diff options
Diffstat (limited to '32388-8.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 32388-8.txt | 12409 |
1 files changed, 12409 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/32388-8.txt b/32388-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..841acfd --- /dev/null +++ b/32388-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12409 @@ +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 _Encyclopędia +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 retroussé 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 Cęsar," 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 _trčs trčs bien, trčs distingué_! 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 +_tźte-ą-tźte_! + +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 _trčs 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 déjeuner," 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 faēade 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 +medięval 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 naļveté 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 medięval 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 retroussé 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 extrčme." + +"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 raisonné_ of the others for the camps +in Germany." + +Boreham wanted to say, "Be damned with your _raisonné_," 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 +faēade 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 medięval 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 ą 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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NEW WARDEN *** + +***** This file should be named 32388-8.txt or 32388-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/3/8/32388/ + +Produced by Anne Grieve, Delphine Lettau and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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 + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |