown (an actual precious piece of
+money) that was dropped into his hand&mdash;fell through
+the palm&mdash;on to the snow&mdash;and so the travellers knew
+that they had spoken to a spirit, and were leaving
+behind them a ghostly house with ghostly lights and
+the merriment of the dead.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Potten's mind worked in columns, and had
+she been calm and happy she would have spent the
+time returning to Potten End in completing the list of
+ghosts she was acquainted with; but she was excited
+and full of tumultuous thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>There was, indeed, in Mrs. Potten's soul the strife
+of various passions: there was the desire to act in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Page 234]</a></span>
+high-handed, swift Potten manner, the desire to pursue
+and flatten any one who invaded the Potten preserves.
+There was the desire to put her heavy individual foot
+upon a specimen of the modern female who betrays
+the honour and the interest of her own class. There
+was also the general desire to show a fool that she
+was a fool. There was also the desire to snub Belinda
+Scott; and lastly, but not least, there was the desire
+to put her knife into any giddy young girl who had
+thrown her net over the Warden.</p>
+
+<p>These desires fought tooth and nail with a certain
+dogged sentiment of fear&mdash;a fear of the Warden. If
+he was deeply in love, what might he do or not do?
+Would he put Potten End under a ban? Would he
+excommunicate her, Marian Potten?</p>
+
+<p>And so Mrs. Potten's mind whirled.</p>
+
+<p>At a certain shop in the High there was May Dashwood,
+looking at a window full of books. No doubt
+Lady Dashwood was inside, or, more probably, in the
+shop next door.</p>
+
+<p>An inspiration came to Mrs. Potten. Was the
+Warden so very much in love? Belinda Scott laid
+great stress on his being very much in love, and the
+whole thing being a surprise! Belinda Scott was a
+liar! And the little daughter who could stoop to
+thieving ten shillings at a bazaar, might well have been
+put on by her mother to some equally noxious behaviour
+to the Warden. She might have lain in wait for him
+behind doors and on staircases; she might&mdash;&mdash;Mrs.
+Potten stopped her car, got out of it, and went behind
+May Dashwood and whispered in her ear.</p>
+
+<p>May turned, her eyebrows very much raised, and
+listened to what Mrs. Potten had to say.</p>
+
+<p>Great urgency made Mrs. Potten as astute as a
+French detective.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm quite sorry," she whispered, "to find that
+your Aunt Lena seems worried about the engagement.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Page 235]</a></span>
+Now why on earth, oh why, did the Warden run himself
+into an engagement with a girl he doesn't really
+care about?"</p>
+
+<p>This question was a master-stroke. There was no
+getting out of this for May Dashwood. Mrs. Potten
+clapped her hand over her mouth and drew in a breath.
+Then she listened breathless for the answer. The
+answer must either be: "But he <em>does</em> really care
+about her," or something evasive.</p>
+
+<p>Not only Mrs. Potten's emotional superficies but
+her core of flint feared the emphatic answer, and
+yearned for an evasive one. What was it to be?</p>
+
+<p>May's face had suddenly blanched. Had her Aunt
+Lena told? No&mdash;surely not; and yet Mrs. Potten
+seemed to <em>know</em>.</p>
+
+<p>"How can I tell, Mrs. Potten?" said May,
+unsteadily. "I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Evasive!" said Mrs. Potten to herself triumphantly.</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind! things do happen," she said, interrupting
+May. "I suppose, at any rate, he has to make
+the best of it, now it's done."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Potten was afraid that she was now going too
+far, and she swiftly turned the subject sideways before
+May had time to think out a reply.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell your Aunt Lena that I expect Gwendolen,
+without fail, after lunch. Please tell her; so kind of
+you! Good-bye, good-bye," and Mrs. Potten got
+fiercely into her car.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I never!" she said, and she said it over
+and over again. A cloud of thoughts seemed to float
+with her as the car skimmed along the road, and through
+that cloud seemed to peer at her, though somewhat
+dimly, the "<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">beaux yeux</span>" of the Warden of King's.</p>
+
+<p>"I think I shall," said Mrs. Potten, "I think I shall;
+but I shall make certain first&mdash;absolutely certain&mdash;first."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Page 236]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2>
+
+<h3>MR. BOREHAM'S PROPOSAL</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">Boreham's purpose had been thwarted for the moment.
+But there was still time for him to make another effort,
+and this time it was to be a successful effort.</p>
+
+<p>A letter to May would have been the easiest way
+in which to achieve his purpose, but Boreham shrank
+from leaving to posterity a written proposal of marriage,
+because there always was just the chance that
+such a letter might not be answered in the right spirit,
+and in that case the letter would appear to future
+readers of Boreham's biography as an unsolicited testimonial
+in favour of marriage&mdash;as an institution. So
+Boreham decided to continue "feeling" his way!</p>
+
+<p>After all, there was not very much time in which
+to feel the way, for May was leaving Oxford on Monday.
+To-day was Friday, and Boreham knew the King's
+party were going to chapel at Magdalen. If he went,
+too, it would be possible for him to get May to himself
+on the way back to the Lodgings (in the dark).</p>
+
+<p>So to Magdalen he went, hurrying along on that
+Friday afternoon, and the nearer he got to Magdalen
+the more sure he was that only fools lived in the country;
+the more convinced he was that Chartcote had become,
+even in three months, a hateful place.</p>
+
+<p>Boreham was nearly late, he stumbled into the
+ante-chapel just as they were closing the doors with
+solemn insistence. He uncovered his head as he
+entered, and his nostrils were struck with a peculiar
+odour of stone and mortar; a sense of space around<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Page 237]</a></span>
+him and height above him; also with the warmth of
+some indefinable sense of community of purpose
+that annoyed him. He was, indeed, already warm
+enough physically with his haste in coming; he was
+also spiritually in a glow with the consciousness of his
+own magnanimity and toleration. Here was the enlightened
+Boreham entering a temple where they
+repeated "Creeds outworn." Here he was entering
+it without any exhibition of violent hostility or even
+of contempt. He was entering it decorously, though
+not without some speed. He was warm and did not
+wish to be made warmer.</p>
+
+<p>What he had not anticipated, and what disappointed
+him, was that from the ante-chapel he could
+not see whether the Dashwoods were in the Chapel or
+not. The screen and organ loft were in the way, they
+blocked his vision, and not having any "permit" for
+the Chapel, he had to remain in the ante-chapel, and
+just hope for the best. He seated himself as near to
+the door as he could, on the end of the back bench,
+already crowded. There he disposed of his hat and
+prepared himself to go through with the service.</p>
+
+<p>Boreham did not, of course, follow the prayers or
+make any responses; he merely uttered a humming
+noise with the object of showing his mental aloofness,
+and yet impressing the fact of his presence on the devout
+around him.</p>
+
+<p>Many a man who has a conscientious objection to
+prayer, likes to hear himself sing. But Boreham's
+singing voice was not altogether under his own control.
+It was as if the machinery that produced song was
+mislaid somewhere down among his digestive organs
+and had got rusted, parts of it being actually impaired.</p>
+
+<p>It had been, in his younger days, a source of regret
+to Boreham that he could never hope to charm the
+world by song as well as by words. As he grew older
+that regret faded, and was now negligible.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Page 238]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Is there any religious service in the world more
+perfect than evensong at Magdalen? Just now, in
+the twilight of the ante-chapel, a twilight faintly lit
+above at the spring of the groined roof, the voices of
+the choir rose and fell in absolute unison, with a thrill
+of subdued complaint; a complaint uttered by a
+Hebrew poet dead and gone these many years, a complaint
+to the God of his fathers, the only true God.</p>
+
+<p>Boreham marked time (slightly out of time) muttering&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Tum/tum tum/ti:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tum/tum tum/tum ti/tum?"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>loud enough to escape the humiliation of being confounded
+with those weak-minded strangers who are
+carried away (in spite of their reason) by the charm of
+sacerdotal blandishments.</p>
+
+<p>He stood there among the ordinary church-goers,
+conscious that he was a free spirit. He was happy.
+At least not so much happy as agreeably excited by
+the contrast he made with those around him, and excited,
+too, at what was going to happen in about half
+an hour. That is, if May Dashwood was actually
+behind that heavy absurd screen in the Chapel. He
+went on "tum-ing" as if she was there and all was well.</p>
+
+<p>And within the chapel, in one of those deep embrasures
+against the walls, was May Dashwood. But
+she was alone. Lady Dashwood had been too tired to
+come with her, and Gwendolen had been hurried off
+to Potten End immediately after lunch, strangely
+reluctant to go. So May had come to the Chapel
+alone, and, not knowing that Boreham was in the
+ante-chapel waiting for her, she had some comfort in
+the seclusion and remoteness of that sacred place.
+Not that the tragedy of the world was shut out and
+forgotten, as it is in those busy market-places where
+men make money and listen too greedily to the chink
+of coin to hear any far-off sounds from the plain of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Page 239]</a></span>
+Armageddon. May got comfort, not because she had
+forgotten the tragedy of the world and was soothed
+by soft sounds, but because that tragedy was remembered
+in this hour of prayer; because she was listening
+to the cry of the Hebrew poet, uttered so long ago and
+echoed now by distressful souls who feel just as he felt
+the desperate problem of human suffering and the
+desire for peace.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Why art thou so vexed, O my soul;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And why art thou so disquieted within me?"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>And then the answer; an answer which to some is
+meaningless, but which, to the seeker after the "things
+that are invisible," is the only answer&mdash;the answer that
+the soul makes to itself&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"O put thy trust in God!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>May observed no one in the Chapel; she saw nothing
+but the written words in the massive Prayer-book on
+the desk before her; and when at last the service was
+over, she came out looking neither to right nor left, and
+was startled to find herself emerging into the fresh air
+with Boreham by her side, claiming her company back
+to the Lodgings.</p>
+
+<p>It was just dusk and the moon was rising in the
+east. Though it could not be seen, its presence was
+visible in the thin vaporous lightness of the sky. The
+college buildings stood out dimly, as if seen by a pallid
+dawn.</p>
+
+<p>"You leave Oxford on Monday?" began Boreham,
+as they went through the entrance porch out into the
+High and turned to the right.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said May, and a sigh escaped her. That
+Boreham noticed.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't deny the attractions of Oxford," he said.
+"All I object to is its pretensions."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Page 240]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"You don't like originality," murmured May.</p>
+
+<p>She was thinking of the slums of London where she
+worked. What a contrast with this noble street!
+Why should men be allowed to build dens and hovels
+for other men to live in? Why should men make
+ugliness and endure squalor?</p>
+
+<p>"I thought you knew me better," said Boreham,
+reproachfully, "than to say that."</p>
+
+<p>"If you do approve of originality," said May, "then
+why not let Oxford work out its own evolution, in its
+own way?"</p>
+
+<p>"It needs entire reconstruction," said Boreham,
+stubbornly.</p>
+
+<p>"You would like to pass everything through a mill
+and turn it out to a pattern," said May. "But that's
+not the way the world progresses. Entire reconstruction
+would spoil Oxford. What it wants is what
+we all want&mdash;the pruning of our vices and the development
+of our virtues. We don't want to be shorn of
+all that makes up our personality."</p>
+
+<p>Boreham said, "That is a different matter; but
+why should we argue?"</p>
+
+<p>"To leave Oxford and speak of ourselves, of you
+and me," said May, persisting. "You don't want to
+be made like me; but we both want to have the selfishness
+squeezed out of us. There! I warn you that,
+having once started, I shall probably go on lamenting
+like the prophet Jeremiah until I reach the Lodgings!
+So if you want to escape, do find some pressing engagement.
+I shan't be offended in the very least."</p>
+
+<p>How she longed for him to go! But was he capable
+of discovering this even when it was broadly hinted?</p>
+
+<p>Boreham's beard moved irritably. The word
+"selfish" stung him. There was no such thing as
+being "unselfish"&mdash;one man wanted one thing,
+another man wanted another&mdash;and there you are!</p>
+
+<p>"Human nature is selfish," he retorted. "Saints<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Page 241]</a></span>
+are selfish. They want to have a good time in the next
+world. Each man always wants to please himself, only
+tastes differ."</p>
+
+<p>Boreham spoke in emphatic tones. If May was
+thinking of her husband, then this piece of truth must
+be put before her without delay. War widows had
+the habit of speaking of their husbands as heroes, when
+all they had done was to have got themselves blown to
+pieces while they were trying to blow other people to
+pieces.</p>
+
+<p>"You make questions of taste very important,"
+said May, looking down the misty street. "Some men
+have a taste for virtue and generosity, and others have
+taste for vice and meanness."</p>
+
+<p>Boreham looked at her features closely in the dim
+light.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you angry with me?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Not at all," said May. "We are arguing about
+words. You object to the use of the word 'selfish,' so
+I adopt your term 'taste.'"</p>
+
+<p>"There's no reason why we should argue just now,"
+said Boreham. "Not that argument affects friendship!
+Friendship goes behind all that, doesn't it?"
+He asked this anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't expect my friends to agree with me in all
+points," said May, smiling. "That would be very
+selfish!" She laughed. "I beg your pardon. I
+mean that my taste in friends is pretty catholic," and
+here Boreham detected a sudden coldness in her voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Friendship&mdash;I will say more than that&mdash;love&mdash;has
+nothing to do with 'points of view,'" he began
+hastily. "A man may fall in love with a woman as
+she passes his window, though he may never exchange
+a word with her. Such things have happened."</p>
+
+<p>"And it is just possible," suggested May, "that a
+protracted conversation with the lady might have had
+the effect of destroying the romance."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Page 242]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Here Boreham felt a wave of fear and hope and
+necessity surge through his whole being. The moment
+had arrived!</p>
+
+<p>"Not if you were the lady," he said in a convinced
+tone.</p>
+
+<p>May still gazed down the street, etherealised beyond
+its usual beauty in this thin pale light.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think any man, however magnanimous,
+could stand a woman long if she made protracted
+lamentations after the manner of Jeremiah," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"You are purposely speaking ill of yourself," said
+Boreham. "Yet, whatever you do or say makes a man
+fall in love with you." He was finding words now without
+having to think.</p>
+
+<p>"I was not aware of it," said May, rather coldly.</p>
+
+<p>"It is true," he persisted. "You are different
+from other women; you are the only woman I have
+ever met whom I wanted to marry."</p>
+
+<p>It was out! Not as well put as he would have liked,
+but it was out. Here was a proposal of marriage by
+word of mouth. Here was the orthodox woman's
+definite opportunity. May would see the seriousness
+of it now.</p>
+
+<p>"As a personal friend of yours," said May, and her
+tone was not as serious as he had feverishly hoped, "I
+do not think you are consulting your own interests at
+this moment, Mr. Boreham."</p>
+
+<p>"No!" began Boreham. "Not mine exclusively&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Your remark was hasty&mdash;ill considered," she said,
+interrupting him. "You don't really want to marry.
+You would find it an irksome bondage, probably dull as
+well as irksome."</p>
+
+<p>"Not with you!" exclaimed Boreham, and he
+touched her arm.</p>
+
+<p>May's arm became miraculously hard and unsympathetic.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Page 243]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Marriage is a great responsibility," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"I have thought that all out," said Boreham.
+"There may be&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Then you know," she replied, "that it means&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I have calculated the cost," he said. "I am
+willing&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You have not only to save your own soul but to
+help some one else to save theirs," she went on. "You
+have to exercise justice and mercy. You have to forgive
+every day of your life, and"&mdash;she added&mdash;"to be
+forgiven. Wouldn't that bore you?"</p>
+
+<p>Boreham's heart thumped with consternation. It
+might take months to make her take a reasonable view
+of marriage. She was more difficult than he had
+anticipated.</p>
+
+<p>"Marriage is a dreary business," continued May,
+"unless you go into it with much prayer and fasting&mdash;Jeremiah
+again."</p>
+
+<p>Into Boreham's consternation broke a sudden
+anger.</p>
+
+<p>"That is why," continued May, "Herod ordered
+Mariamne to be beheaded, and why the young woman
+who married the 'beloved disciple' said she couldn't
+realise her true self and went off with Judas Iscariot."
+May turned round and looked at him as she spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"I was serious!" burst out Boreham.</p>
+
+<p>"Not more serious than I am," said May; "I am
+serious enough to treat the subject you have introduced
+with the fearless criticism you consider right
+to apply to all important subjects. You ought to
+approve!"</p>
+
+<p>And yet she smiled just a little at the corners of
+her mouth, because she knew that, when Boreham
+demanded the right of every man to criticise fearlessly&mdash;what
+he really had in his mind was the vision of himself,
+Boreham, criticising fearlessly. He thought of
+himself, for instance, as trying to shame the British<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Page 244]</a></span>
+public for saying slimily: "Let's pretend to be monogamous!"
+He thought of himself calling out pluckily:
+"Here, you self-satisfied humbugs, I'm going to say
+straight out&mdash;we ain't monogamous&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>He never contemplated May Dashwood coming and
+saying to him: "And are <em>you</em> not a self-satisfied humbug,
+pretending that there is no courage, no endurance,
+no moral effort superior to your own?" It was this
+that made May smile a little.</p>
+
+<p>"The fact remains," he said, feeling his way hotly,
+blindly, "that a man can, and does, make a woman
+happy, if he loves her. All I ask," he went on, "is to
+be allowed the chance of doing this, and you gibe."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't gibe," said May, "I'm preaching. And,
+after all, I ought not to preach, because marriage does
+not concern me&mdash;directly. I shall not marry again,
+Mr. Boreham."</p>
+
+<p>Boreham stared hard at her and his eyebrows
+worked. All she had just been saying provoked his
+anger; it disagreed with him, made him dismal, and
+yet, at least, he had no rival! She hadn't got hold of
+any so-called saint as a future husband. Middleton
+hadn't been meddling, nor Bingham, and there was no
+shadowy third anywhere in town. She was heart free!
+That was something!</p>
+
+<p>There was the dead husband, of course, but his
+memory would fade as time went on. "Just now,
+people who are dead or dying, are in the swim," thought
+Boreham; "but just wait till the war is over!" He
+swiftly imagined publishers and editors of journals refusing
+anything that referred to the war or to any
+dismal subject connected with it. The British public
+would have no use for the dead when the war was over.
+The British public would be occupied with the future;
+how to make money, how to spend it. Stories about
+love and hate among the living would be wanted, or
+pleasant discourses about the consolations of religion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Page 245]</a></span>
+and blessed hopes of immortality for those who were
+making the money and spending it!</p>
+
+<p>Boreham sneered as he thought this, and yet he
+himself desired intensely that men, and especially
+women, should forget the dead, and, above all, that
+May should forget her dead and occupy herself in being
+a pretty and attractive person of the female sex.</p>
+
+<p>"I will wait," said Boreham, eagerly; "I won't
+ask you for an answer now."</p>
+
+<p>"Now you know my position, you will not put any
+question to me!" said May, very quietly.</p>
+
+<p>There came a moment's oppressive silence.</p>
+
+<p>"I may continue to be your friend," he demanded;
+"you won't punish me?" and his voice was urgent.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course not," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"I may come and see you?" he urged again.</p>
+
+<p>"Any friends of mine may come and see me, if they
+care to," she said; "but I am very much occupied
+during the day&mdash;and tired in the evenings."</p>
+
+<p>"Sundays?" he interrupted.</p>
+
+<p>"My Sundays I spend with friends in Surrey."</p>
+
+<p>Boreham jerked his head nervously. "I shall be
+living in Town almost immediately," he said; "I will
+come and see what times would be convenient."</p>
+
+<p>"I am very stupid when my day's work is done,"
+said May.</p>
+
+<p>"Stupid!" Boreham laughed harshly. "But
+your work is too hard and most unsuitable. Any
+woman can attend to babies."</p>
+
+<p>"I flatter myself," said May, "that I can wash a
+baby without forgetting to dry it."</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you hide yourself?" he exclaimed.
+"Why do you throw yourself away?" He felt that,
+with her beside him, he could dictate to the world like
+a god. "Why don't you organise?"</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean run about and talk," asked May,
+"and leave the work to other people? Don't you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Page 246]</a></span>
+think that we are beginning to hate people who run
+about and talk?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because the wrong people do it," said Boreham.</p>
+
+<p>"The people who do it are usually the wrong
+people," corrected May; "the right people are generally
+occupied with skilled work&mdash;technical or intellectual.
+That clears the way for the unskilled to run
+about and talk, and so the world goes round, infinite
+labour and talent quietly building up the Empire, and
+idleness talking about it and interrupting it."</p>
+
+<p>Boreham stared at her with petulant admiration.
+"You could do anything," he said bluntly.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall put an advertisement into the <i>Times</i>," said
+May. "'A gentlewoman of independent means, unable
+to do any work properly, but anxious to organise.'"</p>
+
+<p>They had now turned into a narrow lane and were
+almost at the gates of the Lodgings. May did not want
+Boreham to come into the Court with her, she wanted
+to dismiss him now. She had a queer feeling of dislike
+that he should tread upon the gravel of the Court, and
+perhaps come actually to the front door of the Lodgings.
+She stopped and held out her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"I have your promise," he said, "I can come and
+see you?" He looked thwarted and miserable.</p>
+
+<p>"If you happen to be in town," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"But I mean to live there," he said. This insinuation
+on her part, that she had not accepted the fact that
+he was going to live in town, was unsympathetic of her.
+"I can't stand the loneliness of Chartcote, it has become
+intolerable."</p>
+
+<p>The word "loneliness" melted May. She knew
+what loneliness meant. After all, how could he help
+being the man he was? Was it his fault that he had
+been born with his share of the Boreham heredity?
+Was he able to control his irritability, to suppress his
+exaggerated self-esteem; both of them, perhaps, symptoms
+of some obscure form of neurosis?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Page 247]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>May felt a pang of pity for him. His face showed
+signs of pain and discontent and restlessness.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall leave Chartcote any day, immediately.
+London draws me back to it. I can think there. I
+can't at Chartcote, the atmosphere is sodden at Chartcote,
+my neighbours are clods."</p>
+
+<p>May looked at him anxiously. "It is dull for you,"
+she said.</p>
+
+<p>Encouraged by this he went on rapidly. "Art,
+literature is nothing to them. They are centaurs.
+They ought to eat grass. They don't know a sunset
+from a swede. They don't know the name of a bird,
+except game birds; they are ignorant fools, they are
+damned&mdash;&mdash;" Boreham's breathing was loud and
+rapid.</p>
+
+<p>"And yet you hate Oxford," murmured May, as
+she held out her hand. She still did not mean
+Boreham to come inside the Court, her hand was a
+dismissal.</p>
+
+<p>"Because Oxford is so smug," said Boreham.
+"And the country is smug. England is the land that
+begets effeteness and smuggishness. Yes, I should be
+pretty desperate," he added, and he held her hand with
+some pressure&mdash;"I should be pretty desperate, only
+you have promised to let me come and see you."</p>
+
+<p>May withdrew her hand. "As a friend," she said.
+"Yes, come as a friend."</p>
+
+<p>Boreham gave a curious toss to his head. "I am
+under your orders," he said, "I obey. You don't wish
+me to come with you to the door&mdash;I obey!"</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," said May, simply. "And if you
+are lonely, well, so am I. There are many lonely
+people in this world just now, and many, many lonely
+women!" She turned away and left him.</p>
+
+<p>Boreham raced rather than walked away from the
+Lodgings towards the stables where he had put up his
+horse. He hardly knew what his thoughts were. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Page 248]</a></span>
+was more strangely moved than he had ever thought
+he could be. And how solitary he was! What permanent
+joy is there in the world, after all? There <em>is</em>
+nothing permanent in life! It takes years to find that
+out&mdash;years&mdash;if you are well in health and full of vanity!
+But you do find it out&mdash;at last.</p>
+
+<p>As he went headlong he came suddenly against an
+obstacle. Somebody caught him by the arm and
+slowed him down.</p>
+
+<p>"Hullo, Boreham!" said Bingham. "Stop a
+moment!"</p>
+
+<p>Boreham allowed himself to be fastened upon, and
+suffered Bingham's arm to rest on his, but he puffed
+with irritation. He felt like a poet who has been interrupted
+in a fit of inspiration.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought this was one of your War Office days,"
+he said bluntly.</p>
+
+<p>"It is," replied Bingham, in his sweetest curate
+tones. "But there is special College business to-day,
+and I'm putting in an extra day next week instead.
+Look here, do you want a job of work?"</p>
+
+<p>No, of course, Boreham didn't.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm leaving Chartcote," he said, and was glad to
+think it was true.</p>
+
+<p>"This week?" asked Bingham.</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Boreham, suddenly wild with indignation,
+"but any time&mdash;next week, perhaps."</p>
+
+<p>"This job will only take four or five days," said
+Bingham.</p>
+
+<p>"What job?" demanded Boreham.</p>
+
+<p>"There's a small library just been given us by the
+widow of a General."</p>
+
+<p>"Didn't know soldiers ever read books," said
+Boreham.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know if he read them," said Bingham,
+"but there they are. We want some one to look
+through them&mdash;put aside the sort suitable for hospitals,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Page 249]</a></span>
+and make a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">catalogue raisonn�</i> of the others for the
+camps in Germany."</p>
+
+<p>Boreham wanted to say, "Be damned with your
+<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">raisonn�</i>," but he limited himself to saying: "Can't
+you get some college chaplain, or some bloke of the sort
+to do it?"</p>
+
+<p>"All are thick busy," said Bingham&mdash;"those that
+are left."</p>
+
+<p>"It must be a new experience for them," said
+Boreham.</p>
+
+<p>"There are plenty of new experiences going," said
+Bingham.</p>
+
+<p>"And you won't deny," said Boreham, smiling the
+smile of self-righteousness, as he tried to assume a calm
+bantering tone, "that experience&mdash;of life, I mean&mdash;is
+a bit lacking in Oxford?"</p>
+
+<p>"It depends on what you mean," said Bingham,
+sweetly. "We haven't the experience of making money
+here. Also Oxford Dons are expected to go about
+with the motto '<span lang="la" xml:lang="la">Pereunt et imputantur</span>' written upon
+our brows (see the sundial in my college), 'The hours
+pass and we must give an account of them.'"</p>
+
+<p>Bingham always translated his Latin, however
+simple, for Boreham's benefit. Just now this angered
+Boreham.</p>
+
+<p>"This motto," continued Bingham, "isn't for ornament
+but for an example. In short, my dear man, we
+avoid what I might call, for want of a more comprehensive
+term, the Pot-house Experience of life."</p>
+
+<p>Boreham threw back his head.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you'll take the job, will you?" and Bingham
+released his arm.</p>
+
+<p>"Can't you get one of those elderly ladies who frequent
+lectures during their lifetime to do the job?"</p>
+
+<p>"We may be reduced to that," said Bingham,
+"but even they are busy. It's a nice job," he added
+enticingly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Page 250]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I know what it will be like," grunted Boreham,
+and he hesitated. If May Dashwood had been staying
+on in Oxford it would have been different, but she was
+going away. So Boreham hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>"Telephone me this evening, will you?" said
+Bingham.</p>
+
+<p>"Very well," said Boreham. "I'll see what I have
+got on hand, and if I have time&mdash;&mdash;" and so the two
+men parted.</p>
+
+<p>Boreham got into his gig with a heavy heart and
+drove back to Chartcote. How he hated the avenue
+that cut him off from the world outside. How he
+hated the clean smell of the country that came into his
+windows. How he hated to see the moon, when it
+glinted at him from between the tops of trees. He
+longed for streets, for the odour of dirt and of petrol
+and of stale-cooked food.</p>
+
+<p>The noise of London soothed him, the jostling of
+men and women; he hungered for it. And yet he did
+not love those human beings. He knew their weaknesses,
+their superstitions, their follies, their unreason!
+Boreham remembered a much over-rated Hebrew
+(possibly only a mythical figure) who once said to His
+followers that when they prayed they should say:
+"Father, forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them
+that trespass against us."</p>
+
+<p>He got out of his gig slowly. "I don't forgive
+them," he said, and, unconscious of his own sins, he
+walked up the steps into his lonely house.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Page 251]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2>
+
+<h3>BY MOONLIGHT</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">May waited within the gates of the Lodgings for some
+moments. She did not open the door and enter the
+house. She walked up and down on the gravelled
+court. She wanted to be alone, to speak to no one just
+now; her heart was full of weariness and loneliness.</p>
+
+<p>When she felt certain that Boreham was safely
+away, she went to the gates and out into the narrow
+street again, where she could hear subdued sounds of
+the evening traffic of the city.</p>
+
+<p>The dusky streets had grown less dim; the shining
+overhead was more luminous as the moon rose.</p>
+
+<p>The old buildings, as she passed them on her solitary
+walk, looked mysterious and aloof, as if they had been
+placed there magically for some secret purpose and
+might vanish before the dawn. This was the ancient
+Oxford, the Oxford of the past, the Oxford that was
+about to pass away, leaving priceless memories of
+learning and romance behind it, something that could
+never be again quite what it had been. Before dawn
+would it vanish and something else, still called Oxford,
+would be standing there in its place?</p>
+
+<p>May was tempted to let her imagination wander thus,
+and to see in this mysterious Oxford the symbol of the
+personality of a single man, a personality that haunted
+her when she was alone, a personality which, when it
+stood before her in flesh and blood, seemed to fill space
+and obliterate other objects.</p>
+
+<p>She had, in the chapel, re-affirmed over and over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Page 252]</a></span>
+again her resolution to overcome this obsession, and
+now, as she walked that evening, her heart cried out
+for indulgence just for one brief moment, for permission
+to think of this personality, and to read details of it in
+every moonlit fa�ade of old Oxford, in every turn of the
+time-worn lanes and passages.</p>
+
+<p>The temptation had come upon her, because it was
+so dreary to be loved by Boreham. His talk seemed
+to mark her spiritual loneliness with such poignant
+insistence; it made it so desperately plain to her that
+those sharp cravings of her heart could not be satisfied
+except by one man. It had made her see, for the first
+time, that the sacred dead, to whom she had raised a
+shrine, was a memory and not a present reality to her;
+and this thought only added to her confusion and her
+grief.</p>
+
+<p>What was there to hold on to in life?</p>
+
+<p>"O, put thy trust in God!" came the answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Help me to make the mischance of my life a
+motive for greater moral effort. Help me to be a
+willing sacrifice and not an unwilling victim." And
+as she uttered these words she moved with more rapid
+steps.</p>
+
+<p>Shadows were visible on the roadway; roofs glimmered
+and the edges of the deep window recesses were
+tinged with a dark silver. She passed under the walls
+of All Souls and emerged again into the High. A figure
+she recognised confronted her. She tried to pass it
+without appearing to be aware of it, and she hurried on
+with bent head. But it turned, and Bingham's voice
+spoke to her.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Dashwood," he called softly.</p>
+
+<p>She was forced to slacken her pace. "Oh, Mr. Bingham!"
+she said, and he came and walked by her,
+making pretence that he was disturbing her solitude
+because he had never been told the dinner-hour at the
+Lodgings, when Lady Dashwood invited him, and, what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Page 253]</a></span>
+was more important, he had forgotten to say that he
+would be very glad if Mrs. Dashwood would make use
+of him as a cicerone if she wanted any more sight-seeing
+in Oxford and the Warden was unable to accompany
+her. This was the pretence he put before her.</p>
+
+<p>Then, when he had said all this and had walked a
+few yards along the street with her, he seemed to forget
+that his business with her ought to be over, and remarked
+that he had been trying to save Boreham's
+soul.</p>
+
+<p>"His soul!" said May, with a sigh.</p>
+
+<p>"I've been trying to make him work."</p>
+
+<p>"Doesn't he work?" asked May.</p>
+
+<p>"No, he preaches," said Bingham. "If he had a
+touch of genius he might invent some attractive system
+of ethics in which his own characteristics would be the
+right characteristics; some system in which humility
+and patience would take a back seat."</p>
+
+<p>May could not help smiling a little, Bingham's voice
+was so smooth and soft; but she felt Boreham's loneliness
+again and ceased smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"Or he might invent a new god," said Bingham,
+"a sort of composite photograph of himself and the
+old gods. He might invent a new creed to go along
+with it and damn all the old creeds. But he is incapable
+of construction, so he merely preaches the
+destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, which is a soft
+job. Wherever he is, there is Sodom and Gomorrah!
+You see my point? Egotism is always annoyed at
+egotisms. An egotist always sees the egotism of other
+people. The egotism of those round him, jump at him,
+they get on his nerves! He has to love people who are
+far, far away! You see my point? Well, I've been
+trying to make him take on a small bit of war work!"</p>
+
+<p>"And will he take it?" asked May.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," said Bingham; "I've just left
+him, a prey to conflicting passions."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Page 254]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>May was silent.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you going back to King's?" asked Bingham.</p>
+
+<p>She and Bingham were walking along, just as she
+and Boreham had been walking along the same street,
+past these same colleges not an hour ago. Was she
+going back to the Lodgings? Yes, she thought, in fact
+she knew she was going back to the Lodgings.</p>
+
+<p>"May I see you to the Lodgings?" asked Bingham.</p>
+
+<p>There seemed no alternative but to say "Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"There are many things I should like to talk over
+with you, Mrs. Dashwood," said Bingham, stepping
+out cheerfully. "I should like to roam the universe
+with you."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid you would find me very ignorant,"
+said May.</p>
+
+<p>"I would present you with facts. I would sit at
+your feet and hold them out for your inspection, and
+you, from your throne above, would pronounce judgment
+on them."</p>
+
+<p>"It is the ignorant people who always do pronounce
+judgment," said May. "So that will be all right.
+You spoke of Mr. Boreham preaching. Well, I've just
+been preaching. It's a horrid habit."</p>
+
+<p>Bingham gave one of his surprising and most cultured
+explosions of laughter. May turned and looked
+at him with her eyebrows very much raised.</p>
+
+<p>"I am laughing at myself," he explained. "I
+thought to buy things too cheaply."</p>
+
+<p>May looked away, pondering on the meaning of his
+words. At last the meaning occurred to her.</p>
+
+<p>"You mean you wanted to flatter me, and&mdash;and I
+began to talk about something else. Was that what
+made you laugh?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"That's it," said Bingham. "I wanted to flatter
+you because it is a pleasure to flatter you, and I forgot
+what a privilege it was."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" said May, quietly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Page 255]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Cheap, cheap, always cheap!" said Bingham.
+"Cheapness is the curse of our age. The old Radical
+belief in the right to buy cheaply, that poison has
+soaked into the very bone of politics. It has contaminated
+our religion. The pulpit has decided in favour
+of cheap salvation."</p>
+
+<p>May looked round again at Bingham's moonlit
+profile.</p>
+
+<p>"No more hell!" he said, "no more narrow way,
+no more strait gate to heaven! On the contrary,
+we bawl ourselves blue asserting that the way is broad,
+and that every blessed man Jack of us will find it. Yes,"
+he went on more slowly, "we have no use now for a
+God who can deny to any one a cheap suburban
+residence in the New Jerusalem. And so," he
+added, "I flatter you, stupidly, and&mdash;and you forgive
+me."</p>
+
+<p>They walked on together for a moment in silence.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't deserve your forgiveness," he said. "But
+I desire your forgiveness. I desire your toleration as
+far as it will go. Perhaps, if you were to let me talk on,
+I might go too far for your toleration," and now he
+turned and looked at her.</p>
+
+<p>"You would not go too far," said May. "You
+are too much detached; you look on&mdash;&mdash;" and here
+she hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, damn!" said Bingham, softly; "that is the
+accursed truth," and he stared before him at the
+cracks in the pavement as they stood out sharply in
+the moonlight.</p>
+
+<p>"You mustn't mind," said May, soothingly.</p>
+
+<p>"I do mind," said Bingham; "I should like to be
+able to take my own emotions seriously. I should
+like to feel the importance of my being highly strung,
+imaginative, a lover of beauty and susceptible to the
+charms of women. Instead of which I am hopelessly
+critical of myself. I see myself a blinking fool, among<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Page 256]</a></span>
+other fools." Bingham's lips went on moving as if he
+were continuing to speak to himself.</p>
+
+<p>"When a woman takes you and your emotions
+seriously, what happens then?" asked May very softly,
+and she looked at him with wide open eyes and her
+eyebrows full of inquiry.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" sighed Bingham, "that was long ago. I
+have forgotten&mdash;or nearly." Then he added, after a
+moment's silence: "May I talk to you about the
+present?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, do," said May.</p>
+
+<p>"There!" said Bingham, resentfully, "see how
+you trust me! You know that if I begin to step on
+forbidden ground, you have only to put out your finger
+and say 'Stop!' and I shall retire amiably, with a
+jest."</p>
+
+<p>"That is part of&mdash;of your&mdash;your charm," said May,
+hesitatingly.</p>
+
+<p>"My charm!" repeated Bingham, in a tone of
+sarcasm.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry I used the word charm," said May.
+"I will use a better term, your personality. You are
+so alarming and yet so gentle."</p>
+
+<p>Bingham turned and gazed at her silently. They
+were now very near the Lodgings.</p>
+
+<p>"Thanks," he said at last. "I know where I am.
+But I knew it before."</p>
+
+<p>A great silence came upon them. Sounds passed
+them as they walked; men hurried past them, occasionally
+a woman, a Red Cross nurse in uniform. The
+sky above was still growing more and more luminous.
+All the rest of the way they walked in silence, each
+thinking their own thoughts, neither wishing to speak.
+When they reached the Lodgings Bingham walked into
+the court with her.</p>
+
+<p>"Won't you come in?" she asked, but it was a
+mere formality, for she knew that he would refuse.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Page 257]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"It's too late," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"And you are coming to dinner to-morrow at
+eight?" She laid emphasis on the hour, to hide the
+fact that she was really asking whether he meant to
+come at all, after their talk about his personality.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, at eight," he said. "Good-bye."</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke the moon showed full and gloriously,
+coming out for a moment sharply from the fine gauzy
+veil of grey that overspread the sky, and the Court was
+distinct to its very corners. The gravel, the shallow
+stone steps at the door, the narrow windows on each side
+of the door, the sombre walls; all were illumined. And
+Bingham's face, as he lifted his cap, was illumined too.
+It was a very dark face, so dark that May doubted if she
+really had quite grasped the details of it in her own mind.
+His eyes seemed scarcely to notice her as she smiled,
+and yet he too smiled. Then he went back over the
+gravel to the gate without saying another word. She
+did not look at his retreating figure. She opened the
+door and went in. Other people in the world were
+suffering. Why can't one always realise that? It would
+make one's own suffering easier to bear.</p>
+
+<p>The house seemed empty. There was not a sound
+in it. The dim portraits on the walls looked out from
+their frames at her. But they had nothing to do with
+her, she was an outsider!</p>
+
+<p>She walked up the broad staircase. She must
+endure torture for two&mdash;nearly three more days! The
+hours must be dealt with one by one, even the minutes.
+It would take all her strength.</p>
+
+<p>At the head of the stairs she paused. Her desire
+was to go straight to her room, and not to go into the
+drawing-room and greet her Aunt Lena. Gwendolen
+would very likely be there in high spirits&mdash;the future
+mistress of the house&mdash;the one person in the world to
+whom the Warden would have to say, "May I? Can I?"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be a coward! Other people in the world<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Page 258]</a></span>
+are suffering besides you," said the inner voice; and May
+went straight to the drawing-room door and opened it.</p>
+
+<p>The room was dark except for a glimmer from a
+red fire. May was going out again, and about to close
+the door, when her aunt's voice called to her, and the
+lights went up on each side of the fireplace. May
+pushed the door back again and came inside.</p>
+
+<p>"Aunt Lena!" she called.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood had been sitting on the couch
+near it. She was standing now. It was she who had
+put up the lights. Her face was pale and her eyes
+brilliant.</p>
+
+<p>"May, it's all over!" she called under her breath.</p>
+
+<p>May stood by the door. It was still ajar and in her
+hand.</p>
+
+<p>"All over! What is all over?" she asked
+apprehensively.</p>
+
+<p>"Shut the door!" said Lady Dashwood, in a low
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>May shut the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Gwendolen has broken off her engagement!" said
+Lady Dashwood, controlling her voice.</p>
+
+<p>May always remembered that moment. The room
+seemed to stretch about her in alleys fringed with chairs
+and couches. There was plenty of room to walk,
+plenty of room to sit down. There was plenty of time
+too. It was extraordinary what a lot of time there
+was in the world, time for everything you wanted to
+do. Then there was the portrait over the mantelpiece.
+He seemed to have nothing to do. She had
+not thought of that before. He was absolutely idle,
+simply looking on. And below these trivial thoughts,
+tossed on the surface of her mind, flowed a strange,
+confused, almost overwhelming, tide of joy.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Page 259]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2>
+
+<h3>A CAUSE AND IMPEDIMENT</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">"Oh!" was all that May said.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood looked at her and looked again.
+She put out her hand and rested it on the mantelshelf,
+and still looked at May. May was taking off one of
+her gloves. When she had unfastened the buttons
+she discovered that she was wearing a watch on her
+wrist, and she wound it up carefully.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood was still looking, all her excitement
+was suppressed for the moment. What was
+May thinking of&mdash;what had happened to her?</p>
+
+<p>"For how long?" asked May, and she suddenly
+perceived that there had been a rigid silence between
+them.</p>
+
+<p>"For how long?" exclaimed Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said May.</p>
+
+<p>"The engagement is broken off!" said Lady
+Dashwood. "Broken off, dear!"</p>
+
+<p>"Not permanently?" said May, as if she were
+speaking of an incident of no particular importance.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood's eyes gleamed. "For ever," she
+said.</p>
+
+<p>May looked at her watch again and began to wind
+it up again. It refused to be wound any more. May
+looked at it anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>"Gwendolen goes to-morrow," said Lady Dashwood.
+"It is she who has broken off the engagement,
+and she is going away before Jim returns. It is all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Page 260]</a></span>
+over, May, and I have been waiting for half an hour
+to tell you the news. I have scarcely known how to
+wait."</p>
+
+<p>May went up and kissed her silently.</p>
+
+<p>"You are the only person I can speak to," said
+Lady Dashwood. "May, I feel as if this couldn't be
+true. Will you read this?" And she put a letter
+into May's hands. As she did so she saw, for the first
+time, that May's hands were trembling. She drew the
+letter back and said quietly: "No, let me read Marian
+Potten's letter to you. I want to read it again for my
+own sake, though I have read it half a dozen times
+already."</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Potten!" said May. "Aunt Lena, you'll
+think me stupid, but I haven't grasped things."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course not," said Lady Dashwood. "And I
+am too much excited to explain properly. I suppose
+my nerves have been strained lately. I want to hear
+Marian's letter read aloud. Listen, May! Oh, my
+dear, do listen!"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood turned the letter up to the light
+and began to read in a slow, emphatic, husky voice&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Lena</span>,<br /></p>
+
+<p>"Certain things have happened of which I
+cannot speak, and which necessitated a private interview
+between Gwendolen and myself. But what I am
+going to tell you now concerns you, because it concerns
+the Warden. In our interview Gwendolen confided to
+me that she had serious misgivings about the wisdom
+of her engagement. They are more than misgivings.
+She feels that she ought not to have accepted the
+Warden's offer. She feels that she never considered
+the responsibilities she was undertaking, and she had
+nobody to talk the matter over with who could have
+given her sensible advice. She feels that neither her
+character nor her education fit her to be a Warden's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Page 261]</a></span>
+wife, and she shrinks from the duties that it involves.
+All this came out! I hope that you and the Warden
+will forgive the fact that all this came out before me,
+and that I found myself in the position of Gwen's
+adviser. She has come to the conclusion that she
+ought to break off this engagement&mdash;so hastily made&mdash;and
+I agree with her that there should not be an hour's
+delay in breaking it off. She is afraid of meeting the
+Warden and having to give him a personal explanation.
+It is a natural fear, for she is only a silly child and he
+is a man of years and experience. She does not feel
+strong enough to meet him and tell him to his face that
+she cannot be his wife. You will understand how unpleasant
+it would be for you all. So, with my entire
+approval and help, she has taken the opportunity of his
+absence to write him a decisive letter. She will hand
+you over this letter and ask you to give it to the
+Warden on his return home. This letter is to tell him
+that she releases him from his promise of marriage.
+And to avoid a very serious embarrassment I have
+invited her to come to Potten End to-morrow morning
+and stay with me till I have heard from Lady Belinda.
+I am writing myself to Lady Belinda, giving her full
+details. I am sure she will be convinced of the wisdom
+of Gwendolen so suddenly breaking off her engagement.
+I will send the car for Gwendolen to-morrow at ten
+o'clock, and meanwhile will you spare her feelings
+and make no reference to what has taken place? The
+poor child is feeling very sore and very much ashamed
+of all the fuss, but feels that she is doing the right thing&mdash;at
+last.</p></div>
+
+<p class="signoff">"Yours ever,<br />
+<br />
+"<span class="smcap">Marian Potten</span>."<br />
+</p>
+
+
+<p class="above2">Lady Dashwood folded up the letter and put it back
+into its envelope. She avoided looking at May just now.</p>
+
+<p>"Marian must feel very strongly on the subject<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Page 262]</a></span>
+to offer to send her own car," she said. "I have never
+known her do such a thing before," and Lady Dashwood
+smiled and looked at the fire. "So the whole thing is
+over! But how did it all come about? What happened?
+I've been thinking over every possible accident
+that could have happened to make Gwen change
+her mind in this sudden way, and I am still in the dark,"
+she went on. "Do you think that Gwendolen had
+any misgivings about her engagement when she left
+this house after lunch, May? I'm sure she hadn't."
+Here Lady Dashwood paused and looked towards May
+but not at her. "It all happened at Potten End!
+I'm certain of it," she added.</p>
+
+<p>May, having at last completely drawn off both her
+gloves, was folding and unfolding them with unsteady
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a mystery," said May.</p>
+
+<p>"But I don't care what happened!" said Lady
+Dashwood, solemnly; "I don't really want to know.
+It is over! I can't rest, I can't read, I can't think
+coherently. I can only be thankful&mdash;thankful beyond
+words."</p>
+
+<p>May walked slowly in the direction of the door.
+"Yes, all your troubles are over," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you remember, May," went on Lady Dashwood,
+"how you and I stood together just here, under
+the portrait, when you arrived on Monday? Well, all
+that torment is over. All that happened between then
+and now has been wiped clean out, as if it had never
+been."</p>
+
+<p>But all had not been wiped out. Some of what
+happened had been written down in May's mind and
+couldn't be wiped out.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't go this moment; sit down for a little,
+before you go and dress," said Lady Dashwood, "and
+I'll try and sit, for I must talk, I must talk, and, May
+dear, you must listen. Come back, dear!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Page 263]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood sat down on one side of the fireplace
+and looked at May, as she came back and seated
+herself on the opposite side. There was the fireplace
+between them.</p>
+
+<p>"Aren't you glad?" asked Lady Dashwood.
+"Aren't you glad, May?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am very glad," said May. "I rejoice&mdash;in your
+joy."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood leaned back in her chair, and let
+her eyes rest on May's face.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't describe to you what I felt when Gwendolen
+came in half an hour ago. She came in quietly,
+her face pale and her eyes swollen, and said quite
+abruptly: 'I have broken on my engagement with
+Dr. Middleton. Please don't scold me, please don't
+talk about it; please let me go. I'm miserable enough
+as it is,' and she put two letters into my hand and went.
+May, I took the letter addressed to Jim and locked it
+up, for a horrible fear came on me that some one might
+destroy that letter. Besides, I had also the fear that
+because the thing was so sudden it might somehow not
+be true. Well, then I came down here again and waited
+for you. I waited in the dark, trying to rest. You came
+in very late. I scarcely knew how to wait. I suppose I
+am horribly excited. I am feeling now as Louise feels
+constantly, but I can't get any relief in the way she does.
+A Frenchwoman never bottles up anything; her method
+is to wear other people out and save her own strength
+by doing so. From our cradles we are smacked if we
+express our emotions; but foreigners have been encouraged
+to express their emotions. They believe it
+necessary and proper to do so. They gesticulate and
+scream. It is a confirmed habit with them to do so,
+and it doesn't mean much. I dare say when you or
+I just say 'Oh!' it means more than if Louise uttered
+persistent shrieks for half an hour. But she is a good
+soul&mdash;&mdash;" And Lady Dashwood ran on in this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Page 264]</a></span>
+half-consequent, half-inconsequent way, while May sat
+in her chair, busy trying to hide the trembling of her
+knees. They would tremble. She tried holding them
+with her hands, but they refused to stop shaking.
+Once they trembled too obviously, and Lady Dashwood
+said, in a changed tone, as if she had suddenly observed
+May: "You have caught cold! You have caught a
+chill!"</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps I have," said May, and her knees knocked
+against each other.</p>
+
+<p>"You have, my dear," said Lady Dashwood; and as
+she pronounced this verdict, she rose from her chair with
+great suddenness. There was on her face no anxiety,
+not a trace of it, but a certain great content. But as
+she rose she became aware that her head ached and she
+felt a little dizzy. What matter!</p>
+
+<p>"I may have got just the slightest chill," said May,
+rising too, "but if so, it's nothing!"</p>
+
+<p>"Most people like having chills, and that's why they
+never take any precautions, and refuse all remedies,"
+said Lady Dashwood, making her way to the door with
+care, and speaking more slowly and deliberately; "but
+I know you're not like that, and I'm going to give you
+an infallible cure and preventive. It'll put you right,
+I promise. Come along, dear child. I ought to have
+known you had a chill. I ought to have seen it written
+on your brow 'Chill' when you came in; but I've been
+too much excited by events to see anything. I've been
+chattering like a silly goose. Come upstairs, I'm going
+to dose you."</p>
+
+<p>And May submitted, and the two women went
+out of the drawing-room together up the two or three
+steps and into the corridor. They walked together,
+both making a harmless, pathetic pretence: the one to
+think the other had a chill, the other to own that a
+chill it was, indeed, though not a bad chill!</p>
+
+<p>What was Gwendolen doing now? Was she crying?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Page 265]</a></span>
+"Poor thing, poor little neglected thing!" thought
+Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"Marian can be very high-handed," she whispered
+to May. "I have known her do many arbitrary things.
+She would be quite capable of&mdash;&mdash; But what's the
+good! Poor Gwen! I couldn't pity her before, I felt
+too hard. But now Jim is safe I can think reasonably.
+I'm sorry for her. But," she added, "I'm not sorry
+for Belinda."</p>
+
+<p>Now that they had reached May's room, May
+declared that she was not as sure as she had been that
+she had got a chill.</p>
+
+<p>But the chill could not be dropped like that. Lady
+Dashwood felt the impropriety of suddenly giving up
+the chill, and she left the room and went to search for
+the infallible cure and preventive. As she did so she
+began to wonder why she could not will to have no
+headache. She was so happy that a headache was
+ridiculous.</p>
+
+<p>When she returned, May was in her dressing-gown
+and was moving about with decision, and her limbs no
+longer trembled.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't pity Belinda," said Lady Dashwood, pretending
+not to see the change. "I don't pity her,
+though I suppose that she, too, is merely a symptom
+of the times we live in." Here she began to pour out
+a dose from the bottle in her hand. "It can't be a
+good thing, May, for the community that there should
+be women who live to organise amusement for themselves;
+who merely live to meet each other and their
+men folk, and play about. It can't be good for the
+community? We ought all to work, May, every one
+of us. Writing invitations to each other to come and
+play, buying things for ourselves, seeing dressmakers
+isn't work. There, May!" She held out the glass to
+May. Each kept up the pretence&mdash;pretending with
+solemnity that May had been trembling because she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Page 266]</a></span>
+had possibly got a chill. It was a pretence that was
+necessary. It was a pretence that covered and protected
+both of them. It was a brave pretence. "No,"
+said Lady Dashwood again, and firmly, as she released
+the glass. "It isn't good for the community to have
+a class of busy idlers at the top of the ladder."</p>
+
+<p>May had taken the glass, and now she tipped it up
+and drank the contents. They were hot and stinging!</p>
+
+<p>Then May broke her silence, and imitating a voice
+that Lady Dashwood knew well, uttered these words:</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, damn the community!"</p>
+
+<p>"Was it very nasty?" said Lady Dashwood,
+laughing. "Ah, May, I can laugh now at Belinda!
+Alas! I can laugh!"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Page 267]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXV</h2>
+
+<h3>CONFESSIONS</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">What stung Gwendolen, what made her smart almost
+beyond endurance, was that she had exchanged the
+Warden for an umbrella. The transaction had been
+simple, and sudden, and inevitable. The Warden
+was in London, a free man, and there was the umbrella
+in the corner of the room, hers. It was looking at her,
+and she had not paid for it. The bill would be sent to
+the Lodgings, the bill for the umbrella and the gloves.
+The bill would be re-directed and would reach her&mdash;bills
+always did reach one, however frequently one
+changed one's address. Private letters sometimes
+got misdirected and mislaid, but never bills. Friends
+sometimes say, "We couldn't write because we didn't
+know your address." Tradespeople never say this,
+they don't omit to send their bills merely because they
+don't know your address. If they don't know your
+address, they search for it!</p>
+
+<p>The pure imbecility of her behaviour at Christ
+Church about that ten-shilling note was now apparent
+to Gwendolen. She could not think, now, how she
+could have done anything so inconceivably silly, and so
+useless as to put herself in the power of Mrs. Potten.
+She would never, never in all her life, do such a thing
+again. Another time, when hard up and needing
+something necessary, she would borrow, or she would
+go straight to the shop and order "the umbrella"
+(as after all, she had done), and she would take the
+sporting chance of being able to pay the bill some time.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Page 268]</a></span>
+But never would she again touch notes or coins that
+belonged to people she knew, and especially those
+belonging to Mrs. Potten! Oh, what a wickedly cruel
+punishment she had to bear, merely because she had
+had a sort of joke about ten shillings belonging to
+Mrs. Potten.</p>
+
+<p>One thing she would never forgive as long as she
+lived, and that was Mrs. Potten's meanness. She
+would never forget the way in which Mrs. Potten
+took advantage of her by getting her into Potten
+End alone, with nobody to protect her.</p>
+
+<p>First of all Mrs. Potten had pretended to be
+merely sorry. Then she spoke about Mr. Harding
+and Mr. Bingham being witnesses and made the whole
+thing appear as a sort of crime, and then she ended
+up with saying: "The Warden must not be kept in
+ignorance of all this! That is out of the question.
+He has a right to know." That came as an awful
+shock to Gwendolen, and made her burst into tears.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you afraid, child, he will break off the engagement?"
+was all that Mrs. Potten said, and then
+the horrid old woman asked all sorts of horrid questions,
+and wormed out all kinds of things: that the
+Warden had not actually said he was in love, that he
+had scarcely spoken to her for three days, and that he
+had not said "good-bye" that morning when he left
+for London. How Mrs. Potten had managed to sneak it
+out of her Gwendolen did not know, but Mrs. Potten
+gave her no time to think of what she was saying, and
+being so much upset and so much afraid of Mrs. Potten
+lots of things came out. And yet all the time she knew
+things were going wrong because of the wicked look on
+Mrs. Potten's face.</p>
+
+<p>However, Gwendolen had all through stuck to it
+(and it was the truth) that she had never intended to
+do more than "sort of joke" with the note, and this
+Mrs. Potten simply wouldn't understand. And when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Page 269]</a></span>
+she, Gwendolen, promised, on her honour, to make it
+"all right," by wiring to her mother to send her a
+postal order for ten shillings by return, Mrs. Potten
+sprang like a tiger on her: "Why wire for it? Why
+not return it now?" Oh, the whole thing was awful!</p>
+
+<p>After this Mrs. Potten's voice had changed to ice,
+and she put on a perfectly beastly tone.</p>
+
+<p>"Gwendolen, you shock me beyond words, and
+oblige me to take a very decided step in the matter."</p>
+
+<p>Then she stopped, and Gwendolen could recall
+that horrible moment of suspense. Then came words
+that made Gwendolen shudder to think of.</p>
+
+<p>"I have a very great respect for the position of a
+Warden&mdash;it is a position of trust; and I have also
+personally a very great respect for the Warden of
+King's. I give you an alternative. Break off your
+engagement with him at once, quietly, or I shall make
+this little affair of the note known in Oxford, so that
+the Warden will have to break the engagement off.
+Which alternative do you choose?"</p>
+
+<p>The very words repeated themselves over and over
+in Gwendolen's memory, and she flung herself on her
+bed and gave way to a passion of tears. No, she
+would never forgive Mrs. Potten.</p>
+
+<p>When the bell sounded for dinner, Gwendolen
+struggled off the bed and went to look at herself in the
+glass. She couldn't possibly go downstairs looking
+like that, even if she were dressed. Yet pangs of hunger
+seized Gwendolen. She had eaten one wretched little
+slice of bread and butter at Potten End, moistening
+it with her tears, and now she wanted food. Several
+minutes passed.</p>
+
+<p>"They won't care even if I'm dead," moaned
+Gwendolen, and she listened.</p>
+
+<p>A knock came at her door, and Louise entered.</p>
+
+<p>"If <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mademoiselle</span> has a headache would she like
+to have some dinner brought up to her?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Page 270]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Yes, thanks," said Gwendolen, and she kept her
+face away from the direction of the door so that Louise
+could not see it.</p>
+
+<p>"What would <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mademoiselle</span> like? Some soup?"</p>
+
+<p>Oh, how wretched it all was! And when all
+might have been so different! And soup&mdash;only soup!</p>
+
+<p>"I don't care," said Gwendolen, "some sort of
+dinner&mdash;any dinner."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, dinner!" said Louise.</p>
+
+<p>When she had gone, Gwendolen tied two handkerchiefs
+together and fastened them round her forehead
+to look as if she had a headache&mdash;indeed, she had
+a headache&mdash;and a heartache too!</p>
+
+<p>Presently dinner was brought up, and Gwendolen
+ate it in loneliness and sadness. She did not leave
+anything. She had thought of leaving some of the
+meat, but decided against it. After she had finished,
+and it had been cleared away, she had sat looking at
+the fire for a few minutes with eyes that were sore
+from weeping. Then she got up and began to undress.
+Life was a miserable thing! She got into
+bed and laid her hot head down on the cool pillow
+and tried not to think. But she listened to every
+sound that passed her door. It was horrible to be
+alone and forgotten. She had asked to be left alone,
+but she had not meant to be alone so long. Then
+there suddenly sprang into her mind the recollection
+of the strange form she thought she had seen in the
+library. She really had thought she had seen him.
+Were such things true?</p>
+
+<p>What about the disaster? Perhaps it was <em>her</em>
+disaster he had come to warn <em>her</em> about and that
+was why <em>she</em> saw him. Perhaps God sent him!
+This thought thrilled her whole being, and she lay
+very still. Perhaps God had meant to tell <em>her</em> that
+she must be careful, and she had not been careful.
+But then how could she have guessed?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Page 271]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen had been confirmed only two years
+ago. She remembered that the preparation for confirmation
+had been a bore, and yet had given her a
+pleasant sensation of self-approbation, because she
+was serving God in a manner peculiarly agreeable
+to Him by being in the right Church, especially now
+in these times of unbelief and neglect of religion.
+She had a pleasant feeling that there were a great many
+people disobeying Him; and that heaps of priggish
+people who fussed about living goody-goody lives,
+were not really approved of by Him, because they
+didn't go to church or only went to wrong churches.</p>
+
+<p>Then she recalled the afternoon when she was
+confirmed. She was at school and there were other
+girls with her, and the old bishop preached to them,
+and went on and on and on so long, and was so dull
+that Gwendolen ceased to listen. But she had gone
+through it all, and had felt very happy to have it over.
+She felt safe in God's keeping. But now she was alone
+and miserable, and felt strangely unprotected by God,
+as if God didn't care!</p>
+
+<p>Was that strange form she had seen in the library
+sent not by God but by the devil to frighten her? If
+the Warden had been in the house she would have felt
+less frightened, only now&mdash;now she was so horribly
+alone. Even if he had been in the house, though she
+couldn't speak to him, she would have been less
+frightened.</p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen listened for footsteps in the corridor&mdash;would
+any one come to her? Why had she spoken
+to Lady Dashwood as if she didn't want to be disturbed?
+Suppose nobody came? And what about
+the devil? Should she ring?</p>
+
+<p>At last, unable to bear herself and her thoughts
+any longer she rose from her bed and put on her
+dressing-gown. She opened her door and peeped out
+into the corridor. There was just a glimpse of light,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Page 272]</a></span>
+and she could see pretty clearly from end to end. She
+could hear what sounded like a person near the head
+of the staircase. Gwendolen darted forwards towards
+the curtained end of the corridor. But when she
+reached the curtain she saw old Robinson going down
+the staircase.</p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen went back a few steps along the corridor
+and returned to her room. She pushed the door open.
+It was too silent and too empty, it frightened her.
+Should she ring the bell? If she rang the bell what
+would she say? The dinner had been cleared away.
+What should she ask for if she rang?</p>
+
+<p>With a groan of despair she went outside again
+and again listened. Somebody was approaching the
+corridor. Somebody was coming into the corridor.
+She stood where she was. It was Mrs. Dashwood who
+was coming. She had mounted the steps, and here
+she was walking towards her. Gwendolen stood still
+and waited.</p>
+
+<p>May saw the figure of the girl, clutching her dressing-gown
+round her, and staring with large distended eyes
+like a hunted animal.</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?" asked May. "Do you feel ill,
+Gwen?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said the girl, with a shiver, "I'm so glad
+you've come! I can't go into my bedroom alone. Oh,
+I am so wretched!"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll take you into your bedroom," said May, and
+she led Gwen in and closed the door behind them.</p>
+
+<p>"You were in bed," she said. "Get in again and
+I will straighten you up." She helped Gwendolen to
+take off her dressing-gown.</p>
+
+<p>"You can't stay with me a little?" demanded
+Gwen, and her lips trembled. "I've such a headache."</p>
+
+<p>The handkerchiefs were still bound round her head,
+and were making her hot and uncomfortable.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor Gwen!" said May. "Yes, I'll stay a little.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Page 273]</a></span>
+I dare say some <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Eau-de-Cologne</span> would help your headache
+to go."</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't got any. I've only got scent," said
+Gwen, as she stepped into bed.</p>
+
+<p>"I have some," said May. "I'll go and fetch it.
+I'll be back in a moment."</p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen sat up in bed, drawing the clothes up
+to her neck, waiting. The moment she was alone in
+the room, the room seemed so dismal, and the solitude
+alarming. There was always the devil&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Sitting up?" said May, when she came back with
+the <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Eau-de-Cologne</span> in her hand.</p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen sank down in the bed. How comforting
+it was to have Mrs. Dashwood waiting on her and
+talking about her and being sympathetic. She had
+always loved Mrs. Dashwood. She was so sweet.
+Now, if only, only she had not made that horrible
+blunder, she would have had the whole household
+waiting on her, talking about her and being sympathetic!
+Oh!</p>
+
+<p>May brought a chair to the bed, and began to smooth
+the dark hair away from Gwen's face.</p>
+
+<p>"I think you would be cooler with those handkerchiefs
+off," she said. "I can't get to your forehead
+very well with the <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Eau-de-Cologne</span>."</p>
+
+<p>Gwen signified her consent with a deep sigh, and
+May slipped the bandage off and put it away on the
+dressing-table.</p>
+
+<p>Then she dabbed some of the <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Eau-de-Cologne</span>
+softly on to the girl's forehead.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you <em>know</em>," whispered Gwen, as the
+scent of the perfume came into her nostrils.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said May.</p>
+
+<p>"I hope the servants don't know," groaned Gwen.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think any one knows, but just ourselves,"
+said May, in a soothing voice; "and no one but
+ourselves need know about it."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Page 274]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it's horrible!" groaned Gwen again. "I
+can't bear it!"</p>
+
+<p>"It is hard to bear," said May, as she smoothed the
+girl's brow.</p>
+
+<p>After a little silence Gwendolen suddenly said&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"You don't believe in that ghost?"</p>
+
+<p>"The ghost?" said May, a little surprised at this
+sudden deviation from the cause of Gwendolen's grief.</p>
+
+<p>"You thought it was silly?" said Gwen, tentatively.</p>
+
+<p>"Not silly, but fanciful," said May.</p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen moved her head. "I think I was;
+but I still see him, and I don't want to. I have begun
+to think about him, now, this evening. I had forgotten
+before&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You must make up your mind not to think of it.
+It isn't a real person, Gwen."</p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen still kept her head slightly round towards
+May Dashwood, though she had her eyes closed so as
+not to interfere with the movements of May's hand on
+her brow.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think the devil does things?" she asked
+in an awed voice.</p>
+
+<p>May hesitated for a moment and then said: "We
+do things, and some of us call it the devil doing things."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you don't believe in the devil?" asked
+Gwendolen, opening her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think so, Gwen," said May. "But God
+I am sure of."</p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen lay still for a little while. She was
+thinking now of her troubles.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't do any wrong things?" asked Gwendolen,
+tentatively.</p>
+
+<p>"We all do wrong things," said May.</p>
+
+<p>"I mean wrong things that people make a fuss
+about," said Gwendolen, thinking of Mrs. Potten, and
+the drawing-room at Potten End.</p>
+
+<p>"Some things are more wrong than others," said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Page 275]</a></span>
+May. "It depends upon whether they do much harm
+or not."</p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen pondered. This was a new proof of
+Mrs. Potten's meanness. What she, Gwen, had done
+had harmed nobody practically.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm miserable!" she burst out.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor Gwen!" murmured May.</p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen lay still. Her heart was full. When
+she had once left the Lodgings, and was at Mrs. Potten's
+she would be among enemies. Now, here, at least she
+had one friend&mdash;some one who was not mean and
+didn't scold. She must speak to this one kind friend&mdash;she
+would tell her troubles. She must have some one
+to confide in.</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't want to break off the engagement," she
+said at last, unable to keep her thoughts much longer
+to herself.</p>
+
+<p>"You didn't want to!" said May gently. It was
+scarcely a question, but it drew Gwendolen to an
+explanation of her words.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Potten made me," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"No one could make you," said May, quietly.
+"Could they?"</p>
+
+<p>"She did," said Gwen, with a burst of tears. "I
+wanted to make it all right, and she wouldn't let me.
+If only I could have seen the Warden, he would have
+taken my side, perhaps," and here Gwen's voice became
+less emphatic. "But Mrs. Potten simply made me.
+She was determined. She hates me. I can't bear
+her."</p>
+
+<p>"Had you done absolutely nothing to make her so
+determined?" asked May wondering.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing&mdash;except a little joke&mdash;&mdash;" began Gwen.
+"It was merely a sort of a joke."</p>
+
+<p>"A joke!" said May, and her voice was very low
+and strange.</p>
+
+<p>The umbrella standing in the corner of the room in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Page 276]</a></span>
+the shadow seemed to make faces at Gwen. Why
+hadn't she put the horrid thing in the wardrobe?</p>
+
+<p>"It was only meant as a sort of joke," she repeated,
+and then the overwhelming flood of bitter memory
+coming upon her, she yielded to her instinct and poured
+out to May, bit by bit, a broken garbled history of the
+whole affair&mdash;a story such as Belinda and Co. would
+tell&mdash;a story made, unconsciously, all the more sordid
+and pitiful because it was obviously not the whole
+truth.</p>
+
+<p>And this was a story told by one who might have
+been the Warden's wife! May went on soothing the
+girl's hair and brow with her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"And Mrs. Potten wouldn't let me make it all right.
+She refused to let me, though I begged her to, and
+gave her my word of honour," wept Gwen, indignantly.
+Then she suddenly said, "Oh, the fire's going out and
+perhaps you're cold!" for she was fearful lest her
+visitor would leave her. "When my dinner was taken
+away too much coal was put on my fire, and I was too
+miserable to make a fuss."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not cold," said May. "But I will stir up the
+fire." She rose from her chair and went to the fire,
+and poked it up into a blaze.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid, Gwen, that you couldn't make it all
+right with Mrs. Potten, except by&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"By what?" asked Gwen, becoming suddenly
+excited. "If only Dr. Middleton had not been away,
+I might have borrowed from him. Do you mean that?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said May, with a profound sigh, as she came
+back to the bedside. "It was a question of honour,
+don't you see? You couldn't have made it right,
+except by being horrified at what you had done and
+feeling that you could never, never make it right! Do
+you understand what I mean?"</p>
+
+<p>Gwen was trying to understand.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Page 277]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"That would have made Mrs. Potten worse," she
+said hoarsely.</p>
+
+<p>"No," said May, with a quiet emphasis on the word.
+"If you had really been terribly unhappy about your
+honour, Mrs. Potten would have sympathised! Don't
+you see what I mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"But how could I be so terribly unhappy about
+such a mere accident?" protested Gwen, tearfully.
+"I might have returned the money. I very nearly
+did twice, only somehow I didn't. It just seemed
+to happen like that, and it was such a little
+affair."</p>
+
+<p>May sat down again and put her cool hand on the
+girl's brow. It was no use talking about honour to
+the child. To Belinda and Co. honour was, what was
+expected of you by people who were in the swim, and
+if Mrs. Potten had made no discovery, or had forgiven
+it when it was made, Gwendolen's "honour" would
+have remained bright and untarnished. That was
+Gwendolen's sense of the moral situation! Her
+vision went no further. Still May's silence was disturbing.
+Gwendolen felt that she had not been understood,
+and that she was being reproved by that silence,
+though the reproof was gentle, very different from the
+kind of reproof that would probably be administered
+by her mother. On the other hand, the reproof was
+not merited.</p>
+
+<p>"Would you," said Gwendolen, with a gulp in her
+throat, "would you spoil somebody's whole life
+because they took some trifle that nobody really missed
+or wanted, intending to give it back, only didn't somehow
+get the opportunity? Would you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Your whole life isn't spoiled," said May. "If
+you take what has happened very seriously you may
+make your life more honourable in the future than
+it has been. Don't you see that if what you had done
+had not been discovered you might have gone on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Page 278]</a></span>
+doing these things all your life. That would have
+spoiled your life!"</p>
+
+<p>"But my engagement!" moaned Gwen. "I
+shall have to go to that horrid Stow, unless mother has
+got an invitation for me, and mother will be so upset.
+She'll be so angry!"</p>
+
+<p>What could May say to give the girl any real understanding
+of her own responsibilities? Was she to
+drift about like a leaf in the wind, without principles,
+with no firm basis upon which she could stand and take
+her part in the struggle of human life?</p>
+
+<p>What was to be done?</p>
+
+<p>May did her best to put her thoughts into the
+plainest, simplest words. She had to begin at the
+beginning, and speak as to a child. As she went on
+May discovered that one thing, and one thing only,
+really impressed Gwen, and that was the idea of courage.
+Coward as she was, she did grasp that courage was of
+real value. Gwen had a faint gleam of the meaning
+of honour, when it was a question of courage, and
+upon this one string May played, for it gave a clear
+note, striking into the silence of the poor girl's moral
+nature.</p>
+
+<p>She got the girl to promise that she would try and
+take the misfortune of her youth with courage and
+meet the future bravely. She even induced Gwendolen
+then and there to pray for more courage, moral and
+physical, and she did not leave her till she had added
+also a prayer for help in the future when difficulties
+and temptations were in her path. They were vague
+words, "difficulties and temptations," and May knew
+that, but it is not possible in half an hour to straighten
+the muddle of many years of Belinda and Co.</p>
+
+<p>"Have courage," she said at last, "I must go,
+Gwen. Good-night," and May stooped down to kiss
+the dark head on the pillow. "God protect you;
+God help you!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Page 279]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Good-night," sighed Gwen; "I'll try and go to
+sleep. But could you&mdash;could you put that umbrella
+into the wardrobe and poke up the fire again to make a
+little light?"</p>
+
+<p>And May put the umbrella away in the wardrobe
+and poked up the fire.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Page 280]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXVI</h2>
+
+<h3>THE ANXIETIES OF LOUISE</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">The one definite thought in May's mind now was that
+she must leave Oxford before the Warden's return.
+A blind instinct compelled her to take this course.</p>
+
+<p>It was not easy for her to say to Lady Dashwood
+quite unconcernedly: "You won't mind my running
+away to-morrow, will you? You won't mind if I run
+off, will you? All your troubles are over, and I do
+want to get back to-morrow. I have lots of things to
+do&mdash;to get ready before Monday."</p>
+
+<p>It was not easy to say all this, but May did say it.
+She said it in the corridor as they were bidding each
+other good night.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood's surprise was painful. "I do mind
+your running off," she said, and she looked a little bewildered.
+"Must you go to-morrow? Must you?
+To-morrow!"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood had talked a great deal, both before
+May went into Gwendolen's room and afterwards, when
+May came back again to the drawing-room. May had
+told the reason for her long absence from the drawing-room,
+but in an abstracted manner; and Lady Dashwood,
+observing this, looked long and wistfully at her,
+but had asked no questions. All she had said was,
+"I'm glad you've been with the child," and she spoke
+in a low voice. Then she had begun talking again of
+things relevant and irrelevant, and in doing so had
+betrayed her excitement. It was indeed May now who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Page 281]</a></span>
+was calm and self-contained, all trace of her "chill" gone,
+whereas Lady Dashwood was obviously over-excited.</p>
+
+<p>It was only when May said good night, and made
+this announcement about going away on the following
+day, that Lady Dashwood's spirits showed signs of
+flagging.</p>
+
+<p>That moment all her vivacity suddenly died down
+and she looked no longer brisk and brilliant, but limp
+and tired, a hollow-eyed woman.</p>
+
+<p>"I do mind," she repeated. But she gave no reason
+for minding, she merely added: "Don't go!" and
+stared at her niece pathetically.</p>
+
+<p>But May was firm. She kissed her aunt very affectionately,
+and was very tender in her manner and voice,
+but she was immovable.</p>
+
+<p>"I must go, dear," she said; and then she repeated
+again: "Your troubles are over! Seriously, Aunt
+Lena, I want to go!"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood sighed. "You have done a great
+deal for me, May," she said, and this gratitude from her
+Aunt Lena shook May's courage more than any protest.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want to go," she said, "but I must go."
+That was her last word.</p>
+
+<p>And May wanted to go early. Everything must be
+ready. She wanted to get away as soon as Gwendolen
+had gone. She must not risk meeting the Warden!
+He might return to lunch, she must go before lunch.
+She must not see him come back. She could not bear
+to be in the house when he read the letter from Gwendolen.
+<em>That</em> was what made her fly. To stay on and
+witness in cold blood his feelings at being rescued, to
+witness his humiliation, because he was rescued, would
+be an intrusion on the privacy of a human soul. She
+must go. So May packed up over night, slept uneasily
+and in snatches, conscious of Oxford all the time,
+conscious of all that it meant to her!</p>
+
+<p>It was a grey morning when she got up and looked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Page 282]</a></span>
+out of narrow window's on to the quiet, narrow grey
+street. She heard no one moving about when she
+came down the broad staircase and into the hall, prepared
+to go, hardening herself to go, because to stop
+would be impossible.</p>
+
+<p>In the breakfast-room she found Lady Dashwood.
+The two women looked at each other silently with a
+smile only of greeting. They could hear steps outside,
+and Gwendolen came in with swollen eyes and smiled
+vaguely round the room.</p>
+
+<p>"Good morning," she said, and then gulped. Poor
+girl! She was making an effort to be brave, and May
+gave her a glance that said plainly her approval and her
+sympathy.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood was almost tender in her manner.</p>
+
+<p>Gwen ate hurriedly, and once or twice made spasmodic
+faces in trying not to break down.</p>
+
+<p>Of course, no reference was made to anything that
+had happened, but it was necessary to talk a little.
+Silence would have made things worse. So Lady
+Dashwood praised Potten End, and said it was more
+bracing there than at Oxford; and May said she had
+not seen Potten End. Then both ladies looked at each
+other and started some other subject. They spoke at
+great length about the weather. At last breakfast
+was over, and Lady Dashwood rose from her chair and
+looked rather nervously across at Gwendolen.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm ready," said Gwendolen, bravely. "At least,
+I've only got to put my hat on."</p>
+
+<p>"There is no hurry, dear," said Lady Dashwood.
+"Let me see, you have nearly an hour." The car was
+to come at ten&mdash;an unearthly hour except in Oxford
+and at Potten End.</p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen disappeared upstairs, and the two ladies
+lingered about in the breakfast-room, neither able to
+attend to the papers, though both read ostentatiously. At
+last the car was announced and they went into the hall.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Page 283]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Gwendolen came downstairs hastily. That horrible
+umbrella was in her hand, in the other hand was a
+handkerchief. She was frowning under her veil to keep
+herself from crying.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, good-bye, Gwen," said Lady Dashwood,
+and she kissed the girl on both cheeks. "Good-bye,
+dear; give my love to Mrs. Potten."</p>
+
+<p>"Thanks&mdash;&mdash;" began Gwen, but her voice began
+to fail her. "Thanks&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"My love to Mrs. Potten," repeated Lady Dashwood
+hurriedly, and Gwendolen turned away without
+finishing her sentence.</p>
+
+<p>May kissed Gwendolen and murmured in her ear:
+"Brave girl!" "Good-bye," she said aloud.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye," said Gwen.</p>
+
+<p>There was the familiar hall, its great bevelled doors,
+its oak panelling and its wide oak staircase. There
+was the round table in the middle under the electric
+chandelier and the dim portraits on the walls. All was
+familiar, and all had been thought of as hers for a time,
+all too short; for a day that now seemed as if it could
+never have been; for a dream and no part of the reality
+of Gwen's life.</p>
+
+<p>There outside was the car which was to take her
+away for ever. Robinson Junior was holding open the
+door, his snub nose well in the air, his cheeks reddened
+by the chill autumn wind. He was waiting for her to
+get in. Then he would bang the door to, and have
+done with her, and the Lodgings would never again
+have anything to do with her&mdash;nor Oxford.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, it was too wretched, but brave she would be,
+and Mrs. Dashwood at least would pity her and understand.
+What Lady Dashwood thought she did not
+care so very much.</p>
+
+<p>Gwen went down the steps and got into the car.
+Robinson Junior did bang the door. He banged it
+and caught a piece of Gwendolen's skirt. Then he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Page 284]</a></span>
+opened the door with ferocity as if it was somebody
+else's fault. Gwendolen pulled her skirt and he banged
+the door to again. This time it shut her out from the
+Lodgings. The last moment had come. The car moved.
+The two ladies waved their hands. Robinson Junior
+raised his finger to his ear. The car turned and went
+out of the Court into the narrow street.</p>
+
+<p>It was all over! Robinson Junior did not come
+in. He slipped somewhere round at the back with
+mysterious swiftness, and Lady Dashwood shut the
+door herself. It was like closing a book at "The End"
+or writing a last Will and Testament. It was all over!</p>
+
+<p>Then Lady Dashwood, who had been so composed
+that May had been deceived into thinking that she
+had almost recovered from her excitement and fatigue,
+suddenly leaned against the hall table. "May!" she
+called.</p>
+
+<p>May did not hear her name called, she was already
+retreating up the staircase to her room as hastily as
+she dared. There was not much time, and yet she
+had not told her Aunt Lena yet that she meant to leave
+that very morning; she had mentioned no hour.</p>
+
+<p>Her luggage was packed and labelled. Her hat
+and coat and gloves, exactly the things she had arrived
+in from Malvern, were there waiting for her to put
+them on and go away. Meanwhile <em>he</em> was in Town,
+little dreaming of what was happening. He would be
+back soon. It would be horrible if he arrived before
+she left, and there was still an hour before she must
+start for the station! She would put on her hat and
+then go down, tell her Aunt Lena that she must go in
+an hour, and talk to her, give herself up to her till the
+taxi came. No, it would be impossible for him to
+arrive before she left; she was foolish to worry about
+it. It was pure nonsense&mdash;merely a nervous fear.</p>
+
+<p>When she had put on her hat, it flashed into her
+mind that Mr. Bingham was coming to dinner, ostensibly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Page 285]</a></span>
+to meet her. After their talk together she must write
+to him. She must scribble a little note and get it
+taken to All Souls. She must tell him that she had
+to leave Oxford quite unexpectedly.</p>
+
+<p>She sat down at her writing table and took up a pen.
+She wrote a few words, and thought the words too cold
+and too abrupt. She must begin again, and she tore
+up the letter and threw it into the waste-paper basket.
+She wanted to write sympathetically and yet not to
+appear to think he needed sympathy. She wanted to
+write as if she was very much disappointed at not
+meeting him again, but without putting it into words
+that would sound self-assured&mdash;as if she knew and
+counted on his being grateful at her disappointment.
+And indeed, she thought, he was not much in love with
+her. Why should he be? That was a question May
+always asked herself when a man professed to be in
+love with her. Why? Why in the name of all&mdash;&mdash;,
+etc. May always failed to see why.</p>
+
+<p>This lack of vanity in May had led many people,
+who did not understand her, to accuse her of flirting.</p>
+
+<p>But May, in writing to Bingham, realised to the full
+<em>his</em> attractions. He was too interesting a personality
+to be going about unclaimed. He ought to make some
+woman happy&mdash;some nice woman&mdash;not herself.</p>
+
+<p>She began a fresh letter and was at the first sentence
+when a knock came at the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Come in," she called.</p>
+
+<p>In came Louise, looking full of sinister importance.
+Her hair, which was never very tidy, looked as if it had
+taken an intelligent interest in some crisis.</p>
+
+<p>Louise glanced round the room at the luggage, at
+the coat, at the hat on May's head.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>, what a desolation!" cried Louise,
+and she wrung her hands.</p>
+
+<p>"I have packed very well, Louise," said May Dashwood.
+"I am accustomed to do it&mdash;I have no maid."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Page 286]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Oh, what a desolation!" repeated Louise, as she
+advanced further into the room. Then she stopped and
+announced, with an affectation of horrible composure:
+"I come to inform <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> that it is impossible for her
+to depart."</p>
+
+<p>May put down her pen. "What is the matter,
+Louise?"</p>
+
+<p>Louise drew in her breath. "My lady suffers,"
+she began, and as she proceeded her words flowed more
+and more quickly: "while <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> prepares to forsake
+her, my lady faints upon the floor in the breakfast
+parlour, she expires."</p>
+
+<p>May rose, her heart beating.</p>
+
+<p>"She now swallows a glass of brandy and a biscuit
+brought by Mrs. Robinson, who is so slow, so slow and
+who understands nothing, but has the keys. I call and
+I call, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">eh bien</span>, I call&mdash;oh, but what slowness, what
+insupportable delay."</p>
+
+<p>May put her letter inside the writing case and moved
+away from the writing-table. She was composed now.</p>
+
+<p>"Is she very ill?" she asked quietly.</p>
+
+<p>"My lady has died every day for two weeks," continued
+Louise; "for many days she has died, and no
+one observes it but myself and the angels in heaven.
+<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> agonises, over what terrible events I know
+not. But they know, the spirits of the dead&mdash;they
+know and they come. I believe that, for this house,
+this Lodgings is gloomy, this Oxford is so full of sombre
+thought. My Lady Dashwood martyrs herself for others.
+I see it always with <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Monsieur le</span> General Sir John Dashwood,
+excellent man as he is, but who insists on catching
+severe colds in the head&mdash;colds heavy, overpowering&mdash;he
+sneezing with a ferocity that is impossible. At last
+old Robinson telephones for a doctor at my demand,
+oh, how I demand! It was necessary to overcome the
+phlegm and the stupidity of the Robinson family. I
+say! I demand! It is only when Mrs. Robinson comes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Page 287]</a></span>
+to assist at this terrible crisis, that I go to rush upstairs
+for <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>. I go to rush, but I am detained!
+'Stay!' cries my lady, 'I forbid you to speak of it.
+I am not ill&mdash;it is an indisposition of the mildest.' You
+see, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>, the extraordinary generosity of my Lady
+Dashwood! Her soul full of sublime resignation! 'I
+go to prevent <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> Mrs. Dashwood's departure,'
+I cry! My lady replies with immense self-renunciation,
+like that of the blessed saints: 'Say nothing, my poor
+Louise. I exist only to do good on this earth. I ask
+for nothing for myself. I suffer alone. I endure without
+complaint. I speak not of my extreme agony in
+the head. I do not mention the insupportable nausea
+of the stomach. I subdue my cries! I weep silently,
+alone in the presence of my God.'"</p>
+
+<p>Louise paused for a second for breath.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing at this moment could have made May
+smile. She looked at Louise with gravity.</p>
+
+<p>"But," continued Louise, with the same vehement
+swiftness, "a good moment arrives. The form too
+full of Mrs. Robinson hides me as I escape from the
+room. I come to <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> here. <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Eh bien!</span>" Here
+Louise broke off and, glancing round the room, made
+a gesture that implied unpacking May's luggage and
+putting everything back in the proper place. "I unpack
+for <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>, immediately, while Madame descends
+and assures my lady that she does not forsake her at
+the supreme moment."</p>
+
+<p>Louise's eyes now seemed to pierce the space in
+front of her, she defied contradiction.</p>
+
+<p>"I will go and see Lady Dashwood," said May,
+calmly. "But don't unpack yet for me. I shall put
+her ladyship to bed, Louise. Go and see that everything
+is ready, please."</p>
+
+<p>"I go to countermand <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame's</span> taxi," said Louise,
+astutely.</p>
+
+<p>"You can do that," said May; "I shall wait till<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Page 288]</a></span>
+the doctor comes&mdash;anyhow. Ask Robinson to telephone
+at once."</p>
+
+<p>May went down to the breakfast-room, and found
+Mrs. Robinson's stout form coming out of the door.
+Within Lady Dashwood was seated in a chair by the fire.</p>
+
+<p>"I am perfectly well, May," said Lady Dashwood,
+lifting up a white face to her niece as she came up to her.
+"I have sent Mrs. Robinson away. That silly old fool,
+Louise, has made Robinson telephone for a doctor."</p>
+
+<p>"Quite right of her," said May, quietly, "and I
+shall stop till he has come and gone."</p>
+
+<p>"You didn't mean to go before lunch?" murmured
+Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"I can go after lunch," said May.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood leaned her head back in a weak
+manner.</p>
+
+<p>"Not so convenient to you perhaps, dear," she murmured,
+but in a voice that accepted the delay to May's
+departure. She accepted it and sighed and stared into
+the fire, and said not one word about the Warden,
+but she said: "I'm not going to bed. The house will
+be empty enough as it is;" and May knew she was
+thinking of the Warden's return.</p>
+
+<p>"You must go to bed," May replied.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't go to bed, child. I shall stay up and look
+after things," said Lady Dashwood, and she knew she
+was speaking with guile. "You forget, dear, that&mdash;the
+house will be so empty!"</p>
+
+<p>"I shall put you to bed," said May.</p>
+
+<p>"How do you know I shall remain?" said Lady
+Dashwood. "The doctor will say that there is nothing
+wrong." She looked white and obstinate and clung
+to her chair.</p>
+
+<p>Then at last May said: "I am going to stay on till
+the doctor comes. Like all managing people, you are
+absolutely irresponsible about yourself, Aunt Lena.
+I shall have to stay and make you obey me."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Page 289]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I didn't know I was so wicked!" sighed Lady
+Dashwood, in a suddenly contented voice. Now she
+allowed herself to be helped out of her chair and led
+upstairs to her room. "And can you <em>really</em> stay,
+May? <em>Really</em>, dear?"</p>
+
+<p>"I must," said May. "You are so wicked."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh dear, am I wicked?" said Lady Dashwood.
+"I knew my dear old John was very tiresome, but I
+didn't know I was!"</p>
+
+<p>So May remained. What else could she do? She
+left Lady Dashwood in Louise's hands and went to her
+room. What was to be done about Mr. Bingham?
+May looked round the room.</p>
+
+<p>Her boxes had disappeared. Her clothes were all
+put away and the toilet table carefully strewn with her
+toilet things. Louise had done it. On the little table
+by the bed stood something that had not been there
+before. It was a little plaster image of St. Joseph. It
+bore the traces of wear and tear from the hands of the
+pious believer&mdash;also deterioration from dust, and
+damage from accidents. Something, perhaps coffee,
+had been spilt upon it. The machine-made features
+of the face also had shared this accidental ablution,
+and one foot was slightly damaged. The saint was
+standing upon a piece of folded paper. May pulled
+out the paper and unfolded it. Written in faultless
+copper-plate were the words: "Louise Dumont prays
+for the protection of <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> every day."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Page 290]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXVII</h2>
+
+<h3>THE FORGIVENESS OF THE FATES</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">Lady Dashwood submitted gracefully to being put to
+bed and propped up by pillows.</p>
+
+<p>The doctor had come, pronounced his patient very
+greatly over-fatigued though not seriously ill, but he
+had forbidden her to leave her bed till he gave permission.</p>
+
+<p>"Keep a strict watch over her," he had said to
+May, outside in the corridor. "She has got to the
+point when rest will put her right, or fatigue will put
+her all wrong."</p>
+
+<p>When he had gone May came back into her aunt's
+room.</p>
+
+<p>"Now you know what it is to be under orders," she
+said with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>"And what about you, dear?" murmured Lady
+Dashwood, sweetly. "You can't stay on, of course,
+darling?"</p>
+
+<p>May frowned to herself and then smiled. "I shall
+stay till the doctor comes again, because I can't trust
+you, dear aunt, to keep in bed, if I go."</p>
+
+<p>"You can't trust me," sighed Lady Dashwood,
+blissfully. "I am beginning to realise that I am not
+the only reasonable person in the world. I suppose it
+is good for me, but it is very sad for you, May, to be
+sacrificed like this."</p>
+
+<p>May said she wasn't being sacrificed, and refused
+to discuss the matter any longer.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Page 291]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>So Lady Dashwood lay quietly looking at the narrow
+windows, from which college roofs opposite could be
+seen in a grey Oxford daylight. She made no reference
+to the Warden's return. She did not tell May when he
+was expected home, whether he was coming back to
+lunch, or whether he was coming by a late afternoon
+train. She did not even mention his name. And May,
+too, kept up the appearance of not thinking about him.
+She merely looked up with a rather strained attention
+if the door opened, or there were sounds in the corridor.</p>
+
+<p>The time came for her to go down to lunch, and
+Lady Dashwood did not even say: "You will have to
+take lunch alone." But she said: "I wonder what
+Marian Potten and Gwendolen are doing?"</p>
+
+<p>So May went into the dining-room and glanced
+round her with apprehension.</p>
+
+<p>Two places were laid, one for the Warden at the
+head of the table and one at his right hand.</p>
+
+<p>"You expect the Warden?" she asked of Robinson,
+who was standing in the room alone, and she came
+towards the table apprehensively.</p>
+
+<p>He pulled out her chair and said: "No, m'm, I
+don't think 'e will be in to lunch."</p>
+
+<p>May sat down and breathed again. "You think
+he will be late?" she asked, speaking as one who cares
+not, but who needs the information for purposes of
+business.</p>
+
+<p>"'E said to me, m'm," said Robinson, as he handed
+a dish to her with old gnarled hands that were a little
+shaky but still full of service, "as I was 'andin' 'im 'is
+'at what 'e wears in London: 'If I'm not 'ome in time
+for lunch, I shall be 'ome by 'alf-past five.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh yes," said May. "Then you'll be putting tea
+for him in the library, won't you, Robinson?"</p>
+
+<p>Robinson assented. "Yes, m'm, if you 'as tea
+with 'er ladyship." Then he added, "We're glad,
+m'm, that you're stayin' on,"&mdash;now he dropped his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Page 292]</a></span>
+voice to a confidential whisper, and wore the air of one
+who is privileged to communicate private information
+to a member of the family&mdash;"because that French
+Louise is so exactin' and that jealous of Mrs. Robinson,
+and no one can't expect a learned gentleman, what 'as
+the 'ole college on 'is shoulders and ain't used to ladies,
+to know what to do."</p>
+
+<p>"No, of course not," said May.</p>
+
+<p>"But we've all noticed," said Robinson, solemnly,
+as he poured out some water into May's glass, "as 'ow
+'er ladyship's indisposition 'as come on gradual."</p>
+
+<p>Here he ended his observations, and he went and
+stood by his carving table with his accustomed bearing
+of humble importance.</p>
+
+<p>But it would have been a mistake to suppose that
+Robinson was really humble. He was, on the contrary,
+proud. Proud because he was part of King's College
+and had been a part thereof for fifty years, and his father
+had been part before him. But his pride went further.
+He was proud of the way he waited. He moved about
+the room, skimming the edges of the long table and
+circumventing chairs and protruding backs of awkward
+guests with peculiar skill. Robinson would have had
+much sympathy with the Oxford chaplain who offered to
+give any other clerical gentlemen a generous handicap
+in the Creed and beat them. Robinson, had he been
+an ecclesiastic, would have made such a boast himself.
+As it was, he prided himself on being able to serve
+round an "ontray" on his own side of the table and
+lap over two out of the other man's, easy. Robinson
+was also proud of having a master with a distinguished
+appearance, and this without any treachery to the late
+Warden's bald head and exceedingly casual nose. There
+was no obligation on Robinson's part to back up the
+old Warden against the new, or indeed the new against
+the old, because all Wardens were Wardens, and the
+College was continuous and eternal.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Page 293]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Robinson gloried on there being many thousand
+volumes in the library. Mrs. Robinson did not share
+his enthusiasm. He enjoyed opening the door to other
+Heads of colleges and saying: "Not at 'ome, sir. Is
+there any message I can take, sir?" for Robinson felt
+that he was negotiating important affairs that affected
+the welfare of Oxford. When waiting on the Warden,
+Robinson's solemnity was not occasioned by pure
+meekness, nor was his deferential smile (when a smile
+was suitable) an exposition of snobbery nor the flattery
+of the wage-earner. Robinson was gratifying his
+own vanity; he was showing how he grasped the
+etiquette of his profession. Also he experienced
+pleasure in being necessary to a human being whose
+manner and tastes were as impressive as they were
+unaccountable.</p>
+
+<p>"There's more of these 'ere periodicals coming in,"
+he said that very afternoon, as he arranged the lamp
+in the library, "though there aren't no more Germans
+among 'em, than there ever were before in my time."
+He spoke to Robinson Junior, who had followed him
+into the library.</p>
+
+<p>"'E don't read 'em," said Robinson Junior, his
+nose elevated, in the act of drawing the curtains.</p>
+
+<p>"'Ow d'you know?" asked Robinson.</p>
+
+<p>"They ain't cut, not all of 'em," said Junior.</p>
+
+<p>"'E don't read the stuff what is familiar to 'im,"
+explained Robinson, and so saying, he took from some
+corner of the room a little table and set it up by a chair
+by the fire, for the Warden's tea-tray.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile May Dashwood had taken tea with her
+Aunt Lena and then had gone to her own room. So
+that when the Warden did arrive, just about half-past
+five, he found no one moving about, no one visible.
+He came in like a thief in the night, pale and silent.
+He glanced round the hall, preoccupied apparently,
+but really aware of things that were around him to a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Page 294]</a></span>
+high degree of sensitiveness. He moved noiselessly,
+rang the bell, and then looked at the table for letters.
+Robinson appeared immediately. The Warden's
+narrow eyes, that seemed to absorb the light that
+fell upon them, rested upon Robinson's face with
+that steady but veiled regard with which a master
+controls those who are under him.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden did not ask "Where are the ladies?"
+he asked whether Lady Dashwood was in.</p>
+
+<p>"In 'er room, sir," said Robinson; and he then
+proceeded to explain why, and gave the doctor's report.
+"Nothin' alarmin', sir."</p>
+
+<p>The Warden said "Ah!" and looked down at the
+table. He glanced over the letters that were waiting
+for him. He gathered them in his hands.</p>
+
+<p>"Tea is in the library for you, sir," said old Robinson;
+"I will bring it in a minute."</p>
+
+<p>The Warden went upstairs.</p>
+
+<p>He went past the drawing-room and past his bedroom
+into the library. He threw his letters down on
+the writing-desk, walked to the fire, and then walked
+back again to the desk. Then he finally went out of
+the room and passed the head of the staircase and up
+the two or three steps into the corridor.</p>
+
+<p>He had been into the corridor three times since the
+arrival of his sister. Once when he conducted her to
+her room, on her arrival, once again when she had made
+alterations in the bedrooms and had asked for his
+approval, and then on that wretched night when he
+had gone to calm Gwendolen and assure her that there
+were no such things as ghosts. Now he went along
+over the noiseless floor, anxious to meet no one. Why
+was Lena ill? He knew why Lena was ill, but for a
+moment he felt wearily vexed with her. Why did she
+make things worse? This feeling vanished when he
+opened her door and went in, and saw her sitting up
+in bed supported by pillows. Then his feeling was of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Page 295]</a></span>
+remorse, of anger increased against himself, and himself
+only.</p>
+
+<p>She was turning the pages of a paper, ostentatiously
+looking at the illustrations, but she was really waiting
+in suspense for his arrival and thinking of nothing
+else.</p>
+
+<p>She looked up at him with a strange smile.
+"Back!" she said. "And you find me malingering!"</p>
+
+<p>He came up to the bed. "You've been ill," he
+said, and he did not return her smile. "I'm very sorry,
+Lena."</p>
+
+<p>"No, only tired," she said. "And I am already
+better, Jim," she went on, and now she showed great
+nervousness and her voice was jerky. "I have a letter
+for you. I want you to read it at once, dear, but not
+here; read it in the library. Don't stay now; go
+away, dear, and come and see me afterwards."</p>
+
+<p>She gave him the letter with the handwriting downwards.
+She had thought this out beforehand. She
+feared the sight of his emotion. She could not bear it&mdash;just
+now. She was still feeling very shaky and very
+weak.</p>
+
+<p>He took the letter and turned it over to see the
+handwriting. She thought he made a movement of
+surprise. His face she did not look at, she looked at
+the paper that was lying before her. She longed for
+him to go away, now that the letter was safely in his
+hands. He guessed, no doubt, what the letter was
+about! He must guess!</p>
+
+<p>She little knew. He no more guessed its contents
+than he would have guessed that in order to secure his
+salvation some one would be allowed to rise from the
+dead! The letter he regarded as ominous&mdash;of some
+trouble, some dispute, something inevitable and
+miserable.</p>
+
+<p>"I hope you have everything you want, Lena," he
+said as he walked to the door. "I hope Louise doesn't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Page 296]</a></span>
+fuss you." Then he asked: "Have you ever fainted
+before?"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood said she hadn't, but added that
+people over fifty generally fainted, and that she would
+not have gone to bed had not dear May insisted on it
+as well as Louise.</p>
+
+<p>He went out. He found the corridor silent. He
+walked along with that letter in his pocket, feeling a
+great solitude within him. When he passed Gwendolen's
+door, something gripped him painfully. And
+then there was <em>her</em> door, too!</p>
+
+<p>He returned to the library and sat down by the tea-table
+and the fire.</p>
+
+<p>From his chair his eyes rested upon the great
+window at the end of the library. It was screened by
+curtains now. It was there, at that exact spot by the
+right-hand curtain, that Gwendolen had fancied she
+saw the ghost. A ghost, a thin filmy shape was probably
+her only conception of something Spiritual.
+That the story of the Barber's ghost, the story
+that he came as a prophet of ill tidings to the Warden
+of the College, seemed to fit in with recent events,
+the events of the last few days; this only made
+the whole episode more repulsive. He must train
+Gwendolen&mdash;if indeed she were capable of being
+trained! The mother would be perhaps even a
+greater obstacle to a sane and useful life than Gwendolen
+herself.</p>
+
+<p>Very likely Gwendolen's letter was to announce
+that Lady Belinda insisted on coming at once, whether
+there was room for her or not; or possibly the letter
+contained some foolish enclosure from Lady Belinda,
+and Gwendolen was shy of communicating it, but had
+been ordered to do so.</p>
+
+<p>Possibly the letter contained a cutting announcing
+the engagement! He had glanced through the <i>Times</i>
+yesterday and this morning very hastily. Gwendolen's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Page 297]</a></span>
+mother might be capable of announcing the engagement
+before it had actually taken place!</p>
+
+<p>He poured out a cup of tea and drank it, and then
+took the letter from his pocket.</p>
+
+<p>He started at the opening of his door. Robinson
+brought in an American visitor, who came with an
+introduction. The introduction was lying on the desk,
+not yet opened. The Warden rose&mdash;escape was impossible.
+He put the letter back into his pocket.</p>
+
+<p>"Bring fresh tea, Robinson," said the Warden.</p>
+
+<p>But the stranger declined it. He had business in
+view. He had a string of solemn questions to ask upon
+world matters. He wanted the answers. He was
+writing a book, he wanted copy. He had come, metaphorically
+speaking, note-book and pencil in hand.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden, with his mind upon private matters,
+looked gloomily at this visitor to Oxford. Even about
+"world" matters, with that letter in his pocket, he
+found it difficult to tolerate an interviewer. How was
+he to get through his work if he felt like this?</p>
+
+<p>The American, too, became uneasy. He found the
+Warden unwilling to give him any dogmatic pronouncements
+on the subject of Literature, on the
+subject of Education, or the subject of Woman now and
+Woman in the immediate future. The Warden declined
+to say whether the Church of England would work
+for union or whether it was going to split up and
+dwindle into rival sects. He was also guarded in his
+remarks about the political situation in England. He
+would not prophesy the future of Labour, or the fate
+of Landowners. The Warden was not encouraging.
+With that letter in his pocket the Warden found it
+difficult to assume the patient attention that was due
+to note-book visitors from afar.</p>
+
+<p>This was a bad beginning, surely! How was the
+future to be met?</p>
+
+<p>The American was about to take his leave, considerably<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Page 298]</a></span>
+disappointed with the Heads of Oxford colleges,
+but he suspected that American neutrality
+might be at the bottom of the Warden's reticence.</p>
+
+<p>"I am not one of those Americans," he said, rising,
+"who regard President Woodrow Wilson as the only
+statesman in the world at this present moment."</p>
+
+<p>The Warden threw his cigarette into the fire.
+"Wilson has one qualification for statesmanship,"
+he said, rising and speaking as if he was suddenly
+roused to interest by this highly contentious subject.</p>
+
+<p>The American was surprised. "I presume, coming
+from you, Professor, that you speak of the President's
+academic training?" he said.</p>
+
+<p>"I am not a Professor," said the Warden, at last
+sufficiently awakened from his preoccupation to make
+a correction that he should have made before. "The
+University has not conferred that honour upon me.
+Yes, I mean an academic training. When a man who
+is trained to think meets a new problem in politics
+he pauses to consider it; he takes time; and for this
+the crowd jeer at him! The so-called practical man
+rarely pauses; he doesn't see, unless he has genius,
+that he mustn't treat a new problem as if it were an
+old one. He decides at once, and for this the crowd
+admire him. 'He knows his own mind,' they say!"</p>
+
+<p>The Warden spoke with a ring of sarcasm in his
+voice. It was a sarcasm secretly directed against himself.
+That letter in his pocket was the cause.</p>
+
+<p>He had been confronted in the small world of his
+own life with a new problem&mdash;marriage, and he ought
+to have understood that it was new, new to himself,
+complicated by his position and needing thought; and
+he had not thought, he had acted. He had belied
+the use and dignity of his training. Had he any
+excuse? There was the obligation to marry, and there
+was "pity." Were these excuses? They were
+miserable excuses.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Page 299]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>But he had no time to argue further with himself,
+the inexorable voice of the man standing opposite to
+him broke in.</p>
+
+<p>"In your view, Warden, the practical man is too
+previous?" said the American, making notes (in his
+own mind).</p>
+
+<p>"He is too confident," said the Warden. "It is
+difficult enough to make an untrained man accept a
+new fact. It is still more difficult to make him think
+out a new method!"</p>
+
+<p>"I opine," said the American, "that in your view
+President Wilson has only one qualification for statesmanship?"</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't say that," said the Warden. "He may
+have the other, I mean character. Wilson may have
+the moral courage to act in accordance with his mental
+insight, and if so, if he has both the mental and moral
+force necessary, he might well be, what you do not
+yourself hold, the only living statesman in the world.
+Time will tell."</p>
+
+<p>Here the Warden smiled a curious smile and made
+a movement to indicate that the visit must come to
+an end. He must be alone&mdash;he needed to think&mdash;alone.
+How was he at this moment showing
+"character, moral courage?" Here he was, unable
+to bear the friction of an ordinary interview. Here
+he was, almost inclined to be discourteous. Here
+he was, determined to bear no longer with his
+visitor.</p>
+
+<p>When the door closed upon the stranger, the
+Warden, sick with himself and sick with the world,
+turned to his desk. His letters must be looked through
+at once. Very well, let him begin with the letter in
+his pocket.</p>
+
+<p>But he first sorted his other letters, throwing away
+advertisements and useless papers. Then he took the
+letter from his pocket. The very handwriting showed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Page 300]</a></span>
+incapacity and slackness. At dinner he would have
+the writer of this letter on one side of him, and on the
+other&mdash;he dared not think! The Warden ground his
+teeth and tore open the letter, and then a knock came
+at his door.</p>
+
+<p>"Come in," he said almost fiercely.</p>
+
+<p>Robinson came in. "I was to remind you, sir,
+that Mr. Bingham would be here to dinner."</p>
+
+<p>So much the better. "Very well, Robinson," he
+said.</p>
+
+<p>Robinson withdrew.</p>
+
+<p>The letter was a long one. It was addressed at
+the top "Potten End."</p>
+
+<p>"Potten End," said the Warden, half aloud. This
+was strange! Then she was not in the house!</p>
+
+<p>The letter began&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Dr. Middleton</span>,<br /></p>
+
+<p>"When you get this letter I shall have left
+your house and I shan't return. I hope you will forgive
+me. I don't know how to tell you, but I have
+broken off our engagement&mdash;&mdash;"</p></div>
+
+
+<p class="above2">The Warden stared at the words. There were
+more to come, but these&mdash;these that he had read!
+Were they true?</p>
+
+<p>"My God!" he exclaimed, below his breath, "I
+don't deserve it!" and he made some swift strides in
+the room; "I don't deserve it!"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Page 301]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2>
+
+<h3>ALMA MATER</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">The Warden went to the door and turned the key.
+Why, he did not know. He simply did it instinctively.
+Then he finished reading the letter; and having read
+it through, read it again a second time. He was a
+free man, and he had obtained his freedom through
+a circumstance that was pitifully silly, a circumstance
+almost incredibly sordid and futile.</p>
+
+<p>Her humiliation was his humiliation, for had he
+not chosen her to be his companion for life? Had
+he not at this time, when the full responsibility of
+manhood was placed on every man, had he not chosen
+as the mother of his children, a moral weakling?</p>
+
+<p>He locked the letter up in his desk and paced the
+length of the room once or twice. Then he threw
+himself into a chair and, clasping his head in his hands,
+remained there motionless. Could he be the same
+man who had a few days ago, of his own free will,
+without any compulsion, without any kind of necessity,
+offered himself for life to a girl of whom he knew
+absolutely nothing, except that she had had a miserable
+upbringing and an heredity that he could not
+respect? Was it her slender beauty, her girlishness,
+that had made him so passionately pitiful?</p>
+
+<p>From an ordinary man this action would have been
+folly, but from him it was an offence! A very great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Page 302]</a></span>
+offence, now, in these times. On the desk lay some
+pages of notes&mdash;notes of a course of public lectures
+he was about to give, lectures on the responsibility
+of citizenship, in which he was going to make a strong
+appeal to his audience for a more conscious philosophy
+of life. He was going to urge the necessity for greater
+reverence for education. He was going to speak not
+only of the burden of Empire, but of the new burden,
+the burden of Democracy, a Democracy that is young,
+independent, and feeling its way. He was going to
+speak of the true meaning of a free Democracy, no
+chaotic meaningless freedom, but the sane and ordered
+freedom of educated men, Democracy open-eyed and
+training itself, like a strong man, to run a race for
+some far-off, some desired goal to which "all creation
+moves."</p>
+
+<p>He was in these lectures going to pose not only as
+a practical man but as a preacher, one of those who
+"point the way"; and meanwhile he had bound himself
+to a girl who not only would be unable to grasp
+the meaning of any strenuous moral effort, but who
+would have to be herself guarded from every petty
+temptation that came in her way. He was (so he said
+to himself, as he groaned in his spirit) one of those
+many preachers who, in all ages, have talked of moral
+progress, and who have missed the road that they
+themselves have pointed out!</p>
+
+<p>He was fiercely angry with himself because he
+had called the emotion that he had felt for Gwendolen
+in her mischance a "passionate pity." It was
+a very different emotion from that which wrung him
+when his old pupils, one by one, gave up their youth
+and hope in the service of their country. That indeed
+was a passionate pity, a pity full of remorseful gratitude,
+full of great pride in their high purpose and their
+noble self-sacrifice. On his mantelpiece, within arm's
+length of him, lay an open book. It was a book of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Page 303]</a></span>
+poems, and there were verses that the Warden had
+read more than once.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"City of hope and golden dreaming."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>A farewell to Oxford. It was the farewell of youth in
+its heyday to</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"All the things we hoped to do."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>And then followed the lines that pierced him now with
+poignant sadness as he thought of them&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Dreams that will never be clothed in being,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mother, your sons have left with you."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>The Warden groaned within himself. He was
+part of that Alma Mater; that city left behind in
+charge of that sacred gift!</p>
+
+<p>He loathed himself, and this deep self-humiliation of
+a scrupulous gentleman was what his sister had shrunk
+from witnessing. It was this deep humiliation that
+May Dashwood fled from when she hid herself in
+her room that afternoon.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden was not a man who spent much
+time in introspection. He had no subtlety of self-analysis,
+but what insight he had was spent in
+condemning himself, not in justifying himself. But
+now he added this to his self-accusations, that if
+May Dashwood had not suddenly stepped across his
+path and revealed to him true womanhood, gilded&mdash;yes,
+he used that term sardonically&mdash;gilded by beauty,
+he might not have seen the whole depth of his offence
+until now, when the crude truth about Gwendolen was
+forced upon him by her letter.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden sat on, crushed by the weight of his
+humiliation. And he had been forgiven, he had been
+rescued from his own folly. His mistake had been
+wiped out, his offence pardoned.</p>
+
+<p>And what about Gwendolen herself? What about
+this poor solitary foolish girl? What was to be her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Page 304]</a></span>
+future? Swiftly she had come into his life and swiftly
+gone! What, indeed, was to become of her and her
+life?</p>
+
+<p>And so the Warden sat on till the dressing-bell
+rang, and then he got up from his chair blindly.</p>
+
+<p>He had been forgiven and rescued too easily. He
+did not deserve it. How was it that he had dared to
+quote to May Dashwood those solemn, awful words&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"And the glory of the Lord is all in all!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>It must have seemed to her a piece of arrogant self-righteousness.</p>
+
+<p>And she had said: "What is the glory of the
+Lord?" and had answered the question herself. Her
+answer had condemned him; the glory of the Lord
+was not merely self-restraint, stoical resignation, it was
+something more, it was "Love" that "beareth all
+things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth
+all things."</p>
+
+<p>"For he that loveth not his brother whom he
+hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not
+seen?"</p>
+
+<p>The Warden dressed, moving about automatically,
+not thinking of what he was doing. When he left his
+bedroom he passed the head of the staircase. There
+were letters lying on the table, just as letters had lain
+waiting for him on that evening, on that Monday
+evening, when he found Gwendolen reading the letter
+from her mother and crying over it. Within those few
+short days he had risked the happiness and the usefulness
+of his whole life, and&mdash;God had forgiven him.</p>
+
+<p>He passed the table and went on. Lena must have
+been waiting for him, expecting him! Perhaps she
+had been worrying. The thought made him walk
+rapidly along the corridor.</p>
+
+<p>He knocked at her door. Louise opened it.</p>
+
+<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Entrez, Monsieur</span>," she said, in the tone and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Page 305]</a></span>
+manner of one who mounts guard and whose permission
+must be obtained.</p>
+
+<p>She stood aside to let him pass, and then went out
+and pulled the door to after her.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden walked up to the bed.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood's face was averted from him.
+"Jim," she said wistfully, and she put her hand
+over her eyes and waited for the sound of his
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>She was there, waiting for him to show her what
+sort of sympathy he needed. He did not speak. He
+came round to the side of the bed where she was lying,
+by the windows. There he stood for a moment looking
+down upon her. She did not look up. She looked,
+indeed, like a culprit, like one humbled, who longed
+for pardon but did not like to ask for it. And it was
+this profound humble sympathy that smote his heart
+through and through. What if anything had happened
+to this dear sister of his? What if her unhappiness
+had been too great a strain upon her?</p>
+
+<p>He knelt down by the bed and laid his face on her
+shoulder, just as he used to do when he was a child.
+Neither of them spoke. She moved her hand and
+clasped his arm that he placed over her, and they remained
+like this for some minutes, while a great peace
+enclosed them. In those few minutes it seemed as if
+years dropped away from them and they were young
+again. She the motherly young woman, and he the
+motherless boy to whom she stood as mother. All the
+interval was forgotten and there they were still, mother
+and son.</p>
+
+<p>When at last he raised himself he found that her
+eyes were dim with tears. As to himself, he felt
+strangely quieted and composed. He pulled a chair
+to the bedside and sat down, not facing her, but sideways,
+and he rested his elbow on the edge of her pillow
+his other hand resting on hers.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Page 306]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Did you get through all you wanted to, in Town?"
+she asked, smiling through her tears.</p>
+
+<p>"Lena!" he said in a low voice, "you want to
+spare me. You always do."</p>
+
+<p>His voice overwhelmed her. His humility pierced
+her like a sword.</p>
+
+<p>"It was all my fault, dear," she began; "entirely
+my fault."</p>
+
+<p>"No," he said, in a low emphatic voice.</p>
+
+<p>"It was." She reiterated this with almost a sullen
+persistence.</p>
+
+<p>"How could it possibly be your fault?" he said,
+with deep self-reproach.</p>
+
+<p>"It was," she said, "though I cannot make
+you understand it. Jim, you must forget it all,
+for my sake. You must forget it at once, you have
+things to do."</p>
+
+<p>"I have things to do," he said. "I seemed in
+danger of forgetting those things," he said huskily.
+"As to forgetting, that is a difficult matter."</p>
+
+<p>"You must put it aside," she said, and now she
+raised herself on her pillows and stared anxiously into
+his face. "You made a mistake such as the best man
+<em>would</em> make," she argued passionately. "How can
+a strong man suspect weakness in others? You know
+how it is, we suspect in others virtues and vices that
+we have ourselves. You know what I mean, dear.
+A drunkard always suspects other men of wanting to
+drink!" and she laughed a little, and her voice trembled
+with an excitement she found it difficult to suppress.
+"Thieves always suspect others of thieving. An
+amorous man sees sex motives in everything. Do you
+suppose an honourable man doesn't also suspect others
+of honourable intentions?"</p>
+
+<p>He made no reply.</p>
+
+<p>"Besides, you have always been eager to think
+the best of women. You've credited them, even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Page 307]</a></span>
+with mental gifts that they haven't got! You have
+been over-loyal to them all your life! And now"&mdash;here
+Lady Dashwood put out her hand and laid it on
+his arm as if to compel him to agree&mdash;"and now you
+are suffering for it, or rather you have suffered. You
+thought you were doing your duty, that you ought to
+marry. You were right; you ought to marry, and I,
+just at that moment, thrust somebody forward who
+looked innocent and helpless. And how could you tell?
+Of course you couldn't tell," and now her voice dropped
+a little and she seemed suddenly to have become tired
+out, and she sank back on her pillows.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden leant over her. Her special pleading
+for him was so familiar to him. She had corrected
+his faults, admonished him when necessary, but had
+always upheld his self-respect, even in small matters.
+She was fighting now for the preservation of his sense of
+honour.</p>
+
+<p>"Anyhow, darling," she said, "you must forget!"</p>
+
+<p>"You are exhausted," he said, "in trying to make
+black white. I ought not to have come in and let you
+talk. Lena, what has happened this week has knocked
+you up. I know it, and even now you are worrying
+because of me. I will forget it, dear, if you will pick
+up again and get strong."</p>
+
+<p>"I am better already," she said, and the very
+faintest smile was on her face. "I am rather tired,
+but I shall be all right to-morrow. All I want is a
+good night's sleep. I want to sleep for hours, and I
+shall sleep for hours now that I have seen you."</p>
+
+<p>A knock came on the door.</p>
+
+<p>"They are looking for you, dear," said Lady
+Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden slowly rose from his seat. "I must
+go now, Lena," he said, "but I shall come in again
+the last thing. I shall come in without knocking if I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Page 308]</a></span>
+may, because I hope you will be asleep, and I don't
+want to wake you."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well," she said smiling. "You'll find me
+asleep. I feel so calm, so happy."</p>
+
+<p>He bent down and kissed her and then went to
+the door. She turned her head and looked after him.
+Louise was at the door.</p>
+
+<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Monsieur</span> Bingham is arrived," she said; "I
+regret to have disturbed <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Monsieur</span>."</p>
+
+<p>The Warden walked slowly down the corridor.
+There was something that he dreaded, something that
+was going to happen&mdash;the first meeting of the eyes&mdash;the
+first moment when May Dashwood would look at
+him, knowing all that had happened!</p>
+
+<p>He passed the table again on which lay his letters.
+He would look through all that pile of correspondence
+after Bingham had gone.</p>
+
+<p>Robinson was hovering at the stairhead. "Mr.
+Bingham is in the drawing-room, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Alone?" asked the Warden.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Dashwood is there, sir," said Robinson.</p>
+
+<p>"How have you arranged the table?" asked the
+Warden.</p>
+
+<p>"I've put Mrs. Dashwood close on your right,
+sir," said Robinson, secretly amazed at the question;
+"Mr. Bingham on your left, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said the Warden. "Yes, of course!"
+passing his servant with an abstracted air.</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I announce dinner, sir?" asked Robinson,
+hurrying behind and measuring his strength for what
+he was about to perform in the exercise of his duty.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said the Warden, still moving on, and now
+near the drawing-room door.</p>
+
+<p>Robinson made a wondrous skip, a miracle it was
+of service in honour of the Warden; he flew past his
+master like an aged but agile Mercury and pounced
+upon the drawing-room door handle. Then he threw<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Page 309]</a></span>
+the door open. He waited till the Warden had advanced
+to a sufficient distance in the room towards
+the guests who were waiting by the fireside, and then
+he uttered, in his penetrating but quavering voice, the
+familiar and important word&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Dinner!"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Page 310]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXIX</h2>
+
+<h3>DINNER</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">"I am sorry I'm late," said the Warden quietly, and
+he looked at both his guests. "I have been with
+Lady Dashwood. I must apologise, Bingham, for her
+absence. I expect Mrs. Dashwood has already told
+you that she is not well."</p>
+
+<p>The bow with which the Warden offered his arm
+to May was one which included more than the mere
+formal invitation to go down to dinner, it meant a
+greeting after absence and an acknowledgment that
+she was acting as his hostess. It was one of those
+ceremonial bows which men are rarely able to make
+without looking pompous. He had the reputation,
+in Oxford, of being one of the very few men who, in
+his tutorial days, could present men for degrees with
+academic grace.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry, Bingham," he said; "I have only
+just returned, or I might have secured a fourth to
+dinner&mdash;yes, even in war time."</p>
+
+<p>May went downstairs, wondering. Wondering how
+it was that the worst was so soon over, and that, after
+all, instead of feeling a painful pity for the man whose
+arm held hers in a light grasp, she felt strangely timorous
+of him.</p>
+
+<p>She was profoundly thankful for the presence of
+Bingham, who was following behind, cheerful and
+chatty, having put aside, apparently, all recollection<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Page 311]</a></span>
+of the conversation of the evening before. Yes, whatever
+his secret thoughts might have been, Bingham
+appeared to have forgotten that there were any moonlight
+nights in the streets of Oxford. For this, May
+blessed him.</p>
+
+<p>They entered the long dining-room and, sitting at
+the Warden's end of the table, formed a bright living
+space of light and movement. Outside that bright
+space the room gradually sombred to the dark panelled
+walls. The Warden, in his high-backed chair, looked
+the very impersonation of Oxford. This was what
+struck Bingham as he glanced at his host, and the
+thought suggested that hater of Oxford, the Warden's
+relative, Bernard Boreham.</p>
+
+<p>"I have just got your friend Boreham to undertake
+a job of work," said Bingham. "It'll do him a
+world of good to have work, a library to catalogue for
+the use of our prisoners. He wanted to shove off the
+job to some chaplain. I was to procure the chaplain,
+just as if all men weren't scarce, even chaplains!"</p>
+
+<p>Composed as the Warden was, he looked at Bingham
+with something of eager attention on his face, as if
+relying on him for support and conversation.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor old Boreham, he is a connection of mine by
+marriage," he said, and as the words fell from his lips,
+he, in his present sensitive mood, recoiled from them,
+for they implied that Boreham was not a friend.
+Why was he posing as one who was too superior to
+choose Boreham as a friend?</p>
+
+<p>"Talking of chaplains," said Bingham, who knew
+nothing of what was going on in the Warden's mind,
+and thought this sudden stop came from dislike of any
+reference to Boreham&mdash;"talking of parsons, why not
+release all parsons in West End churches for the war?"</p>
+
+<p>A smile came into May's face at the extreme sweetness
+of Bingham's voice; a warning that he was about
+to say something biting.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Page 312]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Release all parsons who have smart congregations,"
+continued Bingham, in honied tones; "parsons
+with congregations of jolly, well-dressed women, women
+who enjoy having their naughtiness slanged from the
+pulpit just as they enjoy having their photographs in
+the picture papers. Their spiritual necessities would
+be more than adequately provided for if they were
+given a dummy priest and a gramophone."</p>
+
+<p>May's smile seemed to stimulate Bingham's imagination.</p>
+
+<p>"To waste on them a real parson with a soul and
+a rudimentary intellect," he went on, "is like giving
+a glass of Moselle to an agricultural labourer when he
+would be happy with a mug of beer. But the Church
+wastes its energies even in this time of heartbreakings."</p>
+
+<p>"I should like to see you, Bingham," said the
+Warden, smiling too, and turning his narrow eyes,
+in his slow deliberate manner, towards his guest,
+"as chairman to a committee of English bishops, on
+the Reconstruction of the Church."</p>
+
+<p>"I've no quarrel with our bishops," said Bingham;
+"I don't want them to extol every new point of view
+as they pass along. I don't expect them to behave
+like young men. Nor do I expect them to be like the
+Absolute, without 'body, parts or passions.' My indictment
+is not even against that mere drop in the
+ocean, 'good Christian souls,' but against humanity
+and human nature!" Bingham looked from one to
+the other of his listeners. "Until now, the only people
+we have taken quite seriously are the very well dressed
+and the&mdash;well, the undressed. The two classes overlap
+continually. But now we've got to take everybody
+seriously; we are going to have a Democracy. Human
+nature has got a new tool, and the tool is Democracy.
+The new tool is to be put into the same foolish old
+hands, and we shall very soon discover what we shall
+call 'the sins of Democracy.' What is fundamentally<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Page 313]</a></span>
+wrong with us is what apparently we can't help: it's
+that we are ourselves, that we are human beings."
+Bingham smiled into his plate. "We adopt Christianity,
+and because we are human beings we make
+it intellectually rigid and morally sloppy. We are
+patronising Democracy, and we shall make it intellectually
+rigid and morally sloppy too&mdash;if we don't
+take care. Everything we handle becomes intellectually
+rigid and morally sloppy. And yet we still fancy
+that, if only we could get hold of the right tools, our
+hands would do the right work."</p>
+
+<p>"The Reconstruction of Human Nature is what
+you are demanding," said the Warden.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, that's what we want," sighed Bingham.
+"When we have got rid of the Huns, we must begin
+to think about it."</p>
+
+<p>"If you saw the children I have seen, Mr. Bingham,"
+said May, quietly, "you would want to begin at once,
+and I think you would be hopeful."</p>
+
+<p>There was on the Warden's face a sudden passionate
+assent that Bingham detected.</p>
+
+<p>"All men," said Bingham, leaning back in his chair
+and regarding his two listeners with veiled attention&mdash;"all
+men like to hear a woman say sweet, tender,
+hopeful things, even if they don't believe them. As
+for myself, Mrs. Dashwood, I admit that your 'higher
+optimism' haunts me too at times; at rare times
+when, for instance, the weather in Oxford is dry and
+bright and bracing."</p>
+
+<p>If he had for a moment doubted it since the afternoon
+at the Hardings', Bingham was now sure, as sure
+as a man can be of what is unconfessed in words, that
+between this man and woman sitting at the table with
+him was some secret sensitive interest that was not
+friendship.</p>
+
+<p>How did this conviction affect Bingham and Bingham's
+spirits? It certainly did not put a stop to his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Page 314]</a></span>
+flow of talk. Rather, he talked the more; he was even
+more sweetly cynical and amiably scintillating than
+usual. If his heart was wounded, and he himself was
+not sure whether it was or not, he hid that heart successfully
+in a sheath of his own sparks.</p>
+
+<p>A pause came when Robinson put out the light
+over the carving-table and withdrew with Robinson
+Junior. The dining-room was silent. Bingham drank
+some wine, the Warden mused, and May Dashwood sat
+with her eyes on a glass of water by her, looking at it
+as if she could see some vision in its transparency.
+The fire was glowing a deep red in the great stone
+chimney-piece at the further end of the room. A coal
+fell forward upon the hearth with a strangely solitary
+sound. Bingham glanced towards the fire and then
+round the room, and then at his host, and lastly at
+May Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"I heard a rumour," he said, and he took a sip of
+his claret, "that your college ghost had made an appearance!"</p>
+
+<p>There came another silence in the room.</p>
+
+<p>"One doesn't know how such rumours come about,"
+continued Bingham; "perhaps you hadn't even heard
+of this one?" He looked across at May and round
+at the Warden. Neither of them seemed to be aware
+that a question was being asked.</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't know King's even claimed a ghost,"
+said Bingham again. "I've heard of the ghost
+of Shelley in the High," he added, smiling. "A
+ghost for the tourist who comes to see the Shelley
+Memorial."</p>
+
+<p>May looked down rather closely at the table.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden moved stiffly. "I don't believe
+Shelley would want to come," he said. "He always
+despised his Alma Mater."</p>
+
+<p>"He was a bit of an <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">enfant terrible</i>," said Bingham,
+"from the tutor's point of view."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Page 315]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>May raised her eyes with relief; the Warden had
+parried the question of the ghost with skill.</p>
+
+<p>"And I don't believe," said the Warden, "that
+any one returns who has merely roystered within our
+walls," and he smiled.</p>
+
+<p>Bingham was now looking very attentively at the
+Warden out of his dark eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Jeremy Bentham," he said, "seems to have been
+afraid of ghosts, when he was an undergraduate here.
+He was afraid of barging against them on dark college
+staircases. It's a fear I can't grasp. I would much
+rather come into collision with any ghost than with
+the Stroke of the 'Varsity Eight, whether the staircase
+was dark or not."</p>
+
+<p>"If there are ghosts," said the Warden, pensively,
+"I should expect to see Cranmer, on some wild night,
+wandering near the places where he endured his passion
+and his death. Or I should expect to see Laud pacing
+the streets, amazed at the order and discipline of
+modern Oxford. If personal attachment could bring
+a man from the grave," he went on, meeting Bingham's
+eyes with a smile, "why shouldn't that least ghostly
+of all scholars, your old master, Jowett&mdash;why shouldn't
+he walk at night when Balliol is asleep?"</p>
+
+<p>"Then there was nothing in the rumour,"
+said Bingham, "that your King's ghost has turned
+up?"</p>
+
+<p>"The Warden doesn't believe in ghosts," said May,
+looking across the table eagerly. She remembered
+how he had stood by the bedside of Gwendolen
+that night. She recalled the room vividly, the
+gloom of the room and he alone standing in the light
+thrown upon him by the lamp. She could recall every
+tone of his voice as he said: "You thought you saw
+something. You made a mistake. You saw nothing,
+you imagined that you saw&mdash;there was nothing," and
+how his voice convinced <em>her</em>, as she stood by the fire<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Page 316]</a></span>
+and listened. How long ago was that&mdash;only three
+days&mdash;it seemed like a month.</p>
+
+<p>"No," said the Warden, "I don't believe in ghosts.
+At least, I don't believe that our dead"&mdash;and he
+pronounced the last word reverently&mdash;"are such
+that they can return to us in human form, or
+through the intervention of some hired medium.
+But if there are ghosts in Oxford," he went on, and
+now he turned to Bingham, as if he were answering
+his question&mdash;"if there are ghosts in Oxford they will
+be the ghosts of those who were, in life, bone of her
+bone and flesh of her flesh. I am thinking of those
+men who lived and died in Oxford, recluses who knew
+no other world, and of whom the world knew nothing&mdash;men
+who used to flit like shadows from their solitary
+rooms to the Lecture hall and to High table and to the
+Common room. Those men were monks in all but
+name; celibates, solitaries&mdash;men to whom the laughter
+of youth was maddening pain."</p>
+
+<p>May's eyes dropped! What the Warden was saying
+stabbed her, not merely because of the words he said,
+but because his voice conveyed the sense of that
+poignant pain.</p>
+
+<p>"Such men as I speak of," he went on, "Oxford
+must always have possessed, even in the boisterous
+days when you fellows of All Souls," he said, addressing
+Bingham, "used to pull your doors off their hinges to
+make bonfires in honour of the mallard. There always
+have been these men, students shy and sensitive,
+shrinking from the rougher side of the ordinary man,
+shrinking from ordinary social life; men who are only
+courageous in their devotion to learning and to truth;
+men who are lonely with that awful loneliness of those
+who live in the world of thoughts. I knew one such man
+myself. Those who believe in ghosts may come upon
+the shades of these men in the passages and in the
+cloisters at night, or hiding in the dark recesses of our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Page 317]</a></span>
+college windows. Why, I can feel them everywhere&mdash;and
+yet I don't believe in ghosts." The Warden placed
+his elbows upon the table and rested his chin upon his
+hands, and looked down at the table-cloth.</p>
+
+<p>May said nothing; she was listening, her face bent
+but expressive even to her eyebrows.</p>
+
+<p>"Neither do I," said Bingham, in an altered voice.
+"I don't believe in ghosts, and yet, what do we know
+of this world? We talk of it glibly. But what do we
+know of the forces which make up the phantasmagoria
+that we call the World? What do we know of this
+vast universe? We perceive something of it by touch,
+by sight, sound and smell. These are the doors through
+which its forces penetrate the brain of man. These
+doors are our way of 'being aware' of life. The
+psychology of man is in its infancy. And remember"&mdash;here
+Bingham leaned over the table and rested his
+eyes on May&mdash;"it is man studying himself! That
+makes the difficulty!" Bingham was serious now,
+and he had slipped from slang into the academic form
+in which his thoughts really moved.</p>
+
+<p>"And we don't even know whether our ways of
+perceiving are the only ways," said the Warden.</p>
+
+<p>"Anyhow," said Bingham, turning to him, "the
+ghosts you 'feel,' and which you and I don't believe
+in, belong to the old Oxford, the Oxford which is gone."</p>
+
+<p>There came a sudden silence in the long room, and
+May felt that she ought to make a move. She looked
+at the Warden.</p>
+
+<p>"That Oxford," continued Bingham, "is gone for
+ever. It began to go when men hedged it round with
+red brick, and went to live under red-tiled roofs with
+wives and children."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it has gone," said the Warden. "Must you
+leave us!" he asked, rising, as May looked at him and
+made a movement to rise.</p>
+
+<p>Bingham rose to his feet, but he stood with his hand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Page 318]</a></span>
+holding the foot of his glass and gazing into its crimson
+depths.</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon, Middleton! Mrs. Dashwood, one moment,"
+he said, and he raised his glass solemnly till it
+was almost on a level with his dark face. "Will you
+pledge me?" he asked. "To the old Oxford that is
+past and gone!"</p>
+
+<p>The Warden and May were both drinking water.
+They raised their glasses and touched Bingham's wine
+which glowed in the light from above, almost suggesting
+something sacramental. And Bingham himself looked
+like a smooth, swarthy priest of medi�val story, half-serious
+and half-gay, disguised in modern dress.</p>
+
+<p>"To the Oxford of sacred memory," he said.</p>
+
+<p>They drank.</p>
+
+<p>May was thinking deeply and as she was about to
+place her glass back upon the table, the thought that
+was struggling for expression came to her. She lifted
+her glass: "To the Oxford that is to be," she said
+gently. She glanced first at Bingham, and then her
+eyes rested for a moment upon the Warden.</p>
+
+<p>Bingham watched her keenly. He could see that
+at that moment she had no thought of herself. Her
+thoughts were of Oxford alone, and, Bingham guessed,
+with the man with whom she identified Oxford.</p>
+
+<p>Bingham hesitated to raise his glass. Was it a
+flash of jealousy that went through him? A jealousy
+of the new Oxford and all that it might mean to the
+two human beings beside him? If it was jealousy it
+died out as swiftly as it had come.</p>
+
+<p>He raised his glass.</p>
+
+<p>"To the Oxford of the Future," said the Warden.</p>
+
+<p>"<span lang="la" xml:lang="la">Ad multos annos</span>," said Bingham.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Page 319]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXX</h2>
+
+<h3>THE END OF BELINDA AND CO.</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">Lady Dashwood professed to be very much better the
+next morning when May looked in to see how she had
+slept.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm a new woman," she said to May; "I slept
+till seven, and then, my dear, I began to think, and
+what do you think my thoughts were?"</p>
+
+<p>May shook her head. "You thought it was Sunday
+morning."</p>
+
+<p>"Quite true," said Lady Dashwood; "I heard the
+extra bells going on round us. No, what I was thinking
+of was, what on earth Marian Potten did with Gwendolen
+yesterday afternoon. I'm quite sure she will
+have made her useful. I can picture Marian making
+her guest put on a big apron and some old Potten
+gloves and taking her out into the garden to gather
+beans. I can picture them gathering beans till tea-time.
+Marian is sure to be storing beans, and she
+wouldn't let the one aged gardener she has got left
+waste his time on gathering beans. I can see Marian
+raking the pods into a heap and setting fire to the
+heap. I imagined that after tea Gwendolen played the
+'Reverie' by Slapovski. After dinner: 'Patience.'"</p>
+
+<p>May pondered.</p>
+
+<p>"And now. May," said Lady Dashwood, looking
+tired in spite of her theory that she had become a new
+woman, "it's a lovely day; even Louise allows that
+the sun is shining, and I can't have you staying indoors<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Page 320]</a></span>
+on my account. I won't allow you in my bedroom
+to-day. I shall be very busy."</p>
+
+<p>"No!" said May, reproachfully. "I shall not
+allow business."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm just going to write a letter to my dear old
+John, whom I've treated shamefully for a week, only
+sending him a scrawl on half a page. Now, I want
+you to go to church, or else for a walk. I can tell you
+what the doctor says when you come back."</p>
+
+<p>May said neither "Yes" nor "No." She laughed
+a little and went out of the room.</p>
+
+<p>In the breakfast-room the Warden was already
+there. They greeted each other and sat down together,
+and talked strict commonplaces till the meal was over.
+He did not ask May what she was going to do, neither
+did she ask him any questions. They both were following
+a line of action that they thought was the right
+one. Neither intended meeting the other unless circumstances
+compelled the meeting; circumstances
+like breakfast, lunch and dinner. It was clear to both
+of them that, except on these occasions, they had no
+business with each other. The Warden was clear
+about it because he was a man still ashamed.</p>
+
+<p>May was clear that she had no business to see the
+Warden except when necessity occasioned it, because
+each moment made her more unfaithful to the memory
+of the dead, to the memory of the dead man who could
+no longer claim her, who had given away his all at the
+call of duty and who had no power to hold her now.
+So she, too, being honourably proud, felt ashamed in
+the presence of the Warden.</p>
+
+<p>All that morning was wasted. The doctor did not
+come, and May spent the time waiting for him. Lady
+Dashwood sat up in bed and wrote an apparently interminable
+letter to her husband. Whenever May
+appeared she said: "Go away, May!" and then she
+looked long and wistfully at her niece.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Page 321]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Two or three men came to lunch and went into the
+library afterwards with the Warden, and May went to
+her Aunt Lena's room.</p>
+
+<p>"The doctor won't come now till after three, May,
+so you must go out, or you will really grieve me," said
+Lady Dashwood. "Jim will take you out. He came
+in just after you left me before lunch, and I told him
+you would go out."</p>
+
+<p>"You are supposed to be resting," said May, "and
+I can't have you making arrangements, dear Aunt
+Lena. I shall do exactly what I please, and shall not
+even tell you what I please to do. I do believe," she
+added, as she shook up the pillows, "that in the next
+world, dear, you will want to make plans for God, and
+that will get you into serious trouble."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood sighed deeply. "Oh dear, oh
+dear," she said, "I suppose I must go on pretending
+I'm ill."</p>
+
+<p>May shook her head at her and pulled down the
+blinds, and left her in the darkness suitable for repose.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden had not mentioned a walk. Perhaps he
+hadn't found an opportunity with those men present!
+Should she go for a walk alone? She found herself
+dressing, putting on her things with a feverish haste.
+Then she took off her coat and sat down, and took her
+hat off and held it on her knees.</p>
+
+<p>She thought she heard the sound of a voice in the
+corridor outside, and she put on her hat with trembling
+fingers and caught up the coat and scarf and her gloves.</p>
+
+<p>She went out into the corridor and found it empty
+and still. She went to the head of the stairs. There
+was no sound coming from the library. But even if
+the Warden were still there with the other men, she
+might not hear any sounds of their talk. They might
+be there or they might not. It was impossible to tell.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps he had gone to look for her in the drawing-room
+and, finding no one there, had gone out.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Page 322]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The drawing-room door was open. She glanced in.
+The room was empty, of course, and the afternoon
+sunshine was coming in through the windows, falling
+across the floor towards the fireplace. It would soon
+creep up to the portrait over the fireplace.</p>
+
+<p>May waited several minutes, walking about the
+room and listening, and then she went out and closed
+the door behind her. She went down the staircase into
+the hall, opened the front door very slowly and went out.</p>
+
+<p>An indescribable loneliness seized her as she walked
+over the gravelled court to the gates. The afternoon
+sunshine was less friendly than rain and bitter wind.
+She took the road to the parks, meeting the signs of the
+war that had obliterated the old Sunday afternoons of
+Oxford in the days of peace. Here was suffering, a
+deliberate preparation for more suffering. Did all this
+world-suffering make her small personal grief any less?
+Yes, it did; it would help her to get over the dreary
+space of time, the days, months, years till she was a
+grey-haired woman and was resigned, having learned
+patience and even become thankful!</p>
+
+<p>Once she thought she saw the figure of the Warden
+in the distance, and then her heart beat suffocatingly,
+but it was not he. Once she thought she saw Bingham
+walking with some other man. He rounded the walk
+by the river and&mdash;no, it was not Mr. Bingham&mdash;the face
+was different. She began asking herself questions that
+had begun to disturb her. Was the real tragedy of the
+Warden's engagement to him not the discovery that
+Gwendolen was silly and weak, but that she was not
+honourable? Had he suspected something of the kind
+before he received that letter? Wasn't it a suspicion
+of the kind that had made him speak as he did in the
+drawing-room after they had returned from Christ
+Church? Might he not have been contented with
+Gwendolen if she had been straight and true, however
+weak and foolish? Was he the sort of man who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Page 323]</a></span>
+demands sympathy and understanding from friends, men
+and women, but something very different from a wife?
+Was the Warden one of those men who prefer a wife
+to be shallow because they shrink from any permanent
+demand being made upon their moral nature or their
+intellect? Perhaps the Warden craved a wife who
+was thoughtless, and, choosing Gwendolen, was disappointed
+in her, solely because he found she was not
+trustworthy. That suspicion was a bitter one. Was
+it an unjust suspicion?</p>
+
+<p>As May walked, the river beside her slipped along
+slowly under the melancholy willows. The surface of
+the water was laden with fallen leaves and the wreckage
+of an almost forgotten summer. It was strangely sad,
+this river!</p>
+
+<p>May turned away and began walking back to the
+Lodgings. There was a deepening sunshine in the
+west, a glow was coming into the sky. Oh, the sadness
+of that glorious sunset!</p>
+
+<p>May was glad to hide away from it in the narrow
+streets. She was glad to get back to the court and to
+enter the darkened house, and yet there was no rest
+for her there. Soon, very soon, she would say good-bye
+to this calm secluded home and go out alone into the
+wilderness!</p>
+
+<p>She walked straight to her room and took off her
+things, and then went into Lady Dashwood's room.
+Louise was arranging a little table for tea between the
+bed and the windows.</p>
+
+<p>"Well!" cried Lady Dashwood. "So you have
+had a good walk!"</p>
+
+<p>"It was a lovely afternoon," said May. She looked
+out of the window and could see the colour of the sunset
+reflected on the roof opposite.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood watched Louise putting a cloth on
+the table, and remarked that "poor Jim" would be
+having tea all alone!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Page 324]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I think the Warden is out," said May, as she stood
+at the window.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood, but at that
+moment the doctor was ushered into the room. He
+apologised for coming so late in the day, he had been
+pressed with work. "I'm perfectly well," said Lady
+Dashwood; "I don't need a doctor, you are simply
+wasted on me. I can come down to dinner."</p>
+
+<p>There was no doubt that she was better. The
+doctor admitted it and praised her, but he refused to
+let her get up till the next day, and then only for tea
+in the drawing-room; and, strange to say, Lady Dashwood
+did not argue the point, merely remarking that
+she wasn't sure whether she could be trusted to remain
+in bed. She wouldn't promise that she could be
+trusted.</p>
+
+<p>When the doctor left May slipped out with him,
+and they went along the corridor together.</p>
+
+<p>"How much better is she?" she asked. "Is she
+really on the road to being quite well?"</p>
+
+<p>"She's all right," said the doctor, as they went
+down the staircase, "but she mustn't be allowed to
+get as low as she was yesterday, or there will be trouble."</p>
+
+<p>"And," said May, "what about me?" and she
+explained to him that she was only in Oxford on
+a visit and had work in London that oughtn't to
+be left.</p>
+
+<p>"Has she got a good maid?" asked the doctor.</p>
+
+<p>"An excitable Frenchwoman, but otherwise useful."
+They were at the front door now.</p>
+
+<p>"And you really ought to go to-morrow?"</p>
+
+<p>"I ought," said May, and her heart seemed to be
+sinking low down&mdash;lower and lower.</p>
+
+<p>"Very well," said the doctor, "I suppose we must
+let you go, Mrs. Dashwood," and as he spoke he pulled
+the door wide open. "Here is the Warden!" he said.</p>
+
+<p>There was the Warden coming in at the gate. May<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Page 325]</a></span>
+was standing so that she could not see into the court.
+She started at the doctor's remark.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll speak to him," he said, and, bowing, he went
+down the steps, leaving the door open behind him.
+May turned away and walked upstairs. She wouldn't
+have to tell the Warden that she was going to-morrow;
+the doctor would tell him, of course. Would he
+care?</p>
+
+<p>She went back to the bedroom, and Lady Dashwood
+looked round eagerly at her, but did not ask her any
+questions.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, dear, pour out the tea," she said. "The
+doctor was a great interruption. My dear May, I wish
+I wasn't such an egotist."</p>
+
+<p>"You aren't," said May, sitting down and pouring
+out two cups of tea.</p>
+
+<p>"I am," said Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"Why?" asked May.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you see," said Lady Dashwood, "I was
+terribly upset about Belinda and Co., because Belinda
+and Co. had pushed her foot in at my front door, or
+rather at Jim's front door; but she's gone now, as far
+as I'm personally concerned. She's a thing of the
+past. But, and here it comes, Belindas are still rampant
+in the world, and there are male as well as female
+Belindas; and I bear it wonderfully. I shall quite
+enjoy a cup of tea. Thanks, darling."</p>
+
+<p>"If anybody were to come and say to you," said
+May, looking deeply into her cup, "'Will you join a
+Society for the painless extermination of Belindas&mdash;Belindas
+of both classes&mdash;Belindas in expensive furs,
+and tattered Belindas,' wouldn't you become a member,
+or at least give a guinea?"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood smiled a little. "Dear May, how
+satirical you are with your poor old aunt!"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not satirical," said May.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid," groaned Lady Dashwood, "it's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Page 326]</a></span>
+mainly because we think things will be made straight
+in the next world that we don't do enough here. Now,
+I haven't that excuse, May, because you know I never
+have looked forward to the next world. Somehow I
+can't!"</p>
+
+<p>Something in her aunt's voice made May look round
+at her.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be sorrowful, dear," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Now that I've slanged Belinda," murmured Lady
+Dashwood, "I've begun to think about my own short-comings."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense, dear aunt," said May. "You are not
+accustomed to think about yourself; it must be a sign
+that you are not feeling well. I shall ring for Louise."
+May spoke in a bantering voice, but her eyes did not
+smile.</p>
+
+<p>"For mercy's sake, don't," said Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>The glow had faded from the roof of the college
+opposite, and had become grey and cold when May got
+up and took the little tea tray from her Aunt Lena's
+bed.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, I've got just a few lines more to add to my
+letter to my old dear one," said Lady Dashwood.
+"Suppose you go down and see what's happening?"</p>
+
+<p>"What's happening!" said May, but she did
+not ask a question, merely she repeated her aunt's
+words.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, dear," said Lady Dashwood. "What's happening.
+All sorts of things happen, you know; things
+go on! Please ring, I want Louise to clear away.
+Now, go down into the drawing-room and, if you see
+Jim, give him my love."</p>
+
+<p>May went into the empty drawing-room and sat
+there till it grew dark, doing nothing. Robinson came
+in to make up the fire and draw the curtains. He
+apologised for his lateness, explaining that he did not
+think any one was in the drawing-room.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Page 327]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Will you have dinner with 'er ladyship?" he
+asked, "or in the dining-room, m'm? The Warden
+is dining in 'all."</p>
+
+<p>May walked to a little table and took up one of the
+books that were lying there.</p>
+
+<p>"Upstairs, please, Robinson," she answered.</p>
+
+<p>She began looking through the book, turning over
+the pages, but the print seemed unintelligible. She
+stood listening to Robinson's movements in the room.
+Then the door opened and the Warden came in and
+startled her so much that she dropped the book upon
+the table.</p>
+
+<p>He was in his gown, just come back from chapel.
+He came some way into the room and stood at a little
+distance from her. She did not look at him, though
+she turned towards him in acknowledgment of his
+presence.</p>
+
+<p>"Wasn't the sunset wonderful?" she said.</p>
+
+<p>"It was a wonderful sunset!" he said.</p>
+
+<p>Robinson was still busy in the room, and the Warden
+moved to the fireplace and stood looking as if he was
+undecided whether to stay or to go.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry I have to dine out this evening," said
+the Warden. "I have no choice in the matter, unfortunately."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course," said May. "Please don't think of me.
+I have Aunt Lena to look after."</p>
+
+<p>"You are very good to her," he said, and lingered
+for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>Robinson was now going towards the door with his
+soft, light, though rather shambling movements.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden moved towards the door too, and then
+stopped and said&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"There isn't anything I can do for you, any book
+I can lend you for this evening?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, thanks very much," said May. "I have all
+I want," and she took up the book she had dropped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Page 328]</a></span>
+with an air of wanting it very much, and went towards
+the chair she had been sitting in before Robinson disturbed her.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden swung himself round. She could hear
+the sound of his robe against the lintel of the door
+as he went out and left her alone. He might have
+stayed a few minutes if he had wished! He didn't
+wish!</p>
+
+<p>When she went to her Aunt Lena's bedroom, half
+an hour later, she found that he had been there, sitting
+with her and talking, and had gone five minutes ago.
+The Warden seemed to move like some one in a dream.
+He came and went and never stayed.</p>
+
+<p>During dinner Lady Dashwood said, not � propos
+of anything&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Your poor Uncle John is beginning to get restive,
+and I suppose I shall have to go back to him in a few
+days. Having done all the mischief that I could, I
+suppose it is time I should leave Oxford. Louise will
+be glad and Jim will be sorry, I am afraid. I haven't
+broken to him yet that my time is coming to an end.
+I really dread telling him. It was different when he
+was a college tutor&mdash;he had only rooms then. Now he
+has a house. It's very dismal for him to be alone."</p>
+
+<p>Here Lady Dashwood stopped abruptly and went
+on eating. About nine o'clock she professed to be
+ready "to be put to bed," and May, who had been
+knitting by her side, got up and prepared to leave her
+for the night.</p>
+
+<p>As she kissed her she wondered why her Aunt Lena
+had never asked her how long she was going to stay.
+Why hadn't she told her after seeing the doctor, and
+got it over? The Warden knew and yet did not say
+a word, but that was different!</p>
+
+<p>Should she tell her aunt now? She hesitated.
+No, it might perhaps make her wakeful. It would be
+better to give her nothing to think about. There would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Page 329]</a></span>
+be time to-morrow. She would tell her before breakfast,
+on the way downstairs. It would be giving her
+long enough notice if she put off her journey till the
+late afternoon. And there <em>was</em> no need to leave on
+Monday till the late afternoon.</p>
+
+<p>"You are going down into the drawing-room
+again?" said Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; you must sleep well, dear," said May,
+bending down and kissing her.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, very well," said Lady Dashwood, closing her
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Later on disturbing thoughts came to her. Why
+had May ceased to show any emotion? Why had she
+become quiet and self-contained? That wasn't a good
+sign. And what about to-morrow? Did she mean
+to go? She had said nothing, but she might have
+made up her mind to go. And there was Jim going in
+and out and doing <em>nothing</em>! Oh, why couldn't the
+dear things see that they were made for one another?
+Why couldn't they go about mysterious, blown up
+with self-importance&mdash;and engaged?</p>
+
+<p>When Louise came in she found her mistress still
+awake.</p>
+
+<p>"Louise, before you settle me, see if Mrs. Dashwood
+has gone to bed. Don't disturb her, of course."</p>
+
+<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Bien, Madame</span>," said Louise; and she left the
+room with the air of one who is going to fathom a
+mystery.</p>
+
+<p>"What a nuisance Louise is," sighed Lady Dashwood,
+turning on her pillow. She did not turn her
+head again when Louise came back.</p>
+
+<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> is not in her room," said Louise, in a
+voice of profound interest, and she waited to hear the
+result.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said Lady Dashwood, brightening a little.
+"Well, Louise, light a night light and leave it at the
+other end of the room, so that the light doesn't come<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Page 330]</a></span>
+on my face! I don't want to be in complete darkness
+or the Warden will not come in. He will think I am
+asleep."</p>
+
+<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> will not sleep?" demanded Louise.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course I shall sleep," said Lady Dashwood,
+and she began thinking again.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Page 331]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXI</h2>
+
+<h3>A FAREWELL</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">When May went back again to the drawing-room she
+did not sit down immediately but walked round, taking
+up the books that were lying about. Some she had
+read, and the book she had taken up by accident before
+dinner did not interest her. She took up one after
+another and read the title, and then, seeing a small
+soft yellow volume full of verse, she carried it with her
+to her chair. She might be able to read and follow
+something slight; she could not concentrate herself on
+anything that needed thought.</p>
+
+<p>She opened the volume. It was an anthology of
+Victorian verse. She began looking through it. She
+read and read&mdash;at least she turned over page after
+page, following the sense here and there. Books
+could not distract her from painful thoughts about
+herself; hard work with hands and eyes, work such
+as hers would be able to distract her. She was relying
+upon it to do so; she felt that her work was her refuge.
+She was thankful that she had a refuge&mdash;very thankful,
+and yet she was counting how many more hours she
+still had before her in Oxford. There she showed her
+weakness; she knew that every hour in Oxford meant
+pain, and yet she did not want to go away! At last
+she had turned over all the pages and had come to the
+last page. There her eyes were caught, and they held
+on to some printed words. She read! The words<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Page 332]</a></span>
+were like the echo of a voice, a voice that thrilled her
+even in memory!</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"And the Glory of the Lord shall be all in all."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>She read the poem through and through again. It
+took hold of her.</p>
+
+<p>She sat musing over it. The clock struck ten. To
+sit on and on was like waiting for him! She resented
+the thought bitterly. She rose from her chair, meaning
+to take the book up with her to her room. To have it
+beside her would be a little consolation. She would
+read it through again the last thing before trying to
+sleep. She was already walking to the door, very
+slowly, her will compelling unwilling limbs.</p>
+
+<p>"You are just going?" said the Warden's voice.
+He had suddenly opened the door and stood before her.</p>
+
+<p>"I was going," she said, and held on to the book,
+open as it was at the last page. "Have you just come
+back from dinner?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have just come back," he said, and he closed
+the door behind him. But he stayed near the door,
+for May was standing just where she had stood when
+he came in, the book in her hand. "I regretted
+very much that you should be alone this last evening
+of your stay&mdash;&mdash;" He paused and looked at her.</p>
+
+<p>"I ought to have asked some one to dine with you.
+I am so little accustomed to guests, but I ought to have
+thought of it."</p>
+
+<p>"I am used to being alone in the evening," said
+May, now smoothing the page of her book with her
+free hand. "Except on Saturdays and Sundays, when
+I go to friends of mine, I am usually alone&mdash;and generally
+glad to be, after my day's work. Besides, I have
+been with Aunt Lena this evening. I only left her an
+hour ago."</p>
+
+<p>He came nearer and stood looking at her and at
+the book in her hands. He seemed suddenly to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Page 333]</a></span>
+recognise the book, and saw that it was open at the
+last page.</p>
+
+<p>"I ought not to have quoted that to you," he said
+in a low voice; "those words of that poem&mdash;there
+under your hand."</p>
+
+<p>"Why not?" she asked, shutting the book up and
+holding it closed between her hands. "Why shouldn't
+you have quoted it?" and she looked at the book
+intently, listening for his voice again.</p>
+
+<p>"Because it savoured of self-righteousness, and that
+was not becoming in a man who had brought his own
+troubles upon himself."</p>
+
+<p>May did not look up at him; she felt, too keenly
+the poignancy of that brief confession, dignified in its
+simplicity, a confession that a weaker man would have
+been afraid to make, and a man of less intelligence
+could not have made because he would not have understood
+the dignity of it. May found no words with
+which to speak to him; she could only look at the
+carpet stupidly and admire him with all the pulses in
+her body.</p>
+
+<p>"Your interpretation of 'the Glory of the Lord'
+is the right one; I think&mdash;I feel convinced of it."</p>
+
+<p>He stood before her, wearing a curiously pathetic
+expression of diffidence.</p>
+
+<p>That moment passed, and then he seemed to force
+himself back into his old attitude of courteous reserve.</p>
+
+<p>"You were just going when I came in," he said,
+moving and putting out his hand to open the door for
+her. "I am keeping you."</p>
+
+<p>"I was going," said May, "but, Dr. Middleton&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>He let his arm drop. "Yes?" he said.</p>
+
+<p>"You have, I am afraid, a totally wrong idea
+of me."</p>
+
+<p>He stared straight into her face as she spoke, but
+it was his veiled stare, in which he held himself aloof
+for reasons of his own.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Page 334]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I don't think so," he said quickly.</p>
+
+<p>"I talked about 'my interpretation' of the words
+you quoted," she said, "just as if I spoke from some
+special knowledge, from personal experience, I mean.
+I had no intention of giving you that idea; it was
+merely a <em>thought</em> I expressed."</p>
+
+<p>How could she say what her heart was full of without
+betraying herself? He was waiting for her to
+speak with a strained look in his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"And, of course, any one can 'think.' I am
+afraid&mdash;&mdash;Somehow&mdash;I find it impossible to say
+what I mean&mdash;I&mdash;I am horribly stupid to-night."</p>
+
+<p>She moved forward and he opened the door, and
+held it open for her. She went out with only a brief
+"Good-night," because no more words would come.
+She had said all she was able to say, and now she walked
+along trying to get her breath again. In the corridor
+she came upon Louise, who seemed to have sprung
+suddenly from nowhere.</p>
+
+<p>"Can I assist <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>?" said Louise, her face
+full of unrestrained curiosity. "Can I brush <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame's</span>
+hair?"</p>
+
+<p>May made one or two more steps without finding
+her voice, then she said&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"No, thank you, Louise." And feeling more than
+seeing the Frenchwoman's ardent stare of interrogation,
+she added: "Louise, you may bring back my travelling
+things, please, the first thing to-morrow morning.
+I shall want them."</p>
+
+<p>Louise was silent for a moment, just as a child is
+voiceless for a moment before it bursts into shrieks.
+She followed May to her door.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall pack everything for <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>," she exclaimed,
+and her voice twanged like steel. She followed
+May into her bedroom. "I shall pack everything
+when <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> goes truly." Here she glanced round
+the room, and her large dark eyes rested with wild<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Page 335]</a></span>
+indignation on the little stained figure of St. Joseph
+standing on the table by the bed.</p>
+
+<p>The small pathetic saint stood all unconscious, its
+machine-made face looking down amiably upon the
+branch of lilies in its hands.</p>
+
+<p>"I want them early," said May, "because I prefer
+to pack myself, Louise. You are such a kind creature,
+but I really prefer waiting upon myself."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall pack for <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>," repeated Louise.</p>
+
+<p>May went to the toilet table and put down the book
+that she was carrying.</p>
+
+<p>"Good night, Louise," was all she said.</p>
+
+<p>Louise moved. She groaned, then she took hold
+of the door and began to withdraw herself behind it.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> a good repose. I shall pack
+for <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame, comme il faut</span>," she said with superb
+obstinacy, and she closed the door after her.</p>
+
+<p>Good repose! Repose seemed to May the last word
+that was suitable. Fall asleep she might, for she was
+strong and full of vigour, but repose&mdash;&mdash;!</p>
+
+<p>She read the poem once again through when she
+was in bed. Then she laid the book under the pillow
+and turned out the light.</p>
+
+<p>How many hours had she still in Oxford? About
+seventeen hours. And even when she was back again
+at her work&mdash;sundered for ever from the place that
+she had learned to love better than any other place
+in the world&mdash;she would have something precious to
+remember. Even if they never met again after those
+seventeen hours were over, even though they never
+saw each other's faces again, she would have something
+to remember: words of his spoken only to her, words
+that betrayed the fineness of his nature. Those words
+of his belonged to her.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>And it was in this spirit of resignation, held more
+fully than before, that she met him again at breakfast.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Page 336]</a></span>
+She was in the breakfast-room first and seized the
+paper, determined to behave as cheerfully as if she had
+arrived, and not as if she was going away. She was
+going to make a successful effort to start her new life
+at once, her life with Oxford behind her. She was not
+going to be found by him, when he entered, silent and
+reminiscent of last evening.</p>
+
+<p>When the Warden came in she put down the paper
+with the air of one who has seen something that suggests
+conversation.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose," she said, starting straight away
+without any preliminary but a smile at him and an
+inclination of her head in answer to his old-fashioned
+courteous bow as he entered&mdash;"I suppose when I come
+back to Oxford&mdash;say in ten years' time, if any one
+invites me&mdash;I shall find things changed. The New
+Oxford we talked of with Mr. Bingham will be in full
+swing. You will perhaps be Vice-Chancellor."</p>
+
+<p>The Warden did not smile. "Ah, yes!" he remarked,
+and he looked abstractedly at the coffee-pot
+and at the chair that May was about to seat herself in.
+"Ah, yes!" he said again; then he added: "Have
+I kept you waiting?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not a bit," said May.</p>
+
+<p>"I ran in to see Lena," he explained.</p>
+
+<p>May took her place opposite the coffee. He watched
+her, and then went and sat down at the opposite end
+of the table in his own seat. Then he got up and went
+to the side table.</p>
+
+<p>Try as they would they were painfully conscious
+of each other's movements. Everything seemed
+strangely, cruelly important at that meal. May
+poured out the Warden's cup, and that in itself was
+momentous. He would come and take it, of course!
+She moved the cup a little. He waited on her from
+the side table and then looked at his coffee.</p>
+
+<p>"Is this for me?" he asked.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Page 337]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said May; "it is yours."</p>
+
+<p>He took up the cup and went round with it to
+his place, as if he was carrying something rare and
+significant.</p>
+
+<p>They sat opposite each other, these two, alone
+together, and for the last time&mdash;possibly. They
+talked stiffly in measured sentences to each other, talk
+that merely served as a defence. And behind this
+talk both were painfully aware that the precious
+moments were slipping away, and yet nothing could
+be done to stay them. It was only when the meal
+was over, and there was nothing left for them to do
+but to rise and go, that they stopped talking and
+looked at each other apprehensively.</p>
+
+<p>"You are not going till the afternoon?" he questioned.</p>
+
+<p>"Not till the afternoon," she answered, but she
+did not say whether she was going early or late. She
+rose from the table and stood by it.</p>
+
+<p>"The reason why I ask," he said, rising too, "is
+that I cannot be at home for lunch, and afterwards
+there is hospital business with which I am concerned."</p>
+
+<p>May had as yet only vaguely decided on her train,
+though she knew the trains by heart. She had now to
+fix it definitely, it was wrung from her.</p>
+
+<p>"I may not be able to get back in time to go with
+you to the station, but I hope to be in time to meet
+you there, to see you off," he said; and he added: "I
+hope to be in time," as if he doubted it nevertheless.</p>
+
+<p>"You mustn't make a point of seeing me off,"
+said May. "And don't you think railway-stations
+are places which one avoids as much as possible?"
+She asked the question a little tremulously and smiled,
+but did not look at him.</p>
+
+<p>"Ours is pretty bad," he said, without a smile.
+"But I hope it won't have the effect of making you
+forget that there is any beauty in our old city. I hope<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Page 338]</a></span>
+you will carry away with you some regret at parting&mdash;some
+memory of us."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course I shall," said May; and detecting the
+plaintiveness of her own voice, she added: "I shall
+have to come and see it again&mdash;as I said&mdash;perhaps
+ten years hence, when&mdash;when it will be different! It
+will be most interesting."</p>
+
+<p>He moved slowly away as if he was going out, and
+then stopped.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall manage to be in time to see you off," he
+said, as if some alteration in his plans suddenly occurred
+to him. "I shall manage it."</p>
+
+<p>"You mustn't put off anything important for me,"
+May called softly after him. "In these days women
+don't expect to be looked after; we are getting mighty
+independent," and there was much courage in her
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>He wavered at the door. "You don't forbid me
+to come?" he questioned, and he turned and looked
+at her.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course not," said May, and she turned away
+quickly and went to the window and looked out. "I
+hope I am not brazenly independent!" She added
+this last sentence airily at the window and stared out
+of it, as if attracted by something in the quadrangle.</p>
+
+<p>She heard him go out and shut the door.</p>
+
+<p>She waited some little time doing nothing, standing
+still by the window&mdash;very still. Then she went out
+of the room, up the staircase and into the corridor
+towards her aunt's bedroom.</p>
+
+<p>She knocked and went in.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood turned round and looked at her.
+Something in May's face arrested her.</p>
+
+<p>"A lovely morning, May. Just the day for seeing
+Oxford at its best."</p>
+
+<p>And this forced May to say, at once, what she was
+going to say. She was going away in the afternoon.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Page 339]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood received May's news quietly. She
+gave May a look of meek resignation that was harder
+to bear than any expostulation would have been.</p>
+
+<p>"Everybody is going," she said slowly, and lying
+back on her pillows with a sigh. "I must be going
+directly, as soon as I am up and about. I can't leave
+your Uncle John alone any longer, and there is so much
+that even an old woman can do, and that I had to put
+aside to come here."</p>
+
+<p>May was standing at the foot of the bed looking at
+her very gravely.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't imagine you not doing a lot," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall be all right in a couple of days," said Lady
+Dashwood. "What was wrong with me, dear, was
+nerves, nerves, nothing but nerves, and I am ashamed
+of it. When I am bouncing with vigour again, May,
+I shall go. I shall leave Oxford. I shall leave Jim."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you will have to," said May, vaguely.</p>
+
+<p>"Jim will be horribly lonely," said Lady Dashwood.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid so," said May, slowly.</p>
+
+<p>"Imagine," said Lady Dashwood, "Jim seeing
+me off at the station and then coming back here.
+Imagine him coming back alone, crunching over the
+gravel and going up the steps into the hall. You know
+what the hall is like&mdash;a sweet place&mdash;and those dim
+portraits on the walls all looking down at him out of
+their faded eyes! All men!"</p>
+
+<p>May looked at her Aunt Lena gravely.</p>
+
+<p>"Then see him look round! Silence&mdash;nobody
+there. Then see him go up that staircase. He looks
+into the drawing-room, that big empty room. Nobody,
+my dear, but that fast-looking clergyman over the
+fireplace. That's not all, May. I can see him go out
+and go to his library. Nobody there&mdash;everything
+silent&mdash;books&mdash;the Cardinal&mdash;and the ghost."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said May. She did not smile.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, my dear," said Lady Dashwood, "I'm not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Page 340]</a></span>
+going to think about it any more! I've done with it.
+Let's talk of something else." That, indeed, was the
+last that Lady Dashwood said about it.</p>
+
+<p>When lunch time came May found herself seized
+with a physical contraction over her heart that prevented
+food from taking its usual course downward.
+She endured as long as she could, but at last she got
+up from the long silent table just as Robinson was
+about to go for a moment into the pantry. She threw
+a hurried excuse for going at his thin stooping back.
+She said she found she "hadn't time," and she examined
+her watch ostentatiously as she went out of the room.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going to take my last farewell of Oxford,"
+May said, looking for a moment into Lady Dashwood's
+room. "I'm going for a walk. I am going to look
+at the High and at Magdalen Bridge."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood smiled rather sadly. "Ah, yes,"
+she said.</p>
+
+<p>May found Louise packing with a slowness and an
+elaborate care that was a reproof somehow in itself.
+It seemed to say: "Ungrateful! All is thrown away
+on you. You care not&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>May put on her hat, and through the mirror she
+saw Louise rolling up Saint Joseph with some roughness
+in a silk muffler.</p>
+
+<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> does not like Oxford?" said Louise,
+drily, as she stuffed the saint into a hat.</p>
+
+<p>"I care for it very much, Louise," said May, hastily
+putting on her coat. "Oxford is a place one can never
+forget."</p>
+
+<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Eh, bien oui,</span>" said Louise, enigmatically.</p>
+
+<p>Then May went out and said farewell to the towers
+and spires and the ancient walls, and went to look at
+the trees weeping by Magdalen Bridge. It was all
+photographed on her memory. In the squalid streets
+of London, where her work lay, she would remember
+all this beauty and this ancient peace. There would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Page 341]</a></span>
+be no possibility of her forgetting it! She would
+dream of it at night. It would form the background
+of her life.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>Back again in the Lodgings, she found that she had
+only a few minutes more to spare before she must leave.
+She took farewell of Louise, and left her standing, her
+hand clasping money and her eyes luminous with reproach.
+There was, indeed, more than reproach, a
+curious incredulity, a wonder at something. May did
+not fathom what it was. She did not hear Louise
+muttering below her breath&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Ah, mon Dieu!</span> these English people&mdash;this <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Monsieur</span>
+the Warden&mdash;this <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame la</span> niece. Ah, this
+Lodgings! Ah, this Oxford!"</p>
+
+<p>In the drawing-room May found Lady Dashwood
+in a loose gown, seated on a couch and "Not at home"
+to callers.</p>
+
+<p>Only a few minutes more!</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid I've been very long," said May. "But
+it is difficult to part with Oxford."</p>
+
+<p>"Is it so difficult?" asked Lady Dashwood, then
+she suddenly pulled herself up and said: "Oh, May,
+a note was left just after you went out by Mrs. Potten.
+She wouldn't come in. Mark that, May! She had
+been seeing Gwendolen off. The girl has gone to her
+mother. Marian wants me to lunch with her to-morrow.
+I telephoned her a few moments ago that
+I would go and see her later in the week. I wonder
+if she wants to speak to me about Gwen? I can't help
+wondering. Oh dear, the whole thing seems like a
+dream now! Don't you think so?"</p>
+
+<p>May was drinking a hurried cup of tea. "No, it
+seems very real to me," she said.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Dashwood looked at her silently. The
+Warden had not returned. At least there was no
+sign of his being in the house.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Page 342]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Robinson came in to announce the taxi.</p>
+
+<p>"Is the Warden in?" asked Lady Dashwood, half
+raising herself.</p>
+
+<p>No, the Warden was not in.</p>
+
+<p>"He will meet you at the station," said Lady
+Dashwood, nodding her head slowly at her niece.</p>
+
+<p>"He may not be able to," said May, going up to
+the sofa. She spoke as if it were a matter of unconcern.
+She must keep this up. She had counselled
+Gwendolen to be brave! This thought brought with
+it a little sob of laughter that nearly choked her.
+"Good-bye, Aunt Lena," she said, throwing her arms
+round Lady Dashwood, and the two rested their heads
+together for a moment in a silent embrace. Then they
+parted.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye," said Lady Dashwood. "Look out
+for poor Jim on the platform. Look out for him!"</p>
+
+<p>They kissed once or twice in formal fashion, and
+then May walked away to the door and went out
+without looking back.</p>
+
+<p>The door closed behind her and Lady Dashwood
+was left alone.</p>
+
+<p>She lay back on the cushions. The sun was coming
+in through the windows much as it had done that
+afternoon when she was reading the telegram from
+May.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't do any more," she murmured half aloud;
+"I can't."</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes wandered to the fire and up to the portrait
+over the fireplace. The light falling on the
+painted face obliterated the shadows at the corners of
+the mouth, so that he seemed to be smiling.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Page 343]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXII</h2>
+
+<h3>THE WARDEN HURRIES</h3>
+
+<p class="above2">The Warden was on his way to the station. For three
+days he had done what he could to keep out of May
+Dashwood's presence. He had invented no excuses
+for seeing her, he had invented reasons for not seeing
+her. These three days of self-restraint were almost
+over.</p>
+
+<p>He could have returned home in time to take her
+to the railway-station himself if he had intended to
+do so. His business was over and he lingered, a
+desperate conscientiousness forcing him to linger. He
+allowed himself to be button-holed by other men, not
+completely aware of what was being said to him, because
+all the time in his imagination he saw May
+waiting for him. He pictured her going down the
+staircase to the hall and getting into her taxi alone.
+He pictured this while some one propounded to him
+plans, not only for successfully getting rid of party
+politics, but for the regeneration of the whole human
+race. It was at that point that he broke away.
+Some one else proposed walking back to King's with
+him.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going to the station," said the Warden, and
+he struck off by himself and began to walk faster. He
+had run it too close, he risked missing her altogether.
+That he did not intend. He meant to arrive a moment
+before the train started. It was surely not part of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Page 344]</a></span>
+duty to be absolutely discourteous! He must just
+say "Good-bye." He began to walk still faster, for
+it seemed likely that he might be too late even to
+say "Good-bye."</p>
+
+<p>In Beaumont Street a taxi was in sight. He hailed
+it and got in. The man seemed an outrageously long
+time getting the car round and started. He seemed
+to be playing with the curb of the pavement. At last
+he started.</p>
+
+<p>The squalor of the approach to the station did not
+strike the Warden this afternoon. It always had
+struck him before unpleasantly. Just now he was
+merely aware of vehicles to be passed before he
+could reach the station, and he had his eyes on his
+watch continually to see how the moments were going.
+Suppose the train moved off just as he reached the
+platform? The Warden put his hand on the door
+ready to jump out. He had the fare already in the
+other hand. The station at last!</p>
+
+<p>He got out of the taxi swiftly. No, the train was
+there and the platform was sprinkled with people&mdash;some
+men in khaki; many women. He was just in time,
+but only just&mdash;not in time to help her, or to speak
+with her or say anything more than just "Good-bye."</p>
+
+<p>A sudden rage filled him. He ran his eyes along
+the whole length of the platform. She was probably
+seated in a carriage already, reading, Oxford forgotten
+perhaps! In that case why was he hurrying like this?
+Why was he raging?</p>
+
+<p>No, there she was! The sight of her made his
+heart beat wildly. She was there, standing by an open
+carriage door, looking wistfully along the platform,
+looking for him! A porter was slamming the doors
+to already.</p>
+
+<p>The Warden strode along and came face to face
+with her. Under the large brimmed hat and through
+the veil, he could see that she had turned ashy pale.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Page 345]</a></span>
+They stared for a moment at each other desperately,
+and he could see that she was trembling. The porter
+laid his hand on the door. "Are you getting in, m'm?"</p>
+
+<p>Only a week ago the Warden had committed the one
+rash and foolish action of his life. He had done it in
+ignorance of his own personal needs and with, perhaps,
+the unconscious cynicism of a man who has lived for
+forty years unable to find his true mate. But since
+then his mind had been lit up with the flash of a sudden
+poignant experience. He knew now what he wanted;
+what he must have, or fail. He knew that there was
+nothing else for him. It was this or nothing. The
+sight of her face, her trembling, pierced his soul with
+an amazing joy, and it seemed as if the voice of some
+invisible Controller of all human actions, great and
+small, breathed in his ear saying: "Now! Take your
+chance! This is your true destiny!"</p>
+
+<p>There was no one in the carriage but a young girl
+at the further end huddled behind a novel. But had
+there been twenty there, it would not have altered his
+resolution. The Warden placed his hand on May's
+arm.</p>
+
+<p>"I am travelling with this lady as far as Reading,"
+he said to the porter, "but I have come too late to get
+a ticket. Tell the guard, please."</p>
+
+<p>The Warden showed no sign now of haste or excitement;
+he had regained his usual courteous and deliberate
+manner, for the purpose of his life was his again. He
+helped her in and followed her. The door was banged
+behind them. There was May's little bundle of rug
+and umbrella on the seat. He moved it on one side
+so that she could sit there. The train began to slide off.</p>
+
+<p>May sank into her seat too dazed to think. He sat
+down opposite to her. They both knew that the
+moment of their lives had come.</p>
+
+<p>Then he leaned forward, not caring whether he was
+observed or not observed from the other end of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Page 346]</a></span>
+carriage. He leaned forward and grasping both of
+May's hands in his, he looked into her eyes with his
+own slow moving, narrow eyes that absorbed the light.
+The corners of her mouth were trembling, her eyelids
+trembling.</p>
+
+<p>They never spoke a word as the train moved
+away and left behind that fair ancient city enshrined
+in squalor and in raucous brick; left behind the flat
+meadows, the sluggish river and the leafless crooked
+willows; but a strange glory came from the west and
+flooded the whole earth and the carriage where they
+sat.</p>
+
+<p class="above4"></p>
+<p class="center"><b><big>THE END</big></b></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p class="center"><small>PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES, ENGLAND</small></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+
+<h5>Transcriber's Note</h5>
+
+<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected, with the exception
+of those contained within letters, which are thought to be deliberate.</p>
+
+<p>Where a word has been spelled inconsistently within the text (e.g.
+to-day and today), the spellings have been changed to the one more
+frequently used.</p>
+
+<p>All other spellings and punctuation are as in the original text.</p>
+
+<p><a href="#top">Return to top</a>.</p>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The New Warden, by Mrs. David G. Ritchie
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The New Warden, by Mrs. David G. Ritchie
+
+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 New Warden
+
+Author: Mrs. David G. Ritchie
+
+Release Date: May 15, 2010 [EBook #32388]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NEW WARDEN ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Anne Grieve, Delphine Lettau and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                             THE NEW WARDEN
+
+                        BY MRS. DAVID G. RITCHIE
+
+
+                     AUTHOR OF "TWO SINNERS," ETC.
+
+
+
+
+                                 LONDON
+
+                   JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.
+
+                                  1919
+
+
+
+
+                      FIRST EDITION, _Nov., 1918_.
+                      _Reprinted ... March, 1919_.
+                         _All rights reserved_
+
+
+
+
+                                CONTENTS
+
+
+  CHAPTER                                                   PAGE
+
+       I. THE WARDEN'S LODGINGS                              1
+
+      II. MORAL SUPPORT                                     14
+
+     III. PASSIONATE PITY                                   26
+
+      IV. THE UNFORESEEN HAPPENS                            37
+
+       V. WAITING                                           50
+
+      VI. MORE THAN ONE CONCLUSION                          57
+
+     VII. MEN MARCHING PAST                                 72
+
+    VIII. THE LOST LETTER                                   82
+
+      IX. THE LUNCHEON PARTY                                92
+
+       X. PARENTAL EFFUSIONS                               108
+
+      XI. NO ESCAPE                                        124
+
+     XII. THE GHOST                                        133
+
+    XIII. THE EFFECT OF SUGGESTION                         141
+
+     XIV. DIFFERENT VIEWS                                  151
+
+      XV. MRS. POTTEN'S CARELESSNESS                       166
+
+     XVI. SEEING CHRIST CHURCH                             177
+
+    XVII. A TEA PARTY                                      188
+
+   XVIII. THE MORAL CLAIMS OF AN UMBRELLA                  201
+
+     XIX. HONOUR                                           209
+
+      XX. SHOPPING                                         217
+
+     XXI. THE SOUL OF MRS. POTTEN                          227
+
+    XXII. MR. BOREHAM'S PROPOSAL                           236
+
+   XXIII. BY MOONLIGHT                                     251
+
+    XXIV. A CAUSE AND IMPEDIMENT                           259
+
+     XXV. CONFESSIONS                                      267
+
+    XXVI. THE ANXIETIES OF LOUISE                          280
+
+   XXVII. THE FORGIVENESS OF THE FATES                     290
+
+  XXVIII. ALMA MATER                                       301
+
+    XXIX. DINNER                                           310
+
+     XXX. THE END OF BELINDA AND CO.                       319
+
+    XXXI. A FAREWELL                                       331
+
+   XXXII. THE WARDEN HURRIES                               343
+
+
+
+
+                             THE NEW WARDEN
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+THE WARDEN'S LODGINGS
+
+
+The Founders and the Benefactors of Oxford, Princes, wealthy priests,
+patriotic gentlemen, noble ladies with a taste for learning; any of
+these as they travelled along the high road, leaving behind them
+pastures, woods and river, and halted at the gates of the grey sacred
+city, had they been in melancholy mood, might have pictured to
+themselves all possible disasters by fire and by siege that could mar
+this garnered glory of spiritual effort and pious memory. Fire and siege
+were the disasters of the old days. But a new age has it own
+disasters--disasters undreamed of in the old days, and none of these
+lovers of Oxford as they entered that fair city, ever could have
+foretold that in time to come Oxford would become enclosed and well-nigh
+stifled by the peaceful encroachment of an endless ocean of friendly red
+brick, lapping to its very walls.
+
+The wonder is that Oxford still exists, for the free jerry-builder of
+free England, with his natural right to spoil a landscape or to destroy
+the beauty of an ancient treasure house, might have forced his cheap
+villas into the very heart of the city; might have propped his shameless
+bricks, for the use of Don and of shopkeeper, against the august grey
+college walls: he might even have insulted and defaced that majestic
+street whose towers and spires dream above the battlemented roofs and
+latticed windows of a more artistic age.
+
+But why didn't he? Why didn't he, clothed in the sanctity of cheapness,
+desecrate the inner shrine?
+
+The Wardens and the Bursars of colleges could tell us much, but the
+stranger and the pilgrim, coming to worship, feel as if there must have
+flashed into being some sudden Hand from Nowhere and a commanding Voice
+saying--"Thus far shalt thou come and no farther," so that the accursed
+jerry-builder (under the impression that he was moved by some financial
+reasons of his own) must have obediently picked up his little bag of
+tools and trotted off to destroy some other place.
+
+Anyhow the real Oxford has been spared--but it is like a fair mystic gem
+in a coarse setting. No green fields and no rustling woods lead the
+lover of Oxford gently to her walls.
+
+The Beauty of England lies there--ringed about with a desolation of
+ugliness--for ever. Still she is there.
+
+Oxford has never been merely a city of learning, it has been a fighting
+city.
+
+In the twelfth century it sheltered Matilda in that terrible, barbaric
+struggle of young England.
+
+In the seventeenth century it was a city in arms for the Stuarts. But
+these were civil wars. Now in the twentieth century Oxford has risen
+like one man, like Galahad--youthful and knightly--urgent at the Call of
+Freedom and the Rights of Nations.
+
+And this Oxford is filled with the "sound of the forging of weapons,"
+the desk has become a couch for the wounded, the air is full of the
+wings of war.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In this Oxford where the black gown has been laid aside and young men
+hurry to and fro in the dress of the battle-field--in this Oxford no man
+walked at times more heavily, feeling the grief that cannot be made
+articulate, than did the Warden of King's College as he went about his
+work, a lonely man, without wife or child and with poignant memories of
+the very blossom of young manhood plucked from his hand and gone for
+ever.
+
+And of the men who passed under his college gates and through the
+ivy-clad quadrangles, most were strangers--coming and going--learning
+the arts of war--busy under orders, and the few, a poor remnant of
+academic youth--foreigners or weaklings. And he, the Warden himself,
+felt himself almost a stranger--for into his life had surged new
+thoughts, anxious fears and ambitious hopes--for England, the England of
+the years to come--an England rising up from her desolation and her
+mourning and striving to become greater, more splendid and more
+spiritual than she had been before.
+
+It was a late October afternoon in 1916 and the last rays of autumn
+sunshine fell through the drawing-room windows of the Warden's lodgings.
+These rays of sunshine lit up a notable portrait over the stone
+fireplace. The portrait was of a Warden of the eighteenth century; a
+fine fleshy face it was, full of the splendid noisy paganism of his
+time. You can stand where you will in the room, but you cannot escape
+the sardonic stare that comes from his relentless, wide-open, luminous
+eyes. He seems as if he challenged you to stop and listen to the secret
+of his double life--the life of a scholar and divine of easy morals.
+Words seemed actually upon his lips, thoughts glowing in his eyes--and
+yet--there is silence.
+
+There was only one person in the room, a tall vigorous woman, still
+handsome in spite of middle age, and she was looking up at the portrait
+with her hands clasped behind her back. She was not thinking of the
+portrait--her thoughts were too intent on something else. Her thoughts
+indeed had nothing to do with the past--they were about the future, the
+future of the new Warden, Dr. Middleton, the future of this only brother
+of hers whom she loved more than anyone in the world--except her own
+husband; a brother more than ten years younger than herself, to whom she
+had been a mother till she married and who remained in her eyes a sort
+of son, all the more precious to her because children had been denied
+her.
+
+She had come at her brother's call to arrange his new home for him. She
+had arranged everything with sober economy, because Oxford was mourning.
+She had retained all that she found endurable of the late Warden's. And
+now she turned round and looked on her handiwork.
+
+The room wore an air of comfort, it was devoid of all distressful
+knick-knacks and it was arranged as were French "Salons" of the time of
+Mademoiselle de Lespinasse for conversation, for groups of talkers, for
+books and papers; the litter of culture. It was a drawing-room for
+scholars in their leisure moments and for women to whom they could talk.
+But there was no complaisance in Lady Dashwood's face as she looked at
+her brother's drawing-room, just because her thoughts were deeply
+occupied with his future. What was his future to be like? What was in
+store for him? And these thoughts led her to give expression to a sudden
+outspoken remark--unflattering to that future.
+
+"And now, what woman is going to become mistress of this room?"
+
+Lady Dashwood's voice had a harshness in it that startled even herself.
+"What woman is going to reign here?" she went on, as if daring herself
+to be gentle and resigned. After she had looked round the room her eye
+rested upon the portrait over the mantelpiece. He looked as if he had
+heard her speak and stared back at her with his large persistent selfish
+eyes--full of cynical wonder. But he remained silent. These were times
+that he did not understand--but he observed!
+
+"It's on Jim's conscience that he _must_ marry, now that men are so
+scarce. He's obsessed with the idea," continued Lady Dashwood, thinking
+to herself. "And being like all really good and great men--absolutely
+helpless--he is prepared to marry any fool who is presented to him."
+Then she added, "Any fool--or worse!"
+
+"And," she went on, speaking angrily to herself, "knowing that he is
+helpless--I stupidly go and introduce into this house, a silly girl with
+a pretty face whose object in coming is to be--Mrs. Middleton."
+
+Lady Dashwood was mentally lashing herself for this stupidity.
+
+"I go and actually put her in his way--at least," she added swiftly, "I
+allow her mother to bring her and force her upon us and leave her--for
+the purpose of entrapping him--and so--I've risked his future! And yet,"
+she went on as her self-accusation became too painful, "I never dreamt
+that he would think of a girl so young--as eighteen--and he forty--and
+full of thoughts about the future of Oxford--and the New World. Somehow
+I imagined some pushing female of thirty would pretend to sympathise
+with his aspirations and marry him: I never supposed----But I ought to
+have supposed! It was my business to suppose. Here have I left my
+husband alone, when he hates being alone, for a whole month, in order to
+put Jim straight--and then I go and 'don't suppose'--I'm more than a
+fool--I'm----" The right word did not come to her mind.
+
+Here Lady Dashwood's indignation against herself made the blood tingle
+hotly in her hands and face. She was by nature calm, but this afternoon
+she was excited. She mentally pictured the Warden--just when there was
+so much for him to do--wasting his time by figuring as a sacrifice upon
+the Altar of a foolish Marriage. She saw the knife at his throat--she
+saw his blood flow.
+
+At this moment the door opened and the old butler, who had served other
+Wardens and who had been retained along with the best furniture as a
+matter of course, came into the room and handed a telegram to Lady
+Dashwood.
+
+She tore open the envelope and read the paper: "Arrive this
+evening--about seven. May."
+
+"Thank----!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood--and then she suddenly paused, for
+she met the old thoughtful eye of Robinson.
+
+"Yes!" she remarked irrelevantly. Then she folded the paper. "There is
+no answer," she said. "When you've taken the tea away--please tell Mrs.
+Robinson that quite unexpectedly Mrs. Jack Dashwood is arriving at
+seven. She must have the blue room--there isn't another one ready. Don't
+let in any callers for me, Robinson."
+
+All that concerned the Warden's lodgings concerned Robinson. Oxford--to
+Robinson meant King's College. He had "heard tell" of "other colleges";
+in fact he had passed them by and had seen "other college" porters
+standing about at their entrance doors as if they actually were part of
+Oxford. Robinson felt about the other colleges somewhat as the
+old-fashioned Evangelical felt about the godless, unmanageable, tangled,
+nameless rabble of humanity (observe the little "h") who were not
+elected. The "Elect" being a small convenient Body of which he was a
+member.
+
+King's was the "Elect" and Robinson was an indispensable member of it.
+
+Robinson went downstairs with his orders, which, dropping like a pebble
+into the pool of the servants' quarters, started a quiet expanding
+ripple to the upper floor, reaching at last to the blue bedroom.
+
+Alone in the drawing-room Lady Dashwood was able to complete her
+exclamatory remark that Robinson's solemn eye had checked.
+
+"Thank Heaven!" she said, and she said it again more than once. She
+laughed even and opened the telegram again and re-read it for the pure
+pleasure of seeing the words. "Arrive this evening."
+
+"I've risked Jim's life--and now I've saved it." Then Lady Dashwood
+began to think carefully. There was no train arriving at seven from
+Malvern--but there was one arriving at six and one at seven fifteen.
+Anyhow May was coming. Lady Dashwood actually laughed with triumph and
+said--"May is coming--_that_ for 'Belinda and Co.'!"
+
+"Did you speak to me, Lady Dashwood?" asked a girlish voice, and Lady
+Dashwood turned swiftly at the sound and saw just within the doorway a
+girlish figure, a pretty face with dark hair and large wandering eyes.
+
+"No, Gwen!" said Lady Dashwood. "I didn't know you were there----" and
+again she folded the telegram and her features resumed their normal
+calm. With that folded paper in her hand she could look composedly now
+at that pretty face and slight figure. If she had made a criminal
+blunder she had--though she didn't deserve it--been able to rectify the
+blunder. May Dashwood was coming! Again: "_That_ for Belinda and Co.!"
+
+The girl came forward and looked round the room. She held two books in
+her hand, one the Warden had lent her on her arrival--a short guide to
+Oxford. She was still going about with it gazing earnestly at the print
+from time to time in bird-like fashion.
+
+"Mrs. Jack Dashwood is arriving this afternoon," said Lady Dashwood as
+she moved towards the door.
+
+"Oh," said Gwen, and she stood still in the glow of the windows, her two
+books conspicuous in her hand. She looked at the nearest low easy-chair
+and dropped into it, propped one book on her knee and opened the other
+at random. Then she gazed down at the page she had opened and then
+looked round the room at Lady Dashwood, keenly aware that she was a
+beautiful young girl looking at an elderly woman.
+
+"Mrs. Dashwood is my husband's niece by marriage," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Oh, yes," said Gwen, who would have been more interested if the subject
+of the conversation had been a man and not a woman.
+
+"You don't happen to know if the Warden has come back?" asked Lady
+Dashwood as she moved to the door.
+
+"He is back," said Gwen, and a slightly deeper colour came into her
+cheeks and spread on to the creamy whiteness of her slender neck.
+
+"In his library?" asked Lady Dashwood, stopping short and listening for
+the reply.
+
+"Yes!" said Gwen, and then she added: "He has lent me another book."
+Here she fingered the book on her knee. "A book about
+the--what-you-may-call-'ems of King's, I'm sorry but I can't remember.
+We were talking about them at lunch--a word like 'jumps'!"
+
+If a man had been present Gwen would have dimpled and demanded sympathy
+with large lingering glances; she would have demanded sympathy and
+approbation for not knowing the right word and only being able to
+suggest "jumps."
+
+One thing Gwen had already learned: that men are kinder in their
+criticism than women! It was priceless knowledge.
+
+"Founders, I suppose you mean," said Lady Dashwood and she opened the
+door. "Never mind," she said to herself as she closed the door behind
+her. "Never mind--May is coming--'Jumps!' What a self-satisfied little
+monkey the girl is!"
+
+At the head of the staircase it was rather dark and Lady Dashwood put on
+the lights. Immediately at right angles to the drawing-room door two or
+three steps led up to a corridor that ran over the premises of the
+College porter. In this corridor were three bedrooms looking upon the
+street, bedrooms occupied by Lady Dashwood and by Gwendolen Scott, and
+the third room, the blue room, about to be occupied by Mrs. Dashwood.
+Lady Dashwood passed the corridor steps, passed the head of the
+staircase, and went towards a curtained door. This was the Warden's
+bedroom. Beyond was his library door. At this door beyond, she knocked.
+
+An agreeable voice answered her knock. She went in. The library was a
+noble room. Opposite the door was a wide, high latticed window, hung
+with heavy curtains and looking on to the Entrance Court. To the right
+was a great fireplace with a small high window on each side of it. On
+the left hand the walls were lined with books--and a great winged
+book-case stood out from the wall, like a screen sheltering the door
+which Lady Dashwood entered. Over the door was the portrait of a
+Cardinal once a member of King's. Over the mantelpiece was a large
+engraving of King's as it was in the sixteenth century. At a desk in the
+middle of the room sat the Warden with his back to the fire and his face
+towards the serried array of books. He was just turning up a
+reading-lamp--for he always read and wrote by lamplight.
+
+"Robinson hasn't drawn your curtains," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"I am going to draw them--he came in too soon," said the Warden, without
+moving from his seat. His face was lit up by the flame of the lamp which
+he was staring at intently. There was just a faint sprinkling of grey
+in his brown hair, but on the regular features there was almost no trace
+of age.
+
+"You have given Gwen another book to read," said Lady Dashwood coming up
+to the writing-table.
+
+The Warden raised his eyes very slowly to hers. His eyes were peculiar.
+They were very narrow and blue, seeming to reflect little. On the other
+hand, they seemed to absorb everything. He moved them very slowly as if
+he were adjusting a photographic apparatus.
+
+"Yes," he said.
+
+"You might just as well, my dear, hand out a volume of the _Encyclopaedia
+Britannica_ to the sparrows in your garden," said his sister.
+
+The Warden made no reply, he merely moved the lamp very slightly nearer
+to the writing pad in front of him.
+
+He had a stored-up memory of pink cheeks, a pure curve of chin and neck,
+a dark curl by the ear; objects young and graceful and gradually
+absorbed by those narrow eyes and stored in the brain. He also had
+memories less pleasant of the slighting way in which once or twice his
+sister had spoken of "Belinda and Co.," meaning by that the mother of
+this pretty piece of pretty girlhood, and the girl herself.
+
+"She tries hard to read because we expect her to," continued Lady
+Dashwood. "If she had her own way she would throw the books into the
+fire, as tiresome stodge."
+
+The Warden was listening with an averted face and now he remarked--
+
+"Did you come in, Lena, to tell me this?"
+
+When the Warden was annoyed there was in his voice and in his manner a
+"something" which many people called "formidable." As Lady Dashwood
+stood looking down at him, there flashed into her mind a scene of long
+ago, where the Warden, then an undergraduate, had (for a joke at a
+party in his rooms) induced by suggestion a very small weak man with
+peaceful principles to insist on fighting the Stroke of the college
+Eight, a man over six feet and broad in proportion. She remembered how
+she had laughed, and yet how she made her brother promise not to
+exercise that power again. Probably he had completely forgotten the
+incident. Why! it was nearly eighteen years ago, nearly nineteen; and
+here was James Middleton no longer an undergraduate but the Warden! Lady
+Dashwood bent over him smiling and laid her solid motherly hand upon his
+head. "Oh, dear, how time passes!" she said. "Jim, you are such a sweet
+lamb. No, I didn't come to tell you that. I came to ask you if you were
+going to dine with us this evening?"
+
+"Yes," said the Warden. "Why?" and he now looked round at his sister
+without a trace of irritability and smiled.
+
+"Because Mrs. Jack Dashwood is coming here. I didn't mention it before.
+Well, the fact is she happens to have a few days' rest from her work in
+London. She is with some relative in Malvern and coming on here this
+afternoon."
+
+"Mrs. Jack Dashwood!" repeated the Warden with evident indifference.
+
+"Jack Dashwood's widow. You remember my John's nephew Jack? Poor Jack
+who was killed at Mons!"
+
+Yes, the Warden remembered, and his face clouded as it always did when
+war was mentioned.
+
+"May and he were engaged as boy and girl--and I think she stuck to
+it--because she thought she was in honour bound. Some women are like
+that--precious few; and some men."
+
+The Warden listened without remark.
+
+"And I am just going to telephone to Mr. Boreham," said Lady Dashwood,
+"to ask him to come in to dinner to meet her!"
+
+"Boreham!" groaned the Warden, and he took up his pen from the table.
+
+"I'm so sorry," said Lady Dashwood, "but he used to know May Dashwood,
+so we must ask him, and I thought it better to get him over at once and
+have done with it."
+
+"Perhaps so," said the Warden, and he stretched out his left hand for
+paper. "Only--one never has done--with Boreham."
+
+"Poor old Jim!" said Lady Dashwood, "and now, dear, you can get back to
+your book," and she moved away.
+
+"Book!" grumbled the Warden. "It's business I have to do; and anyhow I
+don't see how anyone can write books now! Except prophecies of the
+future, admonitions, sketches of possible policies, heart-searchings."
+
+Lady Dashwood moved away. "Well, that's what you're doing, dear," she
+said.
+
+"I don't know," said the Warden gloomily, and he reached out his hand,
+pulling towards him some papers. "One seems to be at the beginning of
+things."
+
+Lady Dashwood closed the door softly behind her.
+
+"He's perplexed," she said to herself. "He is perplexed--not merely
+because we are at 'the beginning of things,' but because--I have been a
+fool and----" She did not finish the sentence. She went up early to her
+room and dressed for dinner.
+
+It was impossible to be certain when May would come, so it would be
+better to get dressed and have the time clear. May's arrival was serious
+business--so serious that Lady Dashwood shuddered at the mere thought
+that it was by a mere stroke of extraordinary luck that she could come
+and would come! If May came by the six train she would arrive before
+seven.
+
+But seven o'clock struck and May had not arrived. She might arrive about
+eight o'clock. Lady Dashwood, who was already dressed, gave orders that
+dinner was to be put off for twenty minutes, and then she telephoned
+this news to Mr. Boreham and sent in a message to the Warden. But she
+quite forgot to tell Gwen that dinner was to be later. Gwen had gone
+upstairs early to dress for dinner, for she was one of those individuals
+who take a long time to do the simplest thing. This omission on the part
+of Lady Dashwood, trifling as it seemed, had far-reaching
+consequences--consequences that were not foreseen by her. She sat in the
+drawing-room actively occupied in imagining obstacles that might prevent
+May Dashwood from keeping the promise in her telegram: railway
+accidents, taxi accidents, the unexpected sudden deaths of relatives. As
+she sat absorbed in these wholly unnecessary and exhausting
+speculations, the door opened and she heard Robinson's quavering voice
+make the delicious announcement, "Mrs. Dashwood!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+MORAL SUPPORT
+
+
+May Dashwood's features were not faultless. For instance, her determined
+little nose was rather short and just a trifle retrousse and her
+eyebrows sometimes looked a little surprised. Her great charm lay not in
+her clear complexion and her bright brown hair, admirable as they were,
+but in her full expressive grey eyes, and when she smiled, it was not
+the toothy smile of professional gaiety, but a subtle, archly animated
+and sympathetic smile; so that both men and women who were once smiled
+at by her, immediately felt the necessity of being smiled at again!
+
+May was still dressed in mourning, very plainly, and she wore no furs.
+She came into the room and looked round her.
+
+"May!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood.
+
+"I thought you were ill, Aunt Lena!" said May amazed at the sight of
+Lady Dashwood, dressed for dinner and apparently in robust health.
+
+"I _am_ ill," exclaimed Lady Dashwood, and she tapped her forehead. "I'm
+ill here," and she advanced to meet her niece with open arms.
+
+"Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Dashwood, hastening up to her aunt.
+
+"I'm still partially sane, May--but--if you hadn't come!" said Lady
+Dashwood, kissing her niece on both cheeks. She did not finish her
+sentence.
+
+Mrs. Dashwood put both hands on her aunt's shoulders and examined her
+face carefully.
+
+"Yes, I see you're quite sane, Aunt Lena."
+
+"Will you minister to a mind--not actually diseased but oppressed by a
+consuming worry?" asked Lady Dashwood earnestly. "Don't think I'm a
+humbug--I need you much more, just now, than if I'd been merely
+ill--with a bilious attack, say. You've saved my life! I wish I could
+explain--but it is difficult to explain--sometimes."
+
+"I'm glad I've saved your life," said May, and she smiled her peculiar
+smile.
+
+"I see victory--the battle won--already," said Lady Dashwood, looking at
+her intently. "I wish I could explain----"
+
+"Let it ooze out, Aunt Lena. I can stay for three days--if you want--if
+I can really do anything for you----"
+
+"Can't you stay a week?" asked Lady Dashwood. "May, I'm not joking. I
+want your presence badly--can't you spare the time? Relieve my mind,
+dear, at once, by telling me you can!"
+
+Lady Dashwood's face suddenly became puckered and her voice was so
+urgent that May's smile died away.
+
+"If it is really important I'll stay a week. Nothing wrong about
+you--or--Uncle John?" May looked into her aunt's eyes.
+
+"No!" said Lady Dashwood. "John doesn't like my being away. An old
+soldier has much to make him sad now, but no----" Then she added in an
+undertone, "Jim ..." and she stared into her niece's face.
+
+Under the portrait of that bold, handsome, unscrupulous Warden of King's
+a faithful clock ticked to the passing of time. The time it showed now
+was twenty minutes to eight. Both ladies in silence had turned to the
+fire and they were now both standing each with one foot on the fender
+and were looking up at the portrait and not at the clock. Neither of
+them, however, thought of the portrait. They merely looked at it--as
+one must look at something.
+
+"Jim," sighed Lady Dashwood. "You don't know him, May."
+
+"Is it he who is ill?" asked May.
+
+"He's not ill. He is terribly depressed at times because so many of his
+old pupils are gone--for ever. But it's not that, not that that I mean.
+You know what learned men are, May?" Lady Dashwood did not ask a
+question, she was making an assertion.
+
+May Dashwood still gazed at the portrait but now she lowered her
+eyelids, looking critically through the narrowed space with her grey
+eyes.
+
+"No, I don't know what learned men are," she replied very slowly. "I
+have met so few."
+
+"Jim has taken----" and again Lady Dashwood hesitated.
+
+"Not to Eau Perrier?" almost whispered Mrs. Dashwood.
+
+"Certainly not," exclaimed Lady Dashwood. "I don't think he has touched
+alcohol since the War. It's nothing so elementary as that. I feel as if
+I were treacherous in talking about it--and yet I must talk about
+it--because you have to help me. A really learned man is so----"
+
+"Do you mean that he knows all about Julius Caesar," said May, "and
+nothing about himself?"
+
+"I shouldn't mind that so much," said the elder lady, grasping eagerly
+at this introduction to an analysis of the learned man. "I had better
+blurt it all out, May. Well--he knows nothing about women----" Lady
+Dashwood spoke with angry emphasis, but in a whisper.
+
+"Ah!" said Mrs. Dashwood, and now she stared deeply at one particular
+block of wood that was spitting quietly at the attacking flames. She
+raised her arm and laid her hand on her aunt Lena's shoulder. Then she
+squeezed the shoulder slightly as if to gently squeeze out a little more
+information.
+
+"Jim is--I'm not sure--but I'm suspicious--on the verge of getting into
+a mess," said her aunt still in a low voice.
+
+"Ah!" said May again. "With some woman?"
+
+"All perfectly proper," said Lady Dashwood, "but--oh, May--it's so
+unspeakably dreary and desolating."
+
+"Much older than he is?" asked May softly, with an emphasis on "much."
+
+"Very much younger," said Lady Dashwood. "Only eighteen!"
+
+"Not nice then?" asked May again softly.
+
+"Not anything--except pretty--and"--here Lady Dashwood had a strident
+bitterness in her voice--"and--she has a mother."
+
+"Ah!" said May.
+
+"You know Lady Belinda Scott?" asked Lady Dashwood.
+
+May Dashwood moved her head in assent. "Not having enough money for
+everything one wants is the root of all evil?" she said imitating
+somebody.
+
+"Belinda exactly! And all that you and I believe worth having in
+life--is no more to her--than to--to a monkey up a tree!"
+
+Mrs. Dashwood spoke thoughtfully. "We've come from monkeys and Lady
+Belinda thinks a great deal of her ancestry."
+
+"Then you understand why I'm anxious? You can imagine----"
+
+May moved her head in response, and then she suddenly turned her face
+towards her aunt and said in the same voice in which she had imitated
+Belinda before--
+
+"If dull people like to be dull, it's no credit to 'em!"
+
+Lady Dashwood laughed, but it was a hard bitter laugh.
+
+"Oh, May, you understand. Well, for the twenty-four hours that Belinda
+was here, she was on her best behaviour. You see, she had plans! You
+know her habit of sponging for weeks on people--she finds herself
+appreciated by the 'Nouveaux Riches.' Her title appeals to them. Well,
+Belinda has never made a home for her one child--not she!"
+
+Mrs. Dashwood's lips moved. "Poor child!" she said softly, and there was
+something in her voice that made Lady Dashwood aware of what she had
+momentarily forgotten in her excitement, that the arm resting on her
+shoulder was the arm of a woman not yet thirty, whose home had suddenly
+vanished. It had been riddled with bullets and left to die at the
+retreat from Mons.
+
+Lady Dashwood fell into a sudden silence.
+
+"Go on, dear Aunt Lena," said May Dashwood.
+
+"Well, dear," said Lady Dashwood, drawing in a deep breath, "Linda got
+wind of my coming here to put Jim straight and she pounced down upon me
+like a vulture, with Gwen, asked herself for one night, and then talked
+of 'old days, etc.,' and how she longed for Gwen to see something of our
+'old-world city.' So she simply made me keep the child for 'a couple of
+days,' then 'a week,' and then 'ten days'--and how could I turn the
+child out of doors? And so--I gave in--like a fool!" Then, after a
+pause, Lady Dashwood exclaimed--"Imagine Belinda as Jim's
+mother-in-law!"
+
+"But why should she be?" asked May.
+
+"That's the point. Belinda would prefer an American Wall Street man as a
+son-in-law or a Scotch Whisky Merchant, but they're not so easily
+got--it's a case of get what you can. So Jim is to be sacrificed."
+
+"But why?" persisted May quietly.
+
+"Why, because--although Jim has seen Belinda and heard her hard false
+voice, he doesn't see what she is. He is too responsible to imagine
+Belindas and too clever to imagine Gwens. Gwen is very pretty!"
+
+May looked again into the fire.
+
+"Now do you see what a weak fool I've been?" asked Lady Dashwood
+fiercely.
+
+"Lady Belinda will bleed him," said May.
+
+"When Belinda is Jim's mother-in-law, he'll have to pay for
+everything--even for her funeral!"
+
+"Wouldn't her funeral expenses be cheap at any price?" asked May.
+
+"They would," said Lady Dashwood. "How are we to kill her off? She'll
+live--for ever!"
+
+Then Mrs. Dashwood seemed to meditate briefly but very deeply, and at
+the end of her short silence she asked--
+
+"And where do I come in, Aunt Lena? What can I do for you?"
+
+Lady Dashwood looked a little startled.
+
+What May had actually got to do was: well, not to do anything but just
+to be sweet and amusing as she always was. She had got to show the
+Warden what a charming woman was like. And the rest, he had to do. He
+had to be fascinated! Lady Dashwood could see a vision of Gwen and her
+boxes going safely away from Oxford--even the name of Scott disappearing
+altogether from the Warden's recollection.
+
+But after that, what would happen? May too would have to go away. She
+was still mourning for her husband--still dreaming at night of that
+awful sudden news from France. May would, of course, go back to her work
+and leave the Warden to--well--anything in the wide world was better
+than "Belinda and Co." And it was this certainty that anything was
+better than Belinda and Co., this passionate conviction, that had
+filled Lady Dashwood's mind--to the exclusion of all other things.
+
+It had not occurred to her that May would ask the definite question,
+"What am I to do?" It was an awkward question.
+
+"What I want you to do," said Lady Dashwood, speaking slowly, while she
+swiftly sought in her mind for an answer that would be truthful and
+yet--inoffensive. "Why, May, I want you to give me your moral support."
+
+May looked away from the fire and contemplated the point of her boot,
+and then she looked at the point of Lady Dashwood's shoe--they were both
+on the fender rim side by side--May's right boot, Lady Dashwood's left
+shoe.
+
+"Your moral support," repeated Lady Dashwood. "Well, then you stay a
+week. Many, many thanks. To-night I shall sleep well."
+
+Lady Dashwood was conscious that "moral support" did not quite serve the
+purpose she wanted, she had not quite got hold of the right words.
+
+May's profile was absolutely in repose, but Lady Dashwood could feel
+that she was pondering over that expression "moral support." So Lady
+Dashwood was driven to repeat it once more. "Moral support," she said
+very firmly. "Your moral support is what I want, dear May."
+
+They had not heard the drawing-room door open, but they heard it close
+although it was done softly, and both ladies turned away from the fire.
+
+Gwendolen Scott had come in and was walking towards them, dressed in
+white and looking very self-conscious and pretty.
+
+"But you haven't told me," said Mrs. Dashwood tactfully, as if merely
+continuing their talk, "who that portrait represents?"
+
+"Oh, an old Warden," replied Lady Dashwood indifferently. "Moral
+support" or not--the compact had been made. May was pledged for the
+week. All was well! Lady Dashwood could look at Gwen now with an easy,
+even an affectionate smile. "Gwen, let me introduce you to Mrs. Jack
+Dashwood," she said.
+
+Gwen had expected Mrs. Dashwood to be an elderly relative of the family
+who would not introduce any new element into the Warden's little
+household. She had not for a moment anticipated _this_! It was
+disconcerting. Gwen was very much afraid of clever women, they moved and
+looked and spoke as if they had been given a key "to the situation,"
+though what that key was and what that situation exactly was Gwen did
+not quite grasp.
+
+Even the way in which Mrs. Dashwood put her hand out for a scarf she had
+thrown on to a chair; the way she moved her feet, moved her head; the
+way her plain black dress and the long plain coat hung about her, her
+manner of looking at Gwen and accepting her as a person whom she was
+about to know, all this mysterious "cachet" of her personality--made
+Gwen uneasy. Besides this elegant woman was not exactly elderly--about
+twenty-eight perhaps. Gwen was very much disconcerted at this unexpected
+complication at the Lodgings--her life had been for the last few months
+since she left school in July, crowded with difficulties.
+
+"I don't think I want that man to speak," said Mrs. Dashwood, turning
+her head to look back at the portrait.
+
+"What a funny thing to say!" thought Gwen, about a mere portrait, and
+she sniggled a little. "He's got a ghost," she said aloud. "Hasn't he,
+Lady Dashwood?"
+
+"No," said Lady Dashwood briefly. "He hasn't got a ghost. The college
+has got a ghost----"
+
+"Oh, yes," said Gwen, "I mean that, of course."
+
+"If the ghost is--all that remains of the gentleman over the fireplace,"
+said Mrs. Dashwood, "I hope he doesn't appear often." She was still
+glancing back at the portrait.
+
+"Isn't it exciting?" said Gwen. "The ghost appears whenever anything is
+going to happen----"
+
+"My dear Gwen," said Lady Dashwood, "in that case the ghost might as
+well bring his bag and baggage and remain here."
+
+"What sort of ghost?" asked Mrs. Dashwood.
+
+"Oh, only an eighteenth-century ghost--the ghost of the college barber,"
+said Lady Dashwood. "When that man was Warden, the college barber went
+and cut his throat in the Warden's Library."
+
+"What for?" asked Mrs. Dashwood simply.
+
+"Because the Warden insisted on his doing the Fellows' hair in the new
+elaborate style of the period--on his old wages."
+
+Mrs. Dashwood pondered, still looking at the portrait.
+
+"I should have cut the Warden's throat--not my own," she said, "if I
+had, on my old wages, to curl and crimp instead of merely putting a bowl
+on the gentlemen's heads and snipping round."
+
+"But he had his revenge," said Gwen eagerly, "he comes and shows himself
+in the Library when a Warden dies."
+
+Lady Dashwood had not during these last few minutes been really thinking
+of the Warden or of the college barber, nor of his ghost. She was
+thinking that it was characteristic of Gwen to be excited by and
+interested in a silly ghost story--and it was equally characteristic of
+her to be unable to tell the story correctly.
+
+"He is supposed to appear in the Library when anything disastrous is
+going to happen to a Warden," she said, and no sooner were the words
+out of her mouth than she paused and began thinking of what she was
+saying. "Anything disastrous to a Warden!" She had not thought of the
+matter before--Jim was now Warden! Anything disastrous! A marriage may
+be a disaster. Death is not so disastrous as utter disappointment with
+life and the pain of an empty heart!
+
+"Come along, May," she said, trying to suppress a shiver that went
+through her frame. "Come along, May. Goodness gracious, it's nearly
+eight o'clock and we are going to dine at eight fifteen!"
+
+"I can dress in two shakes," said May Dashwood.
+
+"I've asked Mr. Boreham," said Lady Dashwood, pushing her niece gently
+before her towards the door and blessing her--in her under-thoughts
+("Bless you, May, dear dear May!"). "He talked so much about you the
+other day," she went on aloud, "that when I got your wire--I felt bound
+to ask him--I hope you don't mind."
+
+"Nobody does mind Mr. Boreham," said May. "I haven't seen him--for
+years."
+
+"You know his aunt left him Chartcote, so he has taken to haunting
+Oxford for the last three months. Talk of ghosts----"
+
+Then the door closed behind the two ladies and Gwen was left alone in
+the drawing-room. She went up to the clock. It was striking eight.
+Fifteen minutes and nothing to do! She would go and see if there were
+any letters. She went outside. Letters by the first post and by the last
+post were all placed on a table at the head of the staircase. Gwen went
+and looked at the table. Letters there were, all for the Warden! No!
+there was one for her, from her mother. She opened it nervously. Was it
+a scolding about losing that umbrella? Gwen began to read:
+
+
+     "My dear Gwen,
+
+    "I hope you understand that Lady Dashwood will keep you till the
+    3rd. You don't mention the Warden! Does that mean that you are
+    making no progress in that direction? Perhaps taking no trouble!
+
+    "The question is, where you will go on the 3rd?"
+
+
+Here Gwen's heart gave a thump of alarm and dismay.
+
+
+    "It is all off with your cousin Bridget. She writes that she can't
+    have you, because she has to be in town unexpectedly. This is only
+    an excuse. I am disappointed but not surprised, after that record
+    behaviour to me when the war broke out and after promising that I
+    should be in her show in France, and then backing out of it. Exactly
+    why, I found out only yesterday! You remember that General X. had
+    actually to separate two of the 'angels' that were flitting about on
+    their work of mercy and had come to blows over it. Well, one of the
+    two was your cousin Bridget. That didn't get photographed in the
+    papers. It would have looked sweet. But now I'm going to give you a
+    scolding. Bridget did get wind of your muddling about at the
+    Ringwood's little hospital this summer, and spending all your time
+    and energy on a man who I told you was no use. What's the good of
+    talking any more about it? I've talked till I'm blue--and yet you
+    will no doubt go and do the same thing again.
+
+    "I ought not to have to tell you that if you do come across any
+    stray Undergraduates, don't go for them. Nothing will come of it.
+    Try and keep this in your noddle. Go for Dr. Middleton--men of that
+    age are often silliest about girls--and don't simply go mooning
+    along. Then why did you go and lose your umbrella? You have nothing
+    in this wide world to think of but to keep yourself and your baggage
+    together.
+
+    "It's the second you have lost this year. I can't afford another.
+    You must 'borrow' one. Your new winter rig-out is more than I can
+    afford. I'm being dunned for bills that have only run two years. Why
+    can't I make you realise all this? What is the matter with you? Give
+    the maid who waits on you half a crown, nothing to the butler. Lady
+    D. is sure to see you off--and you can leave the taxi to her. Leave
+    your laundry bill at the back of a drawer--as if you had mislaid it.
+    I will send you a P.O. for your ticket to Stow."
+
+
+Here Gwen made a pause, for her heart was thumping loudly.
+
+
+    "There's nothing for it but to go to Nana's cottage at Stow for the
+    moment. I know it's beastly dull for you--but it's partly your own
+    fault that you are to have a dose of Stow. I'm full up for two
+    months and more, but I'll see what I can do for you at once. I am
+    writing to Mrs. Greenleafe Potten, to ask her if she will have you
+    for a week on Monday, but I'm afraid she won't. At Stow you won't
+    need anything but a few stamps and a penny for Sunday collection.
+    I've written to Nana. She only charges me ten shillings a week for
+    you. She will mend up your clothes and make two or three blouses for
+    you into the bargain. Don't attempt to help her. They must be done
+    properly. Get on with that flannelette frock for the Serb relief.
+    Address me still here.
+
+                                                      "Your very loving,
+
+                                                               "Mother."
+
+
+Nana's cottage at Stow! Thatch smelling of the November rains; a stuffy
+little parlour with a smoky fire. Forlorn trees outside shedding their
+last leaves into the ditch at the side of the lane. Her old nurse,
+nearly stone deaf, as her sole companion.
+
+Gwen felt her knees trembling under her. Her eyes smarted and a great
+sob came into her throat. She had no home. Nobody wanted her!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+PASSIONATE PITY
+
+
+A tear fell upon the envelope in her hand, and one fell upon the red
+carpet under her feet. She must try and not cry, crying made one ugly.
+She must go to her room as quickly as she could.
+
+Then came noiselessly out from the curtained door at Gwen's right hand
+the figure of Dr. Middleton. He was already dressed for dinner, his face
+composed and dignified as usual, but preoccupied as if the business of
+the day was not over. There were these letters waiting for him on the
+table. He came on, and Gwen, blinded by a big tear in each eye, vaguely
+knew that he stooped and swept up the letters in his hand. Then he
+turned his face towards her in his slow, deliberate way and looked. She
+closed her eyes, and the two tears squeezed between the lids, ran down
+her cheeks leaving the delicate rosy skin wet and shining under the
+electric light.
+
+Tears had rarely been seen by the Warden: never--in fact--until lately!
+He was startled by them and disconcerted.
+
+"Has anything happened?" he asked. "Anything serious?" It would need to
+be something very serious for tears!
+
+The gentleness of his voice only made the desolation in Gwen's heart the
+more poignant. In a week's time she would have to leave this beautiful
+kindly little home, this house of refuge. The fear she had had before of
+the Warden vanished at his sudden tenderness of tone; he seemed now
+something to cling to, something solid and protective that belonged to
+the world of ease and comfort, of good things; things to be desired
+above all else, and from which she was going to be cruelly banished--to
+Stow. She made a convulsive noise somewhere in her young throat, but was
+inarticulate.
+
+There came sounds of approaching steps. The Warden hesitated but only
+for a moment. He moved to the door of the library.
+
+"Come in here," he said, a little peremptorily, and he turned and opened
+it for Gwen.
+
+Gwen slid within and moving blindly, knocked herself against the
+protruding wing of his book-shelves. That made the Warden vexed with
+somebody, the somebody who had made the child cry so much that she
+couldn't see where she was going. He closed the door behind her.
+
+"You have bad news in that letter?" he asked. "Your mother is not ill?"
+
+Gwen shook her head and stared upon the floor, her lips twitching.
+
+"Anything you can talk over with Lady Dashwood?" he asked.
+
+"No," was the stifled answer with a shake of the dark head.
+
+"Can you tell me about it? I might be able to advise, help you?"
+
+"No!" This time the sound was long drawn out with a shrill sob.
+
+What was to be done?
+
+"Try not to cry!" he said gently. "Tell me what it is all about. If you
+need help--perhaps I can help you!"
+
+So much protecting sympathy given to her, after that letter, made Gwen
+feel the joy of utter weakness in the presence of strength, of saving
+support.
+
+"Shall I read that letter?" he asked, putting out his hand.
+
+Gwen clutched it tighter. No, no, that would be fatal! He laid his hand
+upon hers. Gwen began to tremble. She shook from head to foot, even her
+teeth chattered. She held tight on to that letter--but she leaned nearer
+to him.
+
+"Then," said the Warden, without removing his hand, "tell me what is
+troubling you? It is something in that letter?"
+
+Gwen moved her lips and made a great effort to speak.
+
+"It's--it's nothing!" she said.
+
+"Nothing!" repeated the Warden, just a little sternly.
+
+This was too much for Gwen, the tears rose again swiftly into her eyes
+and began to drop down her cheeks. "It's only----" she began.
+
+"Yes, tell me," said the Warden, coaxingly, for those tears hurt him,
+"tell me, child, never mind what it is."
+
+"It's only--," she began again, and now her teeth chattered, "only--that
+nobody cares what happens to me--I've got no home!"
+
+That this pretty, inoffensive, solitary child had no home, was no news
+to the Warden. His sister had hinted at it on the day that Gwen was left
+behind by her mother. But he had dismissed the matter, as not concerning
+the college or the reconstruction of National Education. Since then
+whenever it cropped up again, he again dismissed it, because--well,
+because his mind was not clear. Now, suddenly, he seemed to be more
+certain, his thoughts clearer. Each tear that Gwen dropped seemed to
+drop some responsibility upon him. His face must have betrayed
+this--perhaps his hands also. How it happened the Warden did not quite
+know, but he was conscious that the girl made a movement towards him,
+and then he found himself holding her in his arms. She was weeping
+convulsively into his shirt-front--weeping out the griefs of her
+childhood and girlhood and staining his shirt front with responsibility
+for them all, soaking him with petty cares, futile recollections, mean
+subterfuges, silly triumphs, sordid disappointments, all the small
+squalid moral muddle that Belinda Scotts call "life."
+
+All this smothered the Warden's shirt-front and trickled sideways into
+the softer part of that article of his dress.
+
+For the first few moments his power of thinking failed him. He was
+conscious only of his hands on her waist and shoulder, of the warmth of
+her dark hair against his face. He could feel her heart thumping,
+thumping in her slender body against his.
+
+A knock came at the door.
+
+The Warden came to himself. He released the weeping girl gently and
+walked to the door.
+
+He opened it, holding it in his hand. "What is it, Robinson?" he asked,
+for he had for the moment forgotten that it was dinner time, and that a
+guest was expected.
+
+"Mr. Boreham is in the drawing-room, sir," said the old servant very
+meekly, for he met the narrow eyes fixed coldly upon him.
+
+"Very well," said the Warden, and he closed the door again.
+
+Then he turned round and looked at Gwendolen Scott. She was standing
+exactly where he had left her, standing with her hands clutching at a
+little pocket-handkerchief and her letter. She was waiting. Her wet
+eyelashes almost rested on her flushed cheeks. Her lips were slightly
+swollen. She was not crying, she was still and silent. She was
+waiting--her conceit for the moment gone--she was waiting to know from
+him what was going to become of her. Her whole drooping attitude was
+profoundly humble. The humility of it gave Middleton a strange pang of
+pain and pleasure.
+
+The way in which the desire for power expresses itself in a man or woman
+is the supreme test of character. The weak fritter away on nothings the
+driving force of this priceless instinct; this instinct that has raised
+us from primeval slime to the mastery of the world. The weak waste it,
+it seems to slip through their fingers and vanish. Only the strong can
+bend this spiritual energy to the service of an important issue, and the
+strongest of all do this unconsciously, so that He, who is supreme
+Master of the souls of men, could say, "Why callest thou _Me_ good?"
+
+The Warden in his small sphere of academic life showed himself to be one
+of the strong sort. His mind was analytical rather than constructive,
+but among all the crowded teaching staff of Oxford only one other
+man--and he, too, now the head of a famous college--had given as much of
+himself to his pupils. Indeed, so much had the Warden given, that he had
+left little for himself. His time and his extraordinarily wide
+knowledge, materials that he had gathered for his own use, all were at
+the service of younger men who appealed to him for guidance. He grasped
+at opportunities for them, found gaps that they could fill, he
+criticised, suggested, pushed; and so the years went on, and his own
+books remained unwritten. Only now, when a new world seemed to him to be
+in the making--he sat down deliberately to give his own thoughts
+expression.
+
+Men like Middleton are rare in any University; a man unselfish enough
+and able enough to spend himself, sacrifice himself in "making men." And
+even this outstanding usefulness, this masterly hold he had of the best
+men who passed through King's would not have forced his colleagues to
+elect him as Warden. They made him Warden because they couldn't help
+themselves, because he was in all ways the dominating personality of the
+college, and even the book weary, the dull, the frankly cynical among
+the Fellows could not escape from the conviction that King's would be
+safe in Middleton's hands, so there was no reason to seek further
+afield.
+
+But women and sentiment had played a very small part in the Warden's
+life. His acquaintance with women had been superficial. He did not
+profess to understand them. Gwendolen Scott had for several days sat at
+his table, looking like a flower. That her emotions were shallow and her
+mind vacant did not occur to the Warden. She was like a flower--that was
+all! His business had been with men--young men. And just now, as one by
+one, these young men, once the interest and pride of his college, were
+stricken down as they stood upon the very threshold of life, the
+Warden's heart had become empty and aching.
+
+And now, on this autumn evening, this sobbing girl seemed, somehow, all
+part of the awful tragedy that was being enacted, only in her case--he
+had the power to help. He need not let her wander alone into the
+wilderness of life.
+
+For the first time in his life, his sense of power betrayed him. It was
+in his own hands to mould the future of this helpless girl--so he
+imagined!
+
+He experienced two or three delicious moments as he walked towards her,
+knowing that she would melt into his arms and give up all her sorrows
+into his keeping. She was waiting on his will! But was this love?
+
+The Warden was well aware that it was not love, such as a man of his
+temperament conceived love to be.
+
+But his youth was passed. The time had gone when he could fall in love
+and marry a common mortal under the impression that she was an angel.
+Was it likely that now, in middle life, he would find a woman who would
+rouse the deepest of his emotions or satisfy the needs of his life?
+
+Why should he expect to find at forty, what few men meet in the prime of
+youth? All that he could expect now--hope for--was standing there
+waiting for him. Waiting with blushes, timid, dawning hope; full of
+trust and so pathetically humble!
+
+He took her into his arms and spoke, and his voice was steady but very
+low and a little husky.
+
+"There is no time to talk now. But you shall not go out into the
+wilderness of life, if you are afraid."
+
+She pressed her face closer to him--in answer.
+
+"If you want to, if you care to--come to me, I shall not refuse you a
+home. You understand?"
+
+She did fully understand. Her mother's letter had made it clearer than
+ever to her that marriage with somebody sufficiently well off is a haven
+of refuge for a woman, a port to be steered for with all available
+strength.
+
+Suddenly and unexpectedly Gwen had found herself in harbour, and the
+stormy sea passed.
+
+"Run up to your room now," he said, "and bathe your face and come down
+to the drawing-room as if nothing had happened."
+
+He did not kiss her. A thought, such as only disturbs a man of
+scrupulous honour, came to him. He was so much older than she was that
+she must have time to think--she must come to him and ask for what he
+could give her--not, as she was just now--convulsed with grief; she must
+come quietly and confidently and with her mind made up. There must be no
+working upon her emotions, no urgency of his own will over a weaker
+will; no compulsion such as a strong man can exercise over a weak woman.
+
+He pushed her gently away, and she raised her head, smiling through her
+tears and murmuring something: what was it? Was it "Thanks;" but she
+did not look him in the face, she dare not meet those narrow blue eyes
+that were bent upon her.
+
+He stood watching her as she moved lightly to the door. There she turned
+back, and even then she did not raise her eyes to his face, but she
+smiled a strange bewildered smile into the air and fled.
+
+It was really _she_ who had conquered, and with such feeble weapons.
+
+She had gone. The door was closed. The Warden was alone.
+
+He looked round the room, at the book-lined walls, at his desk strewn
+with papers, and then the whole magnitude and meaning of what he had
+done--came to him!
+
+He took out his watch. It was twenty past eight--all but a minute. In
+less than twenty minutes he had disposed of and finally settled one of
+the most important affairs of life. Was this the action of a sane man?
+
+During the last few days he had gradually been drifting towards this,
+just drifting. He had been dreaming of it all the time, dreaming in that
+part of his brain where the mind works out its problems underground,
+waiting until the higher world of consciousness calls for them, and they
+are flung out into the open daylight--solved. A solution found without
+real solid premeditation.
+
+Was the solution to his life's problem a good one, or a bad one? Was it
+true to his past life, or was it false? Can a man successfully live out
+a plan that he has only dimly outlined in a dream and swiftly finished
+in a passion of pity?
+
+It was Middleton's duty as host to go into the drawing-room. He must go
+at once and think afterwards. And yet he lingered. She might not claim
+him. She too might have been moved only by a momentary emotion! But
+what right had he to be speculating on the chance of release? It was a
+bad beginning!
+
+On the floor lay a letter. The Warden had not noticed it before. He
+picked it up. It was the letter that she had held in her trembling
+hands.
+
+He stood holding it, and then suddenly he opened the flap and pulled the
+sheet from its cover. He unfolded it and looked at the signature. Yes,
+it was from her mother. He folded the paper again and put it back in the
+envelope.
+
+Then as he stood for a moment, with the letter in his hand, he perceived
+that his shirt-front was stained--with her tears.
+
+He left the library and went towards his bedroom behind the curtained
+door. He had the letter in his hand. He caught sight of Louise, Lady
+Dashwood's maid, near the drawing-room door. The Warden held the letter
+out to her.
+
+"Please put this letter in Miss Scott's room," he said. "I found it
+lying on the floor;" and he went back into his room.
+
+Louise had gone to the drawing-room with a handkerchief forgotten by
+Lady Dashwood. She took the letter and went upstairs to her mistress's
+room, gazing at the letter as she walked. Now Louise was not a French
+woman for nothing. A letter--even an open letter--passing between a male
+and a female, must relate to an affair of the heart. This was
+interesting--exciting! Louise felt the necessity of thinking the matter
+out. Here was a pretty young lady, Miss Scott, and here was the Warden,
+not indeed very young, but _tres tres bien, tres distingue_! Very well,
+if the young lady was married, then well, naturally something would
+happen! But she was "Miss," and that was quite other thing. Young
+unmarried girls must be protected--it is so in _la belle France_.
+Louise pulled the envelope apart and drew out the contents. She opened
+the letter, and searched for the missive between its folds which was
+destined for the hands of "Miss." There was none. Louise spread out the
+letter. Her knowledge of English as a spoken language was limited, and
+as a written language it was an unending puzzle.
+
+She could, however, read the beginning and the end.
+
+"Dear Gwen" ... and "Mother." _Hein!_
+
+The reason why the letter had been put into her hands was just because
+she could not read it.
+
+What cunning! Without doubt, there were some additions added by the
+Warden here and there to the maternal messages, which would have their
+significance to "Miss." Again, what cunning!
+
+And the Warden, so dignified and so just as he ought to be! Ah, my God,
+but one never knows!
+
+Louise folded up the letter and replaced it in its envelope.
+
+Doubtless my Lady Dashwood was in the dark. Oh, completely! That goes
+without saying. Louise had already tidied the room. There was nothing
+more for her to do. She had been on the point of going down to the
+servants' quarters. Should she take the letter as directed to the room
+occupied by "Miss"? That was the momentous question. Now Louise was
+bound hand and foot to the service of Lady Dashwood. Only for the sake
+of that lady would Louise have endured the miseries of Oxford and the
+taciturnity of Robinson, and the impertinence of Robinson's grandson,
+Robinson aged fifteen, and the stupid solemnity of Mrs. Robinson, the
+daughter-in-law of Robinson and the widowed mother of the young
+Robinson.
+
+Louise loved Lady Dashwood. Lady Dashwood was munificent and always
+amiable, things very rare. Also Louise was a widow and had two children
+in whom Lady Dashwood took an interest.
+
+That Monsieur, the head of the College, should secretly communicate with
+a "Miss" was a real scandal. _Propos d'amour_ are not for young ladies
+who are unmarried. The Warden ought to have known better than that----
+Ah, poor Lady Dashwood!
+
+Torn between the desire to participate in an interesting affair and her
+duty not to assist scandals in the family of my Lady Dashwood, Louise
+stood for some time plunged in painful argument with herself. At last
+her sense of duty prevailed! She would not deliver the letter. No, not
+if her life depended on it. The question was---- Ah, this would be what
+she would do. A brilliant idea had struck her. Louise went to the
+dressing-table. It was covered with Lady Dashwood's toilet things, all
+neatly arranged. On the top of the jewel drawers at one side lay two
+envelopes, letters that had come by the last post and had been put aside
+hurriedly by Lady Dashwood. Louise lifted these two letters and
+underneath them placed the letter addressed to Miss Gwendolen Scott.
+
+"Good!" exclaimed Louise to the empty room. "The letter is now in the
+disposition of the Good God! And the Warden! All that there is of the
+most as it ought to be! Ah, but it is incredible!"
+
+Louise went to the door and put out the lights. Then she closed the door
+softly behind her and went downstairs.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE UNFORESEEN HAPPENS
+
+
+Before his maternal aunt had left him Chartcote, the Honourable Bernard
+Boreham's income had been just sufficient to enable him to live without
+making himself useful. The Boreham estate in Ireland was burdened with
+obligations to female relatives who lived in various depressing
+watering-places in England. Bernard, the second son, had not been sent
+to a public school or University. He had struggled up as best he might,
+and like all the members of his family, he had left his beloved country
+as soon as he possibly could, and had picked up some extra shillings in
+London by writing light articles of an inflammatory nature for papers
+that required them. Boreham had had no real practical acquaintance with
+the world. He had never been responsible for any one but himself. He was
+a floating cloudlet. Ideas came to him easily--all the more easily
+because he was scantily acquainted with the mental history of the past.
+He did not know what had been already thought out and dismissed, nor
+what had been tried and had failed. The world was new to him--new--and
+full of errors.
+
+From the moment that Chartcote became his and he was his own master, it
+occurred to him that he might write a really great book. A book that
+would make the world conscious of its follies. He felt that it was time
+that some one--like himself--who could shed the superstitions and the
+conventions of the past and step out a new man with new ideas,
+uncorrupted by kings or priests (or Oxford traditions), and give a lead
+to the world.
+
+It was, of course, an unfortunate circumstance that Oxford was now so
+military, so smitten by the war and shorn of her pomp, so empty of
+academic life. But after the war Boreham meant among other things to
+study Oxford, and if perfectly frank criticism could help her to a
+better understanding of her faults in view of the world's
+requirements--well, it should have that criticism. Boreham had
+considerable leisure, for apart from his big Book which he began to
+sketch, he found nothing to do. Every sort of work that others were
+doing for the war he considered radically faulty, and he had no scheme
+of his own--at the moment. Besides, he felt that England was not all she
+ought to be. He did not love England--he only liked living in England.
+
+Boreham had arrived punctually for dinner on that October evening; in
+fact, he had arrived too early; but he told Lady Dashwood that his watch
+was fast.
+
+"All the clocks in Oxford are wrong," he said to her, as he stood on the
+hearthrug in the drawing-room, "and mine is wrong!"
+
+Boreham was tall and fair and wore a fair pointed beard. His features
+were not easy to describe in detail, they gave one the impression that
+they had been cut with insufficient premeditation by the hand of his
+Creator, from some pale fawn-coloured material. He wore a single
+eyeglass which he stuck into a pale blue eye, mainly as an aid to
+conversation. With Boreham conversation meant an exposition of his own
+"ideas." He was disappointed at finding only Lady Dashwood in the
+drawing-room; but she had been really good natured in asking him to come
+and meet May Dashwood, so he was "conversing" freely with her when the
+door opened and Gwendolen Scott came in. Boreham started and put his
+eyeglass in the same eye again, instead of exercising the other eye. He
+was agitated. When he saw that it was not May Dashwood who had come in,
+but a youthful female unknown to him and probably of no conversational
+significance, he dropped his glass on to his shirt-front, where it made
+a dull thud. Gwen's face was flushed, and her lips still a little
+swollen; but there was nothing that betrayed tears to strangers, though
+Lady Dashwood saw at once that she had been crying. As soon as the
+introduction was over Gwen sank into a large easy-chair where her slight
+figure was almost obliterated.
+
+She had got back her self-control. It had not, after all, been so
+difficult to get it back--for the glow of a new excitement possessed
+her. For the first time in her life she had succeeded. Until to-day she
+had had no luck. At a cheap school for the "Education of Daughters of
+Officers" Gwen had not learnt more than she could possibly help. Her
+first appearance in the world, this last summer, had been, considering
+her pretty face, on the whole a disappointment. But now she was
+successful. Gwen tingled with the comfortable warmth of self-esteem. She
+looked giddily round the spacious room--was it possible that all this
+might be hers? It was amazing that luck should have just dropped into
+her lap.
+
+Boreham had turned again to Lady Dashwood as soon as he had been
+introduced and had executed the reverential bow that he considered
+proper, however contemptuously he might feel towards the female he
+saluted.
+
+"As we were saying," he went on, "Middleton--except to-day--has always
+been punctual to the minute, by that I mean punctual to the fastest
+Oxford time. He is the sort of man who is born punctual. Punctually he
+came into the world. Punctually he will go out of it. He has never been
+what I call a really free man. In other words, he is a slave to what's
+called 'Duty.'"
+
+Here the door opened again, and again Boreham was unable to conceal his
+vivid curiosity as he turned to see who it was coming in. This time it
+was the Warden--the Warden in a blameless shirt-front. He had changed in
+five minutes. He walked in composed as usual. There was not a trace in
+his face that in the library only a few minutes ago he had been
+disposing of his future with amazing swiftness.
+
+"Go on, Boreham," said the Warden, giving his guest, along with the
+glance that serves in Oxford as sufficient greeting to frequenters of
+Common Room, a slight grasp of the hand because he was not a member of
+Common Room. The Warden had not heard Boreham's remarks, he merely knew
+that he had interrupted some exposition of "ideas."
+
+In a flash the Warden saw, without looking at her, that Gwen was there,
+half hidden in a chair; and Gwen, on her side, felt her heart thump, and
+was proudly and yet fearfully conscious of every movement of the Warden
+as he walked across the room and stood on the other side of the
+hearthrug. "Does he--does that important person belong to me?" she
+thought. The conviction was overpowering that if that important person
+did belong to her, and it appeared that he did, she also must be
+important.
+
+Boreham's appearance did not gain in attractiveness by the proximity of
+his host. He began again in his rapid rather high voice.
+
+"You see for yourself," he said, turning back to Lady Dashwood: "here he
+is--the very picture of what is conventionally correct, his features,
+his manner, before which younger men who are not so correct actually
+quail. I'm afraid that now he is Warden he has lost the chance of
+becoming a free man. I had hopes of one day seeing him carried off his
+feet by some impulse which fools call 'folly.' If he could have been
+even once divinely drunk, he might have realised his true self, I am
+afraid now he is hopeless."
+
+"My dear man, your philosophy of freedom is only suitable for the 'idle
+rich.' You would be the first person to object to your cook becoming
+divinely drunk instead of soberly preparing your dinner."
+
+Boreham always ignored an argument that told against him, so he merely
+continued--
+
+"As it is, Middleton, who might have been magnificent, is bound hand and
+foot to the service of mere propriety, and will end by saddling himself
+with some dull wife."
+
+The Warden stood patient and composed while Boreham was talking about
+him. He took out his watch and glanced at Lady Dashwood.
+
+"I've given May five minutes' grace," she said, and then turned her face
+again to Boreham. "But why should Jim marry a dull wife? It will be his
+own fault if he does."
+
+Gwen in her large chair sat stupefied at the word "wife."
+
+"No," said Boreham, emphatically. "It won't be his fault. The best of
+our sex are daily sacrificed to the most dismal women. Men being in the
+minority now--dangerously in the minority--are, as all minorities are,
+imposed upon by the gross majority. Supposing Middleton meets, to speak
+to, in his whole life, a couple of hundred women here and elsewhere,
+none of whom are in the least charming; well, then, one out of these two
+hundred, the one with the most brazen determination to be married, will
+marry him, and there'll be an end of it. The kindest thing, Lady
+Dashwood," continued Boreham, "and I speak from the great love I have
+for Middleton, is for you just to invite with sisterly discrimination
+some women, not quite unbearable to Middleton, and he, like the Emperor
+Theophilus, will come into this room with an apple in his hand and
+present it to one of them. He can make the same remark that Theophilus
+made to the lady he first approached."
+
+"And what was that?" asked Lady Dashwood. She was amused at finding the
+conversation turn on the very subject nearest her heart. Even Mr.
+Boreham was proving himself useful in uttering this blunt warning of
+dangers ahead.
+
+"His remark was: 'Woman is the source of evil.' And the lady's reply
+was----"
+
+Both Lady Dashwood and Gwen were gazing intently at Boreham and Boreham
+was staring fixedly at the ornament in Lady Dashwood's grey hair. No one
+but the Warden noticed the door open and May Dashwood enter. She was
+dressed in black and wore no ornaments. She had caught the gist of what
+Boreham was saying, and she made the most delightful movement of her
+hands to Middleton that expressed both respectful greeting to him as her
+host, and an apology for remaining motionless on the threshold of the
+room, so that she should not break Boreham's story.
+
+"And her reply was," went on the unconscious Boreham, "'But surely also
+of much good!'"
+
+So that was all! May Dashwood came forward and walked straight up to the
+Warden. She held out both her hands to him in apology for her behaviour.
+
+"I hope he--whoever he was--did not marry the young woman who made such
+an obvious retort," she said. "Fancy what the conversation would be like
+at the breakfast table."
+
+Boreham was too much occupied with his own interesting emotions at the
+sudden appearance of Mrs. Dashwood to notice what was plain to Lady
+Dashwood and Gwendolen Scott, that the Warden seemed wholly taken by
+surprise.
+
+"He didn't marry her," he said, as he held May Dashwood's hands for a
+moment and stared down into her upturned face with his narrow eyes.
+"But," he added, "the story is probably a fake."
+
+"Ah!" said Mrs. Dashwood, as she released her hands. Then she turned to
+Boreham, who was waiting--a picture of self-consciousness in pale fawn.
+
+Gwen's recently regained self-confidence was already oozing out of every
+pore of her skin. It didn't matter when the Warden and Mr. Boreham
+talked queer talk, that was to be expected; but what did matter was this
+Mrs. Dashwood talking queerly with them. Rubbish she, Gwen, called it.
+What did that Mrs. Dashwood mean by saying that the retort, "And also of
+much good," was obvious? What did "obvious" mean? To Gwen the retort
+seemed profoundly clever--and so true! How was she, Gwen, to cope with
+this sort of thing? And then there was the Warden already giving this
+terrible woman his arm and looking at her far too closely.
+
+"Come, Gwen," said Lady Dashwood, "Mr. Boreham must take us both!"
+
+Gwen's head swam. Along with this new and painful sensation had come a
+sudden recollection of something! That letter of her mother's! It had
+not been in her hand when she went into her bedroom. No, it had not. Had
+she dropped it in the library, when the Warden had---- Oh!
+
+"I've lost my handkerchief," murmured the girl, "somewhere----" Her
+voice was very small and sad, and she looked helplessly round the room.
+
+"Mr. Boreham, stop and help her find it," said Lady Dashwood, "I must go
+down."
+
+Boreham stood rigidly at the door. He saw his hostess go out and still
+he did not move.
+
+Gwen looked at him in despair. What she had intended, of course, was to
+have flown into the library and looked for her letter. How could she
+now, with Mr. Boreham standing in the way? And that terrible woman had
+gone off arm-in-arm with the Warden. Gwen stared at Boreham. An idea
+struck her. She would go into the library--after dinner--before the men
+came up. But she must pretend to look for her handkerchief for a minute
+or two.
+
+"Do you call Mrs. Dashwood pretty?" she asked tremulously, not looking
+at Boreham, but diving her hand into the corners of the chair she had
+been sitting in. She must find out what men thought of Mrs. Dashwood.
+She must know the worst--now, when she had the opportunity.
+
+"Pretty!" said Boreham, still motionless at the door. "That's not a
+useful word. She's alluring."
+
+"Oh!" said Gwen. She had left off thumping the chair, and now walked
+slowly to him--wide-eyed with anxiety. To Gwen, a man past his youth,
+wearing a fair beard and fair eyebrows that were stiff and stuck out
+like spikes, was scarcely a person of sex at all; but still he would
+probably know what men thought.
+
+"I don't think she is pretty--very," she said, her lips trembling a
+little as she spoke, and she gazed in a challenging way at Boreham.
+
+"She is the most womanly woman I know," said Boreham. "Middleton is
+probably finding that out already."
+
+Gwen patted her waistband where it bulged ever so slightly with her
+handkerchief. "Womanly!" she repeated in a doubtful voice.
+
+"He'll fall in love with her to-day and propose to-morrow. Do him a
+world of good," said Boreham.
+
+"Propose!" Gwen caught her breath. "But he couldn't--she couldn't--he
+couldn't--marry!"
+
+"Couldn't marry--I didn't say marry--I said he will propose to-morrow."
+Boreham laughed a little in his beard.
+
+"I don't understand," stammered the girl. "You mean--she would refuse?"
+
+"No," said Boreham. "It mightn't go as far as that--the whole thing is a
+matter of words--words--words. It's a part of a man's education to fall
+in love with Mrs. Dashwood!"
+
+Gwen blinked at him. A piercing thought struck her brain. Spoken
+words--they didn't count! Words alone didn't clinch the bargain! Words
+didn't tie a man up to his promise. Was this the "law"? She must get at
+the actual "law" of the matter. She knew something about love-making,
+but nothing about the "law."
+
+"Do you mean," she said, and she scarcely recognised her own voice, so
+great was her concentration of thought and so slowly did she pronounce
+the enigmatic words, "if he had kissed you as well, he would be obliged
+to marry one?"
+
+Boreham knitted his brows. "If I was, at this moment to kiss you, my
+dear lady," he began, "I should not be compelled to marry you. Even the
+gross injustice meted out to us men by the laws (backed up by Mrs.
+Grundy) dares not go as far as that. But there is no knowing what new
+oppression is in store for us--in the future."
+
+"I only mean," stammered Gwen, "_if_ he had already said--something."
+
+Boreham simply stared at her. "I am confused," he said. "Confused!"
+
+"Oh, please don't imagine that I meant you," she entreated. "I never for
+one single instant thought of you. I should never have imagined! I am so
+sorry!"
+
+And yet this humble apology did not mollify him. Gwen almost felt
+frightened. Everything seemed going to pieces, and she was no nearer
+knowing what the legal aspects of her case were.
+
+"Have you found your handkerchief?" Boreham asked, and the spikes in his
+eyebrows seemed to twitch.
+
+"It was in my band, all the time," said Gwen, smiling deprecatingly.
+"Oh, what a bother everything was!"
+
+"Then we have wasted precious time for nothing," said Boreham. "All the
+fun is going on downstairs--come along, Miss Wallace."
+
+Boreham knew her name wasn't Wallace, but Wallace was Scotch and that
+was near enough, when he was angry.
+
+Gwen went downstairs as if she were in an ugly dream. Her brief
+happiness and security and pleasure at her own importance was vanishing.
+This broad staircase that she was descending on Boreham's stiff and
+rebellious arm; this wall with its panelling and its dim pictures of
+strange men's faces; these wide doors thrown back through which one went
+solemnly into the long dining-room; this dining-room itself dim and
+dignified; all this was going to be hers--only----. Gwendolen, as she
+emerged into the glow of the long oval table, could see nothing but the
+face of Mrs. Dashwood, gently brilliant, and the Warden roused to
+attentive interest. What was Gwen to do? There was nobody whom she could
+consult. Should she write to her mother? Her mother would scold her!
+What, then, was she to do? Perhaps she had better write to her mother,
+and let her see that she had, at any rate, tried her best. And in saying
+the words to herself "tried her best," Gwen was not speaking the truth
+even to herself. She had not tried at all; the whole thing had come
+about accidentally. It had somehow happened!
+
+Instead of going straight to bed that evening Gwen seated herself at
+the writing-table in her bedroom. She must write a letter to her mother
+and ask for advice. The letter must go as soon as possible. Gwen knew
+that if she put it off till the morning, it might never get written. She
+was always too sleepy to get up before breakfast. In Oxford breakfast
+for Dons was at eight o'clock, and that was far too early, as it was,
+for Gwen. Then after breakfast, there was "no time" to do anything, and
+so on, during the rest of the day.
+
+So Gwen sat at her writing-table and wrote the longest letter she had
+ever written. Gwen's handwriting was pointed, it was also shaky, and
+generally ran downhill, or else uphill.
+
+
+    "Dear Mummy,
+
+    "Please write and tell me what to do? I've done all I could, but
+    everything is in a rotten muddle. This evening I was crying, crying
+    a little at your letter--I really couldn't help it--but anyhow it
+    turned out all right--and the Warden suddenly came along the passage
+    and saw me. He took me into his library, I don't know how it all
+    happened, Mummy, but he put his arms round me and told me to come to
+    him if I wanted a home. He was sweet, and I naturally thought this
+    was true, and I said 'Yes' and 'Thanks.' There wasn't time for more,
+    because of dinner. But a Mr. Boarham, who is a sort of cousin of Dr.
+    Middleton, says that proposals are all words and that you needn't be
+    married. What am I to do? I don't know if I am really engaged or
+    not--because the Warden hasn't said anything more--and suppose he
+    doesn't---- Isn't it rotten? Do write and tell me what to do, for I
+    feel so queer. What makes me worried is Mrs. Dashwood, a widow,
+    talks so much. At dinner the Warden seemed so much taken up by
+    her--quite different. But then after dinner it wasn't like that. We
+    sat in the drawing-room all the time and at least the men smoked and
+    Lady Dashwood and me, but not Mrs. Dashwood, who said she was Early
+    Victorian, and ought to have died long ago. She worked. Lady
+    Dashwood said that she smoked because she was a silly old heathen,
+    and that made me feel beastly. It wasn't fair--but Lady Dashwood is
+    often rather nasty. But afterwards _he_ was nice, and asked me to
+    play my reverie by Slapovski. I have never forgotten it, Mummy,
+    though I haven't been taught it for six months. I am telling you
+    everything so that you know what has happened. Well, Mr. Borham
+    said, 'For God's sake don't let's have any music.' He said that like
+    he always does. It is very rude. Of course I refused to play, and
+    the Warden was so nice, and he looked at me very straight and did
+    not look at Mrs. Dashwood now. I think it must be all right. He sat
+    in an armchair opposite us, and put his elbow on the arm and held
+    the back of his neck--he does that, and smoked again and stared all
+    the time at the carpet by Mrs. Dashwood's shoes, and never looked at
+    her, but talked a lot. I can't understand what they say, and it is
+    worse now Mrs. D. is here. Only once I saw him look up at her, and
+    then he had that severe look. So I don't think any harm has
+    happened. You know what I mean, Mummie. I was afraid he might like
+    her. I tell you everything so as you can judge and advise me, for I
+    could not tell all this to old Lady Dashwood, of course. Lady
+    Dashwood says smoking cigars in the drawing-room is good for the
+    furniture!!! I thought it very disgusting of Mr. Borham to say, 'For
+    God's sake.' He used not to believe in God, and even now he hasn't
+    settled whether there is a God. We are all to go to Chartcote House
+    for lunch. There is to be a Bazaar--I forget what for, somewhere. I
+    have no money except half-a-crown. I have not paid for my laundry,
+    so I can leave that in a drawer. Now, dear Mummy, do write at once
+    and say exactly what I am to do, and tell me if I am engaged or not.
+
+                                            "Your affectionate daughter,
+
+                                                                  "Gwen.
+
+    "I like the Warden ever so much, and partly because he does not wear
+    a beard. I feel very excited, but am trying not to. Mrs. D. is to
+    stay a whole week, till I go on the 3rd."
+
+
+Gwen laid down her pen and sat looking at the sheet of paper before her.
+She had told her mother "everything." She had omitted nothing, except
+that her mother's letter had dropped somewhere, either in the library or
+the staircase, and she could not find it again. If it had dropped in the
+library, somebody had picked it up. Supposing the Warden had picked it
+up and read it? The clear sharp understanding of "honour" possessed by
+the best type of Englishman and Englishwoman was not possessed by
+Gwen--it has not been acquired by the Belindas of Society or of the
+Slums. But no, Gwen felt sure that the Warden hadn't found it, or he
+would have been very, very angry. Then who had picked it up?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+WAITING
+
+
+If Pilate had uttered the sardonic remark "What is truth?" in Boreham's
+presence, he would certainly have compelled that weary official to wait
+for definite enlightenment. Boreham would have explained to him that
+although Absolute Truth (if there is such a thing) lies, like our
+Destiny, in the lap of the gods, he, Boreham, had a thoroughly reliable
+stock of useful truths with which he could supply any inquirer. Indeed
+to Boreham, the discussing of truths was a comparatively simple matter.
+Truths were of two kinds. Firstly, they were what he, himself, was
+convinced of at the moment of speaking; and secondly, they were _not_
+what the man next him believed in. Boreham found intolerable any
+assertion made by people he knew. He knew them! _Voila!_ But he felt he
+could very fairly well trust opinions expressed by the native
+inhabitants of--say Pomerania--or still better--India.
+
+Boreham had already some acquaintances in Oxford to whom he spoke, as he
+said himself, "frankly and fearlessly," and who tolerated him, whenever
+they had time to listen to him, because he was entirely harmless and
+merely tiresome. But he was not surprised (it had occurred before) that
+the Warden refused his invitation to lunch at Chartcote. The ladies had
+accepted; and when Boreham said "the ladies," on this occasion he was
+thinking solely of Mrs. Dashwood. Lady Dashwood had accepted the
+invitation because it was given verbally. She made no purely social
+engagements. The Warden, himself, did not entertain during the war, and
+the only engagements were those of business, or of hospitality of an
+academic nature.
+
+The day following May Dashwood's arrival was entirely uneventful. The
+Warden was mostly invisible. May was as bright as she had been on her
+arrival. Gwen went about wide-eyed and wistful, and spoke spasmodically.
+Lady Dashwood was serene and satisfied. A shy Don accompanied by a very
+nice, untidy wife, appeared at lunch, and they were introduced by the
+Warden as Mr. and Mrs. Stockwell. Mr. Stockwell was struck dumb at
+finding himself seated next to Mrs. Dashwood, a type of female little
+known to him. But May bravely taking him in hand, he recovered his
+powers of speech and became epigrammatic and sparkling. This
+round-shouldered, spectacled scholar, with a large nose and receding
+chin, poured out brilliant observations, subtile and suggestive, and had
+an apparently inexhaustible store of the literature of Europe. He sat
+sideways in his chair and spoke into May's sympathetic ear, giving an
+occasional swift appealing glance at the Warden, who came within the
+range of his vision.
+
+How Stockwell ate his food was impossible to discover. He seemed to give
+automatic twiddles to his fork and apparently swallowed something
+afterwards, for when Robinson's underling, Robinson _petit fils_,
+removed Stockwell's plates, they contained only wreckage.
+
+The Warden, aided by Lady Dashwood, struggled courteously with Mrs.
+Stockwell. She was obliged to talk across Gwendolen, who spent her time
+silently observing Mrs. Dashwood.
+
+Mrs. Stockwell had pathetic pretensions to intellectuality, based on a
+masterly acquaintance with the names of her husband's books and the fact
+that she lived in the academic circle. She had drooped visibly at the
+first sight of her hostess and Mrs. Dashwood, but was soon put at her
+ease by Lady Dashwood, who deftly drew her away from vague hints at the
+possession of learning into talk about her children. Gwen, watching the
+Warden and Mrs. Dashwood across Mrs. Stockwell's imitation lace front,
+could not be moved to speech. To any one in the secret there was written
+on her face two absorbing questions: "Am I engaged or not?" "Is she
+trying to oust me?"
+
+The Warden's enigmatic eyes held no information in them. He looked at
+her gravely when he did look, and--that was all. Was _he_ waiting to
+know whether he was engaged or not? Gwen doubted it. He would be sure to
+know everything. He would know. Think of all those books in the library!
+Supposing he had found that letter--suppose he _had_ read it? No, if he
+_had_, he would have looked not merely grave, but angry!
+
+When the ladies rose from the table, Stockwell rose too, reluctantly and
+as if waking from a pleasant dream. He stared in a startled way at the
+Warden, who moved to open the door; he looked as if about to
+spring--then refrained, and resigning himself to the unmistakable
+decision of the Fates, he remained standing, staring down at the
+table-cloth through his spectacles, with his cheeks flushed and his
+heart glad.
+
+Mrs. Stockwell passed out of the room in front of May Dashwood,
+gratified, warm and trying to conceal the backs of her boots.
+
+Finally the Stockwells went away, and then Lady Dashwood took her niece
+to the Magdalen walk. There among the last shreds of autumn, and in that
+muzzy golden sunshine of Oxford, they walked and talked with the
+constraint of Gwen's presence.
+
+At tea two or three people called, but the Warden did not appear even
+for a hasty cup. At dinner an old pupil of the Warden's--lamed by the
+war--occupied the attention of the little party.
+
+Gwen's spirits rose at the sight of a really young man, but she
+remembered her mother's admonition and did not make any attempt to
+attract his attention beyond opening her eyes now and then suddenly and
+widely and with an ecstasy of interest at some invisible object just
+above his head. Whether the youthful warrior's imagination was excited
+by this "passage of arms" Gwen never knew, because the Warden took his
+pupil off to the library after dinner, and did not even bring him into
+the drawing-room to bid farewell.
+
+In the quiet of the drawing-room Gwen fell into thought. She wondered
+whether the Warden expected her to come and knock on his library door
+and walk in and tell him that she really did want to be married to him?
+Or had he read that letter and----? Why, she had thought all this over a
+hundred times, and was no farther on than she had been before.
+
+After playing the Reverie by Slapovski, which Mrs. Dashwood had not yet
+heard, and which she expressed a desire to hear, Gwen settled down to
+knitting a sock. She had been knitting that sock for five months. It was
+surprising how small the foot was, at least the toe part; the heel
+indeed was ample. She had followed the directions with great care, and
+yet the stupid thing would come out wrong. It was irritating to see Mrs.
+Dashwood knitting away at such a pace. It made Gwen giddy to look at her
+hands. Lady Dashwood took up a book and read passages aloud. This was so
+intolerably dull that Gwen found it difficult to keep her eyes open. It
+is always more tiring when nothing is going on than when plenty of
+things are going on!
+
+Lady Dashwood had just finished reading a passage and looked up to make
+a remark to May Dashwood, when she became aware of Gwen's face.
+
+"My dear, you looked just like a melancholy peach. Go to bed!"
+
+Gwen smiled and tumbled her pins into her knitting. She rose and said
+"Good night," glad to be released. Outside the drawing-room she stood
+holding her breath to hear if there was any sound audible from the
+library. She heard nothing. She moved over the soft carpet and listened
+again, at the door. She could hear the Warden's deep, masculine
+voice--like the vibration of an organ, and then a higher voice, but what
+they said Gwen could not tell. She turned away and went up to bed. She
+was beginning to lose that feeling of not being afraid of the Warden. He
+was becoming more and more what he had been at first, an impressive and
+alarming personage, a human being entirely remote from her understanding
+and experience. At moments during dinner when she had glanced at him, he
+had seemed to her to be like a handsomely carved figure animated by some
+living force completely unknown to her. That such an incomprehensible
+being should become her husband was surely unlikely--if not impossible!
+Gwen's thoughts became more and more confused. Notwithstanding this
+confusion in what (if compelled to describe it) she would have called
+her soul, she closed her eyes and settled upon her pillow. She was
+conscious that she was disappointed and not happy. Then she suddenly
+became indifferent to her fate--saw in her mind's eye a hat--it absorbed
+her. The hat was lying on a chair. It was trimmed like some other hat.
+Then the hat disappeared, and Gwen was asleep.
+
+As soon as Gwendolen had left the drawing-room Lady Dashwood closed her
+book and looked at her niece.
+
+"Now," said Lady Dashwood, "I begin to think that I was unnecessarily
+alarmed about Jim. But it may be because you are here--giving me moral
+support." Lady Dashwood spoke the words "moral support" with great
+firmness. Having once said it and seen that it was wrong, she meant to
+stick to it.
+
+"I wonder," began Mrs. Dashwood, and then she remained silent and looked
+hard at her knitting.
+
+Lady Dashwood still stared at her niece. But May did not conclude her
+sentence, if indeed she had meant to say any more.
+
+"Why, you haven't noticed anything?" asked Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Nothing!" said May, and she knitted on.
+
+"To-day," said Lady Dashwood, "Jim has been practically invisible except
+at meals, but you've no idea how busy he is just now. All one's old
+ideas are in the melting-pot," she went on, "and Jim has schemes. He is
+full of plans. He thinks there is much to be done, in Oxford, with
+Oxford--nothing revolutionary--but a lot that is evolutionary."
+
+Mrs. Dashwood dropped her knitting to listen, though she could have
+heard quite well without doing this.
+
+"Imagine!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood, with a little burst of anger, "what
+a man like Jim, a scholar, a man of business, an organiser, what on
+earth he would do with a wife like Gwendolen Scott! The idea is absurd."
+
+"The absurd often happens," said May, and as she said this she took up
+her knitting again with such a jerk that her ball of wool tumbled to the
+floor and began rolling; and being a tight ball it rolled some distance
+sideways from May's chair in the direction of the far distant door. She
+gave the wool a little tug, but the ball merely shook itself, turned
+over and released still more wool.
+
+"Very well, remain there if you prefer that place," said May, and as she
+spoke there came a slight noise at the door.
+
+Both ladies looked to see who was coming in. It was the Warden. He held
+a cigar in his hand, a sign (Lady Dashwood knew it) that he intended
+merely to bid them "Good night," and retire again to his library. But he
+now stood in the half-light with his hand on the door, and looked
+towards the glow of the hearth where the two ladies sat alone, each
+lighted by a tall, electric candle stand on the floor. And as he looked
+at this little space of light and warmth he hesitated.
+
+Then he closed the door behind him and came in.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+MORE THAN ONE CONCLUSION
+
+
+The Warden came slowly towards them over the wide space of carpeted
+floor.
+
+Lady Dashwood, who knew every passing change in his face and manner
+(they were photographed over and over again in every imaginable style in
+her book of life), noticed that the sight of herself and May alone, that
+is, without Gwen--had made him decide to come in. She drew her own
+conclusions and smiled.
+
+"When you pass that ball of wool, pick it up, Jim," she said.
+
+She spoke too late, however, and the Warden kicked the ball with one
+foot, and sent it rolling under a chair. It took the opportunity of
+flinging itself round one leg, and tumbling against the second. With its
+remaining strength it rolled half way round the third leg, and then lay
+exhausted.
+
+"I'm not going to apologise," said the Warden, in his most courteous
+tones.
+
+"You needn't do that, my dear, if you don't want to," said Lady
+Dashwood. "But pick up the ball, please."
+
+"If I pick the ball up," said the Warden, "the result will be disastrous
+to somebody."
+
+He looked at the ball and at the chair, and then, putting his cigar
+between his teeth, he lifted the chair from the labyrinth of wool and
+placed it out of mischief. Then he picked up the ball and stood holding
+it in his hand. Who was the "somebody"? To whom did it belong? It was
+obvious to whom it belonged! A long line of wool dropped from the ball
+to the carpet. There it described a foolish pattern of its own, and then
+from one corner of that pattern the line of wool ran straight to Mrs.
+Dashwood's hands. She was sitting there, pretending that she didn't know
+that she was very, very slowly and deliberately jerking out the very
+vitals of that pattern, in fact disembowelling it. Then the Warden
+pretended to discover suddenly that it was Mrs. Dashwood's ball, and
+this discovery obliged him to look at her, and she, without glancing at
+him, slightly nodded her head, very gravely. Lady Dashwood grasped her
+book and pretended to read it.
+
+"I suppose I must clear up this mess," said the Warden, as articulately
+as a man can who is holding a cigar between his teeth.
+
+He began to wind up the ball.
+
+"How beautifully you are winding it!" said May Dashwood, without looking
+up from her knitting.
+
+The Warden cleared the pattern from the floor, and now a long line of
+wool stretched tautly from his hands to those of Mrs. Dashwood.
+
+"Please stop winding," she said quietly, and still she did not look up,
+though she might have easily done so for she had left off knitting.
+
+The Warden stopped, but he stood looking at her as if to challenge her
+eyes. Then, as she remained obstinately unmoved, he came towards her
+chair and dropped the ball on her lap.
+
+"You couldn't know I was winding it beautifully because you never
+looked."
+
+"I knew without looking," said May. "I took for granted that you did
+everything well."
+
+"If you will look now," said the Warden, "you will see how crookedly
+I've done it. So much for flattery."
+
+He stood looking down at her bent head with its gold-brown hair lit up
+to splendour by the electric light behind her. Her face was slightly in
+shadow. The Warden stood so long that Lady Dashwood was seized with an
+agreeable feeling of embarrassment. May Dashwood was apparently
+unconscious of the figure beside her. But she raised her eyebrows. Her
+eyebrows were often slightly raised as if inquiring into the state of
+the world with sympathy tinged with surprise. She raised her eyebrows
+instead of making any reply, as if she said: "I could make a retort, but
+I am far too busy with more important matters."
+
+The Warden at last moved, and putting a chair between the two ladies he
+seated himself exactly opposite the glowing fire and the portrait above
+it. Leaning back, he smoked in silence for a few moments looking
+straight in front of him for the most part, only now and then turning
+his eyes to Mrs. Dashwood, just to find out if her eyebrows were still
+raised.
+
+Lady Dashwood began smiling at her book because she had discovered that
+she held it upside down.
+
+"You were interested in Stockwell?" said the Warden suddenly. "He is
+doing multifarious things now. He is an accomplished linguist, and we
+couldn't manage without him--besides he is over military age by a long
+way."
+
+Lady Dashwood felt quite sure that his silence had been occupied by the
+Warden in thinking of May, so that his question, "You were interested,"
+etc., was merely the point at which his thoughts broke into words.
+
+"I was very much interested in him," said May. "It was like reading a
+witty book--only much more delightful."
+
+"Stockwell is always worth listening to," said the Warden, "but he is
+sometimes very silent. He needs the right sort of audience to draw him
+out. Two or three congenial men--or one sympathetic woman." Here the
+Warden paused and looked away from May Dashwood, then he added: "I'm
+obliged to go to Cambridge to-morrow. You will be at Chartcote and you
+will get some amusement out of Boreham. You find everybody interesting?"
+He turned again and looked at her--this time so searchingly that a
+little colour rose in May Dashwood's cheek.
+
+"Oh, not everybody," she said. "I wish I could!"
+
+"My dear May," said Lady Dashwood, briskly seizing this brilliant
+opportunity of pointing the moral and adorning the tale, "even you can't
+pretend to be interested in little Gwendolen, though you have done your
+best. Now that you have seen something of her, what do you think of
+her?"
+
+"Very pretty," said May Dashwood, and she became busy again with her
+work.
+
+"Exactly," said Lady Dashwood. "If she were plain even Belinda would not
+have the impertinence to deposit her on people's doorsteps in the way
+she does."
+
+The Warden took his cigar out of his mouth, as if he had suddenly
+remembered something that he had forgotten. He laid his hands on the
+arms of his chair and seemed about to rise.
+
+"You're not going, Jim!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood. "I thought you had
+come to talk to us. We have been doing our duty since dawn of day, and
+this is May's little holiday, you know. Stop and talk nicely to us. Do
+cheer us up!" Her voice became appealing.
+
+The Warden rose from his chair and stood with one hand resting on the
+back of it as if about to make some excuse for going away. Except for
+the glance, necessitated by courtesy, that May Dashwood gave the Warden
+when he entered, she had kept her eyes obstinately upon her work. Now
+she looked up and met his eyes, only for a moment.
+
+"I'm not going," he said, "but I find the fire too hot. Excuse me if I
+move away. It has got muggy and warm--Oxford weather!"
+
+"Open one of the windows," said Lady Dashwood. "I'm sure May and I shall
+be glad of it."
+
+He moved away and walked slowly down the length of the room. Going
+behind the heavy curtains he opened a part of the casement and then drew
+aside one of the curtains slightly. Then he slowly came back to them in
+silence.
+
+This silence that followed was embarrassing, so embarrassing that Lady
+Dashwood broke into it urgently with the first subject that she could
+think of. "Tell May about the Barber's ghost, Jim."
+
+"Where does he appear?" asked May, interestedly, but without looking up.
+"What part of the college?"
+
+"In the library," said the Warden.
+
+"And at the witching hour of midnight, I suppose?" said May.
+
+"Birds of ill omen, I believe, appear at night," said the Warden. "All
+Souls College ought to have had an All Souls' ghost, but it hasn't, it
+has only its 'foolish Mallard.'"
+
+"And if he does appear," said May, "what apology are you going to offer
+him for the injustice of your predecessor in the eighteenth century?"
+
+The Warden turned and stood looking back across the room at the warm
+space of light and the two women sitting in it, with the firelight
+flickering between them.
+
+"If I were to make myself responsible for all the misdemeanours of the
+Reverend Charles Langley," he said, "I should have my hands full;" and
+he came slowly towards them as he spoke. "You have only to look at
+Langley's face, over the mantelpiece, and you will see what I mean."
+
+May Dashwood glanced up at the portrait and smiled.
+
+"Do you admire our Custos dilectissimus?" he asked.
+
+The lights were below the level of the portrait, but the hard handsome
+face with its bold eyes, was distinctly visible. He was looking lazily
+watchful, listening sardonically to the conversation about himself.
+
+"I admire the artist who painted his portrait," said May.
+
+"Yes, the artist knew what he was doing when he painted Langley," said
+the Warden. He seemed now to have recovered his ease, and stood leaning
+his arms on the back of the chair he had vacated. "Your idea is a good
+one," he went on. "I don't suppose it has occurred to any Warden since
+Langley's time that a frank and pleasant apology might lay the Barber's
+ghost for ever. Shall I try it?" he asked, looking at his guest.
+
+"My dear," said Lady Dashwood slowly, "I wish you wouldn't even joke
+about it--I dislike it. I wish people wouldn't invent ghost stories,"
+she went on. "They are silly, and they are often mischievous. I wish you
+wouldn't talk as if you believed it."
+
+"It was you, Lena, who brought up the subject," said Middleton. "But I
+won't talk about him if you dislike it. You know that I am not a
+believer in ghosts."
+
+Lady Dashwood nodded her head approvingly, and began turning more pages
+of her book.
+
+"I sometimes wonder," said the Warden, and now he turned his face
+towards May Dashwood--"I wonder if men like Langley really believed in a
+future life?"
+
+May looked up at the portrait, but was silent.
+
+"The eighteenth century was not tormented with the question as we are
+now!" said the Warden, and again he looked at the auburn head and the
+dark lashes hiding the downcast eyes. "Those who doubt," he said slowly
+and tentatively, "whether after all the High Gods want us--those who
+doubt whether there are High Gods--even those doubt with regret--now."
+He waited for a response and May Dashwood suddenly raised her eyes to
+his.
+
+"There is no truculence in modern unbelief," he said, "it is a matter of
+passionate regret. And belief has become a passionate hope."
+
+Lady Dashwood knew that not a word of this was meant for her. She
+disliked all talk about the future world. It made her feel dismal. Her
+life had been spent in managing first her father, then her brother, and
+now her husband, and incidentally many of her friends.
+
+Some people dislike having plans made for them, some endure it, some
+positively like it, and for those who liked it, Lady Dashwood made
+extensive plans. Her brain worked now almost automatically in plans. For
+herself she had no plans, she was the planner. But her plans were about
+this world. To the "other world" Lady Dashwood felt secretly inimical;
+that "unknown" lurking in the future, would probably, not so long hence,
+engulf her husband, leaving her, alas! still on this side--with no heart
+left for making any more plans.
+
+If she had been alone with the Warden he would not have mentioned the
+"future life," nor would he have spoken of the "High Gods." He knew her
+mind too well. Was he probing the mind of May Dashwood? Either he was
+deliberately questioning her, or there was something in her presence
+that drew from him his inmost thoughts. Lady Dashwood felt a pang of
+indignation at herself for "being in the way" when to be "out of the
+way" at such a moment was absolutely necessary. She must leave these two
+people alone together--now--at this propitious moment. What should she
+do? She began casting about wildly in her brain for a plan of escape
+that would not be too obvious in its intention. The Warden had never
+been with May alone for five minutes. To-morrow would be a blank
+day--there was Chartcote first and then when they returned the Warden
+would be still away and very probably would not be visible that evening.
+
+She could see May's raised face looking very expressive--full of
+thoughts. Lady Dashwood rose from her chair confident that inspired
+words would come to her lips--and they came!
+
+"My dear Jim," she heard herself saying, "your mentioning the High Gods
+has made me remember that I left about some letters that ought to be
+answered. Horribly careless of me--I must go and find them. I'll only be
+away a moment. So sorry to interrupt when you are just getting
+interesting!" And still murmuring Lady Dashwood made her escape.
+
+She had done the best she could under the circumstances, and she smiled
+broadly as she went through the corridor.
+
+"That for Belinda and Co.!" she exclaimed half aloud, and she snapped
+her fingers.
+
+And what was going to happen after Belinda and Co. were defeated,
+banished for ever from the Lodgings? What was going to happen to the
+Warden? He had been successfully rescued from one danger--but what about
+the future? Was he going to fall in love with May Dashwood?
+
+"It sounded to me uncommonly like a metaphysical wooing of May," said
+Lady Dashwood to herself. "_That_ I must leave in the hands of
+Providence;" and she went up to her room smiling. There she found
+Louise.
+
+"Madame is gay," said the Frenchwoman, catching sight of the entering
+smile. "Gay in this sad Oxford!"
+
+"Sad!" said Lady Dashwood, her smile still lingering. "The hospitals
+are sad, Louise, yes, very sad, and the half-empty Colleges."
+
+"Oh, it is sad, incredibly sad," said the maid. "What kind of city is
+it, it contains only grey monasteries, no boulevards, no shops. There is
+one shop, perhaps, but what is that?"
+
+Lady Dashwood had gone to the toilet table, for she caught sight of the
+letters lying on the top of the jewel drawers. She had seen them several
+times that day, and had always intended tearing them up, for neither of
+them needed an answer. But they had served a good purpose. She had
+escaped from the drawing-room with their aid. She took them up and
+opened them and looked at them again. Louise watched her covertly. She
+glanced at the first and tore it up; then at the second and tore that
+up. She opened the third and glanced at it. And now the faint remains of
+the smile that had lingered on her face suddenly vanished.
+
+"My dear Gwen," (Lena badly written, of course).
+
+"I hope you understood that Lady Dashwood will keep you till the 3rd.
+You don't mention the Warden! Does that mean that you are making no
+progress in that direction? Perhaps taking no trouble! The question
+is----"
+
+Here Lady Dashwood stopped. She looked at the signature of the writer.
+But that was not necessary--the handwriting was Belinda Scott's.
+
+For a moment or two Lady Dashwood stood as if she intended to remain in
+the same position for the rest of her life. Then she breathed rather
+heavily and her nostrils dilated.
+
+"Ah! Well!" said Louise to herself, and she nodded her head ominously.
+
+Soon Lady Dashwood recovered herself and folded up the letter. She
+looked at the envelope. It was addressed to Miss Gwendolen Scott. She
+put the letter back into its envelope.
+
+Had she opened the letter and then laid it aside with the others,
+without perceiving that the letter was not addressed to her and without
+reading it? Was it possible that she, in her hurry last evening, had
+done this? If so, Gwen had never received the letter or read it.
+
+Of course she could not have read it. If she had, it would not have been
+laid on the toilet table. If Gwen had read it and left it about, it
+would have either been destroyed or taken to her room.
+
+"Does Madame wish to go to bed immediately?" asked Louise innocently.
+She had been waiting nearly twenty-four hours for something to happen
+about that letter. She was beginning to be afraid that it might be
+discovered when she would not be there to see the effect it had on
+Madame. Ah! the letter was all that Louise's fancy had painted it. See
+the emotion in Madame's back! How expressive is the back! What
+abominable intrigue! It was not necessary, indeed, to go to Paris to
+find wickedness. And, above all, the Warden---- Oh, my God! Never, never
+shall I repose confidence even in the Englishman the most respectable!
+
+"Presently," said Lady Dashwood, in answer to Louise's question.
+
+Lady Dashwood had made up her mind. She must have opened all three
+letters but only read two of them. There was no other explanation
+possible. What was to be done with Gwen's letter? What was to be done
+with this--vile scribble?
+
+Lady Dashwood's fingers were aching to tear the letter up, but she
+refrained. It would need some thinking over. The style of this letter
+was probably familiar to Gwendolen--her mind had already been corrupted.
+And to think that Jim might have had Belinda and Co., and all that
+Belinda and Co. implied, hanging round his neck and dragging him
+down--till he dropped into his grave from the sheer dead weight of it!
+
+"Yes, immediately," said Lady Dashwood. She would not go downstairs
+again. It was of vital importance that Jim and May should be alone
+together, yes, alone together.
+
+Lady Dashwood put the letter away in a drawer and locked it. She must
+have time to think.
+
+A few minutes later Louise was brushing out her mistress's hair--a mass
+of grey hair, still luxuriant, that had once been black.
+
+"I find that Oxford does not agree with Madame's hair," said Louise, as
+she plied vigorously with the brush.
+
+Lady Dashwood made no reply.
+
+"I find that Oxford does not agree with Madame's hair at all, at all,"
+repeated Louise, firmly.
+
+"Is it going greyer?" said Lady Dashwood indifferently, for her mind was
+working hard on another subject.
+
+"It grows not greyer, but it becomes dead, like the hair of a corpse--in
+this atmosphere of Oxford," said Louise, even more firmly.
+
+"Try not to exaggerate, Louise," said Lady Dashwood, quite unmoved.
+
+"Madame cannot deny that the humidity of Oxford is bad both for skin and
+hair," said Louise, with some resentment in her tone.
+
+"Damp is not bad for the skin, Louise," said her mistress, "but it may
+be for the hair; I don't know and I don't care."
+
+"It's bad for the skin," said Louise. "I have seen Madame looking grave,
+the skin folded, in Oxford. It is the climate. It is impossible to
+smile--in Oxford. One lies as if under a tomb."
+
+"Every place has its bad points," said Lady Dashwood. "It is important
+to make the best of them."
+
+"But I do not like to see Madame depressed by the climate here,"
+continued Louise, obstinately, "and Madame has been depressed here
+lately."
+
+"Not at all," said Lady Dashwood. "You needn't worry, Louise; any one
+who can stand India would find the climate of Oxford admirable. Now, as
+soon as you have done my hair, I want you to go down to the
+drawing-room, where you will find Mrs. Dashwood, and apologise to her
+for my not coming down again. Say I have a letter that will take me some
+time to answer. Bid her good night, also the Warden, who will be with
+her, I expect."
+
+Louise had been momentarily plunged into despair. She had been
+unsuccessful all the way round. It looked as if the visit to Oxford was
+to go on indefinitely, and as to the letter--well--Madame was
+unfathomable--as she always was. She was English, and one must not
+expect them to behave as if they had a heart.
+
+But now her spirits rose! This message to the drawing-room! The Warden
+was alone with Mrs. Dashwood! The Warden, this man of apparent
+uprightness who was the seducer of the young! Lady Dashwood had
+discovered his wickedness and dared not leave Mrs. Dashwood, a widow and
+of an age (twenty-eight) when a woman is still young, alone with him. So
+she, Louise, was sent down, _bien entendu_, to break up the
+_tete-a-tete_!
+
+Louise put down the brush and smiled to herself as she went down to the
+drawing-room.
+
+She, through her devotion to duty, had become an important instrument in
+the hands of Providence.
+
+When Lady Dashwood found herself alone, she took up her keys and jingled
+them, unable to make up her mind.
+
+She had only read the first two or three sentences of Belinda's letter;
+she had only read--until the identity and meaning of the letter had
+suddenly come to her.
+
+She opened the drawer and took out the letter. Then she walked a few
+steps in the room, thinking as she walked. No, much as she despised
+Belinda, she could not read a private letter of hers. Perhaps, because
+she despised her, it was all the more urgent that she should not read
+anything of hers.
+
+What Lady Dashwood longed to do was to have done with Belinda and never
+see her or hear from her again. She wanted Belinda wiped out of the
+world in which she, Lena Dashwood, moved and thought.
+
+What was she to do with the letter? Jim was safe now, the letter was
+harmless--as far as he was concerned. But what about Gwen? Was it not
+like handing on to her a dose of moral poison?
+
+On the other hand, the poison belonged to Gwen and had been sent to her
+by her mother!
+
+The matter could not be settled without more reflection. Perhaps some
+definite decision would frame itself during the night; perhaps she would
+awake in the morning, knowing exactly what was the best to be done.
+
+She put away the letter again, and again locked the drawer. She was
+putting away her keys when the door opened and she heard her maid come
+in.
+
+There was something in the way Louise entered and stood at the door that
+made Lady Dashwood turn round and look at her. That excellent
+Frenchwoman was standing very stiffly, her eyes wide and agitated, and
+her features expressive of extreme excitement. She breathed loudly.
+
+"What's the matter?" demanded Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Madame Dashwood was not visible in the drawing-room!" said Louise, and
+she tightened her lips after this pronouncement.
+
+"She had gone up to her bedroom?"
+
+"Madame Dashwood is not in her bedroom!" said Louise, with ever
+deepening tragedy in her voice.
+
+"Did you look for her in the library?" demanded Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Madame Dashwood is not in the library!" said Louise. She did not move
+from her position in front of the door. She stood there looking the
+personification of domestic disaster, her chest heaving.
+
+"Mrs. Dashwood isn't ill?" Lady Dashwood felt a sudden pang of fear at
+her heart.
+
+"No, Madame!" said Louise.
+
+"Then what is the matter?" demanded Lady Dashwood, sternly. "Don't be a
+fool, Louise. Say what has happened!"
+
+"How can I tell Madame? It is indeed unbelievably too sad! I did not see
+Madame Dashwood but I heard her voice," began Louise. "Oh, Madame, that
+I should have to pronounce such words to you! I open the door of the
+drawing-room! It is scarcely at all lighted! No one is visible! I stand
+and for a moment I look around me! I hear sounds! I listen again! I hear
+the voice of Madame Dashwood! Ah! what surprise! Where is she? She is
+hidden behind the great curtains of the window, completely hidden! Why?
+And to whom does she speak? Ah, Madame, what frightful surprise, what
+shock to hear reply the voice, also behind the curtain, of Monsieur the
+Warden! I cannot believe it, it is incredible, but also it is true! I
+stop no longer, for shame! I fly, I meet Robinson in the gallery, but I
+pass him--like lightning--I speak not! No word escapes from my mouth! I
+come direct to Madame's room! In entering, I know not what to say, I say
+nothing! I dare not! I stand with the throat swelling, the heart
+oppressed, but with the lips closed! I speak only because Madame
+insists, she commands me to speak, to say all! I trust in God! I obey
+Madame's command! I speak! I disclose frankly the painful truth! I
+impart the boring information!"
+
+While Louise was speaking Lady Dashwood's face had first expressed
+astonishment, and then it relaxed into amusement, and when her maid
+stopped speaking for want of breath, she sank down upon a chair and
+burst into laughter.
+
+"My poor Louise?" she said. "You never will understand English people.
+If Mrs. Dashwood and the Warden are behind the window curtains, it is
+because they want to look out of the window!"
+
+Louise's face became passionately sceptical.
+
+"In the rain, Madame!" she remarked. "In a darkness of the tomb?"
+
+"Yes, in the rain and darkness," said Lady Dashwood. "You must go down
+again in a moment, and give them my message!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+MEN MARCHING PAST
+
+
+After the Warden had closed the door on his sister he came back to the
+fireplace. He had been interrupted, and he stood silently with his hand
+on the back of the chair, just as he had stood before. He was waiting,
+perhaps, for an invitation to speak; for some sign from Mrs. Dashwood
+that now that they were alone together, she expected him to talk on,
+freely.
+
+She had no suspicion of the real reason why her Aunt Lena had gone away.
+May took for granted that she had fled at the first sign of a religious
+discussion. May knew that General Sir John Dashwood, like many well
+regulated persons, was under the impression that he had, at some proper
+moment in his juvenile existence now forgotten, at his mother's knee or
+in his ancestral cradle, once and for all weighed, considered and
+accepted the sacred truths containing the Christian religion, and that
+therefore there was no need to poke about among them and distrust them.
+Lady Dashwood had encouraged that sentiment of silent loyalty: it left
+more time and energy over for the discussion and arrangement of the
+practical affairs of life. May knew all this.
+
+May, sitting by the fire, with her eyes on her work, observed the
+hesitation in the Warden's mind. She knew that he was waiting. She
+glanced up.
+
+"What was it you were saying?" she asked in the softest of voices, for
+now that they were alone there was no one to be annoyed by a religious
+discussion.
+
+The Warden moved round and seated himself. But even then he could not
+bring his thoughts to the surface: they lay in the back of his mind
+urgent, yet reluctant. Meanwhile he began talking about the portrait
+again. It served as a stalking horse. He told her some of the old
+college stories, stories not only of Langley, but of other Wardens in
+the tempestuous days of the Reformation and of the Civil War.
+
+"And yet," he said suddenly, "what were those days compared with these?
+Has there been any tragedy like this?" He gazed at her now; with his
+narrow eyes strained and sad.
+
+"Just at the beginning of the war," he said, "I heard---- It was one hot
+brilliant morning in that early September. It was only a passing
+sound--but I shall never forget it, till I die."
+
+May Dashwood's hands dropped to her lap, and she sat listening with her
+eyes lowered.
+
+"There was a sound of the feet of men marching past, though I could not
+see them. Their feet were trampling the ground rhythmically, and all to
+the 'playing' of a bugler. I have never heard, before or since, a bugle
+played like that! The youth--I could picture him in my mind--blew from
+his bugle strangely ardent, compelling notes. It was simple, monotonous
+music, but there came from the bugler's own soul a magnificent courage
+and buoyancy; and the trampling feet responded--responded to the light
+springing notes, the high ardour and gay fearlessness of youth. There
+was such hope, such joy in the call of duty! No thought of danger, no
+thought of suffering! All hearts leapt to the sounds! And the bugler
+passed and the trampling feet! I could hear the swift, high, passionate
+notes die in the distance; and I knew that the flower of our youth was
+marching to its doom."
+
+The Warden got up from his chair, and walked away, and there was silence
+in the room.
+
+Then he came up to where May sat and looked down at her.
+
+"The High Gods," she said, quietly quoting his own phrase, "wanted
+them."
+
+He moved away again. "I have no argument for my faith," he said. "The
+question for us is no longer 'I must believe,' but 'Dare I believe?' The
+old days of certainty have gone. Inquisitions, Solemn Leagues and
+Covenants have gone--never to return. All the clamour of men who claim
+'to know' has died down."
+
+And as he gazed at her with eyes that demanded an answer she said
+simply: "I am content with the silence of God."
+
+He made no answer and leaned heavily on the back of his chair. A moment
+later he began to walk again. "I don't think I _can_ believe that the
+heroic sacrifice of youth, their bitter suffering, will be mixed up
+indistinguishably with the cunning meanness of pleasure-seekers, with
+the sordid humbug of money-makers--in one vast forgotten grave. No, I
+can't believe that--because the world we know is a rational world."
+
+May glanced round at him as he moved about. The great dimly-lit room was
+full of shadows, and Middleton's face was dark, full of shadows too,
+shadows of mental suffering. She looked back at her work and sighed.
+
+"Even if we straighten the crooked ways of life, so that there are no
+more starving children, no men and women broken with the struggle of
+life: even if we are able, by self-restraint, by greater scientific
+knowledge to rid the earth of those diseases that mean martyrdom to its
+victims; even if hate is turned to love, and vice and moral misery are
+banished: even if the Kingdom of Heaven does come upon this earth--even
+then! That will not be a Kingdom of Heaven that is Eternal! This Earth
+will, in time, die. This Earth will die, that we know; and with it must
+vanish for ever even the memory of a million years of human effort.
+Shall we be content with that? I fail to conceive it as rational, and
+therefore I cling to the _hope_ of some sort of life beyond the
+grave--Eternal Life. But," and here he spoke out emphatically, "I have
+no argument for my belief."
+
+He came and stood close beside her now, and looked down at her. "I have
+no argument for my belief," he repeated.
+
+"And you are content with the silence of God," he added. Then he spoke
+very slowly: "I must be content."
+
+If he had stretched out his hand to touch hers, it would not have meant
+any more than did the prolonged gaze of his eyes.
+
+The clock on the mantelpiece ticked--its voice alone striking into the
+silence. It seemed to tick sometimes more loudly, sometimes more softly.
+
+The Warden appeared to force himself away from his own thoughts. With
+his hands still grasping the back of his chair, he raised his head and
+stood upright. The tick of the clock fell upon his ear; a monotonous and
+mechanical sound--indifferent to human life and yet weighted with
+importance to human life; marking the moments as they passed; moments
+never to be recalled; steps that are leading irretrievably the human
+race to their far-off destiny.
+
+As the Warden's eyes watched the hands of the clock, they pointed to
+five minutes to eleven. A thought came to him.
+
+"All the bells are silent now," he said, "except in the safe daylight."
+
+May looked up at him.
+
+"Even 'Tom' is silent. The Clusius is not tolled now."
+
+He got up and walked along the room to the open window. There he held
+the curtain well aside and looked back at her. Why it was, May did not
+know, but it seemed imperative to her to come to him. She put her work
+aside and came through into the broad embrasure of the bay. Then he let
+the curtain fall and they stood together in the darkness. The Warden
+pushed out the latticed frame wider into the dark night. The air was
+scarcely stirring, it came in warm and damp against their faces.
+
+The quadrangle below them was dimly visible. Eastwards the sky was heavy
+with a great blank pale space stretching over the battlemented roof and
+full of the light of a moon that had just risen, but overhead a heavy
+cloud slowly moved westwards.
+
+They both leaned out and breathed the night air.
+
+"It will rain in a moment," said the Warden.
+
+"In the old days," he said, "there would have been sounds coming from
+these windows. There would have been men coming light-heartedly from
+these staircases and crossing to one another. Now all is under military
+rule: the poor remnant left of undergraduate life--poor mentally and
+physically--this poor remnant counts for nothing. All that is best has
+gone, gone voluntarily, eagerly, and the men who fill their places are
+training for the Great Sacrifice. It's the most glorious and the most
+terrible thing imaginable!"
+
+May leaned down lower and the silence of the night seemed oppressive
+when the Warden ceased speaking.
+
+After a moment he said, "In the old days you would have heard some
+far-off clock strike the hour, probably a thin, cracked voice, and then
+it would have been followed by other voices. You would have heard them
+jangle together, and then into their discordance you would have heard
+the deep voice of 'Tom' breaking."
+
+"But he is at his best," went on the Warden, "when he tolls the Clusius.
+It is his right to toll it, and his alone. He speaks one hundred and one
+times, slowly, solemnly and with authority, and then all the gates in
+Oxford are closed."
+
+Drops of rain fell lightly in at them, and May drew in her head.
+
+"Oxford has become a city of memories to me," said the Warden, and he
+put out his arm to draw in the window.
+
+"That is only when you are sad," said May.
+
+"Yes," said the Warden slowly, "it is only when I give way to gloom.
+After all, this is a great time, it can be made a great time. If only
+all men and women realised that it might be the beginning of the 'Second
+Coming.' As it is, the chance may slip."
+
+He pulled the window further in and secured it.
+
+May pushed aside the curtain and went back into the glow and warmth of
+the room.
+
+She gathered up her knitting and thrust it into the bag.
+
+"Are you going?" asked the Warden. He was standing now in the middle of
+the room watching her.
+
+"I'm going," said May.
+
+"I've driven you away," he said, "by my dismal talk."
+
+"Driven me away!" she repeated. "Oh no!" Her voice expressed a great
+reproach, the reproach of one who has suffered too, and who has "dreamed
+dreams." Surely he knew that she could understand!
+
+"Forgive me!" he said, and held out his hand impulsively. At least it
+seemed strangely impulsive in this self-contained man.
+
+She put hers into it, withdrew it, and together they went to the door.
+For the first time in her life May felt the sting of a strange new pain.
+The open door led away from warmth and a world that was full and
+satisfying--at least it would have led away from such a world--a world
+new to her--only that she was saying "Good night" and not "Good-bye."
+Later on she would have to say "Good-bye." How many days were there
+before that--five whole days? She walked up the steps, and went into the
+corridor. Louise was there, just coming towards her.
+
+"Madame desires me to say good night," said Louise, giving May's face a
+quick searching glance.
+
+"I'll come and say good night to her," said May, "if it's not too late."
+
+No, it was not too late. Louise led the way, marvelling at the callous
+self-assurance of English people.
+
+Louise opened her mistress's door, and though consumed with raging
+curiosity, left Mrs. Dashwood to enter alone.
+
+"Oh, May!" cried Lady Dashwood. She was moving about the room in a grey
+dressing-gown, looking very restless, and with her hair down.
+
+"You didn't come down again," said May; "you were tired?"
+
+"I wasn't tired!" Here Lady Dashwood paused. "May, I have, by pure
+accident, come upon a letter--from Belinda to Gwen. I don't know how it
+came among my own letters, but there it was, opened. I don't know if I
+opened it by mistake, but anyhow there it was opened; I began reading
+the nauseous rubbish, and then realised that I was reading Belinda. Now
+the question is, what to do with the letter? It contains advice. May,
+Gwen is to secure the Warden! It seems odd to see it written down in
+black and white."
+
+Lady Dashwood stared hard at her niece--who stood before her, thoughtful
+and silent.
+
+"Shall I give it to Gwen--or what?" she asked.
+
+"Well," began May, and then she stopped.
+
+"Of course, I blame myself for being such a fool as to have taken in
+Belinda," said Lady Dashwood (for the hundredth time). "But the question
+now is--what to do with the letter? It isn't fit for a nice girl to
+read; but, no doubt, she's read scores of letters like it. The girl is
+being hawked round to see who will have her--and she knows it! She
+probably isn't nice! Girls who are exhibited, or who exhibit themselves
+on a tray ain't nice. Jim knows this; he knows it. Oh, May! as if he
+didn't know it. You understand!"
+
+May Dashwood stood looking straight into her aunt's face, revolving
+thoughts in her own mind.
+
+"Some people, May," said Lady Dashwood, "who want to be unkind and only
+succeed in being stupid, say that I am a matchmaker. I _have_ always
+conscientiously tried to be a matchmaker, but I have rarely succeeded. I
+have been so happy with my dear old husband that I want other people to
+be happy too, and I am always bringing young people together--who were
+just made for each other. But they won't have it, May! I introduce a
+sweet girl full of womanly sense and affection to some nice man, and he
+won't have her at any price. He prefers some cheeky little brat who
+after marriage treats him rudely and decorates herself for other men. I
+introduce a really good man to a really nice girl and she won't have
+him, she 'loves,' if you please, a man whom decent men would like to
+kick, and she finds herself spending the rest of her life trying hard to
+make her life bearable. I dare say your scientists would say--Nature
+likes to keep things even, bad and good mixed together. Well, I'm
+against Nature. My under-housemaid develops scarlet fever, and dear old
+Nature wants her to pass it on to the other maids, and if possible to
+the cook. Well, I circumvent Nature."
+
+May Dashwood's face slowly smiled.
+
+"But I did not bring Gwendolen Scott to this house--she was forced upon
+me--and I was weak enough to give in. Now, I should very much like to
+say something when I give the letter to Gwen. But I shall have to say
+nothing. Yes, nothing," repeated Lady Dashwood, "except that I must tell
+her that I have, by mistake, read the first few lines."
+
+"Yes," said May Dashwood.
+
+"After all, what else could I say?" exclaimed Lady Dashwood. "You can't
+exactly tell a daughter that you think her mother is a shameless hussy,
+even if you may think that she ought to know it."
+
+"Poor Gwen and poor Lady Belinda!" said May Dashwood sighing, and moving
+to go, and trying hard to feel real pity in her heart.
+
+"No," said Lady Dashwood, raising her voice, "I don't say 'poor
+Belinda.' I don't feel a bit sorry for the old reprobate, I feel more
+angry with her. Don't you see yourself--now you know Jim," continued
+Lady Dashwood, throwing out her words at her niece's retreating
+figure--"don't you see that Jim deserves something better than Belinda
+and Co.? Now, would you like to see him saddled for life with Gwendolen
+Scott?"
+
+May Dashwood did not reply immediately; she seemed to be much occupied
+in walking very slowly to the door and then in slowly turning the handle
+of the door. Surely Gwendolen and her mother were pitiable
+objects--unsuccessful as they were?
+
+"Now, would you?" demanded Lady Dashwood. "Would you?"
+
+"I should trust him not to do that," said May, as she opened the door.
+She looked back at the tall erect figure in the grey silk
+dressing-gown. "Good night, dear aunt." And she went out. "You see, I am
+running away, and I order you to go to bed. You are tired." She spoke
+through the small open space she had left, and then she closed the door.
+
+"Trust him! Oh, Lord!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood, in a loud voice.
+
+But she was not altogether displeased with the word "trust" in May
+Dashwood's mouth. "She seems pretty confident that Jim isn't going to
+make a martyr of himself," she said to herself happily.
+
+The door opened and Louise entered with an enigmatical look on her face.
+Louise had been listening outside for the tempestuous sounds that in her
+country would have issued from any two normal women under the same
+circumstances.
+
+But no such sounds had reached her attentive ears, and here was Lady
+Dashwood moving about with a serene countenance. She was even smiling.
+Oh, what a country, what people!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+THE LOST LETTER
+
+
+The next morning it was still raining. It was a typical Oxford day, a
+day of which there are so many in the year that those who have best
+known Oxford think of her fondly in terms of damp sandstone.
+
+They remember her gabled roofs, narrow pavements, winding alleys humid
+and shining from recent rain; her mullioned windows looking out on
+high-walled gardens where the over-hanging trees drip and drip in
+chastened melancholy. They remember her floating spires piercing the
+lowering sodden sky, her grey courts and solemn doorways, her echoing
+cloisters; all her incomparable monastic glory soaked through and
+through with heavy languorous moisture, and slowly darkening in a misty
+twilight.
+
+It is this sobering atmosphere that has brought to birth and has bred
+the "Oxford tone;" the remorseless, if somewhat playful handling of
+ideas.
+
+Gwendolen Scott was no more aware of the existence of an "Oxford tone,"
+bred (as all organic life has been) in the damp, than was the
+maidservant who brought her tea in the morning; but she perceived the
+damp. She could see through the latticed windows of the breakfast-room
+that it rained, rained and rained, and the question was what she should
+do to make the time pass till they must start for Chartcote? No letter
+had yet come from her mother--and the old letter was still lost.
+
+The best Gwen could hope for was that it had been picked up and thrown
+into the paper basket and destroyed.
+
+Meanwhile what should she do? Lady Dashwood was always occupied during
+the mornings. Mrs. Dashwood did not seem to be at her disposal. What was
+she to do? Should she practise the "Reverie"? No, she didn't want to
+"fag" at that. She had asked the housemaid to mend a pair of stockings,
+and she found these returned to her room--boggled! How maddening--what
+idiots servants were! She found another pair that wanted mending. She
+hadn't the courage to ask Louise to mend it. If she tried to mend it
+herself she would only make a mess of it--besides she hadn't any lisle
+thread or needles.
+
+She would look at her frocks and try and decide what to wear at lunch.
+If she couldn't decide she would have to consult Lady Dashwood. Her room
+was rather dark. The window looked, not on to the quadrangle, but on to
+the street. She took each piece of dress to the window and gazed at it.
+The blue coat and skirt wouldn't do. She had worn that often, and the
+blouse was not fresh now. That must go back into the wardrobe. The
+likely clothes must be spread on the bed, where she could review them.
+
+She ran her hand down a stiff rustling costume of brown silk. It gave
+her a pleasurable sensation. It was dark brown and inconspicuous, and
+yet "dressy." But would, after all, the blue coat and skirt be more
+suitable, as Oxford people never dressed? Yes; but she might meet other
+sort of people at Chartcote! It was a difficult question.
+
+She passed on to a thin black and white cloth that was very "smart" and
+showed off her dark beauty. That and the white cloth hat would do! She
+had worn it once before and the Warden had talked a great deal to her
+when she had it on. She took out the dress and laid it on the bed, and
+she laid the hat upon it. Mrs. Dashwood had not seen the dress! By the
+by, Mrs. Dashwood and the Warden had scarcely talked at all at
+breakfast! He had once made a remark to her, and she had looked up and
+said "Yes," in a funny sort of way, just as if she agreed of course!
+H'm, there was really no need to be afraid of that! Supposing and if
+she, Gwen, were ever to be Mrs. Middleton, what sort of new clothes
+would she buy? Oh, all sorts of things would be necessary! And yet--the
+Warden seemed to be quietly drifting farther and farther away from her.
+Was that talk in the library a dream? Then if not, why didn't he say
+something? Did he say nothing, because in the library he had said, "If
+you want a home, etc., etc.?" Did he mean by that, "If you come and tell
+me that you want a home, etc., etc.?"
+
+Gwen was not sure whether he meant "If you come and _say_ you want a
+home, etc., etc.," or only, "If you want a home, etc., etc." How
+tiresome! He knew she wanted a home! But perhaps he wasn't sure whether
+she really wanted a home! Ought she to go and knock at the door and say
+that she really did want a home? Was he waiting for her to come and
+knock on the door and say, "I really do want a home, etc., etc.," and
+then come near enough to be kissed?
+
+But after what Mr. Boreham had said, even if she did go and knock at the
+door and say that she really did want a home, etc., etc., and go and
+stand quite near him, the Warden might pretend not to understand and
+merely say, "I'm sorry," and go on writing.
+
+How did girls make sure that a proposal was binding? Did they manage
+somehow to have it in writing? But how could she have said to the
+Warden, "Would you mind putting it all down in writing"? She really
+couldn't have said such a thing!
+
+Gwen could not quite make up her mind what to wear. She had put the
+brown silk and one or two more dresses on the bed without being able to
+come to any conclusion.
+
+It would be necessary to ask advice. Having covered the bed with
+"possible" dresses, Gwen went out to search for Lady Dashwood.
+
+She had not to go far, for she met her just outside the door.
+
+"Oh, Lady Dashwood," began Gwen, "could you, would you mind telling me
+what I am to wear for lunch? I'm so sorry to be such a bother, but
+I'm----"
+
+Here Gwen stopped short, for her eyes caught sight of a letter in Lady
+Dashwood's hand--the letter! If Gwen had known how to faint she would
+have tried to faint then; but she didn't know how it was done.
+
+"I found this letter addressed to you," said Lady Dashwood, "in my
+room--it had got there somehow." She held it out to the girl, who took
+it, reddening as she did so to the roots of her hair. "I found it
+opened--I hope I didn't open it by mistake?"
+
+"Oh no," said Gwen, stammering. "I--lost it--somehow. Oh, thanks so
+much! Oh, thanks!"
+
+Tears of embarrassment were starting to the girl's eyes, and she turned
+away, letter in hand, and went towards her door like a beaten child.
+
+Lady Dashwood gazed after her, pity uppermost in her heart--pity, now
+that Belinda and Co. were no longer dangerous.
+
+Safely inside the door, Gwen gave way to regret, and from regret for her
+carelessness she went on to wondering wildly what effect the letter
+might have had on Lady Dashwood! Had she told the Warden its contents?
+Had she read the letter to him?
+
+Gwen squirmed as she walked about her room. There was a look in Lady
+Dashwood's face! Oh dear, oh dear!
+
+The dresses lay neglected on the bed; the sight of them only made Gwen's
+heart ache the more, for they reminded her of those bright hopes that
+had flitted through her brain--hopes of having more important clothes as
+the Warden's wife. Gwen had even gone as far as wondering whether Cousin
+Bridget might not give her some furs as a wedding present. Cousin
+Bridget had spent over a thousand pounds in new furs for herself that
+first winter of the war, when the style changed; so was it too much to
+expect that Cousin Bridget, who was the wealthy member of the family,
+though her husband's title was a new one, might give her a useful
+wedding present? Now, the mischance with this letter had probably
+destroyed all chances of the Warden marrying her!
+
+She was glad that he had gone away to-day, so that she would not see him
+again till the next morning; that gave more time.
+
+She did not want to go to Chartcote to lunch. She would not be able to
+eat anything if she felt as miserable as she did now, and she would find
+it impossible to talk to any one.
+
+Even her mother's letter of advice might not help her very much--now
+that old letter had been seen.
+
+Gwen walked about her room, sometimes leaning over the foot of her bed
+and staring blankly at the dresses spread out before her, and sometimes
+stopping to look at herself in a long mirror on the way, feeling very
+sorry for that poor pretty girl whose image she saw reflected there.
+When she heard a knock at the door she almost jumped. Was it Lady
+Dashwood? Gwen's answering voice sounded very soft and meek, as if a
+mouse was saying "Come in" to a cat that demanded entrance.
+
+It was Mrs. Dashwood who opened the door and walked in.
+
+"You want advice about what to wear for lunch?" said Mrs. Dashwood.
+"Lady Dashwood is finishing off some parcels, and asked me to come and
+offer you my services--if you'll have me?" and she actually laughed as
+she caught sight of the display on the bed.
+
+"Very business-like," she said, walking up to the bed. She did not seem
+to have noticed Gwen's distracted appearance, and this gave Gwen time
+and courage to compose her features and assume her ordinary bearing.
+
+"Thanks so much," she said, going to the foot of the bed. "I was afraid
+I bothered Lady Dashwood when I asked about the lunch."
+
+"It really doesn't much matter what it is you wear for Chartcote," said
+May Dashwood slowly, as her eye roamed over the bed. She did not appear
+to have heard Gwen's last remark.
+
+"People do dress so funnily here," said Gwen, beginning to feel happy
+again, "but I thought perhaps that----"
+
+"I think I should recommend that dark brown silk," said Mrs. Dashwood,
+"and if you have a black hat----"
+
+"Yes, I have!" cried Gwen, with animation, and she rushed to the
+wardrobe. After all she did like Mrs. Dashwood. She was not so bad after
+all.
+
+May received the black hat into her hands and praised it. She put it on
+the girl's head and then stood back to see the effect.
+
+Gwen stood smiling, her face and dark hair framed by the black velvet.
+
+"The very thing," said Mrs. Dashwood.
+
+"Do try it on. You'd look lovely in it," gushed Gwen. The expression
+"You'd look lovely in it" came from her lips before she could stop it.
+Her instinctive antagonism to Mrs. Dashwood was fast oozing away.
+
+May took the hat and put it on her own head, and then she looked round
+at the mirror.
+
+"There!" said Gwen. "I told you so!"
+
+May Dashwood regarded herself critically in the mirror and no smile came
+to her lips. She looked at her tall slender figure and the auburn hair
+under the black velvet brim as if she was looking at somebody else. May
+took off the hat and placed it on the bed by the dark brown silk.
+
+"Now, you're complete," she said. "Quite complete;" but she looked out
+of her grey eyes at something far away, and did not see Gwendolen.
+
+"If only I had a nice fur!" exclaimed the girl. "Mine is old, and it's
+the wrong shape, of course," she went on confidentially. She found
+herself suddenly desirous of making a life-long friend of Mrs. Dashwood.
+In spite of her age and the fact that she was very clever and all that,
+and that the Warden had begun by taking too much notice of her, Mrs.
+Dashwood was nice. Gwen wanted at that moment to "tell her everything,"
+all about the "proposal," and see what she thought about it!
+
+Gwen's emotions came and went in little spurts, and they were very
+absorbing for the moment.
+
+"Don't be ashamed of yours," said Mrs. Dashwood, and as she spoke she
+went towards the door. "I can't say I admire the sisterhood of women who
+spend their pence on sham or their guineas on real fur and jewellery
+just now."
+
+Gwen stared. She was not quite sure what the remark really meant--the
+word "sisterhood" confused her.
+
+"If I were you," said Mrs. Dashwood, smiling, "I should begin to dress;
+we are to be ready at one punctually."
+
+"Oh, thanks so much," said Gwen. "I know I take an age. I always do,"
+she laughed.
+
+As soon as Mrs. Dashwood had gone Gwen found it necessary to sit down
+and think whether she really liked Mrs. Dashwood so very much, or
+whether she only "just liked her," and this subject brought her back to
+the letter and the Warden, and all her lost opportunities! Gwen was
+startled by a knock at the door which she knew was produced by the
+knuckles of Lady Dashwood's maid.
+
+"Oh, Mademoiselle!" cried Louise. "You have not commenced, and Madame is
+ready."
+
+"The brown one," exclaimed Gwen, as Louise rushed towards the bed.
+
+Louise fell upon the bed like a wild beast and began dressing Gwen with
+positive ferocity, protesting all the time in tones of physical agony
+mingled with moral indignation, her astonishment at Mademoiselle's
+indifference to the desires of Madame.
+
+"I didn't know it was so late," said Gwen, who was not accustomed to
+such freedom from a servant.
+
+More exclamations from Louise, who was hooking and buttoning and pulling
+and pushing like a fury.
+
+"Well, leave off talking," said Gwen, looking very hot, "and don't pull
+so much."
+
+More exclamations from Louise and more pulling, and at last Gwen stood
+complete in her brown dress and black hat. While she was thinking about
+what shoes she should put on, Louise had already seized a pair and was
+now pulling and pushing at her feet.
+
+Lady Dashwood was giving instructions to Robinson in the hall, when Gwen
+came precipitately downstairs. The taxi was at the door, and Mrs.
+Dashwood was already seated in it.
+
+It was still raining. Of course! Everything was wretched!
+
+Now, what about an umbrella? Gwen gazed about her and seized an
+umbrella, earnestly trusting that it was not one that Lady Dashwood
+meant to use. How hot and flushed and late she was, and then--the
+letter! Oh, that letter! How horrible to be obliged to sit opposite to
+Lady Dashwood!
+
+She ran down the steps without opening the umbrella, and dashed into the
+taxi, Lady Dashwood following under an umbrella held by Robinson.
+
+"Here we are!" said Lady Dashwood. She seemed to have forgotten all
+about the letter, and she smiled at Gwen.
+
+They passed out of the entrance court of the Lodgings and into the
+narrow street, and then into the High Street. The sky and the air and
+the road and the pavements and the buildings were grey. The Cherwell was
+grey, and its trees wept into it. The meadows were sodden; it was
+difficult to imagine that they could ever stand in tall ripe hay. There
+was a smell of damp decay in the air.
+
+Gwen stared fixedly out of the window in order to avoid looking at the
+ladies opposite her. They seemed to be occupied with the continuance of
+a conversation that they had begun before. Now, Gwen's mind failed and
+fainted before conversation that was at all impersonal, and though she
+was listening, she did not grasp the whole of any one sentence. But she
+caught isolated words and phrases here and there, dreary words like
+"Education," "Oxford methods," and her attention was absorbed by the
+discovery that every time Mrs. Dashwood spoke, she said: "Does the
+Warden think?" just as if she knew what the Warden would think!
+
+This was nasty of her. If only she always talked about Gwen's hat
+suiting her, and about other things that were really interesting, Gwen
+believed she could make a life-long friend of her, in spite of her age;
+but she would talk about stupid incomprehensible things--and about the
+Warden!
+
+The Warden was growing a more and more remote figure in Gwen's mind. He
+was fading into something unsubstantial--something that Gwen could not
+lean against, or put her arms round. Would she never again have the
+opportunity of feeling how hard and smooth his shirt-front was? It was
+like china, only not cold. As she thought Gwen's eyes became misty and
+sad, and she ceased to notice what the two ladies opposite to her were
+saying.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+THE LUNCHEON PARTY
+
+
+Boreham was in his dressing-room at Chartcote looking at himself in the
+mirror. The picture he saw in its depths was familiar to him. Had he
+(like prehistoric man) never had the opportunity of seeing his own face,
+and had he been suddenly presented with his portrait and asked whether
+he thought the picture pleasing, he would have replied, as do our
+Cabinet ministers: "The answer is in the negative."
+
+But the figure in the mirror had always been associated with his inmost
+thoughts. It had grown with his growth. It had smiled, it had laughed
+and frowned. It had looked dull and disappointed, it had looked
+flattered and happy in tune with his own feelings; and that rather
+colourless face with the drab beard, the bristly eyebrows, the pale blue
+eyes and the thin lips, were all part of Boreham's exclusive personal
+world to which he was passionately attached; something separate from the
+world he criticised, jeered at, scolded or praised, as the mood took
+him, also something separate from what he secretly and unwillingly
+envied. The portrait in the mirror represented Boreham's own particular
+self--the unmistakable "I."
+
+He gave a last touch with a brush to the stiff hair, and then stood
+staring at his completed image, at himself, ready for lunch, ready--and
+this was what dominated his thoughts--ready to receive May Dashwood.
+
+Some eight or nine years ago, when he had first met May, he had as
+nearly fallen in love with her as his constitution permitted; and he had
+been nettled at finding himself in a financial position that was, to say
+the best of it, rather fluctuating. He knew he was going to have
+Chartcote, but aunts of sixty frequently live to remain aunts at eighty.
+May had never shown any particular interest in him, but he attributed
+her indifference to the natural and selfish female desire to acquire a
+wealthy husband. As it was impossible for him to marry at that period in
+his life, he adopted that theory of marriage most likely to shed a
+cheerful light upon his compulsory bachelorhood. He maintained that the
+natural man tries to escape marriage, as it is incompatible with his
+"freedom," and is only "enchained" after much persistent hunting down by
+the female, who makes the most of the conventions of civilisation for
+her own protection and profit. He was able, therefore, at the age of
+forty-two to look round him and say: "I have successfully
+escaped--hitherto," and to feel that what he said was true. But now he
+was no longer poor. He was an eligible man.
+
+He was also less happy than he had been. He had lived at Chartcote for
+some interminable weeks! He had found it tolerable, only because he was
+well enough off to be always going away from it. But now he had again
+met May, free like himself, and if possible more attractive than she had
+been eight years ago!
+
+He had met her and had found her at the zenith of womanhood; without
+losing her youth, she had acquired maturer grace and self-possession.
+Had there been any room for improvement in himself he too would have
+matured! The wealth he had acquired was sufficient. And now the question
+was: whether with all his masculine longing to preserve his freedom he
+would be able to escape successfully again? This was why he was giving a
+lingering glance in the mirror, where his external personality was, as
+it were, painted with an exactness that no artist could command.
+
+Should this blond man with the beard and the stiff hair, below which lay
+a splendid brain, should he escape again?
+
+Boreham stared hard at his own image. He repeated the momentous
+question, firmly but inaudibly, and then went away without answering it.
+Time would show--that very day might show!
+
+Mrs. Greenleafe Potten had already arrived. Now Mrs. Greenleafe Potten
+was a cousin of Boreham's maternal aunt. She lived in rude though
+luxurious widowhood about a quarter of a mile from Chartcote, and she
+was naturally the person to whom Boreham applied whenever he wanted a
+lady to head his table. Besides, Mrs. Potten was a very old friend of
+Lady Dashwood's. Mrs. Potten was a little senior to Lady Dashwood, but
+in many ways appeared to be her junior. Mrs. Potten, too, retained her
+youthful interest in men. Lady Dashwood's long stay in Oxford had
+brought with it a new interest to Mrs. Potten's life. It had enabled her
+to call at King's College and claim acquaintance with the Warden. Mrs.
+Potten admired the Warden with the sentiment of early girlhood. Now Mrs.
+Potten was accredited with the possession of great wealth, of which she
+spent as little as possible. She practised certain strange economies,
+and on this occasion, learning that the Dashwoods were coming without
+the Warden, she decided to come in the costume in which she usually
+spent the morning hours, toiling in the garden.
+
+The party consisted of the three ladies from King's, Mr. Bingham, Fellow
+of All Souls, and Mr. and Mrs. Harding.
+
+Mr. Bingham was a man of real learning; he was a bachelor, and he made
+forcible remarks in the soft deliberate tone of a super-curate. He
+laughed discreetly as if in the presence of some sacred shrine. In the
+old pre-war days there had been many stories current in Oxford about
+Bingham, some true and some invented by his friends. All of them were
+reports of brief but effective conversations between himself and some
+other less sophisticated person. Bingham always accepted invitations
+from any one who asked him when he had time, and if he found himself
+bored, he simply did not go again. Boreham had got hold of Bingham and
+had asked him to lunch, so he had accepted. It was one of the days when
+he did _not_ go up to the War Office, but when he lectured to women
+students. He had to lunch somewhere, and he had bicycled out, intending
+to bicycle back, rain or no rain, for the sake of exercise.
+
+Then there were Mr. and Mrs. Harding. Harding, who had taken Orders
+(just as some men have eaten dinners for the Bar), was Fellow and Tutor
+of a sporting College. His tutorial business had been for many years to
+drive the unwilling and ungrateful blockhead through the Pass Degree.
+His private business was to assume that he was a "man of the world." It
+was a subject that engrossed what must (in the absence of anything more
+distinctive), be called the "spiritual" side of his nature. His wife,
+who had money, lived to set a good example to other Dons' wives in
+matters of dress and "tenue," and she had put on her best frock in
+anticipation of meeting the "County." Indeed, the Hardings had taken up
+Boreham because he was not a college Don but a member of "Society." They
+were, like Bingham, at Chartcote for the first time. It was an
+unpleasant shock to Mr. Harding to find that instead of the County,
+other Oxford people had been asked to luncheon. Fortunately, however,
+the Oxford people were the Dashwoods! The Hardings exchanged glances,
+and Harding, who had entered the room in his best manner, now looked
+round and heaved a sigh, letting himself spiritually down with a sort of
+thump. Bingham his old school-fellow and senior at Winchester, was,
+perhaps, the man in all Oxford to whom he felt most antipathy.
+
+Mrs. Harding very much regretted that she had not come in a smart Harris
+tweed. It would have been a good compromise between the Dashwoods and
+the pretty girl with them, and Mrs. Greenleafe Potten with her tweed
+skirt and not altogether spotless shirt. But it was too late!
+
+Boreham was quite unconscious of his guests' thoughts, and was busy
+plotting how best to give May Dashwood an opportunity of making love to
+him. He would have Lady Dashwood and Mrs. Harding on each side of him at
+table, giving to Mrs. Potten, Harding and Bingham. Then May Dashwood and
+Miss Scott would be wedged in at the sides. But, after lunch, he would
+give the men only ten minutes sharp for their coffee, and take off May
+Dashwood to look over the house. In this way he would be behaving with
+the futile orthodoxy required by our effete social system, and yet give
+the opportunity necessary to the female for the successful pursuit of
+the male.
+
+Only--and here a sudden spasm went through his frame, as he looked round
+on his guests--did he really wish to become a married man? Did he want
+to be obliged to be always with one woman, to be obliged to pay calls
+with her, dine out with her? Did he want to explain where he was going
+when he went by himself, and to give her some notion as to the hour when
+he would return, and to leave his address with her if he stayed away for
+a night? No! Marriage was a gross imposition on humanity, as his brother
+had discovered twice over. The woman in the world who would tempt him
+into harness would have to be exquisitely fascinating! But then--and
+this was the point--May Dashwood _had_ just that peculiar charm!
+Boreham's eyes were now resting on her face. She was sitting on his
+left, next Mrs. Harding, and Bingham's black head was bent and he was
+saying something to her that made her smile. Boreham wished that he had
+put Harding, the married man, next her! Harding was commonplace! Harding
+was safe! Look at Harding doing his duty with Mrs. Potten! Useful man,
+Harding! But Bingham was a bachelor, and not safe!
+
+And so the luncheon went on, and Boreham talked disconnectedly because
+he forgot the thread of his argument in his keenness to hear what May
+Dashwood and Bingham were saying to each other. He tried to drag in
+Bingham and force him to talk to the table, but his efforts were
+fruitless. Bingham merely looked absently and sweetly round the table,
+and then relapsed into talk that was inaudible except to his fair
+neighbour.
+
+Gwendolen Scott watched the table silently, and wondered how it was they
+found so much to talk about. Harding did not intend to waste any time in
+talking to an Oxford person. He put his elbow on the table on her side
+and conversed with Mrs. Potten. He professed interest in her
+agricultural pursuits, told her that he liked digging in the rain, and
+by the time lunch was over he had solemnly emphasised his opinion that
+the cricket bat and the shot gun and the covert and the moderate party
+in the Church of England were what made our Empire great. Mrs. Potten
+approved these remarks, and said that she was surprised and pleased to
+hear such sound views expressed by any one from Oxford. She was afraid
+that very wild and democratic views were not only tolerated, but born
+and bred in Oxford. She was afraid that Oxford wasn't doing poor, dear,
+clever Bernard any good, though she was convinced that the "dear
+Warden" would not tolerate any foolishness, and she was on the point of
+rising when her movements were delayed by the shock of hearing Mr.
+Bingham suddenly guffaw with extraordinary suavity and gentleness.
+
+She turned to him questioningly.
+
+"It depends upon what you mean by democratic," he said, smiling softly
+past Mrs. Potten and on to Harding. "The United States of America, which
+makes a point of talking the higher twaddle about all men being free and
+equal, can barely manage to bring any wealthy pot to justice. On the
+other hand, Oxford, which is slimed with Toryism, is always ready to
+make any son of any impecunious greengrocer the head of one's college.
+In Oxford, even at Christ Church"--and here Bingham showed two rows of
+good teeth at Harding,--"you may say what you like now. Oxford now
+swarms with political Humanitarians, who go about sticking their
+stomachs out and pretending to be inspired! Now, what do you mean by
+Democratic?"
+
+Mrs. Potten would have been shocked, but Bingham's mellifluous voice
+gave a "cachet" to his language. She looked nervously at Boreham; seeing
+that he had caught the talk and was about to plunge into it, she
+signified "escape" to Lady Dashwood and rose herself.
+
+"We will leave you men to quarrel together," she said to Harding. "You
+give it to them, Mr. Harding. Don't you spare 'em," and she passed to
+the door.
+
+For a moment the three men who were left behind in the dining-room
+glanced at each other--then they sat down. Boreham was torn between the
+desire to dispute whatever either of his guests put forward, and a still
+keener desire to get away rapidly to the drawing-room. Harding had
+already lost all interest in the subject of democracy, and was passing
+on the claret to Bingham. Bingham helped himself, wondering, as he did
+so, whether Mrs. Dashwood was in mourning for a brother, or perhaps had
+been mourning for a husband. It seemed to Bingham an interesting
+question.
+
+"Good claret this of yours," said Harding. "I conclude that you weren't
+one of those fanatics who tried to force us all to become teetotallers.
+My view is that at my age a man can judge for himself what is good for
+him."
+
+"That wasn't quite the point," said Bingham. "The point was whether the
+stay-at-homes should fill up their stomachs, or turn it into cash for
+war purposes."
+
+"Of course," sneered Harding, "you like to put it in that way."
+
+"It isn't any man's business," broke in Boreham, "whether another man
+can or can't judge what's good for him."
+
+Boreham had been getting up steam for an attack upon Christ Church
+because it was ecclesiastical, upon Balliol because it had been
+Bingham's college, and upon Oxford in general because he, Boreham, had
+not been bred within its walls. In other words, Boreham was going to
+speak with unbiassed frankness. But this sudden deviation of the talk to
+claret and Harding's cool assumption that his view was like his host's,
+could not be passed in silence.
+
+"What I say is," said Harding again, "that when a man gets to my
+age----"
+
+"Age isn't the question," interrupted Boreham. "Let every man have his
+own view about drink. Mine is that I'm not going to ask your permission
+to drink. If a man likes to get drunk, all I say is that it's not my
+business. The only thing any of your Bishops ever said that was worth
+remembering was: 'I'd rather see England free than England sober.'"
+
+Harding allowed that the saying was a good one. He nodded his head.
+Bingham sipped his claret. "You do get a bit free when you're not
+sober," he said sweetly. "I say, Harding, so you would rather see Mrs.
+Harding free than sober!"
+
+Harding made an inarticulate noise that indicated the place to which in
+a future life he would like to consign the speaker.
+
+"Every man does not get offensive when drunk," said Boreham, ignoring,
+in the manner peculiar to him, the inner meaning of Bingham's remark.
+
+"That's true," said Bingham. "A man may have as his family motto: 'In
+Vino Suavitas'(Courteous though drunk, Boreham); but when you're drunk
+and you still go on talking, don't you find the difficulty is not so
+much to be courteous as to be coherent? In the good old drinking days of
+All Souls, of which I am now an unworthy member, it was said that Tindal
+was supreme in Common Room _because_ 'his abstemiousness in drink gave
+him no small advantage over those he conversed with.'"
+
+"Talk about supreme in Common Room," said Boreham, catching at the
+opportunity to drive his dagger into the weak points of Oxford, "you
+chaps, even before the war, could hardly man your Common Rooms. You're
+all married men living out in the brick villas."
+
+"Harding's married," said Bingham. "I'm thinking about it. I've been
+thinking for twenty years. It takes a long time to mature thoughts. By
+the by, was that a Miss Dashwood who sat next Harding? I don't think I
+have ever met her in Oxford."
+
+"She is a Miss Scott," said Boreham, suddenly remembering that he wanted
+to join the ladies as soon as possible. He would get Bingham alone some
+day, and squeeze him. Just now there wasn't time. As to Harding--he was
+a hopeless idiot.
+
+"Not one of Scott of Oriel's eight daughters? Don't know 'em by sight
+even. Can't keep pace with 'em," said Harding.
+
+"She's the daughter of Lady Belinda Scott," said Boreham, "and staying
+with Lady Dashwood."
+
+"I thought she didn't belong to Oxford," said Bingham.
+
+Harding stared at his fellow Don, vaguely annoyed. He disliked to hear
+Bingham hinting at any Oxford "brand"--it was the privilege of himself
+and his wife to criticise Oxford. Also, why hadn't he talked to Miss
+Scott? He wondered why he hadn't seen that she was not an Oxford girl by
+her dress and by her look of self-satisfied simplicity, the right look
+for a well-bred girl to have.
+
+"I promised to show Mrs. Dashwood my house," said Boreham. "We mustn't
+keep the ladies too long waiting. Shall we go?" he added. "Oh, sorry,
+Harding, I didn't notice you hadn't finished!"
+
+The men rose and went into the drawing-room. Harding saw, as he entered,
+that his wife had discovered that Miss Scott was a stranger and she was
+talking to her, while Mrs. Greenleafe Potten had got the Dashwoods into
+a corner and was telling them all about Chartcote: a skeleton list of
+names with nothing attached to them of historical interest. It was like
+reading aloud a page of Bradshaw, and any interruption to such
+entertainment was a relief. Indeed, May Dashwood began to smile when she
+saw Boreham approaching her. Something, however, in his manner made the
+smile fade away.
+
+"Will you come over the house?" he asked, carefully putting his person
+between herself and Lady Dashwood so as to obliterate the latter lady.
+"I don't suppose Lady Dashwood wants to see it. Come along, Mrs.
+Dashwood."
+
+May could scarcely refuse. She rose. Harding was making his way to
+Gwendolen Scott and raising his eyebrows at his wife as a signal for her
+to appropriate Mrs. Potten. Bingham was standing in the middle of the
+room staring at Lady Dashwood. Some problems were working in his mind,
+in which that lady figured as an important item.
+
+Gwendolen Scott looked round her. Mr. Harding had ignored her at lunch,
+and she did not mean to have him sitting beside her again. She was quite
+sure she wouldn't know what to say to him, if he did speak. She got up
+hurriedly from her chair, passed the astonished Harding and plunged at
+Mrs. Dashwood.
+
+"Oh, do let me come and see over the house with you," she said, laying a
+cold hand nervously on May's arm. "I should love to--I simply love
+looking at portraits."
+
+"Come, of course," said May, with great cordiality.
+
+Boreham stiffened and his voice became very flat. "I've got no portraits
+worth looking at," said he, keeping his hand firmly on the door. "I have
+a couple of Lely's, they're all alike and sold with a pound of tea. The
+rest are by nobodies."
+
+"Oh, never mind," said Gwen, earnestly. "I love rooms; I
+love--anything!"
+
+Boreham's beard gave a sort of little tilt, and his innermost thoughts
+were noisy and angry, but he had to open the door and let Gwendolen
+Scott through if the silly little girl would come and spoil everything.
+
+Boreham could not conceal his vexation. His arrangements had been
+carefully made, and here they were knocked on the head, and how he was
+to get May Dashwood over to Chartcote again he didn't know.
+
+"What a nice hall!" exclaimed Gwen. "I do love nice halls," and she
+looked round at the renaissance decorations of the wall and the domed
+roof. "Oh, I do love that archway with the statue holding the electric
+light, it is sweet!"
+
+"It's bad style," said Boreham, walking gloomily in front of them
+towards a door which led into the library. "The house was decent enough,
+I believe, till some fool in the family, seeing other people take up
+Italian art, got a craze for it himself and knocked the place about."
+
+"Oh," said Gwen, crestfallen, "I really don't know anything about how
+houses ought to look. I only know my cousin Lady Goosemere's house and
+mother's father's old place, my grandfather's and--and--I do like the
+Lodgings, Mrs. Dashwood," she added in confusion.
+
+"So do I," said May Dashwood.
+
+"This is the library," said Boreham, opening the door.
+
+Boreham led them from one room to another, making remarks on them
+expressly for the enlightenment of Mrs. Dashwood, using language that
+was purposely complicated and obscure in order to show Miss Scott that
+he was not taking the trouble to give her any information. Whenever he
+spoke, he stared straight at May Dashwood, as if he were alone with her.
+He did not by any movement or look acknowledge the presence of the
+intruder, so that Gwendolen began to wonder how long she would be able
+to endure her ill-treatment at Chartcote, without dissolving into tears.
+She kept on stealing a glance at the watch on Mrs. Dashwood's wrist, but
+she could never make out the time, because the figures were not the
+right side up, and she never had time to count them round before Mrs.
+Dashwood moved her arm and made a muddle of the whole thing.
+
+But no lunch party lasts for ever, and at last Gwendolen found herself
+down in the hall with the taxi grunting at the door and a bustle of
+good-byes around her. The rain had stopped. Mrs. Greenleafe Potten and
+Bingham were standing together on the shallow steps like two children.
+The Hardings were already halfway down the drive. Lady Dashwood looked
+out of the window of the taxi at Boreham, as he fastened the door.
+
+"Wait a minute, Mr. Boreham," she said. "Tell Mr. Bingham we can take
+him into Oxford."
+
+"He's going to walk," said Boreham, coldly. "He's going to walk back
+with Mrs. Potten, who wants to walk, and then return for his bicycle."
+
+"Oh, very well," said Lady Dashwood, leaning back. "Good-bye, so many
+thanks, Mr. Boreham."
+
+Boreham's face wore an enigmatic look as he walked up the steps.
+
+Bingham had opened a pocket-book and was making a note in it with a
+pencil.
+
+"Excuse me just one moment, Mrs. Potten. I shan't remember if I don't
+make a note of it."
+
+The note that Bingham jotted down was: "Sat. Lady Dashwood, dinner 8
+o'clock."
+
+Boreham glanced keenly and suspiciously at him, for he heard him murmur
+aloud the words he was writing.
+
+Boreham did not see that Bingham had any right to the invitation.
+
+"I've forgotten my waterproof," exclaimed Mrs. Potten, as she went down
+the steps.
+
+Bingham dived into the hall after it and having found it in the arms of
+a servant, he hurried back to Mrs. Potten.
+
+"I do believe I've dropped my handkerchief," remarked Mrs. Potten, as he
+started her down the drive at a brisk trot.
+
+"Are you afraid of this pace?" asked Bingham evasively, for he did not
+intend to return to the house.
+
+Boreham gazed after them with his beard at a saturnine angle. "You
+couldn't expect her to remember everything," he muttered to himself.
+
+The sky was low, heavy and grey, and the air was chilly and yet close,
+and everything--sky, half-leafless trees, the gravelled drive
+too--seemed to be steaming with moisture. The words came to Boreham's
+mind:
+
+    "My very heart faints and my whole soul grieves,
+     At the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves."
+
+"That won't do," he said to himself, as he still stood on the steps
+motionless. "It's no use quoting from Victorian poets. 'What the people
+want' is nothing older than Masefield or Noyes, or Verhaeren. Because,
+though Verhaeren's old enough, they didn't know about him till just now,
+and so he seems new; then there are all the new small chaps. No, I can't
+finish that article. After all, what does it matter? They must wait, and
+I can afford now to say, 'Take it or leave it, and go to the Devil!'"
+
+He turned and went up the steps. There was no sound audible except the
+noise Boreham was making with his own feet on the strip of marble that
+met the parquetted floor of the hall. "It's a beastly distance from
+Oxford," he said, half aloud; "one can't just drop in on people in the
+evening, and who else is there? I'm not going to waste my life on half a
+dozen damned sport-ridden, parson-ridden neighbours who can barely spell
+out a printed book."
+
+One thing had become clear in Boreham's mind. Either he must marry May
+Dashwood for love, or he must try and let Chartcote, taking rooms in
+Oxford and a flat in town.
+
+If Boreham had found the morning unprofitable, the Hardings had not
+found it less so.
+
+"Did Mrs. Potten propose calling?" asked Harding of his wife, as they
+sat side by side, rolling over a greasy road towards Oxford.
+
+"No," said Mrs. Harding.
+
+"It's quite clear to me," said Harding, "that Mrs. G. P. only regards
+Boreham as a freak, so that _he_ won't be any use."
+
+"We needn't go there again," said Mrs. Harding, "unless, of course," she
+added thoughtfully, "we knew beforehand--somehow--that it wasn't just an
+Oxford party. And Lady Dashwood won't do anything for us."
+
+"It's not been worth the taxi," said Harding.
+
+"I wish you'd not made that mistake about Miss Scott," said Mrs.
+Harding, after a moment's silence.
+
+"How could I help it?" blurted Harding. "Scott's a common name. How on
+earth could I tell--and coming from Oxford!"
+
+"Yes, but you could see she powdered, and her dress! Besides, coming
+with the Dashwoods and knowing Mrs. Potten!" continued Mrs. Harding. "If
+only you had said one or two sentences to her; I saw she was offended.
+That's why she ran off with Mrs. Dashwood, she wouldn't be left to your
+tender mercies. I saw Lady Dashwood staring."
+
+Harding made no answer, he merely blew through his pursed-up mouth.
+
+"And we've got Boreham dining with us next Thursday!" he said after a
+pause. "Damn it all!"
+
+"No. I didn't leave the note," said Mrs. Harding. "I thought I'd 'wait
+and see.'"
+
+"Good!" said Harding.
+
+"It was a nuisance," said Mrs. Harding, "that we asked the Warden of
+King's when the Bishop was here and got a refusal. We can't ask the
+Dashwoods and Miss Scott even quietly. It's for the Warden to ask us."
+
+"Anyhow ask Bingham," said Harding; "just casually."
+
+Mrs. Harding looked surprised. "Why, I thought you couldn't stick him,"
+she said; "and he hasn't been near us for a couple of years at least."
+
+"Yes, but----"
+
+"Very well," said Mrs. Harding. "And meanwhile I've got Lady Dashwood to
+lend me Miss Scott for our Sale to-morrow! And shall I ask them to tea?
+We are so near that it would seem the natural thing to do."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+PARENTAL EFFUSIONS
+
+
+"Well, May," said Lady Dashwood, leaning back into her corner and
+speaking in a voice of satisfaction, "we've done our duty, I hope, and
+now, if you don't mind, we'll go on doing our duty and pay some calls. I
+ought to call at St. John's and Wadham, and also go into the suburbs.
+I've asked Mr. Bingham to dinner--just by ourselves, of course. Do you
+know what his nickname is in Oxford?"
+
+May did not know.
+
+"It is: 'It depends on what you mean,'" said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Oh!" said May. "Yes, in the Socratic manner."
+
+"I dare say," said Lady Dashwood. "What did you think of the Hardings?"
+
+May said she didn't know.
+
+"They are a type one finds everywhere," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+The afternoon passed slowly away. It was the busy desolation of the
+city, a willing sacrifice to the needs of war, that made both May and
+Lady Dashwood sit so silently as they went first to Wadham, and then,
+round through the noble wide expanse of Market Square opposite St.
+John's. Then later on out into the interminable stretch of villas
+beyond. By the time they returned to the Lodgings the grey afternoon
+light had faded into darkness.
+
+"Any letters?" asked Lady Dashwood, as Robinson relieved them of their
+wraps.
+
+Yes, there were letters awaiting them, and they had been put on the
+table in the middle of the hall; there was a wire also. The wire was
+from the Warden, saying that he would not be back to dinner.
+
+"He's coming later," said Lady Dashwood, aloud. "Late, May!"
+
+"Oh!" said May Dashwood.
+
+There was a letter for Gwen. It was lying by itself and addressed in her
+mother's handwriting. She laid her hand upon it and hurried up to her
+room.
+
+Lady Dashwood went upstairs slowly to the drawing-room. "H'm, one from
+Belinda," she said to herself, "asking me to keep Gwen longer, I
+suppose, on some absurd excuse! Well, I won't do it; she shall go on
+Monday."
+
+She turned up the electric light and seated herself on a couch at one
+side of the fire. She glanced through the other letters, leaving the one
+from Belinda to the last.
+
+"Now, what does the creature want?" she said aloud, and at the sound of
+her own voice, she glanced round the room. She had taken for granted
+that May had been following behind her and had sat down, somewhere,
+absorbed in her letters. There was no one in the room and the door was
+closed. She opened the letter and began to read:
+
+
+    "My dear Lena,
+
+    "I am a bit taken by surprise at Gwen's news! How rapidly it must
+    have happened! But I have no right to complain, for it sounds just
+    like a real old-fashioned love at first sight affair, and I can tell
+    by Gwen's letter that she knows her own mind and has taken a step
+    that will bring her happiness. Well, I suppose there is nothing that
+    a mother can do--in such a case--but to be submissive and very sweet
+    about it!"
+
+
+Lady Dashwood's hand that held the letter was trembling, and her eyes
+shifted from the lines. She clung to them desperately, and read on:
+
+
+    "I must try and not be jealous of Dr. Middleton. I must be very
+    'dood.' But just at the moment it is rather sudden and overpowering
+    and difficult to realise. I had always thought of my little Gwen,
+    with her great beauty and attractiveness, mated to some one in the
+    big world; but perhaps it was a selfish ambition (excusable in a
+    mother), for the Fates had decreed otherwise, and one must say
+    'Kismet!' I long to come and see you all. It is impossible for me to
+    get away to-morrow, but I could come on Saturday. Would that suit
+    you? It seems like a dream--a very real dream of happiness for Gwen
+    and for--I suppose I must call him 'Jim.' And I must (though I
+    shouldn't) congratulate you on so cleverly getting my little treasure
+    for your brother. I know how dear he is to you.
+
+                                                  "Yours affectionately,
+
+                                                        "Belinda Scott."
+
+
+Lady Dashwood laid the letter on her knees and sat thinking, with the
+pulses in her body throbbing. A dull flush had come into her cheeks, and
+just below her heart was a queer, empty, weak feeling, as if she had had
+no food for a long, long while.
+
+She moved at last and stood upon her feet.
+
+"I will not bear it," she said aloud.
+
+Her voice strayed through the empty room. The face of the portrait
+stared out remorselessly at her with its cynical smile. All the world
+had become cynical and remorseless. Lady Dashwood moved to the door and
+went into the corridor. She passed Gwen's room and went to May
+Dashwood's. There she knocked on the door. May's voice responded. She
+had already begun to dress.
+
+"Aunt Lena!" she exclaimed softly, as Lady Dashwood closed the door
+behind her without a word and came forward to the fireplace, "what has
+happened?"
+
+Lady Dashwood held towards her a letter. "Read that," she said, and then
+she turned to the fire and leaned her elbow on the mantelpiece and
+clasped her hot brow in her hands. She did not look at the tall slight
+figure with its aureole of auburn hair near her, and the serious sweet
+face reading the letter. What she was waiting for was--help--help in her
+dire need--help! She wanted May to say, "This can't be, must not be. _I_
+can help you"; and yet, as the silence grew, Lady Dashwood knew that
+there was no help coming--it was absurd to expect help.
+
+May Dashwood stood quite still and read the letter through. She read it
+twice, and yet said nothing.
+
+"Well!" said Lady Dashwood, her voice muffled. As no reply came, she
+glanced round. "You have read the letter?" she asked.
+
+"Yes," said May, "I've read it," and she laid the letter on the
+mantelpiece. There was a curious movement of her breathing--as if
+something checked it; otherwise her face was calm and she showed no
+emotion.
+
+"What's to be done?" demanded Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Nothing can be done," said May, and she spoke breathlessly.
+
+"Nothing!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood. "May!"
+
+"Nothing, not if it is his wish," said May Dashwood, and she cleared her
+throat and moved away.
+
+"If he knew, it would not be his wish," said Lady Dashwood. "If he knew
+about the other letter; if he knew what those women were like! Of
+course," she went on, "men are such fools, that he might think he was
+rescuing her from Belinda! But," she burst out suddenly, yet very
+quietly, "can't he see that Gwen has no moral backbone? Can't he see
+that she's a lump of jelly? No, he can't see anything;" then she turned
+round again to the fire. "Society backs up fraud in marriage. People
+will palm off a girl who drinks or who shows signs of inherited insanity
+with the shamelessness of horse-dealers. 'The man must look out for
+himself,' they say. Very well," said Lady Dashwood, pulling herself up
+to her full height, "I am going to do--whatever can be done." But she
+did not _feel_ brave.
+
+May had walked to the dressing-table and was taking up brushes and
+putting them down again without using them. She took a stopper out of a
+bottle, and then replaced it.
+
+Lady Dashwood stood looking at her, looking at the bent head silently.
+Then she said suddenly: "This letter was posted when?" She suddenly
+became aware that the envelope was missing. She had thrown it into the
+fire in the drawing-room or dropped it. It didn't matter--it was written
+last night. "Gwen must have posted her news at the latest yesterday
+morning by the first post. Then when could it have happened? He never
+saw her for a moment between dinner on Monday, when you arrived, and
+when she must have posted her letter." Lady Dashwood stared at her
+niece. "It must have happened before you arrived."
+
+"No," said May. "He must have _written_--you see;" and she turned round
+and looked straight at Lady Dashwood for the first time since she read
+that letter.
+
+"Written that same night, Monday, after Mr. Boreham left?"
+
+May moved her lips a moment and turned away again.
+
+"I don't believe it," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"If it is his wish--if he is in love," said May slowly, "you can do
+nothing!"
+
+"He is not in love with her," said Lady Dashwood, with a short bitter
+laugh. "If she speaks to me about it before his return, I--well, I shall
+know what to say. But she won't speak; she knows I read the first
+sentences of her mother's letter, and being the daughter of her
+mother--that is, having no understanding of 'honour'--she will take for
+granted that I read more--that I read that letter through."
+
+May remained silent. Just then the dressing gong sounded, and Lady
+Dashwood went to the door.
+
+"May, I am going to dress," she said. "I shall fight this affair; for if
+it hadn't been for me, Jim would still be a free man."
+
+May looked at her again fixedly.
+
+"What shall you say to Lady Belinda?" she asked.
+
+"I shall say nothing to Belinda--just now," said Lady Dashwood. "The
+letter may be--a lie!"
+
+"Suppose she comes on Saturday?" said May.
+
+Lady Dashwood's eyes flickered. "She can't come on Saturday," she said
+slowly. "There is no room for her, while you are here; the other
+bedrooms are not furnished. You"--here Lady Dashwood's voice became
+strangely cool and commanding--"you stay here, May, till Monday! I must
+go and dress."
+
+May did not reply. Lady Dashwood paused to listen to her silence--a
+silence which was assent, and then she left the room as rapidly and
+quietly as she had entered.
+
+Outside, the familiar staircase looked strange and unsympathetic, like
+territory lost to an enemy and possessed by that enemy--ruined and
+distorted to some disastrous end. Some disastrous end! The word "end"
+made Lady Dashwood stop and to think about it. Would this engagement
+that threatened to end in marriage, affect her brother's career in
+Oxford?
+
+It might! He might find it impossible to be an efficient Warden, if
+Gwendolen was his wife! There was no telling what she might not do to
+make his position untenable.
+
+Lady Dashwood went up the short stair that led to the other bedrooms.
+She passed Gwendolen's door. What was the girl inside that room thinking
+of? Was she triumphant?
+
+Had Lady Dashwood been able to see within that room, she would have
+found Gwendolen moving about restlessly. She had thrown her hat and
+outdoor things on the bed and was vaguely preparing to dress for dinner.
+Mrs. Potten had not said one word about asking her to come on
+Monday--not one word; but it didn't matter--no, not one little bit!
+Nothing mattered now!
+
+A letter lay on her dressing-table. From time to time Gwendolen came up
+to the dressing-table and glanced at the letter and then glanced at her
+own face in the mirror.
+
+The letter was as follows:--
+
+
+    "My Darling little girl,
+
+    "What you tell me puts me in a huge whirl of surprise and excitement.
+    I suppose I am a very vain mother when I say that I am not one little
+    bit astonished that Dr. Middleton proposes to marry you. But you must
+    not imagine for a moment that I think you were foolish in listening
+    to his offer. For many reasons, a very young pretty girl is safer
+    under the protection and care of a man a good deal older than
+    herself. Dr. Middleton in his prominent position in Oxford would not
+    promise to share his life and his home with you unless he really
+    meant to make you very, very happy, darling. May your future life as
+    mistress of the Lodgings be a veritable day-dream. Tell him how much
+    I long to come; but I can't till Saturday as I have promised to help
+    Bee with a concert on Friday; it is an engagement of honour, and you
+    know one must play up trumps. I rush this off to the post. My love,
+    darling,
+
+                                                    "Your own
+
+                                                       "Mother."
+
+
+Gwen had found a slip of paper folded in the letter, on which was
+written in pencil, "Of course you are engaged. Dr. Middleton is pledged
+to you. Tear up this slip of paper as soon as you have read it, and give
+my letter to you to the Warden to read. This is all-important. Let me
+know when you have given it to him."
+
+Gwen had read and had burned the slip of paper, and had even poked the
+ashes well into the red of the fire.
+
+When that was done, she had walked about the room excitedly.
+
+How was it possible to dress quietly when the world had suddenly become
+so dreadfully thrilling? So, after all her doubt and despair, after all
+her worry, she was engaged. It was all right! All she had to do was to
+give her mother's letter to the Warden and the matter was concluded. She
+was going to be Mrs. Middleton, and mistress of the Lodgings. How
+thrilling! How splendid it was of her mother to make it so plain and
+easy! And yet, how was she to put the letter into the Warden's hands?
+What was she to say when she handed the letter to him?
+
+When Louise appeared to attend to Gwen's dress, she found that young
+lady fastening up her black tresses with hands that showed suppressed
+excitement, and her eyes and cheeks were glowing.
+
+She turned and glanced at Louise. "I'm late, as usual, I suppose," she
+said and laughed.
+
+"Mademoiselle has the appearance of being _tres gaie ce soir_," said
+Louise.
+
+"Oh, not particularly," said Gwen; "only my hair won't go right; it's a
+beast, and refuses," and she laughed again.
+
+When she was Mrs. Middleton she would have a maid of her own, not a
+French maid. They were a nuisance, and looked shabby. Yes, she dared
+think of being engaged and of being married. It wasn't a dream: it was
+all real. She would buy a dog, a small little thing, and she would tie
+its front hair with a big orange bow and carry it about in her arms
+everywhere. It would be lovely to be dressed in a filmy tea-gown with
+the dog in her arms, and she would rise to meet callers and say, "I'm so
+sorry--the Warden isn't at home; but you know how busy he is," etc.,
+etc., and the men who called would pull the dog's ears and say "Lucky
+beggar!" and she would scold them for hurting her darling, darling pet,
+and she would sit in the best place in the Chapel, wearing the most
+cunning hats, and she would appear not to see that she was being
+admired.
+
+In this land of fairy dreams the Warden hovered near as a vague shadowy
+presence: he was there, but only as a name is over a shop window,
+something that marks its identity but has little to do with the delights
+to be bought within.
+
+And why shouldn't she imagine all this? There was the letter to be given
+to the Warden--that must be done first. She must think that over.
+Louise's presence suggested a plan. Suppose the Warden came home so late
+that she didn't see him? She would write a tiny note and put her
+mother's letter within it, and send it down to the library by Louise.
+That would be far easier than speaking to him. So much easier did it
+seem to Gwen, that she determined to go to bed very early, so that she
+should escape meeting the Warden.
+
+And what should she write in her little note?
+
+How exciting the world was; how funny it was going down into the
+drawing-room and meeting Lady Dashwood and Mrs. Dashwood, both looking
+so innocent, knowing nothing of the great secret! How funny it was going
+down to the great solemn dining-room, entered by its double doors--her
+dining-room--and sitting at table, thinking all the time that the whole
+house really belonged to her, and that she would in future sit in Lady
+Dashwood's chair! How deliciously exciting, indeed! All the plate and
+glass on the table was really hers. Old Robinson and young Robinson were
+really her servants. What a shock for Lady Dashwood when she found out!
+Gwen's eyes were luminous as she looked round the table. How envious
+some people would be of her! Mrs. Dashwood would not be pleased! For all
+her clever talk, Mrs. Dashwood had not done much. What a bustle there
+would be when the secret was discovered, when the Warden announced: "I
+am engaged to Miss Scott, Miss Gwendolen Scott!" How young, how awfully
+young to be a Warden's wife! What an excitement!
+
+During dinner, Lady Dashwood told Robinson to keep up a good fire in the
+library, as the Warden would probably arrive at about a quarter to
+eleven.
+
+That decided Gwen. She would go to bed at ten, and that would give her
+time to write her little note and get it taken to the library before the
+Warden arrived home. He would find it there, awaiting him.
+
+Dinner passed swiftly, though the two ladies were rather dull and
+silent. Gwen had so much to think of that she ate almost without knowing
+that she was eating. When they went upstairs to the drawing-room, the
+time went much more slowly, for there was nothing to do. Lady Dashwood
+and Mrs. Dashwood both took up books, and seemed to sink back into the
+very depths of their chairs, and disappear. It was very dismal. Perhaps
+Lady Dashwood hadn't read _that_ letter all through. Anyhow she had not
+been able to interfere. That was clear!
+
+Gwen went and fetched the book on Oxford, and read half a page of it,
+and when she had mastered that, she discovered that she had read it
+before. So she was no farther on for all her industry. How slowly the
+hands of the clock on the mantelpiece moved; how interminable the time
+was! Everybody was so silent that the clock could be heard ticking. That
+Lady Dashwood hadn't been able to interfere and make mischief with the
+Warden, showed how little power she had after all.
+
+At last the clock struck ten, and Gwen got up from her chair.
+
+"Ten," said Mrs. Dashwood, and she raised her face from her book.
+
+"Ten," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Yes, ten," said Gwendolen. "I think I'll go to bed, Lady Dashwood, if
+you don't mind."
+
+"Do, my dear," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+The girl stood up before her, slim and straight as an arrow. Both women
+sat and looked at her, and she glanced at both of them in silence. Her
+very beauty stung Lady Dashwood and made her eyes harden as she looked
+at the girl. What were May Dashwood's thoughts as she, too, leaning back
+in her large chair, looked at the dark hair and the flushed cheeks, the
+white brow and neck, the radiant pearly prettiness of eighteen!
+
+Gwen was conscious that they were examining her; that they knew she was
+pretty--they could not deny her prettiness. She felt a glow of pride in
+her youth and in her power--her power over a man who commanded other
+men. And this drawing-room was hers. She glanced at the portrait over
+the fireplace.
+
+"Mr. Thing-um-bob," she said dimpling, "is looking very sly this
+evening."
+
+May Dashwood took up her book again and turned over a few pages, as if
+she had lost her place. Lady Dashwood did not smile or speak. Gwen made
+a movement nearer to Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Good night," she said. She seemed to have a sudden intention of bending
+down, perhaps to kiss Lady Dashwood. Vague thoughts possessed the girl
+that this rather incomprehensible and imposing elderly woman, who wore
+such nice rings, was going to be a relation of hers. Would she be her
+sister-in-law? How funny to have anybody so old for a sister-in-law! It
+was a good thing she had, after all, so little influence over Dr.
+Middleton.
+
+"Good night, Gwen," said Lady Dashwood, without appearing to notice the
+girl's movement towards her. "Sleep well, child," she added and she
+turned her head towards May Dashwood.
+
+Gwen hesitated a brief moment, and then walked away. "I always sleep
+well," she said, with a laugh. "I once thought it would be so nice to
+wake up in the night, because one would know how comfy one was. But I
+did wake once--for about a quarter of an hour--and I soon got tired and
+hated it!"
+
+At the door she turned and said, "Good night, Mrs. Dashwood. I quite
+forgot--how rude of me!"
+
+"Good night," said May.
+
+The door closed.
+
+Lady Dashwood stared deeply at her book, and then raised her eyes
+suddenly to her niece.
+
+May had risen from her chair. "Do you mind, dear Aunt Lena, if I go off
+too?" She came close to Lady Dashwood and laid a caressing hand on her
+shoulder.
+
+Lady Dashwood looked up into her face, and May was startled at the
+expression of suffering in the eyes.
+
+"Go, dear, if you want to! I shall stay up--till he comes in. Yes, go,
+May!"
+
+"You won't feel lonely?" said May, and she sighed without knowing that
+she did so.
+
+"No," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+May bent down and kissed her aunt's brow. It was burning hot. She
+caressed her cheek with her hand, then kissed her again and went out. As
+May met the cooler air of the staircase, she murmured to herself, "I'm a
+coward to leave her alone--alone when she is so wretched. Oh, what a
+coward I am!"
+
+She shivered as she went up the stairs, and as soon as she was in her
+own room she put up the lights, and then she locked the door, and having
+done this she took off her dress and put on her dressing-gown. She sat
+down by the fire. How was she to stay on here till Monday: how was she
+to endure it? It would be intolerable! May groaned aloud. What right had
+she to call it intolerable? What had happened to her? What was
+demoralising her, turning her strength into weakness? What was it that
+had entered into her soul and was poisoning its health and destroying
+its purpose?
+
+A few days ago and she had been steadily pursuing her work. She had been
+stifling her sorrow, and filling the vacancy of her life with voluntary
+labour. Having no child of her own, she had been filling her empty arms
+with the children of other women. She had fed and nursed and loved
+babies that would never call her "Mother." She had had no time to think
+of herself--no time for regrets--for self-pity. And now, suddenly, her
+heart that had been quieted and comforted, her heart that had seemed
+quieted and comforted, her heart dismissed all this tender and sacred
+work and cried for something else--cried and would not be appeased. She
+felt as if all that she had believed fixed and certain in herself and in
+her life, was shaken and might topple over, and in the disaster her
+soul might be destroyed. She was appalled at herself.
+
+No, no; she must wrestle with this sin, with this devil of self; she
+must fight it!
+
+She got up from her chair and went to the dressing-table. There she took
+up with a trembling hand a little ivory case, and going back to her seat
+she opened it reverently and looked at the face of her boy husband.
+There he was in all the bloom of his twenty and six years. It was a
+young pleasant face. And he had been such a comrade of her childhood and
+girlhood. But strangely enough he had never seen the gulf widening
+between them as she grew into a woman older than her years and he into a
+man, young for his years; boyish in his view of life, mentally immature.
+He was quite unconscious that he never met the deeper wants of her
+nature; those depths meant nothing to him. There had been a tacit
+understanding between them from their childhood that they should marry;
+an understanding encouraged by their parents. When at last May found out
+her mistake; that this bondage was irksome and her heart unsatisfied, he
+had suddenly thrown the responsibility of his happiness, of his very
+life, upon her shoulders, not by threats of vengeance on himself, but by
+falling from his usual buoyant cheerfulness into a state of
+uncomplaining despondency.
+
+May had had more than her share of men's admiration. Her piquancy and
+ready sympathy more even than her good looks attracted them. But she had
+gone on her way heart whole, and meanwhile she could not endure to see
+her old comrade unhappy.
+
+They became formally engaged and he returned to his old careless
+cheerfulness. He was no longer a pathetic object, and she was a little
+disappointed and yet ashamed of her disappointment. Why should she have
+vague "wants" in her nature--these luxuries of the pampered soul? The
+face she now gazed upon, figured in the little ivory frame, was of a
+man, not over-wise, a man who was occupied with the enjoyment of life,
+yet without sinister motives. During those brief six months of married
+life, he had leant upon her, delighted and yet amused at her sterner
+virtues; and yet this man, not strong, not wise, when the call of duty
+came, when that ancient call to manhood, the call to rise up and meet
+the enemy, when that call came, he went out not shrinking, but with all
+honourable eagerness and fearlessness to offer his life. And his life
+was taken.
+
+So that he whom in life she had never looked to for moral help, had
+become to her--in death--something sacred and unapproachable. In her
+first fresh grief she had asked herself bitterly what she--in her young
+womanhood--had ever offered to humanity? Nothing at all comparable to
+his sacrifice! Had she ever offered anything at all? Had she not, from
+girlhood, taken all the joys that life put in her way, and taken them
+for granted?
+
+She had been aware of an underworld of misery, suffering and vice, had
+seen glimpses of it, heard its sounds breaking in upon her serenity. She
+had, like the travelling Levite, observed, noted, and had gone about her
+own business. So with passionate self-reproach she had thrown herself
+into work among the neglected children of the poor, and had tried to
+still the clamour of her conscience and fill the emptiness of her heart.
+
+And until now, that life had absorbed her and satisfied her--until now!
+
+"I am not worthy to look upon your face," she murmured, and she closed
+the ivory case, letting it fall upon her lap. She hid her face in her
+hands. Oh, why had she during those six months of marriage patronised
+him in her thoughts? Why had she told him he was "irresponsible,"
+jestingly calling him "her son," and now after his death, was she to
+add a further injustice and become unfaithful to his memory--the memory
+of her boy, who would never return?
+
+Sharp, burning tears oozed up painfully between her eyelids. She tried
+to pray, and into her whole being came a profound silent sense of
+self-abasement, absorbing her as if it were a prayer.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+NO ESCAPE
+
+
+Lady Dashwood sat on in the drawing-room. Now that she was alone it was
+not necessary to keep up the show of reading a book. She put it down on
+a table close at hand and gave herself up to thought.
+
+But what was the good of plans--until Jim came back? The first thing was
+to find out whether the engagement was a fact and not an invention of
+Belinda's. Then if it was a fact, whether Jim really wanted to marry
+Gwendolen? If he did want to, plans might be very difficult to make, and
+there was little time, with Belinda clamouring to come and play the
+mother-in-law. The vulture was already hovering with the scent of battle
+in its nostrils.
+
+Then, on the other hand, supposing Jim didn't want to marry Gwen, but
+had only been run into it--somehow--before he had had time to see May
+Dashwood, then plans might be easier. But in any case there were almost
+overwhelming difficulties in the way of "doing anything." It was easy to
+say that she would never allow the marriage to take place, but how was
+she to prevent it?
+
+"I must prevent it," she murmured to herself. "Must!"
+
+What still amazed and confounded Lady Dashwood and made her helpless
+was: why her brother showed such obvious interest--more than mere
+interest--in May Dashwood, if he was in love with Gwendolen Scott and
+secretly pledged to her? Jim playing the ordinary flirt was unthinkable.
+It did look as if he had proposed in some impulsive moment, before May
+arrived, and then---- Why, that was why he had not announced his
+engagement! Was he playing a double game? No, it was unthinkable that he
+should not be absolutely straight. Gwendolen had somehow entangled him.
+The very thought of it made Lady Dashwood get up from her chair and move
+about restlessly. Then an idea struck her. Jim coveted Gwendolen for her
+youth and freshness and only admired May! Yes, only admired her, and
+regarding her as still mourning for her young husband, still
+inconsolable, he had treated her with frankness and had shown his
+admiration without the restraint that he would have used otherwise.
+
+When would Jim return? How long would she have to wait?
+
+She had told Robinson to take a tray of refreshments for the Warden into
+the library. Now that she was alone in the drawing-room she would have
+the tray brought in here. When Jim did come in, she would have to
+approach her subject gradually. She must be as wily as a serpent--wily,
+when her pulses were beating and her head was aching? It would be more
+easy and natural for her to begin talking here than to go into the
+library and force him into conversation after the day's work was done.
+Yet the matter must be thrashed out at once. She could not go about with
+Belinda's letter announcing the engagement and yet pretend that she knew
+nothing about it. Gwendolen probably knew that her mother had written;
+or if she didn't already know, would very likely know by the morning's
+post.
+
+She rang the bell, and when Robinson appeared, she told him to bring the
+tray in, instead of taking it to the library.
+
+"When the Warden comes in, tell him the tray is here," she said. Oh, how
+the last few minutes dragged! It was some distraction to have Robinson
+coming in and putting the tray down on the wrong table, and to be able
+to tell him the right table and the most suitable chair to accompany it.
+Then, when he had gone and all was ready, she chose a chair for herself.
+Not too near and not too far. She had Belinda's letter safe? Yes, it was
+here! She was ready, she was prepared. She was going to do something
+more difficult than anything she had experienced in her life, because so
+much depended on it, so much; and a great emotion is not easy to hide,
+it takes one's breath sometimes, it makes one's voice harsh, or
+indistinct, or worse still, it suddenly benumbs the brain, and thoughts
+go astray and tangle themselves, and all one's power of argument, all
+one's grip of the situation, goes.
+
+And the minutes passed slowly and still more slowly. When at last she
+heard sounds on the stairs, the blood rushed to her cheeks and her hands
+became as cold as ice. That was a bad beginning! She went to the door
+and opened it. He had come in and had gone into the library. She called
+out to him to come into the drawing-room. She heard his voice answer
+"Coming!" She left the door open and went back to her chair, the chair
+she had chosen, and she stood by it, waiting, looking at the open door.
+
+He came in. He looked all round the room, and closed the door behind
+him.
+
+"All alone?" he said, and there was a question in his voice. Who was he
+thinking of? Who was absent? Whose absence was he thinking of?
+
+She sat down. "You're not cold?" she asked.
+
+"Not at all," he said, and he walked to the table arranged for him and
+sat down.
+
+"Did you have a satisfactory day?" she asked.
+
+"On the whole," he said slowly, "yes."
+
+"You're not tired?" she asked.
+
+"Not a bit," he answered. "Why should I be?" and he looked at her and
+smiled.
+
+"I don't know why you should be, Jim. I'm glad you're not. My guests
+seemed to be tired, for they both went off long ago."
+
+She was now making the first step in the direction which she must boldly
+travel.
+
+"I expect you are tired too," he said, "only--as usual--you wait up for
+me."
+
+The Warden poured himself out a cup of coffee, and took up a sandwich,
+adding: "I managed to get a scrappy dinner before seven; if I had waited
+longer I should have missed my train."
+
+"We were very dull at dinner without you," she said, bringing him back
+again to the point from which she was starting.
+
+The Warden looked pleased, and then pained. Lady Dashwood was watching
+him with keen tired eyes.
+
+"We lunched at Chartcote, and then we did all that you particularly
+wanted me to do," she said. "And then something rather amazing
+happened--I found a letter waiting me from Belinda Scott!"
+
+She paused. The Warden glanced at her: his face became coldly
+abstracted.
+
+"I don't mean that it was strange that she should write, but that what
+she said was strange."
+
+He glanced at her again, and she saw that he was arrested. She went on.
+It seemed now easier to speak. A strange cold despair had seized her,
+and with that despair a fearlessness.
+
+"I can't help thinking that there is some mistake, because you would
+have told me if--well, anything had happened to you--of consequence! You
+would not have left me to be told by an--an outsider."
+
+The Warden raised the cup of coffee to his lips, and then put it down
+carefully.
+
+"Anything that has happened," he said, "has not been communicated by me
+to anybody. It did not seem to me that--there was anything that ought to
+be."
+
+Lady Dashwood waited and finding her lips would stiffen and her voice
+sounded hollow, measured her words.
+
+"Will you read Belinda's letter, and then you will see what I mean?" she
+said, and she rose and held the paper out to him.
+
+His features had grown tense and severe. He half rose, and reached out
+over the table for the letter, and took it without a word. Then he put
+on his eye-glasses and read it through very slowly.
+
+Lady Dashwood sat, staring at her own hands that lay in her lap. She was
+not thinking, she was waiting for him to speak.
+
+He read the letter through, and sat with it in his hand, silent for a
+minute. For years he had been accustomed to looking over the
+compositions of men who had begun to think, and of men who never would
+begin to think. He was unable to read anything without reading it
+critically. But his criticism was criticism of ideas and the expression
+of ideas. He had no insight either by instinct or training for the
+detection of petty personal subterfuges, nor did he suspect crooked
+motives. But the discrepancy between this effusion of maternal emotion
+and Gwendolen's assertion that she had no home and that nobody cared was
+glaring.
+
+The writer of the letter was a bouncing, selfish woman of poor
+intelligence. That fact, indeed, had become established in the Warden's
+mind. The letter was in hopelessly bad taste. It became pretty plain,
+therefore, that Gwendolen had spoken the truth, and the lie belonged to
+the mother.
+
+Already, yes, already he was being drawn into an atmosphere of paltry
+humbug, of silly dishonesty, an atmosphere in which he could not
+breathe.
+
+Couldn't breathe! The Warden roused himself. What did he mean by "being
+drawn"? He had carried out his life with decisive and serious
+intentions, and whoever shared that life with him would have to live in
+the atmosphere he had created around him. Surely he was strong enough
+not only to hold his own against the mother, but to mould a pliable girl
+into a form that he could respect!
+
+"Somehow, I can't imagine how," said Lady Dashwood, breaking the
+silence, "I found a letter from Belinda to Gwendolen on my toilet table
+among other letters, and opened it and I began reading it--without
+knowing that it was not for me. Belinda's writing--all loops--did not
+make the distinction between Gwen and Lena so very striking. I read two
+sentences or so, and one phrase I can't forget; it was 'What are you
+doing about the Warden?' I turned the sheet and saw, 'Your affectionate
+mother, Belinda Scott.' I did not read any more. I gave the letter to
+Gwen, and I saw by her face that she had read the letter herself. 'What
+are you doing about the Warden?' Knowing Belinda, I draw conclusions
+from this sentence that do not match with the surprise she expresses in
+this letter you have just read. You understand what I mean?"
+
+The Warden moved on his seat uneasily.
+
+"Belinda speaks of your _engagement_ to Gwendolen," said Lady Dashwood,
+and her voice this time demanded an answer.
+
+"I am not engaged," he said, turning his eyes to his sister's face
+slowly, "but, I am pledged to marry her--if it is her wish."
+
+Lady Dashwood's eyes quavered.
+
+"Is it your wish?" she asked.
+
+The Warden rose from his chair as if to go.
+
+"I can't discuss the matter further, Lena. I cannot tell you more. I had
+no right, I had no reason, for telling you anything before, because
+nothing had been concluded--it may not be concluded. It depends on her,
+and she has not spoken to me decisively."
+
+He moved away from the table.
+
+"You haven't finished your coffee, your sandwiches," said Lady Dashwood,
+to give herself time, and to help her to self-control. Oh, why had he
+put himself and his useful life in the hands of a mere child--a child
+who would never become a real woman? Why did he deliberately plan his
+own martyrdom?
+
+"I don't want any more," he said, "and I have letters to write."
+
+"Jim," she called to him gently, "tell me at least--if you are
+happy--whether----"
+
+"I can't talk just now--not just now, Lena," he said.
+
+"But Belinda takes the matter as settled--otherwise the letter is not
+merely absurd--but outrageous!"
+
+The Warden hesitated in his slow stride towards the door.
+
+"I am not going to have Belinda here on Saturday. There is no room for
+her. She can't come till May has gone." Lady Dashwood spoke this in a
+firm, rapid voice.
+
+"That is for you to decide," he said. "You are mistress here."
+
+He was moving again when she said in a voice full of pain: "You say you
+can't talk just now, you can't speak to me of what is happening to you,
+of what may happen to you, when you, next to John, are more to me than
+anything else in the world. What happens to you means happiness or
+misery to me, and yet you _can't talk_!"
+
+The Warden was arrested, stood still, and turned towards her.
+
+"You owe me some consideration, Jim. I have no children, you have been a
+son as well as a brother to me. I can have no peace of mind, no joy in
+life if things go wrong with you. Yes, I repeat it--if things go wrong
+with you. I was your mother, Jim, for many years, and yet you say you
+can't discuss something that is of supreme importance! You are willing
+to go out of this room and leave me to spend a night sleepless with
+anxiety."
+
+What his engagement to Gwendolen would mean to her was expressed more in
+her voice even than in her words. The Warden stood motionless.
+
+"Be patient with me, Lena. I can't talk about it--I would if I could. I
+know all I owe to you--all I can never repay; but there is nothing more
+to tell you than that I have offered her a home. I have made a
+proposal--I was not aware that she had definitely accepted, and that is
+why I said nothing to you about it."
+
+Lady Dashwood got up. She did not approach her brother. Her instinct
+told her not to touch him, or entreat him by such means. She made a step
+towards the hearth, and said in a muffled voice--
+
+"Will you answer one question? You can answer it."
+
+He made no sound of assent.
+
+"Are you in love with her? or"--and here Lady Dashwood's voice
+shook--"do you feel that she will help you? Do you think she will be
+helpful to--the College?"
+
+There was a pause, and then the Warden's voice came to her; he was
+forcing himself to speak very calmly.
+
+"I have no right to speak of what may not happen. Lena, can't you see
+that I haven't?"
+
+The pause came again.
+
+"You have answered it," said Lady Dashwood, in a broken voice.
+
+There was no time to think now, for at that moment there came a sound
+that startled both of them and made them stand for a second with lifted
+heads listening.
+
+"Some one screamed!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood.
+
+The Warden was already at the door and had pulled it open. "The
+library!" he called out to her sharply, and he was gone. She hurried out
+after him, her heart beating with the sudden alarm. What had happened,
+what was it?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+THE GHOST
+
+
+As soon as she had reached her room Gwendolen Scott sat down seriously
+by the little writing-table. Here was the paper and here was the pen,
+but the composition of the letter to the Warden was not even projected
+in her mind. The thoughts would not come.
+
+"Dear Dr. Middleton," Gwen began with complete satisfaction. That was
+all right. After some thought she went on. "Mother asks me to give you
+her letter!" No, of course, that wouldn't do. Her mother wouldn't like
+him to know that she ordered the letter to be shown to him. Everything
+on the slip of paper was secret. It was not the first time that Gwen had
+received private slips of paper.
+
+Gwen was obliged to tear up the sheet and begin again: "Dear Dr.
+Middleton,"----
+
+Now what would she say? It would take her all night. Of course, Louise
+looked in at the door and muttered something volubly.
+
+"I can manage myself," called out Gwen from her table. "I'm not ready,
+and shan't be for hours."
+
+Louise went away. Then it occurred to Gwen that she ought to have asked
+Louise to come back again in a few minutes, and take the letter. She
+really must try and get the letter written. So putting all the
+determination she was capable of into a supreme effort, she began: "I
+hope mother won't mind my showing you this letter." Gwen had heard her
+mother often say with complete self-satisfaction: "Only a fool is afraid
+to tell a useful lie, but only a fool tells one that isn't necessary!"
+Indeed, Lady Belinda thought the second half of her maxim a bit clever,
+a bit penetrating, and Gwen had listened to it smiling and feeling that
+some reflected glory from her mother's wit was falling upon her, because
+she understood how clever it was. Now the implied untruth that Gwen was
+putting upon paper seemed to her very useful, and it looked satisfactory
+when written.
+
+She went on: "I hope it wasn't wrong of me to tell what you said. You
+didn't say tell, but I didn't know what to do, as I am afraid to speak
+if you don't speak to me. You are so awfully, awfully kind that I know I
+oughtn't to be afraid, but I am. Do forgive stupid little me, and be
+kind again to
+
+                                                   "Your solotory little
+
+                                                      "GWENDOLEN SCOTT."
+
+
+The spelling of "solitary" had caused Gwen much mental strain, and even
+when the intellectual conflict was over and the word written, it did not
+look quite right. Why had she not said "lonely"? But that, too, had its
+difficulties.
+
+However, the letter was now finished. Louise had taken her at her word
+and had not returned. Gwen looked at her watch. It was past a quarter to
+eleven. At this hour she knew she mustn't ring the bell for a servant.
+She could not search for Louise, she would be in Lady Dashwood's room.
+She must take the letter herself to the library. She put the letter into
+an envelope and addressed it to Dr. Middleton. Then she added her
+mother's letter and sealed the whole.
+
+Then she peeped out of her door and listened! All the lights were full
+on and there was no sound of any one moving.
+
+The Warden very likely hadn't yet returned. She would try and find out.
+She slipped quietly down the steps, and with her feet on the thick
+carpeted landing she waited. She could see that the hall below was
+brightly lighted, and all was still. She listened intently outside the
+drawing-room door. Not a sound. She might have time--if he really hadn't
+arrived.
+
+She fled across the head of the staircase and was at the door of the
+library in a second of time. There she paused. No, there was no sound
+behind her! No one was coming upstairs! No one was opening the front
+door or moving in the hall! But it was just possible that he had already
+arrived and was sitting in the library. He might be sitting there--and
+looking severe! That would be alarming! Though--and here Gwen suddenly
+decided that for all his severity she infinitely preferred his
+appearance to that of a man like Mr. Boreham--Mr. Boreham's beard was
+surely the limit! She listened at the door. She laid her cheek against
+it and listened. No sound! The whole house illuminated and yet silent!
+There was something strange about it! She would peep in and if there was
+no light within--except, of course, firelight--she would know instantly
+that the Warden wasn't there. It would only take her a flash of a minute
+to run in, throw the letter down on the desk, and fly for all she was
+worth.
+
+She turned the handle of the door slowly and noiselessly, and pushed
+ever so little. The door opened just an inch or two and
+disclosed--darkness! Except for a glimmer--just a faint glimmer of
+light!
+
+He could not have come in, he could not possibly be there, and yet Gwen
+had a curious impression that the room was not empty. But empty it must
+be. She pushed the door quietly open and peeped in. The fire was burning
+on the hearth in solemn silence, a cavernous red. There was nobody in
+the room, and yet, as Gwen stole in and passed the projecting book-case
+opposite the door, against which she had stumbled that evening of
+evenings, she felt that she was not alone. It was a strange unpleasant
+feeling. There she was standing in the full space of that shadowy room.
+Books, books were everywhere--books that seemed to her keeping secrets
+in their pages and purposely not saying anything. The room was too long,
+too full of dead things--like books--too full of shadows. The heavy
+curtains looked black, the desk, its chair standing with its back to the
+fire--had a look of expecting to be occupied and waiting. She would have
+liked to have thrown the letter on to the desk instead of having to
+cross the few feet that separated her from the desk. The silence of the
+room was alarming! Something seemed to be ready to jump at her! Was
+something in the room? Gwen made a dash for the desk and threw down the
+letter. As she did so, a sudden thrill passed up her spine and stiffened
+her hair. She was _not_ alone! There _was_ somebody in the room, a
+shadow, an outline, at the far end of the room against one of the
+curtains--a man, a strange figure, looking straight at her! He was
+standing, bending forward but motionless against the curtain, and
+staring with eyes that had no life in them--at her!
+
+Gwen gave a piercing scream and rushed blindly for the door. She dashed
+against the projecting book-case, striking her head with some violence.
+She tried to cry for help, but could not, the room swam in her vision.
+She struck out her arms to shield herself, and as she did so she felt
+rather than heard some one coming to her rescue, some one who flashed on
+the lights--and she flung herself into protecting arms.
+
+"It's all right, it's all right," said the Warden. "What made you cry
+out? Don't be frightened, child!" and he half led, half carried her
+towards a chair near the fire.
+
+"No, no!" sobbed Gwen, shrilly. "Not here--no, take me away--away
+from----"
+
+"From what?" asked Lady Dashwood quietly, at her elbow. "What is the
+matter, Gwen? You mustn't scream for nothing--what has frightened you?"
+
+Gwen groaned aloud and hid her face in the Warden's arm.
+
+"Something in this room has frightened you?" he asked.
+
+Gwen sobbed assent.
+
+"There is nothing in this room," said Lady Dashwood. "Put her on the
+chair, Jim. She must tell us what it is she is afraid of. Come, Gwen!"
+
+Although Gwendolen submitted to the commanding voice of Lady Dashwood
+and allowed herself to be placed in the chair, she still grasped the
+Warden's arm and hid her face in it.
+
+"What frightened you, Gwen?" asked Lady Dashwood. "No harm can come to
+you--we are by you. Pull yourself together and speak plainly and
+quietly."
+
+Gwen uttered some half-incoherent sounds--one only being intelligible to
+the two who were bending over her.
+
+"A man!" said the Warden, glancing round with surprise.
+
+"No man is in the room," said Lady Dashwood. "Did he go out? Did you see
+him go out?"
+
+Gwen raised her face slightly.
+
+"No. At the end there--looking!" and again she burst into uncontrollable
+sobs.
+
+The Warden released his arm and walked to the farther end of the room,
+and Gwen grasped Lady Dashwood's arm and clung to her. The two women
+could hear the Warden as he walked across to the farther end of the
+room.
+
+Gwen dared not look, but Lady Dashwood turned her head, supporting the
+girl's head as she did so on her shoulder.
+
+The Warden had reached the window. He opened the curtains and looked
+behind them, then he pulled one sharply back, and into the lighted room
+came a flood of pale moonlight, and through the chequered window panes
+could be seen the moon herself riding full above a slowly drifting mass
+of cloud.
+
+"There is nothing in the room. If there were we should see it," said
+Lady Dashwood quietly, and she turned the girl's face towards the
+moonlight. "Look for yourself, Gwen. Your fears are quite foolish, my
+dear, and you must try and control them."
+
+So peremptory was Lady Dashwood's voice that the girl, still resting her
+head on the protecting shoulder, slightly opened her eyelids and saw the
+moonlight, the drawn curtains and the Warden standing looking back at
+them.
+
+"You can see for yourself that there is nothing here," he said.
+
+It was true, there was nothing there--there wasn't _now_: and for the
+first time Gwen was conscious of pain in her head and put up her hand.
+There was a lump where she had knocked it, the lump was sore.
+
+"Why, you have hurt your head, Gwen," said Lady Dashwood. "That explains
+everything. A blow on the head is just the thing to make you think you
+see something that isn't there! Come now, we'll go upstairs and put
+something on that bruised head, and make it well again."
+
+"I struck my head after I saw _it_," said Gwen, laying a stress upon the
+word "it," averting her eyes from the moonlight and rising with the help
+of Lady Dashwood.
+
+"You may have thought so," said Lady Dashwood. "Come we mustn't stop
+here. Dr. Middleton probably has letters to write. Jim, good night. I'm
+sorry you have been so much disturbed, after a hard day's work."
+
+The tone in which Lady Dashwood made her last remark and her manner in
+leading Gwendolen out of the library, was that of a person who has
+"closed" a correspondence, terminated an interview. The affair of the
+scream and fright was over. It was a perfectly unnecessary incident to
+have occurred in a sane working day, so she had apologised for its
+intrusion. Why Gwendolen was in the library at all was a question that
+was of no consequence. It certainly was not in search of a book on which
+to spend the midnight oil. She _was_ there--that was all.
+
+When they had gone, the Warden stood for some moments in the library
+pondering. He had shut the door. The curtains he had forgotten to pull
+back, and now he discovered his omission and went to the farther end of
+the room.
+
+The opposite wall, the wall of the court, was just tipped with silver.
+Distant spires and gables were silver grey. The clouds were drifting
+over the city westwards, and as the moon rode higher and higher in the
+southern sky, so the clouds sped faster before it, and behind it lay
+clear unfathomable spaces in the east.
+
+The Warden pulled the heavy curtain across the window again, and walked
+to the fireplace. Outside was the infinite universe--its immensity awful
+to contemplate! Inside was the narrow security of the lighted room in
+which he worked and thought and would work and think--for a few years!
+
+For a few years?
+
+How did he know that he should have even a few years in which to think
+and work for his College?
+
+The Warden went to the fire and stood looking down into it, his hands
+clasped behind his back.
+
+The girl he was pledged to marry, if she wished to marry him, might
+wreck his life! She had only just a few moments ago showed signs of
+being weakly hysterical. "Helpful to the College!" His sister's
+question had filled him with a sudden new ominous thought.
+
+What about the College? He had forgotten his duty to the College!
+
+"My marriage is my own concern," he was blurting out to himself
+miserably, as he looked at the fire. But the inevitable answer was
+already drumming in his ears--his own answer: "A man's action is not his
+own concern, and so deeply is every man involved in the life of the
+community in which he lives, that even his thoughts are not his own
+concern."
+
+The Warden paced up and down.
+
+There were letters lying on his desk unopened, unread. He would not
+attempt to answer any of them to-night. He could not attend to them,
+while these words were beating in his brain: "Do you think she will be
+helpful to the College?"
+
+His College! More to him than anything else, more than his duty; his
+hope, his pride! And the College meant also the sacred memory of those
+who had fallen in the war, all the glorious hopeful youth that had
+sacrificed itself! And he had forgotten the College!
+
+He dared not think any longer. He must wrestle with his thoughts. He
+must force them aside and wait, till the moment came when he must act.
+That moment might not come! Possibly it might not! He would go to bed
+and try and sleep. He must not let thoughts so bitter and so deadly
+overwhelm him, eating into the substance of his brain, where they could
+breed and batten on the finest tissues and breed again.
+
+He was looking at his desk and saw that one letter had tumbled from it
+on to the floor by his chair. He went across and picked it up. It was
+addressed in a big straggling hand--and had not come by post. He tore it
+open. It was from Gwendolen Scott. This was why she had come into the
+library. Without moving from the position where he stood he read it
+through.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+THE EFFECT OF SUGGESTION
+
+
+The clock struck midnight, and yet the Warden had not done what he had
+intended to do before he picked up that letter and read it. He had not
+gone to bed. He was still in his library, not at his desk, but in a
+great shabby easy-chair by the fire. He had put the lights out and was
+smoking in the half-dark.
+
+So deeply absorbed was the Warden in his own thoughts that he did not
+hear the first knock on the door. But he heard the second knock, which
+was louder.
+
+"Come in," he called, and he leaned forward in his chair. Who wanted him
+at such an hour? It would not be any one from the college?
+
+The door opened and Lady Dashwood came in. She was in a dressing-gown.
+
+"You haven't gone to bed," she said.
+
+It was obvious that he hadn't gone to bed.
+
+"No, not yet," said the Warden. And he added, "Do you want me?"
+
+"I ought not to want you, dear," she said, "for I know you must be very
+tired."
+
+Then she came up to the fireplace and stood looking down at her brother.
+She saw that the spring and the hope had gone out of his face. He looked
+older.
+
+"I have put Gwen to bed in my room, but even that has not quieted her,"
+said Lady Dashwood, speaking slowly.
+
+The Warden's face in the twilight looked set. He did not glance at his
+sister now.
+
+"She has lost her self-control. Do you know what the silly child thinks
+she saw?"
+
+Here Lady Dashwood paused, and waited for his reply.
+
+"I hadn't thought. She fancied she saw something--a man!" he answered,
+in his deep voice.
+
+He hadn't thought! There had been no room in his mind for anything but
+the doom that was awaiting him. One of his most bitter thoughts in the
+twilight of that room had been that a woman he could have loved was
+already under his roof when he took his destiny into his own hands and
+wrecked it.
+
+"I don't know," he said, repeating mechanically an answer to his
+sister's question.
+
+"She thought she saw the Barber's ghost," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+The Warden looked up in surprise. There was a slight and bitter smile at
+the corners of his mouth. Then he straightened himself in his chair and
+looked frowning into the fire. That Gwendolen should have taken a
+college "story" seriously and "made a scene" about it was particularly
+repugnant to him.
+
+"She came in here; why I don't know, and no doubt was full of the story
+about the Barber appearing in the library," said Lady Dashwood. "We
+ought not to have talked about it to any one so excitable. Then she
+knocked her head against the book-case and was in a state of daze, in
+which she could easily mistake the moonlight coming through an opening
+in the curtains for a ghost, and if a ghost, then of course the Barber's
+ghost. And so all this fuss!"
+
+"I see," said the Warden, gloomily.
+
+"As soon as we got upstairs, I had to pack Louise off before she had
+time to hear anything, for I can't have the whole household upset simply
+because a girl allows herself to become hysterical. May is now sitting
+with Gwen, as she won't be left alone for a moment."
+
+"What are you going to do?" asked the Warden, in a slow hard voice.
+
+"That's the question," she said, looking down at him narrowly.
+
+"Do you want a doctor?" he asked. "Is it bad enough for that? It is
+rather late to ask any one to come in when there isn't any actual
+illness."
+
+"A doctor would be worse than useless."
+
+"Well, then, what do you suggest?" he asked.
+
+"Couldn't you say something to her to quiet her?" said Lady Dashwood.
+
+The Warden looked surprised. "I couldn't say anything, Lena, that you
+couldn't say. You can speak with authority when you like."
+
+"More is wanted than that. She must be made to think she saw nothing
+here in this library," said Lady Dashwood. "You used to be able to
+'suggest.' Don't you remember?"
+
+The Warden pondered and said nothing.
+
+"She would like to keep the whole house awake--if she had the chance,"
+said Lady Dashwood, and the bitterness in her voice made her brother
+wince.
+
+"Couldn't you make her believe that the ghost won't, or can't come
+again, or that there are no such things as ghosts?"
+
+The Warden sat still; the glow was dying out of the cigar he held
+between his fingers. He did not move.
+
+"When you were a boy you found it easy enough to suggest; I remember I
+disapproved of it. I want you to do it now, because we must have quiet
+in the house."
+
+"She may not be susceptible to suggestion!" said the Warden, still
+obstinately keeping his seat.
+
+"You think she is too flighty, that she has too little power of
+concentration," suggested Lady Dashwood, with a sting in her voice. "You
+must try: come, Jim! I want to get some rest, I'm very tired."
+
+She did, indeed, look hollow-eyed, and seeing this he rose and threw his
+cigar into the fire. So this was the first thing he had to do as an
+engaged man: he had to prevent his future wife from disturbing the
+household. He had to distract her attention from absurd fears, he had to
+impose his will upon her. Such a relationship between them, the husband
+and wife that were to be, would be a relationship that he did not wish
+to have with any one whom he ought to respect, much less any one whom he
+ought to love.
+
+The errand on which he was going was a repulsive one. If even a faint
+trace of romantic appreciation of the girl's beauty had survived in him,
+it would have vanished now. What he was going to do seemed like a denial
+of her identity, and yet it seemed necessary to do it. Had he still much
+of that "pity" left for her that had impelled him to offer her a home?
+
+They left the library and, as they passed the curtained door of the
+Warden's bedroom, Lady Dashwood said, "You'll go to bed afterwards,
+Jim?"
+
+She had spoken a moment ago of her own fatigue as if it was important.
+She had now forgotten it. Her mind was never occupied for many moments
+with herself, she was now back again at her old habit, thinking of him.
+He was tired. No wonder, worn out with worries, of his own making, alas!
+
+"Yes," said the Warden, "yes, dear."
+
+The lights in the hall were still burning, and he turned them out from
+the wall by the head of the staircase. Then they went up the short steps
+into the corridor. Lady Dashwood's room was at the end.
+
+At the door of her room Lady Dashwood paused and listened, and turned
+round to her brother as if she were going to say something.
+
+"What?" whispered the Warden, bending his head.
+
+"Oh, nothing!" said Lady Dashwood, as if exasperated with her own
+thoughts. Then she opened the door and went in, followed by the Warden.
+
+The room was not spacious, and the canopied bedstead looked too massive
+for the room. It had stood there through the reign of four of the
+Wardens, and Lady Dashwood had kept it religiously. Gwen was propped up
+on pillows at one side of it, looking out of her luminous eyes with
+great self-pity. Her dark hair was disordered. She glanced round
+tearfully and apprehensively. An acute observer might have detected that
+her alarm was a little over expressed: she had three spectators--and one
+of them was the Warden!
+
+Near her stood May Dashwood in a black dressing-gown illumined by her
+auburn hair. It was tied behind at her neck and spread on each side and
+down her back in glistening masses. She looked like some priestess of an
+ancient cult, ministering to a soul distressed. The Warden stood for a
+moment arrested, looking across at them, and then his eyes rested on May
+alone.
+
+Gwen made a curious movement into her pillows and May moved away from
+the bed. She seemed about to slip away from the room, but Lady Dashwood
+made her a sign to stay. It was such an imperative sign that May stayed.
+She went to the fireplace silently and stood there, and Lady Dashwood
+came to her. No one spoke. Lady Dashwood stood with face averted from
+the bed and closed her eyes, like one who waits patiently, but takes no
+part and no responsibility. May did not look at the bed, but she heard
+what was said and saw, without looking.
+
+The Warden was now walking quietly round to the side where Gwendolen was
+propped. She made a convulsive movement of her arms towards him and
+sobbed hysterically--
+
+"Oh, I'm so frightened!"
+
+He approached her without responding either to her exclamation or her
+gestures. He put his hand on the electric lamp by the bed, raised the
+shade, and turned it so as to cast its light on his own face. While he
+did this there was silence.
+
+Then he began to speak, and the sound of his voice made May's heart stir
+strangely. She leaned her elbow on the mantelpiece and pressed her hand
+over her eyes. All her prayers that night, all her self-reproach, meant
+very little. What were they but a pretence, a cloak to hide from herself
+the nakedness of her soul? No, they were not a pretence. Her prayer had
+been a real prayer for forgetfulness of herself. But in his presence the
+past seemed to slip away and leave her clamouring for relief from this
+strange present suffering, and from this dull empty aching below her
+heart when she drew her breath. She knew now how weak she was.
+
+She could hear his voice saying: "What is it you are afraid of?" and as
+he spoke, it seemed to May herself that fear, of all things in the
+world, was the least real, and fear of spirits was an amazing folly.
+
+"I thought I saw something," said Gwendolen, doubtfully; for already she
+was under the influence of his voice, his manner, his face; and her mind
+had begun to relax the tenacity of its hold on that one distracting
+fear.
+
+"You thought you saw something," he said, emphasising the word
+"thought"; "you made a mistake. You saw nothing--you imagined you
+saw--there _was_ nothing!"
+
+May could not hear whether Gwendolen made any reply.
+
+"And now I am going to prevent you from frightening yourself by
+imagining such foolish things again."
+
+Although she did not look towards them, but kept her eyes on the ground,
+May was aware that the Warden was now bending over the bed, and he was
+speaking in an inaudible voice. She could hear the girl move round on
+the pillow in obedience to some direction of his. After this there came
+a brief silence between them that seemed an age of intolerable misery to
+May, and then she perceived that the Warden was turning out the bed
+light, and she heard him move away from the bed. He walked to the door
+very quietly, as if to avoid awakening a sleeper.
+
+"Good night," he said in a low voice, and then, without turning towards
+them, he went out of the room.
+
+The door was closed. The two women moved, looked at each other, and then
+glanced at the bed. Gwen was lying still; she had slid down low on her
+pillows, with her face towards the windows and her eyes closed. They
+stood motionless and intent, till they could see in the dim light that
+the girl was breathing quietly and slowly in sleep. Then Lady Dashwood
+spoke in a whisper.
+
+"Now, I suppose, I can go to bed!"
+
+Then she looked round at May. "Go to bed, May! You look worn out."
+
+"Shall you sleep?" whispered May Dashwood, but she spoke as if she
+wasn't listening for an answer.
+
+"I don't know," said Lady Dashwood, in a whisper too. "It's so like
+life. The person who has made all the fuss is comfortably asleep, and we
+who have had to endure the fuss, we who are worn out with it, are awake
+and probably won't sleep."
+
+May moved towards the door and her aunt followed her. When May opened
+the door and went outside, Lady Dashwood did not close the door or say
+good night. She stood for a moment undecided, and then came outside
+herself and pulled the door to softly behind her.
+
+"May!" she said, and she laid a detaining hand on her niece's arm.
+
+"What, Aunt Lena?"
+
+"If he liked, he could repel her, make her dislike him! If he liked he
+could make her refuse to marry him! You understand what I mean? He must
+know this now. The idea will be in his mind. He'll think it over. But
+I've no hope. He won't act on it. He'll only think of it as a temptation
+that he must put aside."
+
+May did not answer.
+
+"He could," said Lady Dashwood; "but he won't. He thinks himself
+pledged. And he isn't even in love with her. He isn't even infatuated
+for the moment!"
+
+"You can't be sure."
+
+"I am sure," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"How?" And now May turned back and listened for an answer with downcast
+eyes.
+
+"I asked him a question--which he refused to answer. If he were in love
+he would have answered it eagerly. Why, he would have forced me to
+listen to it."
+
+May Dashwood moved away from her aunt. "Still--they are engaged," she
+said. "They are engaged--that is settled."
+
+Lady Dashwood spoke in a low, detaining voice. "Wait, May! Somehow she
+has got hold of him--somehow. Often the weak victimise the strong. Those
+who clamour for what they want, get it. Every day the wise are
+sacrificed to fools. I know it, and yet I sleep in peace. But when Jim
+is to be sacrificed--I can't sleep. I am like a withered leaf, blown by
+the wind."
+
+May took her aunt's arm and laid her cheek against her shoulder.
+
+"How can I sleep," said Lady Dashwood, "when I think of him, worried
+into the grave by petty anxieties, by the daily fretting of an
+irresponsible wife, by the hopeless daily task of trying to make
+something honourable and worthy--out of Belinda and Co.? When I say
+Belinda and Co., I think not merely of Belinda Scott and her child, but
+of all that Jim hates: the whole crew of noisy pleasure-hunters that
+float upon the surface of our social life. The time may come when we
+shall say to our social parasites, 'Take up your burden of life and
+work!' The time _will_ come! But meanwhile Jim has to be sacrificed
+because he is hopelessly just. And yet I wouldn't have him otherwise.
+Go, dear, try and sleep, for all my talk." Then, as she drew away from
+her niece, she said in a tense whisper: "What an unforgivable fool he
+has been!"
+
+May closed her eyes intently and said nothing.
+
+"Oh, May," sighed Lady Dashwood, "forgive me; I feel so bitter that I
+could speak against God."
+
+May looked up and laid her hand on her aunt's arm.
+
+"You know those lines, Aunt Lena--
+
+    "Measure thy life by loss and not by gain,
+     Not by the wine drunk, but the wine poured forth!"
+
+Lady Dashwood's eyes flashed. "If Jim had offered his life for England I
+could say that: but are we to pour forth wine to Belinda and Co.?"
+
+The two women looked at each other; stared, silently.
+
+Then Lady Dashwood began to turn the handle of the door.
+
+"Why should he be sacrificed to--to--futilities?" Then she added very
+softly: "I have had no son of my own, May, so Jim fills the vacant
+place. I think I could, like Abraham, have sacrificed my son to the
+Great God of my nation, but this sacrifice! Oh, May, it's so silly! He
+might have married some nice, quiet Oxford girl any day. And he has
+waited for this!"
+
+She saw the pain in May's eyes and added: "I am wearing you out with my
+talk. I am getting very selfish. I am thinking too much of my own
+suffering. You, too, have suffered, dear, and you say nothing," and as
+she spoke her voice softened to a whisper. "But, May, your sacrifice
+_was_ to the Great God of your nation--the Great God of all nations."
+
+"The sacrifice had nothing to do with me," said May, turning away. "It
+was his."
+
+"But you endure the loss, the vacant place," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"I know what a vacant place means," said May, quietly, "and my vacant
+place will never be filled--except by the children of other women! Good
+night, dear aunt," and she walked away quickly, without looking back.
+Then she found the door of her room and went in.
+
+Lady Dashwood's eyes followed her, till the door closed.
+
+"I ought not to have said what I did," murmured Lady Dashwood. "Oh, dear
+May, poor May," and she went back into her room.
+
+Gwen was still sleeping peacefully.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+DIFFERENT VIEWS
+
+
+The Lodgings at King's were built at a period when the college demanded
+that its Warden should be a bachelor and a divine, and it contained
+neither morning-room nor boudoir. The Warden's breakfast-room was used
+by Lady Dashwood for both purposes.
+
+It was not such an inconvenient arrangement, because the Warden, as the
+war advanced, had reduced his breakfast till it was now little more than
+the continental "petit dejeuner," and it could be as rapidly removed as
+it was brought in.
+
+The breakfast-room was a small room and had no academic dignity, it was
+what Mrs. Robinson called "cosy." It was badly lighted by one window,
+and that barred, looking into the quadrangle. The walls were wainscoted.
+One or two pictures brightened it, landscapes in water-colour that had
+been bought by the Warden long ago for his rooms when he was a college
+tutor.
+
+At the breakfast table on the morning following Gwendolen's brief
+interview with the Barber's ghost, her place was empty.
+
+No one remarked on her absence. The Warden came in as if nothing had
+happened on the previous night. He did not even ask the ladies how they
+had slept, or if they had slept. He appeared to have forgotten all about
+last night, and he seated himself at the table and began opening his
+letters.
+
+Mrs. Dashwood gave him one furtive glance when he came in and responded
+to his salutation. Then she also sat in silence and looked over her
+letters. She was making a great effort not to mind what happened to her,
+not to feel that outside these few rooms in a corner of an ancient
+college, all the world stretched like a wilderness. And this effort made
+her face a little wan in the morning light.
+
+Lady Dashwood poured out the coffee with a hand that was not quite as
+steady as usual, but she, too, made no reference to the events of last
+night. Nobody, of course, had slept but Gwendolen, and Gwendolen had
+awakened from her sleep fresh and rosy.
+
+It was only after several minutes had passed that Lady Dashwood remarked
+across the table to the Warden--
+
+"I have kept Gwendolen in bed for breakfast, not because she is ill, she
+is perfectly well, but because I want her to be alone, and to understand
+that she has completely got over her little hysterical fit and is
+sensible again."
+
+The Warden looked up and then down again at his letters and said, "Yes!"
+
+Lady Dashwood went on with her breakfast. She evidently did not expect
+any discussion. She had merely wished to make some reference to the
+occurrence of last night in such a way as not to reopen the subject, but
+to close the subject--for ever.
+
+"Is it your club morning?" asked the Warden, as he looked over his
+letters.
+
+"Yes," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"I'll come and help you to cut out," said May. "I'm an old hand."
+
+"Why should you come?" said Lady Dashwood. "This is your holiday, and
+it's short enough."
+
+She thought that the Warden noted the words, "short enough."
+
+"I shall come," said May, and glancing at her aunt as she spoke, she now
+fancied her grown a little thinner in the face since last night only
+that it was impossible. The lines in the face were accentuated by want
+of sleep, it was that that made her face look thinner.
+
+"I shall take Gwen," said Lady Dashwood. "She can hand us scissors and
+pins, and can pick up the bits." She spoke quite boldly and quietly of
+Gwendolen, and met May's eye without a flicker. "Our plan, May, is to
+get these young mothers and teach them at least how to make and mend
+their clothes. It isn't war work. It's 'after the war' work. Those young
+mothers who have done factory work, know nothing about anything. We must
+get something into their noddles. Two or three ladies will be there this
+morning, and we shall get all the work ready for the next club
+meeting--mothers and babies. Babies are entertained in a separate room.
+We have tea and one half-hour's reading; the rest of the time gossip.
+Oh, how they do talk!"
+
+"How much do you expect to get from the Sale of work to-day for your
+club?" asked May, avoiding the Warden's eye when he put out his hand to
+her for the cup of coffee that she was passing him.
+
+"Not very much," said Lady Dashwood, "but enough, I hope."
+
+A moment later and Lady Dashwood was opening her letters.
+
+"Mr. Boreham," she remarked suddenly, "is bringing Mrs. Potten in to the
+Sale. He is the last person I should expect to meet at a Sale of work in
+aid of a mother's club."
+
+The Warden raised his eyes and apparently addressed the coffee-pot
+across the table.
+
+"Boreham is usually suspicious of anything that is organised by what he
+calls 'respectable people.'" Then he looked round at May Dashwood for
+the first time. The reason why Boreham was going to drive Mrs. Potten in
+to the Sale of work was obvious both to him and to Lady Dashwood. May
+did not meet the Warden's eye, though she was tinglingly conscious that
+they rested on her face.
+
+"I object," she said, imitating Boreham's voice, "not only to the
+respectable members of the British public, but to the British public in
+general. I am irritated with and express my animosity to the people
+around me with frankness and courage. But I have no inimical feelings
+towards people whom I have never met. Them I respect and love. Their
+institutions, of which I know nothing, I honour."
+
+The Warden's lips parted with a smile, as if the smile was wrung from
+him, but May did not smile. She was still making her effort, and was
+looking down into her plate, her eyebrows very much raised, as if she
+was contemplating there the portrait of somebody with compassionate
+interest.
+
+Lady Dashwood saw the Warden's smile, and saw him lean forward to look
+at the downcast face of May, as if to note every detail of it.
+
+Well into the early morning Lady Dashwood had lain awake thinking, and
+listening mechanically to the gentle breathing of the girl beside her,
+and thinking--thinking of May's strange exhibition of emotion. Was
+May----? No--that made things worse than ever--that made the irony of
+her brother's fate more acute! That was a tragic thought! But it was
+just this tragic thought that made Lady Dashwood now at the breakfast
+table observe with a subtle keenness of observation and yet without
+seeming to observe, or even to look. She sat there, absorbing May,
+absorbing the Warden, measuring them, weighing them while she tried to
+eat a piece of toast, biting it up as if she had pledged herself to
+reduce it to the minutest fragments.
+
+"Perhaps I'm not fair to Mr. Boreham," said May, shaking her head. "But
+I am an ignoramus. How can one," she said smiling, but keeping her
+eyelids still downcast, "how can one combine the bathing of babies and
+feeding them, the dressing and undressing of them, the putting them to
+bed and getting them up again, with any culture (spelt with a 'c'). I
+get only a short and rather tired hour of leisure in the evening in
+which to read?"
+
+"You do combine them," he said, still bending towards her with the same
+tense look. "Only one woman in a thousand would."
+
+The colour had slightly risen in May's face, and now it died away, for
+she was aware that no sooner were the last words spoken than the Warden
+seemed to regret them. At least he stiffened himself and looked away
+from her, stared at nothing in particular and then put out his hand to
+take a piece of toast, making that simple action seem as if it were a
+protest of resolute indifference to her.
+
+May felt as if his hand had struck her. She had partly succeeded in her
+effort and she had refused to glance at him. But she had not succeeded
+in thinking of something else, and now this simple movement of his hand
+made thoughts of him burn in her brain. Why did this man, with all his
+erudition, with his distinction, with all his force of character, his
+wide sympathies and his curious influence over others, why did this man
+with all his talk (and this she said bitterly) about life and death--and
+yes--about eternity, why did he bind himself hand and foot to a selfish
+and shallow girl? He who talked of life and of death, could he not stand
+the test of life himself?
+
+The Warden rose from the table the moment that he had finished and
+looked at his sister. She had put her letters aside and appeared to have
+fallen into a heavy preoccupation with her own thoughts.
+
+"Can I see you--afterwards--for a moment in the library, Lena?" he
+asked.
+
+Lady Dashwood's tired face flushed.
+
+"I will come very soon," she said, and she pushed her chair back a
+little, as if to cover her embarrassment, and looked at her niece.
+"May," she said, in a voice that did not quite conceal her trouble, "we
+ought to start at a quarter to ten. That will give us two clear hours
+for our work."
+
+May bent her head in assent. Neither of them was thinking of the Club.
+They could hear the Warden close the door behind him. Then Lady Dashwood
+rose and casting a silent look at May, went out of the room.
+
+In the library a fitful sunshine was coming and going from a clouded
+sky. The curtains were drawn back and there seemed nothing in the room
+that could have justified even a hysterical girl in imagining a ghost.
+The Warden had left the door open, for he heard his sister coming up the
+stairs behind him.
+
+Lady Dashwood came in, and she began speaking at once to cover her
+apprehension of the interview. "A funny sort of a day," she began. "I
+hope it will keep up for this afternoon."
+
+The Warden had gone to one of the windows, and he moved at the sound of
+her voice.
+
+"Mrs. Harding," she said, "has written to ask us to come in to tea, as
+she's so near. It is convenient, as we shall only have to walk a few
+steps from our Sale, so I am going to accept by telephone."
+
+The Warden came towards her, and taking a little case from his pocket,
+handed her some notes. "Will you spend that for me at your Sale?"
+
+That was not his reason for the interview! Lady Dashwood took the notes
+and put them into her bag, and then waited a moment.
+
+"I may possibly have to go to the Deanery this afternoon," he said, and
+then he paused too.
+
+"Very well," said Lady Dashwood. They both were painfully aware that
+this also was not what he wanted to say.
+
+"Please let me have my lunch early, at a quarter to one," he said.
+
+"I have asked Mr. Bingham here to dinner on Saturday, he seemed to
+interest May, and, well, of course, it is not a lively holiday for her
+just now."
+
+Lady Dashwood's eyes were on him as she spoke. He seemed not to hear. He
+went up to his desk and turned over some papers, nervously, and he was a
+man who rarely showed any nervousness in his movements.
+
+Then he suddenly said: "Gwendolen has practically accepted my offer."
+And he did not turn round and look at his sister.
+
+It had come! She knew it was coming, and yet it was as keenly painful as
+if she had been wholly unprepared.
+
+"I can't delay our engagement," he said. "I must speak to her
+to-day--some time."
+
+Then he moved so as to face his sister, and their eyes met. Misery was
+plainly visible in hers, in his the fixed determination to ignore that
+misery.
+
+"May I ask you one question?" she began in a shaky voice.
+
+He made no reply, but waited in silence for the question.
+
+"When did it happen? I've no right to ask, dear, but tell me when did it
+happen?"
+
+There was a strange look of conflict in his face that he was unable to
+control. "On Monday, just before dinner," he said, and he took some
+papers from the desk as if he were about to read them. Then he put them
+down again and took out his cigar case.
+
+Lady Dashwood walked slowly to the door. When she reached it, she
+turned.
+
+"No man," she said, still with an unsteady voice, "is bound to carry
+out a promise made in a reckless moment, against his better judgment, a
+promise which involves the usefulness of his life. As to Belinda, I
+suppose I must endure the presence of that woman next week; I must
+endure it, because I hadn't the sense--the foresight--to prevent her
+putting a foot in this house."
+
+The Warden's face twitched.
+
+"Am I expecting too much from you, Lena?" he asked.
+
+"Expecting too much!" Lady Dashwood made her way blindly to the door. "I
+have wrecked your life by sheer stupidity, and I am well punished." At
+the door she stayed. "Of course, Jim, I shall now back you up, through
+thick and thin."
+
+She went out and stood for a moment, her head throbbing. She had said
+all. She had spoken as she had never spoken in her life before, she had
+said her last word. Now she must be silent and go through with it all
+unless--unless--something happened--unless some merciful accident
+happened to prevent it. She went downstairs again and crossed the hall
+to the door of the breakfast-room. May was still there, holding a
+newspaper in her hands, apparently reading it.
+
+Lady Dashwood walked straight in, and then said quietly: "They are
+practically engaged." She saw the paper in May's hand quiver.
+
+"Yes," said May, without moving her paper. "Of course."
+
+Her voice sounded small and hard. Lady Dashwood moved about as if to
+arrange something, and then stood at the dull little window looking out
+miserably, seeing nothing.
+
+"I wonder--I hope, you won't be vexed with me. Aunt Lena," began May.
+"You won't be angry----"
+
+"I couldn't be angry with you," said Lady Dashwood briefly, "but----"
+She did not move, she kept her back to her niece.
+
+"I want you to let me go away rather earlier than Monday," said May, and
+speaking without looking towards her aunt. "I think I ought to go. The
+fact is----"
+
+Lady Dashwood turned round and came to her niece. "Do you think I am a
+selfish woman?" she asked. There was a strange note of purpose in her
+voice.
+
+May shook her head and tried to smile. She did smile at last.
+
+"Then, May," said Lady Dashwood, "I am going to be selfish now. I ask
+you to stop till Monday, and help me to get through what I have to get
+through, even if you stay at some sacrifice to yourself. Jim has
+decided, so I must support him. That's clear."
+
+May stared hard at the paper that was still in her hand, though she had
+ceased to read it.
+
+"As you wish, dear aunt," she said, and turned away.
+
+"Thanks," said Lady Dashwood, in a low voice. "I shall be ready to start
+in a few minutes," she went on, looking at her watch. Then she added
+bitterly, "I'm not going to talk about it any more, but I must say one
+thing. When you first shook hands with Jim he was already a pledged man.
+He is capable of yearning for the moon, but he has decided to put up
+with a penny bun;" here she laughed a hard painful laugh. "Nobody cares
+but I," she added. "I have said all I can say to him, and I am now going
+to be silent."
+
+The door of the breakfast-room was slightly open and they could hear the
+sound of steps outside in the hall, steps they both knew.
+
+The Warden was in the hall. Lady Dashwood listened, and then called out
+to him: "Jim!" Her voice now raised was a little husky, but quite calm.
+They could hear the swish of a gown and the Warden was there, looking at
+them. He was in his gown and hood, and held his cap in his hand. He was
+at all times a notable figure, but the long robe added to the dignity of
+his appearance. His face was very grave.
+
+"May has not seen the cathedral," said Lady Dashwood quietly, as if she
+had forgotten their interview in the library, "and we shall be close to
+Christ Church. Our Sale, you know."
+
+"Oh," said May, slowly and doubtfully, and not looking as if she were
+really concerned in the matter.
+
+"May ought to see the cathedral, Jim," said Lady Dashwood, "so, if you
+do happen to be going to Christ Church, would you have time to take her
+over it and make the proper learned observations on it, which I can't
+do, to save my life?"
+
+The Warden's eyes were now fixed on May. "You would like to see it?" he
+asked.
+
+"You, May," said Lady Dashwood. It seemed necessary to make it very
+clear to May that they were both talking about her.
+
+"I?" said May, with her eyes downcast. "Oh, please don't trouble. You
+mustn't when you're so busy. I can see the cathedral any time. I really
+like looking at churches--quite alone."
+
+The Warden's blue eyes darkened, but May did not see them, she had
+raised her paper and was smiling vaguely at the print.
+
+The Warden said, "As you like, Mrs. Dashwood. But I am not too busy to
+show you anything in Oxford you want to see."
+
+"Thank you," said May, vaguely. "Thanks so much! Some time when you are
+less busy, I shall ask you to show me something."
+
+The Warden looked at her for a more definite reply. She seemed to be
+unaware that he was waiting for it, and when she heard the movement of
+his robes, and his steps and then the hall-door close, she looked round
+the room and said "Oh!" again vaguely, and then she raised her eyebrows
+as if surprised.
+
+Lady Dashwood made no remark, she left the room and went into the hall.
+The irony of the situation was growing more and more acute, but there
+was nothing to be done but to keep silence.
+
+Another step was coming down the stairs, steps made by a youthful wearer
+of high heels. It was Gwendolen.
+
+She looked just a little serious, but otherwise there was no trace on
+her blooming countenance of last night's tragedy. A little lump on her
+head was all that remained to prove that she really had been frightened
+and really and truly had stupidly thought there was something to be
+frightened of. Gwen constantly put her finger up to feel the lump on her
+head, and as she did so she thought agreeably of the Warden.
+
+"You see I'm not a bit frightened," she said, and her cheeks dimpled.
+"When I passed near the library, I thought of Dr. Middleton."
+
+"You understand, don't you, Gwen," said Lady Dashwood, "that I don't
+want any talk about 'a ghost,' even though, you are now quite sensible
+about it. I don't think the Robinsons are silly, but Louise and the
+other two are like children, and must be treated as such."
+
+"Oh no," said Gwen, innocently, "I won't!" And she meant what she said.
+It was true that she had just hinted at something, perhaps she even used
+the word "ghost," to the housemaid that morning, but she had made her
+promise faithfully not to repeat what she had heard, so it was all
+right.
+
+"We start at half-past ten," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+Gwen said she would be punctual. Her face was full of mysterious and
+subdued pleasure when she looked into the breakfast-room to see if by
+any chance Mrs. Dashwood was still there. The girl's fancy was excited
+by the Warden's behaviour last night. She kept on thinking of his face
+in the lamp light. It looked very severe and yet so gentle. She was
+actually falling in love with him, so she said to herself. The Barber's
+ghost was no longer alarming, but something to recall with a thrill of
+interest, as it led on to the Warden. She was burning to talk about the
+Warden. She was so glad she had delivered her letter to the Warden. He
+would be simply obliged to speak some time to-day. How exciting! Now,
+was Mrs. Dashwood in the breakfast-room? Yes, there she was, standing in
+the window with a newspaper in her hand.
+
+"Oh, good morning," said Gwen, brightly. "I must thank you for having
+been so awfully sweet to me last night. It was funny, wasn't it, my
+getting that fright? I really and truly was frightened, till Dr.
+Middleton came up and told me I needn't. Isn't he wonderful?" Here
+Gwen's voice sank into a confidential whisper.
+
+Mrs. Dashwood said "Yes" in a lingering voice, and she seemed about to
+go.
+
+"I do think he is the nicest man I have ever met," said Gwen hurriedly,
+"don't you? But then, of course, I have reason to think so, after last
+night. It must have looked queer, I mean to any one merely looking on.
+How I _did_ sleep!" Then after a moment she said: "Don't you think he is
+very good-looking? Now, do tell me, Mrs. Dashwood! I promise you I won't
+repeat it."
+
+"He is a very charming man," said May, "that is obvious."
+
+"Wasn't it silly of me to think of the Barber's ghost--especially as it
+only appears when some disaster happens to the Warden? I mean that is
+the story. Now the Warden is perfectly well this morning, I
+particularly asked, though I knew he would be, of course. Now, if there
+had been a real ghost, he ought to die to-day, or perhaps to-morrow.
+Isn't it all funny?" Then, as there came another pause, Gwendolen added,
+"I suppose it couldn't mean that he might die in a week's time--or six
+months perhaps?" and her voice was a little anxious.
+
+"Death isn't the only disaster," said May, "that can happen to a man."
+
+"Don't you think it's about the worst?" said Gwen. "Worse even than
+losing lots of money. You see, if you are once dead, there you are! But
+I needn't bother--there was no ghost."
+
+"No, there was no ghost," said Mrs. Dashwood, and she laid her paper
+down on a side table.
+
+Gwen felt that she had not had a fair chance of a talk. In the absence
+of anybody really young it was some comfort to talk to Mrs. Dashwood.
+She much preferred Mrs. Dashwood to Lady Dashwood. Lady Dashwood was
+sometimes "nasty," since that letter affair. Fortunately she had not
+been able to _do_ anything nasty. She had not been able to make the
+Warden nasty.
+
+Gwen stood watching May, and then said in a low voice to detain her: "I
+wish mother would come!"
+
+"Do you expect her?" asked May, turning round and facing the girl.
+
+"I do and I don't and I do," said Gwen. "That sounds jolly vague, I
+know, and please don't even say to Lady Dashwood that I mentioned it.
+You won't, will you? It jumped out of my mouth. Things do sometimes."
+
+May smiled a little.
+
+"Mother is so plucky," said Gwen; "I'm sure you'd like her--you really
+would, and she would like you. She doesn't by any means like everybody.
+She's very particular, but I think she would like you."
+
+May smiled again, and this gave Gwen complete confidence.
+
+"Our relations, you know, have really been a bit stingy," she said. "Too
+bad, isn't it, and there's been a bother about my education. Of course,
+mother needn't have sent me to school at all, only she's so keen on
+doing all she can for me, much more keen than our relations have been.
+Why, would you believe it, Uncle Ted, my father's youngest brother, who
+is a parson in Essex, has been saving! What I mean is that the Scotts
+ain't a bit well off--isn't it hard lines? You see I tell you all this,
+I wouldn't to anybody else. Well, Uncle Ted had saved for years for his
+only son--for Eton and Oxford: I don't think he'd ever given mother a
+penny. Wasn't that rather hard luck on mother?"
+
+May said "Oh!" in a tone that was neutral.
+
+"Well, but I'll explain," said Gwen, eagerly, "and you'll see. When poor
+Ted was killed, almost at once in the war, there was all the Oxford
+money still there. Mother knew about it, and said it couldn't be less
+than five hundred pounds, and might be more. And mother just went to
+them and spoke ever so nicely about poor Ted being killed--it was such
+horrid luck on Uncle Ted--and then she just asked ever so quietly if she
+might borrow some of the Oxford money, as there would be no use for it
+now. She didn't even ask them to give it, she only asked to borrow, and
+she thought they would like it to be used for the last two years of my
+school, it would be such a nice thought for them. And would you believe
+it, they were quite angry and refused! So mother thought they ought to
+know how mean it was of them. She is so plucky! So she told them that
+they had no sympathy with anybody but themselves, and didn't care about
+any Scott except their own Ted, who was dead and couldn't come to life
+again, however much they hoarded. Mother does say things so straight.
+She is so sporting! But wasn't it horrid for her to have to do it?"
+
+May had gradually moved to the door ready to go out. Now she opened it.
+
+So this was the young woman to whom the Warden had bound himself, and
+this was his future mother-in-law!
+
+May left the breakfast-room abruptly and without a word.
+
+She mounted the stairs swiftly. She wanted to be alone. As the servants
+were still moving about upstairs, she went into the drawing-room.
+
+There was no one there but that living portrait of Stephen Langley, and
+he was looking at her across the wide space between them with an almost
+imperceptible sneer--so she thought.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+MRS. POTTEN'S CARELESSNESS
+
+
+There is little left in Christ Church of the simplicity and piety of the
+Age of Faith. It was rebuilt when the fine spiritual romanticism of our
+architectural adolescence had coarsened into a prosperous and prosaic
+middle age.
+
+The western facade of the College is fine, but it is ostentatious for
+its purpose, and when one passes under Tom Tower and enters the
+quadrangle there is something dreary in the terraces that were intended
+to be cloistered and the mean windows of the ground floor that were
+intended to be hidden.
+
+"It is like Harding," said Bingham to himself, as he strolled in with a
+parcel under his arm. "He is always mistaking Mrs. Grundy for the Holy
+Ghost. But Harding has his uses," he went on thinking, "and so has Tom
+Quod--it makes one thankful that Wolsey died before he had time to
+finish ruining the cathedral."
+
+An elderly canon of Christ Church, with a fine profile and dignified
+manner, stopped Bingham and demanded to know what he was carrying under
+his arm.
+
+"Nothing for the wounded," said Bingham. "I've bought a green
+table-cloth and a pair of bedroom slippers for myself. I've just come
+from a Sale in which some Oxford ladies are interested. One of the many
+good works with which we are going strong nowadays."
+
+The Canon turned and walked with Bingham. "Do you know Boreham?" he
+asked rather abruptly.
+
+Bingham said he did.
+
+"I met him a moment ago. He is taking some lady over the college. I met
+him at Middleton's, I think, not so long ago."
+
+"He's a connection of Middleton's," said Bingham.
+
+"Oh," said the Canon, "is he? A remarkable person. He gave me his views
+on Eugenics, I remember."
+
+"He would be likely to give you his views," said Bingham. "Did he want
+to know yours?"
+
+The Canon laughed. "He pleaded so passionately in favour of our
+preserving the leaven of disease in our racial heredity, so as to insure
+originality and genius, that I was tempted to indulge in the logical
+fallacy: 'A dicto secundum quid ad dictum simpliciter,'" and the Canon
+laughed again.
+
+"His father was a first-rate old rapid," said Bingham, "who ended in an
+asylum, I believe. His aunt keeps cats; this I know as a fact. His
+brother, Lord Boreham, as everybody knows, has been divorced twice. What
+matter? The good old scrap-heap has produced Bernard Boreham; what more
+do you want?"
+
+Bingham's remarks were uttered with even more than his usual suavity of
+tone because he was annoyed. He had come to the Sale, he had bought the
+green table-cloth and the shoes, ostensibly as an act of patriotism, but
+really in order to meet Mrs. Dashwood. He had planned to take her over
+Christ Church and show her everything, and now Boreham, who had also
+planned the same thing, had turned up more punctually, had taken her
+off, and was at this moment going in and out, banging doors and giving
+erroneous information, along with much talk about himself and his ideas
+for the improvement of mankind.
+
+The two men walked very slowly along. Bingham was in no hurry. The Canon
+also was in no hurry. In these gloomy days he was glad of a few minutes'
+distraction in the company of Bingham, whom nothing depressed. They
+walked so slowly that Lady Dashwood and Mrs. Potten, who had just
+entered the quadrangle, attended by Miss Scott laden with parcels, came
+up to them, bowed and passed them on their way to the rooms of one of
+the Fellows who had begged them to deposit their parcels and rest, if
+they wished to.
+
+The two men went on talking, though their eyes watched the three ladies,
+who were looking for the rooms where they were going to deposit their
+purchases. Bingham took out his watch. It was half-past three. The
+ladies had found the right entrance, and disappeared. Then Lady
+Dashwood's face was to be seen for a moment at a window. Simultaneously
+Harding appeared from under Tom Tower.
+
+He came up and spoke to the two men, and while he did so Bingham
+observed Miss Scott suddenly appear and make straight for them, holding
+something in her hand.
+
+"Bravo! What a sprint," murmured Bingham, as Gwendolen reached them
+rather breathless.
+
+"Oh, Mr. Harding," she panted, "Lady Dashwood saw you coming and thought
+you wouldn't know where she and Mrs. Potten were. Have you got the
+Buckinghamshire collar?"
+
+Bingham burst into subdued laughter.
+
+"My wife sent me over with it," said Harding, who could not see anything
+amusing in the incident. "She said Lady Dashwood had got Mrs. Potten
+here. That's all right," and he gravely drew from his sleeve a piece of
+mauve paper, carefully rolled up, on which was stitched the collar in
+question.
+
+"Here's the money," said Gwen, holding out a folded paper.
+
+Harding took the paper.
+
+"Thirty shillings," said Gwen. "Is that right?"
+
+"Yes, thirty shillings," said Harding. "The price is marked on the
+paper."
+
+"Extraordinarily cheap at the price," remarked Bingham. "There is no
+other collar equal to it in Buckinghamshire."
+
+The Canon turned and walked off, wondering in his mind who the very
+pretty, smartly dressed girl was. Harding unfolded the paper. It was a
+pound note and inside was not one but two new ten-shilling notes--only
+stuck together.
+
+"You've given me too much, one pound and two tens," he said, and he
+separated the two notes and gave one back to Gwen. "You're a bit too
+generous, Miss Scott," he said.
+
+Gwen took the note, dimpling and smiling and Harding wrote "paid" in
+pencil on the mauve paper.
+
+"Here's your receipt," he said, handing her the paper, "the collar and
+all," and he turned away and went back to the sale room, with the money
+in his pocket.
+
+Meanwhile Gwendolen did not run, she walked back very deliberately. She
+had the collar in one hand and the ten-shilling note in the other. She
+heard the two men turn and walk towards the gate. The old gentleman with
+a gown on, by which she meant the Canon, had disappeared. The quadrangle
+was empty. Gwen was thinking, thinking.
+
+It wasn't she who was generous, it was Mrs. Potten, at least not
+generous but casual. She was probably casual because, although she was
+supposed to be stingy, a ten-shilling note made really no difference to
+her. It was too bad that some women had so much money and some so
+little. It was especially unjust that an old plain woman like Mrs.
+Potten could have hundreds of frocks if she wanted to, and that young
+pretty women often couldn't. It was very, very unjust and stupid. Why
+she, Gwen, hadn't enough money even to buy a wretched umbrella. It
+looked exactly as if it was going to rain later on, and yet there was
+no umbrella she could borrow. The umbrella she had borrowed before, had
+disappeared from the stand: it must have been left by somebody and been
+returned. You can't borrow an umbrella that isn't there. It was all very
+well for her mother to say "borrow" an umbrella, but suppose there
+wasn't an umbrella! The idea flashed into Gwen's mind that an umbrella
+could be bought for ten shillings. It wouldn't be a smart umbrella, but
+it would be an umbrella. Then she remembered very vividly how, a year
+ago, she was in a railway carriage with her mother and there was one
+woman there sitting in a corner at the other end. This woman fidgeted
+with her purse a great deal, and when she got out, a sovereign was lying
+on the floor just where her feet had been. Gwen remembered her mother
+moving swiftly, picking it up, and putting the coin into her own purse,
+remarking, "If people are so careless they deserve to lose things," and
+Gwen felt that the remark was keenly just, and made several little
+things "right" that other people had said were wrong. Now, as she
+thought this over, she said to herself that it was only a week ago she
+had lost that umbrella: somebody must have got that umbrella and had
+been using it for a week, and she didn't blame them; beside the handle
+had got rather bashed. Another dozen steps towards the rooms made her
+feel very, very sure she didn't blame them, and--Mrs. Potten deserved to
+lose her ten-shilling note. Now she had reached the doorway, an idea,
+that was a natural development of the previous idea, came to her very
+definitely. She slipped the note into the right-hand pocket of her coat
+just as she stood on the threshold of the doorway, and then she ran up
+the stone stairs. No one was looking out of the window. She had noticed
+that as she came along. Now, she would see if Mrs. Potten was really
+careless enough not to know that she had given away two ten-shilling
+notes instead of one.
+
+Gwendolen walked into the sitting-room. There were Mrs. Potten and Lady
+Dashwood sitting together and talking, as if they intended remaining
+there for ever.
+
+"Here's your collar, Mrs. Potten," said Gwen, coming in with the
+prettiest flush on her face, from the haste with which she had mounted
+the stairs.
+
+She handed the roll of mauve paper and stood looking at Mrs. Potten.
+Now, she would find out whether Mrs. Potten knew she had flung away her
+precious ten-shilling note or not. If she was so stingy why was she so
+careless? She was very, very short-sighted, of course, but still that
+was no excuse.
+
+"Thanks, my dear," said Mrs. Potten. "I doubt if it is really as nice as
+the one we saw that was sold. Thirty shillings--the receipt is on the
+paper. It's the first time I've ever had a receipt at a bazaar or sale.
+Very business-like; Mr Harding, of course. One can see the handwriting
+isn't a woman's!" So saying Mrs. Potten, who had been peering hard at
+the collar and the paper, passed it to Lady Dashwood to look at.
+
+"Charming!" said Lady Dashwood.
+
+Now Lady Dashwood knew Mrs. Potten's soul. Mrs. Potten had come into
+Oxford at no expense of her own. Mr. Boreham had driven her. She had
+also, so Lady Dashwood divined, the intention of helping the Sale as
+much as possible, by her moral approbation. Nothing pleased Mrs. Potten
+that she saw on the modest undecked tables. Then she had praised a
+shilling pincushion, had bought it with much ceremony, and put it into
+her bag. "There, I mustn't go and lose this," she had said as she
+clicked the fastening of her bag. Then she had praised a Buckinghamshire
+collar which was marked "Sold," and in an unwary moment had told Lady
+Dashwood that she would have bought that; that was exactly what she
+wanted, only it was unfortunately sold. But Lady Dashwood, who was
+business-like even in grief, had been equal to the occasion. "I know
+there is another one very like it," she had said in a slightly bullying
+voice; and when Mrs. Potten moved off as if she had not realised her
+luck, murmuring something about having to be somewhere almost
+immediately, Lady Dashwood had swiftly arranged with Mrs. Harding that
+the other collar, which was somewhere in reserve and was being searched
+for, should be sent after them.
+
+This was why Lady Dashwood had conveyed the reluctant Mrs. Potten into
+the quadrangle, and had made her climb the stairs with her into these
+rooms and wait.
+
+So here was Mrs. Potten, with her collar, trying to believe that she was
+not annoyed at having been deprived of thirty shillings in such an
+astute way by her dear friend.
+
+"Am I wanted any more?" asked Gwen, looking from one lady to the other.
+
+She took the collar from Lady Dashwood and returned it to Mrs. Potten.
+
+Mrs. Potten opened her bag disclosing the shilling pincushion (which now
+she need not have bought) and placed the collar within. Then she shut
+the bag with a snap, and looked so innocent that Gwendolen almost
+laughed.
+
+No, Gwen was not wanted any more. She turned and went. Mrs. Potten
+deserved to lose money! "Yes, she did, and in any case," thought Gwen,
+"at any moment I can say, 'Oh yes, I quite forgot I had the note. How
+stupid, how awfully stupid,' etc."
+
+So she went down the stairs and out into the terrace.
+
+A few steps away she saw Mr. Bingham, coming back again. This time
+alone.
+
+As soon as Gwen had gone Mrs. Potten remarked, "Now I must be going!"
+and then sat on, as people do.
+
+"Very pretty girl, Gwendolen Scott," she added.
+
+"Very pretty," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Lady Belinda wrote to me a day or two ago, asking me if Gwen could come
+on to me from you on Monday."
+
+"Oh!" said Lady Dashwood, but she uttered the exclamation wearily.
+
+"I have written and told her that I'm afraid I can't," said Mrs. Potten.
+"Can't!"
+
+Lady Dashwood looked away as if the subject was ended.
+
+"If I have the child, it will mean that the mother will insist on coming
+to fetch her away or something." Here Mrs. Potten fidgeted with her bag.
+"And I really scarcely know Lady Belinda. It was the husband we used to
+know, old General Scott, poor dear silly old man!"
+
+Lady Dashwood received the remark in silence.
+
+"I can't do with some of these modern women," continued Mrs. Potten.
+"There are women whose names I could tell you that I would not trust
+with a tin halfpenny. My dear, I've seen with my own eyes at a hotel
+restaurant a well-dressed woman sweep up the tip left for the waiter by
+the person who had just gone, I saw that the waiters saw it, but they
+daren't do anything. I saw a friend of mine speaking to her afterwards!
+Knew her! Quite respectable! Fancy the audacity of it!"
+
+Lady Dashwood now rested her head on the back of her chair and allowed
+Mrs. Potten to talk on.
+
+"I'm afraid there's nothing of the Good Samaritan in me," said Mrs.
+Potten, in a self-satisfied tone. "I can't undertake the responsibility
+of a girl who is billeted out by her mother--instead of being given a
+decent home. I think you're simply angelic to have had her for so long,
+Lena."
+
+Lady Dashwood's silence only excited Mrs. Potten's curiosity. "Most
+girls now seem to be doing something or other," she said. "Why, one
+even sees young women students wheeling convalescent soldiers about
+Oxford. I don't believe there is a woman or girl in Oxford who isn't
+doing something for the war."
+
+"Yes, but it is the busy women who almost always have time for more
+work," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Now, I suppose Gwendolen is doing nothing and eating her head off, as
+the phrase goes," said Mrs. Potten.
+
+Lady Dashwood was not to be drawn. "Talking of doing something," she
+said, to draw Mrs. Potten off the subject, and there was a touch of
+weariness in her voice: "I think a Frenchwoman can beat an Englishwoman
+any day at 'doing.' I am speaking now of the working classes. I have a
+French maid now who does twice the work that any English maid would do.
+I picked her up at the beginning of the war. Her husband was killed and
+she was stranded with two children. I've put the two children into a
+Catholic school in Kent and I have them in the holidays. Well, Louise
+makes practically all my things, makes her own clothes and the
+children's, and besides that we have made shirts and pyjamas till I
+could cut them out blindfolded. She's an object lesson to all maids."
+
+Lady Dashwood was successful, Mrs. Potten's attention was diverted, only
+unfortunately the word "maid" stimulated her to draw up an exhaustive
+inventory of all the servants she had ever had at Potten End, and she
+was doing this in her best Bradshaw style when Lady Dashwood exclaimed
+that she had a wire to send off and must go and do it.
+
+"I ought to be going too," said Mrs. Potten, her brain reeling for a
+moment at this sudden interruption to her train of thought. She rose
+with some indecision, leaving her bag on the floor. Then she stooped and
+picked up her bag and left her umbrella; and then at last securing both
+bag and umbrella, the two ladies made their way down the stairs and
+went back into St. Aldates.
+
+All the time that Mrs. Potten had been running through a list of the
+marriages, births, etc., of all her former servants, Lady Dashwood was
+contriving a telegram to Lady Belinda Scott. It was difficult to
+compose, partly because it had to be both elusive and yet firm, and
+partly because Mrs. Potten's voice kept on interrupting any flow of
+consecutive thought.
+
+When the two ladies had reached the post-office the wire was completed
+in Lady Dashwood's brain.
+
+"Good-bye," said Mrs. Potten, just outside the threshold of the door.
+"And if you see Bernard--I believe he means to go to tea at the
+Hardings--would you remind him that it is at Eliston's that he has to
+pick me up? There are attractions about!" added Mrs. Potten
+mysteriously, "and he may forget! Poor Bernard, such a good fellow in
+his way, but so wild, and he sometimes talks as if he were almost a
+conscientious objector, only he's too old for it to matter. I don't
+allow him to argue with me. I can't follow it--and don't want to. But
+he's a dear fellow."
+
+Lady Dashwood walked into the post-office. "Thank goodness, I can think
+now," she said to herself, as she went to a desk.
+
+The wire ran as follows:--
+
+"Sorry. Saturday quite impossible. Writing."
+
+It was far from cordial, but cordial Lady Dashwood had no intention of
+being. She meant to do her duty and no more by Belinda. Duty would be
+hard enough. And when she wrote the letter, what should she say?
+
+"If only something would happen, some providential accident," thought
+Lady Dashwood, unconscious of the contradiction involved in the terms.
+The word "providential" caused her to go on thinking. If there were such
+things as ghosts, the "ghost" of the previous night might have been
+providentially sent--sent as a warning! But the thought was a foolish
+one.
+
+"In any case," she argued, "what is the good of warnings? Did any one
+ever take warning? No, not even if one rose from the dead to deliver
+it."
+
+She was too tired to walk about and too tired to want to go again into
+the Sale room and talk to people. She went back to the rooms, climbed
+the stairs slowly and then sat down to wait till it was time to go to
+Mrs. Harding's. Perhaps May would soon have finished seeing Christ
+Church and come and join her. Her presence was always a comfort.
+
+It was a comfort, perhaps rather a miserable comfort, to Lady Dashwood
+because she had begun to suspect that May too was suffering, not
+suffering from wounded vanity, for May was almost devoid of vanity, but
+from--and here Lady Dashwood leaned back in her chair and closed her
+eyes. It was a strange thing that both Jim and May should have allowed
+themselves to be martyrised, only May's marriage had been so brief and
+had ended so worthily, the shallow young man becoming suddenly compelled
+to bear the burden of Empire, and bearing it to the utmost; but Gwen
+would meander along, putting all her burdens on other people; and she
+would live for ever!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+SEEING CHRIST CHURCH
+
+
+Boreham had been very successful that afternoon. He had managed to
+secure Mrs. Dashwood without having to be rude to her hostess. He had
+done it by exchanging Mrs. Potten for the younger lady with a deftness
+on which he congratulated himself, though it was true that Lady Dashwood
+had said to May Dashwood, "Go and see over the College with Mr.
+Boreham."
+
+Miss Scott was, most fortunately, absorbed in playing at shop with Mrs.
+Harding.
+
+Boreham's course was clear. He calculated with satisfaction that he had
+a good hour before him alone with Mrs. Dashwood. He could show her every
+corner of Christ Church and do it slowly; the brief explanation (of a
+disparaging nature) that he would be obliged to make on the details of
+that historic building would only serve to help him out at, perhaps,
+difficult moments. It would be easier for him to talk freely and prepare
+her mind for a proper appreciation of the future which lay before her,
+while he walked beside her and pointed out irrelevant things, than it
+would have been if he had been obliged to sit still in a chair facing
+her, for example, and stick to his subject. It seemed to him best to
+begin by speaking quite frankly in praise of himself. Boreham had his
+doubts whether any man is really humble in his estimation of himself,
+however much he may pretend to be; and if, indeed, any man were truly
+humble, then, in Boreham's opinion, that man was a fool.
+
+As soon as they had crossed St. Aldates and had entered the gate under
+Tom Tower, Boreham introduced the subject of his own merits, by glancing
+round the great quadrangle and remarking that he was thankful that he
+had never been subjected to the fossilising routine of a classical
+education.
+
+"The study of dead languages is a 'cul-de-sac,'" he explained. "You can
+see the effect it has had in the very atmosphere of Oxford. You can see
+the effect it has had on Middleton, dear fellow, who got a double First,
+and the Ireland, and everything else proper and useless, and who is
+now--what? A conscientious schoolmaster, and nothing more!"
+
+It was necessary to bring Middleton in because May Dashwood might not
+have had the time or the opportunity of observing all Middleton's
+limitations. She probably would imagine that he was a man of ideas and
+originality. She would take for granted (not knowing) that the head of
+an Oxford College was a weighty person, a successful person. Also
+Middleton was a good-looking-man, as good-looking as he, Boreham, was
+himself (only of a more conventional type), and therefore not to be
+despised from the mere woman's point of view.
+
+Boreham peered eagerly at his companion's profile to see how she took
+this criticism of Middleton.
+
+May was taking it quite calmly, and even smiled. "So far, good," said
+Boreham to himself, and he went on to compare his larger view of life
+and deeper knowledge of "facts" with the restricted outlook of the
+Oxford Don. This she apparently accepted as "understood," for she smiled
+again, and this triumph of Boreham's was achieved while they looked over
+the Christ Church library.
+
+"The first thing," said Boreham, when they came again into the open
+air--"the first thing that a man has to do is to be a man of the world
+that we actually live in, not of the world as it was!"
+
+"Yes," said Mrs. Dashwood "the world we actually live in."
+
+"You agree?" he said brightly.
+
+She smiled again.
+
+"Oxford might have been vitalised; might, I say, if, by good luck,
+somebody had discovered a coal mine under the Broad, or the High, and
+the University had been compelled to adjust itself to the practical
+requirements of the world of labour and of commerce, and to drop its
+mediaeval methods for those of the modern world."
+
+May confessed that she had not thought of this way of improving the
+ancient University, but she suggested that some of the provincial
+universities had the advantage of being in the neighbourhood of coal
+mines or in industrial centres.
+
+Boreham, however, waived the point, for his spirits were rising, and the
+sight of Bingham in the distance, carrying his table-cloth and slippers
+and looking wistfully at nothing in particular, gave him increased
+confidence in his main plan.
+
+"This staircase," said Boreham, "leads to the hall. Shall we go in? I
+suppose you ought to see it."
+
+"What a lovely roof!" exclaimed May, when they reached the foot of the
+staircase.
+
+Boreham admitted that it was fine, but he insisted that it was too good
+for the place, and he went on with his main discourse.
+
+When they entered the dining-hall, the dignity of the room, with its
+noble ceiling, its rich windows and the glow of the portraits on the
+walls, brought another exclamation from May's lips.
+
+But all this academic splendour annoyed Boreham extremely. It seemed to
+jeer at him as an outsider.
+
+"It's too good for the collection of asses who dine here," he said.
+
+As to the portraits, he insisted that among them all, among all these
+so-called distinguished men, there was not one that possessed any real
+originality and power--except perhaps the painter Watts.
+
+"It's so like Oxford," he added, "to produce nothing distinctive."
+
+May laughed now, with a subdued laughter that was a little irritating,
+because it was uncalled for.
+
+"I am laughing," she explained, "because 'the world we actually live in'
+is such a funny place and is so full of funny people--ourselves
+included."
+
+That was not a reason for laughter if it were true, and it was not true
+that she was, or that he was "funny." If she had been "funny" he would
+not have been in love with her. He detained her in front of the portrait
+of Wesley.
+
+"I wonder they have had the sense to keep him here," said Boreham. "He
+is a perpetual reminder to them of the scandalous torpor of the Church
+which repudiated him. Yes, I wonder they tolerate him. Anyhow, I suppose
+they tolerate him because, after all, they tolerate anybody who tries to
+keep alive a lost cause. Religion was dying a natural death and, instead
+of letting it die, he revived it for a bit. It was as good as you could
+expect from an Oxford man! When an Oxford man revolts, he only revolts
+in order to take up some lost cause, some survival!"
+
+"I suppose," said May, "that if Wesley had had the advantage of being at
+one of the provincial colleges, he would have invented a new soap,
+instead of strewing the place with nonconformist chapels?"
+
+This sarcasm of May's would have been exasperating, only that the
+mention of soap quite naturally suggested children who had to be
+soaped, and children did bring Boreham actually to an important point.
+He did not really care two straws about Wesley. He went straight for
+this point. He put a few piercing questions to May about her work among
+children in London. Strangely enough she did not respond. She gave him
+one or two brief answers of the vaguest description, while she turned
+away to look at more portraits. Boreham, however, had only put the
+questions as a delicate approach to _the_ subject. He did not really
+want any answers, and he proceeded to point out to her that her work,
+though it was undertaken in the most altruistic spirit, and appeared to
+be useful to the superficial observer, was really not helpful but
+harmful to the community. And this for two reasons. He would explain
+them. Firstly, because it blinded people who were interested in social
+questions to the need for the endowment of mothers; and secondly, the
+care of other women's children did not really satisfy the maternal
+instinct in women. It excited their emotions and gave them the
+impression that these emotions were satisfying. They were not. He hinted
+that if May would consult any pathologist he would tell her that, in
+ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, a life like hers, seemingly so full,
+would not save a woman from the disastrous effects of being childless.
+
+Now, Boreham was convinced that women rarely understand what it is they
+really want. Women believe that they want to become clerks or postmen or
+lawyers, when all the time what they want and need is to become mothers.
+For instance, it was a common thing for a woman who had no interest in
+drama and who couldn't act, to want to be an actress. What she really
+wanted then was an increased opportunity of meeting the other sex.
+
+Boreham put this before May Dashwood, and was gratified at the reception
+of his remarks.
+
+"What you say _is_ true," she said, "though so few people have the
+courage to say it."
+
+Boreham went on. He felt that May Dashwood, in spite of all her
+sharpness, was profoundly ignorant of her own psychology. It was
+necessary to enlighten her, to make her understand that it was not her
+duty to go on mourning for a husband who was dead, but that it was her
+duty to make the best of her own life. He entirely exonerated her from
+the charge of humbug in her desire to mother slum children; all he
+wanted was for her to understand that it wasn't of any use either to
+herself or to the community. How well she was taking it!
+
+He had barely finished speaking when he became unpleasantly aware that
+two ladies, who had just entered, were staring at himself and his
+companion instead of examining the hall. The strangers were foreigners,
+to judge by the boldness with which they wore hats that bore no relation
+to the shape or the dignity of the human head. They were evidently
+arrested and curious.
+
+May did not speak for some moments, after they both moved away from the
+portraits. Boreham watched her, rather breathlessly, for things were
+going right and coming to a crisis.
+
+"You are quite right," she repeated, at last. "But people haven't the
+courage to say so!"
+
+"You think so?" he replied eagerly. He now appreciated, as he had never
+done before, how much he scored by possessing, along with the subtle
+intuitions of the Celt, the plain common-sense of his English mother.
+
+"I am preparing my mind," said May, as they approached the door of the
+hall, "to face a future chequered by fits of hysteria."
+
+"But why!" urged Boreham, and he could not conceal his agitation; "when
+I spoke of the endowment of mothers I did not mean that I personally
+wanted any interference (at present) with our system of monogamy. The
+British public thinks it believes in monogamy and I, personally, think
+that monogamy is workable, under certain circumstances. It would be
+possible for me under certain circumstances."
+
+The sublimity of his self-sacrifice almost brought tears to Boreham's
+eyes. May quickened her steps, and he opened the door for her to go into
+the lobby. As he went through himself he could see that the two
+strangers had turned and were watching them. He damned them under his
+breath and pulled the door to.
+
+"There are women," he went on, as he followed her down the stairs, "who
+have breadth of character and brains that command the fidelity of men. I
+need not tell _you_ this."
+
+May was descending slowly and looked as if she thought she was alone.
+
+"'Age cannot wither, nor custom stale thy infinite variety,'" he
+whispered behind her, and he found the words strangely difficult to
+pronounce because of his emotion. He moved alertly into step with her
+and gazed at her profile.
+
+"When that is said to a woman, well, a moderately young woman," remarked
+May, "a woman who is, say, twenty-eight--I am twenty-eight--it has no
+point I am afraid!"
+
+"No point?" exclaimed Boreham.
+
+"No point," repeated May. "How do you know that thirty years from now,
+when I am on the verge of sixty, that I shan't be withered--unless,
+indeed, I get too stout?" she added pensively.
+
+"You will always be young," said Boreham, fervently; "young, like Ninon
+de l'Enclos."
+
+May had now reached the ground, and she walked out on to the terrace
+into open daylight.
+
+Boreham was at her side immediately, and she turned and looked at him.
+His pale blue eyes blinked at her, for he was aware that hers were
+hostile! Why?
+
+"You would seem young to me," he said, trying to feel brave.
+
+"Men and women ought," she said, with emphasis on the word "ought"--"men
+and women ought to wither and grow old in the service of Humanity. I
+think nothing is more pathetic than the sight of an old woman trying to
+look young instead of learning the lesson of life, the lesson we are
+here to learn!"
+
+Boreham had had barely time to recover from the blow when she added in
+the sweetest tone--
+
+"There, that's a scolding for you and for Ninon de l'Enclos!"
+
+"But I don't mean----" began Boreham. "I haven't put it--you don't take
+my words quite correctly."
+
+May was already walking on into the open archway that led to the
+cathedral. Before them stood the great western doors, and she saw them
+and stopped. Boreham wished to goodness that he had waited till they
+were in the cathedral before he had made his quotation. Through the open
+doors of that ancient building he could hear somebody playing the organ.
+That would have been the proper emotional accompaniment for those
+immortal lines of Shakespeare. He pictured a corner of the Latin chapel
+and an obscure tender light. Why had he begun to talk in the glare of a
+public thoroughfare?
+
+"Shall we go inside?" he asked urgently. "One can't talk here."
+
+But May turned to go back. "I should like to see the cathedral some
+other time," she said. "I must thank you very much for having shown me
+over the College--and--explained everything."
+
+"Yes; but----" stammered Boreham. "We can get into the cathedral."
+
+She was actually beginning to hold out her hand as if to say Good-bye.
+
+"Not now," she said; and before he had time to argue further, Bingham
+came suddenly upon them from somewhere, and expressed so much surprise
+at seeing them that it was evident that he had been on the watch. He had
+disposed of his purchases and was a free man. He had actually pounced
+upon them like a bird of prey--and stealthily too. It was a mean trick
+to have played.
+
+"Are you coming out or going in?" asked Bingham.
+
+"Neither," said May, turning to him as if she was glad of his approach.
+
+"You've seen it before?" said Bingham.
+
+"No, not yet," said May.
+
+"It's as nice a place as you could find anywhere," said Bingham, calmly,
+"for doing a bit of Joss."
+
+Boreham's brain surged with indignation. This man's intrusion at such a
+moment was insupportable. Yes, and he had got rid of his miserable
+table-cloth and shoes, probably taken them to Harding's house, and was
+going to tea there too. Not only this, but here he was talking in his
+jesting way, exactly in the same soft drawling voice in which he reeled
+off Latin quotations, and so it went down--yes, went down when it ought
+to have given offence. May ought to have been offended. She didn't look
+offended!
+
+"You forget," said Boreham, looking through his eyeglass at Bingham and
+frowning, "that Mrs. Dashwood is, what is called a Churchwoman."
+
+"I'm a Churchman myself," said the imperturbable Don. "To me a church is
+always first a sanctuary, as I have just remarked to Mrs. Dashwood.
+Secondly, it is the artistic triumph of some blooming engineer. Nowadays
+our church architects aren't engineers; they don't _create_ a building,
+they just run it up from books. Our modern churches are failures not
+because we aren't religious, but because our architects are not big
+enough men to be great engineers."
+
+"Ah, yes," said May, looking up with relief at Bingham's swarthy
+features.
+
+"I deny that we are religious, as a whole," said Boreham, stoutly.
+
+"You may not be, my dear fellow," said Bingham, in his oily voice; "but
+then you are the only genuine conservative I meet nowadays. You are
+still faithful to the 'Eighties'--still impressed by the discovery that
+religion don't drop out of the sky as we thought it did, but had its
+origin in the funk and cunning of the humanoid ape."
+
+May was standing between the two men, and all three had their backs to
+the cathedral, just as if they had emerged from its doors. And it was at
+this moment that she caught a sudden sight through the open archway of
+two figures passing along the terrace outside; one figure she did not
+know, but which she thought might be the Dean of Christ Church, and the
+other figure was one which was becoming to her more significant than any
+other in the world. He saw her; he raised his hat, and was already gone
+before she had time to think. When she did think it came upon her, with
+a rush of remorse, that he must have thought that she had been looking
+over the cathedral with her two companions, after having refused his
+guidance on the pretext that she wished to be alone. Yes, there was in
+his face surely surprise, surprise and reproach! How could she explain?
+He had gone! She vaguely heard the two men beside her speaking; she
+heard Boreham's protesting voice but did not follow his words.
+
+"While we are engaged in peaceful persuasion," said Bingham in her ear,
+"you are white with fatigue."
+
+"I'm not tired," she said, "not really--only I think I will go to the
+rooms where Lady Dashwood is to meet me. Will you show me them?"
+
+She spoke to Bingham, and touched his arm with her hand as if to ask for
+his support.
+
+Boreham saw that he was excluded. It was obvious, and he stood staring
+after them, full of indignation.
+
+"I shall see you later," he said in a dry voice. How did it all happen?
+
+As soon as they were on the terrace, May released Bingham's arm.
+
+"You want to get a rest before you go to the Hardings," he said. Then he
+added, in a voice that threw out the words merely as a remark which
+demanded no answer, "Was it physical--or--moral or both? Umph!" he went
+on. "Now, we have only a step to make. It's the third doorway!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+A TEA PARTY
+
+
+Mrs. Harding had not succeeded in finding some chance of "casually"
+asking Mrs. Potten to have tea with her, but she had secured the
+Dashwoods. That was something. Mrs. Harding's drawing-room was spacious
+and looked out on the turreted walls of Christ Church. The house
+witnessed to Mrs. Harding's private means.
+
+"We have got Lady Dashwood in the further room," she murmured to some
+ladies who arrived punctually from the Sale in St. Aldates, "and we
+nearly got the Warden of Kings."
+
+The naivete of Mrs. Harding's remark was quite unconscious, and was due
+to that absence of humour which is the very foundation stone of
+snobbishness.
+
+"But the Warden is coming to fetch his party home," added Mrs. Harding,
+cheerfully.
+
+Harding, too, was in good spirits. He was all patriotism and full of
+courteous consideration for his friends. So heartened was he that, after
+tea, at the suggestion of Bingham, he sat down to the piano to sing a
+duet with his wife. This was also a sort of touching example of British
+respectability with a dash of "go" in it!
+
+Bingham was turning over some music.
+
+"What shall it be, Tina?" asked Harding, whose repertoire was limited.
+
+"This!" said Bingham, and he placed on the piano in front of Hording the
+duet from "Becket."
+
+The room was crowded, khaki prevailing. "All the women are workers,"
+Mrs. Harding had explained.
+
+Gwendolen Scott was there, of course, still conscious of the
+ten-shilling note in the pocket of her coat. Mrs. Potten had gone, along
+with the Buckinghamshire collar, just as if neither had ever existed.
+Boreham was there, talking to one or two men in khaki, because he could
+not get near May Dashwood. She had now somehow got wedged into a corner
+over which Bingham was standing guard.
+
+At the door the Warden had just made his appearance. He had got no
+further than the threshold, for he saw his hostess about to sing and
+would not advance to disturb her.
+
+From where he stood May Dashwood could be plainly seen, and Bingham
+stooping with his hands on his knees, making an inaudible remark to her.
+
+The remark that gentleman was actually making was: "You'll have a treat
+presently--the greatest surprise in your life."
+
+Mrs. Harding stood behind her husband. She was dressed with strict
+regard to the last fashion. Dressing in each fashion as it came into
+existence she used to call quite prettily, "the simple truth about it."
+Since the war she called it frankly and seriously "the true economy."
+Her face usually expressed a superior self-assurance, and now it wore
+also a look of indulgent amiability. Her whole appearance suggested a
+happy peacock with its tail spread, and the surprise which Bingham
+predicted came when she opened her mouth and, instead of emitting
+screams in praise of diamonds and of Paris hats (as one would have
+expected), she piped in a small melancholy voice the following pathetic
+inquiry--
+
+ "Is it the wind of the dawn that I hear in the pine overhead?"
+
+And then came Harding's growling baritone, avoiding any mention of
+cigars or cocktails and making answer--
+
+ "No! but the noise of the deep as it hollows the cliffs of the land."
+
+Mrs. Harding--
+
+ "Is there a voice coming up with the voice of the deep from the strand,
+ One coming up with the song in the flush of the glimmering red?"
+
+Mr. Harding--
+
+ "Love that is born of the deep coming up with the sun from the sea."
+
+Bingham was convulsed with inward laughter. May tried to smile a
+little--at the incongruity of the singers and the words they sang; but
+her thoughts were all astray. The Warden was here--so near!
+
+No one else was in the least amused. Boreham was plainly worried, and
+was staring through his eyeglass at Bingham's back, behind which May
+Dashwood was half obliterated. Gwendolen Scott had only just caught
+sight of the Warden and had flushed up, and wore an excited look on her
+face. She was glancing at him with furtive glances--ready to bow. Now
+she caught his eye and bowed, and he returned the bow very gravely.
+
+Lady Dashwood was leaning back in her chair listening with resigned
+misery.
+
+May looked straight before her, past Bingham's elbow. She knew the song
+from Becket well. Words in the song were soon coming that she dreaded,
+because of the Warden standing there by the door.
+
+The words came--
+
+  "Love that is born of the deep coming up with the sun from the sea,
+   Love that can shape or can shatter a life till the life shall have
+                                                                  fled."
+
+She raised her eyes to the Warden. She could see his profile. It looked
+noble among the faces around him, as he stood with his head bent,
+apparently very much aloof, absorbed in his own thoughts.
+
+He, of all men she had ever met, ought to have understood "love that is
+born of the deep," and did not. He turned his head slightly and met her
+eyes for the flash of a second. It was the look of a man who takes his
+last look.
+
+She did not move, but she grasped the arms of her chair and heard no
+more of the music but sounds, vaguely drumming at her ears, without
+meaning.
+
+She did not even notice Bingham's movement, the slow cautious movement
+with which he turned to see what had aroused her emotion. When he knew,
+he made a still more cautious and imperceptible movement away from her;
+the movement of a man who discerns that he had made a step too far and
+wishes to retrace that step without being observed.
+
+May did not even notice that the song was over and that people were
+talking and moving about.
+
+"We are going, May," said Lady Dashwood. "Mr. Boreham has to go and hunt
+for a ten-shilling note that Mrs. Potten thinks she dropped at Christ
+Church. She has just sent me a letter about it. She can't remember the
+staircase. In any case we have to go and pick up our purchases there, so
+we are all going together."
+
+"She's always dropping things," said Boreham, who had taken the
+opportunity of coming up and speaking to May. "She may have lost the
+note anywhere between here and Norham Gardens. She's incorrigible."
+
+The little gathering was beginning to melt away. Harding and Bingham had
+hurried off on business, and there was nobody now left but Boreham and
+the party from King's and Mrs. Harding, who was determined to help in
+the search for Mrs. Potten's lost note.
+
+"Miss Scott is coming back with me--to help wind up things at the Sale,"
+said Mrs. Harding, "and on our way we will go in and help you."
+
+Gwendolen's first impulse, when Mrs. Potten's note was discussed, was to
+get behind somebody else so as not to be seen. Would Mr. Harding and Mr.
+Bingham remember about the extra note? Probably--so her second impulse
+was to say aloud: "I wonder if it's the note I quite forgot to give to
+Mrs. Potten? I've got it somewhere." Alas! this impulse was short-lived.
+Ever since she had put the note in her pocket, the mental image of an
+umbrella had been before her eyes. She had begun to consider that mental
+umbrella as already a real umbrella and hers. She walked about already,
+in imagination, under it. She might have planned to spend money that had
+fallen into her hands on sweets. That would have been the usual thing;
+but no, she was going to spend it on something very useful and
+necessary. That ten shillings, in fact, so carelessly flung aside by
+Mrs. Potten, was going to be spent in a way very few girls would think
+of. To spend it on an umbrella was wonderfully virtuous and made the
+whole affair a sort of duty.
+
+The umbrella, in short, had become now part of Gwendolen's future.
+Virtue walking with an umbrella. Without that umbrella there would be a
+distinct blank in Gwendolen's life!
+
+If she obeyed her second impulse on the moment, that umbrella would
+never become hers. She would for ever lose that umbrella. But neither
+Mr. Harding nor Mr. Bingham seemed to think of her, or her note. They
+were already rushing off to lectures or chapels or something. The
+impulse died!
+
+So the poor silly child pretended to search in the rooms at Christ
+Church with no less energy than Mrs. Harding and Mrs. Dashwood, and
+much more thoroughly than Boreham, who did nothing more than put up the
+lights and stand about looking gloomy.
+
+The Warden was walking slowly with Lady Dashwood on the terrace below
+when the searchers came out announcing that no note could be found.
+
+Boreham's arms were full of parcels, and these were distributed among
+the Warden, Lady Dashwood, and Mrs. Dashwood.
+
+Mrs. Harding said "good-bye" outside the great gate.
+
+"I shall bring Miss Scott home, after the work is over," she said; and
+Gwendolen glanced at the Warden in the fading afternoon light with some
+confidence, for was not the affair of the note over? What more could
+happen? She could not be certain whether he looked at her or not. He
+moved away the moment that Mrs. Harding had ceased speaking. He bowed,
+and in another moment was talking to Mr. Boreham.
+
+May Dashwood had slipped her hand into her aunt's arm, making it obvious
+to Boreham that he and the Warden must walk on ahead, or else walk
+behind. They walked on ahead.
+
+"I've got to fetch Mrs. Potten from Eliston's," he said fretfully, as he
+walked beside the Warden. All four went along in silence. They passed
+Carfax. There, a little farther on, was Mrs. Potten just at the shop's
+door, looking out keenly through her glasses, peering from one side of
+the street to the other.
+
+She came forward to meet them, evidently charmed at seeing the Warden.
+
+"I'm afraid I made a great fuss over that note. Did you find it,
+Bernard?"
+
+Boreham felt too cross to answer.
+
+"We didn't," said May Dashwood. "I'm sorry!"
+
+"No, we couldn't find it," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"You really couldn't," repeated Mrs. Potten. "Well, I wonder---- But how
+kind of you!"
+
+Now, Mrs. Potten rarely saw the Warden, and this fact made her prize him
+all the more. Mrs. Potten's weakness for men was very weak for the
+Warden, so much so that for the moment she forgot the loss of her note,
+and--thinking of Wardens--burst into a long story about the Heads of
+colleges she had known personally and those she had not known
+personally.
+
+Her assumption that Heads of colleges were of any importance was all the
+more distasteful to Boreham because May Dashwood was listening.
+
+"Come along, Mrs. Potten," he said crossly; "we shall have to have the
+lamps lit if we wait any longer."
+
+But they were not her lamps that would have to be lit, burning _her_
+oil, and Mrs. Potten released the Warden with much regret.
+
+"So the poor little note was never found," she said, as she held out her
+hand for good-bye. "I know it's a trifle, but in these days everything
+is serious, everything! And after I had scribbled off my note to you
+from Eliston's I thought I might have given Miss Scott two ten-shilling
+notes instead of one, just by mistake, and that she hadn't noticed, of
+course."
+
+"I thought of that," said Lady Dashwood, "and I asked Mrs. Harding; but
+she said that she had got the correct notes--thirty shillings."
+
+"Well, good-bye," said Mrs. Potten. "I am sorry to have troubled
+everybody, but in war time one has to be careful. One never knows what
+may happen. Strange things have happened and will happen. Don't you
+think so, Warden?"
+
+"Stranger than perhaps we think of," said the Warden, and he raised his
+hat to go.
+
+"Come, Bernard," said Mrs. Potten, "I must try and tear you away.
+Good-bye, good-bye!" and even then she lingered and looked at the
+Warden.
+
+"Good-bye, Marian," said Lady Dashwood, firmly.
+
+"I am afraid you are very tired," whispered May in her aunt's ear, as
+they turned up the Broad.
+
+"Rather tired," said Lady Dashwood. "Too tired to hear Marian's list of
+names, nothing but names!"
+
+They walked on a few steps, and then there came a sound of whirring in
+the sky. It was a sound new to Oxford, but which had lately become
+frequent. All three looked up. An aeroplane was skimming low over
+steeples, towers, and ancient chimney stacks, going home to Port Meadow,
+like a bird going home to roost at the approach of night. It was going
+safely. The pilot was only learning, playing with air, overcoming it
+with youthful keenness and light-heartedness. They could see his little
+solitary figure sitting at the helm. Later on he would play no more; the
+air would be full of glory, and horror--over in France.
+
+The Warden sighed.
+
+When they reached the Lodgings they went into the gloom of the dark
+panelled hall. The portraits on the walls glowered at them. The Warden
+put up the lights and looked at the table for letters, as if he expected
+something. There was a wire for him; more business, but not unexpected.
+
+"I have to go to Town again," he said. "A meeting and other education
+business."
+
+"Ah!" said Lady Dashwood. She caught at the idea, and her eyes followed
+the figure of May Dashwood walking upstairs. When May turned out of
+sight she said: "Do you mean now?"
+
+"No, to-morrow early," he said. "And I shall be back on Saturday."
+
+Lady Dashwood seated herself on a couch; her letters were in her hand,
+but she did not open them. Her eyes were fixed on her brother.
+
+"Can you manage somehow so that I can speak to Gwendolen alone?" he
+asked. "I am dining in Hall, but I shall be back by half-past nine."
+
+Lady Dashwood felt her cheeks tingle. "Yes, I will manage it, if it is
+inevitable." She dwelt lingeringly upon the word "inevitable."
+
+"Thank you," said the Warden, and he turned and walked slowly upstairs.
+Very heavily he walked, so Lady Dashwood thought, as she sat listening
+to his footsteps. Of course it was inevitable. If vows are forgotten,
+promises are broken, there is an end to "honour," to "progress," to
+everything worth living for!
+
+At the drawing-room he paused; the door was wide open, and he could see
+May Dashwood standing near one of the windows pulling her gloves off.
+She turned.
+
+"I have to be in town early to-morrow and shall not return till the
+following day, Saturday," he said, coming up slowly to where she was
+standing.
+
+She glanced up at him.
+
+"This is the second time I have had to go away since you came, but it is
+a time when so much has to be considered and discussed, matters relating
+to the future of education, and of the universities, and with the future
+of Oxford. Things have suddenly changed; it is a new world that we live
+in to-day, a new world." Then he added bitterly, "Such as was the morrow
+of the Crucifixion."
+
+He glanced away from her and rested his eyes on the window. The curtains
+had not yet been drawn and the latticed panes were growing dim. The dull
+grey sky behind the battlements of the roof opposite showed no memory of
+sunset.
+
+"Of course you have to go away," said May, softly, and she too looked
+out at the dull sky now darkening into night.
+
+Should she now tell him that she had kept her word, that she had not
+seen the cathedral because she had not been alone. She had had a strong
+desire to tell him when it was impossible to do so. Now, when she had
+only to say the words for he was there, close beside her, she could not
+speak. Perhaps he wouldn't care whether she had kept her word--and yet
+she knew that he did care.
+
+They stood together for a moment in silence.
+
+"And you were not able to go with me to the cathedral," he said, turning
+and looking at her face steadily.
+
+May coloured as she felt his eyes upon her, but she braced herself to
+meet his question as if it was a matter about which they cared nothing.
+
+"I didn't want to waste your time," she said, and she drew her gloves
+through her hand and moved away.
+
+"Bingham," he said, "knows more than I do, perhaps more than any man in
+Oxford, about mediaeval architecture."
+
+"Ah yes," said May, and she walked slowly towards the fireplace.
+
+"And he will have shown you everything," he persisted.
+
+May was now in front of the portrait, though she did not notice it.
+
+"I didn't go into the cathedral," she said.
+
+The Warden raised his head as if throwing off some invisible burden.
+Then he moved and came and stood near her--also facing the portrait. But
+neither noticed the large luminous eyes fixed upon them, visible even in
+the darkening room.
+
+"I suppose one ought not to be critical of a drawing-room song," said
+the Warden, and his voice now was changed.
+
+May moved her head slightly towards him, but did not meet his eyes.
+
+"I was inclined," he said, "but then I am by trade a college tutor, to
+criticise one line of Tennyson's verse."
+
+She knew what he meant. "What line do you object to?" she asked, and the
+line seemed to be already dinning in her ears.
+
+He quoted the line, pronouncing the words with a strange emphasis--
+
+  "'Love that can shape or can shatter a life, till the life shall have
+                                                                 fled.'"
+
+"Yes?" said May.
+
+"It is a pretty sentiment," he said. "I suppose we ought to accept it as
+such."
+
+"Oh!" said May, and her voice lingered doubtfully over the word.
+
+"Have we any right to expect so much, or fear so much," said the Warden,
+"from the circumstances of life?"
+
+May turned her head away and said nothing.
+
+"Why demand that life shall be made so easy?" Here he paused again.
+"Some of us," he went on, "want to be converted, in the Evangelical
+sense; in other words, some of us want to be given a sudden inspiring
+illumination, an irresistible motive for living the good life, a motive
+that will make virtue easy."
+
+May looked down into the fire and waited for him to go on.
+
+"Some of us demand a love that will make marriage easy, smooth for our
+temper, flattering to our vanity. Some demand"--and here there was a
+touch of passion in his voice that made May's heart heavy and
+sick--"they demand that it should be made easy to be faithful."
+
+And she gave no answer.
+
+"Isn't it our business to accept the circumstances of life, love among
+them, and refuse either to be shaped by them or shattered by them? But
+you will accuse me of being hyper-critical at a tea-party, of arguing
+on ethics when I should have been thinking of--of nothing particular."
+
+This was his Apologia. After this there would be silence. He would be
+Gwendolen's husband. May tried to gather up all her self-possession.
+
+"You don't agree with me?" he asked to break her obstinate silence.
+
+She could hear Robinson coming in. He put up the lights, and out of the
+obscurity flashed the face of the portrait almost to the point of
+speech.
+
+"Do you mean that one ought and can live in marriage without help and
+without sympathy?" she asked, and her voice trembled a little.
+
+He answered, "I mean that. May I quote you lines that you probably know,
+lines of a more strenuous character than that line from 'Becket.'" And
+he quoted--
+
+    "'For even the purest delight may pall,
+    And power must fail, and the pride must fall,
+    And the love of the dearest friends grow small,
+    But the glory of the Lord is all in all.'"
+
+They could hear the swish of the heavy curtains as Robinson pulled them
+over the windows.
+
+"And yet----" she said. Here a queer spasm came in her throat. She was
+moving towards the open door, for she felt that she could not bear to
+hear any more. He followed her.
+
+"And yet----?" he persisted.
+
+"I only mean," she said, and she compelled her voice to be steady, "what
+is the glory of the Lord? Is it anything but love--love of other
+people?"
+
+She went through the open door slowly and turned to the shallow stairs
+that led to her bedroom. She could not hear whether he went to his
+library or not. She was glad that she did not meet anybody in the
+corridor. The doors were shut.
+
+She locked her door and went up to the dressing-table. The little oval
+picture case was lying there. She laid her hand upon it, but did not
+move it. She stood, pressing her fingers upon it. Then she moved away.
+Even the memory of the past was fading from her life; her future would
+contain nothing--to remember.
+
+She moved about the room. Wasn't duty enough to fill her life? Wasn't it
+enough for her to know that she was helping in her small way to build up
+the future of the race? Why could she not be content with that? Perhaps,
+when white hairs came and wrinkles, and her prime was past, she might be
+content! But until then....
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+THE MORAL CLAIMS OF AN UMBRELLA
+
+
+The ghost was, so to speak, dead, as far as any mention of him was made
+at the Lodgings. But in the servants' quarters he was very much alive.
+
+The housemaid, who had promised not to tell "any one" that Miss Scott
+had seen a ghost, kept her word with literal strictness, by telling
+every one.
+
+Robinson was of opinion that the general question of ghosts was still an
+open one. Also that he had never heard in his time, or his father's, of
+the Barber's ghost actually appearing in the Warden's library. When the
+maids expressed alarm, he reproved them with a grumbling scorn. If
+ghosts did ever appear, he felt that the Lodgings had a first-class
+claim to one; ghosts were "classy," he argued. Had any one ever heard
+tell of a ghost haunting a red brick villa or a dissenting chapel?
+
+Louise had gathered up the story without difficulty, but she had secret
+doubts whether Miss Scott might not have invented the whole thing. She
+did not put much faith in Miss Scott. Now, if Lady Dashwood had seen the
+ghost, that would have been another matter!
+
+What really excited Louise was the story that the Barber came to warn
+Wardens of an approaching disaster. Now Louise was in any case prepared
+to believe that "disasters" might easily be born and bred in places
+like the Lodgings and in a city like Oxford; but in addition to all this
+there had been and was something going on in the Lodgings lately that
+was distressing Lady Dashwood, something in the behaviour of the Warden!
+A disaster! Hein?
+
+When she returned from St. Aldates, Gwendolen Scott had had only time to
+sit down in a chair and survey her boots for a few moments when Louise
+came into her bedroom and suggested that Mademoiselle would like to have
+her hair well brushed. Mademoiselle's hair had suffered from the passing
+events of the day.
+
+"Doesn't Lady Dashwood want you?" asked Gwendolen.
+
+No, Lady Dashwood was already dressed and was reposing herself on the
+couch, being fatigued. She was lying with her face towards the window,
+which was indeed wide open--wide open, and it was after sunset and at
+the end of October--par example!
+
+Gwendolen still stared at her boots and said she wanted to think; but
+Louise had an object in view and was firm, and in a few minutes she had
+deposited the young lady in front of the toilet-table and was brushing
+her black curly hair with much vigour.
+
+"Mademoiselle saw the ghost last night," began Louise.
+
+"Who said that?" exclaimed Gwendolen.
+
+"On dit," said Louise.
+
+"Then they shouldn't on dit," said Gwendolen. "I never said I saw the
+ghost, I may have said I thought I saw one, which is quite different.
+The Warden says there are no ghosts, and the whole thing is rubbish."
+
+"There comes no ghost here," said Louise, firmly, "except there is a
+disaster preparing for the Warden."
+
+"The Warden's quite all right," said Gwen, with some scorn.
+
+"Quite all right," repeated Louise. "But it may be some disaster
+domestic. Who can tell? There is not only death--there is--par exemple,
+marriage!" and Louise glanced over Gwendolen's head and looked at the
+girl's face reflected in the mirror.
+
+"Well, that is cool," thought Gwendolen; "I suppose that's French!"
+
+"The whole thing is rubbish," she said.
+
+"One cannot tell, it is not for us to know, perhaps, but it may be that
+the disaster is, that Mrs. Dashwood, so charming--so douce--will not
+permit herself to marry again--though she is still young. Such things
+happen. But how the Barber should have obtained the information--the
+good God only knows."
+
+Gwendolen blew the breath from her mouth with protruding lips.
+
+"What has that to do with the Warden? I do wish you wouldn't talk so
+much, Louise."
+
+"It may be a disaster that there can be no marriage between Mrs.
+Dashwood and Monsieur the Warden," continued Louise.
+
+"The Warden doesn't want to marry Mrs. Dashwood," replied Gwendolen,
+with some energy.
+
+"Mademoiselle knows!" said Louise, softly.
+
+"Yes, I know," said Gwendolen. "No one has thought of such a
+thing--except you."
+
+"But perhaps he is about to marry--some one whom Lady Dashwood esteems
+not; that would be indeed a disaster," said Louise, regretfully. "Ah,
+indeed a disaster," and she ran the brush lengthily down Gwendolen's
+hair.
+
+"I do wish you wouldn't talk," said Gwen. "It isn't your business,
+Louise."
+
+"Ah," murmured Louise, brushing away, "I will not speak of disasters;
+but I pray--I pray continually, and particularly I pray to St. Joseph
+to protect M. the Warden from any disaster whatever." Then she added: "I
+believe so much in St. Joseph."
+
+"St. Joseph!" said Gwendolen, sharply. "Why on earth?"
+
+"I believe much in him," said Louise.
+
+"I don't like him," said Gwendolen. "He always spoils those pictures of
+the Holy Family, he and his beard; he is like Abraham."
+
+"He spoils! That is not so; he is no doubt much, much older than the
+Blessed Virgin, but that was necessary, and he is un peu homme du
+monde--to protect the Lady Mother and Child. I pray to St. Joseph,
+because the good God, who was the Blessed Child, was always so gentle,
+so obedient, so tender. He will still listen to his kind protector, St.
+Joseph."
+
+"Oh, Louise, you are funny," said Gwendolen, laughing.
+
+"Funny!" exclaimed Louise. "Holy Jesus!"
+
+"Well, it all happened such ages ago, and you talk as if it were going
+on now."
+
+"It is now--always now--to God," exclaimed Louise, fervently; "there is
+no past--all is now."
+
+This was far too metaphysical for Gwendolen. "You are funny," she
+repeated.
+
+"Funny--again funny. Ah, but I forget, Mademoiselle is Protestant."
+
+"No, I'm not," said Gwen; "I belong to the English branch of the
+Catholic Church."
+
+"We have no branch, we are a trunk," said Louise, sadly.
+
+"Well, I'm exactly what the Warden is and what Lady Dashwood is," said
+Gwendolen.
+
+"Ah, my Lady Dashwood," said Louise, breaking into a tone of tragic
+melancholy. "I pray always for her. Ah! but she is good, and the good
+God knows it. But she is not well." And Louise changed her tone to one
+of mild speculation. "Madame perhaps is souffrante because of so much
+fresh air and the absence of shops."
+
+"It is foolish to suppose that the Warden does just what Lady Dashwood
+tells him. That doesn't happen in this part of the world," said
+Gwendolen, her mind still rankling on Louise's remark about Lady
+Dashwood not esteeming--as if, indeed, Lady Dashwood was the important
+person, as if, indeed, it was to please Lady Dashwood that the Warden
+was to marry!
+
+"Ah, no," said Louise. "The monsieurs here come and go just like guests
+in their homes. They do as they choose. The husband in England says
+never--as he does in France: 'I come back, my dearest, at the first
+moment possible, to assist you entertain our dear grandmamma and our
+dear aunt.' No, he says that not; and the English wife she never says:
+'Where have you been? It is an hour that our little Suzette demands that
+the father should show her again her new picture book!' Ah, no. I find
+that the English messieurs have much liberty."
+
+"It must be deadly for men in France," said Gwendolen.
+
+"It is always funny or deadly with Mademoiselle," replied Louise.
+
+But she felt that she had obtained enough information of an indirect
+nature to strengthen her in her suspicions that Lady Dashwood had
+arranged a marriage between the Warden and Mrs. Dashwood, but that the
+Warden had not played his part, and, notwithstanding his dignified
+appearance, was amusing himself with both his guests in a manner
+altogether reprehensible.
+
+Ah! but it was a pity!
+
+When Louise left the room Gwendolen went to the wardrobe, and took out
+the coat that Louise had put away. She felt in the wrong pocket first,
+which was empty, and then in the right one and found the ten-shilling
+note. Now that she had it in her hand it seemed to her amazing that Mrs.
+Potten, with her big income, should have fussed over such a small
+matter. It was shabby of her.
+
+Gwendolen took her purse out of a drawer which she always locked up.
+Even if her purse only contained sixpence, she locked it up because she
+took for granted that it would be "stolen."
+
+As she put away her purse and locked the drawer a sudden and
+disagreeable thought came into her mind. She would not like the Warden
+to know that she was going to buy an umbrella with money that Mrs.
+Potten had "thrown away." She would feel "queer" if she met him in the
+hall, when she came in from buying the umbrella. Why? Well, she would!
+Anyhow, she need not make up her mind yet what she would do--about the
+umbrella.
+
+Meanwhile the Warden surely would speak to her this evening, or would
+write or something? Was she never, never going to be engaged?
+
+She dressed and came down into the drawing-room. Dinner had already been
+announced, and Lady Dashwood was standing and Mrs. Dashwood was
+standing. Where was the Warden?
+
+"I ought not to have to tell you to be punctual, Gwen," said Lady
+Dashwood. "I expect you to be in the drawing-room before dinner is
+announced, not after."
+
+"So sorry," murmured Gwen; then added lightly, "but I am more punctual
+than Dr. Middleton!"
+
+"The Warden is dining in Hall," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+So the Warden had made himself invisible again! When was he going to
+speak to her? When was she going to be really engaged?
+
+Gwendolen held open the door for the two ladies and, as she did so,
+glanced round the room. Now that she knew that the Warden was out
+somehow the drawing-room looked rather dreary.
+
+Her eyes rested on the portrait over the fireplace. There was that
+odious man looking so knowing! She was not sure whether she shouldn't
+have that portrait removed when she was Mrs. Middleton. It would serve
+him right. She turned out the lights with some satisfaction, it left him
+in the dark!
+
+As she walked downstairs behind the two ladies, she thought that they
+too looked rather dreary. The hall looked dreary. Even the dining-room
+that she always admired looked dreary, and especially dreary looked old
+Robinson, and very shabby he looked, as he stood at the carving table.
+And young Robinson's nose looked more turned-up, and more stumpy than
+she had noticed before. It was so dull without the Warden at the head of
+the table.
+
+There was very little conversation at dinner. When the Warden was away,
+nobody seemed to want to talk. Lady Dashwood said she had a headache.
+
+But Gwendolen gathered some information of importance. Mrs. Potten had
+turned up again, and had been told that the right money had gone to Mrs.
+Harding.
+
+Gwendolen stared a good deal at her plate, and felt considerable relief
+when Lady Dashwood added: "She knows now that she did not lose her note
+in Christ Church. She is always dropping things--poor Marian! But she
+very likely hadn't the note at all, and only thought she had the note,"
+and so the matter _ended_.
+
+Just as dinner was over Gwen gathered more information. The Warden was
+going away early to-morrow! That was dreary, only--she would go and buy
+the umbrella while he was away, and get used to having it before he saw
+it.
+
+That the future Mrs. Middleton should not even have an umbrella to call
+her own was monstrous! She must keep up the dignity of her future
+position!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+HONOUR
+
+
+The drawing-room was empty except for the figure of Gwendolen Scott. Her
+slim length was in a great easy-chair, on the arms of which she was
+resting her hands, while she turned her head from side to side like a
+bird that anticipates the approach of enemies.
+
+Mrs. Dashwood and Lady Dashwood had gone upstairs, and, to her
+astonishment, when she prepared to follow them, Lady Dashwood had
+quietly made her wait behind for the Warden!
+
+The command, for it seemed almost like a command, came with startling
+abruptness. So Lady Dashwood knew all about it! She must have talked it
+over with the Warden, and now she was arranging it as if the Warden
+couldn't act without her! But the annoyance that Gwen felt at this proof
+of Lady Dashwood's power was swallowed up in the sense of a great
+victory, the prize was won! She was going to be really engaged at last!
+All the waiting and the bother was over!
+
+She was ready for him, at least as ready as she could be. She was glad
+she had got on her white frock; on the whole, she preferred it to the
+others. Even Louise, who never said anything nice, said that it suited
+her.
+
+When would he come? And when he did come, what would he do, what would
+he say?
+
+Would he come in quietly and slowly as he had done last night, looking,
+oh, so strong, so capable of driving ghosts away, fears away? She would
+never be afraid of anything in his presence, except perhaps of himself!
+Here he was!
+
+He came in, shut the door behind him, and advanced towards her. She
+couldn't help watching him.
+
+"You're quite alone," he said, and he came and stood by the hearth under
+the portrait and leaned his hand on the mantelshelf.
+
+"Yes," said Gwen, blushing violently. "Lady Dashwood and Mrs. Dashwood
+have gone. Lady Dashwood said I was to stay up!"
+
+"Thank you," said the Warden.
+
+Gwen looked up at him wistfully.
+
+"You wrote me a letter," he began, "and from it I gather that you have
+been thinking over what I said the other evening."
+
+"Yes," said Gwen; "I've been so--bothered. Oh, that's the wrong word--I
+mean----"
+
+"You have thought it over quietly and seriously?" said the Warden.
+
+Gwen's eyes flickered. "Yes," she said; and then, as he seemed to expect
+her to say more, she added:
+
+"I don't know whether you meant----" and here she stopped dead.
+
+"Between us there must be absolute sincerity," he said.
+
+Gwen felt a qualm. Did absolute sincerity mean that she would have to
+tell about the--the umbrella that she was going to get?
+
+"Yes," she said, "I like sincerity; it's right, isn't it?"
+
+He made no answer. She looked again at him wistfully.
+
+"Suppose you tell me," he said gently, "what you yourself think of your
+mother's letter in which she speaks to you with affection and pride,
+and even regrets that she will lose you. Her letter conveys the idea
+that you _are_ loved and wanted." He put emphasis on the "are."
+
+"It was a nice letter," said Gwen, thinking hard as she spoke. "But you
+see we haven't got any home now," she went on. "Mother stays about with
+people. It is hard lines, but she is so sporting."
+
+"Yes," said the Warden, "and," he said, as if to assist her to complete
+the picture, "yet she wants you!" As he spoke his eyes narrowed and his
+breath was arrested for a moment.
+
+"Oh no," said Gwen, eagerly. "She doesn't want to prevent--me--me
+marrying. You see she can't have me much, it's--it's difficult in other
+people's houses--at least it sometimes is--just now especially."
+
+"Thank you," said the Warden, "I understand." He sighed and moved
+slightly from his former position. "You mean that she wants you very
+much, but that she can't afford to give you a home."
+
+"Yes," said Gwen, with relief. The way was being made very clear to her.
+She was telling "the truth" and he was helping her so kindly. "You see
+mother couldn't stand a small house and servant bothers. It's been such
+hard luck on her, that father left nothing like what she thought he had
+got. Mother has been so plucky, she really has."
+
+"I see," said the Warden. "Then your mother's letter has your approval?"
+
+Her approval! Yes, of course; it was simply topping of her mother to
+have written in the way she did.
+
+"It was good of mother," she said. If it hadn't been for her mother she
+would not have known what to do.
+
+The Warden moved his hand away from the mantelshelf and now stood with
+his back against it, away from the blaze of the fire.
+
+"You have never mentioned, in my presence," he said, "what you think
+about the work that most girls of your age are doing for the war."
+
+"Oh yes," said Gwen, eagerly; "mother is so keen about that. She does do
+such a lot herself, and she took me away from school a fortnight before
+time was up to go to a hospital for three months' training."
+
+"And you are having a holiday and want to go on," suggested the Warden.
+
+"No; mother thought I had better have a change. You can't think how
+horrid the matron was to me--she had favourites, worse luck; and now
+mother is looking--has been"--Gwen corrected herself sharply--"for
+something for me to do that would be more suitable, but the difficulty
+is to find anything really nice."
+
+The Warden meditated. "Yes," he said.
+
+Gwen continued to look at him, her face full of questioning.
+
+"You have been thinking whether you should trust yourself to me," he
+said very gravely, "and whether you could face the responsibility and
+the cares of a house, a position, like that of a Warden's wife?"
+
+"Oh yes," said Gwen.
+
+"You think that you understand them?" he asked.
+
+"Oh yes," said Gwen. "At least, I would try; I would do my best."
+
+"There is nothing very amusing in my manner of life; in fact, I should
+describe it as--solemn. The business," he continued, "of a Warden is to
+ward his college. His wife's business is to assist him."
+
+"I should simply love that," said Gwen. "I should really! I'm not
+clever, I know, but I would try my best, and--I'm so--afraid of you,"
+she said with a gulp of emotion, "and admire you so awfully!"
+
+The Warden's face hardened a little, but Gwen did not observe it; all
+she saw and knew was that the dismal part of the interview was over,
+for he accepted this outburst as a definite reply on her part to his
+offer. She was so glad she had said just what she had said. It seemed to
+be all right.
+
+"That is your decision?" he said, only he did not move towards her. He
+stood there, standing with his back to the projection of the fireplace,
+his head on a level with the frame of the portrait. The two faces, of
+the present Warden of the year 1916 and the Warden of the eighteenth
+century, made a striking contrast. Both men had no lack of physical
+beauty, but the one had discovered the "rights" of man, and therefore of
+a Warden, and the other had discovered the "duties" of men, including
+Wardens.
+
+He stood there and did not approach her. He was hesitating.
+
+He could, if he wished it, exercise his power over her and make her
+answer "No." He could make her shrink away from him, or even deny that
+she had wished for an interview. And he could do this safely, for
+Gwendolen herself was ignorant of the fact that he had on the previous
+night exercised any influence over her except that of argument. She
+would have no suspicion that he was tampering with her will for his own
+purposes. He could extricate himself now and at this moment. Now, while
+she was still waiting for him to tell her whether he would marry her.
+
+The temptation was a heavy one. It was heavy, although he knew from the
+first that it was one which he could and would resist. There was no real
+question about it.
+
+He stood there by the hearth, a free man still. In a moment he would be
+bound hand and foot.
+
+Still, come what may, he must satisfy his honour. He must satisfy his
+honour at any price.
+
+Gwendolen saw that he did not move and she became suddenly alarmed.
+Didn't he mean to keep his promise after all? Had he taken a dislike to
+her?
+
+"Have I offended you?" she asked humbly. "You're not pleased with me.
+Oh, Dr. Middleton, you do make me so afraid!" She got up from her chair,
+looking very pale. "You've been so awfully kind and good to me, but you
+make me frightened!" She held out her hands to him and turned her face
+away, as if to hide it from him. "Oh, do be kind!" she pleaded.
+
+He was looking at her with profound attention, but the tenseness of his
+eyes had relaxed. Here was this girl. Foolish she might be naturally,
+badly brought up she certainly was, but she was utterly alone in the
+world. He must train her. He must oblige her to walk in the path he had
+laid out for her. She, too, must become a servant of the College. He
+willed it!
+
+"I hope, Gwendolen," he said gently, "that I shall never be anything but
+kind to you. But do you realise that if you are my wife, you will have
+to live, not for pleasure or ease; and you will have not merely to
+control yourself, but learn to control other people? This may sound
+hard. Does it sound hard?"
+
+Oh, she would try her very best. She would do whatever he told her to
+do. Just whatever he told her!
+
+Whatever he told her to do! What an unending task he had undertaken of
+telling her what to do! He must never relax his will or his attention
+from her. It would be no marriage for him; it would be a heavy
+responsibility. But at least the College should not suffer! Was he sure
+of that? He must see that it did not suffer. If he failed, he must
+resign. His promise to her was not to love her. He had never spoken of
+love. He had offered her a home, and he must give her a home.
+
+He braced himself up with a supreme effort and went towards her, taking
+her into his arms and kissing her brow and cheeks, and then, releasing
+himself from her clinging arms, he said--
+
+"Go now, Gwendolen. Go to bed. I have work to do."
+
+"Are you--is it----" she stammered.
+
+"We are engaged, if that is what you mean," he said.
+
+"Oh, Dr. Middleton!" she exclaimed. "And may I write to my mother?"
+
+The Warden did not answer for a moment.
+
+That was another burden, Gwendolen's mother! The Warden's face became
+hard. But he thought he knew how he should deal with Gwendolen's mother;
+he should begin from the very first.
+
+"Yes," he said; "but as to her coming here--she mentions it in her
+letter--Lady Dashwood will decide about that. I don't know what her
+plans are."
+
+Gwendolen looked disappointed. "And I may talk to Lady Dashwood, to Mrs.
+Dashwood, and anybody about our engagement?" she asked.
+
+"Certainly," he said, but he spoke stiffly.
+
+"And--and--" said the girl, following him to the door and stretching out
+her hand towards his arm as she walked but not touching it,--"shall I
+see you to-morrow morning before you go to town?"
+
+The Warden felt as if he had been dealt a light but acutely painful
+blow.
+
+Shall I see you to-morrow morning? Already she was claiming her right
+over him, her right to see him, to know of his movements. He had for
+many years been the servant of the College. He had given the College his
+entire allegiance, but he had also been its master. He had been the
+strong man among weaker men, and, as all men of his type are, he had
+been alone, uninterfered with, rather remote in matters concerning his
+private personal life. And now this mere child demanded explanations of
+him. It was a bitter moment for his pride and independence. However
+strictly he might bind his wife to his will, his own freedom had gone;
+he was no longer the man he had been. If this simple question, "Shall I
+see you to-morrow morning?" tortured his self-respect, how would he be
+able to bear what was coming upon him day by day? He had to bear it.
+That was the only answer to the question!
+
+"I am starting early," he said. "But I shall be back on Saturday, some
+time in the afternoon probably."
+
+Gwendolen's brain was in a whirl. Her desire had been consummated. The
+Warden was hers, but, somehow, he was not quite what he had been on that
+Monday evening. He was cold, at least rather cold. Still he was hers;
+that was fixed.
+
+She waited for a moment to see if he meant to kiss her again. He did not
+mean to, he held out his hand and smiled a little.
+
+She kissed his hand. "I shall long for you to come back," she said, and
+then ran out, leaving him alone to return to his desk with a heart sick
+and empty.
+
+"There can be no cohesion, no progress in the world, no hope for the
+future of man, if men break their word; if there is no such thing as
+inviolable honour," the Warden said to himself, just as he had said
+before. "After all, as long as honour is left, one has a right to live,
+to struggle on, to endure."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+SHOPPING
+
+
+Mrs. Potten found that it "paid" to do her own shopping, and she did it
+once every week, on Friday. For this purpose she was compelled to use
+her car. This grieved her. Her extreme desire to save petrol would have
+been more patriotic if she had not availed herself, on every possible
+occasion, of using other people's petrol, or, so to speak, other
+people's oats.
+
+She had gone to the Sale of work in Boreham's gig, but there was not
+much room in it for miscellaneous parcels, so she was obliged to come
+into Oxford on the following morning as usual and do her regular
+shopping.
+
+Mrs. Potten's acquaintance with the University consisted in knowing a
+member of it here and there, and in accepting invitations to any public
+function which did not involve the expenditure of her own money. No
+Greenleafe Potten had ever given any endowment to Oxford, nor, for the
+matter of that, had any Squire of Chartcote ever spent a penny for the
+advancement of learning. Indeed, the old County had been mostly occupied
+in preserving itself from gradual extinction, and the new County, the
+Nouveaux Riches, had been mainly occupied in the dissipation of energy.
+
+But Mrs. Potten had given the Potten revenues a new lease of life. Not
+only did she make a point of not reducing her capital, but she was
+increasing it year by year. She did this by systematic and often minute
+economies (which is the true secret of economy). The surface of her
+nature was emotional, enclosing a core of flint, so that when she (being
+short-sighted) dropped things about in moments of excitement, agreeable
+or disagreeable, she made such losses good by drawing in the household
+belt. If she inadvertently dropped a half-crown piece down a grating
+while exchanging controversial remarks with a local tradesman, or mixed
+up a note with her pocket handkerchief and mislaid both when forced to
+find a subscription to some pious object, or if she left a purse
+containing one shilling and fivepence behind her on a chair in the
+agitation of meeting a man whom she admired (a man like the Warden, for
+instance); when such misfortunes happened she made them up--somehow!
+
+Knowing her own weakness, she armed herself against it, by never
+carrying money about with her, except on rare occasions. When she
+travelled, her maid carried the money (with her head as the price of
+it).
+
+This Friday morning, therefore, Mrs. Potten had a business duty before
+her, she had to squeeze ten shillings out of the weekly bills--a matter
+difficult in times of peace and more difficult in war time. It was a
+difficulty she meant to overcome.
+
+Now on this Friday morning, after the Sale, Mrs. Potten motored into
+Oxford rather earlier than usual. She intended going to the Lodgings at
+King's before doing her shopping. Her reason for going to the Lodgings
+was an interesting one. She had just had a letter from Lady Belinda
+Scott, informing her that, even if she had been able to invite Gwendolen
+for Monday, Gwendolen could not accept the invitation, as the dear child
+was going to stay on at the Lodgings indefinitely. She was engaged to be
+married to the Warden! At this point in the letter Mrs. Potten put the
+paper upon the breakfast table and felt that the world was grey. Mrs.
+Potten liked men she admired to be bachelors or else widowers, either
+would do. She liked to feel that if only she had been ten years younger,
+and had not been so exclusively devoted to the memory of her husband,
+things might have---- She never allowed herself to state definitely,
+even to herself, what they might have----, but as long as they might
+have----, there was over the world in which Mrs. Potten moved and
+thought a subtle veil of emotional possibilities.
+
+So he was engaged! And what exasperated Mrs. Potten, as she read on, was
+Lady Belinda's playful hints that Lady Dashwood (dear old thing!) had
+manoeuvred Gwendolen's visit in the first instance, and then kept her
+firmly a prisoner till the knot was tied. Hadn't it been clever? Then as
+to the Warden, he was madly, romantically in love, and what could a
+mother do but resign herself to the inevitable? It wasn't what she had
+hoped for Gwen! It was very, very different--very! She must not trust
+herself to speak on that subject because she had given her consent and
+the thing was done, and she meant to make the best of it loyally.
+
+With this news surging in her head Mrs. Potten raced along the moist
+roadways towards the ancient and sacred city.
+
+Lena ought to have told her about this engagement when they were sitting
+together in the rooms at Christ Church. It wasn't the right thing for an
+old friend to have preserved a mysterious silence, unless (Mrs. Potten
+was a woman with her wits about her) the engagement had been not Lady
+Dashwood's plan, but exclusively Belinda's plan and the daughter's plan,
+and the Warden had been "caught"!
+
+"A liar," said Mrs. Potten, as she stared gloomily out of the open
+window, "is always a liar!"
+
+Mrs. Potten rang the door-bell at the Lodging and waited for the answer
+with much warmth of interest. Suppose Lena was not at home? What should
+she do? She must thrash out this matter. Lena would be certain to be at
+home, it was so early!
+
+She _was_ at home!
+
+Mrs. Potten walked upstairs, her mind agitated with mingled emotions,
+and also the hope of meeting the Warden, incidentally. But she did not
+meet the Warden. He was not either coming up or going down, and Mrs.
+Potten found herself alone in the drawing-room.
+
+She could not sit down, she walked up to the fireplace and stared
+through her glasses for a moment at the portrait. It was quite true that
+the man was a very good-looking Warden! Yes, but scarcely the sort of
+person she would have thought suitable to look after young men; and then
+she walked away to the window. She was framing in her mind the way in
+which she should open the subject of her call at this early hour. She
+almost started when she heard the door click, and turned round to see
+Lady Dashwood coming towards her.
+
+"Dear one, how tired you look!" said Mrs. Potten; "and I really ought
+not to have come at this unholy hour----"
+
+"It's not so early," said Lady Dashwood. "You know work begins in this
+house at eight o'clock in the morning."
+
+"So much the better," said Mrs. Potten. "I don't like the modern late
+hours. In old days our Prime Ministers were up at six in the morning
+attending to their correspondence. When are they up now, I should like
+to know? Well," she added, "I have come to offer you my congratulations.
+I got a letter this morning from Lady Belinda, telling me all about it.
+No, I won't sit down, I merely ran in for a moment."
+
+Lady Dashwood did not smile. She simply repeated: "From Belinda, telling
+you all about it!"
+
+Mrs. Potten noted the sarcasm underlying the remark.
+
+"Humph!" said Mrs. Potten. "And you, my dear, said nothing yesterday,
+though we sat together for half an hour."
+
+"They were not engaged till yesterday evening," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Belinda writing yesterday speaks of this engagement having already
+taken place," said Mrs. Potten; "but, of course, she is wrong."
+
+"Yes," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Ah!" cried Mrs. Potten, nodding her head up and down once or twice.
+
+"Jim has gone to town this morning," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"To buy a ring?" said Mrs. Potten. "Well, I really ought to have brought
+you Lady Belinda's letter to read. She thinks you have got your heart's
+desire. That's _her_ way of looking at it."
+
+Lady Dashwood made no answer.
+
+"I never think lies are amusing," said Mrs. Potten, "when you know they
+are lies. But you see, you never said a word. Well, well, so Dr.
+Middleton is engaged!"
+
+"Yes, engaged," repeated Lady Dashwood.
+
+"I'm afraid you're tired," said Mrs. Potten. "You did too much
+yesterday."
+
+"I'm tired," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"I always expected," said Mrs. Potten, "that the Warden would have found
+some nice, steady, capable country rector's daughter. But I suppose,
+being a man as well as a Warden, he fell in love with a pretty face,
+eh?" and Mrs. Potten moved as if to go. "Well, she is a lucky girl."
+
+"Very lucky," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+Then Mrs. Potten stared closely with her short-sighted eyes into her
+friend's face and saw such resigned miseries there that Mrs. Potten felt
+a stirring movement of those superficial emotions of which we have
+already spoken.
+
+"I could have wept for her, my dear," said Mrs. Potten, addressing an
+imaginary companion as she went through the court of the Warden's
+Lodgings to the car, which she had left standing in the street. "I could
+have wept for her and for the Warden--poor silly man--and he looks so
+wise," she added incredulously. "And," she went on, "she wouldn't say a
+word against the girl or against Belinda. Too proud, I suppose."
+
+Just as she was getting into the car Harding was passing. He stopped,
+and in his best manner informed her that his wife had told him that the
+proceeds of the Sale amounted to ninety-three pounds ten shillings and
+threepence.
+
+"Very good," said Mrs. Potten; "excellent!"
+
+"And we are much indebted to our kind friends who patronised the Sale."
+
+Mrs. Potten thought of her Buckinghamshire collar and the shilling
+pincushion that she need not have bought.
+
+"I shall tell my wife," said Harding, with much unction, "that you think
+it very satisfactory."
+
+It did indeed seem to Mrs. Potten (whose income was in thousands) that
+ninety-three pounds, ten shillings and threepence was a very handsome
+sum for the purpose of assisting fifty or sixty young mothers of the
+present generation.
+
+But she had little time to think of this for just by her, walking past
+her from the Lodgings, came Miss Gwendolen Scott. Now, what was Mrs.
+Potten to do? Why, congratulate her, of course! The thing had to be
+done! She called to Gwendolen, who came to the side of the car all
+blushes.
+
+"She's pleased--that's plain," said Mrs. Potten to herself.
+
+But Mrs. Potten was mistaken. Gwendolen's vivid colour came not from the
+cause which Mrs. Potten imagined. Gwendolen's colour came simply from
+alarm at the sight of Mrs. Potten and Mr. Harding speaking to one
+another, and this alarm was not lessened when Mrs. Potten exclaimed--
+
+"Mr. Harding has been telling me that you made ninety-three pounds, ten
+shillings and threepence from the Sale?"
+
+"Oh, did we?" murmured Gwendolen, and her colour came and went away.
+
+"We did, thanks to Mrs. Potten's purchases," said Harding, with
+obsequious playfulness, and he took his leave.
+
+Then Mrs. Potten leaned over the car towards Gwendolen and whispered--
+
+"I was waiting till he had gone, as I don't know if you intend all
+Oxford to know----"
+
+Gwendolen's lips were pouted into a terrified expression.
+
+"Your engagement, I mean," explained Mrs. Potten.
+
+Gwendolen breathed again, and now she laughed. Oh, why had she been so
+frightened? That silly little affair of yesterday was over, it was dead
+and buried! It was absolutely safe, and here was the first real proper
+congratulations and acknowledgment of her importance.
+
+"You've got a charming man, very charming," said Mrs. Potten.
+
+Gwendolen admitted that she had, and then Mrs. Potten waved her hand and
+was gone.
+
+That morning, when Gwendolen had come down to breakfast, she wondered
+how she was going to be received, and whether she would have to wait
+again for recognition as the future Mrs. Middleton. Breakfast had been
+put half an hour later.
+
+She had found Lady Dashwood and Mrs. Dashwood already at breakfast. The
+Warden had had breakfast alone a little before eight. Lady Dashwood
+called to her and, when she came near, kissed her, and said very
+quietly--
+
+"The Warden has told me."
+
+And then Mrs. Dashwood smiled and stretched out her hand and said: "I
+have been allowed to hear the news."
+
+And Gwendolen had looked at them both and said: "Thanks ever so much. I
+can scarcely believe it, only I know it's true!"
+
+However, the glamour of the situation was gone because the Warden's seat
+was empty. He could be heard in the hall; the taxi could be heard and
+the door slamming, and he never came in to say "Good-bye"! Still it was
+all exhilarating and wonderfully full of hope and promise, and
+mysterious to a degree!
+
+The conversation at breakfast was not about herself, but that did not
+matter, she was occupied with happy thoughts. Now all this, everything
+she looked at and everything she happened to touch, was hers. Everything
+was hers from the silver urn down to the very salt spoons. The cup that
+Lady Dashwood was just raising to her lips was hers, Gwendolen's.
+
+And now as she walked along Broad Street, after leaving Mrs. Potten, how
+gay the world seemed--how brilliant! Even the leaden grey sky was
+joyful! To Gwendolen there was no war, no sorrow, no pain! There was no
+world beyond, no complexity of moral forces, no great piteous struggle
+for an ideal, no "Christ that is to be!" She was engaged and was going
+shopping!
+
+It was, however, a pity that she had only ten shillings. That would not
+get a really good umbrella. Oh, look at those perfectly ducky gloves in
+the window they were only eight and elevenpence!
+
+Gwendolen stared at the window. Stopping to look at shop windows had
+been strictly forbidden by her mother, but her dear mother was not
+there! So Gwendolen peered in intently. What about getting those gloves
+instead of the umbrella?
+
+She marched into the shop, rather bewildered with her own thoughts. The
+gloves were shown her by the same woman who had served Lady Dashwood a
+day or two ago, and who recognised her and smiled respectfully. The
+gloves were sweet; the gauntlets were exactly what she preferred to any
+others. And the colour was right. Gwendolen was fingering her purse when
+the shopwoman said--
+
+"Do you want to pay for them, or shall I enter them, miss?"
+
+Gwendolen's brain worked. She was now definitely engaged, and in a few
+weeks no doubt would be Mrs. Middleton; after that a bill of eight and
+elevenpence would be a trifle.
+
+"Enter them, please," said Gwendolen, and she surprised herself by
+hearing her own voice asking for the umbrella department.
+
+After this, problems that had in the past appeared insoluble, arranged
+themselves without any straining effort on her part; they just
+straightened themselves out and went "right there."
+
+She looked at a plain umbrella for nine and sixpence, and then examined
+one at fifteen and eleven. Thereupon she was shown another at
+twenty-five shillings, which was more respectable looking and had a nice
+top. It was clearly her duty to choose this, anything poorer would lower
+the dignity of the future Mrs. Middleton. Gwendolen was learning the
+"duties" she owed to the station in life to which God had called her.
+She found no sort of difficulty in this kind of learning, and it was far
+more really useful than book learning which is proverbially deleterious
+to the character. She had the umbrella, too, put down to Miss Scott,
+the Lodgings, King's College. When she got out of the shop the
+ten-shilling note was still in her purse.
+
+"I shall get some chocolates," she said. "A few!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+THE SOUL OF MRS. POTTEN
+
+
+Mrs. Potten was emerging from a shop in Broad Street when she caught
+sight of Mr. Bingham, in cap and gown, passing her and called to him. He
+stopped and walked a few steps with her, while she informed him that the
+proceeds of the Sale had come to ninety-three pounds, ten shillings and
+threepence; but this was only in order to find out whether he had heard
+of that poor dear Warden's engagement. It was all so very foolish!
+
+"Only that!" said Bingham, who was evidently in ignorance of the event;
+"and after I bought a table-cloth, which I find goes badly with my
+curtains, and bedroom slippers, that are too small now I've tried them
+on. Well, Mrs. Potten, you did your best, anyhow, flinging notes about
+all over Christ Church. Was the second note found?"
+
+"The second note?" exclaimed Mrs. Potten. "What d'ye mean?"
+
+"You dropped one note at Christ Church, and you would have lost another
+if Harding hadn't discovered that you had given him an extra note and
+restored it to Miss Scott. I suppose Miss Scott pretended that it was
+she who had been clever enough to rescue the note for you?"
+
+"No, she did not," said Mrs. Potten; and here she paused and remained
+silent, for her brain was seething with tumultuous thoughts.
+
+"Well, but for Harding, the Sale would have made a cool ninety-three
+pounds, fifteen shillings and threepence. Do you follow me?"
+
+Mrs. Potten did follow him and with much agitation.
+
+"How do you know it was my note and not Miss Scott's own note?" she
+asked, and there was in her tone a twang of cunning, for Bingham's
+remarks had roused not only the emotional superficies of Mrs. Potten's
+nature, but had pierced to the very core where lay the thought of money.
+
+"Because," replied Bingham, "Miss Scott, who was running like a
+two-year-old, was not likely to have unfastened your note and fitted one
+of her own under it so tightly that Harding, whose mind is quite
+accustomed to the solution of simple problems, had to blow 'poof' to
+separate them. No, take the blame on yourself, Mrs. Potten, and in
+future have a purse-bearer."
+
+Mrs. Potten's mind was in such a state of inward indignation that she
+went past the chemist's shop, and was now within a few yards of the
+Sheldonian Theatre. She had become forgetful of time and place, and was
+muttering to herself--
+
+"What a little baggage--what a little minx!" and other remarks unheard
+by Bingham.
+
+"I see you are admiring that semicircle of splendid heads that crown the
+palisading of the Sheldonian," said Bingham, as they came up close to
+the historic building.
+
+"Admiring them!" exclaimed Mrs. Potten. "They are monstrosities."
+
+"They are perfectly sweet, as ladies say," contradicted Bingham; "we
+wouldn't part with them for the world."
+
+"What are they?" demanded Mrs. Potten, trying hard to preserve an
+outward calm and discretion.
+
+"Jupiter Tonans--or Plato," said Bingham, "and in progressive stages of
+senility."
+
+"Why don't you have handsome heads?" said Mrs. Potten, and she began to
+cross the road with Bingham. Bingham was crossing the road because he
+was going that way, and Mrs. Potten drifted along with him because she
+was too much excited to think out the matter.
+
+"They are handsome," said Bingham.
+
+Mrs. Potten was speechless. Suddenly she discovered that she was
+hurrying in the wrong direction, just as if she were running away with
+Mr. Bingham. She paused at the curb of the opposite pavement.
+
+"Mr. Bingham," she said, arresting him.
+
+He stopped.
+
+"I must go back," she said. "I quite forgot that my car may be waiting
+for me at the chemist's!" and then she fumbled with her bag, and then
+looked thoughtfully into Bingham's face as they stood together on the
+curb. "Bernard always lunches with me on Sundays," she said; "I shall be
+glad to see you any Sunday if you want a walk, and we can talk about the
+removal of those heads."
+
+Bingham gave a cordial but elusive reply, and, raising his cap, he
+sauntered away eastwards, his gown flying out behind him in the light
+autumn wind.
+
+Mrs. Potten re-crossed the road and walked slowly back to the chemist's.
+Her car was there waiting for her, and it contained her weekly
+groceries, her leg of mutton, and the unbleached calico for the making
+of hospital slings which she had bought in Queen's Street, because she
+could obtain it there at 4 1/2d. per yard.
+
+She went into the chemist's and bought some patent pills, all the time
+thinking hard. She had two witnesses to Gwendolen Scott's having
+possession of the note: Mr. Harding and Mr. Bingham; and one witness,
+Lady Dashwood, to her having delivered the collar and not the note! All
+these witnesses were unconscious of the meaning of the transaction.
+She, Mrs. Potten, alone could piece together the evidence and know what
+it meant, and it was by a mere chance that she had been able to do this.
+If she had not met Mr. Bingham (and she had never met him before in the
+street), and if she had not happened to have mentioned the proceeds of
+the Sale, she would still be under the impression that the note had been
+mislaid.
+
+"And the impertinence of the young woman!" exclaimed Mrs. Potten, as she
+paid for her pills. "And she fancies herself in a position of trust, if
+you please! She means to figure, if you please, at the head of an
+establishment where we send our sons to be kept out of mischief for a
+bit! Well, I never heard of anything like it. Why, she'll be tampering
+with the bills!"
+
+Mrs. Potten's indignation did not wane as the moments passed, but rather
+waxed.
+
+"And her mother is condescending about the engagement! Why," added Mrs.
+Potten to herself with emphasis, as she got into her car--"why, if this
+had happened with one of my maids, I should have put it into the hands
+of the police."
+
+"The Lodgings, King's," she said to the chauffeur. What was she going to
+do when she got there?
+
+Mrs. Potten had no intention of bursting into the Lodgings in order to
+demand an explanation from Miss Scott. No, thank you, Miss Scott must
+wait upon Mrs. Potten. She must come out to Potten End and make her
+explanation! But Mrs. Potten was going to the Lodgings merely to ensure
+that this would be done on the instant.
+
+"Don't drive in," she called, and getting out of the car she walked into
+the court and went up the two shallow steps of the front door and rang
+at the bell.
+
+The retrousse nose of Robinson Junior appeared at the opened door. Lady
+Dashwood was not at home and was not expected till half-past one. It
+was then one o'clock. Mrs. Potten mused for a little and then asked if
+she might see Lady Dashwood's maid for a moment. Robinson Junior
+suppressed his scornful surprise that any one should want to see Louise,
+and ushered Mrs. Potten into the Warden's breakfast-room, and there,
+seating herself near the window, she searched for a visiting card and a
+pencil. Louise appeared very promptly.
+
+"Madame wishes something?" she remarked as she closed the door behind
+her, and stood surveying Mrs. Potten from that distance.
+
+"I do," said Mrs. Potten, taking in Louise's untidy blouse, her plain
+features, thick complexion and luminous brown eyes in one comprehensive
+glance. "Can you tell me if Miss Scott will be in for luncheon?" Mrs.
+Potten spoke French with a strong English accent and much originality of
+style.
+
+Yes, Miss Scott was returning to luncheon.
+
+"And do you know if the ladies have afternoon engagements?"
+
+Louise thought they had none, because Lady Dashwood was to be at home to
+tea. That she knew for certain, and she added in a voice fraught with
+import: "I shall urge Madame to rest after lunch."
+
+"Humph! I see you look after her properly," said Mrs. Potten, beginning
+to write on her card with the pencil; "I thought she was looking very
+tired when I saw her this morning."
+
+"Tired!" exclaimed Louise; "Madame is always tired in Oxford."
+
+"Relaxing climate," said Mrs. Potten as she wrote.
+
+"And this house does not suit Madame," continued Louise, motionless at
+the door.
+
+"The drains wrong, perhaps," said Mrs. Potten, with absolute
+indifference.
+
+"I know nothing of drains, Madame," said Louise, "I speak of other
+things."
+
+"Sans doute il y a du 'dry rot,'" said Mrs. Potten, looking at what she
+had written.
+
+"Ah!" exclaimed Louise, clasping her hands, "Madame has heard; I did not
+know his name, but what matter? Ghosts are always ghosts, and my Lady
+Dashwood has never been the same since that night, never!"
+
+Mrs. Potten stared but she did not express surprise, she wanted to hear
+more without asking for more.
+
+"Madame knows that the ghost comes to bring bad news about the Warden!"
+
+"Bad news!" said Mrs. Potten, and she put her pencil back into her bag
+and wondered whether the news of the Warden's engagement had reached the
+servants' quarters.
+
+"A disaster," said Louise. "Always a disaster--to Monsieur the Warden.
+Madame understands?"
+
+Louise gazed at Mrs. Potten as if she hoped that that lady had
+information to give her. But Mrs. Potten had none. She was merely
+thinking deeply.
+
+"Well," she said, rising, "I suppose most old houses pretend to have
+ghosts. We have one at Potten End, but I have never seen it myself, and,
+as far as I know, it does no harm and no good. But Madame didn't see the
+ghost you speak of?" and here Mrs. Potten smiled a little satirically.
+
+"It was Miss Scott," said Louise, darkly.
+
+"Oh!" said Mrs. Potten, with a short laugh. "Oh, well!" and she came
+towards the maid with the card in her hand. "Now, will you be good
+enough to give this to Madame the moment that she returns and say that
+it is 'Urgent,' d'une importance extreme."
+
+"Well," said Mrs. Potten to herself, as she walked through the court and
+gained the street, "and I should think it _was_ a disaster for a quiet,
+respectable Warden of an Oxford college to marry a person of the Scott
+type."
+
+As to Louise, when she had closed the front door on Mrs. Potten's
+retreating figure, she gazed hard at the card in her hand. The writing
+was as follows:--
+
+
+    "Dear Lena,
+
+    "Can Miss Scott come to see me this afternoon without fail? Very
+    kindly allow her to come early.
+
+                                                  "M. P."
+
+
+It did not contain anything more.
+
+Now, Mrs. Potten really believed in ghosts, but she thought of them as
+dreary, uninteresting intruders on the world's history. There was
+Hamlet's father's ghost that spoke at such length, and there was the
+spirit that made Abraham's hair stand on end as it passed before him,
+and then there was the ghost of Samuel that appeared to Saul and
+prophesied evil. But of all ghosts, the one that Mrs. Potten thought
+most dismal, was the ghost of the man-servant who came out from a
+mansion, full of light and music, one winter night on a Devon bye-road.
+There he stood in the snow directing the lost travellers to the nearest
+inn, and (this was what struck Mrs. Potten's soul to the core) the
+half-crown (an actual precious piece of money) that was dropped into his
+hand--fell through the palm--on to the snow--and so the travellers knew
+that they had spoken to a spirit, and were leaving behind them a ghostly
+house with ghostly lights and the merriment of the dead.
+
+Mrs. Potten's mind worked in columns, and had she been calm and happy
+she would have spent the time returning to Potten End in completing the
+list of ghosts she was acquainted with; but she was excited and full of
+tumultuous thoughts.
+
+There was, indeed, in Mrs. Potten's soul the strife of various passions:
+there was the desire to act in a high-handed, swift Potten manner, the
+desire to pursue and flatten any one who invaded the Potten preserves.
+There was the desire to put her heavy individual foot upon a specimen of
+the modern female who betrays the honour and the interest of her own
+class. There was also the general desire to show a fool that she was a
+fool. There was also the desire to snub Belinda Scott; and lastly, but
+not least, there was the desire to put her knife into any giddy young
+girl who had thrown her net over the Warden.
+
+These desires fought tooth and nail with a certain dogged sentiment of
+fear--a fear of the Warden. If he was deeply in love, what might he do
+or not do? Would he put Potten End under a ban? Would he excommunicate
+her, Marian Potten?
+
+And so Mrs. Potten's mind whirled.
+
+At a certain shop in the High there was May Dashwood, looking at a
+window full of books. No doubt Lady Dashwood was inside, or, more
+probably, in the shop next door.
+
+An inspiration came to Mrs. Potten. Was the Warden so very much in love?
+Belinda Scott laid great stress on his being very much in love, and the
+whole thing being a surprise! Belinda Scott was a liar! And the little
+daughter who could stoop to thieving ten shillings at a bazaar, might
+well have been put on by her mother to some equally noxious behaviour to
+the Warden. She might have lain in wait for him behind doors and on
+staircases; she might----Mrs. Potten stopped her car, got out of it, and
+went behind May Dashwood and whispered in her ear.
+
+May turned, her eyebrows very much raised, and listened to what Mrs.
+Potten had to say.
+
+Great urgency made Mrs. Potten as astute as a French detective.
+
+"I'm quite sorry," she whispered, "to find that your Aunt Lena seems
+worried about the engagement. Now why on earth, oh why, did the Warden
+run himself into an engagement with a girl he doesn't really care
+about?"
+
+This question was a master-stroke. There was no getting out of this for
+May Dashwood. Mrs. Potten clapped her hand over her mouth and drew in a
+breath. Then she listened breathless for the answer. The answer must
+either be: "But he _does_ really care about her," or something evasive.
+
+Not only Mrs. Potten's emotional superficies but her core of flint
+feared the emphatic answer, and yearned for an evasive one. What was it
+to be?
+
+May's face had suddenly blanched. Had her Aunt Lena told? No--surely
+not; and yet Mrs. Potten seemed to _know_.
+
+"How can I tell, Mrs. Potten?" said May, unsteadily. "I----"
+
+"Evasive!" said Mrs. Potten to herself triumphantly.
+
+"Never mind! things do happen," she said, interrupting May. "I suppose,
+at any rate, he has to make the best of it, now it's done."
+
+Mrs. Potten was afraid that she was now going too far, and she swiftly
+turned the subject sideways before May had time to think out a reply.
+
+"Tell your Aunt Lena that I expect Gwendolen, without fail, after lunch.
+Please tell her; so kind of you! Good-bye, good-bye," and Mrs. Potten
+got fiercely into her car.
+
+"Well, I never!" she said, and she said it over and over again. A cloud
+of thoughts seemed to float with her as the car skimmed along the road,
+and through that cloud seemed to peer at her, though somewhat dimly, the
+"beaux yeux" of the Warden of King's.
+
+"I think I shall," said Mrs. Potten, "I think I shall; but I shall make
+certain first--absolutely certain--first."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+MR. BOREHAM'S PROPOSAL
+
+
+Boreham's purpose had been thwarted for the moment. But there was still
+time for him to make another effort, and this time it was to be a
+successful effort.
+
+A letter to May would have been the easiest way in which to achieve his
+purpose, but Boreham shrank from leaving to posterity a written proposal
+of marriage, because there always was just the chance that such a letter
+might not be answered in the right spirit, and in that case the letter
+would appear to future readers of Boreham's biography as an unsolicited
+testimonial in favour of marriage--as an institution. So Boreham decided
+to continue "feeling" his way!
+
+After all, there was not very much time in which to feel the way, for
+May was leaving Oxford on Monday. To-day was Friday, and Boreham knew
+the King's party were going to chapel at Magdalen. If he went, too, it
+would be possible for him to get May to himself on the way back to the
+Lodgings (in the dark).
+
+So to Magdalen he went, hurrying along on that Friday afternoon, and the
+nearer he got to Magdalen the more sure he was that only fools lived in
+the country; the more convinced he was that Chartcote had become, even
+in three months, a hateful place.
+
+Boreham was nearly late, he stumbled into the ante-chapel just as they
+were closing the doors with solemn insistence. He uncovered his head as
+he entered, and his nostrils were struck with a peculiar odour of stone
+and mortar; a sense of space around him and height above him; also with
+the warmth of some indefinable sense of community of purpose that
+annoyed him. He was, indeed, already warm enough physically with his
+haste in coming; he was also spiritually in a glow with the
+consciousness of his own magnanimity and toleration. Here was the
+enlightened Boreham entering a temple where they repeated "Creeds
+outworn." Here he was entering it without any exhibition of violent
+hostility or even of contempt. He was entering it decorously, though not
+without some speed. He was warm and did not wish to be made warmer.
+
+What he had not anticipated, and what disappointed him, was that from
+the ante-chapel he could not see whether the Dashwoods were in the
+Chapel or not. The screen and organ loft were in the way, they blocked
+his vision, and not having any "permit" for the Chapel, he had to remain
+in the ante-chapel, and just hope for the best. He seated himself as
+near to the door as he could, on the end of the back bench, already
+crowded. There he disposed of his hat and prepared himself to go through
+with the service.
+
+Boreham did not, of course, follow the prayers or make any responses; he
+merely uttered a humming noise with the object of showing his mental
+aloofness, and yet impressing the fact of his presence on the devout
+around him.
+
+Many a man who has a conscientious objection to prayer, likes to hear
+himself sing. But Boreham's singing voice was not altogether under his
+own control. It was as if the machinery that produced song was mislaid
+somewhere down among his digestive organs and had got rusted, parts of
+it being actually impaired.
+
+It had been, in his younger days, a source of regret to Boreham that he
+could never hope to charm the world by song as well as by words. As he
+grew older that regret faded, and was now negligible.
+
+Is there any religious service in the world more perfect than evensong
+at Magdalen? Just now, in the twilight of the ante-chapel, a twilight
+faintly lit above at the spring of the groined roof, the voices of the
+choir rose and fell in absolute unison, with a thrill of subdued
+complaint; a complaint uttered by a Hebrew poet dead and gone these many
+years, a complaint to the God of his fathers, the only true God.
+
+Boreham marked time (slightly out of time) muttering--
+
+    "Tum/tum tum/ti:
+     Tum/tum tum/tum ti/tum?"
+
+loud enough to escape the humiliation of being confounded with those
+weak-minded strangers who are carried away (in spite of their reason) by
+the charm of sacerdotal blandishments.
+
+He stood there among the ordinary church-goers, conscious that he was a
+free spirit. He was happy. At least not so much happy as agreeably
+excited by the contrast he made with those around him, and excited, too,
+at what was going to happen in about half an hour. That is, if May
+Dashwood was actually behind that heavy absurd screen in the Chapel. He
+went on "tum-ing" as if she was there and all was well.
+
+And within the chapel, in one of those deep embrasures against the
+walls, was May Dashwood. But she was alone. Lady Dashwood had been too
+tired to come with her, and Gwendolen had been hurried off to Potten End
+immediately after lunch, strangely reluctant to go. So May had come to
+the Chapel alone, and, not knowing that Boreham was in the ante-chapel
+waiting for her, she had some comfort in the seclusion and remoteness of
+that sacred place. Not that the tragedy of the world was shut out and
+forgotten, as it is in those busy market-places where men make money and
+listen too greedily to the chink of coin to hear any far-off sounds from
+the plain of Armageddon. May got comfort, not because she had forgotten
+the tragedy of the world and was soothed by soft sounds, but because
+that tragedy was remembered in this hour of prayer; because she was
+listening to the cry of the Hebrew poet, uttered so long ago and echoed
+now by distressful souls who feel just as he felt the desperate problem
+of human suffering and the desire for peace.
+
+    "Why art thou so vexed, O my soul;
+     And why art thou so disquieted within me?"
+
+And then the answer; an answer which to some is meaningless, but which,
+to the seeker after the "things that are invisible," is the only
+answer--the answer that the soul makes to itself--
+
+    "O put thy trust in God!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+May observed no one in the Chapel; she saw nothing but the written words
+in the massive Prayer-book on the desk before her; and when at last the
+service was over, she came out looking neither to right nor left, and
+was startled to find herself emerging into the fresh air with Boreham by
+her side, claiming her company back to the Lodgings.
+
+It was just dusk and the moon was rising in the east. Though it could
+not be seen, its presence was visible in the thin vaporous lightness of
+the sky. The college buildings stood out dimly, as if seen by a pallid
+dawn.
+
+"You leave Oxford on Monday?" began Boreham, as they went through the
+entrance porch out into the High and turned to the right.
+
+"Yes," said May, and a sigh escaped her. That Boreham noticed.
+
+"I don't deny the attractions of Oxford," he said. "All I object to is
+its pretensions."
+
+"You don't like originality," murmured May.
+
+She was thinking of the slums of London where she worked. What a
+contrast with this noble street! Why should men be allowed to build dens
+and hovels for other men to live in? Why should men make ugliness and
+endure squalor?
+
+"I thought you knew me better," said Boreham, reproachfully, "than to
+say that."
+
+"If you do approve of originality," said May, "then why not let Oxford
+work out its own evolution, in its own way?"
+
+"It needs entire reconstruction," said Boreham, stubbornly.
+
+"You would like to pass everything through a mill and turn it out to a
+pattern," said May. "But that's not the way the world progresses. Entire
+reconstruction would spoil Oxford. What it wants is what we all
+want--the pruning of our vices and the development of our virtues. We
+don't want to be shorn of all that makes up our personality."
+
+Boreham said, "That is a different matter; but why should we argue?"
+
+"To leave Oxford and speak of ourselves, of you and me," said May,
+persisting. "You don't want to be made like me; but we both want to have
+the selfishness squeezed out of us. There! I warn you that, having once
+started, I shall probably go on lamenting like the prophet Jeremiah
+until I reach the Lodgings! So if you want to escape, do find some
+pressing engagement. I shan't be offended in the very least."
+
+How she longed for him to go! But was he capable of discovering this
+even when it was broadly hinted?
+
+Boreham's beard moved irritably. The word "selfish" stung him. There was
+no such thing as being "unselfish"--one man wanted one thing, another
+man wanted another--and there you are!
+
+"Human nature is selfish," he retorted. "Saints are selfish. They want
+to have a good time in the next world. Each man always wants to please
+himself, only tastes differ."
+
+Boreham spoke in emphatic tones. If May was thinking of her husband,
+then this piece of truth must be put before her without delay. War
+widows had the habit of speaking of their husbands as heroes, when all
+they had done was to have got themselves blown to pieces while they were
+trying to blow other people to pieces.
+
+"You make questions of taste very important," said May, looking down the
+misty street. "Some men have a taste for virtue and generosity, and
+others have taste for vice and meanness."
+
+Boreham looked at her features closely in the dim light.
+
+"Are you angry with me?" he asked.
+
+"Not at all," said May. "We are arguing about words. You object to the
+use of the word 'selfish,' so I adopt your term 'taste.'"
+
+"There's no reason why we should argue just now," said Boreham. "Not
+that argument affects friendship! Friendship goes behind all that,
+doesn't it?" He asked this anxiously.
+
+"I don't expect my friends to agree with me in all points," said May,
+smiling. "That would be very selfish!" She laughed. "I beg your pardon.
+I mean that my taste in friends is pretty catholic," and here Boreham
+detected a sudden coldness in her voice.
+
+"Friendship--I will say more than that--love--has nothing to do with
+'points of view,'" he began hastily. "A man may fall in love with a
+woman as she passes his window, though he may never exchange a word with
+her. Such things have happened."
+
+"And it is just possible," suggested May, "that a protracted
+conversation with the lady might have had the effect of destroying the
+romance."
+
+Here Boreham felt a wave of fear and hope and necessity surge through
+his whole being. The moment had arrived!
+
+"Not if you were the lady," he said in a convinced tone.
+
+May still gazed down the street, etherealised beyond its usual beauty in
+this thin pale light.
+
+"I don't think any man, however magnanimous, could stand a woman long if
+she made protracted lamentations after the manner of Jeremiah," she
+said.
+
+"You are purposely speaking ill of yourself," said Boreham. "Yet,
+whatever you do or say makes a man fall in love with you." He was
+finding words now without having to think.
+
+"I was not aware of it," said May, rather coldly.
+
+"It is true," he persisted. "You are different from other women; you are
+the only woman I have ever met whom I wanted to marry."
+
+It was out! Not as well put as he would have liked, but it was out. Here
+was a proposal of marriage by word of mouth. Here was the orthodox
+woman's definite opportunity. May would see the seriousness of it now.
+
+"As a personal friend of yours," said May, and her tone was not as
+serious as he had feverishly hoped, "I do not think you are consulting
+your own interests at this moment, Mr. Boreham."
+
+"No!" began Boreham. "Not mine exclusively----"
+
+"Your remark was hasty--ill considered," she said, interrupting him.
+"You don't really want to marry. You would find it an irksome bondage,
+probably dull as well as irksome."
+
+"Not with you!" exclaimed Boreham, and he touched her arm.
+
+May's arm became miraculously hard and unsympathetic.
+
+"Marriage is a great responsibility," she said.
+
+"I have thought that all out," said Boreham. "There may be----"
+
+"Then you know," she replied, "that it means----"
+
+"I have calculated the cost," he said. "I am willing----"
+
+"You have not only to save your own soul but to help some one else to
+save theirs," she went on. "You have to exercise justice and mercy. You
+have to forgive every day of your life, and"--she added--"to be
+forgiven. Wouldn't that bore you?"
+
+Boreham's heart thumped with consternation. It might take months to make
+her take a reasonable view of marriage. She was more difficult than he
+had anticipated.
+
+"Marriage is a dreary business," continued May, "unless you go into it
+with much prayer and fasting--Jeremiah again."
+
+Into Boreham's consternation broke a sudden anger.
+
+"That is why," continued May, "Herod ordered Mariamne to be beheaded,
+and why the young woman who married the 'beloved disciple' said she
+couldn't realise her true self and went off with Judas Iscariot." May
+turned round and looked at him as she spoke.
+
+"I was serious!" burst out Boreham.
+
+"Not more serious than I am," said May; "I am serious enough to treat
+the subject you have introduced with the fearless criticism you consider
+right to apply to all important subjects. You ought to approve!"
+
+And yet she smiled just a little at the corners of her mouth, because
+she knew that, when Boreham demanded the right of every man to criticise
+fearlessly--what he really had in his mind was the vision of himself,
+Boreham, criticising fearlessly. He thought of himself, for instance, as
+trying to shame the British public for saying slimily: "Let's pretend
+to be monogamous!" He thought of himself calling out pluckily: "Here,
+you self-satisfied humbugs, I'm going to say straight out--we ain't
+monogamous----"
+
+He never contemplated May Dashwood coming and saying to him: "And are
+_you_ not a self-satisfied humbug, pretending that there is no courage,
+no endurance, no moral effort superior to your own?" It was this that
+made May smile a little.
+
+"The fact remains," he said, feeling his way hotly, blindly, "that a man
+can, and does, make a woman happy, if he loves her. All I ask," he went
+on, "is to be allowed the chance of doing this, and you gibe."
+
+"I don't gibe," said May, "I'm preaching. And, after all, I ought not to
+preach, because marriage does not concern me--directly. I shall not
+marry again, Mr. Boreham."
+
+Boreham stared hard at her and his eyebrows worked. All she had just
+been saying provoked his anger; it disagreed with him, made him dismal,
+and yet, at least, he had no rival! She hadn't got hold of any so-called
+saint as a future husband. Middleton hadn't been meddling, nor Bingham,
+and there was no shadowy third anywhere in town. She was heart free!
+That was something!
+
+There was the dead husband, of course, but his memory would fade as time
+went on. "Just now, people who are dead or dying, are in the swim,"
+thought Boreham; "but just wait till the war is over!" He swiftly
+imagined publishers and editors of journals refusing anything that
+referred to the war or to any dismal subject connected with it. The
+British public would have no use for the dead when the war was over. The
+British public would be occupied with the future; how to make money, how
+to spend it. Stories about love and hate among the living would be
+wanted, or pleasant discourses about the consolations of religion and
+blessed hopes of immortality for those who were making the money and
+spending it!
+
+Boreham sneered as he thought this, and yet he himself desired intensely
+that men, and especially women, should forget the dead, and, above all,
+that May should forget her dead and occupy herself in being a pretty and
+attractive person of the female sex.
+
+"I will wait," said Boreham, eagerly; "I won't ask you for an answer
+now."
+
+"Now you know my position, you will not put any question to me!" said
+May, very quietly.
+
+There came a moment's oppressive silence.
+
+"I may continue to be your friend," he demanded; "you won't punish me?"
+and his voice was urgent.
+
+"Of course not," she said.
+
+"I may come and see you?" he urged again.
+
+"Any friends of mine may come and see me, if they care to," she said;
+"but I am very much occupied during the day--and tired in the evenings."
+
+"Sundays?" he interrupted.
+
+"My Sundays I spend with friends in Surrey."
+
+Boreham jerked his head nervously. "I shall be living in Town almost
+immediately," he said; "I will come and see what times would be
+convenient."
+
+"I am very stupid when my day's work is done," said May.
+
+"Stupid!" Boreham laughed harshly. "But your work is too hard and most
+unsuitable. Any woman can attend to babies."
+
+"I flatter myself," said May, "that I can wash a baby without forgetting
+to dry it."
+
+"Why do you hide yourself?" he exclaimed. "Why do you throw yourself
+away?" He felt that, with her beside him, he could dictate to the world
+like a god. "Why don't you organise?"
+
+"Do you mean run about and talk," asked May, "and leave the work to
+other people? Don't you think that we are beginning to hate people who
+run about and talk?"
+
+"Because the wrong people do it," said Boreham.
+
+"The people who do it are usually the wrong people," corrected May; "the
+right people are generally occupied with skilled work--technical or
+intellectual. That clears the way for the unskilled to run about and
+talk, and so the world goes round, infinite labour and talent quietly
+building up the Empire, and idleness talking about it and interrupting
+it."
+
+Boreham stared at her with petulant admiration. "You could do anything,"
+he said bluntly.
+
+"I shall put an advertisement into the _Times_," said May. "'A
+gentlewoman of independent means, unable to do any work properly, but
+anxious to organise.'"
+
+They had now turned into a narrow lane and were almost at the gates of
+the Lodgings. May did not want Boreham to come into the Court with her,
+she wanted to dismiss him now. She had a queer feeling of dislike that
+he should tread upon the gravel of the Court, and perhaps come actually
+to the front door of the Lodgings. She stopped and held out her hand.
+
+"I have your promise," he said, "I can come and see you?" He looked
+thwarted and miserable.
+
+"If you happen to be in town," she said.
+
+"But I mean to live there," he said. This insinuation on her part, that
+she had not accepted the fact that he was going to live in town, was
+unsympathetic of her. "I can't stand the loneliness of Chartcote, it has
+become intolerable."
+
+The word "loneliness" melted May. She knew what loneliness meant. After
+all, how could he help being the man he was? Was it his fault that he
+had been born with his share of the Boreham heredity? Was he able to
+control his irritability, to suppress his exaggerated self-esteem; both
+of them, perhaps, symptoms of some obscure form of neurosis?
+
+May felt a pang of pity for him. His face showed signs of pain and
+discontent and restlessness.
+
+"I shall leave Chartcote any day, immediately. London draws me back to
+it. I can think there. I can't at Chartcote, the atmosphere is sodden at
+Chartcote, my neighbours are clods."
+
+May looked at him anxiously. "It is dull for you," she said.
+
+Encouraged by this he went on rapidly. "Art, literature is nothing to
+them. They are centaurs. They ought to eat grass. They don't know a
+sunset from a swede. They don't know the name of a bird, except game
+birds; they are ignorant fools, they are damned----" Boreham's breathing
+was loud and rapid.
+
+"And yet you hate Oxford," murmured May, as she held out her hand. She
+still did not mean Boreham to come inside the Court, her hand was a
+dismissal.
+
+"Because Oxford is so smug," said Boreham. "And the country is smug.
+England is the land that begets effeteness and smuggishness. Yes, I
+should be pretty desperate," he added, and he held her hand with some
+pressure--"I should be pretty desperate, only you have promised to let
+me come and see you."
+
+May withdrew her hand. "As a friend," she said. "Yes, come as a friend."
+
+Boreham gave a curious toss to his head. "I am under your orders," he
+said, "I obey. You don't wish me to come with you to the door--I obey!"
+
+"Thank you," said May, simply. "And if you are lonely, well, so am I.
+There are many lonely people in this world just now, and many, many
+lonely women!" She turned away and left him.
+
+Boreham raced rather than walked away from the Lodgings towards the
+stables where he had put up his horse. He hardly knew what his thoughts
+were. He was more strangely moved than he had ever thought he could be.
+And how solitary he was! What permanent joy is there in the world, after
+all? There _is_ nothing permanent in life! It takes years to find that
+out--years--if you are well in health and full of vanity! But you do
+find it out--at last.
+
+As he went headlong he came suddenly against an obstacle. Somebody
+caught him by the arm and slowed him down.
+
+"Hullo, Boreham!" said Bingham. "Stop a moment!"
+
+Boreham allowed himself to be fastened upon, and suffered Bingham's arm
+to rest on his, but he puffed with irritation. He felt like a poet who
+has been interrupted in a fit of inspiration.
+
+"I thought this was one of your War Office days," he said bluntly.
+
+"It is," replied Bingham, in his sweetest curate tones. "But there is
+special College business to-day, and I'm putting in an extra day next
+week instead. Look here, do you want a job of work?"
+
+No, of course, Boreham didn't.
+
+"I'm leaving Chartcote," he said, and was glad to think it was true.
+
+"This week?" asked Bingham.
+
+"No," said Boreham, suddenly wild with indignation, "but any time--next
+week, perhaps."
+
+"This job will only take four or five days," said Bingham.
+
+"What job?" demanded Boreham.
+
+"There's a small library just been given us by the widow of a General."
+
+"Didn't know soldiers ever read books," said Boreham.
+
+"I don't know if he read them," said Bingham, "but there they are. We
+want some one to look through them--put aside the sort suitable for
+hospitals, and make a _catalogue raisonne_ of the others for the camps
+in Germany."
+
+Boreham wanted to say, "Be damned with your _raisonne_," but he limited
+himself to saying: "Can't you get some college chaplain, or some bloke
+of the sort to do it?"
+
+"All are thick busy," said Bingham--"those that are left."
+
+"It must be a new experience for them," said Boreham.
+
+"There are plenty of new experiences going," said Bingham.
+
+"And you won't deny," said Boreham, smiling the smile of
+self-righteousness, as he tried to assume a calm bantering tone, "that
+experience--of life, I mean--is a bit lacking in Oxford?"
+
+"It depends on what you mean," said Bingham, sweetly. "We haven't the
+experience of making money here. Also Oxford Dons are expected to go
+about with the motto 'Pereunt et imputantur' written upon our brows (see
+the sundial in my college), 'The hours pass and we must give an account
+of them.'"
+
+Bingham always translated his Latin, however simple, for Boreham's
+benefit. Just now this angered Boreham.
+
+"This motto," continued Bingham, "isn't for ornament but for an example.
+In short, my dear man, we avoid what I might call, for want of a more
+comprehensive term, the Pot-house Experience of life."
+
+Boreham threw back his head.
+
+"Well, you'll take the job, will you?" and Bingham released his arm.
+
+"Can't you get one of those elderly ladies who frequent lectures during
+their lifetime to do the job?"
+
+"We may be reduced to that," said Bingham, "but even they are busy. It's
+a nice job," he added enticingly.
+
+"I know what it will be like," grunted Boreham, and he hesitated. If May
+Dashwood had been staying on in Oxford it would have been different, but
+she was going away. So Boreham hesitated.
+
+"Telephone me this evening, will you?" said Bingham.
+
+"Very well," said Boreham. "I'll see what I have got on hand, and if I
+have time----" and so the two men parted.
+
+Boreham got into his gig with a heavy heart and drove back to Chartcote.
+How he hated the avenue that cut him off from the world outside. How he
+hated the clean smell of the country that came into his windows. How he
+hated to see the moon, when it glinted at him from between the tops of
+trees. He longed for streets, for the odour of dirt and of petrol and of
+stale-cooked food.
+
+The noise of London soothed him, the jostling of men and women; he
+hungered for it. And yet he did not love those human beings. He knew
+their weaknesses, their superstitions, their follies, their unreason!
+Boreham remembered a much over-rated Hebrew (possibly only a mythical
+figure) who once said to His followers that when they prayed they should
+say: "Father, forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass
+against us."
+
+He got out of his gig slowly. "I don't forgive them," he said, and,
+unconscious of his own sins, he walked up the steps into his lonely
+house.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+BY MOONLIGHT
+
+
+May waited within the gates of the Lodgings for some moments. She did
+not open the door and enter the house. She walked up and down on the
+gravelled court. She wanted to be alone, to speak to no one just now;
+her heart was full of weariness and loneliness.
+
+When she felt certain that Boreham was safely away, she went to the
+gates and out into the narrow street again, where she could hear subdued
+sounds of the evening traffic of the city.
+
+The dusky streets had grown less dim; the shining overhead was more
+luminous as the moon rose.
+
+The old buildings, as she passed them on her solitary walk, looked
+mysterious and aloof, as if they had been placed there magically for
+some secret purpose and might vanish before the dawn. This was the
+ancient Oxford, the Oxford of the past, the Oxford that was about to
+pass away, leaving priceless memories of learning and romance behind it,
+something that could never be again quite what it had been. Before dawn
+would it vanish and something else, still called Oxford, would be
+standing there in its place?
+
+May was tempted to let her imagination wander thus, and to see in this
+mysterious Oxford the symbol of the personality of a single man, a
+personality that haunted her when she was alone, a personality which,
+when it stood before her in flesh and blood, seemed to fill space and
+obliterate other objects.
+
+She had, in the chapel, re-affirmed over and over again her resolution
+to overcome this obsession, and now, as she walked that evening, her
+heart cried out for indulgence just for one brief moment, for permission
+to think of this personality, and to read details of it in every moonlit
+facade of old Oxford, in every turn of the time-worn lanes and passages.
+
+The temptation had come upon her, because it was so dreary to be loved
+by Boreham. His talk seemed to mark her spiritual loneliness with such
+poignant insistence; it made it so desperately plain to her that those
+sharp cravings of her heart could not be satisfied except by one man. It
+had made her see, for the first time, that the sacred dead, to whom she
+had raised a shrine, was a memory and not a present reality to her; and
+this thought only added to her confusion and her grief.
+
+What was there to hold on to in life?
+
+"O, put thy trust in God!" came the answer.
+
+"Help me to make the mischance of my life a motive for greater moral
+effort. Help me to be a willing sacrifice and not an unwilling victim."
+And as she uttered these words she moved with more rapid steps.
+
+Shadows were visible on the roadway; roofs glimmered and the edges of
+the deep window recesses were tinged with a dark silver. She passed
+under the walls of All Souls and emerged again into the High. A figure
+she recognised confronted her. She tried to pass it without appearing to
+be aware of it, and she hurried on with bent head. But it turned, and
+Bingham's voice spoke to her.
+
+"Mrs. Dashwood," he called softly.
+
+She was forced to slacken her pace. "Oh, Mr. Bingham!" she said, and he
+came and walked by her, making pretence that he was disturbing her
+solitude because he had never been told the dinner-hour at the Lodgings,
+when Lady Dashwood invited him, and, what was more important, he had
+forgotten to say that he would be very glad if Mrs. Dashwood would make
+use of him as a cicerone if she wanted any more sight-seeing in Oxford
+and the Warden was unable to accompany her. This was the pretence he put
+before her.
+
+Then, when he had said all this and had walked a few yards along the
+street with her, he seemed to forget that his business with her ought to
+be over, and remarked that he had been trying to save Boreham's soul.
+
+"His soul!" said May, with a sigh.
+
+"I've been trying to make him work."
+
+"Doesn't he work?" asked May.
+
+"No, he preaches," said Bingham. "If he had a touch of genius he might
+invent some attractive system of ethics in which his own characteristics
+would be the right characteristics; some system in which humility and
+patience would take a back seat."
+
+May could not help smiling a little, Bingham's voice was so smooth and
+soft; but she felt Boreham's loneliness again and ceased smiling.
+
+"Or he might invent a new god," said Bingham, "a sort of composite
+photograph of himself and the old gods. He might invent a new creed to
+go along with it and damn all the old creeds. But he is incapable of
+construction, so he merely preaches the destruction of Sodom and
+Gomorrah, which is a soft job. Wherever he is, there is Sodom and
+Gomorrah! You see my point? Egotism is always annoyed at egotisms. An
+egotist always sees the egotism of other people. The egotism of those
+round him, jump at him, they get on his nerves! He has to love people
+who are far, far away! You see my point? Well, I've been trying to make
+him take on a small bit of war work!"
+
+"And will he take it?" asked May.
+
+"I don't know," said Bingham; "I've just left him, a prey to conflicting
+passions."
+
+May was silent.
+
+"Are you going back to King's?" asked Bingham.
+
+She and Bingham were walking along, just as she and Boreham had been
+walking along the same street, past these same colleges not an hour ago.
+Was she going back to the Lodgings? Yes, she thought, in fact she knew
+she was going back to the Lodgings.
+
+"May I see you to the Lodgings?" asked Bingham.
+
+There seemed no alternative but to say "Yes."
+
+"There are many things I should like to talk over with you, Mrs.
+Dashwood," said Bingham, stepping out cheerfully. "I should like to roam
+the universe with you."
+
+"I'm afraid you would find me very ignorant," said May.
+
+"I would present you with facts. I would sit at your feet and hold them
+out for your inspection, and you, from your throne above, would
+pronounce judgment on them."
+
+"It is the ignorant people who always do pronounce judgment," said May.
+"So that will be all right. You spoke of Mr. Boreham preaching. Well,
+I've just been preaching. It's a horrid habit."
+
+Bingham gave one of his surprising and most cultured explosions of
+laughter. May turned and looked at him with her eyebrows very much
+raised.
+
+"I am laughing at myself," he explained. "I thought to buy things too
+cheaply."
+
+May looked away, pondering on the meaning of his words. At last the
+meaning occurred to her.
+
+"You mean you wanted to flatter me, and--and I began to talk about
+something else. Was that what made you laugh?" she asked.
+
+"That's it," said Bingham. "I wanted to flatter you because it is a
+pleasure to flatter you, and I forgot what a privilege it was."
+
+"Ah!" said May, quietly.
+
+"Cheap, cheap, always cheap!" said Bingham. "Cheapness is the curse of
+our age. The old Radical belief in the right to buy cheaply, that poison
+has soaked into the very bone of politics. It has contaminated our
+religion. The pulpit has decided in favour of cheap salvation."
+
+May looked round again at Bingham's moonlit profile.
+
+"No more hell!" he said, "no more narrow way, no more strait gate to
+heaven! On the contrary, we bawl ourselves blue asserting that the way
+is broad, and that every blessed man Jack of us will find it. Yes," he
+went on more slowly, "we have no use now for a God who can deny to any
+one a cheap suburban residence in the New Jerusalem. And so," he added,
+"I flatter you, stupidly, and--and you forgive me."
+
+They walked on together for a moment in silence.
+
+"I don't deserve your forgiveness," he said. "But I desire your
+forgiveness. I desire your toleration as far as it will go. Perhaps, if
+you were to let me talk on, I might go too far for your toleration," and
+now he turned and looked at her.
+
+"You would not go too far," said May. "You are too much detached; you
+look on----" and here she hesitated.
+
+"Oh, damn!" said Bingham, softly; "that is the accursed truth," and he
+stared before him at the cracks in the pavement as they stood out
+sharply in the moonlight.
+
+"You mustn't mind," said May, soothingly.
+
+"I do mind," said Bingham; "I should like to be able to take my own
+emotions seriously. I should like to feel the importance of my being
+highly strung, imaginative, a lover of beauty and susceptible to the
+charms of women. Instead of which I am hopelessly critical of myself. I
+see myself a blinking fool, among other fools." Bingham's lips went on
+moving as if he were continuing to speak to himself.
+
+"When a woman takes you and your emotions seriously, what happens then?"
+asked May very softly, and she looked at him with wide open eyes and her
+eyebrows full of inquiry.
+
+"Ah!" sighed Bingham, "that was long ago. I have forgotten--or nearly."
+Then he added, after a moment's silence: "May I talk to you about the
+present?"
+
+"Yes, do," said May.
+
+"There!" said Bingham, resentfully, "see how you trust me! You know that
+if I begin to step on forbidden ground, you have only to put out your
+finger and say 'Stop!' and I shall retire amiably, with a jest."
+
+"That is part of--of your--your charm," said May, hesitatingly.
+
+"My charm!" repeated Bingham, in a tone of sarcasm.
+
+"I'm sorry I used the word charm," said May. "I will use a better term,
+your personality. You are so alarming and yet so gentle."
+
+Bingham turned and gazed at her silently. They were now very near the
+Lodgings.
+
+"Thanks," he said at last. "I know where I am. But I knew it before."
+
+A great silence came upon them. Sounds passed them as they walked; men
+hurried past them, occasionally a woman, a Red Cross nurse in uniform.
+The sky above was still growing more and more luminous. All the rest of
+the way they walked in silence, each thinking their own thoughts,
+neither wishing to speak. When they reached the Lodgings Bingham walked
+into the court with her.
+
+"Won't you come in?" she asked, but it was a mere formality, for she
+knew that he would refuse.
+
+"It's too late," he said.
+
+"And you are coming to dinner to-morrow at eight?" She laid emphasis on
+the hour, to hide the fact that she was really asking whether he meant
+to come at all, after their talk about his personality.
+
+"Yes, at eight," he said. "Good-bye."
+
+As he spoke the moon showed full and gloriously, coming out for a moment
+sharply from the fine gauzy veil of grey that overspread the sky, and
+the Court was distinct to its very corners. The gravel, the shallow
+stone steps at the door, the narrow windows on each side of the door,
+the sombre walls; all were illumined. And Bingham's face, as he lifted
+his cap, was illumined too. It was a very dark face, so dark that May
+doubted if she really had quite grasped the details of it in her own
+mind. His eyes seemed scarcely to notice her as she smiled, and yet he
+too smiled. Then he went back over the gravel to the gate without saying
+another word. She did not look at his retreating figure. She opened the
+door and went in. Other people in the world were suffering. Why can't
+one always realise that? It would make one's own suffering easier to
+bear.
+
+The house seemed empty. There was not a sound in it. The dim portraits
+on the walls looked out from their frames at her. But they had nothing
+to do with her, she was an outsider!
+
+She walked up the broad staircase. She must endure torture for
+two--nearly three more days! The hours must be dealt with one by one,
+even the minutes. It would take all her strength.
+
+At the head of the stairs she paused. Her desire was to go straight to
+her room, and not to go into the drawing-room and greet her Aunt Lena.
+Gwendolen would very likely be there in high spirits--the future
+mistress of the house--the one person in the world to whom the Warden
+would have to say, "May I? Can I?"
+
+"Don't be a coward! Other people in the world are suffering besides
+you," said the inner voice; and May went straight to the drawing-room
+door and opened it.
+
+The room was dark except for a glimmer from a red fire. May was going
+out again, and about to close the door, when her aunt's voice called to
+her, and the lights went up on each side of the fireplace. May pushed
+the door back again and came inside.
+
+"Aunt Lena!" she called.
+
+Lady Dashwood had been sitting on the couch near it. She was standing
+now. It was she who had put up the lights. Her face was pale and her
+eyes brilliant.
+
+"May, it's all over!" she called under her breath.
+
+May stood by the door. It was still ajar and in her hand.
+
+"All over! What is all over?" she asked apprehensively.
+
+"Shut the door!" said Lady Dashwood, in a low voice.
+
+May shut the door.
+
+"Gwendolen has broken off her engagement!" said Lady Dashwood,
+controlling her voice.
+
+May always remembered that moment. The room seemed to stretch about her
+in alleys fringed with chairs and couches. There was plenty of room to
+walk, plenty of room to sit down. There was plenty of time too. It was
+extraordinary what a lot of time there was in the world, time for
+everything you wanted to do. Then there was the portrait over the
+mantelpiece. He seemed to have nothing to do. She had not thought of
+that before. He was absolutely idle, simply looking on. And below these
+trivial thoughts, tossed on the surface of her mind, flowed a strange,
+confused, almost overwhelming, tide of joy.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+A CAUSE AND IMPEDIMENT
+
+
+"Oh!" was all that May said.
+
+Lady Dashwood looked at her and looked again. She put out her hand and
+rested it on the mantelshelf, and still looked at May. May was taking
+off one of her gloves. When she had unfastened the buttons she
+discovered that she was wearing a watch on her wrist, and she wound it
+up carefully.
+
+Lady Dashwood was still looking, all her excitement was suppressed for
+the moment. What was May thinking of--what had happened to her?
+
+"For how long?" asked May, and she suddenly perceived that there had
+been a rigid silence between them.
+
+"For how long?" exclaimed Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Yes," said May.
+
+"The engagement is broken off!" said Lady Dashwood. "Broken off, dear!"
+
+"Not permanently?" said May, as if she were speaking of an incident of
+no particular importance.
+
+Lady Dashwood's eyes gleamed. "For ever," she said.
+
+May looked at her watch again and began to wind it up again. It refused
+to be wound any more. May looked at it anxiously.
+
+"Gwendolen goes to-morrow," said Lady Dashwood. "It is she who has
+broken off the engagement, and she is going away before Jim returns. It
+is all over, May, and I have been waiting for half an hour to tell you
+the news. I have scarcely known how to wait."
+
+May went up and kissed her silently.
+
+"You are the only person I can speak to," said Lady Dashwood. "May, I
+feel as if this couldn't be true. Will you read this?" And she put a
+letter into May's hands. As she did so she saw, for the first time, that
+May's hands were trembling. She drew the letter back and said quietly:
+"No, let me read Marian Potten's letter to you. I want to read it again
+for my own sake, though I have read it half a dozen times already."
+
+"Mrs. Potten!" said May. "Aunt Lena, you'll think me stupid, but I
+haven't grasped things."
+
+"Of course not," said Lady Dashwood. "And I am too much excited to
+explain properly. I suppose my nerves have been strained lately. I want
+to hear Marian's letter read aloud. Listen, May! Oh, my dear, do
+listen!"
+
+Lady Dashwood turned the letter up to the light and began to read in a
+slow, emphatic, husky voice--
+
+
+    "Dear Lena,
+
+    "Certain things have happened of which I cannot speak, and which
+    necessitated a private interview between Gwendolen and myself. But
+    what I am going to tell you now concerns you, because it concerns
+    the Warden. In our interview Gwendolen confided to me that she had
+    serious misgivings about the wisdom of her engagement. They are more
+    than misgivings. She feels that she ought not to have accepted the
+    Warden's offer. She feels that she never considered the
+    responsibilities she was undertaking, and she had nobody to talk the
+    matter over with who could have given her sensible advice. She feels
+    that neither her character nor her education fit her to be a
+    Warden's wife, and she shrinks from the duties that it involves.
+    All this came out! I hope that you and the Warden will forgive the
+    fact that all this came out before me, and that I found myself in
+    the position of Gwen's adviser. She has come to the conclusion that
+    she ought to break off this engagement--so hastily made--and I agree
+    with her that there should not be an hour's delay in breaking it
+    off. She is afraid of meeting the Warden and having to give him a
+    personal explanation. It is a natural fear, for she is only a silly
+    child and he is a man of years and experience. She does not feel
+    strong enough to meet him and tell him to his face that she cannot
+    be his wife. You will understand how unpleasant it would be for you
+    all. So, with my entire approval and help, she has taken the
+    opportunity of his absence to write him a decisive letter. She will
+    hand you over this letter and ask you to give it to the Warden on
+    his return home. This letter is to tell him that she releases him
+    from his promise of marriage. And to avoid a very serious
+    embarrassment I have invited her to come to Potten End to-morrow
+    morning and stay with me till I have heard from Lady Belinda. I am
+    writing myself to Lady Belinda, giving her full details. I am sure
+    she will be convinced of the wisdom of Gwendolen so suddenly
+    breaking off her engagement. I will send the car for Gwendolen
+    to-morrow at ten o'clock, and meanwhile will you spare her feelings
+    and make no reference to what has taken place? The poor child is
+    feeling very sore and very much ashamed of all the fuss, but feels
+    that she is doing the right thing--at last.
+
+                                             "Yours ever,
+
+                                                  "MARIAN POTTEN."
+
+
+Lady Dashwood folded up the letter and put it back into its envelope.
+She avoided looking at May just now.
+
+"Marian must feel very strongly on the subject to offer to send her own
+car," she said. "I have never known her do such a thing before," and
+Lady Dashwood smiled and looked at the fire. "So the whole thing is
+over! But how did it all come about? What happened? I've been thinking
+over every possible accident that could have happened to make Gwen
+change her mind in this sudden way, and I am still in the dark," she
+went on. "Do you think that Gwendolen had any misgivings about her
+engagement when she left this house after lunch, May? I'm sure she
+hadn't." Here Lady Dashwood paused and looked towards May but not at
+her. "It all happened at Potten End! I'm certain of it," she added.
+
+May, having at last completely drawn off both her gloves, was folding
+and unfolding them with unsteady hands.
+
+"It's a mystery," said May.
+
+"But I don't care what happened!" said Lady Dashwood, solemnly; "I don't
+really want to know. It is over! I can't rest, I can't read, I can't
+think coherently. I can only be thankful--thankful beyond words."
+
+May walked slowly in the direction of the door. "Yes, all your troubles
+are over," she said.
+
+"Do you remember, May," went on Lady Dashwood, "how you and I stood
+together just here, under the portrait, when you arrived on Monday?
+Well, all that torment is over. All that happened between then and now
+has been wiped clean out, as if it had never been."
+
+But all had not been wiped out. Some of what happened had been written
+down in May's mind and couldn't be wiped out.
+
+"Don't go this moment; sit down for a little, before you go and dress,"
+said Lady Dashwood, "and I'll try and sit, for I must talk, I must talk,
+and, May dear, you must listen. Come back, dear!"
+
+Lady Dashwood sat down on one side of the fireplace and looked at May,
+as she came back and seated herself on the opposite side. There was the
+fireplace between them.
+
+"Aren't you glad?" asked Lady Dashwood. "Aren't you glad, May?"
+
+"I am very glad," said May. "I rejoice--in your joy."
+
+Lady Dashwood leaned back in her chair, and let her eyes rest on May's
+face.
+
+"I can't describe to you what I felt when Gwendolen came in half an hour
+ago. She came in quietly, her face pale and her eyes swollen, and said
+quite abruptly: 'I have broken on my engagement with Dr. Middleton.
+Please don't scold me, please don't talk about it; please let me go. I'm
+miserable enough as it is,' and she put two letters into my hand and
+went. May, I took the letter addressed to Jim and locked it up, for a
+horrible fear came on me that some one might destroy that letter.
+Besides, I had also the fear that because the thing was so sudden it
+might somehow not be true. Well, then I came down here again and waited
+for you. I waited in the dark, trying to rest. You came in very late. I
+scarcely knew how to wait. I suppose I am horribly excited. I am feeling
+now as Louise feels constantly, but I can't get any relief in the way
+she does. A Frenchwoman never bottles up anything; her method is to wear
+other people out and save her own strength by doing so. From our cradles
+we are smacked if we express our emotions; but foreigners have been
+encouraged to express their emotions. They believe it necessary and
+proper to do so. They gesticulate and scream. It is a confirmed habit
+with them to do so, and it doesn't mean much. I dare say when you or I
+just say 'Oh!' it means more than if Louise uttered persistent shrieks
+for half an hour. But she is a good soul----" And Lady Dashwood ran on
+in this half-consequent, half-inconsequent way, while May sat in her
+chair, busy trying to hide the trembling of her knees. They would
+tremble. She tried holding them with her hands, but they refused to stop
+shaking. Once they trembled too obviously, and Lady Dashwood said, in a
+changed tone, as if she had suddenly observed May: "You have caught
+cold! You have caught a chill!"
+
+"Perhaps I have," said May, and her knees knocked against each other.
+
+"You have, my dear," said Lady Dashwood; and as she pronounced this
+verdict, she rose from her chair with great suddenness. There was on her
+face no anxiety, not a trace of it, but a certain great content. But as
+she rose she became aware that her head ached and she felt a little
+dizzy. What matter!
+
+"I may have got just the slightest chill," said May, rising too, "but if
+so, it's nothing!"
+
+"Most people like having chills, and that's why they never take any
+precautions, and refuse all remedies," said Lady Dashwood, making her
+way to the door with care, and speaking more slowly and deliberately;
+"but I know you're not like that, and I'm going to give you an
+infallible cure and preventive. It'll put you right, I promise. Come
+along, dear child. I ought to have known you had a chill. I ought to
+have seen it written on your brow 'Chill' when you came in; but I've
+been too much excited by events to see anything. I've been chattering
+like a silly goose. Come upstairs, I'm going to dose you."
+
+And May submitted, and the two women went out of the drawing-room
+together up the two or three steps and into the corridor. They walked
+together, both making a harmless, pathetic pretence: the one to think
+the other had a chill, the other to own that a chill it was, indeed,
+though not a bad chill!
+
+What was Gwendolen doing now? Was she crying? "Poor thing, poor little
+neglected thing!" thought Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Marian can be very high-handed," she whispered to May. "I have known
+her do many arbitrary things. She would be quite capable of---- But
+what's the good! Poor Gwen! I couldn't pity her before, I felt too hard.
+But now Jim is safe I can think reasonably. I'm sorry for her. But," she
+added, "I'm not sorry for Belinda."
+
+Now that they had reached May's room, May declared that she was not as
+sure as she had been that she had got a chill.
+
+But the chill could not be dropped like that. Lady Dashwood felt the
+impropriety of suddenly giving up the chill, and she left the room and
+went to search for the infallible cure and preventive. As she did so she
+began to wonder why she could not will to have no headache. She was so
+happy that a headache was ridiculous.
+
+When she returned, May was in her dressing-gown and was moving about
+with decision, and her limbs no longer trembled.
+
+"I don't pity Belinda," said Lady Dashwood, pretending not to see the
+change. "I don't pity her, though I suppose that she, too, is merely a
+symptom of the times we live in." Here she began to pour out a dose from
+the bottle in her hand. "It can't be a good thing, May, for the
+community that there should be women who live to organise amusement for
+themselves; who merely live to meet each other and their men folk, and
+play about. It can't be good for the community? We ought all to work,
+May, every one of us. Writing invitations to each other to come and
+play, buying things for ourselves, seeing dressmakers isn't work. There,
+May!" She held out the glass to May. Each kept up the
+pretence--pretending with solemnity that May had been trembling because
+she had possibly got a chill. It was a pretence that was necessary. It
+was a pretence that covered and protected both of them. It was a brave
+pretence. "No," said Lady Dashwood again, and firmly, as she released
+the glass. "It isn't good for the community to have a class of busy
+idlers at the top of the ladder."
+
+May had taken the glass, and now she tipped it up and drank the
+contents. They were hot and stinging!
+
+Then May broke her silence, and imitating a voice that Lady Dashwood
+knew well, uttered these words:
+
+"Oh, damn the community!"
+
+"Was it very nasty?" said Lady Dashwood, laughing. "Ah, May, I can laugh
+now at Belinda! Alas! I can laugh!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+CONFESSIONS
+
+
+What stung Gwendolen, what made her smart almost beyond endurance, was
+that she had exchanged the Warden for an umbrella. The transaction had
+been simple, and sudden, and inevitable. The Warden was in London, a
+free man, and there was the umbrella in the corner of the room, hers. It
+was looking at her, and she had not paid for it. The bill would be sent
+to the Lodgings, the bill for the umbrella and the gloves. The bill
+would be re-directed and would reach her--bills always did reach one,
+however frequently one changed one's address. Private letters sometimes
+got misdirected and mislaid, but never bills. Friends sometimes say, "We
+couldn't write because we didn't know your address." Tradespeople never
+say this, they don't omit to send their bills merely because they don't
+know your address. If they don't know your address, they search for it!
+
+The pure imbecility of her behaviour at Christ Church about that
+ten-shilling note was now apparent to Gwendolen. She could not think,
+now, how she could have done anything so inconceivably silly, and so
+useless as to put herself in the power of Mrs. Potten. She would never,
+never in all her life, do such a thing again. Another time, when hard up
+and needing something necessary, she would borrow, or she would go
+straight to the shop and order "the umbrella" (as after all, she had
+done), and she would take the sporting chance of being able to pay the
+bill some time. But never would she again touch notes or coins that
+belonged to people she knew, and especially those belonging to Mrs.
+Potten! Oh, what a wickedly cruel punishment she had to bear, merely
+because she had had a sort of joke about ten shillings belonging to Mrs.
+Potten.
+
+One thing she would never forgive as long as she lived, and that was
+Mrs. Potten's meanness. She would never forget the way in which Mrs.
+Potten took advantage of her by getting her into Potten End alone, with
+nobody to protect her.
+
+First of all Mrs. Potten had pretended to be merely sorry. Then she
+spoke about Mr. Harding and Mr. Bingham being witnesses and made the
+whole thing appear as a sort of crime, and then she ended up with
+saying: "The Warden must not be kept in ignorance of all this! That is
+out of the question. He has a right to know." That came as an awful
+shock to Gwendolen, and made her burst into tears.
+
+"Are you afraid, child, he will break off the engagement?" was all that
+Mrs. Potten said, and then the horrid old woman asked all sorts of
+horrid questions, and wormed out all kinds of things: that the Warden
+had not actually said he was in love, that he had scarcely spoken to her
+for three days, and that he had not said "good-bye" that morning when he
+left for London. How Mrs. Potten had managed to sneak it out of her
+Gwendolen did not know, but Mrs. Potten gave her no time to think of
+what she was saying, and being so much upset and so much afraid of Mrs.
+Potten lots of things came out. And yet all the time she knew things
+were going wrong because of the wicked look on Mrs. Potten's face.
+
+However, Gwendolen had all through stuck to it (and it was the truth)
+that she had never intended to do more than "sort of joke" with the
+note, and this Mrs. Potten simply wouldn't understand. And when she,
+Gwendolen, promised, on her honour, to make it "all right," by wiring to
+her mother to send her a postal order for ten shillings by return, Mrs.
+Potten sprang like a tiger on her: "Why wire for it? Why not return it
+now?" Oh, the whole thing was awful!
+
+After this Mrs. Potten's voice had changed to ice, and she put on a
+perfectly beastly tone.
+
+"Gwendolen, you shock me beyond words, and oblige me to take a very
+decided step in the matter."
+
+Then she stopped, and Gwendolen could recall that horrible moment of
+suspense. Then came words that made Gwendolen shudder to think of.
+
+"I have a very great respect for the position of a Warden--it is a
+position of trust; and I have also personally a very great respect for
+the Warden of King's. I give you an alternative. Break off your
+engagement with him at once, quietly, or I shall make this little affair
+of the note known in Oxford, so that the Warden will have to break the
+engagement off. Which alternative do you choose?"
+
+The very words repeated themselves over and over in Gwendolen's memory,
+and she flung herself on her bed and gave way to a passion of tears. No,
+she would never forgive Mrs. Potten.
+
+When the bell sounded for dinner, Gwendolen struggled off the bed and
+went to look at herself in the glass. She couldn't possibly go
+downstairs looking like that, even if she were dressed. Yet pangs of
+hunger seized Gwendolen. She had eaten one wretched little slice of
+bread and butter at Potten End, moistening it with her tears, and now
+she wanted food. Several minutes passed.
+
+"They won't care even if I'm dead," moaned Gwendolen, and she listened.
+
+A knock came at her door, and Louise entered.
+
+"If mademoiselle has a headache would she like to have some dinner
+brought up to her?"
+
+"Yes, thanks," said Gwendolen, and she kept her face away from the
+direction of the door so that Louise could not see it.
+
+"What would mademoiselle like? Some soup?"
+
+Oh, how wretched it all was! And when all might have been so different!
+And soup--only soup!
+
+"I don't care," said Gwendolen, "some sort of dinner--any dinner."
+
+"Ah, dinner!" said Louise.
+
+When she had gone, Gwendolen tied two handkerchiefs together and
+fastened them round her forehead to look as if she had a
+headache--indeed, she had a headache--and a heartache too!
+
+Presently dinner was brought up, and Gwendolen ate it in loneliness and
+sadness. She did not leave anything. She had thought of leaving some of
+the meat, but decided against it. After she had finished, and it had
+been cleared away, she had sat looking at the fire for a few minutes
+with eyes that were sore from weeping. Then she got up and began to
+undress. Life was a miserable thing! She got into bed and laid her hot
+head down on the cool pillow and tried not to think. But she listened to
+every sound that passed her door. It was horrible to be alone and
+forgotten. She had asked to be left alone, but she had not meant to be
+alone so long. Then there suddenly sprang into her mind the recollection
+of the strange form she thought she had seen in the library. She really
+had thought she had seen him. Were such things true?
+
+What about the disaster? Perhaps it was _her_ disaster he had come to
+warn _her_ about and that was why _she_ saw him. Perhaps God sent him!
+This thought thrilled her whole being, and she lay very still. Perhaps
+God had meant to tell _her_ that she must be careful, and she had not
+been careful. But then how could she have guessed?
+
+Gwendolen had been confirmed only two years ago. She remembered that the
+preparation for confirmation had been a bore, and yet had given her a
+pleasant sensation of self-approbation, because she was serving God in a
+manner peculiarly agreeable to Him by being in the right Church,
+especially now in these times of unbelief and neglect of religion. She
+had a pleasant feeling that there were a great many people disobeying
+Him; and that heaps of priggish people who fussed about living
+goody-goody lives, were not really approved of by Him, because they
+didn't go to church or only went to wrong churches.
+
+Then she recalled the afternoon when she was confirmed. She was at
+school and there were other girls with her, and the old bishop preached
+to them, and went on and on and on so long, and was so dull that
+Gwendolen ceased to listen. But she had gone through it all, and had
+felt very happy to have it over. She felt safe in God's keeping. But now
+she was alone and miserable, and felt strangely unprotected by God, as
+if God didn't care!
+
+Was that strange form she had seen in the library sent not by God but by
+the devil to frighten her? If the Warden had been in the house she would
+have felt less frightened, only now--now she was so horribly alone. Even
+if he had been in the house, though she couldn't speak to him, she would
+have been less frightened.
+
+Gwendolen listened for footsteps in the corridor--would any one come to
+her? Why had she spoken to Lady Dashwood as if she didn't want to be
+disturbed? Suppose nobody came? And what about the devil? Should she
+ring?
+
+At last, unable to bear herself and her thoughts any longer she rose
+from her bed and put on her dressing-gown. She opened her door and
+peeped out into the corridor. There was just a glimpse of light, and
+she could see pretty clearly from end to end. She could hear what
+sounded like a person near the head of the staircase. Gwendolen darted
+forwards towards the curtained end of the corridor. But when she reached
+the curtain she saw old Robinson going down the staircase.
+
+Gwendolen went back a few steps along the corridor and returned to her
+room. She pushed the door open. It was too silent and too empty, it
+frightened her. Should she ring the bell? If she rang the bell what
+would she say? The dinner had been cleared away. What should she ask for
+if she rang?
+
+With a groan of despair she went outside again and again listened.
+Somebody was approaching the corridor. Somebody was coming into the
+corridor. She stood where she was. It was Mrs. Dashwood who was coming.
+She had mounted the steps, and here she was walking towards her.
+Gwendolen stood still and waited.
+
+May saw the figure of the girl, clutching her dressing-gown round her,
+and staring with large distended eyes like a hunted animal.
+
+"What is it?" asked May. "Do you feel ill, Gwen?"
+
+"Oh!" said the girl, with a shiver, "I'm so glad you've come! I can't go
+into my bedroom alone. Oh, I am so wretched!"
+
+"I'll take you into your bedroom," said May, and she led Gwen in and
+closed the door behind them.
+
+"You were in bed," she said. "Get in again and I will straighten you
+up." She helped Gwendolen to take off her dressing-gown.
+
+"You can't stay with me a little?" demanded Gwen, and her lips trembled.
+"I've such a headache."
+
+The handkerchiefs were still bound round her head, and were making her
+hot and uncomfortable.
+
+"Poor Gwen!" said May. "Yes, I'll stay a little. I dare say some
+Eau-de-Cologne would help your headache to go."
+
+"I haven't got any. I've only got scent," said Gwen, as she stepped into
+bed.
+
+"I have some," said May. "I'll go and fetch it. I'll be back in a
+moment."
+
+Gwendolen sat up in bed, drawing the clothes up to her neck, waiting.
+The moment she was alone in the room, the room seemed so dismal, and the
+solitude alarming. There was always the devil----
+
+"Sitting up?" said May, when she came back with the Eau-de-Cologne in
+her hand.
+
+Gwendolen sank down in the bed. How comforting it was to have Mrs.
+Dashwood waiting on her and talking about her and being sympathetic. She
+had always loved Mrs. Dashwood. She was so sweet. Now, if only, only she
+had not made that horrible blunder, she would have had the whole
+household waiting on her, talking about her and being sympathetic! Oh!
+
+May brought a chair to the bed, and began to smooth the dark hair away
+from Gwen's face.
+
+"I think you would be cooler with those handkerchiefs off," she said. "I
+can't get to your forehead very well with the Eau-de-Cologne."
+
+Gwen signified her consent with a deep sigh, and May slipped the bandage
+off and put it away on the dressing-table.
+
+Then she dabbed some of the Eau-de-Cologne softly on to the girl's
+forehead.
+
+"I suppose you _know_," whispered Gwen, as the scent of the perfume came
+into her nostrils.
+
+"Yes," said May.
+
+"I hope the servants don't know," groaned Gwen.
+
+"I don't think any one knows, but just ourselves," said May, in a
+soothing voice; "and no one but ourselves need know about it."
+
+"Oh, it's horrible!" groaned Gwen again. "I can't bear it!"
+
+"It is hard to bear," said May, as she smoothed the girl's brow.
+
+After a little silence Gwendolen suddenly said--
+
+"You don't believe in that ghost?"
+
+"The ghost?" said May, a little surprised at this sudden deviation from
+the cause of Gwendolen's grief.
+
+"You thought it was silly?" said Gwen, tentatively.
+
+"Not silly, but fanciful," said May.
+
+Gwendolen moved her head. "I think I was; but I still see him, and I
+don't want to. I have begun to think about him, now, this evening. I had
+forgotten before----"
+
+"You must make up your mind not to think of it. It isn't a real person,
+Gwen."
+
+Gwendolen still kept her head slightly round towards May Dashwood,
+though she had her eyes closed so as not to interfere with the movements
+of May's hand on her brow.
+
+"Do you think the devil does things?" she asked in an awed voice.
+
+May hesitated for a moment and then said: "We do things, and some of us
+call it the devil doing things."
+
+"Then you don't believe in the devil?" asked Gwendolen, opening her
+eyes.
+
+"I don't think so, Gwen," said May. "But God I am sure of."
+
+Gwendolen lay still for a little while. She was thinking now of her
+troubles.
+
+"You don't do any wrong things?" asked Gwendolen, tentatively.
+
+"We all do wrong things," said May.
+
+"I mean wrong things that people make a fuss about," said Gwendolen,
+thinking of Mrs. Potten, and the drawing-room at Potten End.
+
+"Some things are more wrong than others," said May. "It depends upon
+whether they do much harm or not."
+
+Gwendolen pondered. This was a new proof of Mrs. Potten's meanness. What
+she, Gwen, had done had harmed nobody practically.
+
+"I'm miserable!" she burst out.
+
+"Poor Gwen!" murmured May.
+
+Gwendolen lay still. Her heart was full. When she had once left the
+Lodgings, and was at Mrs. Potten's she would be among enemies. Now,
+here, at least she had one friend--some one who was not mean and didn't
+scold. She must speak to this one kind friend--she would tell her
+troubles. She must have some one to confide in.
+
+"I didn't want to break off the engagement," she said at last, unable to
+keep her thoughts much longer to herself.
+
+"You didn't want to!" said May gently. It was scarcely a question, but
+it drew Gwendolen to an explanation of her words.
+
+"Mrs. Potten made me," she said.
+
+"No one could make you," said May, quietly. "Could they?"
+
+"She did," said Gwen, with a burst of tears. "I wanted to make it all
+right, and she wouldn't let me. If only I could have seen the Warden, he
+would have taken my side, perhaps," and here Gwen's voice became less
+emphatic. "But Mrs. Potten simply made me. She was determined. She hates
+me. I can't bear her."
+
+"Had you done absolutely nothing to make her so determined?" asked May
+wondering.
+
+"Nothing--except a little joke----" began Gwen. "It was merely a sort of
+a joke."
+
+"A joke!" said May, and her voice was very low and strange.
+
+The umbrella standing in the corner of the room in the shadow seemed to
+make faces at Gwen. Why hadn't she put the horrid thing in the wardrobe?
+
+"It was only meant as a sort of joke," she repeated, and then the
+overwhelming flood of bitter memory coming upon her, she yielded to her
+instinct and poured out to May, bit by bit, a broken garbled history of
+the whole affair--a story such as Belinda and Co. would tell--a story
+made, unconsciously, all the more sordid and pitiful because it was
+obviously not the whole truth.
+
+And this was a story told by one who might have been the Warden's wife!
+May went on soothing the girl's hair and brow with her hand.
+
+"And Mrs. Potten wouldn't let me make it all right. She refused to let
+me, though I begged her to, and gave her my word of honour," wept Gwen,
+indignantly. Then she suddenly said, "Oh, the fire's going out and
+perhaps you're cold!" for she was fearful lest her visitor would leave
+her. "When my dinner was taken away too much coal was put on my fire,
+and I was too miserable to make a fuss."
+
+"I'm not cold," said May. "But I will stir up the fire." She rose from
+her chair and went to the fire, and poked it up into a blaze.
+
+"I'm afraid, Gwen, that you couldn't make it all right with Mrs. Potten,
+except by----"
+
+"By what?" asked Gwen, becoming suddenly excited. "If only Dr. Middleton
+had not been away, I might have borrowed from him. Do you mean that?"
+
+"No," said May, with a profound sigh, as she came back to the bedside.
+"It was a question of honour, don't you see? You couldn't have made it
+right, except by being horrified at what you had done and feeling that
+you could never, never make it right! Do you understand what I mean?"
+
+Gwen was trying to understand.
+
+"That would have made Mrs. Potten worse," she said hoarsely.
+
+"No," said May, with a quiet emphasis on the word. "If you had really
+been terribly unhappy about your honour, Mrs. Potten would have
+sympathised! Don't you see what I mean?"
+
+"But how could I be so terribly unhappy about such a mere accident?"
+protested Gwen, tearfully. "I might have returned the money. I very
+nearly did twice, only somehow I didn't. It just seemed to happen like
+that, and it was such a little affair."
+
+May sat down again and put her cool hand on the girl's brow. It was no
+use talking about honour to the child. To Belinda and Co. honour was,
+what was expected of you by people who were in the swim, and if Mrs.
+Potten had made no discovery, or had forgiven it when it was made,
+Gwendolen's "honour" would have remained bright and untarnished. That
+was Gwendolen's sense of the moral situation! Her vision went no
+further. Still May's silence was disturbing. Gwendolen felt that she had
+not been understood, and that she was being reproved by that silence,
+though the reproof was gentle, very different from the kind of reproof
+that would probably be administered by her mother. On the other hand,
+the reproof was not merited.
+
+"Would you," said Gwendolen, with a gulp in her throat, "would you spoil
+somebody's whole life because they took some trifle that nobody really
+missed or wanted, intending to give it back, only didn't somehow get the
+opportunity? Would you?"
+
+"Your whole life isn't spoiled," said May. "If you take what has
+happened very seriously you may make your life more honourable in the
+future than it has been. Don't you see that if what you had done had not
+been discovered you might have gone on doing these things all your
+life. That would have spoiled your life!"
+
+"But my engagement!" moaned Gwen. "I shall have to go to that horrid
+Stow, unless mother has got an invitation for me, and mother will be so
+upset. She'll be so angry!"
+
+What could May say to give the girl any real understanding of her own
+responsibilities? Was she to drift about like a leaf in the wind,
+without principles, with no firm basis upon which she could stand and
+take her part in the struggle of human life?
+
+What was to be done?
+
+May did her best to put her thoughts into the plainest, simplest words.
+She had to begin at the beginning, and speak as to a child. As she went
+on May discovered that one thing, and one thing only, really impressed
+Gwen, and that was the idea of courage. Coward as she was, she did grasp
+that courage was of real value. Gwen had a faint gleam of the meaning of
+honour, when it was a question of courage, and upon this one string May
+played, for it gave a clear note, striking into the silence of the poor
+girl's moral nature.
+
+She got the girl to promise that she would try and take the misfortune
+of her youth with courage and meet the future bravely. She even induced
+Gwendolen then and there to pray for more courage, moral and physical,
+and she did not leave her till she had added also a prayer for help in
+the future when difficulties and temptations were in her path. They were
+vague words, "difficulties and temptations," and May knew that, but it
+is not possible in half an hour to straighten the muddle of many years
+of Belinda and Co.
+
+"Have courage," she said at last, "I must go, Gwen. Good-night," and May
+stooped down to kiss the dark head on the pillow. "God protect you; God
+help you!"
+
+"Good-night," sighed Gwen; "I'll try and go to sleep. But could
+you--could you put that umbrella into the wardrobe and poke up the fire
+again to make a little light?"
+
+And May put the umbrella away in the wardrobe and poked up the fire.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+THE ANXIETIES OF LOUISE
+
+
+The one definite thought in May's mind now was that she must leave
+Oxford before the Warden's return. A blind instinct compelled her to
+take this course.
+
+It was not easy for her to say to Lady Dashwood quite unconcernedly:
+"You won't mind my running away to-morrow, will you? You won't mind if I
+run off, will you? All your troubles are over, and I do want to get back
+to-morrow. I have lots of things to do--to get ready before Monday."
+
+It was not easy to say all this, but May did say it. She said it in the
+corridor as they were bidding each other good night.
+
+Lady Dashwood's surprise was painful. "I do mind your running off," she
+said, and she looked a little bewildered. "Must you go to-morrow? Must
+you? To-morrow!"
+
+Lady Dashwood had talked a great deal, both before May went into
+Gwendolen's room and afterwards, when May came back again to the
+drawing-room. May had told the reason for her long absence from the
+drawing-room, but in an abstracted manner; and Lady Dashwood, observing
+this, looked long and wistfully at her, but had asked no questions. All
+she had said was, "I'm glad you've been with the child," and she spoke
+in a low voice. Then she had begun talking again of things relevant and
+irrelevant, and in doing so had betrayed her excitement. It was indeed
+May now who was calm and self-contained, all trace of her "chill" gone,
+whereas Lady Dashwood was obviously over-excited.
+
+It was only when May said good night, and made this announcement about
+going away on the following day, that Lady Dashwood's spirits showed
+signs of flagging.
+
+That moment all her vivacity suddenly died down and she looked no longer
+brisk and brilliant, but limp and tired, a hollow-eyed woman.
+
+"I do mind," she repeated. But she gave no reason for minding, she
+merely added: "Don't go!" and stared at her niece pathetically.
+
+But May was firm. She kissed her aunt very affectionately, and was very
+tender in her manner and voice, but she was immovable.
+
+"I must go, dear," she said; and then she repeated again: "Your troubles
+are over! Seriously, Aunt Lena, I want to go!"
+
+Lady Dashwood sighed. "You have done a great deal for me, May," she
+said, and this gratitude from her Aunt Lena shook May's courage more
+than any protest.
+
+"I don't want to go," she said, "but I must go." That was her last word.
+
+And May wanted to go early. Everything must be ready. She wanted to get
+away as soon as Gwendolen had gone. She must not risk meeting the
+Warden! He might return to lunch, she must go before lunch. She must not
+see him come back. She could not bear to be in the house when he read
+the letter from Gwendolen. _That_ was what made her fly. To stay on and
+witness in cold blood his feelings at being rescued, to witness his
+humiliation, because he was rescued, would be an intrusion on the
+privacy of a human soul. She must go. So May packed up over night, slept
+uneasily and in snatches, conscious of Oxford all the time, conscious of
+all that it meant to her!
+
+It was a grey morning when she got up and looked out of narrow window's
+on to the quiet, narrow grey street. She heard no one moving about when
+she came down the broad staircase and into the hall, prepared to go,
+hardening herself to go, because to stop would be impossible.
+
+In the breakfast-room she found Lady Dashwood. The two women looked at
+each other silently with a smile only of greeting. They could hear steps
+outside, and Gwendolen came in with swollen eyes and smiled vaguely
+round the room.
+
+"Good morning," she said, and then gulped. Poor girl! She was making an
+effort to be brave, and May gave her a glance that said plainly her
+approval and her sympathy.
+
+Lady Dashwood was almost tender in her manner.
+
+Gwen ate hurriedly, and once or twice made spasmodic faces in trying not
+to break down.
+
+Of course, no reference was made to anything that had happened, but it
+was necessary to talk a little. Silence would have made things worse. So
+Lady Dashwood praised Potten End, and said it was more bracing there
+than at Oxford; and May said she had not seen Potten End. Then both
+ladies looked at each other and started some other subject. They spoke
+at great length about the weather. At last breakfast was over, and Lady
+Dashwood rose from her chair and looked rather nervously across at
+Gwendolen.
+
+"I'm ready," said Gwendolen, bravely. "At least, I've only got to put my
+hat on."
+
+"There is no hurry, dear," said Lady Dashwood. "Let me see, you have
+nearly an hour." The car was to come at ten--an unearthly hour except in
+Oxford and at Potten End.
+
+Gwendolen disappeared upstairs, and the two ladies lingered about in the
+breakfast-room, neither able to attend to the papers, though both read
+ostentatiously. At last the car was announced and they went into the
+hall.
+
+Gwendolen came downstairs hastily. That horrible umbrella was in her
+hand, in the other hand was a handkerchief. She was frowning under her
+veil to keep herself from crying.
+
+"Well, good-bye, Gwen," said Lady Dashwood, and she kissed the girl on
+both cheeks. "Good-bye, dear; give my love to Mrs. Potten."
+
+"Thanks----" began Gwen, but her voice began to fail her. "Thanks----"
+
+"My love to Mrs. Potten," repeated Lady Dashwood hurriedly, and
+Gwendolen turned away without finishing her sentence.
+
+May kissed Gwendolen and murmured in her ear: "Brave girl!" "Good-bye,"
+she said aloud.
+
+"Good-bye," said Gwen.
+
+There was the familiar hall, its great bevelled doors, its oak panelling
+and its wide oak staircase. There was the round table in the middle
+under the electric chandelier and the dim portraits on the walls. All
+was familiar, and all had been thought of as hers for a time, all too
+short; for a day that now seemed as if it could never have been; for a
+dream and no part of the reality of Gwen's life.
+
+There outside was the car which was to take her away for ever. Robinson
+Junior was holding open the door, his snub nose well in the air, his
+cheeks reddened by the chill autumn wind. He was waiting for her to get
+in. Then he would bang the door to, and have done with her, and the
+Lodgings would never again have anything to do with her--nor Oxford.
+
+Oh, it was too wretched, but brave she would be, and Mrs. Dashwood at
+least would pity her and understand. What Lady Dashwood thought she did
+not care so very much.
+
+Gwen went down the steps and got into the car. Robinson Junior did bang
+the door. He banged it and caught a piece of Gwendolen's skirt. Then he
+opened the door with ferocity as if it was somebody else's fault.
+Gwendolen pulled her skirt and he banged the door to again. This time it
+shut her out from the Lodgings. The last moment had come. The car moved.
+The two ladies waved their hands. Robinson Junior raised his finger to
+his ear. The car turned and went out of the Court into the narrow
+street.
+
+It was all over! Robinson Junior did not come in. He slipped somewhere
+round at the back with mysterious swiftness, and Lady Dashwood shut the
+door herself. It was like closing a book at "The End" or writing a last
+Will and Testament. It was all over!
+
+Then Lady Dashwood, who had been so composed that May had been deceived
+into thinking that she had almost recovered from her excitement and
+fatigue, suddenly leaned against the hall table. "May!" she called.
+
+May did not hear her name called, she was already retreating up the
+staircase to her room as hastily as she dared. There was not much time,
+and yet she had not told her Aunt Lena yet that she meant to leave that
+very morning; she had mentioned no hour.
+
+Her luggage was packed and labelled. Her hat and coat and gloves,
+exactly the things she had arrived in from Malvern, were there waiting
+for her to put them on and go away. Meanwhile _he_ was in Town, little
+dreaming of what was happening. He would be back soon. It would be
+horrible if he arrived before she left, and there was still an hour
+before she must start for the station! She would put on her hat and then
+go down, tell her Aunt Lena that she must go in an hour, and talk to
+her, give herself up to her till the taxi came. No, it would be
+impossible for him to arrive before she left; she was foolish to worry
+about it. It was pure nonsense--merely a nervous fear.
+
+When she had put on her hat, it flashed into her mind that Mr. Bingham
+was coming to dinner, ostensibly to meet her. After their talk together
+she must write to him. She must scribble a little note and get it taken
+to All Souls. She must tell him that she had to leave Oxford quite
+unexpectedly.
+
+She sat down at her writing table and took up a pen. She wrote a few
+words, and thought the words too cold and too abrupt. She must begin
+again, and she tore up the letter and threw it into the waste-paper
+basket. She wanted to write sympathetically and yet not to appear to
+think he needed sympathy. She wanted to write as if she was very much
+disappointed at not meeting him again, but without putting it into words
+that would sound self-assured--as if she knew and counted on his being
+grateful at her disappointment. And indeed, she thought, he was not much
+in love with her. Why should he be? That was a question May always asked
+herself when a man professed to be in love with her. Why? Why in the
+name of all----, etc. May always failed to see why.
+
+This lack of vanity in May had led many people, who did not understand
+her, to accuse her of flirting.
+
+But May, in writing to Bingham, realised to the full _his_ attractions.
+He was too interesting a personality to be going about unclaimed. He
+ought to make some woman happy--some nice woman--not herself.
+
+She began a fresh letter and was at the first sentence when a knock came
+at the door.
+
+"Come in," she called.
+
+In came Louise, looking full of sinister importance. Her hair, which was
+never very tidy, looked as if it had taken an intelligent interest in
+some crisis.
+
+Louise glanced round the room at the luggage, at the coat, at the hat on
+May's head.
+
+"Oh, Madame, what a desolation!" cried Louise, and she wrung her hands.
+
+"I have packed very well, Louise," said May Dashwood. "I am accustomed
+to do it--I have no maid."
+
+"Oh, what a desolation!" repeated Louise, as she advanced further into
+the room. Then she stopped and announced, with an affectation of
+horrible composure: "I come to inform Madame that it is impossible for
+her to depart."
+
+May put down her pen. "What is the matter, Louise?"
+
+Louise drew in her breath. "My lady suffers," she began, and as she
+proceeded her words flowed more and more quickly: "while Madame prepares
+to forsake her, my lady faints upon the floor in the breakfast parlour,
+she expires."
+
+May rose, her heart beating.
+
+"She now swallows a glass of brandy and a biscuit brought by Mrs.
+Robinson, who is so slow, so slow and who understands nothing, but has
+the keys. I call and I call, eh bien, I call--oh, but what slowness,
+what insupportable delay."
+
+May put her letter inside the writing case and moved away from the
+writing-table. She was composed now.
+
+"Is she very ill?" she asked quietly.
+
+"My lady has died every day for two weeks," continued Louise; "for many
+days she has died, and no one observes it but myself and the angels in
+heaven. Madame agonises, over what terrible events I know not. But they
+know, the spirits of the dead--they know and they come. I believe that,
+for this house, this Lodgings is gloomy, this Oxford is so full of
+sombre thought. My Lady Dashwood martyrs herself for others. I see it
+always with Monsieur le General Sir John Dashwood, excellent man as he
+is, but who insists on catching severe colds in the head--colds heavy,
+overpowering--he sneezing with a ferocity that is impossible. At last
+old Robinson telephones for a doctor at my demand, oh, how I demand! It
+was necessary to overcome the phlegm and the stupidity of the Robinson
+family. I say! I demand! It is only when Mrs. Robinson comes to assist
+at this terrible crisis, that I go to rush upstairs for Madame. I go to
+rush, but I am detained! 'Stay!' cries my lady, 'I forbid you to speak
+of it. I am not ill--it is an indisposition of the mildest.' You see,
+Madame, the extraordinary generosity of my Lady Dashwood! Her soul full
+of sublime resignation! 'I go to prevent Madame Mrs. Dashwood's
+departure,' I cry! My lady replies with immense self-renunciation, like
+that of the blessed saints: 'Say nothing, my poor Louise. I exist only
+to do good on this earth. I ask for nothing for myself. I suffer alone.
+I endure without complaint. I speak not of my extreme agony in the head.
+I do not mention the insupportable nausea of the stomach. I subdue my
+cries! I weep silently, alone in the presence of my God.'"
+
+Louise paused for a second for breath.
+
+Nothing at this moment could have made May smile. She looked at Louise
+with gravity.
+
+"But," continued Louise, with the same vehement swiftness, "a good
+moment arrives. The form too full of Mrs. Robinson hides me as I escape
+from the room. I come to Madame here. Eh bien!" Here Louise broke off
+and, glancing round the room, made a gesture that implied unpacking
+May's luggage and putting everything back in the proper place. "I unpack
+for Madame, immediately, while Madame descends and assures my lady that
+she does not forsake her at the supreme moment."
+
+Louise's eyes now seemed to pierce the space in front of her, she defied
+contradiction.
+
+"I will go and see Lady Dashwood," said May, calmly. "But don't unpack
+yet for me. I shall put her ladyship to bed, Louise. Go and see that
+everything is ready, please."
+
+"I go to countermand Madame's taxi," said Louise, astutely.
+
+"You can do that," said May; "I shall wait till the doctor
+comes--anyhow. Ask Robinson to telephone at once."
+
+May went down to the breakfast-room, and found Mrs. Robinson's stout
+form coming out of the door. Within Lady Dashwood was seated in a chair
+by the fire.
+
+"I am perfectly well, May," said Lady Dashwood, lifting up a white face
+to her niece as she came up to her. "I have sent Mrs. Robinson away.
+That silly old fool, Louise, has made Robinson telephone for a doctor."
+
+"Quite right of her," said May, quietly, "and I shall stop till he has
+come and gone."
+
+"You didn't mean to go before lunch?" murmured Lady Dashwood.
+
+"I can go after lunch," said May.
+
+Lady Dashwood leaned her head back in a weak manner.
+
+"Not so convenient to you perhaps, dear," she murmured, but in a voice
+that accepted the delay to May's departure. She accepted it and sighed
+and stared into the fire, and said not one word about the Warden, but
+she said: "I'm not going to bed. The house will be empty enough as it
+is;" and May knew she was thinking of the Warden's return.
+
+"You must go to bed," May replied.
+
+"I can't go to bed, child. I shall stay up and look after things," said
+Lady Dashwood, and she knew she was speaking with guile. "You forget,
+dear, that--the house will be so empty!"
+
+"I shall put you to bed," said May.
+
+"How do you know I shall remain?" said Lady Dashwood. "The doctor will
+say that there is nothing wrong." She looked white and obstinate and
+clung to her chair.
+
+Then at last May said: "I am going to stay on till the doctor comes.
+Like all managing people, you are absolutely irresponsible about
+yourself, Aunt Lena. I shall have to stay and make you obey me."
+
+"Oh, I didn't know I was so wicked!" sighed Lady Dashwood, in a suddenly
+contented voice. Now she allowed herself to be helped out of her chair
+and led upstairs to her room. "And can you _really_ stay, May? _Really_,
+dear?"
+
+"I must," said May. "You are so wicked."
+
+"Oh dear, am I wicked?" said Lady Dashwood. "I knew my dear old John was
+very tiresome, but I didn't know I was!"
+
+So May remained. What else could she do? She left Lady Dashwood in
+Louise's hands and went to her room. What was to be done about Mr.
+Bingham? May looked round the room.
+
+Her boxes had disappeared. Her clothes were all put away and the toilet
+table carefully strewn with her toilet things. Louise had done it. On
+the little table by the bed stood something that had not been there
+before. It was a little plaster image of St. Joseph. It bore the traces
+of wear and tear from the hands of the pious believer--also
+deterioration from dust, and damage from accidents. Something, perhaps
+coffee, had been spilt upon it. The machine-made features of the face
+also had shared this accidental ablution, and one foot was slightly
+damaged. The saint was standing upon a piece of folded paper. May pulled
+out the paper and unfolded it. Written in faultless copper-plate were
+the words: "Louise Dumont prays for the protection of Madame every
+day."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+THE FORGIVENESS OF THE FATES
+
+
+Lady Dashwood submitted gracefully to being put to bed and propped up by
+pillows.
+
+The doctor had come, pronounced his patient very greatly over-fatigued
+though not seriously ill, but he had forbidden her to leave her bed till
+he gave permission.
+
+"Keep a strict watch over her," he had said to May, outside in the
+corridor. "She has got to the point when rest will put her right, or
+fatigue will put her all wrong."
+
+When he had gone May came back into her aunt's room.
+
+"Now you know what it is to be under orders," she said with a smile.
+
+"And what about you, dear?" murmured Lady Dashwood, sweetly. "You can't
+stay on, of course, darling?"
+
+May frowned to herself and then smiled. "I shall stay till the doctor
+comes again, because I can't trust you, dear aunt, to keep in bed, if I
+go."
+
+"You can't trust me," sighed Lady Dashwood, blissfully. "I am beginning
+to realise that I am not the only reasonable person in the world. I
+suppose it is good for me, but it is very sad for you, May, to be
+sacrificed like this."
+
+May said she wasn't being sacrificed, and refused to discuss the matter
+any longer.
+
+So Lady Dashwood lay quietly looking at the narrow windows, from which
+college roofs opposite could be seen in a grey Oxford daylight. She made
+no reference to the Warden's return. She did not tell May when he was
+expected home, whether he was coming back to lunch, or whether he was
+coming by a late afternoon train. She did not even mention his name. And
+May, too, kept up the appearance of not thinking about him. She merely
+looked up with a rather strained attention if the door opened, or there
+were sounds in the corridor.
+
+The time came for her to go down to lunch, and Lady Dashwood did not
+even say: "You will have to take lunch alone." But she said: "I wonder
+what Marian Potten and Gwendolen are doing?"
+
+So May went into the dining-room and glanced round her with
+apprehension.
+
+Two places were laid, one for the Warden at the head of the table and
+one at his right hand.
+
+"You expect the Warden?" she asked of Robinson, who was standing in the
+room alone, and she came towards the table apprehensively.
+
+He pulled out her chair and said: "No, m'm, I don't think 'e will be in
+to lunch."
+
+May sat down and breathed again. "You think he will be late?" she asked,
+speaking as one who cares not, but who needs the information for
+purposes of business.
+
+"'E said to me, m'm," said Robinson, as he handed a dish to her with old
+gnarled hands that were a little shaky but still full of service, "as I
+was 'andin' 'im 'is 'at what 'e wears in London: 'If I'm not 'ome in
+time for lunch, I shall be 'ome by 'alf-past five.'"
+
+"Oh yes," said May. "Then you'll be putting tea for him in the library,
+won't you, Robinson?"
+
+Robinson assented. "Yes, m'm, if you 'as tea with 'er ladyship." Then he
+added, "We're glad, m'm, that you're stayin' on,"--now he dropped his
+voice to a confidential whisper, and wore the air of one who is
+privileged to communicate private information to a member of the
+family--"because that French Louise is so exactin' and that jealous of
+Mrs. Robinson, and no one can't expect a learned gentleman, what 'as the
+'ole college on 'is shoulders and ain't used to ladies, to know what to
+do."
+
+"No, of course not," said May.
+
+"But we've all noticed," said Robinson, solemnly, as he poured out some
+water into May's glass, "as 'ow 'er ladyship's indisposition 'as come on
+gradual."
+
+Here he ended his observations, and he went and stood by his carving
+table with his accustomed bearing of humble importance.
+
+But it would have been a mistake to suppose that Robinson was really
+humble. He was, on the contrary, proud. Proud because he was part of
+King's College and had been a part thereof for fifty years, and his
+father had been part before him. But his pride went further. He was
+proud of the way he waited. He moved about the room, skimming the edges
+of the long table and circumventing chairs and protruding backs of
+awkward guests with peculiar skill. Robinson would have had much
+sympathy with the Oxford chaplain who offered to give any other clerical
+gentlemen a generous handicap in the Creed and beat them. Robinson, had
+he been an ecclesiastic, would have made such a boast himself. As it
+was, he prided himself on being able to serve round an "ontray" on his
+own side of the table and lap over two out of the other man's, easy.
+Robinson was also proud of having a master with a distinguished
+appearance, and this without any treachery to the late Warden's bald
+head and exceedingly casual nose. There was no obligation on Robinson's
+part to back up the old Warden against the new, or indeed the new
+against the old, because all Wardens were Wardens, and the College was
+continuous and eternal.
+
+Robinson gloried on there being many thousand volumes in the library.
+Mrs. Robinson did not share his enthusiasm. He enjoyed opening the door
+to other Heads of colleges and saying: "Not at 'ome, sir. Is there any
+message I can take, sir?" for Robinson felt that he was negotiating
+important affairs that affected the welfare of Oxford. When waiting on
+the Warden, Robinson's solemnity was not occasioned by pure meekness,
+nor was his deferential smile (when a smile was suitable) an exposition
+of snobbery nor the flattery of the wage-earner. Robinson was gratifying
+his own vanity; he was showing how he grasped the etiquette of his
+profession. Also he experienced pleasure in being necessary to a human
+being whose manner and tastes were as impressive as they were
+unaccountable.
+
+"There's more of these 'ere periodicals coming in," he said that very
+afternoon, as he arranged the lamp in the library, "though there aren't
+no more Germans among 'em, than there ever were before in my time." He
+spoke to Robinson Junior, who had followed him into the library.
+
+"'E don't read 'em," said Robinson Junior, his nose elevated, in the act
+of drawing the curtains.
+
+"'Ow d'you know?" asked Robinson.
+
+"They ain't cut, not all of 'em," said Junior.
+
+"'E don't read the stuff what is familiar to 'im," explained Robinson,
+and so saying, he took from some corner of the room a little table and
+set it up by a chair by the fire, for the Warden's tea-tray.
+
+Meanwhile May Dashwood had taken tea with her Aunt Lena and then had
+gone to her own room. So that when the Warden did arrive, just about
+half-past five, he found no one moving about, no one visible. He came in
+like a thief in the night, pale and silent. He glanced round the hall,
+preoccupied apparently, but really aware of things that were around him
+to a high degree of sensitiveness. He moved noiselessly, rang the bell,
+and then looked at the table for letters. Robinson appeared immediately.
+The Warden's narrow eyes, that seemed to absorb the light that fell upon
+them, rested upon Robinson's face with that steady but veiled regard
+with which a master controls those who are under him.
+
+The Warden did not ask "Where are the ladies?" he asked whether Lady
+Dashwood was in.
+
+"In 'er room, sir," said Robinson; and he then proceeded to explain why,
+and gave the doctor's report. "Nothin' alarmin', sir."
+
+The Warden said "Ah!" and looked down at the table. He glanced over the
+letters that were waiting for him. He gathered them in his hands.
+
+"Tea is in the library for you, sir," said old Robinson; "I will bring
+it in a minute."
+
+The Warden went upstairs.
+
+He went past the drawing-room and past his bedroom into the library. He
+threw his letters down on the writing-desk, walked to the fire, and then
+walked back again to the desk. Then he finally went out of the room and
+passed the head of the staircase and up the two or three steps into the
+corridor.
+
+He had been into the corridor three times since the arrival of his
+sister. Once when he conducted her to her room, on her arrival, once
+again when she had made alterations in the bedrooms and had asked for
+his approval, and then on that wretched night when he had gone to calm
+Gwendolen and assure her that there were no such things as ghosts. Now
+he went along over the noiseless floor, anxious to meet no one. Why was
+Lena ill? He knew why Lena was ill, but for a moment he felt wearily
+vexed with her. Why did she make things worse? This feeling vanished
+when he opened her door and went in, and saw her sitting up in bed
+supported by pillows. Then his feeling was of remorse, of anger
+increased against himself, and himself only.
+
+She was turning the pages of a paper, ostentatiously looking at the
+illustrations, but she was really waiting in suspense for his arrival
+and thinking of nothing else.
+
+She looked up at him with a strange smile. "Back!" she said. "And you
+find me malingering!"
+
+He came up to the bed. "You've been ill," he said, and he did not return
+her smile. "I'm very sorry, Lena."
+
+"No, only tired," she said. "And I am already better, Jim," she went on,
+and now she showed great nervousness and her voice was jerky. "I have a
+letter for you. I want you to read it at once, dear, but not here; read
+it in the library. Don't stay now; go away, dear, and come and see me
+afterwards."
+
+She gave him the letter with the handwriting downwards. She had thought
+this out beforehand. She feared the sight of his emotion. She could not
+bear it--just now. She was still feeling very shaky and very weak.
+
+He took the letter and turned it over to see the handwriting. She
+thought he made a movement of surprise. His face she did not look at,
+she looked at the paper that was lying before her. She longed for him to
+go away, now that the letter was safely in his hands. He guessed, no
+doubt, what the letter was about! He must guess!
+
+She little knew. He no more guessed its contents than he would have
+guessed that in order to secure his salvation some one would be allowed
+to rise from the dead! The letter he regarded as ominous--of some
+trouble, some dispute, something inevitable and miserable.
+
+"I hope you have everything you want, Lena," he said as he walked to the
+door. "I hope Louise doesn't fuss you." Then he asked: "Have you ever
+fainted before?"
+
+Lady Dashwood said she hadn't, but added that people over fifty
+generally fainted, and that she would not have gone to bed had not dear
+May insisted on it as well as Louise.
+
+He went out. He found the corridor silent. He walked along with that
+letter in his pocket, feeling a great solitude within him. When he
+passed Gwendolen's door, something gripped him painfully. And then there
+was _her_ door, too!
+
+He returned to the library and sat down by the tea-table and the fire.
+
+From his chair his eyes rested upon the great window at the end of the
+library. It was screened by curtains now. It was there, at that exact
+spot by the right-hand curtain, that Gwendolen had fancied she saw the
+ghost. A ghost, a thin filmy shape was probably her only conception of
+something Spiritual. That the story of the Barber's ghost, the story
+that he came as a prophet of ill tidings to the Warden of the College,
+seemed to fit in with recent events, the events of the last few days;
+this only made the whole episode more repulsive. He must train
+Gwendolen--if indeed she were capable of being trained! The mother would
+be perhaps even a greater obstacle to a sane and useful life than
+Gwendolen herself.
+
+Very likely Gwendolen's letter was to announce that Lady Belinda
+insisted on coming at once, whether there was room for her or not; or
+possibly the letter contained some foolish enclosure from Lady Belinda,
+and Gwendolen was shy of communicating it, but had been ordered to do
+so.
+
+Possibly the letter contained a cutting announcing the engagement! He
+had glanced through the _Times_ yesterday and this morning very hastily.
+Gwendolen's mother might be capable of announcing the engagement before
+it had actually taken place!
+
+He poured out a cup of tea and drank it, and then took the letter from
+his pocket.
+
+He started at the opening of his door. Robinson brought in an American
+visitor, who came with an introduction. The introduction was lying on
+the desk, not yet opened. The Warden rose--escape was impossible. He put
+the letter back into his pocket.
+
+"Bring fresh tea, Robinson," said the Warden.
+
+But the stranger declined it. He had business in view. He had a string
+of solemn questions to ask upon world matters. He wanted the answers. He
+was writing a book, he wanted copy. He had come, metaphorically
+speaking, note-book and pencil in hand.
+
+The Warden, with his mind upon private matters, looked gloomily at this
+visitor to Oxford. Even about "world" matters, with that letter in his
+pocket, he found it difficult to tolerate an interviewer. How was he to
+get through his work if he felt like this?
+
+The American, too, became uneasy. He found the Warden unwilling to give
+him any dogmatic pronouncements on the subject of Literature, on the
+subject of Education, or the subject of Woman now and Woman in the
+immediate future. The Warden declined to say whether the Church of
+England would work for union or whether it was going to split up and
+dwindle into rival sects. He was also guarded in his remarks about the
+political situation in England. He would not prophesy the future of
+Labour, or the fate of Landowners. The Warden was not encouraging. With
+that letter in his pocket the Warden found it difficult to assume the
+patient attention that was due to note-book visitors from afar.
+
+This was a bad beginning, surely! How was the future to be met?
+
+The American was about to take his leave, considerably disappointed
+with the Heads of Oxford colleges, but he suspected that American
+neutrality might be at the bottom of the Warden's reticence.
+
+"I am not one of those Americans," he said, rising, "who regard
+President Woodrow Wilson as the only statesman in the world at this
+present moment."
+
+The Warden threw his cigarette into the fire. "Wilson has one
+qualification for statesmanship," he said, rising and speaking as if he
+was suddenly roused to interest by this highly contentious subject.
+
+The American was surprised. "I presume, coming from you, Professor, that
+you speak of the President's academic training?" he said.
+
+"I am not a Professor," said the Warden, at last sufficiently awakened
+from his preoccupation to make a correction that he should have made
+before. "The University has not conferred that honour upon me. Yes, I
+mean an academic training. When a man who is trained to think meets a
+new problem in politics he pauses to consider it; he takes time; and for
+this the crowd jeer at him! The so-called practical man rarely pauses;
+he doesn't see, unless he has genius, that he mustn't treat a new
+problem as if it were an old one. He decides at once, and for this the
+crowd admire him. 'He knows his own mind,' they say!"
+
+The Warden spoke with a ring of sarcasm in his voice. It was a sarcasm
+secretly directed against himself. That letter in his pocket was the
+cause.
+
+He had been confronted in the small world of his own life with a new
+problem--marriage, and he ought to have understood that it was new, new
+to himself, complicated by his position and needing thought; and he had
+not thought, he had acted. He had belied the use and dignity of his
+training. Had he any excuse? There was the obligation to marry, and
+there was "pity." Were these excuses? They were miserable excuses.
+
+But he had no time to argue further with himself, the inexorable voice
+of the man standing opposite to him broke in.
+
+"In your view, Warden, the practical man is too previous?" said the
+American, making notes (in his own mind).
+
+"He is too confident," said the Warden. "It is difficult enough to make
+an untrained man accept a new fact. It is still more difficult to make
+him think out a new method!"
+
+"I opine," said the American, "that in your view President Wilson has
+only one qualification for statesmanship?"
+
+"I didn't say that," said the Warden. "He may have the other, I mean
+character. Wilson may have the moral courage to act in accordance with
+his mental insight, and if so, if he has both the mental and moral force
+necessary, he might well be, what you do not yourself hold, the only
+living statesman in the world. Time will tell."
+
+Here the Warden smiled a curious smile and made a movement to indicate
+that the visit must come to an end. He must be alone--he needed to
+think--alone. How was he at this moment showing "character, moral
+courage?" Here he was, unable to bear the friction of an ordinary
+interview. Here he was, almost inclined to be discourteous. Here he was,
+determined to bear no longer with his visitor.
+
+When the door closed upon the stranger, the Warden, sick with himself
+and sick with the world, turned to his desk. His letters must be looked
+through at once. Very well, let him begin with the letter in his pocket.
+
+But he first sorted his other letters, throwing away advertisements and
+useless papers. Then he took the letter from his pocket. The very
+handwriting showed incapacity and slackness. At dinner he would have
+the writer of this letter on one side of him, and on the other--he dared
+not think! The Warden ground his teeth and tore open the letter, and
+then a knock came at his door.
+
+"Come in," he said almost fiercely.
+
+Robinson came in. "I was to remind you, sir, that Mr. Bingham would be
+here to dinner."
+
+So much the better. "Very well, Robinson," he said.
+
+Robinson withdrew.
+
+The letter was a long one. It was addressed at the top "Potten End."
+
+"Potten End," said the Warden, half aloud. This was strange! Then she
+was not in the house!
+
+The letter began--
+
+    "Dear Dr. Middleton,
+
+    "When you get this letter I shall have left your house and I shan't
+    return. I hope you will forgive me. I don't know how to tell you,
+    but I have broken off our engagement----"
+
+
+The Warden stared at the words. There were more to come, but
+these--these that he had read! Were they true?
+
+"My God!" he exclaimed, below his breath, "I don't deserve it!" and he
+made some swift strides in the room; "I don't deserve it!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+ALMA MATER
+
+
+The Warden went to the door and turned the key. Why, he did not know. He
+simply did it instinctively. Then he finished reading the letter; and
+having read it through, read it again a second time. He was a free man,
+and he had obtained his freedom through a circumstance that was
+pitifully silly, a circumstance almost incredibly sordid and futile.
+
+Her humiliation was his humiliation, for had he not chosen her to be his
+companion for life? Had he not at this time, when the full
+responsibility of manhood was placed on every man, had he not chosen as
+the mother of his children, a moral weakling?
+
+He locked the letter up in his desk and paced the length of the room
+once or twice. Then he threw himself into a chair and, clasping his head
+in his hands, remained there motionless. Could he be the same man who
+had a few days ago, of his own free will, without any compulsion,
+without any kind of necessity, offered himself for life to a girl of
+whom he knew absolutely nothing, except that she had had a miserable
+upbringing and an heredity that he could not respect? Was it her slender
+beauty, her girlishness, that had made him so passionately pitiful?
+
+From an ordinary man this action would have been folly, but from him it
+was an offence! A very great offence, now, in these times. On the desk
+lay some pages of notes--notes of a course of public lectures he was
+about to give, lectures on the responsibility of citizenship, in which
+he was going to make a strong appeal to his audience for a more
+conscious philosophy of life. He was going to urge the necessity for
+greater reverence for education. He was going to speak not only of the
+burden of Empire, but of the new burden, the burden of Democracy, a
+Democracy that is young, independent, and feeling its way. He was going
+to speak of the true meaning of a free Democracy, no chaotic meaningless
+freedom, but the sane and ordered freedom of educated men, Democracy
+open-eyed and training itself, like a strong man, to run a race for some
+far-off, some desired goal to which "all creation moves."
+
+He was in these lectures going to pose not only as a practical man but
+as a preacher, one of those who "point the way"; and meanwhile he had
+bound himself to a girl who not only would be unable to grasp the
+meaning of any strenuous moral effort, but who would have to be herself
+guarded from every petty temptation that came in her way. He was (so he
+said to himself, as he groaned in his spirit) one of those many
+preachers who, in all ages, have talked of moral progress, and who have
+missed the road that they themselves have pointed out!
+
+He was fiercely angry with himself because he had called the emotion
+that he had felt for Gwendolen in her mischance a "passionate pity." It
+was a very different emotion from that which wrung him when his old
+pupils, one by one, gave up their youth and hope in the service of their
+country. That indeed was a passionate pity, a pity full of remorseful
+gratitude, full of great pride in their high purpose and their noble
+self-sacrifice. On his mantelpiece, within arm's length of him, lay an
+open book. It was a book of poems, and there were verses that the
+Warden had read more than once.
+
+    "City of hope and golden dreaming."
+
+A farewell to Oxford. It was the farewell of youth in its heyday to
+
+    "All the things we hoped to do."
+
+And then followed the lines that pierced him now with poignant sadness
+as he thought of them--
+
+    "Dreams that will never be clothed in being,
+     Mother, your sons have left with you."
+
+The Warden groaned within himself. He was part of that Alma Mater; that
+city left behind in charge of that sacred gift!
+
+He loathed himself, and this deep self-humiliation of a scrupulous
+gentleman was what his sister had shrunk from witnessing. It was this
+deep humiliation that May Dashwood fled from when she hid herself in her
+room that afternoon.
+
+The Warden was not a man who spent much time in introspection. He had no
+subtlety of self-analysis, but what insight he had was spent in
+condemning himself, not in justifying himself. But now he added this to
+his self-accusations, that if May Dashwood had not suddenly stepped
+across his path and revealed to him true womanhood, gilded--yes, he used
+that term sardonically--gilded by beauty, he might not have seen the
+whole depth of his offence until now, when the crude truth about
+Gwendolen was forced upon him by her letter.
+
+The Warden sat on, crushed by the weight of his humiliation. And he had
+been forgiven, he had been rescued from his own folly. His mistake had
+been wiped out, his offence pardoned.
+
+And what about Gwendolen herself? What about this poor solitary foolish
+girl? What was to be her future? Swiftly she had come into his life and
+swiftly gone! What, indeed, was to become of her and her life?
+
+And so the Warden sat on till the dressing-bell rang, and then he got up
+from his chair blindly.
+
+He had been forgiven and rescued too easily. He did not deserve it. How
+was it that he had dared to quote to May Dashwood those solemn, awful
+words--
+
+    "And the glory of the Lord is all in all!"
+
+It must have seemed to her a piece of arrogant self-righteousness.
+
+And she had said: "What is the glory of the Lord?" and had answered the
+question herself. Her answer had condemned him; the glory of the Lord
+was not merely self-restraint, stoical resignation, it was something
+more, it was "Love" that "beareth all things, believeth all things,
+hopeth all things, endureth all things."
+
+"For he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love
+God whom he hath not seen?"
+
+The Warden dressed, moving about automatically, not thinking of what he
+was doing. When he left his bedroom he passed the head of the staircase.
+There were letters lying on the table, just as letters had lain waiting
+for him on that evening, on that Monday evening, when he found Gwendolen
+reading the letter from her mother and crying over it. Within those few
+short days he had risked the happiness and the usefulness of his whole
+life, and--God had forgiven him.
+
+He passed the table and went on. Lena must have been waiting for him,
+expecting him! Perhaps she had been worrying. The thought made him walk
+rapidly along the corridor.
+
+He knocked at her door. Louise opened it.
+
+"Entrez, Monsieur," she said, in the tone and manner of one who mounts
+guard and whose permission must be obtained.
+
+She stood aside to let him pass, and then went out and pulled the door
+to after her.
+
+The Warden walked up to the bed.
+
+Lady Dashwood's face was averted from him. "Jim," she said wistfully,
+and she put her hand over her eyes and waited for the sound of his
+voice.
+
+She was there, waiting for him to show her what sort of sympathy he
+needed. He did not speak. He came round to the side of the bed where she
+was lying, by the windows. There he stood for a moment looking down upon
+her. She did not look up. She looked, indeed, like a culprit, like one
+humbled, who longed for pardon but did not like to ask for it. And it
+was this profound humble sympathy that smote his heart through and
+through. What if anything had happened to this dear sister of his? What
+if her unhappiness had been too great a strain upon her?
+
+He knelt down by the bed and laid his face on her shoulder, just as he
+used to do when he was a child. Neither of them spoke. She moved her
+hand and clasped his arm that he placed over her, and they remained like
+this for some minutes, while a great peace enclosed them. In those few
+minutes it seemed as if years dropped away from them and they were young
+again. She the motherly young woman, and he the motherless boy to whom
+she stood as mother. All the interval was forgotten and there they were
+still, mother and son.
+
+When at last he raised himself he found that her eyes were dim with
+tears. As to himself, he felt strangely quieted and composed. He pulled
+a chair to the bedside and sat down, not facing her, but sideways, and
+he rested his elbow on the edge of her pillow his other hand resting on
+hers.
+
+"Did you get through all you wanted to, in Town?" she asked, smiling
+through her tears.
+
+"Lena!" he said in a low voice, "you want to spare me. You always do."
+
+His voice overwhelmed her. His humility pierced her like a sword.
+
+"It was all my fault, dear," she began; "entirely my fault."
+
+"No," he said, in a low emphatic voice.
+
+"It was." She reiterated this with almost a sullen persistence.
+
+"How could it possibly be your fault?" he said, with deep self-reproach.
+
+"It was," she said, "though I cannot make you understand it. Jim, you
+must forget it all, for my sake. You must forget it at once, you have
+things to do."
+
+"I have things to do," he said. "I seemed in danger of forgetting those
+things," he said huskily. "As to forgetting, that is a difficult
+matter."
+
+"You must put it aside," she said, and now she raised herself on her
+pillows and stared anxiously into his face. "You made a mistake such as
+the best man _would_ make," she argued passionately. "How can a strong
+man suspect weakness in others? You know how it is, we suspect in others
+virtues and vices that we have ourselves. You know what I mean, dear. A
+drunkard always suspects other men of wanting to drink!" and she laughed
+a little, and her voice trembled with an excitement she found it
+difficult to suppress. "Thieves always suspect others of thieving. An
+amorous man sees sex motives in everything. Do you suppose an honourable
+man doesn't also suspect others of honourable intentions?"
+
+He made no reply.
+
+"Besides, you have always been eager to think the best of women. You've
+credited them, even with mental gifts that they haven't got! You have
+been over-loyal to them all your life! And now"--here Lady Dashwood put
+out her hand and laid it on his arm as if to compel him to agree--"and
+now you are suffering for it, or rather you have suffered. You thought
+you were doing your duty, that you ought to marry. You were right; you
+ought to marry, and I, just at that moment, thrust somebody forward who
+looked innocent and helpless. And how could you tell? Of course you
+couldn't tell," and now her voice dropped a little and she seemed
+suddenly to have become tired out, and she sank back on her pillows.
+
+The Warden leant over her. Her special pleading for him was so familiar
+to him. She had corrected his faults, admonished him when necessary, but
+had always upheld his self-respect, even in small matters. She was
+fighting now for the preservation of his sense of honour.
+
+"Anyhow, darling," she said, "you must forget!"
+
+"You are exhausted," he said, "in trying to make black white. I ought
+not to have come in and let you talk. Lena, what has happened this week
+has knocked you up. I know it, and even now you are worrying because of
+me. I will forget it, dear, if you will pick up again and get strong."
+
+"I am better already," she said, and the very faintest smile was on her
+face. "I am rather tired, but I shall be all right to-morrow. All I want
+is a good night's sleep. I want to sleep for hours, and I shall sleep
+for hours now that I have seen you."
+
+A knock came on the door.
+
+"They are looking for you, dear," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+The Warden slowly rose from his seat. "I must go now, Lena," he said,
+"but I shall come in again the last thing. I shall come in without
+knocking if I may, because I hope you will be asleep, and I don't want
+to wake you."
+
+"Very well," she said smiling. "You'll find me asleep. I feel so calm,
+so happy."
+
+He bent down and kissed her and then went to the door. She turned her
+head and looked after him. Louise was at the door.
+
+"Monsieur Bingham is arrived," she said; "I regret to have disturbed
+Monsieur."
+
+The Warden walked slowly down the corridor. There was something that he
+dreaded, something that was going to happen--the first meeting of the
+eyes--the first moment when May Dashwood would look at him, knowing all
+that had happened!
+
+He passed the table again on which lay his letters. He would look
+through all that pile of correspondence after Bingham had gone.
+
+Robinson was hovering at the stairhead. "Mr. Bingham is in the
+drawing-room, sir."
+
+"Alone?" asked the Warden.
+
+"Mrs. Dashwood is there, sir," said Robinson.
+
+"How have you arranged the table?" asked the Warden.
+
+"I've put Mrs. Dashwood close on your right, sir," said Robinson,
+secretly amazed at the question; "Mr. Bingham on your left, sir."
+
+"Yes," said the Warden. "Yes, of course!" passing his servant with an
+abstracted air.
+
+"Shall I announce dinner, sir?" asked Robinson, hurrying behind and
+measuring his strength for what he was about to perform in the exercise
+of his duty.
+
+"Yes," said the Warden, still moving on, and now near the drawing-room
+door.
+
+Robinson made a wondrous skip, a miracle it was of service in honour of
+the Warden; he flew past his master like an aged but agile Mercury and
+pounced upon the drawing-room door handle. Then he threw the door open.
+He waited till the Warden had advanced to a sufficient distance in the
+room towards the guests who were waiting by the fireside, and then he
+uttered, in his penetrating but quavering voice, the familiar and
+important word--
+
+"Dinner!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX
+
+DINNER
+
+
+"I am sorry I'm late," said the Warden quietly, and he looked at both
+his guests. "I have been with Lady Dashwood. I must apologise, Bingham,
+for her absence. I expect Mrs. Dashwood has already told you that she is
+not well."
+
+The bow with which the Warden offered his arm to May was one which
+included more than the mere formal invitation to go down to dinner, it
+meant a greeting after absence and an acknowledgment that she was acting
+as his hostess. It was one of those ceremonial bows which men are rarely
+able to make without looking pompous. He had the reputation, in Oxford,
+of being one of the very few men who, in his tutorial days, could
+present men for degrees with academic grace.
+
+"I'm sorry, Bingham," he said; "I have only just returned, or I might
+have secured a fourth to dinner--yes, even in war time."
+
+May went downstairs, wondering. Wondering how it was that the worst was
+so soon over, and that, after all, instead of feeling a painful pity for
+the man whose arm held hers in a light grasp, she felt strangely
+timorous of him.
+
+She was profoundly thankful for the presence of Bingham, who was
+following behind, cheerful and chatty, having put aside, apparently, all
+recollection of the conversation of the evening before. Yes, whatever
+his secret thoughts might have been, Bingham appeared to have forgotten
+that there were any moonlight nights in the streets of Oxford. For this,
+May blessed him.
+
+They entered the long dining-room and, sitting at the Warden's end of
+the table, formed a bright living space of light and movement. Outside
+that bright space the room gradually sombred to the dark panelled walls.
+The Warden, in his high-backed chair, looked the very impersonation of
+Oxford. This was what struck Bingham as he glanced at his host, and the
+thought suggested that hater of Oxford, the Warden's relative, Bernard
+Boreham.
+
+"I have just got your friend Boreham to undertake a job of work," said
+Bingham. "It'll do him a world of good to have work, a library to
+catalogue for the use of our prisoners. He wanted to shove off the job
+to some chaplain. I was to procure the chaplain, just as if all men
+weren't scarce, even chaplains!"
+
+Composed as the Warden was, he looked at Bingham with something of eager
+attention on his face, as if relying on him for support and
+conversation.
+
+"Poor old Boreham, he is a connection of mine by marriage," he said, and
+as the words fell from his lips, he, in his present sensitive mood,
+recoiled from them, for they implied that Boreham was not a friend. Why
+was he posing as one who was too superior to choose Boreham as a friend?
+
+"Talking of chaplains," said Bingham, who knew nothing of what was going
+on in the Warden's mind, and thought this sudden stop came from dislike
+of any reference to Boreham--"talking of parsons, why not release all
+parsons in West End churches for the war?"
+
+A smile came into May's face at the extreme sweetness of Bingham's
+voice; a warning that he was about to say something biting.
+
+"Release all parsons who have smart congregations," continued Bingham,
+in honied tones; "parsons with congregations of jolly, well-dressed
+women, women who enjoy having their naughtiness slanged from the pulpit
+just as they enjoy having their photographs in the picture papers. Their
+spiritual necessities would be more than adequately provided for if they
+were given a dummy priest and a gramophone."
+
+May's smile seemed to stimulate Bingham's imagination.
+
+"To waste on them a real parson with a soul and a rudimentary
+intellect," he went on, "is like giving a glass of Moselle to an
+agricultural labourer when he would be happy with a mug of beer. But the
+Church wastes its energies even in this time of heartbreakings."
+
+"I should like to see you, Bingham," said the Warden, smiling too, and
+turning his narrow eyes, in his slow deliberate manner, towards his
+guest, "as chairman to a committee of English bishops, on the
+Reconstruction of the Church."
+
+"I've no quarrel with our bishops," said Bingham; "I don't want them to
+extol every new point of view as they pass along. I don't expect them to
+behave like young men. Nor do I expect them to be like the Absolute,
+without 'body, parts or passions.' My indictment is not even against
+that mere drop in the ocean, 'good Christian souls,' but against
+humanity and human nature!" Bingham looked from one to the other of his
+listeners. "Until now, the only people we have taken quite seriously are
+the very well dressed and the--well, the undressed. The two classes
+overlap continually. But now we've got to take everybody seriously; we
+are going to have a Democracy. Human nature has got a new tool, and the
+tool is Democracy. The new tool is to be put into the same foolish old
+hands, and we shall very soon discover what we shall call 'the sins of
+Democracy.' What is fundamentally wrong with us is what apparently we
+can't help: it's that we are ourselves, that we are human beings."
+Bingham smiled into his plate. "We adopt Christianity, and because we
+are human beings we make it intellectually rigid and morally sloppy. We
+are patronising Democracy, and we shall make it intellectually rigid and
+morally sloppy too--if we don't take care. Everything we handle becomes
+intellectually rigid and morally sloppy. And yet we still fancy that, if
+only we could get hold of the right tools, our hands would do the right
+work."
+
+"The Reconstruction of Human Nature is what you are demanding," said the
+Warden.
+
+"Yes, that's what we want," sighed Bingham. "When we have got rid of the
+Huns, we must begin to think about it."
+
+"If you saw the children I have seen, Mr. Bingham," said May, quietly,
+"you would want to begin at once, and I think you would be hopeful."
+
+There was on the Warden's face a sudden passionate assent that Bingham
+detected.
+
+"All men," said Bingham, leaning back in his chair and regarding his two
+listeners with veiled attention--"all men like to hear a woman say
+sweet, tender, hopeful things, even if they don't believe them. As for
+myself, Mrs. Dashwood, I admit that your 'higher optimism' haunts me too
+at times; at rare times when, for instance, the weather in Oxford is dry
+and bright and bracing."
+
+If he had for a moment doubted it since the afternoon at the Hardings',
+Bingham was now sure, as sure as a man can be of what is unconfessed in
+words, that between this man and woman sitting at the table with him was
+some secret sensitive interest that was not friendship.
+
+How did this conviction affect Bingham and Bingham's spirits? It
+certainly did not put a stop to his flow of talk. Rather, he talked the
+more; he was even more sweetly cynical and amiably scintillating than
+usual. If his heart was wounded, and he himself was not sure whether it
+was or not, he hid that heart successfully in a sheath of his own
+sparks.
+
+A pause came when Robinson put out the light over the carving-table and
+withdrew with Robinson Junior. The dining-room was silent. Bingham drank
+some wine, the Warden mused, and May Dashwood sat with her eyes on a
+glass of water by her, looking at it as if she could see some vision in
+its transparency. The fire was glowing a deep red in the great stone
+chimney-piece at the further end of the room. A coal fell forward upon
+the hearth with a strangely solitary sound. Bingham glanced towards the
+fire and then round the room, and then at his host, and lastly at May
+Dashwood.
+
+"I heard a rumour," he said, and he took a sip of his claret, "that your
+college ghost had made an appearance!"
+
+There came another silence in the room.
+
+"One doesn't know how such rumours come about," continued Bingham;
+"perhaps you hadn't even heard of this one?" He looked across at May and
+round at the Warden. Neither of them seemed to be aware that a question
+was being asked.
+
+"I didn't know King's even claimed a ghost," said Bingham again. "I've
+heard of the ghost of Shelley in the High," he added, smiling. "A ghost
+for the tourist who comes to see the Shelley Memorial."
+
+May looked down rather closely at the table.
+
+The Warden moved stiffly. "I don't believe Shelley would want to come,"
+he said. "He always despised his Alma Mater."
+
+"He was a bit of an _enfant terrible_," said Bingham, "from the tutor's
+point of view."
+
+May raised her eyes with relief; the Warden had parried the question of
+the ghost with skill.
+
+"And I don't believe," said the Warden, "that any one returns who has
+merely roystered within our walls," and he smiled.
+
+Bingham was now looking very attentively at the Warden out of his dark
+eyes.
+
+"Jeremy Bentham," he said, "seems to have been afraid of ghosts, when he
+was an undergraduate here. He was afraid of barging against them on dark
+college staircases. It's a fear I can't grasp. I would much rather come
+into collision with any ghost than with the Stroke of the 'Varsity
+Eight, whether the staircase was dark or not."
+
+"If there are ghosts," said the Warden, pensively, "I should expect to
+see Cranmer, on some wild night, wandering near the places where he
+endured his passion and his death. Or I should expect to see Laud pacing
+the streets, amazed at the order and discipline of modern Oxford. If
+personal attachment could bring a man from the grave," he went on,
+meeting Bingham's eyes with a smile, "why shouldn't that least ghostly
+of all scholars, your old master, Jowett--why shouldn't he walk at night
+when Balliol is asleep?"
+
+"Then there was nothing in the rumour," said Bingham, "that your King's
+ghost has turned up?"
+
+"The Warden doesn't believe in ghosts," said May, looking across the
+table eagerly. She remembered how he had stood by the bedside of
+Gwendolen that night. She recalled the room vividly, the gloom of the
+room and he alone standing in the light thrown upon him by the lamp. She
+could recall every tone of his voice as he said: "You thought you saw
+something. You made a mistake. You saw nothing, you imagined that you
+saw--there was nothing," and how his voice convinced _her_, as she stood
+by the fire and listened. How long ago was that--only three days--it
+seemed like a month.
+
+"No," said the Warden, "I don't believe in ghosts. At least, I don't
+believe that our dead"--and he pronounced the last word reverently--"are
+such that they can return to us in human form, or through the
+intervention of some hired medium. But if there are ghosts in Oxford,"
+he went on, and now he turned to Bingham, as if he were answering his
+question--"if there are ghosts in Oxford they will be the ghosts of
+those who were, in life, bone of her bone and flesh of her flesh. I am
+thinking of those men who lived and died in Oxford, recluses who knew no
+other world, and of whom the world knew nothing--men who used to flit
+like shadows from their solitary rooms to the Lecture hall and to High
+table and to the Common room. Those men were monks in all but name;
+celibates, solitaries--men to whom the laughter of youth was maddening
+pain."
+
+May's eyes dropped! What the Warden was saying stabbed her, not merely
+because of the words he said, but because his voice conveyed the sense
+of that poignant pain.
+
+"Such men as I speak of," he went on, "Oxford must always have
+possessed, even in the boisterous days when you fellows of All Souls,"
+he said, addressing Bingham, "used to pull your doors off their hinges
+to make bonfires in honour of the mallard. There always have been these
+men, students shy and sensitive, shrinking from the rougher side of the
+ordinary man, shrinking from ordinary social life; men who are only
+courageous in their devotion to learning and to truth; men who are
+lonely with that awful loneliness of those who live in the world of
+thoughts. I knew one such man myself. Those who believe in ghosts may
+come upon the shades of these men in the passages and in the cloisters
+at night, or hiding in the dark recesses of our college windows. Why, I
+can feel them everywhere--and yet I don't believe in ghosts." The Warden
+placed his elbows upon the table and rested his chin upon his hands, and
+looked down at the table-cloth.
+
+May said nothing; she was listening, her face bent but expressive even
+to her eyebrows.
+
+"Neither do I," said Bingham, in an altered voice. "I don't believe in
+ghosts, and yet, what do we know of this world? We talk of it glibly.
+But what do we know of the forces which make up the phantasmagoria that
+we call the World? What do we know of this vast universe? We perceive
+something of it by touch, by sight, sound and smell. These are the doors
+through which its forces penetrate the brain of man. These doors are our
+way of 'being aware' of life. The psychology of man is in its infancy.
+And remember"--here Bingham leaned over the table and rested his eyes on
+May--"it is man studying himself! That makes the difficulty!" Bingham
+was serious now, and he had slipped from slang into the academic form in
+which his thoughts really moved.
+
+"And we don't even know whether our ways of perceiving are the only
+ways," said the Warden.
+
+"Anyhow," said Bingham, turning to him, "the ghosts you 'feel,' and
+which you and I don't believe in, belong to the old Oxford, the Oxford
+which is gone."
+
+There came a sudden silence in the long room, and May felt that she
+ought to make a move. She looked at the Warden.
+
+"That Oxford," continued Bingham, "is gone for ever. It began to go when
+men hedged it round with red brick, and went to live under red-tiled
+roofs with wives and children."
+
+"Yes, it has gone," said the Warden. "Must you leave us!" he asked,
+rising, as May looked at him and made a movement to rise.
+
+Bingham rose to his feet, but he stood with his hand holding the foot
+of his glass and gazing into its crimson depths.
+
+"Pardon, Middleton! Mrs. Dashwood, one moment," he said, and he raised
+his glass solemnly till it was almost on a level with his dark face.
+"Will you pledge me?" he asked. "To the old Oxford that is past and
+gone!"
+
+The Warden and May were both drinking water. They raised their glasses
+and touched Bingham's wine which glowed in the light from above, almost
+suggesting something sacramental. And Bingham himself looked like a
+smooth, swarthy priest of mediaeval story, half-serious and half-gay,
+disguised in modern dress.
+
+"To the Oxford of sacred memory," he said.
+
+They drank.
+
+May was thinking deeply and as she was about to place her glass back
+upon the table, the thought that was struggling for expression came to
+her. She lifted her glass: "To the Oxford that is to be," she said
+gently. She glanced first at Bingham, and then her eyes rested for a
+moment upon the Warden.
+
+Bingham watched her keenly. He could see that at that moment she had no
+thought of herself. Her thoughts were of Oxford alone, and, Bingham
+guessed, with the man with whom she identified Oxford.
+
+Bingham hesitated to raise his glass. Was it a flash of jealousy that
+went through him? A jealousy of the new Oxford and all that it might
+mean to the two human beings beside him? If it was jealousy it died out
+as swiftly as it had come.
+
+He raised his glass.
+
+"To the Oxford of the Future," said the Warden.
+
+"Ad multos annos," said Bingham.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX
+
+THE END OF BELINDA AND CO.
+
+
+Lady Dashwood professed to be very much better the next morning when May
+looked in to see how she had slept.
+
+"I'm a new woman," she said to May; "I slept till seven, and then, my
+dear, I began to think, and what do you think my thoughts were?"
+
+May shook her head. "You thought it was Sunday morning."
+
+"Quite true," said Lady Dashwood; "I heard the extra bells going on
+round us. No, what I was thinking of was, what on earth Marian Potten
+did with Gwendolen yesterday afternoon. I'm quite sure she will have
+made her useful. I can picture Marian making her guest put on a big
+apron and some old Potten gloves and taking her out into the garden to
+gather beans. I can picture them gathering beans till tea-time. Marian
+is sure to be storing beans, and she wouldn't let the one aged gardener
+she has got left waste his time on gathering beans. I can see Marian
+raking the pods into a heap and setting fire to the heap. I imagined
+that after tea Gwendolen played the 'Reverie' by Slapovski. After
+dinner: 'Patience.'"
+
+May pondered.
+
+"And now. May," said Lady Dashwood, looking tired in spite of her theory
+that she had become a new woman, "it's a lovely day; even Louise allows
+that the sun is shining, and I can't have you staying indoors on my
+account. I won't allow you in my bedroom to-day. I shall be very busy."
+
+"No!" said May, reproachfully. "I shall not allow business."
+
+"I'm just going to write a letter to my dear old John, whom I've treated
+shamefully for a week, only sending him a scrawl on half a page. Now, I
+want you to go to church, or else for a walk. I can tell you what the
+doctor says when you come back."
+
+May said neither "Yes" nor "No." She laughed a little and went out of
+the room.
+
+In the breakfast-room the Warden was already there. They greeted each
+other and sat down together, and talked strict commonplaces till the
+meal was over. He did not ask May what she was going to do, neither did
+she ask him any questions. They both were following a line of action
+that they thought was the right one. Neither intended meeting the other
+unless circumstances compelled the meeting; circumstances like
+breakfast, lunch and dinner. It was clear to both of them that, except
+on these occasions, they had no business with each other. The Warden was
+clear about it because he was a man still ashamed.
+
+May was clear that she had no business to see the Warden except when
+necessity occasioned it, because each moment made her more unfaithful to
+the memory of the dead, to the memory of the dead man who could no
+longer claim her, who had given away his all at the call of duty and who
+had no power to hold her now. So she, too, being honourably proud, felt
+ashamed in the presence of the Warden.
+
+All that morning was wasted. The doctor did not come, and May spent the
+time waiting for him. Lady Dashwood sat up in bed and wrote an
+apparently interminable letter to her husband. Whenever May appeared she
+said: "Go away, May!" and then she looked long and wistfully at her
+niece.
+
+Two or three men came to lunch and went into the library afterwards with
+the Warden, and May went to her Aunt Lena's room.
+
+"The doctor won't come now till after three, May, so you must go out, or
+you will really grieve me," said Lady Dashwood. "Jim will take you out.
+He came in just after you left me before lunch, and I told him you would
+go out."
+
+"You are supposed to be resting," said May, "and I can't have you making
+arrangements, dear Aunt Lena. I shall do exactly what I please, and
+shall not even tell you what I please to do. I do believe," she added,
+as she shook up the pillows, "that in the next world, dear, you will
+want to make plans for God, and that will get you into serious trouble."
+
+Lady Dashwood sighed deeply. "Oh dear, oh dear," she said, "I suppose I
+must go on pretending I'm ill."
+
+May shook her head at her and pulled down the blinds, and left her in
+the darkness suitable for repose.
+
+The Warden had not mentioned a walk. Perhaps he hadn't found an
+opportunity with those men present! Should she go for a walk alone? She
+found herself dressing, putting on her things with a feverish haste.
+Then she took off her coat and sat down, and took her hat off and held
+it on her knees.
+
+She thought she heard the sound of a voice in the corridor outside, and
+she put on her hat with trembling fingers and caught up the coat and
+scarf and her gloves.
+
+She went out into the corridor and found it empty and still. She went to
+the head of the stairs. There was no sound coming from the library. But
+even if the Warden were still there with the other men, she might not
+hear any sounds of their talk. They might be there or they might not. It
+was impossible to tell.
+
+Perhaps he had gone to look for her in the drawing-room and, finding no
+one there, had gone out.
+
+The drawing-room door was open. She glanced in. The room was empty, of
+course, and the afternoon sunshine was coming in through the windows,
+falling across the floor towards the fireplace. It would soon creep up
+to the portrait over the fireplace.
+
+May waited several minutes, walking about the room and listening, and
+then she went out and closed the door behind her. She went down the
+staircase into the hall, opened the front door very slowly and went out.
+
+An indescribable loneliness seized her as she walked over the gravelled
+court to the gates. The afternoon sunshine was less friendly than rain
+and bitter wind. She took the road to the parks, meeting the signs of
+the war that had obliterated the old Sunday afternoons of Oxford in the
+days of peace. Here was suffering, a deliberate preparation for more
+suffering. Did all this world-suffering make her small personal grief
+any less? Yes, it did; it would help her to get over the dreary space of
+time, the days, months, years till she was a grey-haired woman and was
+resigned, having learned patience and even become thankful!
+
+Once she thought she saw the figure of the Warden in the distance, and
+then her heart beat suffocatingly, but it was not he. Once she thought
+she saw Bingham walking with some other man. He rounded the walk by the
+river and--no, it was not Mr. Bingham--the face was different. She began
+asking herself questions that had begun to disturb her. Was the real
+tragedy of the Warden's engagement to him not the discovery that
+Gwendolen was silly and weak, but that she was not honourable? Had he
+suspected something of the kind before he received that letter? Wasn't
+it a suspicion of the kind that had made him speak as he did in the
+drawing-room after they had returned from Christ Church? Might he not
+have been contented with Gwendolen if she had been straight and true,
+however weak and foolish? Was he the sort of man who demands sympathy
+and understanding from friends, men and women, but something very
+different from a wife? Was the Warden one of those men who prefer a wife
+to be shallow because they shrink from any permanent demand being made
+upon their moral nature or their intellect? Perhaps the Warden craved a
+wife who was thoughtless, and, choosing Gwendolen, was disappointed in
+her, solely because he found she was not trustworthy. That suspicion was
+a bitter one. Was it an unjust suspicion?
+
+As May walked, the river beside her slipped along slowly under the
+melancholy willows. The surface of the water was laden with fallen
+leaves and the wreckage of an almost forgotten summer. It was strangely
+sad, this river!
+
+May turned away and began walking back to the Lodgings. There was a
+deepening sunshine in the west, a glow was coming into the sky. Oh, the
+sadness of that glorious sunset!
+
+May was glad to hide away from it in the narrow streets. She was glad to
+get back to the court and to enter the darkened house, and yet there was
+no rest for her there. Soon, very soon, she would say good-bye to this
+calm secluded home and go out alone into the wilderness!
+
+She walked straight to her room and took off her things, and then went
+into Lady Dashwood's room. Louise was arranging a little table for tea
+between the bed and the windows.
+
+"Well!" cried Lady Dashwood. "So you have had a good walk!"
+
+"It was a lovely afternoon," said May. She looked out of the window and
+could see the colour of the sunset reflected on the roof opposite.
+
+Lady Dashwood watched Louise putting a cloth on the table, and remarked
+that "poor Jim" would be having tea all alone!
+
+"I think the Warden is out," said May, as she stood at the window.
+
+"Oh!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood, but at that moment the doctor was ushered
+into the room. He apologised for coming so late in the day, he had been
+pressed with work. "I'm perfectly well," said Lady Dashwood; "I don't
+need a doctor, you are simply wasted on me. I can come down to dinner."
+
+There was no doubt that she was better. The doctor admitted it and
+praised her, but he refused to let her get up till the next day, and
+then only for tea in the drawing-room; and, strange to say, Lady
+Dashwood did not argue the point, merely remarking that she wasn't sure
+whether she could be trusted to remain in bed. She wouldn't promise that
+she could be trusted.
+
+When the doctor left May slipped out with him, and they went along the
+corridor together.
+
+"How much better is she?" she asked. "Is she really on the road to being
+quite well?"
+
+"She's all right," said the doctor, as they went down the staircase,
+"but she mustn't be allowed to get as low as she was yesterday, or there
+will be trouble."
+
+"And," said May, "what about me?" and she explained to him that she was
+only in Oxford on a visit and had work in London that oughtn't to be
+left.
+
+"Has she got a good maid?" asked the doctor.
+
+"An excitable Frenchwoman, but otherwise useful." They were at the front
+door now.
+
+"And you really ought to go to-morrow?"
+
+"I ought," said May, and her heart seemed to be sinking low down--lower
+and lower.
+
+"Very well," said the doctor, "I suppose we must let you go, Mrs.
+Dashwood," and as he spoke he pulled the door wide open. "Here is the
+Warden!" he said.
+
+There was the Warden coming in at the gate. May was standing so that
+she could not see into the court. She started at the doctor's remark.
+
+"I'll speak to him," he said, and, bowing, he went down the steps,
+leaving the door open behind him. May turned away and walked upstairs.
+She wouldn't have to tell the Warden that she was going to-morrow; the
+doctor would tell him, of course. Would he care?
+
+She went back to the bedroom, and Lady Dashwood looked round eagerly at
+her, but did not ask her any questions.
+
+"Now, dear, pour out the tea," she said. "The doctor was a great
+interruption. My dear May, I wish I wasn't such an egotist."
+
+"You aren't," said May, sitting down and pouring out two cups of tea.
+
+"I am," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Why?" asked May.
+
+"Well, you see," said Lady Dashwood, "I was terribly upset about Belinda
+and Co., because Belinda and Co. had pushed her foot in at my front
+door, or rather at Jim's front door; but she's gone now, as far as I'm
+personally concerned. She's a thing of the past. But, and here it comes,
+Belindas are still rampant in the world, and there are male as well as
+female Belindas; and I bear it wonderfully. I shall quite enjoy a cup of
+tea. Thanks, darling."
+
+"If anybody were to come and say to you," said May, looking deeply into
+her cup, "'Will you join a Society for the painless extermination of
+Belindas--Belindas of both classes--Belindas in expensive furs, and
+tattered Belindas,' wouldn't you become a member, or at least give a
+guinea?"
+
+Lady Dashwood smiled a little. "Dear May, how satirical you are with
+your poor old aunt!"
+
+"I'm not satirical," said May.
+
+"I'm afraid," groaned Lady Dashwood, "it's mainly because we think
+things will be made straight in the next world that we don't do enough
+here. Now, I haven't that excuse, May, because you know I never have
+looked forward to the next world. Somehow I can't!"
+
+Something in her aunt's voice made May look round at her.
+
+"Don't be sorrowful, dear," she said.
+
+"Now that I've slanged Belinda," murmured Lady Dashwood, "I've begun to
+think about my own short-comings."
+
+"Nonsense, dear aunt," said May. "You are not accustomed to think about
+yourself; it must be a sign that you are not feeling well. I shall ring
+for Louise." May spoke in a bantering voice, but her eyes did not smile.
+
+"For mercy's sake, don't," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+The glow had faded from the roof of the college opposite, and had become
+grey and cold when May got up and took the little tea tray from her Aunt
+Lena's bed.
+
+"Now, I've got just a few lines more to add to my letter to my old dear
+one," said Lady Dashwood. "Suppose you go down and see what's
+happening?"
+
+"What's happening!" said May, but she did not ask a question, merely she
+repeated her aunt's words.
+
+"Yes, dear," said Lady Dashwood. "What's happening. All sorts of things
+happen, you know; things go on! Please ring, I want Louise to clear
+away. Now, go down into the drawing-room and, if you see Jim, give him
+my love."
+
+May went into the empty drawing-room and sat there till it grew dark,
+doing nothing. Robinson came in to make up the fire and draw the
+curtains. He apologised for his lateness, explaining that he did not
+think any one was in the drawing-room.
+
+"Will you have dinner with 'er ladyship?" he asked, "or in the
+dining-room, m'm? The Warden is dining in 'all."
+
+May walked to a little table and took up one of the books that were
+lying there.
+
+"Upstairs, please, Robinson," she answered.
+
+She began looking through the book, turning over the pages, but the
+print seemed unintelligible. She stood listening to Robinson's movements
+in the room. Then the door opened and the Warden came in and startled
+her so much that she dropped the book upon the table.
+
+He was in his gown, just come back from chapel. He came some way into
+the room and stood at a little distance from her. She did not look at
+him, though she turned towards him in acknowledgment of his presence.
+
+"Wasn't the sunset wonderful?" she said.
+
+"It was a wonderful sunset!" he said.
+
+Robinson was still busy in the room, and the Warden moved to the
+fireplace and stood looking as if he was undecided whether to stay or to
+go.
+
+"I'm sorry I have to dine out this evening," said the Warden. "I have no
+choice in the matter, unfortunately."
+
+"Of course," said May. "Please don't think of me. I have Aunt Lena to
+look after."
+
+"You are very good to her," he said, and lingered for a moment.
+
+Robinson was now going towards the door with his soft, light, though
+rather shambling movements.
+
+The Warden moved towards the door too, and then stopped and said--
+
+"There isn't anything I can do for you, any book I can lend you for this
+evening?"
+
+"No, thanks very much," said May. "I have all I want," and she took up
+the book she had dropped with an air of wanting it very much, and went
+towards the chair she had been sitting in before Robinson disturbed her.
+
+The Warden swung himself round. She could hear the sound of his robe
+against the lintel of the door as he went out and left her alone. He
+might have stayed a few minutes if he had wished! He didn't wish!
+
+When she went to her Aunt Lena's bedroom, half an hour later, she found
+that he had been there, sitting with her and talking, and had gone five
+minutes ago. The Warden seemed to move like some one in a dream. He came
+and went and never stayed.
+
+During dinner Lady Dashwood said, not a propos of anything--
+
+"Your poor Uncle John is beginning to get restive, and I suppose I shall
+have to go back to him in a few days. Having done all the mischief that
+I could, I suppose it is time I should leave Oxford. Louise will be glad
+and Jim will be sorry, I am afraid. I haven't broken to him yet that my
+time is coming to an end. I really dread telling him. It was different
+when he was a college tutor--he had only rooms then. Now he has a house.
+It's very dismal for him to be alone."
+
+Here Lady Dashwood stopped abruptly and went on eating. About nine
+o'clock she professed to be ready "to be put to bed," and May, who had
+been knitting by her side, got up and prepared to leave her for the
+night.
+
+As she kissed her she wondered why her Aunt Lena had never asked her how
+long she was going to stay. Why hadn't she told her after seeing the
+doctor, and got it over? The Warden knew and yet did not say a word, but
+that was different!
+
+Should she tell her aunt now? She hesitated. No, it might perhaps make
+her wakeful. It would be better to give her nothing to think about.
+There would be time to-morrow. She would tell her before breakfast, on
+the way downstairs. It would be giving her long enough notice if she put
+off her journey till the late afternoon. And there _was_ no need to
+leave on Monday till the late afternoon.
+
+"You are going down into the drawing-room again?" said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"Yes; you must sleep well, dear," said May, bending down and kissing
+her.
+
+"Oh, very well," said Lady Dashwood, closing her eyes.
+
+Later on disturbing thoughts came to her. Why had May ceased to show any
+emotion? Why had she become quiet and self-contained? That wasn't a good
+sign. And what about to-morrow? Did she mean to go? She had said
+nothing, but she might have made up her mind to go. And there was Jim
+going in and out and doing _nothing_! Oh, why couldn't the dear things
+see that they were made for one another? Why couldn't they go about
+mysterious, blown up with self-importance--and engaged?
+
+When Louise came in she found her mistress still awake.
+
+"Louise, before you settle me, see if Mrs. Dashwood has gone to bed.
+Don't disturb her, of course."
+
+"Bien, Madame," said Louise; and she left the room with the air of one
+who is going to fathom a mystery.
+
+"What a nuisance Louise is," sighed Lady Dashwood, turning on her
+pillow. She did not turn her head again when Louise came back.
+
+"Madame is not in her room," said Louise, in a voice of profound
+interest, and she waited to hear the result.
+
+"Oh!" said Lady Dashwood, brightening a little. "Well, Louise, light a
+night light and leave it at the other end of the room, so that the light
+doesn't come on my face! I don't want to be in complete darkness or the
+Warden will not come in. He will think I am asleep."
+
+"Madame will not sleep?" demanded Louise.
+
+"Of course I shall sleep," said Lady Dashwood, and she began thinking
+again.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI
+
+A FAREWELL
+
+
+When May went back again to the drawing-room she did not sit down
+immediately but walked round, taking up the books that were lying about.
+Some she had read, and the book she had taken up by accident before
+dinner did not interest her. She took up one after another and read the
+title, and then, seeing a small soft yellow volume full of verse, she
+carried it with her to her chair. She might be able to read and follow
+something slight; she could not concentrate herself on anything that
+needed thought.
+
+She opened the volume. It was an anthology of Victorian verse. She began
+looking through it. She read and read--at least she turned over page
+after page, following the sense here and there. Books could not distract
+her from painful thoughts about herself; hard work with hands and eyes,
+work such as hers would be able to distract her. She was relying upon it
+to do so; she felt that her work was her refuge. She was thankful that
+she had a refuge--very thankful, and yet she was counting how many more
+hours she still had before her in Oxford. There she showed her weakness;
+she knew that every hour in Oxford meant pain, and yet she did not want
+to go away! At last she had turned over all the pages and had come to
+the last page. There her eyes were caught, and they held on to some
+printed words. She read! The words were like the echo of a voice, a
+voice that thrilled her even in memory!
+
+    "And the Glory of the Lord shall be all in all."
+
+She read the poem through and through again. It took hold of her.
+
+She sat musing over it. The clock struck ten. To sit on and on was like
+waiting for him! She resented the thought bitterly. She rose from her
+chair, meaning to take the book up with her to her room. To have it
+beside her would be a little consolation. She would read it through
+again the last thing before trying to sleep. She was already walking to
+the door, very slowly, her will compelling unwilling limbs.
+
+"You are just going?" said the Warden's voice. He had suddenly opened
+the door and stood before her.
+
+"I was going," she said, and held on to the book, open as it was at the
+last page. "Have you just come back from dinner?"
+
+"I have just come back," he said, and he closed the door behind him. But
+he stayed near the door, for May was standing just where she had stood
+when he came in, the book in her hand. "I regretted very much that you
+should be alone this last evening of your stay----" He paused and looked
+at her.
+
+"I ought to have asked some one to dine with you. I am so little
+accustomed to guests, but I ought to have thought of it."
+
+"I am used to being alone in the evening," said May, now smoothing the
+page of her book with her free hand. "Except on Saturdays and Sundays,
+when I go to friends of mine, I am usually alone--and generally glad to
+be, after my day's work. Besides, I have been with Aunt Lena this
+evening. I only left her an hour ago."
+
+He came nearer and stood looking at her and at the book in her hands. He
+seemed suddenly to recognise the book, and saw that it was open at the
+last page.
+
+"I ought not to have quoted that to you," he said in a low voice; "those
+words of that poem--there under your hand."
+
+"Why not?" she asked, shutting the book up and holding it closed between
+her hands. "Why shouldn't you have quoted it?" and she looked at the
+book intently, listening for his voice again.
+
+"Because it savoured of self-righteousness, and that was not becoming in
+a man who had brought his own troubles upon himself."
+
+May did not look up at him; she felt, too keenly the poignancy of that
+brief confession, dignified in its simplicity, a confession that a
+weaker man would have been afraid to make, and a man of less
+intelligence could not have made because he would not have understood
+the dignity of it. May found no words with which to speak to him; she
+could only look at the carpet stupidly and admire him with all the
+pulses in her body.
+
+"Your interpretation of 'the Glory of the Lord' is the right one; I
+think--I feel convinced of it."
+
+He stood before her, wearing a curiously pathetic expression of
+diffidence.
+
+That moment passed, and then he seemed to force himself back into his
+old attitude of courteous reserve.
+
+"You were just going when I came in," he said, moving and putting out
+his hand to open the door for her. "I am keeping you."
+
+"I was going," said May, "but, Dr. Middleton----"
+
+He let his arm drop. "Yes?" he said.
+
+"You have, I am afraid, a totally wrong idea of me."
+
+He stared straight into her face as she spoke, but it was his veiled
+stare, in which he held himself aloof for reasons of his own.
+
+"I don't think so," he said quickly.
+
+"I talked about 'my interpretation' of the words you quoted," she said,
+"just as if I spoke from some special knowledge, from personal
+experience, I mean. I had no intention of giving you that idea; it was
+merely a _thought_ I expressed."
+
+How could she say what her heart was full of without betraying herself?
+He was waiting for her to speak with a strained look in his eyes.
+
+"And, of course, any one can 'think.' I am afraid----Somehow--I find it
+impossible to say what I mean--I--I am horribly stupid to-night."
+
+She moved forward and he opened the door, and held it open for her. She
+went out with only a brief "Good-night," because no more words would
+come. She had said all she was able to say, and now she walked along
+trying to get her breath again. In the corridor she came upon Louise,
+who seemed to have sprung suddenly from nowhere.
+
+"Can I assist Madame?" said Louise, her face full of unrestrained
+curiosity. "Can I brush Madame's hair?"
+
+May made one or two more steps without finding her voice, then she
+said--
+
+"No, thank you, Louise." And feeling more than seeing the Frenchwoman's
+ardent stare of interrogation, she added: "Louise, you may bring back my
+travelling things, please, the first thing to-morrow morning. I shall
+want them."
+
+Louise was silent for a moment, just as a child is voiceless for a
+moment before it bursts into shrieks. She followed May to her door.
+
+"I shall pack everything for Madame," she exclaimed, and her voice
+twanged like steel. She followed May into her bedroom. "I shall pack
+everything when Madame goes truly." Here she glanced round the room, and
+her large dark eyes rested with wild indignation on the little stained
+figure of St. Joseph standing on the table by the bed.
+
+The small pathetic saint stood all unconscious, its machine-made face
+looking down amiably upon the branch of lilies in its hands.
+
+"I want them early," said May, "because I prefer to pack myself, Louise.
+You are such a kind creature, but I really prefer waiting upon myself."
+
+"I shall pack for Madame," repeated Louise.
+
+May went to the toilet table and put down the book that she was
+carrying.
+
+"Good night, Louise," was all she said.
+
+Louise moved. She groaned, then she took hold of the door and began to
+withdraw herself behind it.
+
+"I wish Madame a good repose. I shall pack for Madame, comme il faut,"
+she said with superb obstinacy, and she closed the door after her.
+
+Good repose! Repose seemed to May the last word that was suitable. Fall
+asleep she might, for she was strong and full of vigour, but repose----!
+
+She read the poem once again through when she was in bed. Then she laid
+the book under the pillow and turned out the light.
+
+How many hours had she still in Oxford? About seventeen hours. And even
+when she was back again at her work--sundered for ever from the place
+that she had learned to love better than any other place in the
+world--she would have something precious to remember. Even if they never
+met again after those seventeen hours were over, even though they never
+saw each other's faces again, she would have something to remember:
+words of his spoken only to her, words that betrayed the fineness of his
+nature. Those words of his belonged to her.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+And it was in this spirit of resignation, held more fully than before,
+that she met him again at breakfast. She was in the breakfast-room
+first and seized the paper, determined to behave as cheerfully as if she
+had arrived, and not as if she was going away. She was going to make a
+successful effort to start her new life at once, her life with Oxford
+behind her. She was not going to be found by him, when he entered,
+silent and reminiscent of last evening.
+
+When the Warden came in she put down the paper with the air of one who
+has seen something that suggests conversation.
+
+"I suppose," she said, starting straight away without any preliminary
+but a smile at him and an inclination of her head in answer to his
+old-fashioned courteous bow as he entered--"I suppose when I come back
+to Oxford--say in ten years' time, if any one invites me--I shall find
+things changed. The New Oxford we talked of with Mr. Bingham will be in
+full swing. You will perhaps be Vice-Chancellor."
+
+The Warden did not smile. "Ah, yes!" he remarked, and he looked
+abstractedly at the coffee-pot and at the chair that May was about to
+seat herself in. "Ah, yes!" he said again; then he added: "Have I kept
+you waiting?"
+
+"Not a bit," said May.
+
+"I ran in to see Lena," he explained.
+
+May took her place opposite the coffee. He watched her, and then went
+and sat down at the opposite end of the table in his own seat. Then he
+got up and went to the side table.
+
+Try as they would they were painfully conscious of each other's
+movements. Everything seemed strangely, cruelly important at that meal.
+May poured out the Warden's cup, and that in itself was momentous. He
+would come and take it, of course! She moved the cup a little. He waited
+on her from the side table and then looked at his coffee.
+
+"Is this for me?" he asked.
+
+"Yes," said May; "it is yours."
+
+He took up the cup and went round with it to his place, as if he was
+carrying something rare and significant.
+
+They sat opposite each other, these two, alone together, and for the
+last time--possibly. They talked stiffly in measured sentences to each
+other, talk that merely served as a defence. And behind this talk both
+were painfully aware that the precious moments were slipping away, and
+yet nothing could be done to stay them. It was only when the meal was
+over, and there was nothing left for them to do but to rise and go, that
+they stopped talking and looked at each other apprehensively.
+
+"You are not going till the afternoon?" he questioned.
+
+"Not till the afternoon," she answered, but she did not say whether she
+was going early or late. She rose from the table and stood by it.
+
+"The reason why I ask," he said, rising too, "is that I cannot be at
+home for lunch, and afterwards there is hospital business with which I
+am concerned."
+
+May had as yet only vaguely decided on her train, though she knew the
+trains by heart. She had now to fix it definitely, it was wrung from
+her.
+
+"I may not be able to get back in time to go with you to the station,
+but I hope to be in time to meet you there, to see you off," he said;
+and he added: "I hope to be in time," as if he doubted it nevertheless.
+
+"You mustn't make a point of seeing me off," said May. "And don't you
+think railway-stations are places which one avoids as much as possible?"
+She asked the question a little tremulously and smiled, but did not look
+at him.
+
+"Ours is pretty bad," he said, without a smile. "But I hope it won't
+have the effect of making you forget that there is any beauty in our old
+city. I hope you will carry away with you some regret at parting--some
+memory of us."
+
+"Of course I shall," said May; and detecting the plaintiveness of her
+own voice, she added: "I shall have to come and see it again--as I
+said--perhaps ten years hence, when--when it will be different! It will
+be most interesting."
+
+He moved slowly away as if he was going out, and then stopped.
+
+"I shall manage to be in time to see you off," he said, as if some
+alteration in his plans suddenly occurred to him. "I shall manage it."
+
+"You mustn't put off anything important for me," May called softly after
+him. "In these days women don't expect to be looked after; we are
+getting mighty independent," and there was much courage in her voice.
+
+He wavered at the door. "You don't forbid me to come?" he questioned,
+and he turned and looked at her.
+
+"Of course not," said May, and she turned away quickly and went to the
+window and looked out. "I hope I am not brazenly independent!" She added
+this last sentence airily at the window and stared out of it, as if
+attracted by something in the quadrangle.
+
+She heard him go out and shut the door.
+
+She waited some little time doing nothing, standing still by the
+window--very still. Then she went out of the room, up the staircase and
+into the corridor towards her aunt's bedroom.
+
+She knocked and went in.
+
+Lady Dashwood turned round and looked at her. Something in May's face
+arrested her.
+
+"A lovely morning, May. Just the day for seeing Oxford at its best."
+
+And this forced May to say, at once, what she was going to say. She was
+going away in the afternoon.
+
+Lady Dashwood received May's news quietly. She gave May a look of meek
+resignation that was harder to bear than any expostulation would have
+been.
+
+"Everybody is going," she said slowly, and lying back on her pillows
+with a sigh. "I must be going directly, as soon as I am up and about. I
+can't leave your Uncle John alone any longer, and there is so much that
+even an old woman can do, and that I had to put aside to come here."
+
+May was standing at the foot of the bed looking at her very gravely.
+
+"I can't imagine you not doing a lot," she said.
+
+"I shall be all right in a couple of days," said Lady Dashwood. "What
+was wrong with me, dear, was nerves, nerves, nothing but nerves, and I
+am ashamed of it. When I am bouncing with vigour again, May, I shall go.
+I shall leave Oxford. I shall leave Jim."
+
+"I suppose you will have to," said May, vaguely.
+
+"Jim will be horribly lonely," said Lady Dashwood.
+
+"I'm afraid so," said May, slowly.
+
+"Imagine," said Lady Dashwood, "Jim seeing me off at the station and
+then coming back here. Imagine him coming back alone, crunching over the
+gravel and going up the steps into the hall. You know what the hall is
+like--a sweet place--and those dim portraits on the walls all looking
+down at him out of their faded eyes! All men!"
+
+May looked at her Aunt Lena gravely.
+
+"Then see him look round! Silence--nobody there. Then see him go up that
+staircase. He looks into the drawing-room, that big empty room. Nobody,
+my dear, but that fast-looking clergyman over the fireplace. That's not
+all, May. I can see him go out and go to his library. Nobody
+there--everything silent--books--the Cardinal--and the ghost."
+
+"Oh!" said May. She did not smile.
+
+"Now, my dear," said Lady Dashwood, "I'm not going to think about it
+any more! I've done with it. Let's talk of something else." That,
+indeed, was the last that Lady Dashwood said about it.
+
+When lunch time came May found herself seized with a physical
+contraction over her heart that prevented food from taking its usual
+course downward. She endured as long as she could, but at last she got
+up from the long silent table just as Robinson was about to go for a
+moment into the pantry. She threw a hurried excuse for going at his thin
+stooping back. She said she found she "hadn't time," and she examined
+her watch ostentatiously as she went out of the room.
+
+"I'm going to take my last farewell of Oxford," May said, looking for a
+moment into Lady Dashwood's room. "I'm going for a walk. I am going to
+look at the High and at Magdalen Bridge."
+
+Lady Dashwood smiled rather sadly. "Ah, yes," she said.
+
+May found Louise packing with a slowness and an elaborate care that was
+a reproof somehow in itself. It seemed to say: "Ungrateful! All is
+thrown away on you. You care not----"
+
+May put on her hat, and through the mirror she saw Louise rolling up
+Saint Joseph with some roughness in a silk muffler.
+
+"Madame does not like Oxford?" said Louise, drily, as she stuffed the
+saint into a hat.
+
+"I care for it very much, Louise," said May, hastily putting on her
+coat. "Oxford is a place one can never forget."
+
+"Eh, bien oui," said Louise, enigmatically.
+
+Then May went out and said farewell to the towers and spires and the
+ancient walls, and went to look at the trees weeping by Magdalen Bridge.
+It was all photographed on her memory. In the squalid streets of London,
+where her work lay, she would remember all this beauty and this ancient
+peace. There would be no possibility of her forgetting it! She would
+dream of it at night. It would form the background of her life.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Back again in the Lodgings, she found that she had only a few minutes
+more to spare before she must leave. She took farewell of Louise, and
+left her standing, her hand clasping money and her eyes luminous with
+reproach. There was, indeed, more than reproach, a curious incredulity,
+a wonder at something. May did not fathom what it was. She did not hear
+Louise muttering below her breath--
+
+"Ah, mon Dieu! these English people--this Monsieur the Warden--this
+Madame la niece. Ah, this Lodgings! Ah, this Oxford!"
+
+In the drawing-room May found Lady Dashwood in a loose gown, seated on a
+couch and "Not at home" to callers.
+
+Only a few minutes more!
+
+"I'm afraid I've been very long," said May. "But it is difficult to part
+with Oxford."
+
+"Is it so difficult?" asked Lady Dashwood, then she suddenly pulled
+herself up and said: "Oh, May, a note was left just after you went out
+by Mrs. Potten. She wouldn't come in. Mark that, May! She had been
+seeing Gwendolen off. The girl has gone to her mother. Marian wants me
+to lunch with her to-morrow. I telephoned her a few moments ago that I
+would go and see her later in the week. I wonder if she wants to speak
+to me about Gwen? I can't help wondering. Oh dear, the whole thing seems
+like a dream now! Don't you think so?"
+
+May was drinking a hurried cup of tea. "No, it seems very real to me,"
+she said.
+
+Lady Dashwood looked at her silently. The Warden had not returned. At
+least there was no sign of his being in the house.
+
+Robinson came in to announce the taxi.
+
+"Is the Warden in?" asked Lady Dashwood, half raising herself.
+
+No, the Warden was not in.
+
+"He will meet you at the station," said Lady Dashwood, nodding her head
+slowly at her niece.
+
+"He may not be able to," said May, going up to the sofa. She spoke as if
+it were a matter of unconcern. She must keep this up. She had counselled
+Gwendolen to be brave! This thought brought with it a little sob of
+laughter that nearly choked her. "Good-bye, Aunt Lena," she said,
+throwing her arms round Lady Dashwood, and the two rested their heads
+together for a moment in a silent embrace. Then they parted.
+
+"Good-bye," said Lady Dashwood. "Look out for poor Jim on the platform.
+Look out for him!"
+
+They kissed once or twice in formal fashion, and then May walked away to
+the door and went out without looking back.
+
+The door closed behind her and Lady Dashwood was left alone.
+
+She lay back on the cushions. The sun was coming in through the windows
+much as it had done that afternoon when she was reading the telegram
+from May.
+
+"I can't do any more," she murmured half aloud; "I can't."
+
+Her eyes wandered to the fire and up to the portrait over the fireplace.
+The light falling on the painted face obliterated the shadows at the
+corners of the mouth, so that he seemed to be smiling.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII
+
+THE WARDEN HURRIES
+
+
+The Warden was on his way to the station. For three days he had done
+what he could to keep out of May Dashwood's presence. He had invented no
+excuses for seeing her, he had invented reasons for not seeing her.
+These three days of self-restraint were almost over.
+
+He could have returned home in time to take her to the railway-station
+himself if he had intended to do so. His business was over and he
+lingered, a desperate conscientiousness forcing him to linger. He
+allowed himself to be button-holed by other men, not completely aware of
+what was being said to him, because all the time in his imagination he
+saw May waiting for him. He pictured her going down the staircase to the
+hall and getting into her taxi alone. He pictured this while some one
+propounded to him plans, not only for successfully getting rid of party
+politics, but for the regeneration of the whole human race. It was at
+that point that he broke away. Some one else proposed walking back to
+King's with him.
+
+"I'm going to the station," said the Warden, and he struck off by
+himself and began to walk faster. He had run it too close, he risked
+missing her altogether. That he did not intend. He meant to arrive a
+moment before the train started. It was surely not part of his duty to
+be absolutely discourteous! He must just say "Good-bye." He began to
+walk still faster, for it seemed likely that he might be too late even
+to say "Good-bye."
+
+In Beaumont Street a taxi was in sight. He hailed it and got in. The man
+seemed an outrageously long time getting the car round and started. He
+seemed to be playing with the curb of the pavement. At last he started.
+
+The squalor of the approach to the station did not strike the Warden
+this afternoon. It always had struck him before unpleasantly. Just now
+he was merely aware of vehicles to be passed before he could reach the
+station, and he had his eyes on his watch continually to see how the
+moments were going. Suppose the train moved off just as he reached the
+platform? The Warden put his hand on the door ready to jump out. He had
+the fare already in the other hand. The station at last!
+
+He got out of the taxi swiftly. No, the train was there and the platform
+was sprinkled with people--some men in khaki; many women. He was just in
+time, but only just--not in time to help her, or to speak with her or
+say anything more than just "Good-bye."
+
+A sudden rage filled him. He ran his eyes along the whole length of the
+platform. She was probably seated in a carriage already, reading, Oxford
+forgotten perhaps! In that case why was he hurrying like this? Why was
+he raging?
+
+No, there she was! The sight of her made his heart beat wildly. She was
+there, standing by an open carriage door, looking wistfully along the
+platform, looking for him! A porter was slamming the doors to already.
+
+The Warden strode along and came face to face with her. Under the large
+brimmed hat and through the veil, he could see that she had turned ashy
+pale. They stared for a moment at each other desperately, and he could
+see that she was trembling. The porter laid his hand on the door. "Are
+you getting in, m'm?"
+
+Only a week ago the Warden had committed the one rash and foolish action
+of his life. He had done it in ignorance of his own personal needs and
+with, perhaps, the unconscious cynicism of a man who has lived for forty
+years unable to find his true mate. But since then his mind had been lit
+up with the flash of a sudden poignant experience. He knew now what he
+wanted; what he must have, or fail. He knew that there was nothing else
+for him. It was this or nothing. The sight of her face, her trembling,
+pierced his soul with an amazing joy, and it seemed as if the voice of
+some invisible Controller of all human actions, great and small,
+breathed in his ear saying: "Now! Take your chance! This is your true
+destiny!"
+
+There was no one in the carriage but a young girl at the further end
+huddled behind a novel. But had there been twenty there, it would not
+have altered his resolution. The Warden placed his hand on May's arm.
+
+"I am travelling with this lady as far as Reading," he said to the
+porter, "but I have come too late to get a ticket. Tell the guard,
+please."
+
+The Warden showed no sign now of haste or excitement; he had regained
+his usual courteous and deliberate manner, for the purpose of his life
+was his again. He helped her in and followed her. The door was banged
+behind them. There was May's little bundle of rug and umbrella on the
+seat. He moved it on one side so that she could sit there. The train
+began to slide off.
+
+May sank into her seat too dazed to think. He sat down opposite to her.
+They both knew that the moment of their lives had come.
+
+Then he leaned forward, not caring whether he was observed or not
+observed from the other end of the carriage. He leaned forward and
+grasping both of May's hands in his, he looked into her eyes with his
+own slow moving, narrow eyes that absorbed the light. The corners of her
+mouth were trembling, her eyelids trembling.
+
+They never spoke a word as the train moved away and left behind that
+fair ancient city enshrined in squalor and in raucous brick; left behind
+the flat meadows, the sluggish river and the leafless crooked willows;
+but a strange glory came from the west and flooded the whole earth and
+the carriage where they sat.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES,
+ENGLAND
+
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  +--------------------------------------------------------------------+
+  |                       Transcriber's Notes                          |
+  |                                                                    |
+  | Obvious typographical errors have been corrected, with the         |
+  | exception of those contained within letters, which are thought to  |
+  | be deliberate.                                                     |
+  |                                                                    |
+  | The oe ligature has been replaced by oe.                           |
+  |                                                                    |
+  | Where a word has been spelled inconsistently within the text (e.g. |
+  | to-day and today), the spellings have been changed to the one more |
+  | frequently used.                                                   |
+  |                                                                    |
+  | All other spellings and punctuation are as in the original text.   |
+  |                                                                    |
+  +--------------------------------------------------------------------+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The New Warden, by Mrs. David G. Ritchie
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