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diff --git a/32388-h/32388-h.htm b/32388-h/32388-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..52e96d5 --- /dev/null +++ b/32388-h/32388-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,15384 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The New Warden, by Mrs. David G. Ritchie. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.signoff {margin-right: 10%; + text-align: right; +} + +.above2 {margin-top: 2em;} + +.above4 {margin-top: 4em;} + + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +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 + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1><a name="top" id="top">THE NEW WARDEN</a></h1> + + +<p class="center"><b>BY MRS. DAVID G. RITCHIE</b></p> +<p class="above2"></p> +<p class="center">AUTHOR OF "TWO SINNERS," ETC.</p> +<p class="above4"></p> +<p class="center">LONDON<br /> + +JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.<br /><br /> + +1919</p> + +<p class="above4"></p> + +<p class="center">FIRST EDITION, <i>Nov., 1918</i>.<br /> + +<i>Reprinted ... March, 1919</i>.<br /> + +<i>All rights reserved</i></p><hr /> + + +<p class="above4"></p> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="2" summary="Table of Contents"> +<tr><td align="left" colspan="2">CHAPTER</td><td align="right">PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">I.</td><td align="left">The Warden's Lodgings</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">II.</td><td align="left">Moral Support</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_14">14</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">III.</td><td align="left">Passionate Pity</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">IV.</td><td align="left">The Unforeseen Happens</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_37">37</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">V.</td><td align="left">Waiting</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_50">50</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VI.</td><td align="left">More Than One Conclusion</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VII.</td><td align="left">Men Marching Past</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VIII.</td><td align="left">The Lost Letter</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">IX.</td><td align="left">The Luncheon Party</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_92">92</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">X.</td><td align="left">Parental Effusions</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_108">108</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XI.</td><td align="left">No Escape</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_124">124</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XII.</td><td align="left">The Ghost</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XIII.</td><td align="left">The Effect of Suggestion</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XIV.</td><td align="left">Different Views</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_151">151</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XV.</td><td align="left">Mrs. Potten's Carelessness</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XVI.</td><td align="left">Seeing Christ Church</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_177">177</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XVII.</td><td align="left">A Tea Party</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XVIII.</td><td align="left">The Moral Claims of an Umbrella</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_201">201</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XIX.</td><td align="left">Honour</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_209">209</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XX.</td><td align="left">Shopping</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_217">217</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXI.</td><td align="left">The Soul of Mrs. Potten</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_227">227</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXII.</td><td align="left">Mr. Boreham's Proposal</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_236">236</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXIII.</td><td align="left">By Moonlight</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_251">251</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXIV.</td><td align="left">A Cause and Impediment</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_259">259</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXV.</td><td align="left">Confessions</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_267">267</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXVI.</td><td align="left">The Anxieties of Louise</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_280">280</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXVII.</td><td align="left">The Forgiveness of the Fates</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_290">290</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXVIII.</td><td align="left">Alma Mater</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_301">301</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXIX.</td><td align="left">Dinner</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_310">310</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXX.</td><td align="left">The End of Belinda and Co.</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_319">319</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXXI.</td><td align="left">A Farewell</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_331">331</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXXII.</td><td align="left">The Warden Hurries</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_343">343</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE NEW WARDEN</h2> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Page 1]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>THE WARDEN'S LODGINGS</h3> + +<p class="above2">The Founders and the Benefactors of Oxford, Princes, +wealthy priests, patriotic gentlemen, noble ladies with +a taste for learning; any of these as they travelled along +the high road, leaving behind them pastures, woods and +river, and halted at the gates of the grey sacred city, +had they been in melancholy mood, might have pictured +to themselves all possible disasters by fire and by siege +that could mar this garnered glory of spiritual effort +and pious memory. Fire and siege were the disasters +of the old days. But a new age has it own disasters—disasters +undreamed of in the old days, and none +of these lovers of Oxford as they entered that fair city, +ever could have foretold that in time to come Oxford +would become enclosed and well-nigh stifled by the +peaceful encroachment of an endless ocean of friendly +red brick, lapping to its very walls.</p> + +<p>The wonder is that Oxford still exists, for the free +jerry-builder of free England, with his natural right to +spoil a landscape or to destroy the beauty of an ancient +treasure house, might have forced his cheap villas into +the very heart of the city; might have propped his +shameless bricks, for the use of Don and of shopkeeper, +against the august grey college walls: he might even +have insulted and defaced that majestic street whose +towers and spires dream above the battlemented roofs +and latticed windows of a more artistic age.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Page 2]</a></span></p> + +<p>But why didn't he? Why didn't he, clothed in +the sanctity of cheapness, desecrate the inner shrine?</p> + +<p>The Wardens and the Bursars of colleges could tell +us much, but the stranger and the pilgrim, coming to +worship, feel as if there must have flashed into being +some sudden Hand from Nowhere and a commanding +Voice saying—"Thus far shalt thou come and no +farther," so that the accursed jerry-builder (under the +impression that he was moved by some financial +reasons of his own) must have obediently picked up his +little bag of tools and trotted off to destroy some other +place.</p> + +<p>Anyhow the real Oxford has been spared—but +it is like a fair mystic gem in a coarse setting. No +green fields and no rustling woods lead the lover of +Oxford gently to her walls.</p> + +<p>The Beauty of England lies there—ringed about +with a desolation of ugliness—for ever. Still she is +there.</p> + +<p>Oxford has never been merely a city of learning, +it has been a fighting city.</p> + +<p>In the twelfth century it sheltered Matilda in that +terrible, barbaric struggle of young England.</p> + +<p>In the seventeenth century it was a city in arms for +the Stuarts. But these were civil wars. Now in +the twentieth century Oxford has risen like one man, +like Galahad—youthful and knightly—urgent at the +Call of Freedom and the Rights of Nations.</p> + +<p>And this Oxford is filled with the "sound of the +forging of weapons," the desk has become a couch for +the wounded, the air is full of the wings of war.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>In this Oxford where the black gown has been laid +aside and young men hurry to and fro in the dress of +the battle-field—in this Oxford no man walked at +times more heavily, feeling the grief that cannot be +made articulate, than did the Warden of King's College<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Page 3]</a></span> +as he went about his work, a lonely man, without wife +or child and with poignant memories of the very +blossom of young manhood plucked from his hand and +gone for ever.</p> + +<p>And of the men who passed under his college gates +and through the ivy-clad quadrangles, most were +strangers—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.</p> + +<p>It was a late October afternoon in 1916 and the +last rays of autumn sunshine fell through the drawing-room +windows of the Warden's lodgings. These rays +of sunshine lit up a notable portrait over the stone +fireplace. The portrait was of a Warden of the +eighteenth century; a fine fleshy face it was, full of +the splendid noisy paganism of his time. You can +stand where you will in the room, but you cannot +escape the sardonic stare that comes from his relentless, +wide-open, luminous eyes. He seems as if he challenged +you to stop and listen to the secret of his double life—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.</p> + +<p>There was only one person in the room, a tall +vigorous woman, still handsome in spite of middle +age, and she was looking up at the portrait with her +hands clasped behind her back. She was not thinking +of the portrait—her thoughts were too intent on +something else. Her thoughts indeed had nothing +to do with the past—they were about the future, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Page 4]</a></span> +future of the new Warden, Dr. Middleton, the future of +this only brother of hers whom she loved more than +anyone in the world—except her own husband; +a brother more than ten years younger than herself, +to whom she had been a mother till she married and who +remained in her eyes a sort of son, all the more precious +to her because children had been denied her.</p> + +<p>She had come at her brother's call to arrange his +new home for him. She had arranged everything +with sober economy, because Oxford was mourning. +She had retained all that she found endurable of the +late Warden's. And now she turned round and looked +on her handiwork.</p> + +<p>The room wore an air of comfort, it was devoid +of all distressful knick-knacks and it was arranged as +were French "<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Salons</span>" of the time of <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mademoiselle +de Lespinasse</span> for conversation, for groups of talkers, +for books and papers; the litter of culture. It was a +drawing-room for scholars in their leisure moments +and for women to whom they could talk. But there +was no complaisance in Lady Dashwood's face as +she looked at her brother's drawing-room, just because +her thoughts were deeply occupied with his future. +What was his future to be like? What was in store +for him? And these thoughts led her to give expression +to a sudden outspoken remark—unflattering to that +future.</p> + +<p>"And now, what woman is going to become mistress +of this room?"</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood's voice had a harshness in it that +startled even herself. "What woman is going to +reign here?" she went on, as if daring herself to be +gentle and resigned. After she had looked round the +room her eye rested upon the portrait over the mantelpiece. +He looked as if he had heard her speak and +stared back at her with his large persistent selfish +eyes—full of cynical wonder. But he remained silent.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Page 5]</a></span> +These were times that he did not understand—but +he observed!</p> + +<p>"It's on Jim's conscience that he <em>must</em> marry, now +that men are so scarce. He's obsessed with the idea," +continued Lady Dashwood, thinking to herself. "And +being like all really good and great men—absolutely +helpless—he is prepared to marry any fool who is +presented to him." Then she added, "Any fool—or +worse!"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood was mentally lashing herself for +this stupidity.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>Here Lady Dashwood's indignation against herself +made the blood tingle hotly in her hands and face. +She was by nature calm, but this afternoon she was +excited. She mentally pictured the Warden—just<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Page 6]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>At this moment the door opened and the old butler, +who had served other Wardens and who had been +retained along with the best furniture as a matter of +course, came into the room and handed a telegram to +Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>She tore open the envelope and read the paper: +"Arrive this evening—about seven. May."</p> + +<p>"Thank——!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood—and +then she suddenly paused, for she met the old thoughtful +eye of Robinson.</p> + +<p>"Yes!" she remarked irrelevantly. Then she +folded the paper. "There is no answer," she said. +"When you've taken the tea away—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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>King's was the "Elect" and Robinson was an +indispensable member of it.</p> + +<p>Robinson went downstairs with his orders, which, +dropping like a pebble into the pool of the servants'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Page 7]</a></span> +quarters, started a quiet expanding ripple to the upper +floor, reaching at last to the blue bedroom.</p> + +<p>Alone in the drawing-room Lady Dashwood was +able to complete her exclamatory remark that Robinson's +solemn eye had checked.</p> + +<p>"Thank Heaven!" she said, and she said it again +more than once. She laughed even and opened the +telegram again and re-read it for the pure pleasure of +seeing the words. "Arrive this evening."</p> + +<p>"I've risked Jim's life—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—<em>that</em> for 'Belinda and Co.'!"</p> + +<p>"Did you speak to me, Lady Dashwood?" asked +a girlish voice, and Lady Dashwood turned swiftly +at the sound and saw just within the doorway a girlish +figure, a pretty face with dark hair and large wandering +eyes.</p> + +<p>"No, Gwen!" said Lady Dashwood. "I didn't +know you were there——" 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: "<em>That</em> for Belinda +and Co.!"</p> + +<p>The girl came forward and looked round the room. +She held two books in her hand, one the Warden had +lent her on her arrival—a short guide to Oxford. She +was still going about with it gazing earnestly at the +print from time to time in bird-like fashion.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Jack Dashwood is arriving this afternoon," +said Lady Dashwood as she moved towards the door.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Page 8]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh," said Gwen, and she stood still in the glow of +the windows, her two books conspicuous in her hand. +She looked at the nearest low easy-chair and dropped +into it, propped one book on her knee and opened the +other at random. Then she gazed down at the page +she had opened and then looked round the room at +Lady Dashwood, keenly aware that she was a beautiful +young girl looking at an elderly woman.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Dashwood is my husband's niece by marriage," +said Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Gwen, who would have been more +interested if the subject of the conversation had been +a man and not a woman.</p> + +<p>"You don't happen to know if the Warden has +come back?" asked Lady Dashwood as she moved to +the door.</p> + +<p>"He is back," said Gwen, and a slightly deeper colour +came into her cheeks and spread on to the creamy +whiteness of her slender neck.</p> + +<p>"In his library?" asked Lady Dashwood, stopping +short and listening for the reply.</p> + +<p>"Yes!" said Gwen, and then she added: "He +has lent me another book." Here she fingered the +book on her knee. "A book about the—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'!"</p> + +<p>If a man had been present Gwen would have dimpled +and demanded sympathy with large lingering glances; +she would have demanded sympathy and approbation +for not knowing the right word and only being able to +suggest "jumps."</p> + +<p>One thing Gwen had already learned: that men +are kinder in their criticism than women! It was +priceless knowledge.</p> + +<p>"Founders, I suppose you mean," said Lady Dashwood +and she opened the door. "Never mind," she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Page 9]</a></span> +said to herself as she closed the door behind her. "Never +mind—May is coming—'Jumps!' What a self-satisfied +little monkey the girl is!"</p> + +<p>At the head of the staircase it was rather dark and +Lady Dashwood put on the lights. Immediately at +right angles to the drawing-room door two or three +steps led up to a corridor that ran over the premises +of the College porter. In this corridor were three +bedrooms looking upon the street, bedrooms occupied +by Lady Dashwood and by Gwendolen Scott, and the +third room, the blue room, about to be occupied by +Mrs. Dashwood. Lady Dashwood passed the corridor +steps, passed the head of the staircase, and went +towards a curtained door. This was the Warden's +bedroom. Beyond was his library door. At this door +beyond, she knocked.</p> + +<p>An agreeable voice answered her knock. She went +in. The library was a noble room. Opposite the door +was a wide, high latticed window, hung with heavy +curtains and looking on to the Entrance Court. To +the right was a great fireplace with a small high window +on each side of it. On the left hand the walls were +lined with books—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.</p> + +<p>"Robinson hasn't drawn your curtains," said Lady +Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Page 10]</a></span> +staring at intently. There was just a faint sprinkling +of grey in his brown hair, but on the regular features +there was almost no trace of age.</p> + +<p>"You have given Gwen another book to read," said +Lady Dashwood coming up to the writing-table.</p> + +<p>The Warden raised his eyes very slowly to hers. +His eyes were peculiar. They were very narrow and +blue, seeming to reflect little. On the other hand, they +seemed to absorb everything. He moved them very +slowly as if he were adjusting a photographic apparatus.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said.</p> + +<p>"You might just as well, my dear, hand out a volume +of the <i>Encyclopędia Britannica</i> to the sparrows in +your garden," said his sister.</p> + +<p>The Warden made no reply, he merely moved the +lamp very slightly nearer to the writing pad in front +of him.</p> + +<p>He had a stored-up memory of pink cheeks, a +pure curve of chin and neck, a dark curl by the ear; +objects young and graceful and gradually absorbed +by those narrow eyes and stored in the brain. He also +had memories less pleasant of the slighting way in +which once or twice his sister had spoken of "Belinda +and Co.," meaning by that the mother of this pretty +piece of pretty girlhood, and the girl herself.</p> + +<p>"She tries hard to read because we expect her to," +continued Lady Dashwood. "If she had her own way +she would throw the books into the fire, as tiresome +stodge."</p> + +<p>The Warden was listening with an averted face and +now he remarked—</p> + +<p>"Did you come in, Lena, to tell me this?"</p> + +<p>When the Warden was annoyed there was in his +voice and in his manner a "something" which many +people called "formidable." As Lady Dashwood stood +looking down at him, there flashed into her mind a +scene of long ago, where the Warden, then an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Page 11]</a></span> +undergraduate, had (for a joke at a party in his rooms) +induced by suggestion a very small weak man with +peaceful principles to insist on fighting the Stroke of +the college Eight, a man over six feet and broad in +proportion. She remembered how she had laughed, +and yet how she made her brother promise not to +exercise that power again. Probably he had completely +forgotten the incident. Why! it was nearly eighteen +years ago, nearly nineteen; and here was James +Middleton no longer an undergraduate but the Warden! +Lady Dashwood bent over him smiling and laid her +solid motherly hand upon his head. "Oh, dear, +how time passes!" she said. "Jim, you are such +a sweet lamb. No, I didn't come to tell you that. I +came to ask you if you were going to dine with us this +evening?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the Warden. "Why?" and he now +looked round at his sister without a trace of irritability +and smiled.</p> + +<p>"Because Mrs. Jack Dashwood is coming here. +I didn't mention it before. Well, the fact is she happens +to have a few days' rest from her work in London. +She is with some relative in Malvern and coming on +here this afternoon."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Jack Dashwood!" repeated the Warden +with evident indifference.</p> + +<p>"Jack Dashwood's widow. You remember my +John's nephew Jack? Poor Jack who was killed at +Mons!"</p> + +<p>Yes, the Warden remembered, and his face clouded +as it always did when war was mentioned.</p> + +<p>"May and he were engaged as boy and girl—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."</p> + +<p>The Warden listened without remark.</p> + +<p>"And I am just going to telephone to Mr. Boreham,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Page 12]</a></span> +said Lady Dashwood, "to ask him to come in to dinner +to meet her!"</p> + +<p>"Boreham!" groaned the Warden, and he took +up his pen from the table.</p> + +<p>"I'm so sorry," said Lady Dashwood, "but he +used to know May Dashwood, so we must ask him, and +I thought it better to get him over at once and have done +with it."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps so," said the Warden, and he stretched +out his left hand for paper. "Only—one never has +done—with Boreham."</p> + +<p>"Poor old Jim!" said Lady Dashwood, "and +now, dear, you can get back to your book," and she +moved away.</p> + +<p>"Book!" grumbled the Warden. "It's business +I have to do; and anyhow I don't see how anyone can +write books now! Except prophecies of the future, +admonitions, sketches of possible policies, heart-searchings."</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood moved away. "Well, that's what +you're doing, dear," she said.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said the Warden gloomily, and +he reached out his hand, pulling towards him some +papers. "One seems to be at the beginning of things."</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood closed the door softly behind her.</p> + +<p>"He's perplexed," she said to herself. "He is +perplexed—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.</p> + +<p>It was impossible to be certain when May would +come, so it would be better to get dressed and have +the time clear. May's arrival was serious business—so +serious that Lady Dashwood shuddered at the mere +thought that it was by a mere stroke of extraordinary +luck that she could come and would come! If May +came by the six train she would arrive before seven.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Page 13]</a></span></p> + +<p>But seven o'clock struck and May had not arrived. +She might arrive about eight o'clock. Lady Dashwood, +who was already dressed, gave orders that dinner was +to be put off for twenty minutes, and then she telephoned +this news to Mr. Boreham and sent in a message +to the Warden. But she quite forgot to tell Gwen that +dinner was to be later. Gwen had gone upstairs early +to dress for dinner, for she was one of those individuals +who take a long time to do the simplest thing. This +omission on the part of Lady Dashwood, trifling as it +seemed, had far-reaching consequences—consequences +that were not foreseen by her. She sat in the drawing-room +actively occupied in imagining obstacles that +might prevent May Dashwood from keeping the promise +in her telegram: railway accidents, taxi accidents, the +unexpected sudden deaths of relatives. As she sat +absorbed in these wholly unnecessary and exhausting +speculations, the door opened and she heard Robinson's +quavering voice make the delicious announcement, +"Mrs. Dashwood!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Page 14]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>MORAL SUPPORT</h3> + +<p class="above2">May Dashwood's features were not faultless. For +instance, her determined little nose was rather short +and just a trifle <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">retroussé</span> and her eyebrows sometimes +looked a little surprised. Her great charm lay not +in her clear complexion and her bright brown hair, +admirable as they were, but in her full expressive grey +eyes, and when she smiled, it was not the toothy smile +of professional gaiety, but a subtle, archly animated +and sympathetic smile; so that both men and women +who were once smiled at by her, immediately felt the +necessity of being smiled at again!</p> + +<p>May was still dressed in mourning, very plainly, +and she wore no furs. She came into the room and +looked round her.</p> + +<p>"May!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"I thought you were ill, Aunt Lena!" said May +amazed at the sight of Lady Dashwood, dressed for +dinner and apparently in robust health.</p> + +<p>"I <em>am</em> ill," exclaimed Lady Dashwood, and she +tapped her forehead. "I'm ill here," and she advanced +to meet her niece with open arms.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Dashwood, hastening up to +her aunt.</p> + +<p>"I'm still partially sane, May—but—if you hadn't +come!" said Lady Dashwood, kissing her niece on +both cheeks. She did not finish her sentence.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dashwood put both hands on her aunt's +shoulders and examined her face carefully.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I see you're quite sane, Aunt Lena."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Page 15]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Will you minister to a mind—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."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad I've saved your life," said May, and she +smiled her peculiar smile.</p> + +<p>"I see victory—the battle won—already," said +Lady Dashwood, looking at her intently. "I wish I +could explain——"</p> + +<p>"Let it ooze out, Aunt Lena. I can stay for three +days—if you want—if I can really do anything for +you——"</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood's face suddenly became puckered +and her voice was so urgent that May's smile died +away.</p> + +<p>"If it is really important I'll stay a week. Nothing +wrong about you—or—Uncle John?" May looked +into her aunt's eyes.</p> + +<p>"No!" said Lady Dashwood. "John doesn't +like my being away. An old soldier has much to make +him sad now, but no——" Then she added in an +undertone, "Jim ..." and she stared into her +niece's face.</p> + +<p>Under the portrait of that bold, handsome, unscrupulous +Warden of King's a faithful clock ticked to +the passing of time. The time it showed now was twenty +minutes to eight. Both ladies in silence had turned +to the fire and they were now both standing each with +one foot on the fender and were looking up at the +portrait and not at the clock. Neither of them,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Page 16]</a></span> +however, thought of the portrait. They merely looked +at it—as one must look at something.</p> + +<p>"Jim," sighed Lady Dashwood. "You don't +know him, May."</p> + +<p>"Is it he who is ill?" asked May.</p> + +<p>"He's not ill. He is terribly depressed at times +because so many of his old pupils are gone—for ever. +But it's not that, not that that I mean. You know +what learned men are, May?" Lady Dashwood did +not ask a question, she was making an assertion.</p> + +<p>May Dashwood still gazed at the portrait but now +she lowered her eyelids, looking critically through the +narrowed space with her grey eyes.</p> + +<p>"No, I don't know what learned men are," she +replied very slowly. "I have met so few."</p> + +<p>"Jim has taken——" and again Lady Dashwood +hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Not to <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Eau Perrier?</span>" almost whispered Mrs. +Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"Certainly not," exclaimed Lady Dashwood. "I +don't think he has touched alcohol since the War. +It's nothing so elementary as that. I feel as if I were +treacherous in talking about it—and yet I must talk +about it—because you have to help me. A really +learned man is so——"</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that he knows all about Julius +Cęsar," said May, "and nothing about himself?"</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't mind that so much," said the elder +lady, grasping eagerly at this introduction to an analysis +of the learned man. "I had better blurt it all out, +May. Well—he knows nothing about women——" +Lady Dashwood spoke with angry emphasis, but in a +whisper.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Mrs. Dashwood, and now she stared +deeply at one particular block of wood that was spitting +quietly at the attacking flames. She raised her arm +and laid her hand on her aunt Lena's shoulder. Then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Page 17]</a></span> +she squeezed the shoulder slightly as if to gently +squeeze out a little more information.</p> + +<p>"Jim is—I'm not sure—but I'm suspicious—on +the verge of getting into a mess," said her aunt still +in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said May again. "With some woman?"</p> + +<p>"All perfectly proper," said Lady Dashwood, +"but—oh, May—it's so unspeakably dreary and +desolating."</p> + +<p>"Much older than he is?" asked May softly, with +an emphasis on "much."</p> + +<p>"Very much younger," said Lady Dashwood. +"Only eighteen!"</p> + +<p>"Not nice then?" asked May again softly.</p> + +<p>"Not anything—except pretty—and"—here Lady +Dashwood had a strident bitterness in her voice—"and—she +has a mother."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said May.</p> + +<p>"You know Lady Belinda Scott?" asked Lady +Dashwood.</p> + +<p>May Dashwood moved her head in assent. "Not +having enough money for everything one wants is the +root of all evil?" she said imitating somebody.</p> + +<p>"Belinda exactly! And all that you and I believe +worth having in life—is no more to her—than to—to +a monkey up a tree!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dashwood spoke thoughtfully. "We've come +from monkeys and Lady Belinda thinks a great deal of +her ancestry."</p> + +<p>"Then you understand why I'm anxious? You +can imagine——"</p> + +<p>May moved her head in response, and then she +suddenly turned her face towards her aunt and said +in the same voice in which she had imitated Belinda +before—</p> + +<p>"If dull people like to be dull, it's no credit to +'em!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Page 18]</a></span></p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood laughed, but it was a hard bitter +laugh.</p> + +<p>"Oh, May, you understand. Well, for the twenty-four +hours that Belinda was here, she was on her +best behaviour. You see, she had plans! You know +her habit of sponging for weeks on people—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!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dashwood's lips moved. "Poor child!" she +said softly, and there was something in her voice that +made Lady Dashwood aware of what she had momentarily +forgotten in her excitement, that the arm resting +on her shoulder was the arm of a woman not yet +thirty, whose home had suddenly vanished. It had +been riddled with bullets and left to die at the retreat +from Mons.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood fell into a sudden silence.</p> + +<p>"Go on, dear Aunt Lena," said May Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"Well, dear," said Lady Dashwood, drawing in a +deep breath, "Linda got wind of my coming here to +put Jim straight and she pounced down upon me like +a vulture, with Gwen, asked herself for one night, and +then talked of 'old days, etc.,' and how she longed for +Gwen to see something of our 'old-world city.' So +she simply made me keep the child for 'a couple of +days,' then 'a week,' and then 'ten days'—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!"</p> + +<p>"But why should she be?" asked May.</p> + +<p>"That's the point. Belinda would prefer an +American Wall Street man as a son-in-law or +a Scotch Whisky Merchant, but they're not so +easily got—it's a case of get what you can. So Jim is +to be sacrificed."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Page 19]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But why?" persisted May quietly.</p> + +<p>"Why, because—although Jim has seen Belinda +and heard her hard false voice, he doesn't see what she +is. He is too responsible to imagine Belindas and too +clever to imagine Gwens. Gwen is very pretty!"</p> + +<p>May looked again into the fire.</p> + +<p>"Now do you see what a weak fool I've been?" +asked Lady Dashwood fiercely.</p> + +<p>"Lady Belinda will bleed him," said May.</p> + +<p>"When Belinda is Jim's mother-in-law, he'll have +to pay for everything—even for her funeral!"</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't her funeral expenses be cheap at any +price?" asked May.</p> + +<p>"They would," said Lady Dashwood. "How are +we to kill her off? She'll live—for ever!"</p> + +<p>Then Mrs. Dashwood seemed to meditate briefly +but very deeply, and at the end of her short silence she +asked—</p> + +<p>"And where do I come in, Aunt Lena? What can +I do for you?"</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood looked a little startled.</p> + +<p>What May had actually got to do was: well, not +to do anything but just to be sweet and amusing as she +always was. She had got to show the Warden what +a charming woman was like. And the rest, he had to +do. He had to be fascinated! Lady Dashwood could +see a vision of Gwen and her boxes going safely away +from Oxford—even the name of Scott disappearing +altogether from the Warden's recollection.</p> + +<p>But after that, what would happen? May too +would have to go away. She was still mourning for +her husband—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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Page 20]</a></span> +conviction, that had filled Lady Dashwood's mind—to +the exclusion of all other things.</p> + +<p>It had not occurred to her that May would ask +the definite question, "What am I to do?" It +was an awkward question.</p> + +<p>"What I want you to do," said Lady Dashwood, +speaking slowly, while she swiftly sought in her mind +for an answer that would be truthful and yet—inoffensive. +"Why, May, I want you to give me your +moral support."</p> + +<p>May looked away from the fire and contemplated +the point of her boot, and then she looked at the point +of Lady Dashwood's shoe—they were both on the +fender rim side by side—May's right boot, Lady Dashwood's +left shoe.</p> + +<p>"Your moral support," repeated Lady Dashwood. +"Well, then you stay a week. Many, many thanks. +To-night I shall sleep well."</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood was conscious that "moral +support" did not quite serve the purpose she wanted, +she had not quite got hold of the right words.</p> + +<p>May's profile was absolutely in repose, but Lady +Dashwood could feel that she was pondering over that +expression "moral support." So Lady Dashwood +was driven to repeat it once more. "Moral support," +she said very firmly. "Your moral support is what +I want, dear May."</p> + +<p>They had not heard the drawing-room door open, +but they heard it close although it was done softly, +and both ladies turned away from the fire.</p> + +<p>Gwendolen Scott had come in and was walking +towards them, dressed in white and looking very self-conscious +and pretty.</p> + +<p>"But you haven't told me," said Mrs. Dashwood +tactfully, as if merely continuing their talk, "who +that portrait represents?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, an old Warden," replied Lady Dashwood<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Page 21]</a></span> +indifferently. "Moral support" or not—the compact +had been made. May was pledged for the week. +All was well! Lady Dashwood could look at Gwen +now with an easy, even an affectionate smile. "Gwen, +let me introduce you to Mrs. Jack Dashwood," she +said.</p> + +<p>Gwen had expected Mrs. Dashwood to be an elderly +relative of the family who would not introduce any +new element into the Warden's little household. +She had not for a moment anticipated <em>this</em>! It was +disconcerting. Gwen was very much afraid of clever +women, they moved and looked and spoke as if they +had been given a key "to the situation," though +what that key was and what that situation exactly +was Gwen did not quite grasp.</p> + +<p>Even the way in which Mrs. Dashwood put her +hand out for a scarf she had thrown on to a chair; the +way she moved her feet, moved her head; the way her +plain black dress and the long plain coat hung about +her, her manner of looking at Gwen and accepting her +as a person whom she was about to know, all this +mysterious "cachet" of her personality—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.</p> + +<p>"I don't think I want that man to speak," said +Mrs. Dashwood, turning her head to look back at the +portrait.</p> + +<p>"What a funny thing to say!" thought Gwen, +about a mere portrait, and she sniggled a little. "He's +got a ghost," she said aloud. "Hasn't he, Lady +Dashwood?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Lady Dashwood briefly. "He hasn't +got a ghost. The college has got a ghost——"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Page 22]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Gwen, "I mean that, of course."</p> + +<p>"If the ghost is—all that remains of the gentleman +over the fireplace," said Mrs. Dashwood, "I hope +he doesn't appear often." She was still glancing back +at the portrait.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it exciting?" said Gwen. "The ghost +appears whenever anything is going to happen——"</p> + +<p>"My dear Gwen," said Lady Dashwood, "in +that case the ghost might as well bring his bag and +baggage and remain here."</p> + +<p>"What sort of ghost?" asked Mrs. Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"Oh, only an eighteenth-century ghost—the ghost +of the college barber," said Lady Dashwood. "When +that man was Warden, the college barber went and +cut his throat in the Warden's Library."</p> + +<p>"What for?" asked Mrs. Dashwood simply.</p> + +<p>"Because the Warden insisted on his doing the +Fellows' hair in the new elaborate style of the period—on +his old wages."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dashwood pondered, still looking at the +portrait.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"But he had his revenge," said Gwen eagerly, +"he comes and shows himself in the Library when a +Warden dies."</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood had not during these last few +minutes been really thinking of the Warden or of the +college barber, nor of his ghost. She was thinking +that it was characteristic of Gwen to be excited by +and interested in a silly ghost story—and it was equally +characteristic of her to be unable to tell the story +correctly.</p> + +<p>"He is supposed to appear in the Library when +anything disastrous is going to happen to a Warden,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Page 23]</a></span> +she said, and no sooner were the words out of her mouth +than she paused and began thinking of what she was +saying. "Anything disastrous to a Warden!" She +had not thought of the matter before—Jim was now +Warden! Anything disastrous! A marriage may +be a disaster. Death is not so disastrous as utter +disappointment with life and the pain of an empty +heart!</p> + +<p>"Come along, May," she said, trying to suppress +a shiver that went through her frame. "Come along, +May. Goodness gracious, it's nearly eight o'clock and +we are going to dine at eight fifteen!"</p> + +<p>"I can dress in two shakes," said May Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"I've asked Mr. Boreham," said Lady Dashwood, +pushing her niece gently before her towards the door +and blessing her—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."</p> + +<p>"Nobody does mind Mr. Boreham," said May. +"I haven't seen him—for years."</p> + +<p>"You know his aunt left him Chartcote, so he has +taken to haunting Oxford for the last three months. +Talk of ghosts——"</p> + +<p>Then the door closed behind the two ladies and +Gwen was left alone in the drawing-room. She went +up to the clock. It was striking eight. Fifteen +minutes and nothing to do! She would go and see +if there were any letters. She went outside. Letters +by the first post and by the last post were all placed +on a table at the head of the staircase. Gwen went and +looked at the table. Letters there were, all for the +Warden! No! there was one for her, from her mother. +She opened it nervously. Was it a scolding about losing +that umbrella? Gwen began to read:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Page 24]</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">My dear Gwen</span>,<br /></p> + +<p>"I hope you understand that Lady Dashwood +will keep you till the 3rd. You don't mention the +Warden! Does that mean that you are making no +progress in that direction? Perhaps taking no trouble!</p> + +<p>"The question is, where you will go on the 3rd?"</p></div> + +<p class="above2">Here Gwen's heart gave a thump of alarm and +dismay.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"It is all off with your cousin Bridget. She writes +that she can't have you, because she has to be in town +unexpectedly. This is only an excuse. I am disappointed +but not surprised, after that record behaviour +to me when the war broke out and after promising +that I should be in her show in France, and then +backing out of it. Exactly why, I found out only +yesterday! You remember that General X. had +actually to separate two of the 'angels' that were +flitting about on their work of mercy and had come +to blows over it. Well, one of the two was your +cousin Bridget. That didn't get photographed in +the papers. It would have looked sweet. But now +I'm going to give you a scolding. Bridget did get +wind of your muddling about at the Ringwood's +little hospital this summer, and spending all your +time and energy on a man who I told you was no use. +What's the good of talking any more about it? I've +talked till I'm blue—and yet you will no doubt go and +do the same thing again.</p> + +<p>"I ought not to have to tell you that if you do come +across any stray Undergraduates, don't go for them. +Nothing will come of it. Try and keep this in your +noddle. Go for Dr. Middleton—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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Page 25]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's the second you have lost this year. I can't +afford another. You must 'borrow' one. Your +new winter rig-out is more than I can afford. I'm +being dunned for bills that have only run two years. +Why can't I make you realise all this? What is +the matter with you? Give the maid who waits on +you half a crown, nothing to the butler. Lady D. +is sure to see you off—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."</p></div> + +<p class="above2">Here Gwen made a pause, for her heart was thumping +loudly.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"There's nothing for it but to go to Nana's cottage +at Stow for the moment. I know it's beastly dull +for you—but it's partly your own fault that you are +to have a dose of Stow. I'm full up for two months +and more, but I'll see what I can do for you at once. +I am writing to Mrs. Greenleafe Potten, to ask her if +she will have you for a week on Monday, but I'm afraid +she won't. At Stow you won't need anything but a +few stamps and a penny for Sunday collection. I've +written to Nana. She only charges me ten shillings a +week for you. She will mend up your clothes and make +two or three blouses for you into the bargain. Don't +attempt to help her. They must be done properly. +Get on with that flannelette frock for the Serb relief. +Address me still here.</p></div> + +<p class="signoff">"Your very loving,<br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Mother</span>."</p> + +<p class="above2">Nana's cottage at Stow! Thatch smelling of +the November rains; a stuffy little parlour with a +smoky fire. Forlorn trees outside shedding their +last leaves into the ditch at the side of the lane. Her +old nurse, nearly stone deaf, as her sole companion.</p> + +<p>Gwen felt her knees trembling under her. Her +eyes smarted and a great sob came into her throat. She +had no home. Nobody wanted her!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Page 26]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>PASSIONATE PITY</h3> + +<p class="above2">A tear fell upon the envelope in her hand, and one +fell upon the red carpet under her feet. She must try +and not cry, crying made one ugly. She must go +to her room as quickly as she could.</p> + +<p>Then came noiselessly out from the curtained door +at Gwen's right hand the figure of Dr. Middleton. He +was already dressed for dinner, his face composed and +dignified as usual, but preoccupied as if the business +of the day was not over. There were these letters +waiting for him on the table. He came on, and Gwen, +blinded by a big tear in each eye, vaguely knew that +he stooped and swept up the letters in his hand. Then +he turned his face towards her in his slow, deliberate +way and looked. She closed her eyes, and the two +tears squeezed between the lids, ran down her cheeks +leaving the delicate rosy skin wet and shining under +the electric light.</p> + +<p>Tears had rarely been seen by the Warden: never—in +fact—until lately! He was startled by them and +disconcerted.</p> + +<p>"Has anything happened?" he asked. "Anything +serious?" It would need to be something very +serious for tears!</p> + +<p>The gentleness of his voice only made the desolation +in Gwen's heart the more poignant. In a week's time +she would have to leave this beautiful kindly little +home, this house of refuge. The fear she had had +before of the Warden vanished at his sudden tenderness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Page 27]</a></span> +of tone; he seemed now something to cling to, something +solid and protective that belonged to the world +of ease and comfort, of good things; things to be +desired above all else, and from which she was going +to be cruelly banished—to Stow. She made a convulsive +noise somewhere in her young throat, but was +inarticulate.</p> + +<p>There came sounds of approaching steps. The +Warden hesitated but only for a moment. He moved +to the door of the library.</p> + +<p>"Come in here," he said, a little peremptorily, and +he turned and opened it for Gwen.</p> + +<p>Gwen slid within and moving blindly, knocked +herself against the protruding wing of his book-shelves. +That made the Warden vexed with somebody, the +somebody who had made the child cry so much that +she couldn't see where she was going. He closed the +door behind her.</p> + +<p>"You have bad news in that letter?" he asked. +"Your mother is not ill?"</p> + +<p>Gwen shook her head and stared upon the floor, +her lips twitching.</p> + +<p>"Anything you can talk over with Lady Dashwood?" +he asked.</p> + +<p>"No," was the stifled answer with a shake of the +dark head.</p> + +<p>"Can you tell me about it? I might be able to +advise, help you?"</p> + +<p>"No!" This time the sound was long drawn out +with a shrill sob.</p> + +<p>What was to be done?</p> + +<p>"Try not to cry!" he said gently. "Tell me what +it is all about. If you need help—perhaps I can help +you!"</p> + +<p>So much protecting sympathy given to her, after +that letter, made Gwen feel the joy of utter weakness +in the presence of strength, of saving support.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Page 28]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Shall I read that letter?" he asked, putting out +his hand.</p> + +<p>Gwen clutched it tighter. No, no, that would be +fatal! He laid his hand upon hers. Gwen began to +tremble. She shook from head to foot, even her teeth +chattered. She held tight on to that letter—but she +leaned nearer to him.</p> + +<p>"Then," said the Warden, without removing his +hand, "tell me what is troubling you? It is something +in that letter?"</p> + +<p>Gwen moved her lips and made a great effort to +speak.</p> + +<p>"It's—it's nothing!" she said.</p> + +<p>"Nothing!" repeated the Warden, just a little +sternly.</p> + +<p>This was too much for Gwen, the tears rose again +swiftly into her eyes and began to drop down her +cheeks. "It's only——" she began.</p> + +<p>"Yes, tell me," said the Warden, coaxingly, for +those tears hurt him, "tell me, child, never mind what +it is."</p> + +<p>"It's only—," she began again, and now her +teeth chattered, "only—that nobody cares what +happens to me—I've got no home!"</p> + +<p>That this pretty, inoffensive, solitary child had no +home, was no news to the Warden. His sister had +hinted at it on the day that Gwen was left behind by +her mother. But he had dismissed the matter, as not +concerning the college or the reconstruction of National +Education. Since then whenever it cropped up again, +he again dismissed it, because—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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Page 29]</a></span> +movement towards him, and then he found himself +holding her in his arms. She was weeping convulsively +into his shirt-front—weeping out the griefs +of her childhood and girlhood and staining his shirt +front with responsibility for them all, soaking him +with petty cares, futile recollections, mean subterfuges, +silly triumphs, sordid disappointments, all the small +squalid moral muddle that Belinda Scotts call "life."</p> + +<p>All this smothered the Warden's shirt-front and +trickled sideways into the softer part of that article +of his dress.</p> + +<p>For the first few moments his power of thinking +failed him. He was conscious only of his hands on +her waist and shoulder, of the warmth of her dark +hair against his face. He could feel her heart thumping, +thumping in her slender body against his.</p> + +<p>A knock came at the door.</p> + +<p>The Warden came to himself. He released the +weeping girl gently and walked to the door.</p> + +<p>He opened it, holding it in his hand. "What is it, +Robinson?" he asked, for he had for the moment +forgotten that it was dinner time, and that a guest was +expected.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Boreham is in the drawing-room, sir," said +the old servant very meekly, for he met the narrow +eyes fixed coldly upon him.</p> + +<p>"Very well," said the Warden, and he closed the +door again.</p> + +<p>Then he turned round and looked at Gwendolen +Scott. She was standing exactly where he had left +her, standing with her hands clutching at a little +pocket-handkerchief and her letter. She was waiting. +Her wet eyelashes almost rested on her flushed cheeks. +Her lips were slightly swollen. She was not crying, +she was still and silent. She was waiting—her conceit +for the moment gone—she was waiting to know from +him what was going to become of her. Her whole<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Page 30]</a></span> +drooping attitude was profoundly humble. The +humility of it gave Middleton a strange pang of pain +and pleasure.</p> + +<p>The way in which the desire for power expresses +itself in a man or woman is the supreme test of character. +The weak fritter away on nothings the driving +force of this priceless instinct; this instinct that has +raised us from primeval slime to the mastery of the +world. The weak waste it, it seems to slip through +their fingers and vanish. Only the strong can bend +this spiritual energy to the service of an important +issue, and the strongest of all do this unconsciously, +so that He, who is supreme Master of the souls of +men, could say, "Why callest thou <em>Me</em> good?"</p> + +<p>The Warden in his small sphere of academic life +showed himself to be one of the strong sort. His +mind was analytical rather than constructive, but +among all the crowded teaching staff of Oxford only +one other man—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.</p> + +<p>Men like Middleton are rare in any University; +a man unselfish enough and able enough to spend +himself, sacrifice himself in "making men." And +even this outstanding usefulness, this masterly hold +he had of the best men who passed through King's +would not have forced his colleagues to elect him as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Page 31]</a></span> +Warden. They made him Warden because they +couldn't help themselves, because he was in all ways +the dominating personality of the college, and even the +book weary, the dull, the frankly cynical among the +Fellows could not escape from the conviction that +King's would be safe in Middleton's hands, so there +was no reason to seek further afield.</p> + +<p>But women and sentiment had played a very small +part in the Warden's life. His acquaintance with +women had been superficial. He did not profess to +understand them. Gwendolen Scott had for several +days sat at his table, looking like a flower. That +her emotions were shallow and her mind vacant did +not occur to the Warden. She was like a flower—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.</p> + +<p>And now, on this autumn evening, this sobbing +girl seemed, somehow, all part of the awful tragedy +that was being enacted, only in her case—he had the +power to help. He need not let her wander alone into +the wilderness of life.</p> + +<p>For the first time in his life, his sense of power +betrayed him. It was in his own hands to mould +the future of this helpless girl—so he imagined!</p> + +<p>He experienced two or three delicious moments +as he walked towards her, knowing that she would +melt into his arms and give up all her sorrows into his +keeping. She was waiting on his will! But was +this love?</p> + +<p>The Warden was well aware that it was not love, +such as a man of his temperament conceived love to be.</p> + +<p>But his youth was passed. The time had gone +when he could fall in love and marry a common +mortal under the impression that she was an angel.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Page 32]</a></span> +Was it likely that now, in middle life, he would find +a woman who would rouse the deepest of his emotions +or satisfy the needs of his life?</p> + +<p>Why should he expect to find at forty, what few +men meet in the prime of youth? All that he could +expect now—hope for—was standing there waiting +for him. Waiting with blushes, timid, dawning hope; +full of trust and so pathetically humble!</p> + +<p>He took her into his arms and spoke, and his voice +was steady but very low and a little husky.</p> + +<p>"There is no time to talk now. But you shall not +go out into the wilderness of life, if you are afraid."</p> + +<p>She pressed her face closer to him—in answer.</p> + +<p>"If you want to, if you care to—come to me, I +shall not refuse you a home. You understand?"</p> + +<p>She did fully understand. Her mother's letter +had made it clearer than ever to her that marriage +with somebody sufficiently well off is a haven of refuge +for a woman, a port to be steered for with all available +strength.</p> + +<p>Suddenly and unexpectedly Gwen had found herself +in harbour, and the stormy sea passed.</p> + +<p>"Run up to your room now," he said, "and bathe +your face and come down to the drawing-room as if +nothing had happened."</p> + +<p>He did not kiss her. A thought, such as only +disturbs a man of scrupulous honour, came to him. +He was so much older than she was that she must have +time to think—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.</p> + +<p>He pushed her gently away, and she raised her +head, smiling through her tears and murmuring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Page 33]</a></span> +something: what was it? Was it "Thanks;" but she +did not look him in the face, she dare not meet those +narrow blue eyes that were bent upon her.</p> + +<p>He stood watching her as she moved lightly to the +door. There she turned back, and even then she did +not raise her eyes to his face, but she smiled a strange +bewildered smile into the air and fled.</p> + +<p>It was really <em>she</em> who had conquered, and with +such feeble weapons.</p> + +<p>She had gone. The door was closed. The Warden +was alone.</p> + +<p>He looked round the room, at the book-lined walls, +at his desk strewn with papers, and then the whole +magnitude and meaning of what he had done—came +to him!</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>During the last few days he had gradually been +drifting towards this, just drifting. He had been +dreaming of it all the time, dreaming in that part of +his brain where the mind works out its problems underground, +waiting until the higher world of consciousness +calls for them, and they are flung out into the open +daylight—solved. A solution found without real +solid premeditation.</p> + +<p>Was the solution to his life's problem a good one, +or a bad one? Was it true to his past life, or was it +false? Can a man successfully live out a plan that he +has only dimly outlined in a dream and swiftly +finished in a passion of pity?</p> + +<p>It was Middleton's duty as host to go into the +drawing-room. He must go at once and think +afterwards. And yet he lingered. She might not claim +him. She too might have been moved only by a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Page 34]</a></span> +momentary emotion! But what right had he to be +speculating on the chance of release? It was a bad +beginning!</p> + +<p>On the floor lay a letter. The Warden had not +noticed it before. He picked it up. It was the letter +that she had held in her trembling hands.</p> + +<p>He stood holding it, and then suddenly he opened +the flap and pulled the sheet from its cover. He +unfolded it and looked at the signature. Yes, it was +from her mother. He folded the paper again and put +it back in the envelope.</p> + +<p>Then as he stood for a moment, with the letter +in his hand, he perceived that his shirt-front was +stained—with her tears.</p> + +<p>He left the library and went towards his bedroom +behind the curtained door. He had the letter in his +hand. He caught sight of Louise, Lady Dashwood's +maid, near the drawing-room door. The Warden held +the letter out to her.</p> + +<p>"Please put this letter in Miss Scott's room," he +said. "I found it lying on the floor;" and he went +back into his room.</p> + +<p>Louise had gone to the drawing-room with a handkerchief +forgotten by Lady Dashwood. She took the +letter and went upstairs to her mistress's room, gazing +at the letter as she walked. Now Louise was not a +French woman for nothing. A letter—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 <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">trčs trčs bien, trčs distingué!</i> Very well, +if the young lady was married, then well, naturally +something would happen! But she was "Miss," +and that was quite other thing. Young unmarried +girls must be protected—it is so in <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">la belle France</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Page 35]</a></span> +Louise pulled the envelope apart and drew out the +contents. She opened the letter, and searched for +the missive between its folds which was destined for +the hands of "Miss." There was none. Louise +spread out the letter. Her knowledge of English as +a spoken language was limited, and as a written +language it was an unending puzzle.</p> + +<p>She could, however, read the beginning and the end.</p> + +<p>"Dear Gwen" ... and "Mother." <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Hein!</i></p> + +<p>The reason why the letter had been put into her +hands was just because she could not read it.</p> + +<p>What cunning! Without doubt, there were some +additions added by the Warden here and there to +the maternal messages, which would have their significance +to "Miss." Again, what cunning!</p> + +<p>And the Warden, so dignified and so just as he +ought to be! Ah, my God, but one never knows!</p> + +<p>Louise folded up the letter and replaced it in its +envelope.</p> + +<p>Doubtless my Lady Dashwood was in the dark. +Oh, completely! That goes without saying. Louise +had already tidied the room. There was nothing more +for her to do. She had been on the point of going +down to the servants' quarters. Should she take the +letter as directed to the room occupied by "Miss"? +That was the momentous question. Now Louise was +bound hand and foot to the service of Lady Dashwood. +Only for the sake of that lady would Louise have +endured the miseries of Oxford and the taciturnity of +Robinson, and the impertinence of Robinson's grandson, +Robinson aged fifteen, and the stupid solemnity of +Mrs. Robinson, the daughter-in-law of Robinson and +the widowed mother of the young Robinson.</p> + +<p>Louise loved Lady Dashwood. Lady Dashwood +was munificent and always amiable, things very rare. +Also Louise was a widow and had two children in whom +Lady Dashwood took an interest.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Page 36]</a></span></p> + +<p>That <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Monsieur</span>, the head of the College, should +secretly communicate with a "Miss" was a real +scandal. <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Propos d'amour</i> are not for young ladies +who are unmarried. The Warden ought to have +known better than that—— Ah, poor Lady Dashwood!</p> + +<p>Torn between the desire to participate in an +interesting affair and her duty not to assist scandals +in the family of my Lady Dashwood, Louise stood for +some time plunged in painful argument with herself. +At last her sense of duty prevailed! She would not +deliver the letter. No, not if her life depended on it. +The question was—— Ah, this would be what she +would do. A brilliant idea had struck her. Louise +went to the dressing-table. It was covered with +Lady Dashwood's toilet things, all neatly arranged. +On the top of the jewel drawers at one side lay two +envelopes, letters that had come by the last post and +had been put aside hurriedly by Lady Dashwood. +Louise lifted these two letters and underneath them +placed the letter addressed to Miss Gwendolen Scott.</p> + +<p>"Good!" exclaimed Louise to the empty room. +"The letter is now in the disposition of the Good God! +And the Warden! All that there is of the most as it +ought to be! Ah, but it is incredible!"</p> + +<p>Louise went to the door and put out the lights. +Then she closed the door softly behind her and went +downstairs.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Page 37]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>THE UNFORESEEN HAPPENS</h3> + +<p class="above2">Before his maternal aunt had left him Chartcote, +the Honourable Bernard Boreham's income had been +just sufficient to enable him to live without making +himself useful. The Boreham estate in Ireland was +burdened with obligations to female relatives who +lived in various depressing watering-places in England. +Bernard, the second son, had not been sent to a public +school or University. He had struggled up as best +he might, and like all the members of his family, he +had left his beloved country as soon as he possibly +could, and had picked up some extra shillings in London +by writing light articles of an inflammatory nature +for papers that required them. Boreham had had +no real practical acquaintance with the world. He +had never been responsible for any one but himself. +He was a floating cloudlet. Ideas came to him easily—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.</p> + +<p>From the moment that Chartcote became his and +he was his own master, it occurred to him that he might +write a really great book. A book that would make +the world conscious of its follies. He felt that it was +time that some one—like himself—who could shed the +superstitions and the conventions of the past and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Page 38]</a></span> +step out a new man with new ideas, uncorrupted by +kings or priests (or Oxford traditions), and give a lead +to the world.</p> + +<p>It was, of course, an unfortunate circumstance that +Oxford was now so military, so smitten by the war +and shorn of her pomp, so empty of academic life. But +after the war Boreham meant among other things to +study Oxford, and if perfectly frank criticism could help +her to a better understanding of her faults in view of +the world's requirements—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.</p> + +<p>Boreham had arrived punctually for dinner on that +October evening; in fact, he had arrived too early; +but he told Lady Dashwood that his watch was fast.</p> + +<p>"All the clocks in Oxford are wrong," he said to +her, as he stood on the hearthrug in the drawing-room, +"and mine is wrong!"</p> + +<p>Boreham was tall and fair and wore a fair pointed +beard. His features were not easy to describe in +detail, they gave one the impression that they had +been cut with insufficient premeditation by the hand +of his Creator, from some pale fawn-coloured material. +He wore a single eyeglass which he stuck into a pale +blue eye, mainly as an aid to conversation. With +Boreham conversation meant an exposition of his own +"ideas." He was disappointed at finding only Lady +Dashwood in the drawing-room; but she had been +really good natured in asking him to come and meet +May Dashwood, so he was "conversing" freely with +her when the door opened and Gwendolen Scott came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Page 39]</a></span> +in. Boreham started and put his eyeglass in the same +eye again, instead of exercising the other eye. He +was agitated. When he saw that it was not May +Dashwood who had come in, but a youthful female +unknown to him and probably of no conversational +significance, he dropped his glass on to his shirt-front, +where it made a dull thud. Gwen's face was flushed, +and her lips still a little swollen; but there was nothing +that betrayed tears to strangers, though Lady Dashwood +saw at once that she had been crying. As soon +as the introduction was over Gwen sank into a large +easy-chair where her slight figure was almost obliterated.</p> + +<p>She had got back her self-control. It had not, +after all, been so difficult to get it back—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.</p> + +<p>Boreham had turned again to Lady Dashwood +as soon as he had been introduced and had executed +the reverential bow that he considered proper, however +contemptuously he might feel towards the female +he saluted.</p> + +<p>"As we were saying," he went on, "Middleton—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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Page 40]</a></span> +go out of it. He has never been what I call a really +free man. In other words, he is a slave to what's called +'Duty.'"</p> + +<p>Here the door opened again, and again Boreham +was unable to conceal his vivid curiosity as he turned +to see who it was coming in. This time it was the +Warden—the Warden in a blameless shirt-front. He +had changed in five minutes. He walked in composed +as usual. There was not a trace in his face that +in the library only a few minutes ago he had been +disposing of his future with amazing swiftness.</p> + +<p>"Go on, Boreham," said the Warden, giving his +guest, along with the glance that serves in Oxford as +sufficient greeting to frequenters of Common Room, +a slight grasp of the hand because he was not a +member of Common Room. The Warden had not +heard Boreham's remarks, he merely knew that he +had interrupted some exposition of "ideas."</p> + +<p>In a flash the Warden saw, without looking at her, +that Gwen was there, half hidden in a chair; and Gwen, +on her side, felt her heart thump, and was proudly +and yet fearfully conscious of every movement of the +Warden as he walked across the room and stood on +the other side of the hearthrug. "Does he—does that +important person belong to me?" she thought. The +conviction was overpowering that if that important +person did belong to her, and it appeared that he did, +she also must be important.</p> + +<p>Boreham's appearance did not gain in attractiveness +by the proximity of his host. He began again in his +rapid rather high voice.</p> + +<p>"You see for yourself," he said, turning back to +Lady Dashwood: "here he is—the very picture of +what is conventionally correct, his features, his manner, +before which younger men who are not so correct +actually quail. I'm afraid that now he is Warden he +has lost the chance of becoming a free man. I had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Page 41]</a></span> +hopes of one day seeing him carried off his feet by some +impulse which fools call 'folly.' If he could have +been even once divinely drunk, he might have realised +his true self, I am afraid now he is hopeless."</p> + +<p>"My dear man, your philosophy of freedom is +only suitable for the 'idle rich.' You would be the +first person to object to your cook becoming divinely +drunk instead of soberly preparing your dinner."</p> + +<p>Boreham always ignored an argument that told +against him, so he merely continued—</p> + +<p>"As it is, Middleton, who might have been magnificent, +is bound hand and foot to the service of mere +propriety, and will end by saddling himself with some +dull wife."</p> + +<p>The Warden stood patient and composed while +Boreham was talking about him. He took out his +watch and glanced at Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"I've given May five minutes' grace," she said, +and then turned her face again to Boreham. "But +why should Jim marry a dull wife? It will be his own +fault if he does."</p> + +<p>Gwen in her large chair sat stupefied at the word +"wife."</p> + +<p>"No," said Boreham, emphatically. "It won't +be his fault. The best of our sex are daily sacrificed +to the most dismal women. Men being in the minority +now—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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Page 42]</a></span> +quite unbearable to Middleton, and he, like the +Emperor Theophilus, will come into this room with an +apple in his hand and present it to one of them. He +can make the same remark that Theophilus made to the +lady he first approached."</p> + +<p>"And what was that?" asked Lady Dashwood. +She was amused at finding the conversation turn on +the very subject nearest her heart. Even Mr. Boreham +was proving himself useful in uttering this blunt warning +of dangers ahead.</p> + +<p>"His remark was: 'Woman is the source of +evil.' And the lady's reply was——"</p> + +<p>Both Lady Dashwood and Gwen were gazing +intently at Boreham and Boreham was staring fixedly +at the ornament in Lady Dashwood's grey hair. No +one but the Warden noticed the door open and May +Dashwood enter. She was dressed in black and wore +no ornaments. She had caught the gist of what +Boreham was saying, and she made the most delightful +movement of her hands to Middleton that expressed +both respectful greeting to him as her host, and an +apology for remaining motionless on the threshold +of the room, so that she should not break Boreham's +story.</p> + +<p>"And her reply was," went on the unconscious +Boreham, "'But surely also of much good!'"</p> + +<p>So that was all! May Dashwood came forward +and walked straight up to the Warden. She held +out both her hands to him in apology for her +behaviour.</p> + +<p>"I hope he—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."</p> + +<p>Boreham was too much occupied with his own +interesting emotions at the sudden appearance of Mrs. +Dashwood to notice what was plain to Lady Dashwood<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Page 43]</a></span> +and Gwendolen Scott, that the Warden seemed wholly +taken by surprise.</p> + +<p>"He didn't marry her," he said, as he held May +Dashwood's hands for a moment and stared down into +her upturned face with his narrow eyes. "But," +he added, "the story is probably a fake."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Mrs. Dashwood, as she released her +hands. Then she turned to Boreham, who was waiting—a +picture of self-consciousness in pale fawn.</p> + +<p>Gwen's recently regained self-confidence was already +oozing out of every pore of her skin. It didn't matter +when the Warden and Mr. Boreham talked queer talk, +that was to be expected; but what did matter was +this Mrs. Dashwood talking queerly with them. +Rubbish she, Gwen, called it. What did that Mrs. +Dashwood mean by saying that the retort, "And also +of much good," was obvious? What did "obvious" +mean? To Gwen the retort seemed profoundly +clever—and so true! How was she, Gwen, to cope +with this sort of thing? And then there was the +Warden already giving this terrible woman his arm +and looking at her far too closely.</p> + +<p>"Come, Gwen," said Lady Dashwood, "Mr. +Boreham must take us both!"</p> + +<p>Gwen's head swam. Along with this new and +painful sensation had come a sudden recollection of +something! That letter of her mother's! It had not +been in her hand when she went into her bedroom. +No, it had not. Had she dropped it in the library, +when the Warden had—— Oh!</p> + +<p>"I've lost my handkerchief," murmured the girl, +"somewhere——" Her voice was very small and sad, +and she looked helplessly round the room.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Boreham, stop and help her find it," said +Lady Dashwood, "I must go down."</p> + +<p>Boreham stood rigidly at the door. He saw his +hostess go out and still he did not move.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Page 44]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gwen looked at him in despair. What she had +intended, of course, was to have flown into the library +and looked for her letter. How could she now, with +Mr. Boreham standing in the way? And that terrible +woman had gone off arm-in-arm with the Warden. +Gwen stared at Boreham. An idea struck her. She +would go into the library—after dinner—before the +men came up. But she must pretend to look for her +handkerchief for a minute or two.</p> + +<p>"Do you call Mrs. Dashwood pretty?" she asked +tremulously, not looking at Boreham, but diving her +hand into the corners of the chair she had been sitting +in. She must find out what men thought of Mrs. +Dashwood. She must know the worst—now, when +she had the opportunity.</p> + +<p>"Pretty!" said Boreham, still motionless at the +door. "That's not a useful word. She's alluring."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Gwen. She had left off thumping +the chair, and now walked slowly to him—wide-eyed +with anxiety. To Gwen, a man past his youth, wearing +a fair beard and fair eyebrows that were stiff and +stuck out like spikes, was scarcely a person of sex at +all; but still he would probably know what men +thought.</p> + +<p>"I don't think she is pretty—very," she said, +her lips trembling a little as she spoke, and she gazed +in a challenging way at Boreham.</p> + +<p>"She is the most womanly woman I know," said +Boreham. "Middleton is probably finding that out +already."</p> + +<p>Gwen patted her waistband where it bulged ever +so slightly with her handkerchief. "Womanly!" +she repeated in a doubtful voice.</p> + +<p>"He'll fall in love with her to-day and propose +to-morrow. Do him a world of good," said Boreham.</p> + +<p>"Propose!" Gwen caught her breath. "But +he couldn't—she couldn't—he couldn't—marry!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Page 45]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Couldn't marry—I didn't say marry—I said he +will propose to-morrow." Boreham laughed a little +in his beard.</p> + +<p>"I don't understand," stammered the girl. "You +mean—she would refuse?"</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean," she said, and she scarcely recognised +her own voice, so great was her concentration +of thought and so slowly did she pronounce the enigmatic +words, "if he had kissed you as well, he would +be obliged to marry one?"</p> + +<p>Boreham knitted his brows. "If I was, at this +moment to kiss you, my dear lady," he began, "I +should not be compelled to marry you. Even the +gross injustice meted out to us men by the laws +(backed up by Mrs. Grundy) dares not go as far as +that. But there is no knowing what new oppression +is in store for us—in the future."</p> + +<p>"I only mean," stammered Gwen, "<em>if</em> he had +already said—something."</p> + +<p>Boreham simply stared at her. "I am confused," +he said. "Confused!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, please don't imagine that I meant you," +she entreated. "I never for one single instant thought +of you. I should never have imagined! I am so +sorry!"</p> + +<p>And yet this humble apology did not mollify him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Page 46]</a></span> +Gwen almost felt frightened. Everything seemed going +to pieces, and she was no nearer knowing what the +legal aspects of her case were.</p> + +<p>"Have you found your handkerchief?" Boreham +asked, and the spikes in his eyebrows seemed to twitch.</p> + +<p>"It was in my band, all the time," said Gwen, +smiling deprecatingly. "Oh, what a bother everything +was!"</p> + +<p>"Then we have wasted precious time for nothing," +said Boreham. "All the fun is going on downstairs—come +along, Miss Wallace."</p> + +<p>Boreham knew her name wasn't Wallace, but +Wallace was Scotch and that was near enough, when he +was angry.</p> + +<p>Gwen went downstairs as if she were in an ugly +dream. Her brief happiness and security and pleasure +at her own importance was vanishing. This broad +staircase that she was descending on Boreham's stiff +and rebellious arm; this wall with its panelling and +its dim pictures of strange men's faces; these wide +doors thrown back through which one went solemnly +into the long dining-room; this dining-room itself +dim and dignified; all this was going to be hers—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!</p> + +<p>Instead of going straight to bed that evening<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Page 47]</a></span> +Gwen seated herself at the writing-table in her bedroom. +She must write a letter to her mother and ask +for advice. The letter must go as soon as possible. +Gwen knew that if she put it off till the morning, it +might never get written. She was always too sleepy +to get up before breakfast. In Oxford breakfast +for Dons was at eight o'clock, and that was far too +early, as it was, for Gwen. Then after breakfast, +there was "no time" to do anything, and so on, during +the rest of the day.</p> + +<p>So Gwen sat at her writing-table and wrote the +longest letter she had ever written. Gwen's handwriting +was pointed, it was also shaky, and generally +ran downhill, or else uphill.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Mummy</span>,<br /></p> + +<p>"Please write and tell me what to do? I've +done all I could, but everything is in a rotten muddle. +This evening I was crying, crying a little at your +letter—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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Page 48]</a></span> +We sat in the drawing-room all the time and at least +the men smoked and Lady Dashwood and me, but not +Mrs. Dashwood, who said she was Early Victorian, +and ought to have died long ago. She worked. Lady +Dashwood said that she smoked because she was a +silly old heathen, and that made me feel beastly. +It wasn't fair—but Lady Dashwood is often rather +nasty. But afterwards <em>he</em> was nice, and asked me to +play my reverie by Slapovski. I have never forgotten +it, Mummy, though I haven't been taught it for six +months. I am telling you everything so that you +know what has happened. Well, Mr. Borham said, +'For God's sake don't let's have any music.' He +said that like he always does. It is very rude. Of +course I refused to play, and the Warden was so nice, +and he looked at me very straight and did not look at +Mrs. Dashwood now. I think it must be all right. +He sat in an armchair opposite us, and put his elbow +on the arm and held the back of his neck—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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Page 49]</a></span> +dear Mummy, do write at once and say exactly what +I am to do, and tell me if I am engaged or not.</p></div> + +<p class="signoff">"Your affectionate daughter,<br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Gwen</span>.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="blockquot">"I like the Warden ever so much, and partly +because he does not wear a beard. I feel very excited, +but am trying not to. Mrs. D. is to stay a whole +week, till I go on the 3rd."</p> + + +<p class="above2">Gwen laid down her pen and sat looking at the +sheet of paper before her. She had told her mother +"everything." She had omitted nothing, except that +her mother's letter had dropped somewhere, either in +the library or the staircase, and she could not find it +again. If it had dropped in the library, somebody +had picked it up. Supposing the Warden had picked +it up and read it? The clear sharp understanding +of "honour" possessed by the best type of Englishman +and Englishwoman was not possessed by Gwen—it +has not been acquired by the Belindas of Society or +of the Slums. But no, Gwen felt sure that the Warden +hadn't found it, or he would have been very, very +angry. Then who had picked it up?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Page 50]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>WAITING</h3> + +<p class="above2">If Pilate had uttered the sardonic remark "What is +truth?" in Boreham's presence, he would certainly +have compelled that weary official to wait for definite +enlightenment. Boreham would have explained to +him that although Absolute Truth (if there is such a +thing) lies, like our Destiny, in the lap of the gods, +he, Boreham, had a thoroughly reliable stock of useful +truths with which he could supply any inquirer. +Indeed to Boreham, the discussing of truths was a +comparatively simple matter. Truths were of two +kinds. Firstly, they were what he, himself, was convinced +of at the moment of speaking; and secondly, +they were <em>not</em> what the man next him believed in. +Boreham found intolerable any assertion made by +people he knew. He knew them! <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Voila!</i> But he +felt he could very fairly well trust opinions expressed +by the native inhabitants of—say Pomerania—or still +better—India.</p> + +<p>Boreham had already some acquaintances in +Oxford to whom he spoke, as he said himself, "frankly +and fearlessly," and who tolerated him, whenever they +had time to listen to him, because he was entirely +harmless and merely tiresome. But he was not +surprised (it had occurred before) that the Warden +refused his invitation to lunch at Chartcote. The +ladies had accepted; and when Boreham said "the +ladies," on this occasion he was thinking solely of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Page 51]</a></span> +Mrs. Dashwood. Lady Dashwood had accepted the +invitation because it was given verbally. She made +no purely social engagements. The Warden, himself, +did not entertain during the war, and the only engagements +were those of business, or of hospitality of an +academic nature.</p> + +<p>The day following May Dashwood's arrival was +entirely uneventful. The Warden was mostly invisible. +May was as bright as she had been on her +arrival. Gwen went about wide-eyed and wistful, +and spoke spasmodically. Lady Dashwood was serene +and satisfied. A shy Don accompanied by a very +nice, untidy wife, appeared at lunch, and they were +introduced by the Warden as Mr. and Mrs. Stockwell. +Mr. Stockwell was struck dumb at finding himself +seated next to Mrs. Dashwood, a type of female little +known to him. But May bravely taking him in hand, +he recovered his powers of speech and became epigrammatic +and sparkling. This round-shouldered, +spectacled scholar, with a large nose and receding chin, +poured out brilliant observations, subtile and suggestive, +and had an apparently inexhaustible store of +the literature of Europe. He sat sideways in his +chair and spoke into May's sympathetic ear, giving +an occasional swift appealing glance at the Warden, +who came within the range of his vision.</p> + +<p>How Stockwell ate his food was impossible to +discover. He seemed to give automatic twiddles to +his fork and apparently swallowed something afterwards, +for when Robinson's underling, Robinson <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">petit +fils</i>, removed Stockwell's plates, they contained only +wreckage.</p> + +<p>The Warden, aided by Lady Dashwood, struggled +courteously with Mrs. Stockwell. She was obliged to +talk across Gwendolen, who spent her time silently +observing Mrs. Dashwood.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stockwell had pathetic pretensions to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Page 52]</a></span> +intellectuality, based on a masterly acquaintance +with the names of her husband's books and the fact +that she lived in the academic circle. She had drooped +visibly at the first sight of her hostess and Mrs. Dashwood, +but was soon put at her ease by Lady Dashwood, +who deftly drew her away from vague hints at the +possession of learning into talk about her children. +Gwen, watching the Warden and Mrs. Dashwood +across Mrs. Stockwell's imitation lace front, could not +be moved to speech. To any one in the secret there +was written on her face two absorbing questions: +"Am I engaged or not?" "Is she trying to oust me?"</p> + +<p>The Warden's enigmatic eyes held no information +in them. He looked at her gravely when he did look, +and—that was all. Was <em>he</em> waiting to know whether +he was engaged or not? Gwen doubted it. He would +be sure to know everything. He would know. Think +of all those books in the library! Supposing he had +found that letter—suppose he <em>had</em> read it? No, if +he <em>had</em>, he would have looked not merely grave, but +angry!</p> + +<p>When the ladies rose from the table, Stockwell +rose too, reluctantly and as if waking from a pleasant +dream. He stared in a startled way at the Warden, +who moved to open the door; he looked as if about +to spring—then refrained, and resigning himself to +the unmistakable decision of the Fates, he remained +standing, staring down at the table-cloth through his +spectacles, with his cheeks flushed and his heart glad.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stockwell passed out of the room in front of +May Dashwood, gratified, warm and trying to conceal +the backs of her boots.</p> + +<p>Finally the Stockwells went away, and then Lady +Dashwood took her niece to the Magdalen walk. +There among the last shreds of autumn, and in that +muzzy golden sunshine of Oxford, they walked and +talked with the constraint of Gwen's presence.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Page 53]</a></span></p> + +<p>At tea two or three people called, but the Warden +did not appear even for a hasty cup. At dinner an old +pupil of the Warden's—lamed by the war—occupied +the attention of the little party.</p> + +<p>Gwen's spirits rose at the sight of a really young +man, but she remembered her mother's admonition +and did not make any attempt to attract his attention +beyond opening her eyes now and then suddenly and +widely and with an ecstasy of interest at some invisible +object just above his head. Whether the +youthful warrior's imagination was excited by this +"passage of arms" Gwen never knew, because the +Warden took his pupil off to the library after dinner, +and did not even bring him into the drawing-room to +bid farewell.</p> + +<p>In the quiet of the drawing-room Gwen fell into +thought. She wondered whether the Warden expected +her to come and knock on his library door and walk in +and tell him that she really did want to be married to +him? Or had he read that letter and——? Why, she +had thought all this over a hundred times, and was no +farther on than she had been before.</p> + +<p>After playing the Reverie by Slapovski, which +Mrs. Dashwood had not yet heard, and which she +expressed a desire to hear, Gwen settled down to +knitting a sock. She had been knitting that sock for +five months. It was surprising how small the foot was, +at least the toe part; the heel indeed was ample. She +had followed the directions with great care, and yet +the stupid thing would come out wrong. It was +irritating to see Mrs. Dashwood knitting away at such +a pace. It made Gwen giddy to look at her hands. +Lady Dashwood took up a book and read passages +aloud. This was so intolerably dull that Gwen found +it difficult to keep her eyes open. It is always more +tiring when nothing is going on than when plenty of +things are going on!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Page 54]</a></span></p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood had just finished reading a passage +and looked up to make a remark to May Dashwood, +when she became aware of Gwen's face.</p> + +<p>"My dear, you looked just like a melancholy peach. +Go to bed!"</p> + +<p>Gwen smiled and tumbled her pins into her knitting. +She rose and said "Good night," glad to be +released. Outside the drawing-room she stood holding +her breath to hear if there was any sound audible from +the library. She heard nothing. She moved over +the soft carpet and listened again, at the door. +She could hear the Warden's deep, masculine voice—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.</p> + +<p>As soon as Gwendolen had left the drawing-room +Lady Dashwood closed her book and looked at her +niece.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Page 55]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Now," said Lady Dashwood, "I begin to think +that I was unnecessarily alarmed about Jim. But +it may be because you are here—giving me moral +support." Lady Dashwood spoke the words "moral +support" with great firmness. Having once said it +and seen that it was wrong, she meant to stick to it.</p> + +<p>"I wonder," began Mrs. Dashwood, and then she +remained silent and looked hard at her knitting.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood still stared at her niece. But May +did not conclude her sentence, if indeed she had meant +to say any more.</p> + +<p>"Why, you haven't noticed anything?" asked +Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"Nothing!" said May, and she knitted on.</p> + +<p>"To-day," said Lady Dashwood, "Jim has been +practically invisible except at meals, but you've no +idea how busy he is just now. All one's old ideas are in +the melting-pot," she went on, "and Jim has schemes. +He is full of plans. He thinks there is much to be +done, in Oxford, with Oxford—nothing revolutionary—but +a lot that is evolutionary."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dashwood dropped her knitting to listen, +though she could have heard quite well without doing +this.</p> + +<p>"Imagine!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood, with a +little burst of anger, "what a man like Jim, a scholar, +a man of business, an organiser, what on earth he +would do with a wife like Gwendolen Scott! The +idea is absurd."</p> + +<p>"The absurd often happens," said May, and as she +said this she took up her knitting again with such +a jerk that her ball of wool tumbled to the floor and +began rolling; and being a tight ball it rolled some +distance sideways from May's chair in the direction of +the far distant door. She gave the wool a little tug, +but the ball merely shook itself, turned over and released +still more wool.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Page 56]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Very well, remain there if you prefer that place," +said May, and as she spoke there came a slight noise +at the door.</p> + +<p>Both ladies looked to see who was coming in. +It was the Warden. He held a cigar in his hand, a +sign (Lady Dashwood knew it) that he intended merely +to bid them "Good night," and retire again to his +library. But he now stood in the half-light with his +hand on the door, and looked towards the glow of +the hearth where the two ladies sat alone, each lighted +by a tall, electric candle stand on the floor. And as +he looked at this little space of light and warmth +he hesitated.</p> + +<p>Then he closed the door behind him and came in.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Page 57]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>MORE THAN ONE CONCLUSION</h3> + +<p class="above2">The Warden came slowly towards them over the wide +space of carpeted floor.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood, who knew every passing change +in his face and manner (they were photographed over +and over again in every imaginable style in her book +of life), noticed that the sight of herself and May alone, +that is, without Gwen—had made him decide to come +in. She drew her own conclusions and smiled.</p> + +<p>"When you pass that ball of wool, pick it up, +Jim," she said.</p> + +<p>She spoke too late, however, and the Warden +kicked the ball with one foot, and sent it rolling +under a chair. It took the opportunity of flinging +itself round one leg, and tumbling against the second. +With its remaining strength it rolled half way round +the third leg, and then lay exhausted.</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to apologise," said the Warden, +in his most courteous tones.</p> + +<p>"You needn't do that, my dear, if you don't want +to," said Lady Dashwood. "But pick up the ball, +please."</p> + +<p>"If I pick the ball up," said the Warden, "the +result will be disastrous to somebody."</p> + +<p>He looked at the ball and at the chair, and then, +putting his cigar between his teeth, he lifted the chair +from the labyrinth of wool and placed it out of mischief. +Then he picked up the ball and stood holding it in his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Page 58]</a></span> +hand. Who was the "somebody"? To whom did +it belong? It was obvious to whom it belonged! +A long line of wool dropped from the ball to the carpet. +There it described a foolish pattern of its own, and then +from one corner of that pattern the line of wool ran +straight to Mrs. Dashwood's hands. She was sitting +there, pretending that she didn't know that she was +very, very slowly and deliberately jerking out the very +vitals of that pattern, in fact disembowelling it. Then +the Warden pretended to discover suddenly that it +was Mrs. Dashwood's ball, and this discovery obliged +him to look at her, and she, without glancing at him, +slightly nodded her head, very gravely. Lady Dashwood +grasped her book and pretended to read it.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I must clear up this mess," said the +Warden, as articulately as a man can who is holding +a cigar between his teeth.</p> + +<p>He began to wind up the ball.</p> + +<p>"How beautifully you are winding it!" said May +Dashwood, without looking up from her knitting.</p> + +<p>The Warden cleared the pattern from the floor, +and now a long line of wool stretched tautly from his +hands to those of Mrs. Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"Please stop winding," she said quietly, and still +she did not look up, though she might have easily done +so for she had left off knitting.</p> + +<p>The Warden stopped, but he stood looking at her +as if to challenge her eyes. Then, as she remained +obstinately unmoved, he came towards her chair and +dropped the ball on her lap.</p> + +<p>"You couldn't know I was winding it beautifully +because you never looked."</p> + +<p>"I knew without looking," said May. "I took for +granted that you did everything well."</p> + +<p>"If you will look now," said the Warden, "you will +see how crookedly I've done it. So much for flattery."</p> + +<p>He stood looking down at her bent head<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Page 59]</a></span> +with its gold-brown hair lit up to splendour by the +electric light behind her. Her face was slightly in +shadow. The Warden stood so long that Lady Dashwood +was seized with an agreeable feeling of embarrassment. +May Dashwood was apparently unconscious +of the figure beside her. But she raised +her eyebrows. Her eyebrows were often slightly +raised as if inquiring into the state of the world with +sympathy tinged with surprise. She raised her eyebrows +instead of making any reply, as if she said: +"I could make a retort, but I am far too busy with +more important matters."</p> + +<p>The Warden at last moved, and putting a chair +between the two ladies he seated himself exactly +opposite the glowing fire and the portrait above it. +Leaning back, he smoked in silence for a few moments +looking straight in front of him for the most part, +only now and then turning his eyes to Mrs. Dashwood, +just to find out if her eyebrows were still raised.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood began smiling at her book because +she had discovered that she held it upside down.</p> + +<p>"You were interested in Stockwell?" said the +Warden suddenly. "He is doing multifarious things +now. He is an accomplished linguist, and we couldn't +manage without him—besides he is over military age +by a long way."</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood felt quite sure that his silence had +been occupied by the Warden in thinking of May, +so that his question, "You were interested," etc., was +merely the point at which his thoughts broke into +words.</p> + +<p>"I was very much interested in him," said May. +"It was like reading a witty book—only much more +delightful."</p> + +<p>"Stockwell is always worth listening to," said the +Warden, "but he is sometimes very silent. He needs +the right sort of audience to draw him out. Two<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Page 60]</a></span> +or three congenial men—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.</p> + +<p>"Oh, not everybody," she said. "I wish I could!"</p> + +<p>"My dear May," said Lady Dashwood, briskly +seizing this brilliant opportunity of pointing the moral +and adorning the tale, "even you can't pretend to +be interested in little Gwendolen, though you have +done your best. Now that you have seen something +of her, what do you think of her?"</p> + +<p>"Very pretty," said May Dashwood, and she +became busy again with her work.</p> + +<p>"Exactly," said Lady Dashwood. "If she were +plain even Belinda would not have the impertinence to +deposit her on people's doorsteps in the way she does."</p> + +<p>The Warden took his cigar out of his mouth, as if +he had suddenly remembered something that he had +forgotten. He laid his hands on the arms of his chair +and seemed about to rise.</p> + +<p>"You're not going, Jim!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood. +"I thought you had come to talk to us. We +have been doing our duty since dawn of day, and this +is May's little holiday, you know. Stop and talk +nicely to us. Do cheer us up!" Her voice became +appealing.</p> + +<p>The Warden rose from his chair and stood with one +hand resting on the back of it as if about to make some +excuse for going away. Except for the glance, necessitated +by courtesy, that May Dashwood gave the +Warden when he entered, she had kept her eyes obstinately +upon her work. Now she looked up and met +his eyes, only for a moment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Page 61]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm not going," he said, "but I find the fire +too hot. Excuse me if I move away. It has got +muggy and warm—Oxford weather!"</p> + +<p>"Open one of the windows," said Lady Dashwood. +"I'm sure May and I shall be glad of it."</p> + +<p>He moved away and walked slowly down the +length of the room. Going behind the heavy curtains +he opened a part of the casement and then drew aside +one of the curtains slightly. Then he slowly came +back to them in silence.</p> + +<p>This silence that followed was embarrassing, so +embarrassing that Lady Dashwood broke into it +urgently with the first subject that she could think of. +"Tell May about the Barber's ghost, Jim."</p> + +<p>"Where does he appear?" asked May, interestedly, +but without looking up. "What part of the college?"</p> + +<p>"In the library," said the Warden.</p> + +<p>"And at the witching hour of midnight, I suppose?" +said May.</p> + +<p>"Birds of ill omen, I believe, appear at night," +said the Warden. "All Souls College ought to have +had an All Souls' ghost, but it hasn't, it has only its +'foolish Mallard.'"</p> + +<p>"And if he does appear," said May, "what apology +are you going to offer him for the injustice of your +predecessor in the eighteenth century?"</p> + +<p>The Warden turned and stood looking back across +the room at the warm space of light and the two women +sitting in it, with the firelight flickering between them.</p> + +<p>"If I were to make myself responsible for all the +misdemeanours of the Reverend Charles Langley," he +said, "I should have my hands full;" and he came +slowly towards them as he spoke. "You have only +to look at Langley's face, over the mantelpiece, and +you will see what I mean."</p> + +<p>May Dashwood glanced up at the portrait and +smiled.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Page 62]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do you admire our Custos dilectissimus?" he +asked.</p> + +<p>The lights were below the level of the portrait, +but the hard handsome face with its bold eyes, was +distinctly visible. He was looking lazily watchful, +listening sardonically to the conversation about himself.</p> + +<p>"I admire the artist who painted his portrait," +said May.</p> + +<p>"Yes, the artist knew what he was doing when he +painted Langley," said the Warden. He seemed now +to have recovered his ease, and stood leaning his arms +on the back of the chair he had vacated. "Your +idea is a good one," he went on. "I don't suppose +it has occurred to any Warden since Langley's time +that a frank and pleasant apology might lay the +Barber's ghost for ever. Shall I try it?" he asked, +looking at his guest.</p> + +<p>"My dear," said Lady Dashwood slowly, "I wish +you wouldn't even joke about it—I dislike it. I +wish people wouldn't invent ghost stories," she went +on. "They are silly, and they are often mischievous. +I wish you wouldn't talk as if you believed it."</p> + +<p>"It was you, Lena, who brought up the subject," +said Middleton. "But I won't talk about him if +you dislike it. You know that I am not a believer in +ghosts."</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood nodded her head approvingly, +and began turning more pages of her book.</p> + +<p>"I sometimes wonder," said the Warden, and now +he turned his face towards May Dashwood—"I +wonder if men like Langley really believed in a future +life?"</p> + +<p>May looked up at the portrait, but was silent.</p> + +<p>"The eighteenth century was not tormented with +the question as we are now!" said the Warden, +and again he looked at the auburn head and the dark +lashes hiding the downcast eyes. "Those who doubt,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Page 63]</a></span> +he said slowly and tentatively, "whether after all the +High Gods want us—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.</p> + +<p>"There is no truculence in modern unbelief," he +said, "it is a matter of passionate regret. And belief +has become a passionate hope."</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood knew that not a word of this was +meant for her. She disliked all talk about the future +world. It made her feel dismal. Her life had been +spent in managing first her father, then her brother, +and now her husband, and incidentally many of her +friends.</p> + +<p>Some people dislike having plans made for them, +some endure it, some positively like it, and for those +who liked it, Lady Dashwood made extensive plans. +Her brain worked now almost automatically in plans. +For herself she had no plans, she was the planner. +But her plans were about this world. To the "other +world" Lady Dashwood felt secretly inimical; that +"unknown" lurking in the future, would probably, not +so long hence, engulf her husband, leaving her, alas! +still on this side—with no heart left for making any +more plans.</p> + +<p>If she had been alone with the Warden he would +not have mentioned the "future life," nor would he +have spoken of the "High Gods." He knew her mind +too well. Was he probing the mind of May Dashwood? +Either he was deliberately questioning her, or there +was something in her presence that drew from him his +inmost thoughts. Lady Dashwood felt a pang of +indignation at herself for "being in the way" when +to be "out of the way" at such a moment was absolutely +necessary. She must leave these two people +alone together—now—at this propitious moment. +What should she do? She began casting about wildly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Page 64]</a></span> +in her brain for a plan of escape that would not be too +obvious in its intention. The Warden had never been +with May alone for five minutes. To-morrow would +be a blank day—there was Chartcote first and then +when they returned the Warden would be still away +and very probably would not be visible that +evening.</p> + +<p>She could see May's raised face looking very expressive—full +of thoughts. Lady Dashwood rose from +her chair confident that inspired words would come to +her lips—and they came!</p> + +<p>"My dear Jim," she heard herself saying, "your +mentioning the High Gods has made me remember +that I left about some letters that ought to be +answered. Horribly careless of me—I must go and +find them. I'll only be away a moment. So sorry +to interrupt when you are just getting interesting!" +And still murmuring Lady Dashwood made her escape.</p> + +<p>She had done the best she could under the circumstances, +and she smiled broadly as she went through +the corridor.</p> + +<p>"That for Belinda and Co.!" she exclaimed half +aloud, and she snapped her fingers.</p> + +<p>And what was going to happen after Belinda and +Co. were defeated, banished for ever from the Lodgings? +What was going to happen to the Warden? He had +been successfully rescued from one danger—but what +about the future? Was he going to fall in love with +May Dashwood?</p> + +<p>"It sounded to me uncommonly like a metaphysical +wooing of May," said Lady Dashwood to herself. +"<em>That</em> I must leave in the hands of Providence;" and +she went up to her room smiling. There she found +Louise.</p> + +<p>"Madame is gay," said the Frenchwoman, catching +sight of the entering smile. "Gay in this sad Oxford!"</p> + +<p>"Sad!" said Lady Dashwood, her smile still<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Page 65]</a></span> +lingering. "The hospitals are sad, Louise, yes, very +sad, and the half-empty Colleges."</p> + +<p>"Oh, it is sad, incredibly sad," said the maid. "What +kind of city is it, it contains only grey monasteries, +no boulevards, no shops. There is one shop, perhaps, +but what is that?"</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood had gone to the toilet table, for +she caught sight of the letters lying on the top of +the jewel drawers. She had seen them several times +that day, and had always intended tearing them up, +for neither of them needed an answer. But they had +served a good purpose. She had escaped from the +drawing-room with their aid. She took them up +and opened them and looked at them again. Louise +watched her covertly. She glanced at the first and +tore it up; then at the second and tore that up. She +opened the third and glanced at it. And now the +faint remains of the smile that had lingered on her face +suddenly vanished.</p> + +<p>"My dear Gwen," (Lena badly written, of +course).</p> + +<p>"I hope you understood that Lady Dashwood will +keep you till the 3rd. You don't mention the Warden! +Does that mean that you are making no progress +in that direction? Perhaps taking no trouble! The +question is——"</p> + +<p>Here Lady Dashwood stopped. She looked at the +signature of the writer. But that was not necessary—the +handwriting was Belinda Scott's.</p> + +<p>For a moment or two Lady Dashwood stood as if +she intended to remain in the same position for the rest +of her life. Then she breathed rather heavily and her +nostrils dilated.</p> + +<p>"Ah! Well!" said Louise to herself, and she +nodded her head ominously.</p> + +<p>Soon Lady Dashwood recovered herself and folded +up the letter. She looked at the envelope. It was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Page 66]</a></span> +addressed to Miss Gwendolen Scott. She put the +letter back into its envelope.</p> + +<p>Had she opened the letter and then laid it aside +with the others, without perceiving that the letter +was not addressed to her and without reading it? +Was it possible that she, in her hurry last evening, had +done this? If so, Gwen had never received the letter +or read it.</p> + +<p>Of course she could not have read it. If she had, +it would not have been laid on the toilet table. If +Gwen had read it and left it about, it would have either +been destroyed or taken to her room.</p> + +<p>"Does <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> wish to go to bed immediately?" +asked Louise innocently. She had been waiting nearly +twenty-four hours for something to happen about that +letter. She was beginning to be afraid that it might +be discovered when she would not be there to see the +effect it had on <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>. Ah! the letter was all that +Louise's fancy had painted it. See the emotion in +<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame's</span> back! How expressive is the back! What +abominable intrigue! It was not necessary, indeed, +to go to Paris to find wickedness. And, above all, +the Warden—— Oh, my God! Never, never shall +I repose confidence even in the Englishman the most +respectable!</p> + +<p>"Presently," said Lady Dashwood, in answer to +Louise's question.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood had made up her mind. She must +have opened all three letters but only read two of them. +There was no other explanation possible. What was +to be done with Gwen's letter? What was to be done +with this—vile scribble?</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood's fingers were aching to tear the +letter up, but she refrained. It would need some +thinking over. The style of this letter was probably +familiar to Gwendolen—her mind had already been +corrupted. And to think that Jim might have had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Page 67]</a></span> +Belinda and Co., and all that Belinda and Co. implied, +hanging round his neck and dragging him down—till +he dropped into his grave from the sheer dead +weight of it!</p> + +<p>"Yes, immediately," said Lady Dashwood. She +would not go downstairs again. It was of vital importance +that Jim and May should be alone together, +yes, alone together.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood put the letter away in a drawer +and locked it. She must have time to think.</p> + +<p>A few minutes later Louise was brushing out her +mistress's hair—a mass of grey hair, still luxuriant, +that had once been black.</p> + +<p>"I find that Oxford does not agree with <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame's</span> +hair," said Louise, as she plied vigorously with the +brush.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood made no reply.</p> + +<p>"I find that Oxford does not agree with <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame's</span> +hair at all, at all," repeated Louise, firmly.</p> + +<p>"Is it going greyer?" said Lady Dashwood indifferently, +for her mind was working hard on another +subject.</p> + +<p>"It grows not greyer, but it becomes dead, like the +hair of a corpse—in this atmosphere of Oxford," said +Louise, even more firmly.</p> + +<p>"Try not to exaggerate, Louise," said Lady Dashwood, +quite unmoved.</p> + +<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> cannot deny that the humidity of +Oxford is bad both for skin and hair," said Louise, +with some resentment in her tone.</p> + +<p>"Damp is not bad for the skin, Louise," said her +mistress, "but it may be for the hair; I don't know +and I don't care."</p> + +<p>"It's bad for the skin," said Louise. "I have seen +<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> looking grave, the skin folded, in Oxford. +It is the climate. It is impossible to smile—in Oxford. +One lies as if under a tomb."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Page 68]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Every place has its bad points," said Lady Dashwood. +"It is important to make the best of them."</p> + +<p>"But I do not like to see <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> depressed by +the climate here," continued Louise, obstinately, +"and <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> has been depressed here lately."</p> + +<p>"Not at all," said Lady Dashwood. "You needn't +worry, Louise; any one who can stand India would +find the climate of Oxford admirable. Now, as soon +as you have done my hair, I want you to go down to +the drawing-room, where you will find Mrs. Dashwood, +and apologise to her for my not coming down again. +Say I have a letter that will take me some time to +answer. Bid her good night, also the Warden, who +will be with her, I expect."</p> + +<p>Louise had been momentarily plunged into despair. +She had been unsuccessful all the way round. It +looked as if the visit to Oxford was to go on indefinitely, +and as to the letter—well—<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> was unfathomable—as +she always was. She was English, and one must +not expect them to behave as if they had a heart.</p> + +<p>But now her spirits rose! This message to the +drawing-room! The Warden was alone with Mrs. +Dashwood! The Warden, this man of apparent uprightness +who was the seducer of the young! Lady +Dashwood had discovered his wickedness and dared +not leave Mrs. Dashwood, a widow and of an age +(twenty-eight) when a woman is still young, alone +with him. So she, Louise, was sent down, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bien entendu</i>, +to break up the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tźte-ą-tźte!</i></p> + +<p>Louise put down the brush and smiled to herself +as she went down to the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>She, through her devotion to duty, had become an +important instrument in the hands of Providence.</p> + +<p>When Lady Dashwood found herself alone, she took +up her keys and jingled them, unable to make up her +mind.</p> + +<p>She had only read the first two or three sentences<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Page 69]</a></span> +of Belinda's letter; she had only read—until the +identity and meaning of the letter had suddenly come +to her.</p> + +<p>She opened the drawer and took out the letter. +Then she walked a few steps in the room, thinking as +she walked. No, much as she despised Belinda, she +could not read a private letter of hers. Perhaps, +because she despised her, it was all the more urgent +that she should not read anything of hers.</p> + +<p>What Lady Dashwood longed to do was to have +done with Belinda and never see her or hear from her +again. She wanted Belinda wiped out of the world +in which she, Lena Dashwood, moved and thought.</p> + +<p>What was she to do with the letter? Jim was +safe now, the letter was harmless—as far as he was +concerned. But what about Gwen? Was it not like +handing on to her a dose of moral poison?</p> + +<p>On the other hand, the poison belonged to Gwen +and had been sent to her by her mother!</p> + +<p>The matter could not be settled without more +reflection. Perhaps some definite decision would frame +itself during the night; perhaps she would awake +in the morning, knowing exactly what was the best +to be done.</p> + +<p>She put away the letter again, and again locked the +drawer. She was putting away her keys when the door +opened and she heard her maid come in.</p> + +<p>There was something in the way Louise entered +and stood at the door that made Lady Dashwood turn +round and look at her. That excellent Frenchwoman +was standing very stiffly, her eyes wide and agitated, +and her features expressive of extreme excitement. +She breathed loudly.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" demanded Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> Dashwood was not visible in the drawing-room!" +said Louise, and she tightened her lips after +this pronouncement.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Page 70]</a></span></p> + +<p>"She had gone up to her bedroom?"</p> + +<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> Dashwood is not in her bedroom!" said +Louise, with ever deepening tragedy in her voice.</p> + +<p>"Did you look for her in the library?" demanded +Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> Dashwood is not in the library!" said +Louise. She did not move from her position in front +of the door. She stood there looking the personification +of domestic disaster, her chest heaving.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Dashwood isn't ill?" Lady Dashwood felt +a sudden pang of fear at her heart.</p> + +<p>"No, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>!" said Louise.</p> + +<p>"Then what is the matter?" demanded Lady +Dashwood, sternly. "Don't be a fool, Louise. Say +what has happened!"</p> + +<p>"How can I tell <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>? It is indeed unbelievably +too sad! I did not see <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> Dashwood +but I heard her voice," began Louise. "Oh, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>, +that I should have to pronounce such words to you! +I open the door of the drawing-room! It is scarcely +at all lighted! No one is visible! I stand and for a +moment I look around me! I hear sounds! I listen +again! I hear the voice of <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> Dashwood! Ah! +what surprise! Where is she? She is hidden behind +the great curtains of the window, completely hidden! +Why? And to whom does she speak? Ah, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>, +what frightful surprise, what shock to hear reply the +voice, also behind the curtain, of <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Monsieur</span> the Warden! +I cannot believe it, it is incredible, but also it is true! +I stop no longer, for shame! I fly, I meet Robinson +in the gallery, but I pass him—like lightning—I speak +not! No word escapes from my mouth! I come +direct to <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame's</span> room! In entering, I know not +what to say, I say nothing! I dare not! I stand +with the throat swelling, the heart oppressed, but with +the lips closed! I speak only because <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> insists, +she commands me to speak, to say all! I trust in God!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Page 71]</a></span> +I obey <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame's</span> command! I speak! I disclose +frankly the painful truth! I impart the boring information!"</p> + +<p>While Louise was speaking Lady Dashwood's face +had first expressed astonishment, and then it relaxed +into amusement, and when her maid stopped speaking +for want of breath, she sank down upon a chair and +burst into laughter.</p> + +<p>"My poor Louise?" she said. "You never will +understand English people. If Mrs. Dashwood and +the Warden are behind the window curtains, it is +because they want to look out of the window!"</p> + +<p>Louise's face became passionately sceptical.</p> + +<p>"In the rain, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>!" she remarked. "In +a darkness of the tomb?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, in the rain and darkness," said Lady Dashwood. +"You must go down again in a moment, and +give them my message!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Page 72]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>MEN MARCHING PAST</h3> + +<p class="above2">After the Warden had closed the door on his sister +he came back to the fireplace. He had been interrupted, +and he stood silently with his hand on the back +of the chair, just as he had stood before. He was +waiting, perhaps, for an invitation to speak; for some +sign from Mrs. Dashwood that now that they were +alone together, she expected him to talk on, freely.</p> + +<p>She had no suspicion of the real reason why her +Aunt Lena had gone away. May took for granted +that she had fled at the first sign of a religious discussion. +May knew that General Sir John Dashwood, +like many well regulated persons, was under the impression +that he had, at some proper moment in his +juvenile existence now forgotten, at his mother's +knee or in his ancestral cradle, once and for all weighed, +considered and accepted the sacred truths containing +the Christian religion, and that therefore there was no +need to poke about among them and distrust them. +Lady Dashwood had encouraged that sentiment of +silent loyalty: it left more time and energy over for +the discussion and arrangement of the practical affairs +of life. May knew all this.</p> + +<p>May, sitting by the fire, with her eyes on her work, +observed the hesitation in the Warden's mind. She +knew that he was waiting. She glanced up.</p> + +<p>"What was it you were saying?" she asked in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Page 73]</a></span> +softest of voices, for now that they were alone there +was no one to be annoyed by a religious discussion.</p> + +<p>The Warden moved round and seated himself. +But even then he could not bring his thoughts to the +surface: they lay in the back of his mind urgent, yet +reluctant. Meanwhile he began talking about the +portrait again. It served as a stalking horse. He +told her some of the old college stories, stories not +only of Langley, but of other Wardens in the tempestuous +days of the Reformation and of the Civil +War.</p> + +<p>"And yet," he said suddenly, "what were those +days compared with these? Has there been any +tragedy like this?" He gazed at her now; with his +narrow eyes strained and sad.</p> + +<p>"Just at the beginning of the war," he said, "I +heard—— 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."</p> + +<p>May Dashwood's hands dropped to her lap, and she +sat listening with her eyes lowered.</p> + +<p>"There was a sound of the feet of men marching +past, though I could not see them. Their feet were +trampling the ground rhythmically, and all to the +'playing' of a bugler. I have never heard, before +or since, a bugle played like that! The youth—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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Page 74]</a></span> +distance; and I knew that the flower of our youth +was marching to its doom."</p> + +<p>The Warden got up from his chair, and walked +away, and there was silence in the room.</p> + +<p>Then he came up to where May sat and looked +down at her.</p> + +<p>"The High Gods," she said, quietly quoting his +own phrase, "wanted them."</p> + +<p>He moved away again. "I have no argument +for my faith," he said. "The question for us is no +longer 'I must believe,' but 'Dare I believe?' The +old days of certainty have gone. Inquisitions, Solemn +Leagues and Covenants have gone—never to return. +All the clamour of men who claim 'to know' has died +down."</p> + +<p>And as he gazed at her with eyes that demanded +an answer she said simply: "I am content with the +silence of God."</p> + +<p>He made no answer and leaned heavily on the back +of his chair. A moment later he began to walk again. +"I don't think I <em>can</em> believe that the heroic sacrifice +of youth, their bitter suffering, will be mixed up indistinguishably +with the cunning meanness of pleasure-seekers, +with the sordid humbug of money-makers—in +one vast forgotten grave. No, I can't believe that—because +the world we know is a rational world."</p> + +<p>May glanced round at him as he moved about. +The great dimly-lit room was full of shadows, and +Middleton's face was dark, full of shadows too, shadows +of mental suffering. She looked back at her work and +sighed.</p> + +<p>"Even if we straighten the crooked ways of life, +so that there are no more starving children, no men and +women broken with the struggle of life: even if we +are able, by self-restraint, by greater scientific knowledge +to rid the earth of those diseases that mean +martyrdom to its victims; even if hate is turned to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Page 75]</a></span> +love, and vice and moral misery are banished: even +if the Kingdom of Heaven does come upon this earth—even +then! That will not be a Kingdom of Heaven +that is Eternal! This Earth will, in time, die. This +Earth will die, that we know; and with it must vanish +for ever even the memory of a million years of human +effort. Shall we be content with that? I fail to +conceive it as rational, and therefore I cling to the +<em>hope</em> of some sort of life beyond the grave—Eternal +Life. But," and here he spoke out emphatically, +"I have no argument for my belief."</p> + +<p>He came and stood close beside her now, and looked +down at her. "I have no argument for my belief," +he repeated.</p> + +<p>"And you are content with the silence of God," +he added. Then he spoke very slowly: "I must be +content."</p> + +<p>If he had stretched out his hand to touch hers, it +would not have meant any more than did the prolonged +gaze of his eyes.</p> + +<p>The clock on the mantelpiece ticked—its voice +alone striking into the silence. It seemed to tick +sometimes more loudly, sometimes more softly.</p> + +<p>The Warden appeared to force himself away from +his own thoughts. With his hands still grasping the +back of his chair, he raised his head and stood upright. +The tick of the clock fell upon his ear; a monotonous +and mechanical sound—indifferent to human life and +yet weighted with importance to human life; marking +the moments as they passed; moments never to be +recalled; steps that are leading irretrievably the +human race to their far-off destiny.</p> + +<p>As the Warden's eyes watched the hands of the +clock, they pointed to five minutes to eleven. A +thought came to him.</p> + +<p>"All the bells are silent now," he said, "except +in the safe daylight."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Page 76]</a></span></p> + +<p>May looked up at him.</p> + +<p>"Even 'Tom' is silent. The Clusius is not +tolled now."</p> + +<p>He got up and walked along the room to the open +window. There he held the curtain well aside and +looked back at her. Why it was, May did not know, +but it seemed imperative to her to come to him. She +put her work aside and came through into the broad +embrasure of the bay. Then he let the curtain fall and +they stood together in the darkness. The Warden +pushed out the latticed frame wider into the dark +night. The air was scarcely stirring, it came in warm +and damp against their faces.</p> + +<p>The quadrangle below them was dimly visible. +Eastwards the sky was heavy with a great blank pale +space stretching over the battlemented roof and full +of the light of a moon that had just risen, but overhead +a heavy cloud slowly moved westwards.</p> + +<p>They both leaned out and breathed the night air.</p> + +<p>"It will rain in a moment," said the Warden.</p> + +<p>"In the old days," he said, "there would have been +sounds coming from these windows. There would +have been men coming light-heartedly from these +staircases and crossing to one another. Now all is +under military rule: the poor remnant left of undergraduate +life—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!"</p> + +<p>May leaned down lower and the silence of the night +seemed oppressive when the Warden ceased speaking.</p> + +<p>After a moment he said, "In the old days you +would have heard some far-off clock strike the hour, +probably a thin, cracked voice, and then it would have +been followed by other voices. You would have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Page 77]</a></span> +heard them jangle together, and then into their discordance +you would have heard the deep voice of +'Tom' breaking."</p> + +<p>"But he is at his best," went on the Warden, +"when he tolls the Clusius. It is his right to toll +it, and his alone. He speaks one hundred and one +times, slowly, solemnly and with authority, and then +all the gates in Oxford are closed."</p> + +<p>Drops of rain fell lightly in at them, and May drew +in her head.</p> + +<p>"Oxford has become a city of memories to me," +said the Warden, and he put out his arm to draw in +the window.</p> + +<p>"That is only when you are sad," said May.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the Warden slowly, "it is only when +I give way to gloom. After all, this is a great time, +it can be made a great time. If only all men and +women realised that it might be the beginning of the +'Second Coming.' As it is, the chance may slip."</p> + +<p>He pulled the window further in and secured it.</p> + +<p>May pushed aside the curtain and went back into +the glow and warmth of the room.</p> + +<p>She gathered up her knitting and thrust it into +the bag.</p> + +<p>"Are you going?" asked the Warden. He was +standing now in the middle of the room watching her.</p> + +<p>"I'm going," said May.</p> + +<p>"I've driven you away," he said, "by my dismal +talk."</p> + +<p>"Driven me away!" she repeated. "Oh no!" +Her voice expressed a great reproach, the reproach +of one who has suffered too, and who has "dreamed +dreams." Surely he knew that she could understand!</p> + +<p>"Forgive me!" he said, and held out his hand +impulsively. At least it seemed strangely impulsive +in this self-contained man.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Page 78]</a></span></p> + +<p>She put hers into it, withdrew it, and together they +went to the door. For the first time in her life May +felt the sting of a strange new pain. The open door +led away from warmth and a world that was full and +satisfying—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.</p> + +<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> desires me to say good night," said +Louise, giving May's face a quick searching glance.</p> + +<p>"I'll come and say good night to her," said May, +"if it's not too late."</p> + +<p>No, it was not too late. Louise led the way, +marvelling at the callous self-assurance of English +people.</p> + +<p>Louise opened her mistress's door, and though +consumed with raging curiosity, left Mrs. Dashwood +to enter alone.</p> + +<p>"Oh, May!" cried Lady Dashwood. She was +moving about the room in a grey dressing-gown, looking +very restless, and with her hair down.</p> + +<p>"You didn't come down again," said May; +"you were tired?"</p> + +<p>"I wasn't tired!" Here Lady Dashwood paused. +"May, I have, by pure accident, come upon a letter—from +Belinda to Gwen. I don't know how it came +among my own letters, but there it was, opened. +I don't know if I opened it by mistake, but anyhow +there it was opened; I began reading the nauseous +rubbish, and then realised that I was reading Belinda. +Now the question is, what to do with the letter? It +contains advice. May, Gwen is to secure the Warden! +It seems odd to see it written down in black and +white."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Page 79]</a></span></p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood stared hard at her niece—who +stood before her, thoughtful and silent.</p> + +<p>"Shall I give it to Gwen—or what?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Well," began May, and then she stopped.</p> + +<p>"Of course, I blame myself for being such a fool +as to have taken in Belinda," said Lady Dashwood +(for the hundredth time). "But the question now is—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!"</p> + +<p>May Dashwood stood looking straight into her +aunt's face, revolving thoughts in her own mind.</p> + +<p>"Some people, May," said Lady Dashwood, "who +want to be unkind and only succeed in being stupid, +say that I am a matchmaker. I <em>have</em> always conscientiously +tried to be a matchmaker, but I have rarely +succeeded. I have been so happy with my dear old +husband that I want other people to be happy too, +and I am always bringing young people together—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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Page 80]</a></span> +and dear old Nature wants her to pass it on to the +other maids, and if possible to the cook. Well, I +circumvent Nature."</p> + +<p>May Dashwood's face slowly smiled.</p> + +<p>"But I did not bring Gwendolen Scott to this +house—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."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said May Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"After all, what else could I say?" exclaimed +Lady Dashwood. "You can't exactly tell a daughter +that you think her mother is a shameless hussy, even +if you may think that she ought to know it."</p> + +<p>"Poor Gwen and poor Lady Belinda!" said May +Dashwood sighing, and moving to go, and trying hard +to feel real pity in her heart.</p> + +<p>"No," said Lady Dashwood, raising her voice, "I +don't say 'poor Belinda.' I don't feel a bit sorry for +the old reprobate, I feel more angry with her. Don't +you see yourself—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?"</p> + +<p>May Dashwood did not reply immediately; she +seemed to be much occupied in walking very slowly +to the door and then in slowly turning the handle of +the door. Surely Gwendolen and her mother were +pitiable objects—unsuccessful as they were?</p> + +<p>"Now, would you?" demanded Lady Dashwood. +"Would you?"</p> + +<p>"I should trust him not to do that," said May, as +she opened the door. She looked back at the tall<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Page 81]</a></span> +erect figure in the grey silk dressing-gown. "Good +night, dear aunt." And she went out. "You see, +I am running away, and I order you to go to bed. +You are tired." She spoke through the small open +space she had left, and then she closed the door.</p> + +<p>"Trust him! Oh, Lord!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood, +in a loud voice.</p> + +<p>But she was not altogether displeased with the +word "trust" in May Dashwood's mouth. "She +seems pretty confident that Jim isn't going to make a +martyr of himself," she said to herself happily.</p> + +<p>The door opened and Louise entered with an +enigmatical look on her face. Louise had been listening +outside for the tempestuous sounds that in her +country would have issued from any two normal women +under the same circumstances.</p> + +<p>But no such sounds had reached her attentive +ears, and here was Lady Dashwood moving about with +a serene countenance. She was even smiling. Oh, +what a country, what people!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Page 82]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>THE LOST LETTER</h3> + +<p class="above2">The next morning it was still raining. It was a +typical Oxford day, a day of which there are so many +in the year that those who have best known Oxford +think of her fondly in terms of damp sandstone.</p> + +<p>They remember her gabled roofs, narrow pavements, +winding alleys humid and shining from recent +rain; her mullioned windows looking out on high-walled +gardens where the over-hanging trees drip and +drip in chastened melancholy. They remember her floating +spires piercing the lowering sodden sky, her grey +courts and solemn doorways, her echoing cloisters; +all her incomparable monastic glory soaked through +and through with heavy languorous moisture, and +slowly darkening in a misty twilight.</p> + +<p>It is this sobering atmosphere that has brought to +birth and has bred the "Oxford tone;" the remorseless, +if somewhat playful handling of ideas.</p> + +<p>Gwendolen Scott was no more aware of the existence +of an "Oxford tone," bred (as all organic life has +been) in the damp, than was the maidservant who +brought her tea in the morning; but she perceived the +damp. She could see through the latticed windows of +the breakfast-room that it rained, rained and rained, +and the question was what she should do to make +the time pass till they must start for Chartcote? No<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Page 83]</a></span> +letter had yet come from her mother—and the old +letter was still lost.</p> + +<p>The best Gwen could hope for was that it had been +picked up and thrown into the paper basket and +destroyed.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile what should she do? Lady Dashwood +was always occupied during the mornings. Mrs. +Dashwood did not seem to be at her disposal. What +was she to do? Should she practise the "Reverie"? +No, she didn't want to "fag" at that. She had asked +the housemaid to mend a pair of stockings, and she +found these returned to her room—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.</p> + +<p>She would look at her frocks and try and decide +what to wear at lunch. If she couldn't decide she +would have to consult Lady Dashwood. Her room was +rather dark. The window looked, not on to the +quadrangle, but on to the street. She took each piece +of dress to the window and gazed at it. The blue coat +and skirt wouldn't do. She had worn that often, +and the blouse was not fresh now. That must go back +into the wardrobe. The likely clothes must be spread +on the bed, where she could review them.</p> + +<p>She ran her hand down a stiff rustling costume of +brown silk. It gave her a pleasurable sensation. +It was dark brown and inconspicuous, and yet "dressy." +But would, after all, the blue coat and skirt be more +suitable, as Oxford people never dressed? Yes; but +she might meet other sort of people at Chartcote! +It was a difficult question.</p> + +<p>She passed on to a thin black and white cloth that +was very "smart" and showed off her dark beauty. +That and the white cloth hat would do! She had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Page 84]</a></span> +worn it once before and the Warden had talked a great +deal to her when she had it on. She took out the +dress and laid it on the bed, and she laid the hat upon +it. Mrs. Dashwood had not seen the dress! By +the by, Mrs. Dashwood and the Warden had scarcely +talked at all at breakfast! He had once made a remark +to her, and she had looked up and said "Yes," in a funny +sort of way, just as if she agreed of course! H'm, +there was really no need to be afraid of that! Supposing +and if she, Gwen, were ever to be Mrs. Middleton, +what sort of new clothes would she buy? Oh, +all sorts of things would be necessary! And yet—the +Warden seemed to be quietly drifting farther and +farther away from her. Was that talk in the library +a dream? Then if not, why didn't he say something? +Did he say nothing, because in the library he had said, +"If you want a home, etc., etc.?" Did he mean by +that, "If you come and tell me that you want a home, +etc., etc.?"</p> + +<p>Gwen was not sure whether he meant "If you come +and <em>say</em> you want a home, etc., etc.," or only, "If you +want a home, etc., etc." How tiresome! He knew +she wanted a home! But perhaps he wasn't sure +whether she really wanted a home! Ought she to go +and knock at the door and say that she really did want +a home? Was he waiting for her to come and knock +on the door and say, "I really do want a home, etc., +etc.," and then come near enough to be kissed?</p> + +<p>But after what Mr. Boreham had said, even if she +did go and knock at the door and say that she really +did want a home, etc., etc., and go and stand quite +near him, the Warden might pretend not to understand +and merely say, "I'm sorry," and go on +writing.</p> + +<p>How did girls make sure that a proposal was +binding? Did they manage somehow to have it in +writing? But how could she have said to the Warden,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Page 85]</a></span> +"Would you mind putting it all down in writing"? +She really couldn't have said such a thing!</p> + +<p>Gwen could not quite make up her mind what to +wear. She had put the brown silk and one or two +more dresses on the bed without being able to come +to any conclusion.</p> + +<p>It would be necessary to ask advice. Having +covered the bed with "possible" dresses, Gwen went +out to search for Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>She had not to go far, for she met her just outside +the door.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lady Dashwood," began Gwen, "could you, +would you mind telling me what I am to wear for +lunch? I'm so sorry to be such a bother, but I'm——"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no," said Gwen, stammering. "I—lost it—somehow. +Oh, thanks so much! Oh, thanks!"</p> + +<p>Tears of embarrassment were starting to the girl's +eyes, and she turned away, letter in hand, and went +towards her door like a beaten child.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood gazed after her, pity uppermost +in her heart—pity, now that Belinda and Co. were no +longer dangerous.</p> + +<p>Safely inside the door, Gwen gave way to regret, +and from regret for her carelessness she went on to +wondering wildly what effect the letter might have had +on Lady Dashwood! Had she told the Warden its +contents? Had she read the letter to him?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Page 86]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gwen squirmed as she walked about her room. +There was a look in Lady Dashwood's face! Oh dear, +oh dear!</p> + +<p>The dresses lay neglected on the bed; the sight of +them only made Gwen's heart ache the more, for they +reminded her of those bright hopes that had flitted +through her brain—hopes of having more important +clothes as the Warden's wife. Gwen had even gone +as far as wondering whether Cousin Bridget might +not give her some furs as a wedding present. Cousin +Bridget had spent over a thousand pounds in new furs +for herself that first winter of the war, when the +style changed; so was it too much to expect that +Cousin Bridget, who was the wealthy member of the +family, though her husband's title was a new one, +might give her a useful wedding present? Now, the +mischance with this letter had probably destroyed all +chances of the Warden marrying her!</p> + +<p>She was glad that he had gone away to-day, +so that she would not see him again till the next +morning; that gave more time.</p> + +<p>She did not want to go to Chartcote to lunch. +She would not be able to eat anything if she felt as +miserable as she did now, and she would find it impossible +to talk to any one.</p> + +<p>Even her mother's letter of advice might not help +her very much—now that old letter had been seen.</p> + +<p>Gwen walked about her room, sometimes leaning +over the foot of her bed and staring blankly at the +dresses spread out before her, and sometimes stopping +to look at herself in a long mirror on the way, feeling +very sorry for that poor pretty girl whose image she +saw reflected there. When she heard a knock at the +door she almost jumped. Was it Lady Dashwood? +Gwen's answering voice sounded very soft and meek, +as if a mouse was saying "Come in" to a cat that +demanded entrance.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Page 87]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was Mrs. Dashwood who opened the door and +walked in.</p> + +<p>"You want advice about what to wear for lunch?" +said Mrs. Dashwood. "Lady Dashwood is finishing +off some parcels, and asked me to come and offer you +my services—if you'll have me?" and she actually +laughed as she caught sight of the display on the bed.</p> + +<p>"Very business-like," she said, walking up to the +bed. She did not seem to have noticed Gwen's distracted +appearance, and this gave Gwen time and +courage to compose her features and assume her +ordinary bearing.</p> + +<p>"Thanks so much," she said, going to the foot of +the bed. "I was afraid I bothered Lady Dashwood +when I asked about the lunch."</p> + +<p>"It really doesn't much matter what it is you wear +for Chartcote," said May Dashwood slowly, as her eye +roamed over the bed. She did not appear to have +heard Gwen's last remark.</p> + +<p>"People do dress so funnily here," said Gwen, +beginning to feel happy again, "but I thought perhaps +that——"</p> + +<p>"I think I should recommend that dark brown +silk," said Mrs. Dashwood, "and if you have a black +hat——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have!" cried Gwen, with animation, and +she rushed to the wardrobe. After all she did like +Mrs. Dashwood. She was not so bad after all.</p> + +<p>May received the black hat into her hands and +praised it. She put it on the girl's head and then stood +back to see the effect.</p> + +<p>Gwen stood smiling, her face and dark hair framed +by the black velvet.</p> + +<p>"The very thing," said Mrs. Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"Do try it on. You'd look lovely in it," gushed +Gwen. The expression "You'd look lovely in it" +came from her lips before she could stop it. Her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Page 88]</a></span> +instinctive antagonism to Mrs. Dashwood was fast +oozing away.</p> + +<p>May took the hat and put it on her own head, and +then she looked round at the mirror.</p> + +<p>"There!" said Gwen. "I told you so!"</p> + +<p>May Dashwood regarded herself critically in the +mirror and no smile came to her lips. She looked at +her tall slender figure and the auburn hair under the +black velvet brim as if she was looking at somebody +else. May took off the hat and placed it on the bed +by the dark brown silk.</p> + +<p>"Now, you're complete," she said. "Quite complete;" +but she looked out of her grey eyes at something +far away, and did not see Gwendolen.</p> + +<p>"If only I had a nice fur!" exclaimed the girl. +"Mine is old, and it's the wrong shape, of course," +she went on confidentially. She found herself suddenly +desirous of making a life-long friend of Mrs. Dashwood. +In spite of her age and the fact that she was very clever +and all that, and that the Warden had begun by taking +too much notice of her, Mrs. Dashwood was nice. +Gwen wanted at that moment to "tell her everything," +all about the "proposal," and see what she +thought about it!</p> + +<p>Gwen's emotions came and went in little spurts, +and they were very absorbing for the moment.</p> + +<p>"Don't be ashamed of yours," said Mrs. Dashwood, +and as she spoke she went towards the door. "I +can't say I admire the sisterhood of women who spend +their pence on sham or their guineas on real fur and +jewellery just now."</p> + +<p>Gwen stared. She was not quite sure what the +remark really meant—the word "sisterhood" confused +her.</p> + +<p>"If I were you," said Mrs. Dashwood, smiling, +"I should begin to dress; we are to be ready at one +punctually."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Page 89]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, thanks so much," said Gwen. "I know I +take an age. I always do," she laughed.</p> + +<p>As soon as Mrs. Dashwood had gone Gwen found it +necessary to sit down and think whether she really +liked Mrs. Dashwood so very much, or whether she +only "just liked her," and this subject brought her +back to the letter and the Warden, and all her lost +opportunities! Gwen was startled by a knock at the +door which she knew was produced by the knuckles +of Lady Dashwood's maid.</p> + +<p>"Oh, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mademoiselle!</span>" cried Louise. "You have +not commenced, and <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> is ready."</p> + +<p>"The brown one," exclaimed Gwen, as Louise +rushed towards the bed.</p> + +<p>Louise fell upon the bed like a wild beast and began +dressing Gwen with positive ferocity, protesting all the +time in tones of physical agony mingled with moral +indignation, her astonishment at <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mademoiselle's</span> indifference +to the desires of <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>.</p> + +<p>"I didn't know it was so late," said Gwen, who was +not accustomed to such freedom from a servant.</p> + +<p>More exclamations from Louise, who was hooking +and buttoning and pulling and pushing like a fury.</p> + +<p>"Well, leave off talking," said Gwen, looking very +hot, "and don't pull so much."</p> + +<p>More exclamations from Louise and more pulling, +and at last Gwen stood complete in her brown +dress and black hat. While she was thinking about +what shoes she should put on, Louise had already +seized a pair and was now pulling and pushing at +her feet.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood was giving instructions to +Robinson in the hall, when Gwen came precipitately +downstairs. The taxi was at the door, and Mrs. +Dashwood was already seated in it.</p> + +<p>It was still raining. Of course! Everything was +wretched!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Page 90]</a></span></p> + +<p>Now, what about an umbrella? Gwen gazed about +her and seized an umbrella, earnestly trusting that it +was not one that Lady Dashwood meant to use. How +hot and flushed and late she was, and then—the letter! +Oh, that letter! How horrible to be obliged to sit +opposite to Lady Dashwood!</p> + +<p>She ran down the steps without opening the umbrella, +and dashed into the taxi, Lady Dashwood following +under an umbrella held by Robinson.</p> + +<p>"Here we are!" said Lady Dashwood. She seemed +to have forgotten all about the letter, and she smiled +at Gwen.</p> + +<p>They passed out of the entrance court of the +Lodgings and into the narrow street, and then into the +High Street. The sky and the air and the road and +the pavements and the buildings were grey. The +Cherwell was grey, and its trees wept into it. The +meadows were sodden; it was difficult to imagine that +they could ever stand in tall ripe hay. There was a +smell of damp decay in the air.</p> + +<p>Gwen stared fixedly out of the window in order +to avoid looking at the ladies opposite her. They +seemed to be occupied with the continuance of a conversation +that they had begun before. Now, Gwen's +mind failed and fainted before conversation that +was at all impersonal, and though she was listening, +she did not grasp the whole of any one sentence. But +she caught isolated words and phrases here and there, +dreary words like "Education," "Oxford methods," +and her attention was absorbed by the discovery that +every time Mrs. Dashwood spoke, she said: "Does the +Warden think?" just as if she knew what the Warden +would think!</p> + +<p>This was nasty of her. If only she always talked +about Gwen's hat suiting her, and about other things +that were really interesting, Gwen believed she could +make a life-long friend of her, in spite of her age; but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Page 91]</a></span> +she would talk about stupid incomprehensible things—and +about the Warden!</p> + +<p>The Warden was growing a more and more remote +figure in Gwen's mind. He was fading into something +unsubstantial—something that Gwen could not lean +against, or put her arms round. Would she never +again have the opportunity of feeling how hard and +smooth his shirt-front was? It was like china, only +not cold. As she thought Gwen's eyes became misty +and sad, and she ceased to notice what the two +ladies opposite to her were saying.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Page 92]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>THE LUNCHEON PARTY</h3> + +<p class="above2">Boreham was in his dressing-room at Chartcote +looking at himself in the mirror. The picture he saw +in its depths was familiar to him. Had he (like prehistoric +man) never had the opportunity of seeing his +own face, and had he been suddenly presented with +his portrait and asked whether he thought the +picture pleasing, he would have replied, as do our +Cabinet ministers: "The answer is in the negative."</p> + +<p>But the figure in the mirror had always been associated +with his inmost thoughts. It had grown with +his growth. It had smiled, it had laughed and frowned. +It had looked dull and disappointed, it had looked +flattered and happy in tune with his own feelings; +and that rather colourless face with the drab beard, +the bristly eyebrows, the pale blue eyes and the thin +lips, were all part of Boreham's exclusive personal +world to which he was passionately attached; something +separate from the world he criticised, jeered at, +scolded or praised, as the mood took him, also something +separate from what he secretly and unwillingly +envied. The portrait in the mirror represented Boreham's +own particular self—the unmistakable "I."</p> + +<p>He gave a last touch with a brush to the stiff +hair, and then stood staring at his completed image, +at himself, ready for lunch, ready—and this was what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Page 93]</a></span> +dominated his thoughts—ready to receive May +Dashwood.</p> + +<p>Some eight or nine years ago, when he had first +met May, he had as nearly fallen in love with her as his +constitution permitted; and he had been nettled at +finding himself in a financial position that was, to say +the best of it, rather fluctuating. He knew he was +going to have Chartcote, but aunts of sixty frequently +live to remain aunts at eighty. May had never shown +any particular interest in him, but he attributed her +indifference to the natural and selfish female desire +to acquire a wealthy husband. As it was impossible +for him to marry at that period in his life, he adopted +that theory of marriage most likely to shed a cheerful +light upon his compulsory bachelorhood. He maintained +that the natural man tries to escape marriage, as it is +incompatible with his "freedom," and is only "enchained" +after much persistent hunting down by the +female, who makes the most of the conventions of +civilisation for her own protection and profit. He +was able, therefore, at the age of forty-two to look +round him and say: "I have successfully escaped—hitherto," +and to feel that what he said was true. But +now he was no longer poor. He was an eligible man.</p> + +<p>He was also less happy than he had been. He had +lived at Chartcote for some interminable weeks! He +had found it tolerable, only because he was well enough +off to be always going away from it. But now he had +again met May, free like himself, and if possible +more attractive than she had been eight years ago!</p> + +<p>He had met her and had found her at the zenith +of womanhood; without losing her youth, she had +acquired maturer grace and self-possession. Had there +been any room for improvement in himself he too +would have matured! The wealth he had acquired +was sufficient. And now the question was: whether +with all his masculine longing to preserve his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Page 94]</a></span> +freedom he would be able to escape successfully +again? This was why he was giving a lingering +glance in the mirror, where his external personality +was, as it were, painted with an exactness that no +artist could command.</p> + +<p>Should this blond man with the beard and the stiff +hair, below which lay a splendid brain, should he +escape again?</p> + +<p>Boreham stared hard at his own image. He +repeated the momentous question, firmly but +inaudibly, and then went away without answering it. +Time would show—that very day might show!</p> + +<p>Mrs. Greenleafe Potten had already arrived. Now +Mrs. Greenleafe Potten was a cousin of Boreham's +maternal aunt. She lived in rude though luxurious +widowhood about a quarter of a mile from Chartcote, +and she was naturally the person to whom +Boreham applied whenever he wanted a lady to head +his table. Besides, Mrs. Potten was a very old friend +of Lady Dashwood's. Mrs. Potten was a little senior +to Lady Dashwood, but in many ways appeared to +be her junior. Mrs. Potten, too, retained her youthful +interest in men. Lady Dashwood's long stay in +Oxford had brought with it a new interest to Mrs. +Potten's life. It had enabled her to call at King's +College and claim acquaintance with the Warden. +Mrs. Potten admired the Warden with the sentiment +of early girlhood. Now Mrs. Potten was accredited +with the possession of great wealth, of which she spent +as little as possible. She practised certain strange +economies, and on this occasion, learning that the +Dashwoods were coming without the Warden, she +decided to come in the costume in which she usually +spent the morning hours, toiling in the garden.</p> + +<p>The party consisted of the three ladies from King's, +Mr. Bingham, Fellow of All Souls, and Mr. and Mrs. +Harding.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Page 95]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Bingham was a man of real learning; he was +a bachelor, and he made forcible remarks in the soft +deliberate tone of a super-curate. He laughed discreetly +as if in the presence of some sacred shrine. In the old +pre-war days there had been many stories current in +Oxford about Bingham, some true and some invented +by his friends. All of them were reports of brief but +effective conversations between himself and some other +less sophisticated person. Bingham always accepted +invitations from any one who asked him when he had +time, and if he found himself bored, he simply did not +go again. Boreham had got hold of Bingham and had +asked him to lunch, so he had accepted. It was one +of the days when he did <em>not</em> go up to the War Office, +but when he lectured to women students. He had +to lunch somewhere, and he had bicycled out, intending +to bicycle back, rain or no rain, for the sake of exercise.</p> + +<p>Then there were Mr. and Mrs. Harding. Harding, +who had taken Orders (just as some men have +eaten dinners for the Bar), was Fellow and Tutor of +a sporting College. His tutorial business had been +for many years to drive the unwilling and ungrateful +blockhead through the Pass Degree. His private +business was to assume that he was a "man of the +world." It was a subject that engrossed what must (in +the absence of anything more distinctive), be called +the "spiritual" side of his nature. His wife, who +had money, lived to set a good example to other +Dons' wives in matters of dress and "<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tenue</span>," and she +had put on her best frock in anticipation of meeting +the "County." Indeed, the Hardings had taken up +Boreham because he was not a college Don but a member +of "Society." They were, like Bingham, at Chartcote +for the first time. It was an unpleasant shock to +Mr. Harding to find that instead of the County, other +Oxford people had been asked to luncheon. Fortunately, +however, the Oxford people were the Dashwoods!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Page 96]</a></span> +The Hardings exchanged glances, and Harding, who +had entered the room in his best manner, now looked +round and heaved a sigh, letting himself spiritually +down with a sort of thump. Bingham his old school-fellow +and senior at Winchester, was, perhaps, the +man in all Oxford to whom he felt most antipathy.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Harding very much regretted that she had not +come in a smart Harris tweed. It would have been +a good compromise between the Dashwoods and the +pretty girl with them, and Mrs. Greenleafe Potten +with her tweed skirt and not altogether spotless shirt. +But it was too late!</p> + +<p>Boreham was quite unconscious of his guests' +thoughts, and was busy plotting how best to give +May Dashwood an opportunity of making love to him. +He would have Lady Dashwood and Mrs. Harding on +each side of him at table, giving to Mrs. Potten, Harding +and Bingham. Then May Dashwood and Miss Scott +would be wedged in at the sides. But, after lunch, +he would give the men only ten minutes sharp for their +coffee, and take off May Dashwood to look over the +house. In this way he would be behaving with the +futile orthodoxy required by our effete social system, +and yet give the opportunity necessary to the female +for the successful pursuit of the male.</p> + +<p>Only—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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Page 97]</a></span> +exquisitely fascinating! But then—and this was the +point—May Dashwood <em>had</em> just that peculiar charm! +Boreham's eyes were now resting on her face. She was +sitting on his left, next Mrs. Harding, and Bingham's +black head was bent and he was saying something to +her that made her smile. Boreham wished that he +had put Harding, the married man, next her! Harding +was commonplace! Harding was safe! Look +at Harding doing his duty with Mrs. Potten! Useful +man, Harding! But Bingham was a bachelor, and +not safe!</p> + +<p>And so the luncheon went on, and Boreham talked +disconnectedly because he forgot the thread of his +argument in his keenness to hear what May Dashwood +and Bingham were saying to each other. He tried to +drag in Bingham and force him to talk to the table, +but his efforts were fruitless. Bingham merely looked +absently and sweetly round the table, and then relapsed +into talk that was inaudible except to his fair +neighbour.</p> + +<p>Gwendolen Scott watched the table silently, and +wondered how it was they found so much to talk +about. Harding did not intend to waste any time +in talking to an Oxford person. He put his elbow on +the table on her side and conversed with Mrs. Potten. +He professed interest in her agricultural pursuits, told +her that he liked digging in the rain, and by the time +lunch was over he had solemnly emphasised his opinion +that the cricket bat and the shot gun and the covert +and the moderate party in the Church of England +were what made our Empire great. Mrs. Potten +approved these remarks, and said that she was surprised +and pleased to hear such sound views expressed +by any one from Oxford. She was afraid that very +wild and democratic views were not only tolerated, +but born and bred in Oxford. She was afraid that +Oxford wasn't doing poor, dear, clever Bernard any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Page 98]</a></span> +good, though she was convinced that the "dear +Warden" would not tolerate any foolishness, and she +was on the point of rising when her movements were +delayed by the shock of hearing Mr. Bingham suddenly +guffaw with extraordinary suavity and gentleness.</p> + +<p>She turned to him questioningly.</p> + +<p>"It depends upon what you mean by democratic," +he said, smiling softly past Mrs. Potten and on to +Harding. "The United States of America, which +makes a point of talking the higher twaddle about all +men being free and equal, can barely manage to bring +any wealthy pot to justice. On the other hand, Oxford, +which is slimed with Toryism, is always ready to make +any son of any impecunious greengrocer the head of +one's college. In Oxford, even at Christ Church"—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?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Potten would have been shocked, but +Bingham's mellifluous voice gave a "cachet" to his +language. She looked nervously at Boreham; seeing +that he had caught the talk and was about to plunge +into it, she signified "escape" to Lady Dashwood +and rose herself.</p> + +<p>"We will leave you men to quarrel together," she +said to Harding. "You give it to them, Mr. Harding. +Don't you spare 'em," and she passed to the door.</p> + +<p>For a moment the three men who were left behind +in the dining-room glanced at each other—then they +sat down. Boreham was torn between the desire to +dispute whatever either of his guests put forward, +and a still keener desire to get away rapidly to the +drawing-room. Harding had already lost all interest +in the subject of democracy, and was passing on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Page 99]</a></span> +claret to Bingham. Bingham helped himself, wondering, +as he did so, whether Mrs. Dashwood was in +mourning for a brother, or perhaps had been mourning +for a husband. It seemed to Bingham an interesting +question.</p> + +<p>"Good claret this of yours," said Harding. "I +conclude that you weren't one of those fanatics who +tried to force us all to become teetotallers. My +view is that at my age a man can judge for himself +what is good for him."</p> + +<p>"That wasn't quite the point," said Bingham. +"The point was whether the stay-at-homes should +fill up their stomachs, or turn it into cash for war +purposes."</p> + +<p>"Of course," sneered Harding, "you like to +put it in that way."</p> + +<p>"It isn't any man's business," broke in Boreham, +"whether another man can or can't judge what's +good for him."</p> + +<p>Boreham had been getting up steam for an attack +upon Christ Church because it was ecclesiastical, +upon Balliol because it had been Bingham's college, +and upon Oxford in general because he, Boreham, had +not been bred within its walls. In other words, Boreham +was going to speak with unbiassed frankness. But +this sudden deviation of the talk to claret and Harding's +cool assumption that his view was like his host's, could +not be passed in silence.</p> + +<p>"What I say is," said Harding again, "that when +a man gets to my age——"</p> + +<p>"Age isn't the question," interrupted Boreham. +"Let every man have his own view about drink. +Mine is that I'm not going to ask your permission to +drink. If a man likes to get drunk, all I say is that +it's not my business. The only thing any of your +Bishops ever said that was worth remembering was: +'I'd rather see England free than England sober.'"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Page 100]</a></span></p> + +<p>Harding allowed that the saying was a good one. +He nodded his head. Bingham sipped his claret. +"You do get a bit free when you're not sober," he +said sweetly. "I say, Harding, so you would rather +see Mrs. Harding free than sober!"</p> + +<p>Harding made an inarticulate noise that indicated +the place to which in a future life he would like to +consign the speaker.</p> + +<p>"Every man does not get offensive when drunk," +said Boreham, ignoring, in the manner peculiar to him, +the inner meaning of Bingham's remark.</p> + +<p>"That's true," said Bingham. "A man may have +as his family motto: 'In Vino Suavitas'(Courteous +though drunk, Boreham); but when you're drunk and +you still go on talking, don't you find the difficulty +is not so much to be courteous as to be coherent? +In the good old drinking days of All Souls, of which +I am now an unworthy member, it was said that +Tindal was supreme in Common Room <em>because</em> 'his +abstemiousness in drink gave him no small advantage +over those he conversed with.'"</p> + +<p>"Talk about supreme in Common Room," said +Boreham, catching at the opportunity to drive his +dagger into the weak points of Oxford, "you chaps, +even before the war, could hardly man your Common +Rooms. You're all married men living out in the +brick villas."</p> + +<p>"Harding's married," said Bingham. "I'm thinking +about it. I've been thinking for twenty years. +It takes a long time to mature thoughts. By the by, +was that a Miss Dashwood who sat next Harding? +I don't think I have ever met her in Oxford."</p> + +<p>"She is a Miss Scott," said Boreham, suddenly +remembering that he wanted to join the ladies as soon +as possible. He would get Bingham alone some day, +and squeeze him. Just now there wasn't time. As +to Harding—he was a hopeless idiot.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Page 101]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not one of Scott of Oriel's eight daughters? +Don't know 'em by sight even. Can't keep pace with +'em," said Harding.</p> + +<p>"She's the daughter of Lady Belinda Scott," +said Boreham, "and staying with Lady Dashwood."</p> + +<p>"I thought she didn't belong to Oxford," said +Bingham.</p> + +<p>Harding stared at his fellow Don, vaguely annoyed. +He disliked to hear Bingham hinting at any Oxford +"brand"—it was the privilege of himself and his +wife to criticise Oxford. Also, why hadn't he talked +to Miss Scott? He wondered why he hadn't seen that +she was not an Oxford girl by her dress and by her +look of self-satisfied simplicity, the right look for a +well-bred girl to have.</p> + +<p>"I promised to show Mrs. Dashwood my house," +said Boreham. "We mustn't keep the ladies too +long waiting. Shall we go?" he added. "Oh, sorry, +Harding, I didn't notice you hadn't finished!"</p> + +<p>The men rose and went into the drawing-room. +Harding saw, as he entered, that his wife had discovered +that Miss Scott was a stranger and she was talking +to her, while Mrs. Greenleafe Potten had got the Dashwoods +into a corner and was telling them all about +Chartcote: a skeleton list of names with nothing +attached to them of historical interest. It was like +reading aloud a page of Bradshaw, and any interruption +to such entertainment was a relief. Indeed, +May Dashwood began to smile when she saw +Boreham approaching her. Something, however, in +his manner made the smile fade away.</p> + +<p>"Will you come over the house?" he asked, carefully +putting his person between herself and Lady +Dashwood so as to obliterate the latter lady. "I +don't suppose Lady Dashwood wants to see it. Come +along, Mrs. Dashwood."</p> + +<p>May could scarcely refuse. She rose. Harding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Page 102]</a></span> +was making his way to Gwendolen Scott and raising +his eyebrows at his wife as a signal for her to appropriate +Mrs. Potten. Bingham was standing in the +middle of the room staring at Lady Dashwood. Some +problems were working in his mind, in which that lady +figured as an important item.</p> + +<p>Gwendolen Scott looked round her. Mr. Harding +had ignored her at lunch, and she did not mean to +have him sitting beside her again. She was quite +sure she wouldn't know what to say to him, if he did +speak. She got up hurriedly from her chair, passed +the astonished Harding and plunged at Mrs. Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"Oh, do let me come and see over the house with +you," she said, laying a cold hand nervously on May's +arm. "I should love to—I simply love looking at +portraits."</p> + +<p>"Come, of course," said May, with great cordiality.</p> + +<p>Boreham stiffened and his voice became very +flat. "I've got no portraits worth looking at," said +he, keeping his hand firmly on the door. "I have +a couple of Lely's, they're all alike and sold with +a pound of tea. The rest are by nobodies."</p> + +<p>"Oh, never mind," said Gwen, earnestly. "I love +rooms; I love—anything!"</p> + +<p>Boreham's beard gave a sort of little tilt, and his +innermost thoughts were noisy and angry, but he +had to open the door and let Gwendolen Scott through +if the silly little girl would come and spoil everything.</p> + +<p>Boreham could not conceal his vexation. His +arrangements had been carefully made, and here they +were knocked on the head, and how he was to get May +Dashwood over to Chartcote again he didn't know.</p> + +<p>"What a nice hall!" exclaimed Gwen. "I do +love nice halls," and she looked round at the renaissance +decorations of the wall and the domed roof.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Page 103]</a></span> +"Oh, I do love that archway with the statue holding +the electric light, it is sweet!"</p> + +<p>"It's bad style," said Boreham, walking gloomily +in front of them towards a door which led into the +library. "The house was decent enough, I believe, +till some fool in the family, seeing other people take up +Italian art, got a craze for it himself and knocked the +place about."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Gwen, crestfallen, "I really don't +know anything about how houses ought to look. I +only know my cousin Lady Goosemere's house and +mother's father's old place, my grandfather's and—and—I +do like the Lodgings, Mrs. Dashwood," she +added in confusion.</p> + +<p>"So do I," said May Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"This is the library," said Boreham, opening the +door.</p> + +<p>Boreham led them from one room to another, making +remarks on them expressly for the enlightenment of +Mrs. Dashwood, using language that was purposely +complicated and obscure in order to show Miss Scott +that he was not taking the trouble to give her any +information. Whenever he spoke, he stared straight +at May Dashwood, as if he were alone with her. He +did not by any movement or look acknowledge the +presence of the intruder, so that Gwendolen began to +wonder how long she would be able to endure her ill-treatment +at Chartcote, without dissolving into tears. +She kept on stealing a glance at the watch on Mrs. +Dashwood's wrist, but she could never make out the +time, because the figures were not the right side up, +and she never had time to count them round before +Mrs. Dashwood moved her arm and made a muddle +of the whole thing.</p> + +<p>But no lunch party lasts for ever, and at last +Gwendolen found herself down in the hall with the +taxi grunting at the door and a bustle of good-byes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Page 104]</a></span> +around her. The rain had stopped. Mrs. Greenleafe +Potten and Bingham were standing together on the +shallow steps like two children. The Hardings were +already halfway down the drive. Lady Dashwood +looked out of the window of the taxi at Boreham, as +he fastened the door.</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute, Mr. Boreham," she said. "Tell +Mr. Bingham we can take him into Oxford."</p> + +<p>"He's going to walk," said Boreham, coldly. +"He's going to walk back with Mrs. Potten, who +wants to walk, and then return for his bicycle."</p> + +<p>"Oh, very well," said Lady Dashwood, leaning +back. "Good-bye, so many thanks, Mr. Boreham."</p> + +<p>Boreham's face wore an enigmatic look as he walked +up the steps.</p> + +<p>Bingham had opened a pocket-book and was making +a note in it with a pencil.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me just one moment, Mrs. Potten. I +shan't remember if I don't make a note of it."</p> + +<p>The note that Bingham jotted down was: "Sat. +Lady Dashwood, dinner 8 o'clock."</p> + +<p>Boreham glanced keenly and suspiciously at him, +for he heard him murmur aloud the words he was +writing.</p> + +<p>Boreham did not see that Bingham had any right +to the invitation.</p> + +<p>"I've forgotten my waterproof," exclaimed Mrs. +Potten, as she went down the steps.</p> + +<p>Bingham dived into the hall after it and having +found it in the arms of a servant, he hurried back to +Mrs. Potten.</p> + +<p>"I do believe I've dropped my handkerchief," +remarked Mrs. Potten, as he started her down the +drive at a brisk trot.</p> + +<p>"Are you afraid of this pace?" asked Bingham +evasively, for he did not intend to return to the house.</p> + +<p>Boreham gazed after them with his beard at a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Page 105]</a></span> +saturnine angle. "You couldn't expect her to remember +everything," he muttered to himself.</p> + +<p>The sky was low, heavy and grey, and the air was +chilly and yet close, and everything—sky, half-leafless +trees, the gravelled drive too—seemed to be steaming +with moisture. The words came to Boreham's mind:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"My very heart faints and my whole soul grieves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"That won't do," he said to himself, as he still +stood on the steps motionless. "It's no use quoting +from Victorian poets. 'What the people want' is +nothing older than Masefield or Noyes, or Verhaeren. +Because, though Verhaeren's old enough, they didn't +know about him till just now, and so he seems new; +then there are all the new small chaps. No, I can't +finish that article. After all, what does it matter? +They must wait, and I can afford now to say, 'Take it +or leave it, and go to the Devil!'"</p> + +<p>He turned and went up the steps. There was no +sound audible except the noise Boreham was making +with his own feet on the strip of marble that met the +parquetted floor of the hall. "It's a beastly distance +from Oxford," he said, half aloud; "one can't just +drop in on people in the evening, and who else is there? +I'm not going to waste my life on half a dozen damned +sport-ridden, parson-ridden neighbours who can barely +spell out a printed book."</p> + +<p>One thing had become clear in Boreham's mind. +Either he must marry May Dashwood for love, or he +must try and let Chartcote, taking rooms in Oxford and +a flat in town.</p> + +<p>If Boreham had found the morning unprofitable, +the Hardings had not found it less so.</p> + +<p>"Did Mrs. Potten propose calling?" asked Harding +of his wife, as they sat side by side, rolling over a greasy +road towards Oxford.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Page 106]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No," said Mrs. Harding.</p> + +<p>"It's quite clear to me," said Harding, "that +Mrs. G. P. only regards Boreham as a freak, so that <em>he</em> +won't be any use."</p> + +<p>"We needn't go there again," said Mrs. Harding, +"unless, of course," she added thoughtfully, "we +knew beforehand—somehow—that it wasn't just an +Oxford party. And Lady Dashwood won't do anything +for us."</p> + +<p>"It's not been worth the taxi," said Harding.</p> + +<p>"I wish you'd not made that mistake about Miss +Scott," said Mrs. Harding, after a moment's silence.</p> + +<p>"How could I help it?" blurted Harding. +"Scott's a common name. How on earth could I +tell—and coming from Oxford!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but you could see she powdered, and her +dress! Besides, coming with the Dashwoods and +knowing Mrs. Potten!" continued Mrs. Harding. +"If only you had said one or two sentences to her; +I saw she was offended. That's why she ran off with +Mrs. Dashwood, she wouldn't be left to your tender +mercies. I saw Lady Dashwood staring."</p> + +<p>Harding made no answer, he merely blew through +his pursed-up mouth.</p> + +<p>"And we've got Boreham dining with us next +Thursday!" he said after a pause. "Damn it all!"</p> + +<p>"No. I didn't leave the note," said Mrs. Harding. +"I thought I'd 'wait and see.'"</p> + +<p>"Good!" said Harding.</p> + +<p>"It was a nuisance," said Mrs. Harding, "that we +asked the Warden of King's when the Bishop was here +and got a refusal. We can't ask the Dashwoods and +Miss Scott even quietly. It's for the Warden to +ask us."</p> + +<p>"Anyhow ask Bingham," said Harding; "just +casually."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Harding looked surprised. "Why, I thought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Page 107]</a></span> +you couldn't stick him," she said; "and he hasn't +been near us for a couple of years at least."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but——"</p> + +<p>"Very well," said Mrs. Harding. "And meanwhile +I've got Lady Dashwood to lend me Miss Scott for our +Sale to-morrow! And shall I ask them to tea? We +are so near that it would seem the natural thing +to do."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Page 108]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>PARENTAL EFFUSIONS</h3> + +<p class="above2">"Well, May," said Lady Dashwood, leaning back +into her corner and speaking in a voice of satisfaction, +"we've done our duty, I hope, and now, if you don't +mind, we'll go on doing our duty and pay some calls. +I ought to call at St. John's and Wadham, and also +go into the suburbs. I've asked Mr. Bingham to +dinner—just by ourselves, of course. Do you know +what his nickname is in Oxford?"</p> + +<p>May did not know.</p> + +<p>"It is: 'It depends on what you mean,'" said +Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said May. "Yes, in the Socratic manner."</p> + +<p>"I dare say," said Lady Dashwood. "What did +you think of the Hardings?"</p> + +<p>May said she didn't know.</p> + +<p>"They are a type one finds everywhere," said +Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>The afternoon passed slowly away. It was the +busy desolation of the city, a willing sacrifice to the +needs of war, that made both May and Lady Dashwood +sit so silently as they went first to Wadham, and then, +round through the noble wide expanse of Market +Square opposite St. John's. Then later on out into +the interminable stretch of villas beyond. By the +time they returned to the Lodgings the grey afternoon +light had faded into darkness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Page 109]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Any letters?" asked Lady Dashwood, as Robinson +relieved them of their wraps.</p> + +<p>Yes, there were letters awaiting them, and they +had been put on the table in the middle of the hall; +there was a wire also. The wire was from the Warden, +saying that he would not be back to dinner.</p> + +<p>"He's coming later," said Lady Dashwood, aloud. +"Late, May!"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said May Dashwood.</p> + +<p>There was a letter for Gwen. It was lying by +itself and addressed in her mother's handwriting. +She laid her hand upon it and hurried up to her room.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood went upstairs slowly to the +drawing-room. "H'm, one from Belinda," she said +to herself, "asking me to keep Gwen longer, I suppose, +on some absurd excuse! Well, I won't do it; +she shall go on Monday."</p> + +<p>She turned up the electric light and seated herself +on a couch at one side of the fire. She glanced through +the other letters, leaving the one from Belinda to the +last.</p> + +<p>"Now, what does the creature want?" she said +aloud, and at the sound of her own voice, she glanced +round the room. She had taken for granted that +May had been following behind her and had sat down, +somewhere, absorbed in her letters. There was no +one in the room and the door was closed. She opened +the letter and began to read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">My dear Lena</span>,<br /></p> + +<p>"I am a bit taken by surprise at Gwen's +news! How rapidly it must have happened! But +I have no right to complain, for it sounds just like a +real old-fashioned love at first sight affair, and I can +tell by Gwen's letter that she knows her own mind and +has taken a step that will bring her happiness. Well, +I suppose there is nothing that a mother can do—in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Page 110]</a></span> +such a case—but to be submissive and very sweet +about it!"</p></div> + + +<p>Lady Dashwood's hand that held the letter was +trembling, and her eyes shifted from the lines. She +clung to them desperately, and read on:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>"I must try and not be jealous of Dr. Middleton. +I must be very 'dood.' But just at the moment it +is rather sudden and overpowering and difficult to +realise. I had always thought of my little Gwen, +with her great beauty and attractiveness, mated to +some one in the big world; but perhaps it was a selfish +ambition (excusable in a mother), for the Fates had +decreed otherwise, and one must say 'Kismet!' I +long to come and see you all. It is impossible for me +to get away to-morrow, but I could come on Saturday. +Would that suit you? It seems like a dream—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.</p></div> + +<p class="signoff">"Yours affectionately,<br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Belinda Scott.</span>"<br /> +</p> + + +<p class="above2">Lady Dashwood laid the letter on her knees and +sat thinking, with the pulses in her body throbbing. +A dull flush had come into her cheeks, and just below +her heart was a queer, empty, weak feeling, as if she +had had no food for a long, long while.</p> + +<p>She moved at last and stood upon her feet.</p> + +<p>"I will not bear it," she said aloud.</p> + +<p>Her voice strayed through the empty room. The +face of the portrait stared out remorselessly at her +with its cynical smile. All the world had become +cynical and remorseless. Lady Dashwood moved +to the door and went into the corridor. She passed +Gwen's room and went to May Dashwood's. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Page 111]</a></span> +she knocked on the door. May's voice responded. +She had already begun to dress.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Lena!" she exclaimed softly, as Lady +Dashwood closed the door behind her without a word +and came forward to the fireplace, "what has +happened?"</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood held towards her a letter. "Read +that," she said, and then she turned to the fire and +leaned her elbow on the mantelpiece and clasped her +hot brow in her hands. She did not look at the tall +slight figure with its aureole of auburn hair near her, +and the serious sweet face reading the letter. What +she was waiting for was—help—help in her dire need—help! +She wanted May to say, "This can't be, must +not be. <em>I</em> can help you"; and yet, as the silence +grew, Lady Dashwood knew that there was no help +coming—it was absurd to expect help.</p> + +<p>May Dashwood stood quite still and read the letter +through. She read it twice, and yet said nothing.</p> + +<p>"Well!" said Lady Dashwood, her voice muffled. +As no reply came, she glanced round. "You have +read the letter?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said May, "I've read it," and she laid +the letter on the mantelpiece. There was a curious +movement of her breathing—as if something checked +it; otherwise her face was calm and she showed no +emotion.</p> + +<p>"What's to be done?" demanded Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"Nothing can be done," said May, and she spoke +breathlessly.</p> + +<p>"Nothing!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood. "May!"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, not if it is his wish," said May Dashwood, +and she cleared her throat and moved away.</p> + +<p>"If he knew, it would not be his wish," said Lady +Dashwood. "If he knew about the other letter; +if he knew what those women were like! Of course," +she went on, "men are such fools, that he might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Page 112]</a></span> +think he was rescuing her from Belinda! But," she +burst out suddenly, yet very quietly, "can't he see that +Gwen has no moral backbone? Can't he see that she's +a lump of jelly? No, he can't see anything;" then +she turned round again to the fire. "Society backs +up fraud in marriage. People will palm off a girl +who drinks or who shows signs of inherited insanity +with the shamelessness of horse-dealers. 'The man +must look out for himself,' they say. Very well," +said Lady Dashwood, pulling herself up to her full +height, "I am going to do—whatever can be done." +But she did not <em>feel</em> brave.</p> + +<p>May had walked to the dressing-table and was +taking up brushes and putting them down again +without using them. She took a stopper out of a +bottle, and then replaced it.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood stood looking at her, looking at +the bent head silently. Then she said suddenly: +"This letter was posted when?" She suddenly +became aware that the envelope was missing. She +had thrown it into the fire in the drawing-room or +dropped it. It didn't matter—it was written last +night. "Gwen must have posted her news at the +latest yesterday morning by the first post. Then +when could it have happened? He never saw her for +a moment between dinner on Monday, when you +arrived, and when she must have posted her letter." +Lady Dashwood stared at her niece. "It must have +happened before you arrived."</p> + +<p>"No," said May. "He must have <em>written</em>—you +see;" and she turned round and looked straight at +Lady Dashwood for the first time since she read that +letter.</p> + +<p>"Written that same night, Monday, after Mr. +Boreham left?"</p> + +<p>May moved her lips a moment and turned away +again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Page 113]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't believe it," said Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"If it is his wish—if he is in love," said May slowly, +"you can do nothing!"</p> + +<p>"He is not in love with her," said Lady Dashwood, +with a short bitter laugh. "If she speaks to me about +it before his return, I—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."</p> + +<p>May remained silent. Just then the dressing gong +sounded, and Lady Dashwood went to the door.</p> + +<p>"May, I am going to dress," she said. "I shall +fight this affair; for if it hadn't been for me, Jim +would still be a free man."</p> + +<p>May looked at her again fixedly.</p> + +<p>"What shall you say to Lady Belinda?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I shall say nothing to Belinda—just now," said +Lady Dashwood. "The letter may be—a lie!"</p> + +<p>"Suppose she comes on Saturday?" said May.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood's eyes flickered. "She can't +come on Saturday," she said slowly. "There is no +room for her, while you are here; the other bedrooms +are not furnished. You"—here Lady Dashwood's +voice became strangely cool and commanding—"you +stay here, May, till Monday! I must go and +dress."</p> + +<p>May did not reply. Lady Dashwood paused to +listen to her silence—a silence which was assent, and +then she left the room as rapidly and quietly as she +had entered.</p> + +<p>Outside, the familiar staircase looked strange and +unsympathetic, like territory lost to an enemy and +possessed by that enemy—ruined and distorted to some +disastrous end. Some disastrous end! The word +"end" made Lady Dashwood stop and to think about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Page 114]</a></span> +it. Would this engagement that threatened to end +in marriage, affect her brother's career in Oxford?</p> + +<p>It might! He might find it impossible to be an +efficient Warden, if Gwendolen was his wife! There +was no telling what she might not do to make his +position untenable.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood went up the short stair that led to +the other bedrooms. She passed Gwendolen's door. +What was the girl inside that room thinking of? Was +she triumphant?</p> + +<p>Had Lady Dashwood been able to see within that +room, she would have found Gwendolen moving about +restlessly. She had thrown her hat and outdoor +things on the bed and was vaguely preparing to dress +for dinner. Mrs. Potten had not said one word about +asking her to come on Monday—not one word; but +it didn't matter—no, not one little bit! Nothing +mattered now!</p> + +<p>A letter lay on her dressing-table. From time to +time Gwendolen came up to the dressing-table and +glanced at the letter and then glanced at her own face +in the mirror.</p> + +<p>The letter was as follows:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">My Darling Little Girl</span>,<br /></p> + +<p>"What you tell me puts me in a huge whirl +of surprise and excitement. I suppose I am a very +vain mother when I say that I am not one little bit +astonished that Dr. Middleton proposes to marry you. +But you must not imagine for a moment that I think +you were foolish in listening to his offer. For many +reasons, a very young pretty girl is safer under the +protection and care of a man a good deal older than +herself. Dr. Middleton in his prominent position in +Oxford would not promise to share his life and his home +with you unless he really meant to make you very, +very happy, darling. May your future life as mistress<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Page 115]</a></span> +of the Lodgings be a veritable day-dream. Tell him +how much I long to come; but I can't till Saturday +as I have promised to help Bee with a concert on Friday; +it is an engagement of honour, and you know one +must play up trumps. I rush this off to the post. +My love, darling,</p></div> + +<p class="signoff">"Your own<br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Mother</span>."<br /> +</p> + + +<p class="above2">Gwen had found a slip of paper folded in the letter, +on which was written in pencil, "Of course you are +engaged. Dr. Middleton is pledged to you. Tear up +this slip of paper as soon as you have read it, and give +my letter to you to the Warden to read. This is all-important. +Let me know when you have given it to +him."</p> + +<p>Gwen had read and had burned the slip of paper, and +had even poked the ashes well into the red of the fire.</p> + +<p>When that was done, she had walked about the +room excitedly.</p> + +<p>How was it possible to dress quietly when the +world had suddenly become so dreadfully thrilling? +So, after all her doubt and despair, after all her worry, +she was engaged. It was all right! All she had to do +was to give her mother's letter to the Warden and the +matter was concluded. She was going to be Mrs. +Middleton, and mistress of the Lodgings. How thrilling! +How splendid it was of her mother to make it +so plain and easy! And yet, how was she to put the +letter into the Warden's hands? What was she to +say when she handed the letter to him?</p> + +<p>When Louise appeared to attend to Gwen's dress, +she found that young lady fastening up her black +tresses with hands that showed suppressed excitement, +and her eyes and cheeks were glowing.</p> + +<p>She turned and glanced at Louise. "I'm late, as +usual, I suppose," she said and laughed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Page 116]</a></span></p> + +<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mademoiselle</span> has the appearance of being <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">trčs +gaie ce soir</i>," said Louise.</p> + +<p>"Oh, not particularly," said Gwen; "only my +hair won't go right; it's a beast, and refuses," and +she laughed again.</p> + +<p>When she was Mrs. Middleton she would have +a maid of her own, not a French maid. They were +a nuisance, and looked shabby. Yes, she dared think +of being engaged and of being married. It wasn't +a dream: it was all real. She would buy a dog, +a small little thing, and she would tie its front hair +with a big orange bow and carry it about in her +arms everywhere. It would be lovely to be dressed +in a filmy tea-gown with the dog in her arms, and she +would rise to meet callers and say, "I'm so sorry—the +Warden isn't at home; but you know how busy he is," +etc., etc., and the men who called would pull the dog's +ears and say "Lucky beggar!" and she would scold +them for hurting her darling, darling pet, and she would +sit in the best place in the Chapel, wearing the most +cunning hats, and she would appear not to see that she +was being admired.</p> + +<p>In this land of fairy dreams the Warden hovered +near as a vague shadowy presence: he was there, +but only as a name is over a shop window, something +that marks its identity but has little to do with the +delights to be bought within.</p> + +<p>And why shouldn't she imagine all this? There +was the letter to be given to the Warden—that must be +done first. She must think that over. Louise's +presence suggested a plan. Suppose the Warden came +home so late that she didn't see him? She would write +a tiny note and put her mother's letter within it, and +send it down to the library by Louise. That would be +far easier than speaking to him. So much easier did +it seem to Gwen, that she determined to go to bed very +early, so that she should escape meeting the Warden.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Page 117]</a></span></p> + +<p>And what should she write in her little note?</p> + +<p>How exciting the world was; how funny it was going +down into the drawing-room and meeting Lady Dashwood +and Mrs. Dashwood, both looking so innocent, +knowing nothing of the great secret! How funny it was +going down to the great solemn dining-room, entered +by its double doors—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!</p> + +<p>During dinner, Lady Dashwood told Robinson to +keep up a good fire in the library, as the Warden would +probably arrive at about a quarter to eleven.</p> + +<p>That decided Gwen. She would go to bed at ten, +and that would give her time to write her little note +and get it taken to the library before the Warden +arrived home. He would find it there, awaiting +him.</p> + +<p>Dinner passed swiftly, though the two ladies were +rather dull and silent. Gwen had so much to think +of that she ate almost without knowing that she was +eating. When they went upstairs to the drawing-room, +the time went much more slowly, for there was +nothing to do. Lady Dashwood and Mrs. Dashwood +both took up books, and seemed to sink back into the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Page 118]</a></span> +very depths of their chairs, and disappear. It was +very dismal. Perhaps Lady Dashwood hadn't read +<em>that</em> letter all through. Anyhow she had not been able +to interfere. That was clear!</p> + +<p>Gwen went and fetched the book on Oxford, and +read half a page of it, and when she had mastered +that, she discovered that she had read it before. So +she was no farther on for all her industry. How +slowly the hands of the clock on the mantelpiece +moved; how interminable the time was! Everybody +was so silent that the clock could be heard ticking. +That Lady Dashwood hadn't been able to interfere +and make mischief with the Warden, showed how little +power she had after all.</p> + +<p>At last the clock struck ten, and Gwen got up from +her chair.</p> + +<p>"Ten," said Mrs. Dashwood, and she raised her +face from her book.</p> + +<p>"Ten," said Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"Yes, ten," said Gwendolen. "I think I'll go to +bed, Lady Dashwood, if you don't mind."</p> + +<p>"Do, my dear," said Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>The girl stood up before her, slim and straight as an +arrow. Both women sat and looked at her, and she +glanced at both of them in silence. Her very beauty +stung Lady Dashwood and made her eyes harden as +she looked at the girl. What were May Dashwood's +thoughts as she, too, leaning back in her large chair, +looked at the dark hair and the flushed cheeks, the +white brow and neck, the radiant pearly prettiness of +eighteen!</p> + +<p>Gwen was conscious that they were examining +her; that they knew she was pretty—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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Page 119]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Mr. Thing-um-bob," she said dimpling, "is +looking very sly this evening."</p> + +<p>May Dashwood took up her book again and turned +over a few pages, as if she had lost her place. Lady +Dashwood did not smile or speak. Gwen made a +movement nearer to Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"Good night," she said. She seemed to have a +sudden intention of bending down, perhaps to kiss +Lady Dashwood. Vague thoughts possessed the girl +that this rather incomprehensible and imposing elderly +woman, who wore such nice rings, was going to be +a relation of hers. Would she be her sister-in-law? +How funny to have anybody so old for a sister-in-law! +It was a good thing she had, after all, so little influence +over Dr. Middleton.</p> + +<p>"Good night, Gwen," said Lady Dashwood, without +appearing to notice the girl's movement towards her. +"Sleep well, child," she added and she turned her head +towards May Dashwood.</p> + +<p>Gwen hesitated a brief moment, and then walked +away. "I always sleep well," she said, with a laugh. +"I once thought it would be so nice to wake up in the +night, because one would know how comfy one was. +But I did wake once—for about a quarter of an hour—and +I soon got tired and hated it!"</p> + +<p>At the door she turned and said, "Good night, +Mrs. Dashwood. I quite forgot—how rude of me!"</p> + +<p>"Good night," said May.</p> + +<p>The door closed.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood stared deeply at her book, and then +raised her eyes suddenly to her niece.</p> + +<p>May had risen from her chair. "Do you mind, +dear Aunt Lena, if I go off too?" She came close to +Lady Dashwood and laid a caressing hand on her +shoulder.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood looked up into her face, and May +was startled at the expression of suffering in the eyes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Page 120]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Go, dear, if you want to! I shall stay up—till +he comes in. Yes, go, May!"</p> + +<p>"You won't feel lonely?" said May, and she +sighed without knowing that she did so.</p> + +<p>"No," said Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>May bent down and kissed her aunt's brow. It +was burning hot. She caressed her cheek with her +hand, then kissed her again and went out. As May met +the cooler air of the staircase, she murmured to herself, +"I'm a coward to leave her alone—alone when she +is so wretched. Oh, what a coward I am!"</p> + +<p>She shivered as she went up the stairs, and as soon +as she was in her own room she put up the lights, and +then she locked the door, and having done this she +took off her dress and put on her dressing-gown. She +sat down by the fire. How was she to stay on here till +Monday: how was she to endure it? It would be +intolerable! May groaned aloud. What right had +she to call it intolerable? What had happened to +her? What was demoralising her, turning her strength +into weakness? What was it that had entered into +her soul and was poisoning its health and destroying +its purpose?</p> + +<p>A few days ago and she had been steadily pursuing +her work. She had been stifling her sorrow, and filling +the vacancy of her life with voluntary labour. Having +no child of her own, she had been filling her empty +arms with the children of other women. She had +fed and nursed and loved babies that would never call +her "Mother." She had had no time to think of herself—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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Page 121]</a></span> +and might topple over, and in the disaster her soul +might be destroyed. She was appalled at herself.</p> + +<p>No, no; she must wrestle with this sin, with this +devil of self; she must fight it!</p> + +<p>She got up from her chair and went to the dressing-table. +There she took up with a trembling hand a little +ivory case, and going back to her seat she opened it +reverently and looked at the face of her boy husband. +There he was in all the bloom of his twenty and six +years. It was a young pleasant face. And he had +been such a comrade of her childhood and girlhood. +But strangely enough he had never seen the gulf +widening between them as she grew into a woman +older than her years and he into a man, young for his +years; boyish in his view of life, mentally immature. +He was quite unconscious that he never met the deeper +wants of her nature; those depths meant nothing to +him. There had been a tacit understanding between +them from their childhood that they should marry; +an understanding encouraged by their parents. When +at last May found out her mistake; that this bondage +was irksome and her heart unsatisfied, he had suddenly +thrown the responsibility of his happiness, of his very +life, upon her shoulders, not by threats of vengeance +on himself, but by falling from his usual buoyant cheerfulness +into a state of uncomplaining despondency.</p> + +<p>May had had more than her share of men's admiration. +Her piquancy and ready sympathy more even +than her good looks attracted them. But she had gone +on her way heart whole, and meanwhile she could not +endure to see her old comrade unhappy.</p> + +<p>They became formally engaged and he returned to +his old careless cheerfulness. He was no longer a +pathetic object, and she was a little disappointed and +yet ashamed of her disappointment. Why should she +have vague "wants" in her nature—these luxuries +of the pampered soul? The face she now gazed upon,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Page 122]</a></span> +figured in the little ivory frame, was of a man, not +over-wise, a man who was occupied with the enjoyment +of life, yet without sinister motives. During +those brief six months of married life, he had leant +upon her, delighted and yet amused at her sterner +virtues; and yet this man, not strong, not wise, when +the call of duty came, when that ancient call to manhood, +the call to rise up and meet the enemy, when that +call came, he went out not shrinking, but with all +honourable eagerness and fearlessness to offer his life. +And his life was taken.</p> + +<p>So that he whom in life she had never looked to +for moral help, had become to her—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?</p> + +<p>She had been aware of an underworld of misery, +suffering and vice, had seen glimpses of it, heard its +sounds breaking in upon her serenity. She had, +like the travelling Levite, observed, noted, and had +gone about her own business. So with passionate +self-reproach she had thrown herself into work among +the neglected children of the poor, and had tried to +still the clamour of her conscience and fill the emptiness +of her heart.</p> + +<p>And until now, that life had absorbed her and +satisfied her—until now!</p> + +<p>"I am not worthy to look upon your face," she +murmured, and she closed the ivory case, letting it fall +upon her lap. She hid her face in her hands. Oh, +why had she during those six months of marriage +patronised him in her thoughts? Why had she told +him he was "irresponsible," jestingly calling him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Page 123]</a></span> +"her son," and now after his death, was she to add +a further injustice and become unfaithful to his memory—the +memory of her boy, who would never return?</p> + +<p>Sharp, burning tears oozed up painfully between +her eyelids. She tried to pray, and into her whole +being came a profound silent sense of self-abasement, +absorbing her as if it were a prayer.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Page 124]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>NO ESCAPE</h3> + +<p class="above2">Lady Dashwood sat on in the drawing-room. Now +that she was alone it was not necessary to keep up the +show of reading a book. She put it down on a table close +at hand and gave herself up to thought.</p> + +<p>But what was the good of plans—until Jim came +back? The first thing was to find out whether the +engagement was a fact and not an invention of Belinda's. +Then if it was a fact, whether Jim really +wanted to marry Gwendolen? If he did want to, +plans might be very difficult to make, and there was +little time, with Belinda clamouring to come and play +the mother-in-law. The vulture was already hovering +with the scent of battle in its nostrils.</p> + +<p>Then, on the other hand, supposing Jim didn't +want to marry Gwen, but had only been run into it—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?</p> + +<p>"I must prevent it," she murmured to herself. +"Must!"</p> + +<p>What still amazed and confounded Lady Dashwood +and made her helpless was: why her brother showed +such obvious interest—more than mere interest—in May<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Page 125]</a></span> +Dashwood, if he was in love with Gwendolen Scott +and secretly pledged to her? Jim playing the ordinary +flirt was unthinkable. It did look as if he had proposed +in some impulsive moment, before May arrived, and +then—— Why, that was why he had not announced his +engagement! Was he playing a double game? No, +it was unthinkable that he should not be absolutely +straight. Gwendolen had somehow entangled him. +The very thought of it made Lady Dashwood get up +from her chair and move about restlessly. Then an +idea struck her. Jim coveted Gwendolen for her youth +and freshness and only admired May! Yes, only +admired her, and regarding her as still mourning for +her young husband, still inconsolable, he had treated +her with frankness and had shown his admiration +without the restraint that he would have used otherwise.</p> + +<p>When would Jim return? How long would she +have to wait?</p> + +<p>She had told Robinson to take a tray of refreshments +for the Warden into the library. Now that she +was alone in the drawing-room she would have the tray +brought in here. When Jim did come in, she would +have to approach her subject gradually. She must +be as wily as a serpent—wily, when her pulses were +beating and her head was aching? It would be more +easy and natural for her to begin talking here than +to go into the library and force him into conversation +after the day's work was done. Yet the matter must +be thrashed out at once. She could not go about with +Belinda's letter announcing the engagement and yet +pretend that she knew nothing about it. Gwendolen +probably knew that her mother had written; or if +she didn't already know, would very likely know by +the morning's post.</p> + +<p>She rang the bell, and when Robinson appeared, +she told him to bring the tray in, instead of taking it +to the library.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Page 126]</a></span></p> + +<p>"When the Warden comes in, tell him the tray +is here," she said. Oh, how the last few minutes +dragged! It was some distraction to have Robinson +coming in and putting the tray down on the wrong +table, and to be able to tell him the right table and +the most suitable chair to accompany it. Then, when +he had gone and all was ready, she chose a chair for +herself. Not too near and not too far. She had +Belinda's letter safe? Yes, it was here! She was +ready, she was prepared. She was going to do something +more difficult than anything she had experienced +in her life, because so much depended on it, so much; +and a great emotion is not easy to hide, it takes one's +breath sometimes, it makes one's voice harsh, or +indistinct, or worse still, it suddenly benumbs the brain, +and thoughts go astray and tangle themselves, and all +one's power of argument, all one's grip of the situation, +goes.</p> + +<p>And the minutes passed slowly and still more +slowly. When at last she heard sounds on the stairs, +the blood rushed to her cheeks and her hands became +as cold as ice. That was a bad beginning! She +went to the door and opened it. He had come in and +had gone into the library. She called out to him to +come into the drawing-room. She heard his voice +answer "Coming!" She left the door open and went +back to her chair, the chair she had chosen, and she +stood by it, waiting, looking at the open door.</p> + +<p>He came in. He looked all round the room, and +closed the door behind him.</p> + +<p>"All alone?" he said, and there was a question +in his voice. Who was he thinking of? Who was +absent? Whose absence was he thinking of?</p> + +<p>She sat down. "You're not cold?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Not at all," he said, and he walked to the table +arranged for him and sat down.</p> + +<p>"Did you have a satisfactory day?" she asked.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Page 127]</a></span></p> + +<p>"On the whole," he said slowly, "yes."</p> + +<p>"You're not tired?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Not a bit," he answered. "Why should I be?" +and he looked at her and smiled.</p> + +<p>"I don't know why you should be, Jim. I'm glad +you're not. My guests seemed to be tired, for they +both went off long ago."</p> + +<p>She was now making the first step in the direction +which she must boldly travel.</p> + +<p>"I expect you are tired too," he said, "only—as +usual—you wait up for me."</p> + +<p>The Warden poured himself out a cup of coffee, +and took up a sandwich, adding: "I managed to get +a scrappy dinner before seven; if I had waited longer +I should have missed my train."</p> + +<p>"We were very dull at dinner without you," she +said, bringing him back again to the point from which +she was starting.</p> + +<p>The Warden looked pleased, and then pained. +Lady Dashwood was watching him with keen tired +eyes.</p> + +<p>"We lunched at Chartcote, and then we did all +that you particularly wanted me to do," she said. +"And then something rather amazing happened—I +found a letter waiting me from Belinda Scott!"</p> + +<p>She paused. The Warden glanced at her: his +face became coldly abstracted.</p> + +<p>"I don't mean that it was strange that she should +write, but that what she said was strange."</p> + +<p>He glanced at her again, and she saw that he was +arrested. She went on. It seemed now easier to +speak. A strange cold despair had seized her, and with +that despair a fearlessness.</p> + +<p>"I can't help thinking that there is some mistake, +because you would have told me if—well, anything +had happened to you—of consequence! You would +not have left me to be told by an—an outsider."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Page 128]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Warden raised the cup of coffee to his lips, +and then put it down carefully.</p> + +<p>"Anything that has happened," he said, "has not +been communicated by me to anybody. It did not +seem to me that—there was anything that ought to be."</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood waited and finding her lips would +stiffen and her voice sounded hollow, measured her +words.</p> + +<p>"Will you read Belinda's letter, and then you will +see what I mean?" she said, and she rose and held the +paper out to him.</p> + +<p>His features had grown tense and severe. He half +rose, and reached out over the table for the letter, +and took it without a word. Then he put on his +eye-glasses and read it through very slowly.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood sat, staring at her own hands that +lay in her lap. She was not thinking, she was waiting +for him to speak.</p> + +<p>He read the letter through, and sat with it in his +hand, silent for a minute. For years he had been +accustomed to looking over the compositions of men +who had begun to think, and of men who never would +begin to think. He was unable to read anything without +reading it critically. But his criticism was criticism +of ideas and the expression of ideas. He had no +insight either by instinct or training for the detection +of petty personal subterfuges, nor did he suspect +crooked motives. But the discrepancy between this +effusion of maternal emotion and Gwendolen's assertion +that she had no home and that nobody cared +was glaring.</p> + +<p>The writer of the letter was a bouncing, selfish +woman of poor intelligence. That fact, indeed, had +become established in the Warden's mind. The letter +was in hopelessly bad taste. It became pretty plain, +therefore, that Gwendolen had spoken the truth, and +the lie belonged to the mother.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Page 129]</a></span></p> + +<p>Already, yes, already he was being drawn into +an atmosphere of paltry humbug, of silly dishonesty, +an atmosphere in which he could not breathe.</p> + +<p>Couldn't breathe! The Warden roused himself. +What did he mean by "being drawn"? He had +carried out his life with decisive and serious intentions, +and whoever shared that life with him would have +to live in the atmosphere he had created around him. +Surely he was strong enough not only to hold his own +against the mother, but to mould a pliable girl into a +form that he could respect!</p> + +<p>"Somehow, I can't imagine how," said Lady Dashwood, +breaking the silence, "I found a letter from +Belinda to Gwendolen on my toilet table among other +letters, and opened it and I began reading it—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?"</p> + +<p>The Warden moved on his seat uneasily.</p> + +<p>"Belinda speaks of your <em>engagement</em> to Gwendolen," +said Lady Dashwood, and her voice this time +demanded an answer.</p> + +<p>"I am not engaged," he said, turning his eyes to +his sister's face slowly, "but, I am pledged to marry +her—if it is her wish."</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood's eyes quavered.</p> + +<p>"Is it your wish?" she asked.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Page 130]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Warden rose from his chair as if to go.</p> + +<p>"I can't discuss the matter further, Lena. I +cannot tell you more. I had no right, I had no reason, +for telling you anything before, because nothing had +been concluded—it may not be concluded. It depends +on her, and she has not spoken to me decisively."</p> + +<p>He moved away from the table.</p> + +<p>"You haven't finished your coffee, your sandwiches," +said Lady Dashwood, to give herself time, +and to help her to self-control. Oh, why had he put +himself and his useful life in the hands of a mere child—a +child who would never become a real woman? Why +did he deliberately plan his own martyrdom?</p> + +<p>"I don't want any more," he said, "and I have +letters to write."</p> + +<p>"Jim," she called to him gently, "tell me at +least—if you are happy—whether——"</p> + +<p>"I can't talk just now—not just now, Lena," he +said.</p> + +<p>"But Belinda takes the matter as settled—otherwise +the letter is not merely absurd—but outrageous!"</p> + +<p>The Warden hesitated in his slow stride towards +the door.</p> + +<p>"I am not going to have Belinda here on Saturday. +There is no room for her. She can't come till May has +gone." Lady Dashwood spoke this in a firm, rapid voice.</p> + +<p>"That is for you to decide," he said. "You are +mistress here."</p> + +<p>He was moving again when she said in a voice full +of pain: "You say you can't talk just now, you +can't speak to me of what is happening to you, of +what may happen to you, when you, next to John, +are more to me than anything else in the world. What +happens to you means happiness or misery to me, and +yet you <em>can't talk</em>!"</p> + +<p>The Warden was arrested, stood still, and turned +towards her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Page 131]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You owe me some consideration, Jim. I have +no children, you have been a son as well as a brother +to me. I can have no peace of mind, no joy in life +if things go wrong with you. Yes, I repeat it—if +things go wrong with you. I was your mother, Jim, +for many years, and yet you say you can't discuss +something that is of supreme importance! You are +willing to go out of this room and leave me to spend +a night sleepless with anxiety."</p> + +<p>What his engagement to Gwendolen would mean +to her was expressed more in her voice even than in +her words. The Warden stood motionless.</p> + +<p>"Be patient with me, Lena. I can't talk about it—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."</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood got up. She did not approach +her brother. Her instinct told her not to touch him, +or entreat him by such means. She made a step towards +the hearth, and said in a muffled voice—</p> + +<p>"Will you answer one question? You can +answer it."</p> + +<p>He made no sound of assent.</p> + +<p>"Are you in love with her? or"—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?"</p> + +<p>There was a pause, and then the Warden's voice +came to her; he was forcing himself to speak very +calmly.</p> + +<p>"I have no right to speak of what may not happen. +Lena, can't you see that I haven't?"</p> + +<p>The pause came again.</p> + +<p>"You have answered it," said Lady Dashwood, in +a broken voice.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Page 132]</a></span></p> + +<p>There was no time to think now, for at that +moment there came a sound that startled both of them +and made them stand for a second with lifted heads +listening.</p> + +<p>"Some one screamed!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>The Warden was already at the door and had +pulled it open. "The library!" he called out to her +sharply, and he was gone. She hurried out after him, +her heart beating with the sudden alarm. What +had happened, what was it?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Page 133]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>THE GHOST</h3> + +<p class="above2">As soon as she had reached her room Gwendolen Scott +sat down seriously by the little writing-table. Here +was the paper and here was the pen, but the composition +of the letter to the Warden was not even projected +in her mind. The thoughts would not come.</p> + +<p>"Dear Dr. Middleton," Gwen began with complete +satisfaction. That was all right. After some thought +she went on. "Mother asks me to give you her +letter!" No, of course, that wouldn't do. Her mother +wouldn't like him to know that she ordered the letter to +be shown to him. Everything on the slip of paper +was secret. It was not the first time that Gwen had +received private slips of paper.</p> + +<p>Gwen was obliged to tear up the sheet and begin +again: "Dear Dr. Middleton,"——</p> + +<p>Now what would she say? It would take her all +night. Of course, Louise looked in at the door and +muttered something volubly.</p> + +<p>"I can manage myself," called out Gwen from her +table. "I'm not ready, and shan't be for hours."</p> + +<p>Louise went away. Then it occurred to Gwen that +she ought to have asked Louise to come back again in +a few minutes, and take the letter. She really must +try and get the letter written. So putting all the +determination she was capable of into a supreme +effort, she began: "I hope mother won't mind my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Page 134]</a></span> +showing you this letter." Gwen had heard her mother +often say with complete self-satisfaction: "Only a fool +is afraid to tell a useful lie, but only a fool tells one that +isn't necessary!" Indeed, Lady Belinda thought the +second half of her maxim a bit clever, a bit penetrating, +and Gwen had listened to it smiling and feeling that some +reflected glory from her mother's wit was falling upon +her, because she understood how clever it was. Now +the implied untruth that Gwen was putting upon +paper seemed to her very useful, and it looked satisfactory +when written.</p> + +<p>She went on: "I hope it wasn't wrong of me to +tell what you said. You didn't say tell, but I didn't +know what to do, as I am afraid to speak if you don't +speak to me. You are so awfully, awfully kind that +I know I oughtn't to be afraid, but I am. Do forgive +stupid little me, and be kind again to</p> + +<p class="signoff">"Your solotory little<br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Gwendolen Scott.</span>"<br /> +</p> + + +<p class="above2">The spelling of "solitary" had caused Gwen much +mental strain, and even when the intellectual conflict +was over and the word written, it did not look quite +right. Why had she not said "lonely"? But that, too, +had its difficulties.</p> + +<p>However, the letter was now finished. Louise had +taken her at her word and had not returned. Gwen +looked at her watch. It was past a quarter to eleven. +At this hour she knew she mustn't ring the bell for a +servant. She could not search for Louise, she would +be in Lady Dashwood's room. She must take the letter +herself to the library. She put the letter into an +envelope and addressed it to Dr. Middleton. Then +she added her mother's letter and sealed the whole.</p> + +<p>Then she peeped out of her door and listened! +All the lights were full on and there was no sound of +any one moving.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Page 135]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Warden very likely hadn't yet returned. She +would try and find out. She slipped quietly down the +steps, and with her feet on the thick carpeted landing +she waited. She could see that the hall below was +brightly lighted, and all was still. She listened +intently outside the drawing-room door. Not a sound. +She might have time—if he really hadn't arrived.</p> + +<p>She fled across the head of the staircase and was at +the door of the library in a second of time. There she +paused. No, there was no sound behind her! No one +was coming upstairs! No one was opening the front +door or moving in the hall! But it was just possible +that he had already arrived and was sitting in the +library. He might be sitting there—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.</p> + +<p>She turned the handle of the door slowly and +noiselessly, and pushed ever so little. The door opened +just an inch or two and disclosed—darkness! Except +for a glimmer—just a faint glimmer of light!</p> + +<p>He could not have come in, he could not possibly +be there, and yet Gwen had a curious impression that +the room was not empty. But empty it must be. +She pushed the door quietly open and peeped in. The +fire was burning on the hearth in solemn silence, a +cavernous red. There was nobody in the room, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Page 136]</a></span> +yet, as Gwen stole in and passed the projecting book-case +opposite the door, against which she had stumbled +that evening of evenings, she felt that she was not +alone. It was a strange unpleasant feeling. There she +was standing in the full space of that shadowy room. +Books, books were everywhere—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 <em>not</em> alone! +There <em>was</em> somebody in the room, a shadow, an outline, +at the far end of the room against one of the curtains—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!</p> + +<p>Gwen gave a piercing scream and rushed blindly +for the door. She dashed against the projecting +book-case, striking her head with some violence. She +tried to cry for help, but could not, the room swam in +her vision. She struck out her arms to shield herself, +and as she did so she felt rather than heard some one +coming to her rescue, some one who flashed on the +lights—and she flung herself into protecting arms.</p> + +<p>"It's all right, it's all right," said the Warden. +"What made you cry out? Don't be frightened, +child!" and he half led, half carried her towards a +chair near the fire.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Page 137]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, no!" sobbed Gwen, shrilly. "Not here—no, +take me away—away from——"</p> + +<p>"From what?" asked Lady Dashwood quietly, +at her elbow. "What is the matter, Gwen? You +mustn't scream for nothing—what has frightened +you?"</p> + +<p>Gwen groaned aloud and hid her face in the Warden's +arm.</p> + +<p>"Something in this room has frightened you?" +he asked.</p> + +<p>Gwen sobbed assent.</p> + +<p>"There is nothing in this room," said Lady Dashwood. +"Put her on the chair, Jim. She must tell +us what it is she is afraid of. Come, Gwen!"</p> + +<p>Although Gwendolen submitted to the commanding +voice of Lady Dashwood and allowed herself to be +placed in the chair, she still grasped the Warden's +arm and hid her face in it.</p> + +<p>"What frightened you, Gwen?" asked Lady +Dashwood. "No harm can come to you—we are by +you. Pull yourself together and speak plainly and +quietly."</p> + +<p>Gwen uttered some half-incoherent sounds—one only +being intelligible to the two who were bending over her.</p> + +<p>"A man!" said the Warden, glancing round with +surprise.</p> + +<p>"No man is in the room," said Lady Dashwood. +"Did he go out? Did you see him go out?"</p> + +<p>Gwen raised her face slightly.</p> + +<p>"No. At the end there—looking!" and again +she burst into uncontrollable sobs.</p> + +<p>The Warden released his arm and walked to the +farther end of the room, and Gwen grasped Lady +Dashwood's arm and clung to her. The two women +could hear the Warden as he walked across to the +farther end of the room.</p> + +<p>Gwen dared not look, but Lady Dashwood turned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Page 138]</a></span> +her head, supporting the girl's head as she did so on +her shoulder.</p> + +<p>The Warden had reached the window. He opened +the curtains and looked behind them, then he pulled +one sharply back, and into the lighted room came a +flood of pale moonlight, and through the chequered +window panes could be seen the moon herself riding +full above a slowly drifting mass of cloud.</p> + +<p>"There is nothing in the room. If there were we +should see it," said Lady Dashwood quietly, and she +turned the girl's face towards the moonlight. "Look +for yourself, Gwen. Your fears are quite foolish, my +dear, and you must try and control them."</p> + +<p>So peremptory was Lady Dashwood's voice that +the girl, still resting her head on the protecting shoulder, +slightly opened her eyelids and saw the moonlight, the +drawn curtains and the Warden standing looking back +at them.</p> + +<p>"You can see for yourself that there is nothing +here," he said.</p> + +<p>It was true, there was nothing there—there wasn't +<em>now</em>: and for the first time Gwen was conscious of +pain in her head and put up her hand. There was a +lump where she had knocked it, the lump was sore.</p> + +<p>"Why, you have hurt your head, Gwen," said +Lady Dashwood. "That explains everything. A blow +on the head is just the thing to make you think you +see something that isn't there! Come now, we'll +go upstairs and put something on that bruised head, +and make it well again."</p> + +<p>"I struck my head after I saw <em>it</em>," said Gwen, +laying a stress upon the word "it," averting her eyes +from the moonlight and rising with the help of Lady +Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"You may have thought so," said Lady Dashwood. +"Come we mustn't stop here. Dr. Middleton probably +has letters to write. Jim, good night. I'm<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Page 139]</a></span> +sorry you have been so much disturbed, after a hard +day's work."</p> + +<p>The tone in which Lady Dashwood made her last +remark and her manner in leading Gwendolen out of +the library, was that of a person who has "closed" +a correspondence, terminated an interview. The +affair of the scream and fright was over. It was a +perfectly unnecessary incident to have occurred in a +sane working day, so she had apologised for its intrusion. +Why Gwendolen was in the library at all was +a question that was of no consequence. It certainly +was not in search of a book on which to spend the +midnight oil. She <em>was</em> there—that was all.</p> + +<p>When they had gone, the Warden stood for some +moments in the library pondering. He had shut the +door. The curtains he had forgotten to pull back, and +now he discovered his omission and went to the farther +end of the room.</p> + +<p>The opposite wall, the wall of the court, was just +tipped with silver. Distant spires and gables were +silver grey. The clouds were drifting over the city +westwards, and as the moon rode higher and higher +in the southern sky, so the clouds sped faster before it, +and behind it lay clear unfathomable spaces in the east.</p> + +<p>The Warden pulled the heavy curtain across the +window again, and walked to the fireplace. Outside +was the infinite universe—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!</p> + +<p>For a few years?</p> + +<p>How did he know that he should have even a few +years in which to think and work for his College?</p> + +<p>The Warden went to the fire and stood looking +down into it, his hands clasped behind his back.</p> + +<p>The girl he was pledged to marry, if she wished to +marry him, might wreck his life! She had only just a few +moments ago showed signs of being weakly hysterical.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Page 140]</a></span> +"Helpful to the College!" His sister's question had +filled him with a sudden new ominous thought.</p> + +<p>What about the College? He had forgotten his +duty to the College!</p> + +<p>"My marriage is my own concern," he was blurting +out to himself miserably, as he looked at the fire. But +the inevitable answer was already drumming in his +ears—his own answer: "A man's action is not his own +concern, and so deeply is every man involved in the +life of the community in which he lives, that even his +thoughts are not his own concern."</p> + +<p>The Warden paced up and down.</p> + +<p>There were letters lying on his desk unopened, +unread. He would not attempt to answer any of them +to-night. He could not attend to them, while these +words were beating in his brain: "Do you think she +will be helpful to the College?"</p> + +<p>His College! More to him than anything else, +more than his duty; his hope, his pride! And the +College meant also the sacred memory of those who had +fallen in the war, all the glorious hopeful youth that had +sacrificed itself! And he had forgotten the College!</p> + +<p>He dared not think any longer. He must wrestle +with his thoughts. He must force them aside and wait, +till the moment came when he must act. That moment +might not come! Possibly it might not! He would +go to bed and try and sleep. He must not let thoughts +so bitter and so deadly overwhelm him, eating into +the substance of his brain, where they could breed and +batten on the finest tissues and breed again.</p> + +<p>He was looking at his desk and saw that one letter +had tumbled from it on to the floor by his chair. He +went across and picked it up. It was addressed in a +big straggling hand—and had not come by post. +He tore it open. It was from Gwendolen Scott. This +was why she had come into the library. Without moving +from the position where he stood he read it through.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Page 141]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h3>THE EFFECT OF SUGGESTION</h3> + +<p class="above2">The clock struck midnight, and yet the Warden had +not done what he had intended to do before he picked +up that letter and read it. He had not gone to bed. +He was still in his library, not at his desk, but in a +great shabby easy-chair by the fire. He had put the +lights out and was smoking in the half-dark.</p> + +<p>So deeply absorbed was the Warden in his own +thoughts that he did not hear the first knock on the +door. But he heard the second knock, which was +louder.</p> + +<p>"Come in," he called, and he leaned forward in +his chair. Who wanted him at such an hour? It +would not be any one from the college?</p> + +<p>The door opened and Lady Dashwood came in. +She was in a dressing-gown.</p> + +<p>"You haven't gone to bed," she said.</p> + +<p>It was obvious that he hadn't gone to bed.</p> + +<p>"No, not yet," said the Warden. And he added, +"Do you want me?"</p> + +<p>"I ought not to want you, dear," she said, "for +I know you must be very tired."</p> + +<p>Then she came up to the fireplace and stood looking +down at her brother. She saw that the spring and the +hope had gone out of his face. He looked older.</p> + +<p>"I have put Gwen to bed in my room, but even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Page 142]</a></span> +that has not quieted her," said Lady Dashwood, speaking +slowly.</p> + +<p>The Warden's face in the twilight looked set. +He did not glance at his sister now.</p> + +<p>"She has lost her self-control. Do you know +what the silly child thinks she saw?"</p> + +<p>Here Lady Dashwood paused, and waited for his +reply.</p> + +<p>"I hadn't thought. She fancied she saw something—a +man!" he answered, in his deep voice.</p> + +<p>He hadn't thought! There had been no room in +his mind for anything but the doom that was awaiting +him. One of his most bitter thoughts in the +twilight of that room had been that a woman he +could have loved was already under his roof when he +took his destiny into his own hands and wrecked it.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," he said, repeating mechanically +an answer to his sister's question.</p> + +<p>"She thought she saw the Barber's ghost," said +Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>The Warden looked up in surprise. There was +a slight and bitter smile at the corners of his mouth. +Then he straightened himself in his chair and looked +frowning into the fire. That Gwendolen should have +taken a college "story" seriously and "made a scene" +about it was particularly repugnant to him.</p> + +<p>"She came in here; why I don't know, and no +doubt was full of the story about the Barber appearing +in the library," said Lady Dashwood. "We +ought not to have talked about it to any one so +excitable. Then she knocked her head against the +book-case and was in a state of daze, in which she could +easily mistake the moonlight coming through an +opening in the curtains for a ghost, and if a ghost, +then of course the Barber's ghost. And so all this +fuss!"</p> + +<p>"I see," said the Warden, gloomily.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Page 143]</a></span></p> + +<p>"As soon as we got upstairs, I had to pack Louise +off before she had time to hear anything, for I can't +have the whole household upset simply because a +girl allows herself to become hysterical. May is now +sitting with Gwen, as she won't be left alone for a +moment."</p> + +<p>"What are you going to do?" asked the Warden, +in a slow hard voice.</p> + +<p>"That's the question," she said, looking down at +him narrowly.</p> + +<p>"Do you want a doctor?" he asked. "Is it bad +enough for that? It is rather late to ask any one to +come in when there isn't any actual illness."</p> + +<p>"A doctor would be worse than useless."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, what do you suggest?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Couldn't you say something to her to quiet +her?" said Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>The Warden looked surprised. "I couldn't say +anything, Lena, that you couldn't say. You can speak +with authority when you like."</p> + +<p>"More is wanted than that. She must be made +to think she saw nothing here in this library," said +Lady Dashwood. "You used to be able to 'suggest.' +Don't you remember?"</p> + +<p>The Warden pondered and said nothing.</p> + +<p>"She would like to keep the whole house awake—if +she had the chance," said Lady Dashwood, and the +bitterness in her voice made her brother wince.</p> + +<p>"Couldn't you make her believe that the ghost +won't, or can't come again, or that there are no such +things as ghosts?"</p> + +<p>The Warden sat still; the glow was dying out of +the cigar he held between his fingers. He did not move.</p> + +<p>"When you were a boy you found it easy enough +to suggest; I remember I disapproved of it. I want +you to do it now, because we must have quiet in the +house."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Page 144]</a></span></p> + +<p>"She may not be susceptible to suggestion!" +said the Warden, still obstinately keeping his seat.</p> + +<p>"You think she is too flighty, that she has too +little power of concentration," suggested Lady Dashwood, +with a sting in her voice. "You must try: +come, Jim! I want to get some rest, I'm very tired."</p> + +<p>She did, indeed, look hollow-eyed, and seeing +this he rose and threw his cigar into the fire. So +this was the first thing he had to do as an engaged +man: he had to prevent his future wife from disturbing +the household. He had to distract her attention +from absurd fears, he had to impose his will upon her. +Such a relationship between them, the husband and +wife that were to be, would be a relationship that he +did not wish to have with any one whom he ought to +respect, much less any one whom he ought to love.</p> + +<p>The errand on which he was going was a repulsive +one. If even a faint trace of romantic appreciation +of the girl's beauty had survived in him, it would have +vanished now. What he was going to do seemed like +a denial of her identity, and yet it seemed necessary +to do it. Had he still much of that "pity" left for +her that had impelled him to offer her a home?</p> + +<p>They left the library and, as they passed the curtained +door of the Warden's bedroom, Lady Dashwood +said, "You'll go to bed afterwards, Jim?"</p> + +<p>She had spoken a moment ago of her own fatigue +as if it was important. She had now forgotten it. +Her mind was never occupied for many moments +with herself, she was now back again at her old habit, +thinking of him. He was tired. No wonder, worn +out with worries, of his own making, alas!</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the Warden, "yes, dear."</p> + +<p>The lights in the hall were still burning, and he +turned them out from the wall by the head of the +staircase. Then they went up the short steps into +the corridor. Lady Dashwood's room was at the end.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Page 145]</a></span></p> + +<p>At the door of her room Lady Dashwood paused +and listened, and turned round to her brother as if +she were going to say something.</p> + +<p>"What?" whispered the Warden, bending his +head.</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing!" said Lady Dashwood, as if +exasperated with her own thoughts. Then she +opened the door and went in, followed by the +Warden.</p> + +<p>The room was not spacious, and the canopied +bedstead looked too massive for the room. It had +stood there through the reign of four of the Wardens, +and Lady Dashwood had kept it religiously. Gwen +was propped up on pillows at one side of it, looking +out of her luminous eyes with great self-pity. Her +dark hair was disordered. She glanced round tearfully +and apprehensively. An acute observer might +have detected that her alarm was a little over expressed: +she had three spectators—and one of them +was the Warden!</p> + +<p>Near her stood May Dashwood in a black dressing-gown +illumined by her auburn hair. It was tied +behind at her neck and spread on each side and down +her back in glistening masses. She looked like some +priestess of an ancient cult, ministering to a soul distressed. +The Warden stood for a moment arrested, +looking across at them, and then his eyes rested on +May alone.</p> + +<p>Gwen made a curious movement into her pillows +and May moved away from the bed. She seemed +about to slip away from the room, but Lady Dashwood +made her a sign to stay. It was such an imperative +sign that May stayed. She went to the +fireplace silently and stood there, and Lady Dashwood +came to her. No one spoke. Lady Dashwood stood +with face averted from the bed and closed her eyes, +like one who waits patiently, but takes no part and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Page 146]</a></span> +no responsibility. May did not look at the bed, +but she heard what was said and saw, without +looking.</p> + +<p>The Warden was now walking quietly round to +the side where Gwendolen was propped. She made +a convulsive movement of her arms towards him and +sobbed hysterically—</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm so frightened!"</p> + +<p>He approached her without responding either to +her exclamation or her gestures. He put his hand +on the electric lamp by the bed, raised the shade, and +turned it so as to cast its light on his own face. While +he did this there was silence.</p> + +<p>Then he began to speak, and the sound of his +voice made May's heart stir strangely. She leaned +her elbow on the mantelpiece and pressed her hand +over her eyes. All her prayers that night, all her +self-reproach, meant very little. What were they +but a pretence, a cloak to hide from herself the nakedness +of her soul? No, they were not a pretence. Her +prayer had been a real prayer for forgetfulness of +herself. But in his presence the past seemed to slip +away and leave her clamouring for relief from this +strange present suffering, and from this dull empty +aching below her heart when she drew her breath. +She knew now how weak she was.</p> + +<p>She could hear his voice saying: "What is it you +are afraid of?" and as he spoke, it seemed to May +herself that fear, of all things in the world, was the +least real, and fear of spirits was an amazing folly.</p> + +<p>"I thought I saw something," said Gwendolen, +doubtfully; for already she was under the influence +of his voice, his manner, his face; and her mind had +begun to relax the tenacity of its hold on that one +distracting fear.</p> + +<p>"You thought you saw something," he said, +emphasising the word "thought"; "you made a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Page 147]</a></span> +mistake. You saw nothing—you imagined you saw—there +<em>was</em> nothing!"</p> + +<p>May could not hear whether Gwendolen made any +reply.</p> + +<p>"And now I am going to prevent you from frightening +yourself by imagining such foolish things again."</p> + +<p>Although she did not look towards them, but kept +her eyes on the ground, May was aware that the Warden +was now bending over the bed, and he was speaking +in an inaudible voice. She could hear the girl move +round on the pillow in obedience to some direction of +his. After this there came a brief silence between +them that seemed an age of intolerable misery to +May, and then she perceived that the Warden was +turning out the bed light, and she heard him move +away from the bed. He walked to the door very +quietly, as if to avoid awakening a sleeper.</p> + +<p>"Good night," he said in a low voice, and then, +without turning towards them, he went out of the room.</p> + +<p>The door was closed. The two women moved, +looked at each other, and then glanced at the bed. +Gwen was lying still; she had slid down low on her +pillows, with her face towards the windows and her +eyes closed. They stood motionless and intent, till they +could see in the dim light that the girl was breathing +quietly and slowly in sleep. Then Lady Dashwood +spoke in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"Now, I suppose, I can go to bed!"</p> + +<p>Then she looked round at May. "Go to bed, May! +You look worn out."</p> + +<p>"Shall you sleep?" whispered May Dashwood, +but she spoke as if she wasn't listening for an answer.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Lady Dashwood, in a whisper +too. "It's so like life. The person who has made +all the fuss is comfortably asleep, and we who have +had to endure the fuss, we who are worn out with it, +are awake and probably won't sleep."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Page 148]</a></span></p> + +<p>May moved towards the door and her aunt followed +her. When May opened the door and went outside, +Lady Dashwood did not close the door or say good +night. She stood for a moment undecided, and then +came outside herself and pulled the door to softly +behind her.</p> + +<p>"May!" she said, and she laid a detaining hand on +her niece's arm.</p> + +<p>"What, Aunt Lena?"</p> + +<p>"If he liked, he could repel her, make her dislike +him! If he liked he could make her refuse to marry +him! You understand what I mean? He must +know this now. The idea will be in his mind. He'll +think it over. But I've no hope. He won't act on +it. He'll only think of it as a temptation that he must +put aside."</p> + +<p>May did not answer.</p> + +<p>"He could," said Lady Dashwood; "but he +won't. He thinks himself pledged. And he isn't even +in love with her. He isn't even infatuated for the +moment!"</p> + +<p>"You can't be sure."</p> + +<p>"I am sure," said Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"How?" And now May turned back and listened +for an answer with downcast eyes.</p> + +<p>"I asked him a question—which he refused to +answer. If he were in love he would have answered it +eagerly. Why, he would have forced me to listen +to it."</p> + +<p>May Dashwood moved away from her aunt. "Still—they +are engaged," she said. "They are engaged—that +is settled."</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Page 149]</a></span> +I sleep in peace. But when Jim is to be sacrificed—I +can't sleep. I am like a withered leaf, blown by +the wind."</p> + +<p>May took her aunt's arm and laid her cheek against +her shoulder.</p> + +<p>"How can I sleep," said Lady Dashwood, "when +I think of him, worried into the grave by petty +anxieties, by the daily fretting of an irresponsible wife, +by the hopeless daily task of trying to make something +honourable and worthy—out of Belinda and Co.? +When I say Belinda and Co., I think not merely of +Belinda Scott and her child, but of all that Jim hates: +the whole crew of noisy pleasure-hunters that float +upon the surface of our social life. The time may +come when we shall say to our social parasites, 'Take +up your burden of life and work!' The time <em>will</em> +come! But meanwhile Jim has to be sacrificed because +he is hopelessly just. And yet I wouldn't have him +otherwise. Go, dear, try and sleep, for all my talk." +Then, as she drew away from her niece, she said in +a tense whisper: "What an unforgivable fool he +has been!"</p> + +<p>May closed her eyes intently and said nothing.</p> + +<p>"Oh, May," sighed Lady Dashwood, "forgive me; +I feel so bitter that I could speak against God."</p> + +<p>May looked up and laid her hand on her aunt's arm.</p> + +<p>"You know those lines, Aunt Lena—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Measure thy life by loss and not by gain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not by the wine drunk, but the wine poured forth!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Lady Dashwood's eyes flashed. "If Jim had +offered his life for England I could say that: but are +we to pour forth wine to Belinda and Co.?"</p> + +<p>The two women looked at each other; stared, +silently.</p> + +<p>Then Lady Dashwood began to turn the handle +of the door.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Page 150]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why should he be sacrificed to—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!"</p> + +<p>She saw the pain in May's eyes and added: "I +am wearing you out with my talk. I am getting +very selfish. I am thinking too much of my own +suffering. You, too, have suffered, dear, and you +say nothing," and as she spoke her voice softened to +a whisper. "But, May, your sacrifice <em>was</em> to the Great +God of your nation—the Great God of all nations."</p> + +<p>"The sacrifice had nothing to do with me," said +May, turning away. "It was his."</p> + +<p>"But you endure the loss, the vacant place," said +Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"I know what a vacant place means," said May, +quietly, "and my vacant place will never be filled—except +by the children of other women! Good night, +dear aunt," and she walked away quickly, without +looking back. Then she found the door of her room +and went in.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood's eyes followed her, till the door +closed.</p> + +<p>"I ought not to have said what I did," murmured +Lady Dashwood. "Oh, dear May, poor May," and +she went back into her room.</p> + +<p>Gwen was still sleeping peacefully.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Page 151]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<h3>DIFFERENT VIEWS</h3> + +<p class="above2">The Lodgings at King's were built at a period when +the college demanded that its Warden should be a +bachelor and a divine, and it contained neither morning-room +nor boudoir. The Warden's breakfast-room was +used by Lady Dashwood for both purposes.</p> + +<p>It was not such an inconvenient arrangement, +because the Warden, as the war advanced, had reduced +his breakfast till it was now little more than the +continental "<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">petit déjeuner</span>," and it could be as +rapidly removed as it was brought in.</p> + +<p>The breakfast-room was a small room and had no +academic dignity, it was what Mrs. Robinson called +"cosy." It was badly lighted by one window, and that +barred, looking into the quadrangle. The walls were +wainscoted. One or two pictures brightened it, +landscapes in water-colour that had been bought by the +Warden long ago for his rooms when he was a college +tutor.</p> + +<p>At the breakfast table on the morning following +Gwendolen's brief interview with the Barber's ghost, +her place was empty.</p> + +<p>No one remarked on her absence. The Warden +came in as if nothing had happened on the previous +night. He did not even ask the ladies how they had +slept, or if they had slept. He appeared to have +forgotten all about last night, and he seated himself +at the table and began opening his letters.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Page 152]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Dashwood gave him one furtive glance when +he came in and responded to his salutation. Then she +also sat in silence and looked over her letters. She +was making a great effort not to mind what happened +to her, not to feel that outside these few rooms in a +corner of an ancient college, all the world stretched +like a wilderness. And this effort made her face a +little wan in the morning light.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood poured out the coffee with a hand +that was not quite as steady as usual, but she, too, +made no reference to the events of last night. Nobody, +of course, had slept but Gwendolen, and Gwendolen +had awakened from her sleep fresh and rosy.</p> + +<p>It was only after several minutes had passed that +Lady Dashwood remarked across the table to the +Warden—</p> + +<p>"I have kept Gwendolen in bed for breakfast, +not because she is ill, she is perfectly well, but because +I want her to be alone, and to understand that she has +completely got over her little hysterical fit and is +sensible again."</p> + +<p>The Warden looked up and then down again at his +letters and said, "Yes!"</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood went on with her breakfast. She +evidently did not expect any discussion. She had +merely wished to make some reference to the occurrence +of last night in such a way as not to reopen the +subject, but to close the subject—for ever.</p> + +<p>"Is it your club morning?" asked the Warden, +as he looked over his letters.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"I'll come and help you to cut out," said May. +"I'm an old hand."</p> + +<p>"Why should you come?" said Lady Dashwood. +"This is your holiday, and it's short enough."</p> + +<p>She thought that the Warden noted the words, +"short enough."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Page 153]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I shall come," said May, and glancing at her +aunt as she spoke, she now fancied her grown a +little thinner in the face since last night only that it +was impossible. The lines in the face were accentuated +by want of sleep, it was that that made her face look +thinner.</p> + +<p>"I shall take Gwen," said Lady Dashwood. "She +can hand us scissors and pins, and can pick up the bits." +She spoke quite boldly and quietly of Gwendolen, +and met May's eye without a flicker. "Our plan, +May, is to get these young mothers and teach them at +least how to make and mend their clothes. It isn't +war work. It's 'after the war' work. Those young +mothers who have done factory work, know nothing +about anything. We must get something into their +noddles. Two or three ladies will be there this morning, +and we shall get all the work ready for the next +club meeting—mothers and babies. Babies are entertained +in a separate room. We have tea and one half-hour's +reading; the rest of the time gossip. Oh, how +they do talk!"</p> + +<p>"How much do you expect to get from the Sale of +work to-day for your club?" asked May, avoiding +the Warden's eye when he put out his hand to her for +the cup of coffee that she was passing him.</p> + +<p>"Not very much," said Lady Dashwood, "but +enough, I hope."</p> + +<p>A moment later and Lady Dashwood was opening +her letters.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Boreham," she remarked suddenly, "is +bringing Mrs. Potten in to the Sale. He is the last +person I should expect to meet at a Sale of work in aid +of a mother's club."</p> + +<p>The Warden raised his eyes and apparently +addressed the coffee-pot across the table.</p> + +<p>"Boreham is usually suspicious of anything that is +organised by what he calls 'respectable people.'"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Page 154]</a></span> +Then he looked round at May Dashwood for the first +time. The reason why Boreham was going to drive +Mrs. Potten in to the Sale of work was obvious both to +him and to Lady Dashwood. May did not meet the +Warden's eye, though she was tinglingly conscious that +they rested on her face.</p> + +<p>"I object," she said, imitating Boreham's voice, +"not only to the respectable members of the British +public, but to the British public in general. I am +irritated with and express my animosity to the people +around me with frankness and courage. But I have +no inimical feelings towards people whom I have +never met. Them I respect and love. Their institutions, +of which I know nothing, I honour."</p> + +<p>The Warden's lips parted with a smile, as if the +smile was wrung from him, but May did not smile. +She was still making her effort, and was looking down +into her plate, her eyebrows very much raised, as if she +was contemplating there the portrait of somebody +with compassionate interest.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood saw the Warden's smile, and saw +him lean forward to look at the downcast face of May, +as if to note every detail of it.</p> + +<p>Well into the early morning Lady Dashwood had +lain awake thinking, and listening mechanically to the +gentle breathing of the girl beside her, and thinking—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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Page 155]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Perhaps I'm not fair to Mr. Boreham," said May, +shaking her head. "But I am an ignoramus. How +can one," she said smiling, but keeping her eyelids still +downcast, "how can one combine the bathing of babies +and feeding them, the dressing and undressing of them, +the putting them to bed and getting them up again, +with any culture (spelt with a 'c'). I get only a +short and rather tired hour of leisure in the evening in +which to read?"</p> + +<p>"You do combine them," he said, still bending +towards her with the same tense look. "Only one +woman in a thousand would."</p> + +<p>The colour had slightly risen in May's face, and now +it died away, for she was aware that no sooner were the +last words spoken than the Warden seemed to regret +them. At least he stiffened himself and looked away +from her, stared at nothing in particular and then put +out his hand to take a piece of toast, making that simple +action seem as if it were a protest of resolute indifference +to her.</p> + +<p>May felt as if his hand had struck her. She had +partly succeeded in her effort and she had refused to +glance at him. But she had not succeeded in thinking +of something else, and now this simple movement of +his hand made thoughts of him burn in her brain. +Why did this man, with all his erudition, with his distinction, +with all his force of character, his wide sympathies +and his curious influence over others, why did +this man with all his talk (and this she said bitterly) +about life and death—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?</p> + +<p>The Warden rose from the table the moment that +he had finished and looked at his sister. She had put +her letters aside and appeared to have fallen into +a heavy preoccupation with her own thoughts.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Page 156]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Can I see you—afterwards—for a moment in +the library, Lena?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood's tired face flushed.</p> + +<p>"I will come very soon," she said, and she pushed +her chair back a little, as if to cover her embarrassment, +and looked at her niece. "May," she said, in +a voice that did not quite conceal her trouble, "we +ought to start at a quarter to ten. That will give us +two clear hours for our work."</p> + +<p>May bent her head in assent. Neither of them was +thinking of the Club. They could hear the Warden close +the door behind him. Then Lady Dashwood rose and +casting a silent look at May, went out of the room.</p> + +<p>In the library a fitful sunshine was coming and +going from a clouded sky. The curtains were drawn +back and there seemed nothing in the room that could +have justified even a hysterical girl in imagining a ghost. +The Warden had left the door open, for he heard his +sister coming up the stairs behind him.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood came in, and she began speaking +at once to cover her apprehension of the interview. +"A funny sort of a day," she began. "I hope it will +keep up for this afternoon."</p> + +<p>The Warden had gone to one of the windows, and +he moved at the sound of her voice.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Harding," she said, "has written to ask us +to come in to tea, as she's so near. It is convenient, +as we shall only have to walk a few steps from our +Sale, so I am going to accept by telephone."</p> + +<p>The Warden came towards her, and taking a little +case from his pocket, handed her some notes. "Will +you spend that for me at your Sale?"</p> + +<p>That was not his reason for the interview! Lady +Dashwood took the notes and put them into her bag, +and then waited a moment.</p> + +<p>"I may possibly have to go to the Deanery this +afternoon," he said, and then he paused too.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Page 157]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Very well," said Lady Dashwood. They both +were painfully aware that this also was not what he +wanted to say.</p> + +<p>"Please let me have my lunch early, at a quarter +to one," he said.</p> + +<p>"I have asked Mr. Bingham here to dinner on +Saturday, he seemed to interest May, and, well, of +course, it is not a lively holiday for her just now."</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood's eyes were on him as she spoke. +He seemed not to hear. He went up to his desk and +turned over some papers, nervously, and he was a man +who rarely showed any nervousness in his movements.</p> + +<p>Then he suddenly said: "Gwendolen has practically +accepted my offer." And he did not turn round +and look at his sister.</p> + +<p>It had come! She knew it was coming, and yet +it was as keenly painful as if she had been wholly +unprepared.</p> + +<p>"I can't delay our engagement," he said. "I must +speak to her to-day—some time."</p> + +<p>Then he moved so as to face his sister, and their +eyes met. Misery was plainly visible in hers, in his +the fixed determination to ignore that misery.</p> + +<p>"May I ask you one question?" she began in a +shaky voice.</p> + +<p>He made no reply, but waited in silence for the +question.</p> + +<p>"When did it happen? I've no right to ask, dear, +but tell me when did it happen?"</p> + +<p>There was a strange look of conflict in his face that +he was unable to control. "On Monday, just before +dinner," he said, and he took some papers from the +desk as if he were about to read them. Then he put +them down again and took out his cigar case.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood walked slowly to the door. When +she reached it, she turned.</p> + +<p>"No man," she said, still with an unsteady voice,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Page 158]</a></span> +"is bound to carry out a promise made in a reckless +moment, against his better judgment, a promise which +involves the usefulness of his life. As to Belinda, I +suppose I must endure the presence of that woman +next week; I must endure it, because I hadn't the +sense—the foresight—to prevent her putting a foot in +this house."</p> + +<p>The Warden's face twitched.</p> + +<p>"Am I expecting too much from you, Lena?" +he asked.</p> + +<p>"Expecting too much!" Lady Dashwood made her +way blindly to the door. "I have wrecked your life +by sheer stupidity, and I am well punished." At the +door she stayed. "Of course, Jim, I shall now back +you up, through thick and thin."</p> + +<p>She went out and stood for a moment, her head +throbbing. She had said all. She had spoken as she +had never spoken in her life before, she had said her +last word. Now she must be silent and go through +with it all unless—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.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood walked straight in, and then said +quietly: "They are practically engaged." She saw +the paper in May's hand quiver.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said May, without moving her paper. +"Of course."</p> + +<p>Her voice sounded small and hard. Lady Dashwood +moved about as if to arrange something, and then +stood at the dull little window looking out miserably, +seeing nothing.</p> + +<p>"I wonder—I hope, you won't be vexed with +me. Aunt Lena," began May. "You won't be +angry——"</p> + +<p>"I couldn't be angry with you," said Lady<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Page 159]</a></span> +Dashwood briefly, "but——" She did not move, she +kept her back to her niece.</p> + +<p>"I want you to let me go away rather earlier than +Monday," said May, and speaking without looking +towards her aunt. "I think I ought to go. The +fact is——"</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood turned round and came to her +niece. "Do you think I am a selfish woman?" she +asked. There was a strange note of purpose in her +voice.</p> + +<p>May shook her head and tried to smile. She did +smile at last.</p> + +<p>"Then, May," said Lady Dashwood, "I am going +to be selfish now. I ask you to stop till Monday, and +help me to get through what I have to get through, +even if you stay at some sacrifice to yourself. Jim has +decided, so I must support him. That's clear."</p> + +<p>May stared hard at the paper that was still in her +hand, though she had ceased to read it.</p> + +<p>"As you wish, dear aunt," she said, and turned +away.</p> + +<p>"Thanks," said Lady Dashwood, in a low voice. +"I shall be ready to start in a few minutes," she went +on, looking at her watch. Then she added bitterly, +"I'm not going to talk about it any more, but I must +say one thing. When you first shook hands with Jim +he was already a pledged man. He is capable of +yearning for the moon, but he has decided to put up +with a penny bun;" here she laughed a hard painful +laugh. "Nobody cares but I," she added. "I have +said all I can say to him, and I am now going to be +silent."</p> + +<p>The door of the breakfast-room was slightly open +and they could hear the sound of steps outside in the +hall, steps they both knew.</p> + +<p>The Warden was in the hall. Lady Dashwood +listened, and then called out to him: "Jim!" Her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Page 160]</a></span> +voice now raised was a little husky, but quite calm. +They could hear the swish of a gown and the Warden +was there, looking at them. He was in his gown and +hood, and held his cap in his hand. He was at all times +a notable figure, but the long robe added to the dignity +of his appearance. His face was very grave.</p> + +<p>"May has not seen the cathedral," said Lady +Dashwood quietly, as if she had forgotten their interview +in the library, "and we shall be close to Christ +Church. Our Sale, you know."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said May, slowly and doubtfully, and not +looking as if she were really concerned in the matter.</p> + +<p>"May ought to see the cathedral, Jim," said Lady +Dashwood, "so, if you do happen to be going to Christ +Church, would you have time to take her over it and +make the proper learned observations on it, which I +can't do, to save my life?"</p> + +<p>The Warden's eyes were now fixed on May. "You +would like to see it?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"You, May," said Lady Dashwood. It seemed +necessary to make it very clear to May that they were +both talking about her.</p> + +<p>"I?" said May, with her eyes downcast. "Oh, +please don't trouble. You mustn't when you're so +busy. I can see the cathedral any time. I really +like looking at churches—quite alone."</p> + +<p>The Warden's blue eyes darkened, but May did not +see them, she had raised her paper and was smiling +vaguely at the print.</p> + +<p>The Warden said, "As you like, Mrs. Dashwood. +But I am not too busy to show you anything in Oxford +you want to see."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said May, vaguely. "Thanks so +much! Some time when you are less busy, I shall ask +you to show me something."</p> + +<p>The Warden looked at her for a more definite reply. +She seemed to be unaware that he was waiting for it,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Page 161]</a></span> +and when she heard the movement of his robes, and +his steps and then the hall-door close, she looked round +the room and said "Oh!" again vaguely, and then she +raised her eyebrows as if surprised.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood made no remark, she left the room +and went into the hall. The irony of the situation was +growing more and more acute, but there was nothing +to be done but to keep silence.</p> + +<p>Another step was coming down the stairs, steps +made by a youthful wearer of high heels. It was +Gwendolen.</p> + +<p>She looked just a little serious, but otherwise there +was no trace on her blooming countenance of last +night's tragedy. A little lump on her head was all +that remained to prove that she really had been +frightened and really and truly had stupidly thought +there was something to be frightened of. Gwen constantly +put her finger up to feel the lump on her head, +and as she did so she thought agreeably of the Warden.</p> + +<p>"You see I'm not a bit frightened," she said, and +her cheeks dimpled. "When I passed near the library, +I thought of Dr. Middleton."</p> + +<p>"You understand, don't you, Gwen," said Lady +Dashwood, "that I don't want any talk about 'a ghost,' +even though, you are now quite sensible about it. I +don't think the Robinsons are silly, but Louise and the +other two are like children, and must be treated +as such."</p> + +<p>"Oh no," said Gwen, innocently, "I won't!" +And she meant what she said. It was true that +she had just hinted at something, perhaps she even +used the word "ghost," to the housemaid that morning, +but she had made her promise faithfully not to repeat +what she had heard, so it was all right.</p> + +<p>"We start at half-past ten," said Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>Gwen said she would be punctual. Her face was +full of mysterious and subdued pleasure when she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Page 162]</a></span> +looked into the breakfast-room to see if by any chance +Mrs. Dashwood was still there. The girl's fancy was +excited by the Warden's behaviour last night. She +kept on thinking of his face in the lamp light. It +looked very severe and yet so gentle. She was actually +falling in love with him, so she said to herself. The +Barber's ghost was no longer alarming, but something +to recall with a thrill of interest, as it led on to the +Warden. She was burning to talk about the Warden. +She was so glad she had delivered her letter to the +Warden. He would be simply obliged to speak some +time to-day. How exciting! Now, was Mrs. Dashwood +in the breakfast-room? Yes, there she was, +standing in the window with a newspaper in her hand.</p> + +<p>"Oh, good morning," said Gwen, brightly. "I +must thank you for having been so awfully sweet to +me last night. It was funny, wasn't it, my getting that +fright? I really and truly was frightened, till Dr. +Middleton came up and told me I needn't. Isn't he +wonderful?" Here Gwen's voice sank into a confidential +whisper.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dashwood said "Yes" in a lingering voice, +and she seemed about to go.</p> + +<p>"I do think he is the nicest man I have ever met," +said Gwen hurriedly, "don't you? But then, of course, +I have reason to think so, after last night. It must +have looked queer, I mean to any one merely looking +on. How I <em>did</em> sleep!" Then after a moment she +said: "Don't you think he is very good-looking? +Now, do tell me, Mrs. Dashwood! I promise you I +won't repeat it."</p> + +<p>"He is a very charming man," said May, "that +is obvious."</p> + +<p>"Wasn't it silly of me to think of the Barber's +ghost—especially as it only appears when some disaster +happens to the Warden? I mean that is the story. +Now the Warden is perfectly well this morning, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Page 163]</a></span> +particularly asked, though I knew he would be, of +course. Now, if there had been a real ghost, he ought +to die to-day, or perhaps to-morrow. Isn't it all +funny?" Then, as there came another pause, Gwendolen +added, "I suppose it couldn't mean that he might +die in a week's time—or six months perhaps?" and +her voice was a little anxious.</p> + +<p>"Death isn't the only disaster," said May, "that +can happen to a man."</p> + +<p>"Don't you think it's about the worst?" said +Gwen. "Worse even than losing lots of money. +You see, if you are once dead, there you are! But I +needn't bother—there was no ghost."</p> + +<p>"No, there was no ghost," said Mrs. Dashwood, +and she laid her paper down on a side table.</p> + +<p>Gwen felt that she had not had a fair chance of a +talk. In the absence of anybody really young it was +some comfort to talk to Mrs. Dashwood. She much +preferred Mrs. Dashwood to Lady Dashwood. Lady +Dashwood was sometimes "nasty," since that letter +affair. Fortunately she had not been able to <em>do</em> +anything nasty. She had not been able to make the +Warden nasty.</p> + +<p>Gwen stood watching May, and then said in a low +voice to detain her: "I wish mother would come!"</p> + +<p>"Do you expect her?" asked May, turning round +and facing the girl.</p> + +<p>"I do and I don't and I do," said Gwen. "That +sounds jolly vague, I know, and please don't even say +to Lady Dashwood that I mentioned it. You won't, +will you? It jumped out of my mouth. Things do +sometimes."</p> + +<p>May smiled a little.</p> + +<p>"Mother is so plucky," said Gwen; "I'm sure +you'd like her—you really would, and she would like +you. She doesn't by any means like everybody. +She's very particular, but I think she would like you."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Page 164]</a></span></p> + +<p>May smiled again, and this gave Gwen complete +confidence.</p> + +<p>"Our relations, you know, have really been a bit +stingy," she said. "Too bad, isn't it, and there's +been a bother about my education. Of course, mother +needn't have sent me to school at all, only she's so +keen on doing all she can for me, much more keen +than our relations have been. Why, would you +believe it, Uncle Ted, my father's youngest brother, +who is a parson in Essex, has been saving! What I +mean is that the Scotts ain't a bit well off—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?"</p> + +<p>May said "Oh!" in a tone that was neutral.</p> + +<p>"Well, but I'll explain," said Gwen, eagerly, "and +you'll see. When poor Ted was killed, almost at once +in the war, there was all the Oxford money still there. +Mother knew about it, and said it couldn't be less than +five hundred pounds, and might be more. And mother +just went to them and spoke ever so nicely about poor +Ted being killed—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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Page 165]</a></span> +She is so sporting! But wasn't it horrid for her to +have to do it?"</p> + +<p>May had gradually moved to the door ready to go +out. Now she opened it.</p> + +<p>So this was the young woman to whom the Warden +had bound himself, and this was his future mother-in-law!</p> + +<p>May left the breakfast-room abruptly and without +a word.</p> + +<p>She mounted the stairs swiftly. She wanted to be +alone. As the servants were still moving about upstairs, +she went into the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>There was no one there but that living portrait +of Stephen Langley, and he was looking at her across +the wide space between them with an almost imperceptible +sneer—so she thought.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Page 166]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<h3>MRS. POTTEN'S CARELESSNESS</h3> + +<p class="above2">There is little left in Christ Church of the simplicity +and piety of the Age of Faith. It was rebuilt when +the fine spiritual romanticism of our architectural +adolescence had coarsened into a prosperous and prosaic +middle age.</p> + +<p>The western 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.</p> + +<p>"It is like Harding," said Bingham to himself, as +he strolled in with a parcel under his arm. "He is +always mistaking Mrs. Grundy for the Holy Ghost. +But Harding has his uses," he went on thinking, "and +so has Tom Quod—it makes one thankful that Wolsey +died before he had time to finish ruining the cathedral."</p> + +<p>An elderly canon of Christ Church, with a fine +profile and dignified manner, stopped Bingham and +demanded to know what he was carrying under his arm.</p> + +<p>"Nothing for the wounded," said Bingham. "I've +bought a green table-cloth and a pair of bedroom slippers +for myself. I've just come from a Sale in which some +Oxford ladies are interested. One of the many good +works with which we are going strong nowadays."</p> + +<p>The Canon turned and walked with Bingham. +"Do you know Boreham?" he asked rather abruptly.</p> + +<p>Bingham said he did.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Page 167]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I met him a moment ago. He is taking some +lady over the college. I met him at Middleton's, +I think, not so long ago."</p> + +<p>"He's a connection of Middleton's," said Bingham.</p> + +<p>"Oh," said the Canon, "is he? A remarkable +person. He gave me his views on Eugenics, I remember."</p> + +<p>"He would be likely to give you his views," said +Bingham. "Did he want to know yours?"</p> + +<p>The Canon laughed. "He pleaded so passionately +in favour of our preserving the leaven of disease in our +racial heredity, so as to insure originality and genius, +that I was tempted to indulge in the logical fallacy: +'<span lang="la" xml:lang="la">A dicto secundum quid ad dictum simpliciter</span>,'" and +the Canon laughed again.</p> + +<p>"His father was a first-rate old rapid," said Bingham, +"who ended in an asylum, I believe. His aunt +keeps cats; this I know as a fact. His brother, +Lord Boreham, as everybody knows, has been divorced +twice. What matter? The good old scrap-heap has +produced Bernard Boreham; what more do you want?"</p> + +<p>Bingham's remarks were uttered with even more than +his usual suavity of tone because he was annoyed. +He had come to the Sale, he had bought the green +table-cloth and the shoes, ostensibly as an act of +patriotism, but really in order to meet Mrs. Dashwood. +He had planned to take her over Christ Church and +show her everything, and now Boreham, who had also +planned the same thing, had turned up more punctually, +had taken her off, and was at this moment going in and +out, banging doors and giving erroneous information, +along with much talk about himself and his ideas for +the improvement of mankind.</p> + +<p>The two men walked very slowly along. Bingham +was in no hurry. The Canon also was in no hurry. +In these gloomy days he was glad of a few minutes' +distraction in the company of Bingham, whom nothing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Page 168]</a></span> +depressed. They walked so slowly that Lady Dashwood +and Mrs. Potten, who had just entered the +quadrangle, attended by Miss Scott laden with parcels, +came up to them, bowed and passed them on their +way to the rooms of one of the Fellows who had begged +them to deposit their parcels and rest, if they wished to.</p> + +<p>The two men went on talking, though their eyes +watched the three ladies, who were looking for the +rooms where they were going to deposit their purchases. +Bingham took out his watch. It was half-past three. +The ladies had found the right entrance, and disappeared. +Then Lady Dashwood's face was to be +seen for a moment at a window. Simultaneously +Harding appeared from under Tom Tower.</p> + +<p>He came up and spoke to the two men, and while he +did so Bingham observed Miss Scott suddenly appear +and make straight for them, holding something in +her hand.</p> + +<p>"Bravo! What a sprint," murmured Bingham, +as Gwendolen reached them rather breathless.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Harding," she panted, "Lady Dashwood +saw you coming and thought you wouldn't know where +she and Mrs. Potten were. Have you got the Buckinghamshire +collar?"</p> + +<p>Bingham burst into subdued laughter.</p> + +<p>"My wife sent me over with it," said Harding, +who could not see anything amusing in the incident. +"She said Lady Dashwood had got Mrs. Potten here. +That's all right," and he gravely drew from his sleeve +a piece of mauve paper, carefully rolled up, on which +was stitched the collar in question.</p> + +<p>"Here's the money," said Gwen, holding out a +folded paper.</p> + +<p>Harding took the paper.</p> + +<p>"Thirty shillings," said Gwen. "Is that right?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, thirty shillings," said Harding. "The price +is marked on the paper."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Page 169]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Extraordinarily cheap at the price," remarked +Bingham. "There is no other collar equal to it in +Buckinghamshire."</p> + +<p>The Canon turned and walked off, wondering in +his mind who the very pretty, smartly dressed girl +was. Harding unfolded the paper. It was a pound +note and inside was not one but two new ten-shilling +notes—only stuck together.</p> + +<p>"You've given me too much, one pound and two +tens," he said, and he separated the two notes and gave +one back to Gwen. "You're a bit too generous, +Miss Scott," he said.</p> + +<p>Gwen took the note, dimpling and smiling and +Harding wrote "paid" in pencil on the mauve paper.</p> + +<p>"Here's your receipt," he said, handing her the +paper, "the collar and all," and he turned away and +went back to the sale room, with the money in his +pocket.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Gwendolen did not run, she walked back +very deliberately. She had the collar in one hand and +the ten-shilling note in the other. She heard the two +men turn and walk towards the gate. The old gentleman +with a gown on, by which she meant the Canon, +had disappeared. The quadrangle was empty. Gwen +was thinking, thinking.</p> + +<p>It wasn't she who was generous, it was Mrs. Potten, +at least not generous but casual. She was probably +casual because, although she was supposed to be stingy, +a ten-shilling note made really no difference to her. +It was too bad that some women had so much money +and some so little. It was especially unjust that an +old plain woman like Mrs. Potten could have hundreds +of frocks if she wanted to, and that young pretty +women often couldn't. It was very, very unjust and +stupid. Why she, Gwen, hadn't enough money even +to buy a wretched umbrella. It looked exactly as +if it was going to rain later on, and yet there was no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Page 170]</a></span> +umbrella she could borrow. The umbrella she had +borrowed before, had disappeared from the stand: +it must have been left by somebody and been returned. +You can't borrow an umbrella that isn't there. It +was all very well for her mother to say "borrow" an +umbrella, but suppose there wasn't an umbrella! +The idea flashed into Gwen's mind that an umbrella +could be bought for ten shillings. It wouldn't be a +smart umbrella, but it would be an umbrella. Then she +remembered very vividly how, a year ago, she was in +a railway carriage with her mother and there was one +woman there sitting in a corner at the other end. +This woman fidgeted with her purse a great deal, +and when she got out, a sovereign was lying on the +floor just where her feet had been. Gwen remembered +her mother moving swiftly, picking it up, and putting +the coin into her own purse, remarking, "If people are +so careless they deserve to lose things," and Gwen +felt that the remark was keenly just, and made several +little things "right" that other people had said were +wrong. Now, as she thought this over, she said to +herself that it was only a week ago she had lost that +umbrella: somebody must have got that umbrella +and had been using it for a week, and she didn't +blame them; beside the handle had got rather bashed. +Another dozen steps towards the rooms made her feel +very, very sure she didn't blame them, and—Mrs. Potten +deserved to lose her ten-shilling note. Now she had +reached the doorway, an idea, that was a natural +development of the previous idea, came to her very +definitely. She slipped the note into the right-hand +pocket of her coat just as she stood on the threshold of +the doorway, and then she ran up the stone stairs. No +one was looking out of the window. She had noticed +that as she came along. Now, she would see if Mrs. +Potten was really careless enough not to know that +she had given away two ten-shilling notes instead of one.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Page 171]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gwendolen walked into the sitting-room. There were +Mrs. Potten and Lady Dashwood sitting together and +talking, as if they intended remaining there for ever.</p> + +<p>"Here's your collar, Mrs. Potten," said Gwen, +coming in with the prettiest flush on her face, from +the haste with which she had mounted the stairs.</p> + +<p>She handed the roll of mauve paper and stood +looking at Mrs. Potten. Now, she would find out +whether Mrs. Potten knew she had flung away her +precious ten-shilling note or not. If she was so stingy +why was she so careless? She was very, very short-sighted, +of course, but still that was no excuse.</p> + +<p>"Thanks, my dear," said Mrs. Potten. "I doubt +if it is really as nice as the one we saw that was sold. +Thirty shillings—the receipt is on the paper. It's +the first time I've ever had a receipt at a bazaar or +sale. Very business-like; Mr Harding, of course. +One can see the handwriting isn't a woman's!" So +saying Mrs. Potten, who had been peering hard at the +collar and the paper, passed it to Lady Dashwood to +look at.</p> + +<p>"Charming!" said Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>Now Lady Dashwood knew Mrs. Potten's soul. Mrs. +Potten had come into Oxford at no expense of her own. +Mr. Boreham had driven her. She had also, so Lady +Dashwood divined, the intention of helping the Sale as +much as possible, by her moral approbation. Nothing +pleased Mrs. Potten that she saw on the modest undecked +tables. Then she had praised a shilling pincushion, +had bought it with much ceremony, and put it into +her bag. "There, I mustn't go and lose this," she had +said as she clicked the fastening of her bag. Then she +had praised a Buckinghamshire collar which was marked +"Sold," and in an unwary moment had told Lady +Dashwood that she would have bought that; that was +exactly what she wanted, only it was unfortunately +sold. But Lady Dashwood, who was business-like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Page 172]</a></span> +even in grief, had been equal to the occasion. "I +know there is another one very like it," she had said in +a slightly bullying voice; and when Mrs. Potten moved +off as if she had not realised her luck, murmuring +something about having to be somewhere almost immediately, +Lady Dashwood had swiftly arranged with +Mrs. Harding that the other collar, which was somewhere +in reserve and was being searched for, should +be sent after them.</p> + +<p>This was why Lady Dashwood had conveyed the +reluctant Mrs. Potten into the quadrangle, and had +made her climb the stairs with her into these rooms +and wait.</p> + +<p>So here was Mrs. Potten, with her collar, trying to +believe that she was not annoyed at having been +deprived of thirty shillings in such an astute way by +her dear friend.</p> + +<p>"Am I wanted any more?" asked Gwen, looking +from one lady to the other.</p> + +<p>She took the collar from Lady Dashwood and +returned it to Mrs. Potten.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Potten opened her bag disclosing the shilling +pincushion (which now she need not have bought) and +placed the collar within. Then she shut the bag with +a snap, and looked so innocent that Gwendolen +almost laughed.</p> + +<p>No, Gwen was not wanted any more. She turned +and went. Mrs. Potten deserved to lose money! +"Yes, she did, and in any case," thought Gwen, "at any +moment I can say, 'Oh yes, I quite forgot I had the +note. How stupid, how awfully stupid,' etc."</p> + +<p>So she went down the stairs and out into the terrace.</p> + +<p>A few steps away she saw Mr. Bingham, coming +back again. This time alone.</p> + +<p>As soon as Gwen had gone Mrs. Potten remarked, +"Now I must be going!" and then sat on, as people do.</p> + +<p>"Very pretty girl, Gwendolen Scott," she added.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Page 173]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Very pretty," said Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"Lady Belinda wrote to me a day or two ago, +asking me if Gwen could come on to me from you on +Monday."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Lady Dashwood, but she uttered the +exclamation wearily.</p> + +<p>"I have written and told her that I'm afraid I +can't," said Mrs. Potten. "Can't!"</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood looked away as if the subject was +ended.</p> + +<p>"If I have the child, it will mean that the mother +will insist on coming to fetch her away or something." +Here Mrs. Potten fidgeted with her bag. "And I +really scarcely know Lady Belinda. It was the +husband we used to know, old General Scott, poor dear +silly old man!"</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood received the remark in silence.</p> + +<p>"I can't do with some of these modern women," +continued Mrs. Potten. "There are women whose +names I could tell you that I would not trust with a tin +halfpenny. My dear, I've seen with my own eyes at +a hotel restaurant a well-dressed woman sweep up +the tip left for the waiter by the person who had just +gone, I saw that the waiters saw it, but they daren't +do anything. I saw a friend of mine speaking to her +afterwards! Knew her! Quite respectable! Fancy +the audacity of it!"</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood now rested her head on the back +of her chair and allowed Mrs. Potten to talk on.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid there's nothing of the Good Samaritan +in me," said Mrs. Potten, in a self-satisfied tone. "I +can't undertake the responsibility of a girl who is +billeted out by her mother—instead of being given +a decent home. I think you're simply angelic to have +had her for so long, Lena."</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood's silence only excited Mrs. Potten's +curiosity. "Most girls now seem to be doing something<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Page 174]</a></span> +or other," she said. "Why, one even sees young +women students wheeling convalescent soldiers about +Oxford. I don't believe there is a woman or girl in +Oxford who isn't doing something for the war."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but it is the busy women who almost always +have time for more work," said Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"Now, I suppose Gwendolen is doing nothing and +eating her head off, as the phrase goes," said Mrs. +Potten.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood was not to be drawn. "Talking +of doing something," she said, to draw Mrs. Potten +off the subject, and there was a touch of weariness in +her voice: "I think a Frenchwoman can beat an +Englishwoman any day at 'doing.' I am speaking +now of the working classes. I have a French maid +now who does twice the work that any English maid +would do. I picked her up at the beginning of the war. +Her husband was killed and she was stranded with +two children. I've put the two children into a Catholic +school in Kent and I have them in the holidays. Well, +Louise makes practically all my things, makes her own +clothes and the children's, and besides that we have +made shirts and pyjamas till I could cut them out +blindfolded. She's an object lesson to all maids."</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood was successful, Mrs. Potten's +attention was diverted, only unfortunately the word +"maid" stimulated her to draw up an exhaustive +inventory of all the servants she had ever had at +Potten End, and she was doing this in her best Bradshaw +style when Lady Dashwood exclaimed that she had a +wire to send off and must go and do it.</p> + +<p>"I ought to be going too," said Mrs. Potten, +her brain reeling for a moment at this sudden interruption +to her train of thought. She rose with some +indecision, leaving her bag on the floor. Then she +stooped and picked up her bag and left her umbrella; +and then at last securing both bag and umbrella, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Page 175]</a></span> +two ladies made their way down the stairs and went +back into St. Aldates.</p> + +<p>All the time that Mrs. Potten had been running +through a list of the marriages, births, etc., of all her +former servants, Lady Dashwood was contriving a +telegram to Lady Belinda Scott. It was difficult to +compose, partly because it had to be both elusive and +yet firm, and partly because Mrs. Potten's voice kept +on interrupting any flow of consecutive thought.</p> + +<p>When the two ladies had reached the post-office the +wire was completed in Lady Dashwood's brain.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," said Mrs. Potten, just outside the +threshold of the door. "And if you see Bernard—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."</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood walked into the post-office. +"Thank goodness, I can think now," she said to herself, +as she went to a desk.</p> + +<p>The wire ran as follows:—</p> + +<p>"Sorry. Saturday quite impossible. Writing."</p> + +<p>It was far from cordial, but cordial Lady Dashwood +had no intention of being. She meant to do her +duty and no more by Belinda. Duty would be hard +enough. And when she wrote the letter, what should +she say?</p> + +<p>"If only something would happen, some providential +accident," thought Lady Dashwood, unconscious +of the contradiction involved in the terms. The word +"providential" caused her to go on thinking. If +there were such things as ghosts, the "ghost" of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Page 176]</a></span> +the previous night might have been providentially +sent—sent as a warning! But the thought was a +foolish one.</p> + +<p>"In any case," she argued, "what is the good of +warnings? Did any one ever take warning? No, not +even if one rose from the dead to deliver it."</p> + +<p>She was too tired to walk about and too tired to want +to go again into the Sale room and talk to people. +She went back to the rooms, climbed the stairs slowly +and then sat down to wait till it was time to go to +Mrs. Harding's. Perhaps May would soon have +finished seeing Christ Church and come and join her. +Her presence was always a comfort.</p> + +<p>It was a comfort, perhaps rather a miserable comfort, +to Lady Dashwood because she had begun to suspect +that May too was suffering, not suffering from wounded +vanity, for May was almost devoid of vanity, but +from—and here Lady Dashwood leaned back in her +chair and closed her eyes. It was a strange thing +that both Jim and May should have allowed themselves +to be martyrised, only May's marriage had been so +brief and had ended so worthily, the shallow young +man becoming suddenly compelled to bear the burden +of Empire, and bearing it to the utmost; but Gwen +would meander along, putting all her burdens on other +people; and she would live for ever!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Page 177]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<h3>SEEING CHRIST CHURCH</h3> + +<p class="above2">Boreham had been very successful that afternoon. +He had managed to secure Mrs. Dashwood without +having to be rude to her hostess. He had done it by +exchanging Mrs. Potten for the younger lady with a +deftness on which he congratulated himself, though +it was true that Lady Dashwood had said to May +Dashwood, "Go and see over the College with Mr. +Boreham."</p> + +<p>Miss Scott was, most fortunately, absorbed in +playing at shop with Mrs. Harding.</p> + +<p>Boreham's course was clear. He calculated with +satisfaction that he had a good hour before him alone +with Mrs. Dashwood. He could show her every +corner of Christ Church and do it slowly; the brief +explanation (of a disparaging nature) that he would +be obliged to make on the details of that historic +building would only serve to help him out at, perhaps, +difficult moments. It would be easier for him to +talk freely and prepare her mind for a proper appreciation +of the future which lay before her, while he walked +beside her and pointed out irrelevant things, than it +would have been if he had been obliged to sit still in a +chair facing her, for example, and stick to his subject. +It seemed to him best to begin by speaking quite +frankly in praise of himself. Boreham had his doubts +whether any man is really humble in his estimation of +himself, however much he may pretend to be; and if,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Page 178]</a></span> +indeed, any man were truly humble, then, in Boreham's +opinion, that man was a fool.</p> + +<p>As soon as they had crossed St. Aldates and had +entered the gate under Tom Tower, Boreham introduced +the subject of his own merits, by glancing +round the great quadrangle and remarking that he +was thankful that he had never been subjected to +the fossilising routine of a classical education.</p> + +<p>"The study of dead languages is a 'cul-de-sac,'" +he explained. "You can see the effect it has had in +the very atmosphere of Oxford. You can see the effect +it has had on Middleton, dear fellow, who got a double +First, and the Ireland, and everything else proper +and useless, and who is now—what? A conscientious +schoolmaster, and nothing more!"</p> + +<p>It was necessary to bring Middleton in because +May Dashwood might not have had the time or the +opportunity of observing all Middleton's limitations. +She probably would imagine that he was a man of +ideas and originality. She would take for granted +(not knowing) that the head of an Oxford College +was a weighty person, a successful person. Also +Middleton was a good-looking-man, as good-looking +as he, Boreham, was himself (only of a more conventional +type), and therefore not to be despised +from the mere woman's point of view.</p> + +<p>Boreham peered eagerly at his companion's profile +to see how she took this criticism of Middleton.</p> + +<p>May was taking it quite calmly, and even smiled. +"So far, good," said Boreham to himself, and he +went on to compare his larger view of life and deeper +knowledge of "facts" with the restricted outlook of the +Oxford Don. This she apparently accepted as "understood," +for she smiled again, and this triumph of +Boreham's was achieved while they looked over the +Christ Church library.</p> + +<p>"The first thing," said Boreham, when they came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Page 179]</a></span> +again into the open air—"the first thing that a man +has to do is to be a man of the world that we actually +live in, not of the world as it was!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Mrs. Dashwood "the world we +actually live in."</p> + +<p>"You agree?" he said brightly.</p> + +<p>She smiled again.</p> + +<p>"Oxford might have been vitalised; might, I +say, if, by good luck, somebody had discovered a +coal mine under the Broad, or the High, and the +University had been compelled to adjust itself to the +practical requirements of the world of labour and of +commerce, and to drop its medięval methods for +those of the modern world."</p> + +<p>May confessed that she had not thought of this +way of improving the ancient University, but she +suggested that some of the provincial universities had +the advantage of being in the neighbourhood of coal +mines or in industrial centres.</p> + +<p>Boreham, however, waived the point, for his +spirits were rising, and the sight of Bingham in the +distance, carrying his table-cloth and slippers and +looking wistfully at nothing in particular, gave him +increased confidence in his main plan.</p> + +<p>"This staircase," said Boreham, "leads to the +hall. Shall we go in? I suppose you ought to see it."</p> + +<p>"What a lovely roof!" exclaimed May, when +they reached the foot of the staircase.</p> + +<p>Boreham admitted that it was fine, but he insisted +that it was too good for the place, and he went on with +his main discourse.</p> + +<p>When they entered the dining-hall, the dignity +of the room, with its noble ceiling, its rich windows +and the glow of the portraits on the walls, brought +another exclamation from May's lips.</p> + +<p>But all this academic splendour annoyed Boreham +extremely. It seemed to jeer at him as an outsider.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Page 180]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's too good for the collection of asses who dine +here," he said.</p> + +<p>As to the portraits, he insisted that among them +all, among all these so-called distinguished men, +there was not one that possessed any real originality +and power—except perhaps the painter Watts.</p> + +<p>"It's so like Oxford," he added, "to produce +nothing distinctive."</p> + +<p>May laughed now, with a subdued laughter that +was a little irritating, because it was uncalled for.</p> + +<p>"I am laughing," she explained, "because 'the +world we actually live in' is such a funny place and +is so full of funny people—ourselves included."</p> + +<p>That was not a reason for laughter if it were true, +and it was not true that she was, or that he was +"funny." If she had been "funny" he would not +have been in love with her. He detained her in front +of the portrait of Wesley.</p> + +<p>"I wonder they have had the sense to keep him +here," said Boreham. "He is a perpetual reminder +to them of the scandalous torpor of the Church which +repudiated him. Yes, I wonder they tolerate him. +Anyhow, I suppose they tolerate him because, after +all, they tolerate anybody who tries to keep alive a +lost cause. Religion was dying a natural death and, +instead of letting it die, he revived it for a bit. It +was as good as you could expect from an Oxford +man! When an Oxford man revolts, he only +revolts in order to take up some lost cause, some +survival!"</p> + +<p>"I suppose," said May, "that if Wesley had +had the advantage of being at one of the provincial +colleges, he would have invented a new soap, +instead of strewing the place with nonconformist +chapels?"</p> + +<p>This sarcasm of May's would have been exasperating, +only that the mention of soap quite naturally<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Page 181]</a></span> +suggested children who had to be soaped, and children +did bring Boreham actually to an important point. He +did not really care two straws about Wesley. He went +straight for this point. He put a few piercing questions +to May about her work among children in London. +Strangely enough she did not respond. She gave him one +or two brief answers of the vaguest description, while +she turned away to look at more portraits. Boreham, +however, had only put the questions as a delicate +approach to <em>the</em> subject. He did not really want any +answers, and he proceeded to point out to her that her +work, though it was undertaken in the most altruistic +spirit, and appeared to be useful to the superficial +observer, was really not helpful but harmful to the +community. And this for two reasons. He would +explain them. Firstly, because it blinded people +who were interested in social questions to the need +for the endowment of mothers; and secondly, the care +of other women's children did not really satisfy the +maternal instinct in women. It excited their emotions +and gave them the impression that these emotions +were satisfying. They were not. He hinted that if +May would consult any pathologist he would tell her +that, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, a life like +hers, seemingly so full, would not save a woman from +the disastrous effects of being childless.</p> + +<p>Now, Boreham was convinced that women rarely +understand what it is they really want. Women +believe that they want to become clerks or postmen +or lawyers, when all the time what they want and +need is to become mothers. For instance, it was a +common thing for a woman who had no interest +in drama and who couldn't act, to want to be an +actress. What she really wanted then was an increased +opportunity of meeting the other sex.</p> + +<p>Boreham put this before May Dashwood, and was +gratified at the reception of his remarks.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Page 182]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What you say <em>is</em> true," she said, "though so +few people have the courage to say it."</p> + +<p>Boreham went on. He felt that May Dashwood, +in spite of all her sharpness, was profoundly ignorant +of her own psychology. It was necessary to enlighten +her, to make her understand that it was not her duty +to go on mourning for a husband who was dead, but +that it was her duty to make the best of her own life. +He entirely exonerated her from the charge of humbug +in her desire to mother slum children; all he wanted +was for her to understand that it wasn't of any use +either to herself or to the community. How well she +was taking it!</p> + +<p>He had barely finished speaking when he became +unpleasantly aware that two ladies, who had just +entered, were staring at himself and his companion +instead of examining the hall. The strangers were +foreigners, to judge by the boldness with which they +wore hats that bore no relation to the shape or the +dignity of the human head. They were evidently +arrested and curious.</p> + +<p>May did not speak for some moments, after they +both moved away from the portraits. Boreham +watched her, rather breathlessly, for things were +going right and coming to a crisis.</p> + +<p>"You are quite right," she repeated, at last. "But +people haven't the courage to say so!"</p> + +<p>"You think so?" he replied eagerly. He now +appreciated, as he had never done before, how much +he scored by possessing, along with the subtle intuitions +of the Celt, the plain common-sense of his English +mother.</p> + +<p>"I am preparing my mind," said May, as they +approached the door of the hall, "to face a future +chequered by fits of hysteria."</p> + +<p>"But why!" urged Boreham, and he could not +conceal his agitation; "when I spoke of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Page 183]</a></span> +endowment of mothers I did not mean that I personally +wanted any interference (at present) with our +system of monogamy. The British public thinks it +believes in monogamy and I, personally, think that +monogamy is workable, under certain circumstances. +It would be possible for me under certain circumstances."</p> + +<p>The sublimity of his self-sacrifice almost brought +tears to Boreham's eyes. May quickened her steps, +and he opened the door for her to go into the lobby. +As he went through himself he could see that the two +strangers had turned and were watching them. He +damned them under his breath and pulled the door to.</p> + +<p>"There are women," he went on, as he followed +her down the stairs, "who have breadth of character +and brains that command the fidelity of men. I need +not tell <em>you</em> this."</p> + +<p>May was descending slowly and looked as if she +thought she was alone.</p> + +<p>"'Age cannot wither, nor custom stale thy infinite +variety,'" he whispered behind her, and he found the +words strangely difficult to pronounce because of his +emotion. He moved alertly into step with her and +gazed at her profile.</p> + +<p>"When that is said to a woman, well, a moderately +young woman," remarked May, "a woman who is, +say, twenty-eight—I am twenty-eight—it has no +point I am afraid!"</p> + +<p>"No point?" exclaimed Boreham.</p> + +<p>"No point," repeated May. "How do you know +that thirty years from now, when I am on the verge +of sixty, that I shan't be withered—unless, indeed, I +get too stout?" she added pensively.</p> + +<p>"You will always be young," said Boreham, fervently; +"young, like <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Ninon de l'Enclos.</span>"</p> + +<p>May had now reached the ground, and she walked +out on to the terrace into open daylight.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Page 184]</a></span></p> + +<p>Boreham was at her side immediately, and she +turned and looked at him. His pale blue eyes blinked +at her, for he was aware that hers were hostile! +Why?</p> + +<p>"You would seem young to me," he said, trying +to feel brave.</p> + +<p>"Men and women ought," she said, with emphasis +on the word "ought"—"men and women ought to +wither and grow old in the service of Humanity. +I think nothing is more pathetic than the sight of an +old woman trying to look young instead of learning +the lesson of life, the lesson we are here to learn!"</p> + +<p>Boreham had had barely time to recover from +the blow when she added in the sweetest tone—</p> + +<p>"There, that's a scolding for you and for Ninon de +l'Enclos!"</p> + +<p>"But I don't mean——" began Boreham. "I +haven't put it—you don't take my words quite correctly."</p> + +<p>May was already walking on into the open archway +that led to the cathedral. Before them stood the +great western doors, and she saw them and stopped. +Boreham wished to goodness that he had waited till +they were in the cathedral before he had made his +quotation. Through the open doors of that ancient +building he could hear somebody playing the organ. +That would have been the proper emotional accompaniment +for those immortal lines of Shakespeare. +He pictured a corner of the Latin chapel and an +obscure tender light. Why had he begun to talk in +the glare of a public thoroughfare?</p> + +<p>"Shall we go inside?" he asked urgently. "One +can't talk here."</p> + +<p>But May turned to go back. "I should like to +see the cathedral some other time," she said. "I +must thank you very much for having shown me over +the College—and—explained everything."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Page 185]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes; but——" stammered Boreham. "We can +get into the cathedral."</p> + +<p>She was actually beginning to hold out her hand +as if to say Good-bye.</p> + +<p>"Not now," she said; and before he had time to +argue further, Bingham came suddenly upon them +from somewhere, and expressed so much surprise at +seeing them that it was evident that he had been on +the watch. He had disposed of his purchases and +was a free man. He had actually pounced upon them +like a bird of prey—and stealthily too. It was a mean +trick to have played.</p> + +<p>"Are you coming out or going in?" asked Bingham.</p> + +<p>"Neither," said May, turning to him as if she was +glad of his approach.</p> + +<p>"You've seen it before?" said Bingham.</p> + +<p>"No, not yet," said May.</p> + +<p>"It's as nice a place as you could find anywhere," +said Bingham, calmly, "for doing a bit of Joss."</p> + +<p>Boreham's brain surged with indignation. This +man's intrusion at such a moment was insupportable. +Yes, and he had got rid of his miserable table-cloth +and shoes, probably taken them to Harding's house, +and was going to tea there too. Not only this, but +here he was talking in his jesting way, exactly in the +same soft drawling voice in which he reeled off Latin +quotations, and so it went down—yes, went down +when it ought to have given offence. May ought to +have been offended. She didn't look offended!</p> + +<p>"You forget," said Boreham, looking through his +eyeglass at Bingham and frowning, "that Mrs. Dashwood +is, what is called a Churchwoman."</p> + +<p>"I'm a Churchman myself," said the imperturbable +Don. "To me a church is always first a sanctuary, +as I have just remarked to Mrs. Dashwood. Secondly, +it is the artistic triumph of some blooming engineer. +Nowadays our church architects aren't engineers;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Page 186]</a></span> +they don't <em>create</em> a building, they just run it up from +books. Our modern churches are failures not because +we aren't religious, but because our architects are not +big enough men to be great engineers."</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes," said May, looking up with relief at +Bingham's swarthy features.</p> + +<p>"I deny that we are religious, as a whole," said +Boreham, stoutly.</p> + +<p>"You may not be, my dear fellow," said Bingham, +in his oily voice; "but then you are the only genuine +conservative I meet nowadays. You are still faithful +to the 'Eighties'—still impressed by the discovery +that religion don't drop out of the sky as we thought +it did, but had its origin in the funk and cunning of the +humanoid ape."</p> + +<p>May was standing between the two men, and all +three had their backs to the cathedral, just as if +they had emerged from its doors. And it was at this +moment that she caught a sudden sight through the +open archway of two figures passing along the terrace +outside; one figure she did not know, but which she +thought might be the Dean of Christ Church, and the +other figure was one which was becoming to her more +significant than any other in the world. He saw her; +he raised his hat, and was already gone before she had +time to think. When she did think it came upon her, +with a rush of remorse, that he must have thought +that she had been looking over the cathedral with +her two companions, after having refused his guidance +on the pretext that she wished to be alone. Yes, +there was in his face surely surprise, surprise and +reproach! How could she explain? He had gone! +She vaguely heard the two men beside her speaking; +she heard Boreham's protesting voice but did not +follow his words.</p> + +<p>"While we are engaged in peaceful persuasion," +said Bingham in her ear, "you are white with fatigue."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Page 187]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm not tired," she said, "not really—only I +think I will go to the rooms where Lady Dashwood is +to meet me. Will you show me them?"</p> + +<p>She spoke to Bingham, and touched his arm with +her hand as if to ask for his support.</p> + +<p>Boreham saw that he was excluded. It was +obvious, and he stood staring after them, full of +indignation.</p> + +<p>"I shall see you later," he said in a dry voice. +How did it all happen?</p> + +<p>As soon as they were on the terrace, May released +Bingham's arm.</p> + +<p>"You want to get a rest before you go to the +Hardings," he said. Then he added, in a voice that +threw out the words merely as a remark which demanded +no answer, "Was it physical—or—moral or +both? Umph!" he went on. "Now, we have only +a step to make. It's the third doorway!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Page 188]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<h3>A TEA PARTY</h3> + +<p class="above2">Mrs. Harding had not succeeded in finding some +chance of "casually" asking Mrs. Potten to have +tea with her, but she had secured the Dashwoods. +That was something. Mrs. Harding's drawing-room +was spacious and looked out on the turreted walls of +Christ Church. The house witnessed to Mrs. Harding's +private means.</p> + +<p>"We have got Lady Dashwood in the further +room," she murmured to some ladies who arrived +punctually from the Sale in St. Aldates, "and we +nearly got the Warden of Kings."</p> + +<p>The 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.</p> + +<p>"But the Warden is coming to fetch his party +home," added Mrs. Harding, cheerfully.</p> + +<p>Harding, too, was in good spirits. He was all +patriotism and full of courteous consideration for his +friends. So heartened was he that, after tea, at the +suggestion of Bingham, he sat down to the piano to +sing a duet with his wife. This was also a sort of +touching example of British respectability with a dash +of "go" in it!</p> + +<p>Bingham was turning over some music.</p> + +<p>"What shall it be, Tina?" asked Harding, whose +repertoire was limited.</p> + +<p>"This!" said Bingham, and he placed on the piano +in front of Hording the duet from "Becket."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Page 189]</a></span></p> + +<p>The room was crowded, khaki prevailing. "All +the women are workers," Mrs. Harding had explained.</p> + +<p>Gwendolen Scott was there, of course, still conscious +of the ten-shilling note in the pocket of her coat. Mrs. +Potten had gone, along with the Buckinghamshire +collar, just as if neither had ever existed. Boreham +was there, talking to one or two men in khaki, because +he could not get near May Dashwood. She had now +somehow got wedged into a corner over which Bingham +was standing guard.</p> + +<p>At the door the Warden had just made his appearance. +He had got no further than the threshold, for +he saw his hostess about to sing and would not advance +to disturb her.</p> + +<p>From where he stood May Dashwood could be +plainly seen, and Bingham stooping with his hands on +his knees, making an inaudible remark to her.</p> + +<p>The remark that gentleman was actually making +was: "You'll have a treat presently—the greatest +surprise in your life."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Harding stood behind her husband. She was +dressed with strict regard to the last fashion. Dressing +in each fashion as it came into existence she used to +call quite prettily, "the simple truth about it." Since +the war she called it frankly and seriously "the true +economy." Her face usually expressed a superior +self-assurance, and now it wore also a look of indulgent +amiability. Her whole appearance suggested a +happy peacock with its tail spread, and the surprise +which Bingham predicted came when she opened her +mouth and, instead of emitting screams in praise of +diamonds and of Paris hats (as one would have expected), +she piped in a small melancholy voice the +following pathetic inquiry—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Is it the wind of the dawn that I hear in the pine overhead?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And then came Harding's growling baritone,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Page 190]</a></span> +avoiding any mention of cigars or cocktails and making +answer—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"No! but the noise of the deep as it hollows the cliffs of the land."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Mrs. Harding—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Is there a voice coming up with the voice of the deep from the strand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One coming up with the song in the flush of the glimmering red?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Mr. Harding—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Love that is born of the deep coming up with the sun from the sea."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Bingham was convulsed with inward laughter. +May tried to smile a little—at the incongruity of the +singers and the words they sang; but her thoughts +were all astray. The Warden was here—so near!</p> + +<p>No one else was in the least amused. Boreham +was plainly worried, and was staring through his +eyeglass at Bingham's back, behind which May Dashwood +was half obliterated. Gwendolen Scott had +only just caught sight of the Warden and had flushed +up, and wore an excited look on her face. She was +glancing at him with furtive glances—ready to bow. +Now she caught his eye and bowed, and he returned +the bow very gravely.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood was leaning back in her chair +listening with resigned misery.</p> + +<p>May looked straight before her, past Bingham's +elbow. She knew the song from Becket well. Words +in the song were soon coming that she dreaded, because +of the Warden standing there by the door.</p> + +<p>The words came—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Love that is born of the deep coming up with the sun from the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love that can shape or can shatter a life till the life shall have fled."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>She raised her eyes to the Warden. She could see<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Page 191]</a></span> +his profile. It looked noble among the faces around +him, as he stood with his head bent, apparently very +much aloof, absorbed in his own thoughts.</p> + +<p>He, of all men she had ever met, ought to have +understood "love that is born of the deep," and did +not. He turned his head slightly and met her eyes +for the flash of a second. It was the look of a man who +takes his last look.</p> + +<p>She did not move, but she grasped the arms of +her chair and heard no more of the music but +sounds, vaguely drumming at her ears, without +meaning.</p> + +<p>She did not even notice Bingham's movement, the +slow cautious movement with which he turned to see +what had aroused her emotion. When he knew, he +made a still more cautious and imperceptible movement +away from her; the movement of a man who +discerns that he had made a step too far and wishes to +retrace that step without being observed.</p> + +<p>May did not even notice that the song was over and +that people were talking and moving about.</p> + +<p>"We are going, May," said Lady Dashwood. "Mr. +Boreham has to go and hunt for a ten-shilling note +that Mrs. Potten thinks she dropped at Christ Church. +She has just sent me a letter about it. She can't +remember the staircase. In any case we have to go +and pick up our purchases there, so we are all going +together."</p> + +<p>"She's always dropping things," said Boreham, +who had taken the opportunity of coming up and +speaking to May. "She may have lost the note anywhere +between here and Norham Gardens. She's +incorrigible."</p> + +<p>The little gathering was beginning to melt away. +Harding and Bingham had hurried off on business, +and there was nobody now left but Boreham and the +party from King's and Mrs. Harding, who was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Page 192]</a></span> +determined to help in the search for Mrs. Potten's +lost note.</p> + +<p>"Miss Scott is coming back with me—to help +wind up things at the Sale," said Mrs. Harding, "and +on our way we will go in and help you."</p> + +<p>Gwendolen's first impulse, when Mrs. Potten's +note was discussed, was to get behind somebody else +so as not to be seen. Would Mr. Harding and Mr. +Bingham remember about the extra note? Probably—so +her second impulse was to say aloud: "I wonder +if it's the note I quite forgot to give to Mrs. Potten? +I've got it somewhere." Alas! this impulse was short-lived. +Ever since she had put the note in her pocket, +the mental image of an umbrella had been before her +eyes. She had begun to consider that mental umbrella +as already a real umbrella and hers. She walked about +already, in imagination, under it. She might have +planned to spend money that had fallen into her hands +on sweets. That would have been the usual thing; +but no, she was going to spend it on something very +useful and necessary. That ten shillings, in fact, so +carelessly flung aside by Mrs. Potten, was going to be +spent in a way very few girls would think of. To +spend it on an umbrella was wonderfully virtuous and +made the whole affair a sort of duty.</p> + +<p>The umbrella, in short, had become now part of +Gwendolen's future. Virtue walking with an umbrella. +Without that umbrella there would be a distinct blank +in Gwendolen's life!</p> + +<p>If she obeyed her second impulse on the moment, +that umbrella would never become hers. She would +for ever lose that umbrella. But neither Mr. Harding +nor Mr. Bingham seemed to think of her, or her note. +They were already rushing off to lectures or chapels or +something. The impulse died!</p> + +<p>So the poor silly child pretended to search in the +rooms at Christ Church with no less energy than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Page 193]</a></span> +Mrs. Harding and Mrs. Dashwood, and much more +thoroughly than Boreham, who did nothing more than +put up the lights and stand about looking gloomy.</p> + +<p>The Warden was walking slowly with Lady Dashwood +on the terrace below when the searchers came out +announcing that no note could be found.</p> + +<p>Boreham's arms were full of parcels, and these +were distributed among the Warden, Lady Dashwood, +and Mrs. Dashwood.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Harding said "good-bye" outside the great gate.</p> + +<p>"I shall bring Miss Scott home, after the work is +over," she said; and Gwendolen glanced at the Warden +in the fading afternoon light with some confidence, +for was not the affair of the note over? What more +could happen? She could not be certain whether he +looked at her or not. He moved away the moment +that Mrs. Harding had ceased speaking. He bowed, +and in another moment was talking to Mr. Boreham.</p> + +<p>May Dashwood had slipped her hand into her +aunt's arm, making it obvious to Boreham that he +and the Warden must walk on ahead, or else walk +behind. They walked on ahead.</p> + +<p>"I've got to fetch Mrs. Potten from Eliston's," he +said fretfully, as he walked beside the Warden. All +four went along in silence. They passed Carfax. +There, a little farther on, was Mrs. Potten just at the +shop's door, looking out keenly through her glasses, +peering from one side of the street to the other.</p> + +<p>She came forward to meet them, evidently charmed +at seeing the Warden.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I made a great fuss over that note. +Did you find it, Bernard?"</p> + +<p>Boreham felt too cross to answer.</p> + +<p>"We didn't," said May Dashwood. "I'm sorry!"</p> + +<p>"No, we couldn't find it," said Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"You really couldn't," repeated Mrs. Potten. +"Well, I wonder—— But how kind of you!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Page 194]</a></span></p> + +<p>Now, Mrs. Potten rarely saw the Warden, and +this fact made her prize him all the more. Mrs. +Potten's weakness for men was very weak for the +Warden, so much so that for the moment she forgot +the loss of her note, and—thinking of Wardens—burst +into a long story about the Heads of colleges +she had known personally and those she had not +known personally.</p> + +<p>Her assumption that Heads of colleges were of any +importance was all the more distasteful to Boreham +because May Dashwood was listening.</p> + +<p>"Come along, Mrs. Potten," he said crossly; "we +shall have to have the lamps lit if we wait any longer."</p> + +<p>But they were not her lamps that would have to +be lit, burning <em>her</em> oil, and Mrs. Potten released the +Warden with much regret.</p> + +<p>"So the poor little note was never found," she +said, as she held out her hand for good-bye. "I know +it's a trifle, but in these days everything is serious, +everything! And after I had scribbled off my note +to you from Eliston's I thought I might have given +Miss Scott two ten-shilling notes instead of one, just +by mistake, and that she hadn't noticed, of course."</p> + +<p>"I thought of that," said Lady Dashwood, "and +I asked Mrs. Harding; but she said that she had got +the correct notes—thirty shillings."</p> + +<p>"Well, good-bye," said Mrs. Potten. "I am sorry +to have troubled everybody, but in war time one has +to be careful. One never knows what may happen. +Strange things have happened and will happen. Don't +you think so, Warden?"</p> + +<p>"Stranger than perhaps we think of," said the +Warden, and he raised his hat to go.</p> + +<p>"Come, Bernard," said Mrs. Potten, "I must try +and tear you away. Good-bye, good-bye!" and even +then she lingered and looked at the Warden.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Marian," said Lady Dashwood, firmly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Page 195]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I am afraid you are very tired," whispered May +in her aunt's ear, as they turned up the Broad.</p> + +<p>"Rather tired," said Lady Dashwood. "Too +tired to hear Marian's list of names, nothing but +names!"</p> + +<p>They walked on a few steps, and then there came +a sound of whirring in the sky. It was a sound new +to Oxford, but which had lately become frequent. +All three looked up. An aeroplane was skimming +low over steeples, towers, and ancient chimney stacks, +going home to Port Meadow, like a bird going home +to roost at the approach of night. It was going safely. +The pilot was only learning, playing with air, overcoming +it with youthful keenness and light-heartedness. +They could see his little solitary figure sitting +at the helm. Later on he would play no more; +the air would be full of glory, and horror—over in +France.</p> + +<p>The Warden sighed.</p> + +<p>When they reached the Lodgings they went into +the gloom of the dark panelled hall. The portraits +on the walls glowered at them. The Warden put up +the lights and looked at the table for letters, as if he +expected something. There was a wire for him; more +business, but not unexpected.</p> + +<p>"I have to go to Town again," he said. "A +meeting and other education business."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Lady Dashwood. She caught at +the idea, and her eyes followed the figure of May +Dashwood walking upstairs. When May turned out +of sight she said: "Do you mean now?"</p> + +<p>"No, to-morrow early," he said. "And I shall be +back on Saturday."</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood seated herself on a couch; her +letters were in her hand, but she did not open them. +Her eyes were fixed on her brother.</p> + +<p>"Can you manage somehow so that I can speak<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Page 196]</a></span> +to Gwendolen alone?" he asked. "I am dining in +Hall, but I shall be back by half-past nine."</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood felt her cheeks tingle. "Yes, I +will manage it, if it is inevitable." She dwelt lingeringly +upon the word "inevitable."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said the Warden, and he turned and +walked slowly upstairs. Very heavily he walked, so +Lady Dashwood thought, as she sat listening to his +footsteps. Of course it was inevitable. If vows are +forgotten, promises are broken, there is an end to +"honour," to "progress," to everything worth living for!</p> + +<p>At the drawing-room he paused; the door was +wide open, and he could see May Dashwood standing +near one of the windows pulling her gloves off. She +turned.</p> + +<p>"I have to be in town early to-morrow and shall +not return till the following day, Saturday," he said, +coming up slowly to where she was standing.</p> + +<p>She glanced up at him.</p> + +<p>"This is the second time I have had to go away +since you came, but it is a time when so much has to +be considered and discussed, matters relating to the +future of education, and of the universities, and with +the future of Oxford. Things have suddenly changed; +it is a new world that we live in to-day, a new world." +Then he added bitterly, "Such as was the morrow of +the Crucifixion."</p> + +<p>He glanced away from her and rested his eyes on +the window. The curtains had not yet been drawn +and the latticed panes were growing dim. The dull +grey sky behind the battlements of the roof opposite +showed no memory of sunset.</p> + +<p>"Of course you have to go away," said May, softly, +and she too looked out at the dull sky now darkening +into night.</p> + +<p>Should she now tell him that she had kept her word, +that she had not seen the cathedral because she had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Page 197]</a></span> +not been alone. She had had a strong desire to tell +him when it was impossible to do so. Now, when she +had only to say the words for he was there, close +beside her, she could not speak. Perhaps he wouldn't +care whether she had kept her word—and yet she knew +that he did care.</p> + +<p>They stood together for a moment in silence.</p> + +<p>"And you were not able to go with me to the +cathedral," he said, turning and looking at her face +steadily.</p> + +<p>May coloured as she felt his eyes upon her, but she +braced herself to meet his question as if it was a matter +about which they cared nothing.</p> + +<p>"I didn't want to waste your time," she said, and +she drew her gloves through her hand and moved away.</p> + +<p>"Bingham," he said, "knows more than I do, +perhaps more than any man in Oxford, about medięval +architecture."</p> + +<p>"Ah yes," said May, and she walked slowly towards +the fireplace.</p> + +<p>"And he will have shown you everything," he +persisted.</p> + +<p>May was now in front of the portrait, though she +did not notice it.</p> + +<p>"I didn't go into the cathedral," she said.</p> + +<p>The Warden raised his head as if throwing off +some invisible burden. Then he moved and came +and stood near her—also facing the portrait. But +neither noticed the large luminous eyes fixed upon +them, visible even in the darkening room.</p> + +<p>"I suppose one ought not to be critical of a drawing-room +song," said the Warden, and his voice now was +changed.</p> + +<p>May moved her head slightly towards him, but did +not meet his eyes.</p> + +<p>"I was inclined," he said, "but then I am by trade +a college tutor, to criticise one line of Tennyson's verse."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Page 198]</a></span></p> + +<p>She knew what he meant. "What line do you +object to?" she asked, and the line seemed to be +already dinning in her ears.</p> + +<p>He quoted the line, pronouncing the words with a +strange emphasis—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Love that can shape or can shatter a life, till the life shall have fled.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Yes?" said May.</p> + +<p>"It is a pretty sentiment," he said. "I suppose +we ought to accept it as such."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said May, and her voice lingered doubtfully +over the word.</p> + +<p>"Have we any right to expect so much, or fear +so much," said the Warden, "from the circumstances +of life?"</p> + +<p>May turned her head away and said nothing.</p> + +<p>"Why demand that life shall be made so easy?" +Here he paused again. "Some of us," he went on, +"want to be converted, in the Evangelical sense; in +other words, some of us want to be given a sudden +inspiring illumination, an irresistible motive for living +the good life, a motive that will make virtue +easy."</p> + +<p>May looked down into the fire and waited for him +to go on.</p> + +<p>"Some of us demand a love that will make marriage +easy, smooth for our temper, flattering to our vanity. +Some demand"—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."</p> + +<p>And she gave no answer.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it our business to accept the circumstances +of life, love among them, and refuse either to be shaped +by them or shattered by them? But you will accuse +me of being hyper-critical at a tea-party, of arguing on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Page 199]</a></span> +ethics when I should have been thinking of—of nothing +particular."</p> + +<p>This was his Apologia. After this there would be +silence. He would be Gwendolen's husband. May +tried to gather up all her self-possession.</p> + +<p>"You don't agree with me?" he asked to break +her obstinate silence.</p> + +<p>She could hear Robinson coming in. He put up +the lights, and out of the obscurity flashed the face of +the portrait almost to the point of speech.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that one ought and can live in +marriage without help and without sympathy?" she +asked, and her voice trembled a little.</p> + +<p>He answered, "I mean that. May I quote you +lines that you probably know, lines of a more strenuous +character than that line from 'Becket.'" And he +quoted—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'For even the purest delight may pall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And power must fail, and the pride must fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the love of the dearest friends grow small,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the glory of the Lord is all in all.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>They could hear the swish of the heavy curtains as +Robinson pulled them over the windows.</p> + +<p>"And yet——" she said. Here a queer spasm came +in her throat. She was moving towards the open door, +for she felt that she could not bear to hear any more. +He followed her.</p> + +<p>"And yet——?" he persisted.</p> + +<p>"I only mean," she said, and she compelled her +voice to be steady, "what is the glory of the Lord? +Is it anything but love—love of other people?"</p> + +<p>She went through the open door slowly and turned +to the shallow stairs that led to her bedroom. She +could not hear whether he went to his library or not. +She was glad that she did not meet anybody in the +corridor. The doors were shut.</p> + +<p>She locked her door and went up to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Page 200]</a></span> +dressing-table. The little oval picture case was lying +there. She laid her hand upon it, but did not move +it. She stood, pressing her fingers upon it. Then she +moved away. Even the memory of the past was fading +from her life; her future would contain nothing—to +remember.</p> + +<p>She moved about the room. Wasn't duty enough +to fill her life? Wasn't it enough for her to know that +she was helping in her small way to build up the future +of the race? Why could she not be content with that? +Perhaps, when white hairs came and wrinkles, and her +prime was past, she might be content! But until +then....</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Page 201]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<h3>THE MORAL CLAIMS OF AN UMBRELLA</h3> + +<p class="above2">The ghost was, so to speak, dead, as far as any mention +of him was made at the Lodgings. But in the servants' +quarters he was very much alive.</p> + +<p>The housemaid, who had promised not to tell "any +one" that Miss Scott had seen a ghost, kept her word +with literal strictness, by telling every one.</p> + +<p>Robinson was of opinion that the general question +of ghosts was still an open one. Also that he had +never heard in his time, or his father's, of the Barber's +ghost actually appearing in the Warden's library. +When the maids expressed alarm, he reproved them +with a grumbling scorn. If ghosts did ever appear, he +felt that the Lodgings had a first-class claim to one; +ghosts were "classy," he argued. Had any one ever +heard tell of a ghost haunting a red brick villa or a +dissenting chapel?</p> + +<p>Louise had gathered up the story without difficulty, +but she had secret doubts whether Miss Scott might +not have invented the whole thing. She did not put +much faith in Miss Scott. Now, if Lady Dashwood +had seen the ghost, that would have been another +matter!</p> + +<p>What really excited Louise was the story that the +Barber came to warn Wardens of an approaching +disaster. Now Louise was in any case prepared to +believe that "disasters" might easily be born and bred<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Page 202]</a></span> +in places like the Lodgings and in a city like Oxford; +but in addition to all this there had been and was +something going on in the Lodgings lately that was +distressing Lady Dashwood, something in the behaviour +of the Warden! A disaster! Hein?</p> + +<p>When she returned from St. Aldates, Gwendolen +Scott had had only time to sit down in a chair and +survey her boots for a few moments when Louise came +into her bedroom and suggested that <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mademoiselle</span> +would like to have her hair well brushed. <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mademoiselle's</span> +hair had suffered from the passing events of the +day.</p> + +<p>"Doesn't Lady Dashwood want you?" asked +Gwendolen.</p> + +<p>No, Lady Dashwood was already dressed and was +reposing herself on the couch, being fatigued. She +was lying with her face towards the window, which +was indeed wide open—wide open, and it was after +sunset and at the end of October—par example!</p> + +<p>Gwendolen still stared at her boots and said +she wanted to think; but Louise had an object in +view and was firm, and in a few minutes she had +deposited the young lady in front of the toilet-table +and was brushing her black curly hair with much +vigour.</p> + +<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mademoiselle</span> saw the ghost last night," began +Louise.</p> + +<p>"Who said that?" exclaimed Gwendolen.</p> + +<p>"On dit," said Louise.</p> + +<p>"Then they shouldn't on dit," said Gwendolen. +"I never said I saw the ghost, I may have said I +thought I saw one, which is quite different. The +Warden says there are no ghosts, and the whole thing +is rubbish."</p> + +<p>"There comes no ghost here," said Louise, +firmly, "except there is a disaster preparing for the +Warden."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Page 203]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The Warden's quite all right," said Gwen, with +some scorn.</p> + +<p>"Quite all right," repeated Louise. "But it may +be some disaster domestic. Who can tell? There is +not only death—there is—<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">par exemple</span>, marriage!" +and Louise glanced over Gwendolen's head and looked +at the girl's face reflected in the mirror.</p> + +<p>"Well, that is cool," thought Gwendolen; "I +suppose that's French!"</p> + +<p>"The whole thing is rubbish," she said.</p> + +<p>"One cannot tell, it is not for us to know, perhaps, +but it may be that the disaster is, that Mrs. Dashwood, +so charming—so <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">douce</span>—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."</p> + +<p>Gwendolen blew the breath from her mouth with +protruding lips.</p> + +<p>"What has that to do with the Warden? I do +wish you wouldn't talk so much, Louise."</p> + +<p>"It may be a disaster that there can be no marriage +between Mrs. Dashwood and <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Monsieur</span> the Warden," +continued Louise.</p> + +<p>"The Warden doesn't want to marry Mrs. Dashwood," +replied Gwendolen, with some energy.</p> + +<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mademoiselle</span> knows!" said Louise, softly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know," said Gwendolen. "No one has +thought of such a thing—except you."</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"I do wish you wouldn't talk," said Gwen. "It +isn't your business, Louise."</p> + +<p>"Ah," murmured Louise, brushing away, "I will +not speak of disasters; but I pray—I pray continually,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Page 204]</a></span> +and particularly I pray to St. Joseph to protect M. +the Warden from any disaster whatever." Then she +added: "I believe so much in St. Joseph."</p> + +<p>"St. Joseph!" said Gwendolen, sharply. "Why +on earth?"</p> + +<p>"I believe much in him," said Louise.</p> + +<p>"I don't like him," said Gwendolen. "He always +spoils those pictures of the Holy Family, he and his +beard; he is like Abraham."</p> + +<p>"He spoils! That is not so; he is no doubt much, +much older than the Blessed Virgin, but that was +necessary, and he is <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">un peu homme du monde</span>—to +protect the Lady Mother and Child. I pray to St. +Joseph, because the good God, who was the Blessed +Child, was always so gentle, so obedient, so tender. +He will still listen to his kind protector, St. Joseph."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Louise, you are funny," said Gwendolen, +laughing.</p> + +<p>"Funny!" exclaimed Louise. "Holy Jesus!"</p> + +<p>"Well, it all happened such ages ago, and you talk +as if it were going on now."</p> + +<p>"It is now—always now—to God," exclaimed +Louise, fervently; "there is no past—all is now."</p> + +<p>This was far too metaphysical for Gwendolen. +"You are funny," she repeated.</p> + +<p>"Funny—again funny. Ah, but I forget, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mademoiselle</span> +is Protestant."</p> + +<p>"No, I'm not," said Gwen; "I belong to the +English branch of the Catholic Church."</p> + +<p>"We have no branch, we are a trunk," said Louise, +sadly.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm exactly what the Warden is and what +Lady Dashwood is," said Gwendolen.</p> + +<p>"Ah, my Lady Dashwood," said Louise, breaking +into a tone of tragic melancholy. "I pray always for +her. Ah! but she is good, and the good God knows it. +But she is not well." And Louise changed her tone<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Page 205]</a></span> +to one of mild speculation. "<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> perhaps is +<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">souffrante</span> because of so much fresh air and the +absence of shops."</p> + +<p>"It is foolish to suppose that the Warden does +just what Lady Dashwood tells him. That doesn't +happen in this part of the world," said Gwendolen, +her mind still rankling on Louise's remark about Lady +Dashwood not esteeming—as if, indeed, Lady Dashwood +was the important person, as if, indeed, it was +to please Lady Dashwood that the Warden was to +marry!</p> + +<p>"Ah, no," said Louise. "The <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">monsieurs</span> here +come and go just like guests in their homes. They do +as they choose. The husband in England says never—as +he does in France: 'I come back, my dearest, at +the first moment possible, to assist you entertain our +dear grandmamma and our dear aunt.' No, he says +that not; and the English wife she never says: +'Where have you been? It is an hour that our little +Suzette demands that the father should show her +again her new picture book!' Ah, no. I find that the +English messieurs have much liberty."</p> + +<p>"It must be deadly for men in France," said +Gwendolen.</p> + +<p>"It is always funny or deadly with <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mademoiselle</span>," +replied Louise.</p> + +<p>But she felt that she had obtained enough information +of an indirect nature to strengthen her in her +suspicions that Lady Dashwood had arranged a marriage +between the Warden and Mrs. Dashwood, but +that the Warden had not played his part, and, notwithstanding +his dignified appearance, was amusing +himself with both his guests in a manner altogether +reprehensible.</p> + +<p>Ah! but it was a pity!</p> + +<p>When Louise left the room Gwendolen went to the +wardrobe, and took out the coat that Louise had put<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Page 206]</a></span> +away. She felt in the wrong pocket first, which was +empty, and then in the right one and found the ten-shilling +note. Now that she had it in her hand it +seemed to her amazing that Mrs. Potten, with her big +income, should have fussed over such a small matter. +It was shabby of her.</p> + +<p>Gwendolen took her purse out of a drawer which +she always locked up. Even if her purse only contained +sixpence, she locked it up because she took for +granted that it would be "stolen."</p> + +<p>As she put away her purse and locked the drawer +a sudden and disagreeable thought came into her mind. +She would not like the Warden to know that she was +going to buy an umbrella with money that Mrs. Potten +had "thrown away." She would feel "queer" if she +met him in the hall, when she came in from buying the +umbrella. Why? Well, she would! Anyhow, she +need not make up her mind yet what she would do—about +the umbrella.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the Warden surely would speak to her +this evening, or would write or something? Was she +never, never going to be engaged?</p> + +<p>She dressed and came down into the drawing-room. +Dinner had already been announced, and Lady Dashwood +was standing and Mrs. Dashwood was standing. +Where was the Warden?</p> + +<p>"I ought not to have to tell you to be punctual, +Gwen," said Lady Dashwood. "I expect you to be +in the drawing-room before dinner is announced, not +after."</p> + +<p>"So sorry," murmured Gwen; then added lightly, +"but I am more punctual than Dr. Middleton!"</p> + +<p>"The Warden is dining in Hall," said Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>So the Warden had made himself invisible again! +When was he going to speak to her? When was she +going to be really engaged?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Page 207]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gwendolen held open the door for the two ladies +and, as she did so, glanced round the room. Now +that she knew that the Warden was out somehow the +drawing-room looked rather dreary.</p> + +<p>Her eyes rested on the portrait over the fireplace. +There was that odious man looking so knowing! She +was not sure whether she shouldn't have that portrait +removed when she was Mrs. Middleton. It would +serve him right. She turned out the lights with some +satisfaction, it left him in the dark!</p> + +<p>As she walked downstairs behind the two ladies, +she thought that they too looked rather dreary. The +hall looked dreary. Even the dining-room that she +always admired looked dreary, and especially dreary +looked old Robinson, and very shabby he looked, as +he stood at the carving table. And young Robinson's +nose looked more turned-up, and more stumpy than she +had noticed before. It was so dull without the Warden +at the head of the table.</p> + +<p>There was very little conversation at dinner. +When the Warden was away, nobody seemed to +want to talk. Lady Dashwood said she had a headache.</p> + +<p>But Gwendolen gathered some information of importance. +Mrs. Potten had turned up again, and had +been told that the right money had gone to Mrs. +Harding.</p> + +<p>Gwendolen stared a good deal at her plate, +and felt considerable relief when Lady Dashwood +added: "She knows now that she did not lose her +note in Christ Church. She is always dropping things—poor +Marian! But she very likely hadn't the note +at all, and only thought she had the note," and so the +matter <em>ended</em>.</p> + +<p>Just as dinner was over Gwen gathered more information. +The Warden was going away early to-morrow! +That was dreary, only—she would go and buy the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Page 208]</a></span> +umbrella while he was away, and get used to having +it before he saw it.</p> + +<p>That the future Mrs. Middleton should not even +have an umbrella to call her own was monstrous! +She must keep up the dignity of her future position!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Page 209]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<h3>HONOUR</h3> + +<p class="above2">The drawing-room was empty except for the figure of +Gwendolen Scott. Her slim length was in a great +easy-chair, on the arms of which she was resting her +hands, while she turned her head from side to side +like a bird that anticipates the approach of enemies.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dashwood and Lady Dashwood had gone +upstairs, and, to her astonishment, when she prepared +to follow them, Lady Dashwood had quietly made her +wait behind for the Warden!</p> + +<p>The command, for it seemed almost like a command, +came with startling abruptness. So Lady +Dashwood knew all about it! She must have talked +it over with the Warden, and now she was arranging +it as if the Warden couldn't act without her! But the +annoyance that Gwen felt at this proof of Lady Dashwood's +power was swallowed up in the sense of a great +victory, the prize was won! She was going to be really +engaged at last! All the waiting and the bother was +over!</p> + +<p>She was ready for him, at least as ready as she +could be. She was glad she had got on her white +frock; on the whole, she preferred it to the others. +Even Louise, who never said anything nice, said that +it suited her.</p> + +<p>When would he come? And when he did come, +what would he do, what would he say?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Page 210]</a></span></p> + +<p>Would he come in quietly and slowly as he had +done last night, looking, oh, so strong, so capable of +driving ghosts away, fears away? She would never +be afraid of anything in his presence, except perhaps +of himself! Here he was!</p> + +<p>He came in, shut the door behind him, and advanced +towards her. She couldn't help watching him.</p> + +<p>"You're quite alone," he said, and he came and +stood by the hearth under the portrait and leaned his +hand on the mantelshelf.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Gwen, blushing violently. "Lady +Dashwood and Mrs. Dashwood have gone. Lady +Dashwood said I was to stay up!"</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said the Warden.</p> + +<p>Gwen looked up at him wistfully.</p> + +<p>"You wrote me a letter," he began, "and from +it I gather that you have been thinking over what I +said the other evening."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Gwen; "I've been so—bothered. Oh, +that's the wrong word—I mean——"</p> + +<p>"You have thought it over quietly and seriously?" +said the Warden.</p> + +<p>Gwen's eyes flickered. "Yes," she said; and then, +as he seemed to expect her to say more, she added:</p> + +<p>"I don't know whether you meant——" and here +she stopped dead.</p> + +<p>"Between us there must be absolute sincerity," +he said.</p> + +<p>Gwen felt a qualm. Did absolute sincerity mean +that she would have to tell about the—the umbrella +that she was going to get?</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, "I like sincerity; it's right, isn't +it?"</p> + +<p>He made no answer. She looked again at him +wistfully.</p> + +<p>"Suppose you tell me," he said gently, "what you +yourself think of your mother's letter in which she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Page 211]</a></span> +speaks to you with affection and pride, and even +regrets that she will lose you. Her letter conveys the +idea that you <em>are</em> loved and wanted." He put emphasis +on the "are."</p> + +<p>"It was a nice letter," said Gwen, thinking hard +as she spoke. "But you see we haven't got any home +now," she went on. "Mother stays about with people. +It is hard lines, but she is so sporting."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the Warden, "and," he said, as if +to assist her to complete the picture, "yet she wants +you!" As he spoke his eyes narrowed and his breath +was arrested for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Oh no," said Gwen, eagerly. "She doesn't want +to prevent—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."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said the Warden, "I understand." +He sighed and moved slightly from his former position. +"You mean that she wants you very much, but that +she can't afford to give you a home."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Gwen, with relief. The way was being +made very clear to her. She was telling "the truth" +and he was helping her so kindly. "You see mother +couldn't stand a small house and servant bothers. +It's been such hard luck on her, that father left nothing +like what she thought he had got. Mother has been so +plucky, she really has."</p> + +<p>"I see," said the Warden. "Then your mother's +letter has your approval?"</p> + +<p>Her approval! Yes, of course; it was simply topping +of her mother to have written in the way she did.</p> + +<p>"It was good of mother," she said. If it hadn't +been for her mother she would not have known what +to do.</p> + +<p>The Warden moved his hand away from the mantelshelf +and now stood with his back against it, away from +the blaze of the fire.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Page 212]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You have never mentioned, in my presence," he +said, "what you think about the work that most girls +of your age are doing for the war."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes," said Gwen, eagerly; "mother is so keen +about that. She does do such a lot herself, and she +took me away from school a fortnight before time was +up to go to a hospital for three months' training."</p> + +<p>"And you are having a holiday and want to go on," +suggested the Warden.</p> + +<p>"No; mother thought I had better have a change. +You can't think how horrid the matron was to me—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."</p> + +<p>The Warden meditated. "Yes," he said.</p> + +<p>Gwen continued to look at him, her face full of +questioning.</p> + +<p>"You have been thinking whether you should +trust yourself to me," he said very gravely, "and +whether you could face the responsibility and the cares +of a house, a position, like that of a Warden's wife?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes," said Gwen.</p> + +<p>"You think that you understand them?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes," said Gwen. "At least, I would try; +I would do my best."</p> + +<p>"There is nothing very amusing in my manner of +life; in fact, I should describe it as—solemn. The +business," he continued, "of a Warden is to ward his +college. His wife's business is to assist him."</p> + +<p>"I should simply love that," said Gwen. "I should +really! I'm not clever, I know, but I would try my +best, and—I'm so—afraid of you," she said with a gulp +of emotion, "and admire you so awfully!"</p> + +<p>The Warden's face hardened a little, but Gwen did +not observe it; all she saw and knew was that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Page 213]</a></span> +dismal part of the interview was over, for he accepted +this outburst as a definite reply on her part to his offer. +She was so glad she had said just what she had said. +It seemed to be all right.</p> + +<p>"That is your decision?" he said, only he did not +move towards her. He stood there, standing with his +back to the projection of the fireplace, his head on a +level with the frame of the portrait. The two faces, +of the present Warden of the year 1916 and the Warden +of the eighteenth century, made a striking contrast. +Both men had no lack of physical beauty, but the one +had discovered the "rights" of man, and therefore of +a Warden, and the other had discovered the "duties" +of men, including Wardens.</p> + +<p>He stood there and did not approach her. He was +hesitating.</p> + +<p>He could, if he wished it, exercise his power over +her and make her answer "No." He could make her +shrink away from him, or even deny that she had +wished for an interview. And he could do this safely, +for Gwendolen herself was ignorant of the fact that he +had on the previous night exercised any influence over +her except that of argument. She would have no suspicion +that he was tampering with her will for his own +purposes. He could extricate himself now and at this +moment. Now, while she was still waiting for him to +tell her whether he would marry her.</p> + +<p>The temptation was a heavy one. It was heavy, +although he knew from the first that it was one which +he could and would resist. There was no real question +about it.</p> + +<p>He stood there by the hearth, a free man still. In +a moment he would be bound hand and foot.</p> + +<p>Still, come what may, he must satisfy his honour. +He must satisfy his honour at any price.</p> + +<p>Gwendolen saw that he did not move and she +became suddenly alarmed. Didn't he mean to keep<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Page 214]</a></span> +his promise after all? Had he taken a dislike to +her?</p> + +<p>"Have I offended you?" she asked humbly. +"You're not pleased with me. Oh, Dr. Middleton, +you do make me so afraid!" She got up from her +chair, looking very pale. "You've been so awfully +kind and good to me, but you make me frightened!" +She held out her hands to him and turned her face +away, as if to hide it from him. "Oh, do be kind!" +she pleaded.</p> + +<p>He was looking at her with profound attention, +but the tenseness of his eyes had relaxed. Here was +this girl. Foolish she might be naturally, badly +brought up she certainly was, but she was utterly +alone in the world. He must train her. He must +oblige her to walk in the path he had laid out for her. +She, too, must become a servant of the College. He +willed it!</p> + +<p>"I hope, Gwendolen," he said gently, "that I shall +never be anything but kind to you. But do you +realise that if you are my wife, you will have to live, +not for pleasure or ease; and you will have not merely +to control yourself, but learn to control other people? +This may sound hard. Does it sound hard?"</p> + +<p>Oh, she would try her very best. She would do +whatever he told her to do. Just whatever he told +her!</p> + +<p>Whatever he told her to do! What an unending +task he had undertaken of telling her what to do! He +must never relax his will or his attention from her. It +would be no marriage for him; it would be a heavy +responsibility. But at least the College should not +suffer! Was he sure of that? He must see that it +did not suffer. If he failed, he must resign. His +promise to her was not to love her. He had never +spoken of love. He had offered her a home, and he +must give her a home.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Page 215]</a></span></p> + +<p>He braced himself up with a supreme effort and +went towards her, taking her into his arms and kissing +her brow and cheeks, and then, releasing himself from +her clinging arms, he said—</p> + +<p>"Go now, Gwendolen. Go to bed. I have work +to do."</p> + +<p>"Are you—is it——" she stammered.</p> + +<p>"We are engaged, if that is what you mean," he +said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Dr. Middleton!" she exclaimed. "And may +I write to my mother?"</p> + +<p>The Warden did not answer for a moment.</p> + +<p>That was another burden, Gwendolen's mother! +The Warden's face became hard. But he thought he +knew how he should deal with Gwendolen's mother; +he should begin from the very first.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said; "but as to her coming here—she +mentions it in her letter—Lady Dashwood will +decide about that. I don't know what her plans are."</p> + +<p>Gwendolen looked disappointed. "And I may +talk to Lady Dashwood, to Mrs. Dashwood, and anybody +about our engagement?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Certainly," he said, but he spoke stiffly.</p> + +<p>"And—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?"</p> + +<p>The Warden felt as if he had been dealt a light but +acutely painful blow.</p> + +<p>Shall I see you to-morrow morning? Already she +was claiming her right over him, her right to see him, +to know of his movements. He had for many years +been the servant of the College. He had given the +College his entire allegiance, but he had also been its +master. He had been the strong man among weaker +men, and, as all men of his type are, he had been alone, +uninterfered with, rather remote in matters concerning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Page 216]</a></span> +his private personal life. And now this mere child +demanded explanations of him. It was a bitter moment +for his pride and independence. However strictly he +might bind his wife to his will, his own freedom had +gone; he was no longer the man he had been. If this +simple question, "Shall I see you to-morrow morning?" +tortured his self-respect, how would he be able to bear +what was coming upon him day by day? He had to +bear it. That was the only answer to the question!</p> + +<p>"I am starting early," he said. "But I shall +be back on Saturday, some time in the afternoon +probably."</p> + +<p>Gwendolen's brain was in a whirl. Her desire +had been consummated. The Warden was hers, but, +somehow, he was not quite what he had been on that +Monday evening. He was cold, at least rather cold. +Still he was hers; that was fixed.</p> + +<p>She waited for a moment to see if he meant to kiss +her again. He did not mean to, he held out his hand +and smiled a little.</p> + +<p>She kissed his hand. "I shall long for you to come +back," she said, and then ran out, leaving him alone to +return to his desk with a heart sick and empty.</p> + +<p>"There can be no cohesion, no progress in the +world, no hope for the future of man, if men break +their word; if there is no such thing as inviolable +honour," the Warden said to himself, just as he had +said before. "After all, as long as honour is left, one +has a right to live, to struggle on, to endure."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Page 217]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<h3>SHOPPING</h3> + +<p class="above2">Mrs. Potten found that it "paid" to do her own +shopping, and she did it once every week, on Friday. +For this purpose she was compelled to use her car. +This grieved her. Her extreme desire to save petrol +would have been more patriotic if she had not availed +herself, on every possible occasion, of using other +people's petrol, or, so to speak, other people's oats.</p> + +<p>She had gone to the Sale of work in Boreham's gig, +but there was not much room in it for miscellaneous +parcels, so she was obliged to come into Oxford on the +following morning as usual and do her regular shopping.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Potten's acquaintance with the University +consisted in knowing a member of it here and there, +and in accepting invitations to any public function +which did not involve the expenditure of her own +money. No Greenleafe Potten had ever given any +endowment to Oxford, nor, for the matter of that, had +any Squire of Chartcote ever spent a penny for the +advancement of learning. Indeed, the old County +had been mostly occupied in preserving itself from +gradual extinction, and the new County, the Nouveaux +Riches, had been mainly occupied in the dissipation of +energy.</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Potten had given the Potten revenues a +new lease of life. Not only did she make a point of +not reducing her capital, but she was increasing it year +by year. She did this by systematic and often minute<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Page 218]</a></span> +economies (which is the true secret of economy). The +surface of her nature was emotional, enclosing a core +of flint, so that when she (being short-sighted) dropped +things about in moments of excitement, agreeable or +disagreeable, she made such losses good by drawing +in the household belt. If she inadvertently dropped +a half-crown piece down a grating while exchanging +controversial remarks with a local tradesman, or mixed +up a note with her pocket handkerchief and mislaid +both when forced to find a subscription to some pious +object, or if she left a purse containing one shilling and +fivepence behind her on a chair in the agitation of +meeting a man whom she admired (a man like the +Warden, for instance); when such misfortunes happened +she made them up—somehow!</p> + +<p>Knowing her own weakness, she armed herself against +it, by never carrying money about with her, except on +rare occasions. When she travelled, her maid carried +the money (with her head as the price of it).</p> + +<p>This Friday morning, therefore, Mrs. Potten had +a business duty before her, she had to squeeze ten +shillings out of the weekly bills—a matter difficult in +times of peace and more difficult in war time. It was +a difficulty she meant to overcome.</p> + +<p>Now on this Friday morning, after the Sale, Mrs. +Potten motored into Oxford rather earlier than usual. +She intended going to the Lodgings at King's before +doing her shopping. Her reason for going to the +Lodgings was an interesting one. She had just had a +letter from Lady Belinda Scott, informing her that, +even if she had been able to invite Gwendolen for +Monday, Gwendolen could not accept the invitation, +as the dear child was going to stay on at the Lodgings +indefinitely. She was engaged to be married to the +Warden! At this point in the letter Mrs. Potten put +the paper upon the breakfast table and felt that the +world was grey. Mrs. Potten liked men she admired<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Page 219]</a></span> +to be bachelors or else widowers, either would do. She +liked to feel that if only she had been ten years younger, +and had not been so exclusively devoted to the memory +of her husband, things might have—— 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.</p> + +<p>So he was engaged! And what exasperated Mrs. +Potten, as she read on, was Lady Belinda's playful +hints that Lady Dashwood (dear old thing!) had +manœuvred 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.</p> + +<p>With this news surging in her head Mrs. Potten +raced along the moist roadways towards the ancient +and sacred city.</p> + +<p>Lena ought to have told her about this engagement +when they were sitting together in the rooms at Christ +Church. It wasn't the right thing for an old friend +to have preserved a mysterious silence, unless (Mrs. +Potten was a woman with her wits about her) the +engagement had been not Lady Dashwood's plan, but +exclusively Belinda's plan and the daughter's plan, +and the Warden had been "caught"!</p> + +<p>"A liar," said Mrs. Potten, as she stared gloomily +out of the open window, "is always a liar!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Potten rang the door-bell at the Lodging +and waited for the answer with much warmth of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Page 220]</a></span> +interest. Suppose Lena was not at home? What +should she do? She must thrash out this matter. +Lena would be certain to be at home, it was so early!</p> + +<p>She <em>was</em> at home!</p> + +<p>Mrs. Potten walked upstairs, her mind agitated +with mingled emotions, and also the hope of meeting +the Warden, incidentally. But she did not meet the +Warden. He was not either coming up or going down, +and Mrs. Potten found herself alone in the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>She could not sit down, she walked up to the fireplace +and stared through her glasses for a moment at +the portrait. It was quite true that the man was a very +good-looking Warden! Yes, but scarcely the sort of +person she would have thought suitable to look after +young men; and then she walked away to the window. +She was framing in her mind the way in which she +should open the subject of her call at this early hour. +She almost started when she heard the door click, and +turned round to see Lady Dashwood coming towards +her.</p> + +<p>"Dear one, how tired you look!" said Mrs. Potten; +"and I really ought not to have come at this unholy +hour——"</p> + +<p>"It's not so early," said Lady Dashwood. "You +know work begins in this house at eight o'clock in the +morning."</p> + +<p>"So much the better," said Mrs. Potten. "I don't +like the modern late hours. In old days our Prime +Ministers were up at six in the morning attending to +their correspondence. When are they up now, I +should like to know? Well," she added, "I have come +to offer you my congratulations. I got a letter this +morning from Lady Belinda, telling me all about it. +No, I won't sit down, I merely ran in for a moment."</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood did not smile. She simply repeated: +"From Belinda, telling you all about it!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Page 221]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Potten noted the sarcasm underlying the remark.</p> + +<p>"Humph!" said Mrs. Potten. "And you, my +dear, said nothing yesterday, though we sat together +for half an hour."</p> + +<p>"They were not engaged till yesterday evening," +said Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"Belinda writing yesterday speaks of this engagement +having already taken place," said Mrs. Potten; +"but, of course, she is wrong."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" cried Mrs. Potten, nodding her head up +and down once or twice.</p> + +<p>"Jim has gone to town this morning," said Lady +Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"To buy a ring?" said Mrs. Potten. "Well, I +really ought to have brought you Lady Belinda's +letter to read. She thinks you have got your heart's +desire. That's <em>her</em> way of looking at it."</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood made no answer.</p> + +<p>"I never think lies are amusing," said Mrs. Potten, +"when you know they are lies. But you see, you +never said a word. Well, well, so Dr. Middleton is +engaged!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, engaged," repeated Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid you're tired," said Mrs. Potten. "You +did too much yesterday."</p> + +<p>"I'm tired," said Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"I always expected," said Mrs. Potten, "that the +Warden would have found some nice, steady, capable +country rector's daughter. But I suppose, being a +man as well as a Warden, he fell in love with a pretty +face, eh?" and Mrs. Potten moved as if to go. "Well, +she is a lucky girl."</p> + +<p>"Very lucky," said Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>Then Mrs. Potten stared closely with her short-sighted +eyes into her friend's face and saw such resigned +miseries there that Mrs. Potten felt a stirring movement<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Page 222]</a></span> +of those superficial emotions of which we have already +spoken.</p> + +<p>"I could have wept for her, my dear," said Mrs. +Potten, addressing an imaginary companion as she +went through the court of the Warden's Lodgings to +the car, which she had left standing in the street. "I +could have wept for her and for the Warden—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."</p> + +<p>Just as she was getting into the car Harding was +passing. He stopped, and in his best manner informed +her that his wife had told him that the proceeds of the +Sale amounted to ninety-three pounds ten shillings +and threepence.</p> + +<p>"Very good," said Mrs. Potten; "excellent!"</p> + +<p>"And we are much indebted to our kind friends +who patronised the Sale."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Potten thought of her Buckinghamshire collar +and the shilling pincushion that she need not have +bought.</p> + +<p>"I shall tell my wife," said Harding, with much +unction, "that you think it very satisfactory."</p> + +<p>It did indeed seem to Mrs. Potten (whose income +was in thousands) that ninety-three pounds, ten shillings +and threepence was a very handsome sum for the +purpose of assisting fifty or sixty young mothers of the +present generation.</p> + +<p>But she had little time to think of this for just by +her, walking past her from the Lodgings, came Miss +Gwendolen Scott. Now, what was Mrs. Potten to do? +Why, congratulate her, of course! The thing had to +be done! She called to Gwendolen, who came to the +side of the car all blushes.</p> + +<p>"She's pleased—that's plain," said Mrs. Potten to +herself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Page 223]</a></span></p> + +<p>But Mrs. Potten was mistaken. Gwendolen's vivid +colour came not from the cause which Mrs. Potten +imagined. Gwendolen's colour came simply from +alarm at the sight of Mrs. Potten and Mr. Harding +speaking to one another, and this alarm was not +lessened when Mrs. Potten exclaimed—</p> + +<p>"Mr. Harding has been telling me that you made +ninety-three pounds, ten shillings and threepence from +the Sale?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, did we?" murmured Gwendolen, and her +colour came and went away.</p> + +<p>"We did, thanks to Mrs. Potten's purchases," said +Harding, with obsequious playfulness, and he took his +leave.</p> + +<p>Then Mrs. Potten leaned over the car towards +Gwendolen and whispered—</p> + +<p>"I was waiting till he had gone, as I don't know if +you intend all Oxford to know——"</p> + +<p>Gwendolen's lips were pouted into a terrified +expression.</p> + +<p>"Your engagement, I mean," explained Mrs. +Potten.</p> + +<p>Gwendolen breathed again, and now she laughed. +Oh, why had she been so frightened? That silly little +affair of yesterday was over, it was dead and buried! +It was absolutely safe, and here was the first real +proper congratulations and acknowledgment of her +importance.</p> + +<p>"You've got a charming man, very charming," +said Mrs. Potten.</p> + +<p>Gwendolen admitted that she had, and then Mrs. +Potten waved her hand and was gone.</p> + +<p>That morning, when Gwendolen had come down +to breakfast, she wondered how she was going to be +received, and whether she would have to wait again +for recognition as the future Mrs. Middleton. Breakfast +had been put half an hour later.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Page 224]</a></span></p> + +<p>She had found Lady Dashwood and Mrs. Dashwood +already at breakfast. The Warden had had breakfast +alone a little before eight. Lady Dashwood called to +her and, when she came near, kissed her, and said very +quietly—</p> + +<p>"The Warden has told me."</p> + +<p>And then Mrs. Dashwood smiled and stretched out +her hand and said: "I have been allowed to hear +the news."</p> + +<p>And Gwendolen had looked at them both and said: +"Thanks ever so much. I can scarcely believe it, +only I know it's true!"</p> + +<p>However, the glamour of the situation was gone +because the Warden's seat was empty. He could be +heard in the hall; the taxi could be heard and the door +slamming, and he never came in to say "Good-bye"! +Still it was all exhilarating and wonderfully full of hope +and promise, and mysterious to a degree!</p> + +<p>The conversation at breakfast was not about herself, +but that did not matter, she was occupied with +happy thoughts. Now all this, everything she looked +at and everything she happened to touch, was hers. +Everything was hers from the silver urn down to the +very salt spoons. The cup that Lady Dashwood was +just raising to her lips was hers, Gwendolen's.</p> + +<p>And now as she walked along Broad Street, after +leaving Mrs. Potten, how gay the world seemed—how +brilliant! Even the leaden grey sky was joyful! To +Gwendolen there was no war, no sorrow, no pain! +There was no world beyond, no complexity of moral +forces, no great piteous struggle for an ideal, no +"Christ that is to be!" She was engaged and was +going shopping!</p> + +<p>It was, however, a pity that she had only ten shillings. +That would not get a really good umbrella. +Oh, look at those perfectly ducky gloves in the window +they were only eight and elevenpence!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Page 225]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gwendolen stared at the window. Stopping to +look at shop windows had been strictly forbidden by +her mother, but her dear mother was not there! So +Gwendolen peered in intently. What about getting +those gloves instead of the umbrella?</p> + +<p>She marched into the shop, rather bewildered with +her own thoughts. The gloves were shown her by +the same woman who had served Lady Dashwood a +day or two ago, and who recognised her and smiled +respectfully. The gloves were sweet; the gauntlets +were exactly what she preferred to any others. And +the colour was right. Gwendolen was fingering her +purse when the shopwoman said—</p> + +<p>"Do you want to pay for them, or shall I enter +them, miss?"</p> + +<p>Gwendolen's brain worked. She was now definitely +engaged, and in a few weeks no doubt would be +Mrs. Middleton; after that a bill of eight and elevenpence +would be a trifle.</p> + +<p>"Enter them, please," said Gwendolen, and she +surprised herself by hearing her own voice asking for +the umbrella department.</p> + +<p>After this, problems that had in the past appeared +insoluble, arranged themselves without any straining +effort on her part; they just straightened themselves +out and went "right there."</p> + +<p>She looked at a plain umbrella for nine and sixpence, +and then examined one at fifteen and eleven. +Thereupon she was shown another at twenty-five +shillings, which was more respectable looking and had +a nice top. It was clearly her duty to choose this, +anything poorer would lower the dignity of the future +Mrs. Middleton. Gwendolen was learning the "duties" +she owed to the station in life to which God had called +her. She found no sort of difficulty in this kind of +learning, and it was far more really useful than +book learning which is proverbially deleterious to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Page 226]</a></span> +character. She had the umbrella, too, put down to +Miss Scott, the Lodgings, King's College. When she +got out of the shop the ten-shilling note was still in +her purse.</p> + +<p>"I shall get some chocolates," she said. "A few!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Page 227]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<h3>THE SOUL OF MRS. POTTEN</h3> + +<p class="above2">Mrs. Potten was emerging from a shop in Broad Street +when she caught sight of Mr. Bingham, in cap and +gown, passing her and called to him. He stopped and +walked a few steps with her, while she informed him +that the proceeds of the Sale had come to ninety-three +pounds, ten shillings and threepence; but this was +only in order to find out whether he had heard of that +poor dear Warden's engagement. It was all so very +foolish!</p> + +<p>"Only that!" said Bingham, who was evidently +in ignorance of the event; "and after I bought a table-cloth, +which I find goes badly with my curtains, and +bedroom slippers, that are too small now I've tried +them on. Well, Mrs. Potten, you did your best, anyhow, +flinging notes about all over Christ Church. Was +the second note found?"</p> + +<p>"The second note?" exclaimed Mrs. Potten. +"What d'ye mean?"</p> + +<p>"You dropped one note at Christ Church, and you +would have lost another if Harding hadn't discovered +that you had given him an extra note and restored it +to Miss Scott. I suppose Miss Scott pretended that it +was she who had been clever enough to rescue the note +for you?"</p> + +<p>"No, she did not," said Mrs. Potten; and here she +paused and remained silent, for her brain was seething +with tumultuous thoughts.</p> + +<p>"Well, but for Harding, the Sale would have made<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Page 228]</a></span> +a cool ninety-three pounds, fifteen shillings and threepence. +Do you follow me?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Potten did follow him and with much agitation.</p> + +<p>"How do you know it was my note and not Miss +Scott's own note?" she asked, and there was in her +tone a twang of cunning, for Bingham's remarks had +roused not only the emotional superficies of Mrs. Potten's +nature, but had pierced to the very core where lay the +thought of money.</p> + +<p>"Because," replied Bingham, "Miss Scott, who +was running like a two-year-old, was not likely to have +unfastened your note and fitted one of her own under +it so tightly that Harding, whose mind is quite accustomed +to the solution of simple problems, had to blow +'poof' to separate them. No, take the blame on yourself, +Mrs. Potten, and in future have a purse-bearer."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Potten's mind was in such a state of inward +indignation that she went past the chemist's shop, +and was now within a few yards of the Sheldonian +Theatre. She had become forgetful of time and place, +and was muttering to herself—</p> + +<p>"What a little baggage—what a little minx!" and +other remarks unheard by Bingham.</p> + +<p>"I see you are admiring that semicircle of splendid +heads that crown the palisading of the Sheldonian," +said Bingham, as they came up close to the historic +building.</p> + +<p>"Admiring them!" exclaimed Mrs. Potten. "They +are monstrosities."</p> + +<p>"They are perfectly sweet, as ladies say," contradicted +Bingham; "we wouldn't part with them for +the world."</p> + +<p>"What are they?" demanded Mrs. Potten, trying +hard to preserve an outward calm and discretion.</p> + +<p>"Jupiter Tonans—or Plato," said Bingham, "and +in progressive stages of senility."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Page 229]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why don't you have handsome heads?" said +Mrs. Potten, and she began to cross the road with +Bingham. Bingham was crossing the road because he +was going that way, and Mrs. Potten drifted along with +him because she was too much excited to think out the +matter.</p> + +<p>"They are handsome," said Bingham.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Potten was speechless. Suddenly she discovered +that she was hurrying in the wrong direction, +just as if she were running away with Mr. Bingham. +She paused at the curb of the opposite pavement.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Bingham," she said, arresting him.</p> + +<p>He stopped.</p> + +<p>"I must go back," she said. "I quite forgot that +my car may be waiting for me at the chemist's!" and +then she fumbled with her bag, and then looked thoughtfully +into Bingham's face as they stood together on the +curb. "Bernard always lunches with me on Sundays," +she said; "I shall be glad to see you any Sunday if +you want a walk, and we can talk about the removal of +those heads."</p> + +<p>Bingham gave a cordial but elusive reply, and, +raising his cap, he sauntered away eastwards, his gown +flying out behind him in the light autumn wind.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Potten re-crossed the road and walked slowly +back to the chemist's. Her car was there waiting for +her, and it contained her weekly groceries, her leg of +mutton, and the unbleached calico for the making of +hospital slings which she had bought in Queen's Street, +because she could obtain it there at 4 ½d. per yard.</p> + +<p>She went into the chemist's and bought some patent +pills, all the time thinking hard. She had two witnesses +to Gwendolen Scott's having possession of the +note: Mr. Harding and Mr. Bingham; and one witness, +Lady Dashwood, to her having delivered the +collar and not the note! All these witnesses were +unconscious of the meaning of the transaction. She,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Page 230]</a></span> +Mrs. Potten, alone could piece together the evidence +and know what it meant, and it was by a mere chance +that she had been able to do this. If she had not met +Mr. Bingham (and she had never met him before in +the street), and if she had not happened to have mentioned +the proceeds of the Sale, she would still be under +the impression that the note had been mislaid.</p> + +<p>"And the impertinence of the young woman!" exclaimed +Mrs. Potten, as she paid for her pills. "And +she fancies herself in a position of trust, if you please! +She means to figure, if you please, at the head of an +establishment where we send our sons to be kept out +of mischief for a bit! Well, I never heard of anything +like it. Why, she'll be tampering with the bills!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Potten's indignation did not wane as the +moments passed, but rather waxed.</p> + +<p>"And her mother is condescending about the engagement! +Why," added Mrs. Potten to herself with +emphasis, as she got into her car—"why, if this had +happened with one of my maids, I should have put it +into the hands of the police."</p> + +<p>"The Lodgings, King's," she said to the chauffeur. +What was she going to do when she got there?</p> + +<p>Mrs. Potten had no intention of bursting into the +Lodgings in order to demand an explanation from Miss +Scott. No, thank you, Miss Scott must wait upon Mrs. +Potten. She must come out to Potten End and make +her explanation! But Mrs. Potten was going to the +Lodgings merely to ensure that this would be done on +the instant.</p> + +<p>"Don't drive in," she called, and getting out of +the car she walked into the court and went up the two +shallow steps of the front door and rang at the +bell.</p> + +<p>The <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">retroussé</span> nose of Robinson Junior appeared +at the opened door. Lady Dashwood was not at +home and was not expected till half-past one. It was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Page 231]</a></span> +then one o'clock. Mrs. Potten mused for a little and +then asked if she might see Lady Dashwood's maid +for a moment. Robinson Junior suppressed his scornful +surprise that any one should want to see Louise, +and ushered Mrs. Potten into the Warden's breakfast-room, +and there, seating herself near the window, she +searched for a visiting card and a pencil. Louise +appeared very promptly.</p> + +<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> wishes something?" she remarked as +she closed the door behind her, and stood surveying +Mrs. Potten from that distance.</p> + +<p>"I do," said Mrs. Potten, taking in Louise's untidy +blouse, her plain features, thick complexion and luminous +brown eyes in one comprehensive glance. "Can +you tell me if Miss Scott will be in for luncheon?" +Mrs. Potten spoke French with a strong English accent +and much originality of style.</p> + +<p>Yes, Miss Scott was returning to luncheon.</p> + +<p>"And do you know if the ladies have afternoon +engagements?"</p> + +<p>Louise thought they had none, because Lady Dashwood +was to be at home to tea. That she knew for +certain, and she added in a voice fraught with import: +"I shall urge <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> to rest after lunch."</p> + +<p>"Humph! I see you look after her properly," +said Mrs. Potten, beginning to write on her card with +the pencil; "I thought she was looking very tired +when I saw her this morning."</p> + +<p>"Tired!" exclaimed Louise; "<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> is always +tired in Oxford."</p> + +<p>"Relaxing climate," said Mrs. Potten as she wrote.</p> + +<p>"And this house does not suit <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>," continued +Louise, motionless at the door.</p> + +<p>"The drains wrong, perhaps," said Mrs. Potten, +with absolute indifference.</p> + +<p>"I know nothing of drains, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>," said Louise, +"I speak of other things."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Page 232]</a></span></p> + +<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Sans doute il y a du</span> 'dry rot,'" said Mrs. Potten, +looking at what she had written.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" exclaimed Louise, clasping her hands, +"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> has heard; I did not know his name, but +what matter? Ghosts are always ghosts, and my Lady +Dashwood has never been the same since that night, +never!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Potten stared but she did not express surprise, +she wanted to hear more without asking for more.</p> + +<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> knows that the ghost comes to bring bad +news about the Warden!"</p> + +<p>"Bad news!" said Mrs. Potten, and she put her +pencil back into her bag and wondered whether the +news of the Warden's engagement had reached the +servants' quarters.</p> + +<p>"A disaster," said Louise. "Always a disaster—to +<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Monsieur</span> the Warden. <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> understands?"</p> + +<p>Louise gazed at Mrs. Potten as if she hoped that +that lady had information to give her. But Mrs. +Potten had none. She was merely thinking deeply.</p> + +<p>"Well," she said, rising, "I suppose most old +houses pretend to have ghosts. We have one at Potten +End, but I have never seen it myself, and, as far as I +know, it does no harm and no good. But <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> +didn't see the ghost you speak of?" and here Mrs. +Potten smiled a little satirically.</p> + +<p>"It was Miss Scott," said Louise, darkly.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Mrs. Potten, with a short laugh. "Oh, +well!" and she came towards the maid with the card +in her hand. "Now, will you be good enough to give +this to <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> the moment that she returns and say +that it is 'Urgent,' <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">d'une importance extrčme</span>."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Mrs. Potten to herself, as she walked +through the court and gained the street, "and I +should think it <em>was</em> a disaster for a quiet, respectable +Warden of an Oxford college to marry a person of the +Scott type."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Page 233]</a></span></p> + +<p>As to Louise, when she had closed the front door +on Mrs. Potten's retreating figure, she gazed hard at +the card in her hand. The writing was as follows:—</p> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Lena</span>,<br /></p> + +<p>"Can Miss Scott come to see me this afternoon +without fail? Very kindly allow her to come +early.</p></div> + +<p class="signoff">"M. P."<br /></p> + + +<p class="above2">It did not contain anything more.</p> + +<p>Now, Mrs. Potten really believed in ghosts, but she +thought of them as dreary, uninteresting intruders on +the world's history. There was Hamlet's father's +ghost that spoke at such length, and there was the +spirit that made Abraham's hair stand on end as it +passed before him, and then there was the ghost +of Samuel that appeared to Saul and prophesied evil. +But of all ghosts, the one that Mrs. Potten thought +most dismal, was the ghost of the man-servant who +came out from a mansion, full of light and music, one +winter night on a Devon bye-road. There he stood +in the snow directing the lost travellers to the nearest +inn, and (this was what struck Mrs. Potten's soul to +the core) the half-crown (an actual precious piece of +money) that was dropped into his hand—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.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Potten's mind worked in columns, and had +she been calm and happy she would have spent the +time returning to Potten End in completing the list of +ghosts she was acquainted with; but she was excited +and full of tumultuous thoughts.</p> + +<p>There was, indeed, in Mrs. Potten's soul the strife +of various passions: there was the desire to act in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Page 234]</a></span> +high-handed, swift Potten manner, the desire to pursue +and flatten any one who invaded the Potten preserves. +There was the desire to put her heavy individual foot +upon a specimen of the modern female who betrays +the honour and the interest of her own class. There +was also the general desire to show a fool that she +was a fool. There was also the desire to snub Belinda +Scott; and lastly, but not least, there was the desire +to put her knife into any giddy young girl who had +thrown her net over the Warden.</p> + +<p>These desires fought tooth and nail with a certain +dogged sentiment of fear—a fear of the Warden. If +he was deeply in love, what might he do or not do? +Would he put Potten End under a ban? Would he +excommunicate her, Marian Potten?</p> + +<p>And so Mrs. Potten's mind whirled.</p> + +<p>At a certain shop in the High there was May Dashwood, +looking at a window full of books. No doubt +Lady Dashwood was inside, or, more probably, in the +shop next door.</p> + +<p>An inspiration came to Mrs. Potten. Was the +Warden so very much in love? Belinda Scott laid +great stress on his being very much in love, and the +whole thing being a surprise! Belinda Scott was a +liar! And the little daughter who could stoop to +thieving ten shillings at a bazaar, might well have been +put on by her mother to some equally noxious behaviour +to the Warden. She might have lain in wait for him +behind doors and on staircases; she might——Mrs. +Potten stopped her car, got out of it, and went behind +May Dashwood and whispered in her ear.</p> + +<p>May turned, her eyebrows very much raised, and +listened to what Mrs. Potten had to say.</p> + +<p>Great urgency made Mrs. Potten as astute as a +French detective.</p> + +<p>"I'm quite sorry," she whispered, "to find that +your Aunt Lena seems worried about the engagement.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Page 235]</a></span> +Now why on earth, oh why, did the Warden run himself +into an engagement with a girl he doesn't really +care about?"</p> + +<p>This question was a master-stroke. There was no +getting out of this for May Dashwood. Mrs. Potten +clapped her hand over her mouth and drew in a breath. +Then she listened breathless for the answer. The +answer must either be: "But he <em>does</em> really care +about her," or something evasive.</p> + +<p>Not only Mrs. Potten's emotional superficies but +her core of flint feared the emphatic answer, and +yearned for an evasive one. What was it to be?</p> + +<p>May's face had suddenly blanched. Had her Aunt +Lena told? No—surely not; and yet Mrs. Potten +seemed to <em>know</em>.</p> + +<p>"How can I tell, Mrs. Potten?" said May, +unsteadily. "I——"</p> + +<p>"Evasive!" said Mrs. Potten to herself triumphantly.</p> + +<p>"Never mind! things do happen," she said, interrupting +May. "I suppose, at any rate, he has to make +the best of it, now it's done."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Potten was afraid that she was now going too +far, and she swiftly turned the subject sideways before +May had time to think out a reply.</p> + +<p>"Tell your Aunt Lena that I expect Gwendolen, +without fail, after lunch. Please tell her; so kind of +you! Good-bye, good-bye," and Mrs. Potten got +fiercely into her car.</p> + +<p>"Well, I never!" she said, and she said it over +and over again. A cloud of thoughts seemed to float +with her as the car skimmed along the road, and through +that cloud seemed to peer at her, though somewhat +dimly, the "<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">beaux yeux</span>" of the Warden of King's.</p> + +<p>"I think I shall," said Mrs. Potten, "I think I shall; +but I shall make certain first—absolutely certain—first."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Page 236]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<h3>MR. BOREHAM'S PROPOSAL</h3> + +<p class="above2">Boreham's purpose had been thwarted for the moment. +But there was still time for him to make another effort, +and this time it was to be a successful effort.</p> + +<p>A letter to May would have been the easiest way +in which to achieve his purpose, but Boreham shrank +from leaving to posterity a written proposal of marriage, +because there always was just the chance that +such a letter might not be answered in the right spirit, +and in that case the letter would appear to future +readers of Boreham's biography as an unsolicited testimonial +in favour of marriage—as an institution. So +Boreham decided to continue "feeling" his way!</p> + +<p>After all, there was not very much time in which +to feel the way, for May was leaving Oxford on Monday. +To-day was Friday, and Boreham knew the King's +party were going to chapel at Magdalen. If he went, +too, it would be possible for him to get May to himself +on the way back to the Lodgings (in the dark).</p> + +<p>So to Magdalen he went, hurrying along on that +Friday afternoon, and the nearer he got to Magdalen +the more sure he was that only fools lived in the country; +the more convinced he was that Chartcote had become, +even in three months, a hateful place.</p> + +<p>Boreham was nearly late, he stumbled into the +ante-chapel just as they were closing the doors with +solemn insistence. He uncovered his head as he +entered, and his nostrils were struck with a peculiar +odour of stone and mortar; a sense of space around<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Page 237]</a></span> +him and height above him; also with the warmth of +some indefinable sense of community of purpose +that annoyed him. He was, indeed, already warm +enough physically with his haste in coming; he was +also spiritually in a glow with the consciousness of his +own magnanimity and toleration. Here was the enlightened +Boreham entering a temple where they +repeated "Creeds outworn." Here he was entering +it without any exhibition of violent hostility or even +of contempt. He was entering it decorously, though +not without some speed. He was warm and did not +wish to be made warmer.</p> + +<p>What he had not anticipated, and what disappointed +him, was that from the ante-chapel he could +not see whether the Dashwoods were in the Chapel or +not. The screen and organ loft were in the way, they +blocked his vision, and not having any "permit" for +the Chapel, he had to remain in the ante-chapel, and +just hope for the best. He seated himself as near to +the door as he could, on the end of the back bench, +already crowded. There he disposed of his hat and +prepared himself to go through with the service.</p> + +<p>Boreham did not, of course, follow the prayers or +make any responses; he merely uttered a humming +noise with the object of showing his mental aloofness, +and yet impressing the fact of his presence on the devout +around him.</p> + +<p>Many a man who has a conscientious objection to +prayer, likes to hear himself sing. But Boreham's +singing voice was not altogether under his own control. +It was as if the machinery that produced song was +mislaid somewhere down among his digestive organs +and had got rusted, parts of it being actually impaired.</p> + +<p>It had been, in his younger days, a source of regret +to Boreham that he could never hope to charm the +world by song as well as by words. As he grew older +that regret faded, and was now negligible.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Page 238]</a></span></p> + +<p>Is there any religious service in the world more +perfect than evensong at Magdalen? Just now, in +the twilight of the ante-chapel, a twilight faintly lit +above at the spring of the groined roof, the voices of +the choir rose and fell in absolute unison, with a thrill +of subdued complaint; a complaint uttered by a +Hebrew poet dead and gone these many years, a complaint +to the God of his fathers, the only true God.</p> + +<p>Boreham marked time (slightly out of time) muttering—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Tum/tum tum/ti:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tum/tum tum/tum ti/tum?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>loud enough to escape the humiliation of being confounded +with those weak-minded strangers who are +carried away (in spite of their reason) by the charm of +sacerdotal blandishments.</p> + +<p>He stood there among the ordinary church-goers, +conscious that he was a free spirit. He was happy. +At least not so much happy as agreeably excited by +the contrast he made with those around him, and excited, +too, at what was going to happen in about half +an hour. That is, if May Dashwood was actually +behind that heavy absurd screen in the Chapel. He +went on "tum-ing" as if she was there and all was well.</p> + +<p>And within the chapel, in one of those deep embrasures +against the walls, was May Dashwood. But +she was alone. Lady Dashwood had been too tired to +come with her, and Gwendolen had been hurried off +to Potten End immediately after lunch, strangely +reluctant to go. So May had come to the Chapel +alone, and, not knowing that Boreham was in the +ante-chapel waiting for her, she had some comfort in +the seclusion and remoteness of that sacred place. +Not that the tragedy of the world was shut out and +forgotten, as it is in those busy market-places where +men make money and listen too greedily to the chink +of coin to hear any far-off sounds from the plain of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Page 239]</a></span> +Armageddon. May got comfort, not because she had +forgotten the tragedy of the world and was soothed +by soft sounds, but because that tragedy was remembered +in this hour of prayer; because she was listening +to the cry of the Hebrew poet, uttered so long ago and +echoed now by distressful souls who feel just as he felt +the desperate problem of human suffering and the +desire for peace.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Why art thou so vexed, O my soul;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And why art thou so disquieted within me?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And then the answer; an answer which to some is +meaningless, but which, to the seeker after the "things +that are invisible," is the only answer—the answer that +the soul makes to itself—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"O put thy trust in God!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>May observed no one in the Chapel; she saw nothing +but the written words in the massive Prayer-book on +the desk before her; and when at last the service was +over, she came out looking neither to right nor left, and +was startled to find herself emerging into the fresh air +with Boreham by her side, claiming her company back +to the Lodgings.</p> + +<p>It was just dusk and the moon was rising in the +east. Though it could not be seen, its presence was +visible in the thin vaporous lightness of the sky. The +college buildings stood out dimly, as if seen by a pallid +dawn.</p> + +<p>"You leave Oxford on Monday?" began Boreham, +as they went through the entrance porch out into the +High and turned to the right.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said May, and a sigh escaped her. That +Boreham noticed.</p> + +<p>"I don't deny the attractions of Oxford," he said. +"All I object to is its pretensions."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Page 240]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You don't like originality," murmured May.</p> + +<p>She was thinking of the slums of London where she +worked. What a contrast with this noble street! +Why should men be allowed to build dens and hovels +for other men to live in? Why should men make +ugliness and endure squalor?</p> + +<p>"I thought you knew me better," said Boreham, +reproachfully, "than to say that."</p> + +<p>"If you do approve of originality," said May, "then +why not let Oxford work out its own evolution, in its +own way?"</p> + +<p>"It needs entire reconstruction," said Boreham, +stubbornly.</p> + +<p>"You would like to pass everything through a mill +and turn it out to a pattern," said May. "But that's +not the way the world progresses. Entire reconstruction +would spoil Oxford. What it wants is what +we all want—the pruning of our vices and the development +of our virtues. We don't want to be shorn of +all that makes up our personality."</p> + +<p>Boreham said, "That is a different matter; but +why should we argue?"</p> + +<p>"To leave Oxford and speak of ourselves, of you +and me," said May, persisting. "You don't want to +be made like me; but we both want to have the selfishness +squeezed out of us. There! I warn you that, +having once started, I shall probably go on lamenting +like the prophet Jeremiah until I reach the Lodgings! +So if you want to escape, do find some pressing engagement. +I shan't be offended in the very least."</p> + +<p>How she longed for him to go! But was he capable +of discovering this even when it was broadly hinted?</p> + +<p>Boreham's beard moved irritably. The word +"selfish" stung him. There was no such thing as +being "unselfish"—one man wanted one thing, +another man wanted another—and there you are!</p> + +<p>"Human nature is selfish," he retorted. "Saints<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Page 241]</a></span> +are selfish. They want to have a good time in the next +world. Each man always wants to please himself, only +tastes differ."</p> + +<p>Boreham spoke in emphatic tones. If May was +thinking of her husband, then this piece of truth must +be put before her without delay. War widows had +the habit of speaking of their husbands as heroes, when +all they had done was to have got themselves blown to +pieces while they were trying to blow other people to +pieces.</p> + +<p>"You make questions of taste very important," +said May, looking down the misty street. "Some men +have a taste for virtue and generosity, and others have +taste for vice and meanness."</p> + +<p>Boreham looked at her features closely in the dim +light.</p> + +<p>"Are you angry with me?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Not at all," said May. "We are arguing about +words. You object to the use of the word 'selfish,' so +I adopt your term 'taste.'"</p> + +<p>"There's no reason why we should argue just now," +said Boreham. "Not that argument affects friendship! +Friendship goes behind all that, doesn't it?" +He asked this anxiously.</p> + +<p>"I don't expect my friends to agree with me in all +points," said May, smiling. "That would be very +selfish!" She laughed. "I beg your pardon. I +mean that my taste in friends is pretty catholic," and +here Boreham detected a sudden coldness in her voice.</p> + +<p>"Friendship—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."</p> + +<p>"And it is just possible," suggested May, "that a +protracted conversation with the lady might have had +the effect of destroying the romance."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Page 242]</a></span></p> + +<p>Here Boreham felt a wave of fear and hope and +necessity surge through his whole being. The moment +had arrived!</p> + +<p>"Not if you were the lady," he said in a convinced +tone.</p> + +<p>May still gazed down the street, etherealised beyond +its usual beauty in this thin pale light.</p> + +<p>"I don't think any man, however magnanimous, +could stand a woman long if she made protracted +lamentations after the manner of Jeremiah," she said.</p> + +<p>"You are purposely speaking ill of yourself," said +Boreham. "Yet, whatever you do or say makes a man +fall in love with you." He was finding words now without +having to think.</p> + +<p>"I was not aware of it," said May, rather coldly.</p> + +<p>"It is true," he persisted. "You are different +from other women; you are the only woman I have +ever met whom I wanted to marry."</p> + +<p>It was out! Not as well put as he would have liked, +but it was out. Here was a proposal of marriage by +word of mouth. Here was the orthodox woman's +definite opportunity. May would see the seriousness +of it now.</p> + +<p>"As a personal friend of yours," said May, and her +tone was not as serious as he had feverishly hoped, "I +do not think you are consulting your own interests at +this moment, Mr. Boreham."</p> + +<p>"No!" began Boreham. "Not mine exclusively——"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Not with you!" exclaimed Boreham, and he +touched her arm.</p> + +<p>May's arm became miraculously hard and unsympathetic.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Page 243]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Marriage is a great responsibility," she said.</p> + +<p>"I have thought that all out," said Boreham. +"There may be——"</p> + +<p>"Then you know," she replied, "that it means——"</p> + +<p>"I have calculated the cost," he said. "I am +willing——"</p> + +<p>"You have not only to save your own soul but to +help some one else to save theirs," she went on. "You +have to exercise justice and mercy. You have to forgive +every day of your life, and"—she added—"to be +forgiven. Wouldn't that bore you?"</p> + +<p>Boreham's heart thumped with consternation. It +might take months to make her take a reasonable view +of marriage. She was more difficult than he had +anticipated.</p> + +<p>"Marriage is a dreary business," continued May, +"unless you go into it with much prayer and fasting—Jeremiah +again."</p> + +<p>Into Boreham's consternation broke a sudden +anger.</p> + +<p>"That is why," continued May, "Herod ordered +Mariamne to be beheaded, and why the young woman +who married the 'beloved disciple' said she couldn't +realise her true self and went off with Judas Iscariot." +May turned round and looked at him as she spoke.</p> + +<p>"I was serious!" burst out Boreham.</p> + +<p>"Not more serious than I am," said May; "I am +serious enough to treat the subject you have introduced +with the fearless criticism you consider right +to apply to all important subjects. You ought to +approve!"</p> + +<p>And yet she smiled just a little at the corners of +her mouth, because she knew that, when Boreham +demanded the right of every man to criticise fearlessly—what +he really had in his mind was the vision of himself, +Boreham, criticising fearlessly. He thought of +himself, for instance, as trying to shame the British<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Page 244]</a></span> +public for saying slimily: "Let's pretend to be monogamous!" +He thought of himself calling out pluckily: +"Here, you self-satisfied humbugs, I'm going to say +straight out—we ain't monogamous——"</p> + +<p>He never contemplated May Dashwood coming and +saying to him: "And are <em>you</em> not a self-satisfied humbug, +pretending that there is no courage, no endurance, +no moral effort superior to your own?" It was this +that made May smile a little.</p> + +<p>"The fact remains," he said, feeling his way hotly, +blindly, "that a man can, and does, make a woman +happy, if he loves her. All I ask," he went on, "is to +be allowed the chance of doing this, and you gibe."</p> + +<p>"I don't gibe," said May, "I'm preaching. And, +after all, I ought not to preach, because marriage does +not concern me—directly. I shall not marry again, +Mr. Boreham."</p> + +<p>Boreham stared hard at her and his eyebrows +worked. All she had just been saying provoked his +anger; it disagreed with him, made him dismal, and +yet, at least, he had no rival! She hadn't got hold of +any so-called saint as a future husband. Middleton +hadn't been meddling, nor Bingham, and there was no +shadowy third anywhere in town. She was heart free! +That was something!</p> + +<p>There was the dead husband, of course, but his +memory would fade as time went on. "Just now, +people who are dead or dying, are in the swim," thought +Boreham; "but just wait till the war is over!" He +swiftly imagined publishers and editors of journals refusing +anything that referred to the war or to any +dismal subject connected with it. The British public +would have no use for the dead when the war was over. +The British public would be occupied with the future; +how to make money, how to spend it. Stories about +love and hate among the living would be wanted, or +pleasant discourses about the consolations of religion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Page 245]</a></span> +and blessed hopes of immortality for those who were +making the money and spending it!</p> + +<p>Boreham sneered as he thought this, and yet he +himself desired intensely that men, and especially +women, should forget the dead, and, above all, that +May should forget her dead and occupy herself in being +a pretty and attractive person of the female sex.</p> + +<p>"I will wait," said Boreham, eagerly; "I won't +ask you for an answer now."</p> + +<p>"Now you know my position, you will not put any +question to me!" said May, very quietly.</p> + +<p>There came a moment's oppressive silence.</p> + +<p>"I may continue to be your friend," he demanded; +"you won't punish me?" and his voice was urgent.</p> + +<p>"Of course not," she said.</p> + +<p>"I may come and see you?" he urged again.</p> + +<p>"Any friends of mine may come and see me, if they +care to," she said; "but I am very much occupied +during the day—and tired in the evenings."</p> + +<p>"Sundays?" he interrupted.</p> + +<p>"My Sundays I spend with friends in Surrey."</p> + +<p>Boreham jerked his head nervously. "I shall be +living in Town almost immediately," he said; "I will +come and see what times would be convenient."</p> + +<p>"I am very stupid when my day's work is done," +said May.</p> + +<p>"Stupid!" Boreham laughed harshly. "But +your work is too hard and most unsuitable. Any +woman can attend to babies."</p> + +<p>"I flatter myself," said May, "that I can wash a +baby without forgetting to dry it."</p> + +<p>"Why do you hide yourself?" he exclaimed. +"Why do you throw yourself away?" He felt that, +with her beside him, he could dictate to the world like +a god. "Why don't you organise?"</p> + +<p>"Do you mean run about and talk," asked May, +"and leave the work to other people? Don't you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Page 246]</a></span> +think that we are beginning to hate people who run +about and talk?"</p> + +<p>"Because the wrong people do it," said Boreham.</p> + +<p>"The people who do it are usually the wrong +people," corrected May; "the right people are generally +occupied with skilled work—technical or intellectual. +That clears the way for the unskilled to run +about and talk, and so the world goes round, infinite +labour and talent quietly building up the Empire, and +idleness talking about it and interrupting it."</p> + +<p>Boreham stared at her with petulant admiration. +"You could do anything," he said bluntly.</p> + +<p>"I shall put an advertisement into the <i>Times</i>," said +May. "'A gentlewoman of independent means, unable +to do any work properly, but anxious to organise.'"</p> + +<p>They had now turned into a narrow lane and were +almost at the gates of the Lodgings. May did not want +Boreham to come into the Court with her, she wanted +to dismiss him now. She had a queer feeling of dislike +that he should tread upon the gravel of the Court, and +perhaps come actually to the front door of the Lodgings. +She stopped and held out her hand.</p> + +<p>"I have your promise," he said, "I can come and +see you?" He looked thwarted and miserable.</p> + +<p>"If you happen to be in town," she said.</p> + +<p>"But I mean to live there," he said. This insinuation +on her part, that she had not accepted the fact that +he was going to live in town, was unsympathetic of her. +"I can't stand the loneliness of Chartcote, it has become +intolerable."</p> + +<p>The word "loneliness" melted May. She knew +what loneliness meant. After all, how could he help +being the man he was? Was it his fault that he had +been born with his share of the Boreham heredity? +Was he able to control his irritability, to suppress his +exaggerated self-esteem; both of them, perhaps, symptoms +of some obscure form of neurosis?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Page 247]</a></span></p> + +<p>May felt a pang of pity for him. His face showed +signs of pain and discontent and restlessness.</p> + +<p>"I shall leave Chartcote any day, immediately. +London draws me back to it. I can think there. I +can't at Chartcote, the atmosphere is sodden at Chartcote, +my neighbours are clods."</p> + +<p>May looked at him anxiously. "It is dull for you," +she said.</p> + +<p>Encouraged by this he went on rapidly. "Art, +literature is nothing to them. They are centaurs. +They ought to eat grass. They don't know a sunset +from a swede. They don't know the name of a bird, +except game birds; they are ignorant fools, they are +damned——" Boreham's breathing was loud and +rapid.</p> + +<p>"And yet you hate Oxford," murmured May, as +she held out her hand. She still did not mean +Boreham to come inside the Court, her hand was a +dismissal.</p> + +<p>"Because Oxford is so smug," said Boreham. +"And the country is smug. England is the land that +begets effeteness and smuggishness. Yes, I should be +pretty desperate," he added, and he held her hand with +some pressure—"I should be pretty desperate, only +you have promised to let me come and see you."</p> + +<p>May withdrew her hand. "As a friend," she said. +"Yes, come as a friend."</p> + +<p>Boreham gave a curious toss to his head. "I am +under your orders," he said, "I obey. You don't wish +me to come with you to the door—I obey!"</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said May, simply. "And if you +are lonely, well, so am I. There are many lonely +people in this world just now, and many, many lonely +women!" She turned away and left him.</p> + +<p>Boreham raced rather than walked away from the +Lodgings towards the stables where he had put up his +horse. He hardly knew what his thoughts were. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Page 248]</a></span> +was more strangely moved than he had ever thought +he could be. And how solitary he was! What permanent +joy is there in the world, after all? There <em>is</em> +nothing permanent in life! It takes years to find that +out—years—if you are well in health and full of vanity! +But you do find it out—at last.</p> + +<p>As he went headlong he came suddenly against an +obstacle. Somebody caught him by the arm and +slowed him down.</p> + +<p>"Hullo, Boreham!" said Bingham. "Stop a +moment!"</p> + +<p>Boreham allowed himself to be fastened upon, and +suffered Bingham's arm to rest on his, but he puffed +with irritation. He felt like a poet who has been interrupted +in a fit of inspiration.</p> + +<p>"I thought this was one of your War Office days," +he said bluntly.</p> + +<p>"It is," replied Bingham, in his sweetest curate +tones. "But there is special College business to-day, +and I'm putting in an extra day next week instead. +Look here, do you want a job of work?"</p> + +<p>No, of course, Boreham didn't.</p> + +<p>"I'm leaving Chartcote," he said, and was glad to +think it was true.</p> + +<p>"This week?" asked Bingham.</p> + +<p>"No," said Boreham, suddenly wild with indignation, +"but any time—next week, perhaps."</p> + +<p>"This job will only take four or five days," said +Bingham.</p> + +<p>"What job?" demanded Boreham.</p> + +<p>"There's a small library just been given us by the +widow of a General."</p> + +<p>"Didn't know soldiers ever read books," said +Boreham.</p> + +<p>"I don't know if he read them," said Bingham, +"but there they are. We want some one to look +through them—put aside the sort suitable for hospitals,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Page 249]</a></span> +and make a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">catalogue raisonné</i> of the others for the +camps in Germany."</p> + +<p>Boreham wanted to say, "Be damned with your +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">raisonné</i>," but he limited himself to saying: "Can't +you get some college chaplain, or some bloke of the sort +to do it?"</p> + +<p>"All are thick busy," said Bingham—"those that +are left."</p> + +<p>"It must be a new experience for them," said +Boreham.</p> + +<p>"There are plenty of new experiences going," said +Bingham.</p> + +<p>"And you won't deny," said Boreham, smiling the +smile of self-righteousness, as he tried to assume a calm +bantering tone, "that experience—of life, I mean—is +a bit lacking in Oxford?"</p> + +<p>"It depends on what you mean," said Bingham, +sweetly. "We haven't the experience of making money +here. Also Oxford Dons are expected to go about +with the motto '<span lang="la" xml:lang="la">Pereunt et imputantur</span>' written upon +our brows (see the sundial in my college), 'The hours +pass and we must give an account of them.'"</p> + +<p>Bingham always translated his Latin, however +simple, for Boreham's benefit. Just now this angered +Boreham.</p> + +<p>"This motto," continued Bingham, "isn't for ornament +but for an example. In short, my dear man, we +avoid what I might call, for want of a more comprehensive +term, the Pot-house Experience of life."</p> + +<p>Boreham threw back his head.</p> + +<p>"Well, you'll take the job, will you?" and Bingham +released his arm.</p> + +<p>"Can't you get one of those elderly ladies who frequent +lectures during their lifetime to do the job?"</p> + +<p>"We may be reduced to that," said Bingham, +"but even they are busy. It's a nice job," he added +enticingly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Page 250]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I know what it will be like," grunted Boreham, +and he hesitated. If May Dashwood had been staying +on in Oxford it would have been different, but she was +going away. So Boreham hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Telephone me this evening, will you?" said +Bingham.</p> + +<p>"Very well," said Boreham. "I'll see what I have +got on hand, and if I have time——" and so the two +men parted.</p> + +<p>Boreham got into his gig with a heavy heart and +drove back to Chartcote. How he hated the avenue +that cut him off from the world outside. How he +hated the clean smell of the country that came into his +windows. How he hated to see the moon, when it +glinted at him from between the tops of trees. He +longed for streets, for the odour of dirt and of petrol +and of stale-cooked food.</p> + +<p>The noise of London soothed him, the jostling of +men and women; he hungered for it. And yet he did +not love those human beings. He knew their weaknesses, +their superstitions, their follies, their unreason! +Boreham remembered a much over-rated Hebrew +(possibly only a mythical figure) who once said to His +followers that when they prayed they should say: +"Father, forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them +that trespass against us."</p> + +<p>He got out of his gig slowly. "I don't forgive +them," he said, and, unconscious of his own sins, he +walked up the steps into his lonely house.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Page 251]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<h3>BY MOONLIGHT</h3> + +<p class="above2">May waited within the gates of the Lodgings for some +moments. She did not open the door and enter the +house. She walked up and down on the gravelled +court. She wanted to be alone, to speak to no one just +now; her heart was full of weariness and loneliness.</p> + +<p>When she felt certain that Boreham was safely +away, she went to the gates and out into the narrow +street again, where she could hear subdued sounds of +the evening traffic of the city.</p> + +<p>The dusky streets had grown less dim; the shining +overhead was more luminous as the moon rose.</p> + +<p>The old buildings, as she passed them on her solitary +walk, looked mysterious and aloof, as if they had been +placed there magically for some secret purpose and +might vanish before the dawn. This was the ancient +Oxford, the Oxford of the past, the Oxford that was +about to pass away, leaving priceless memories of +learning and romance behind it, something that could +never be again quite what it had been. Before dawn +would it vanish and something else, still called Oxford, +would be standing there in its place?</p> + +<p>May was tempted to let her imagination wander thus, +and to see in this mysterious Oxford the symbol of the +personality of a single man, a personality that haunted +her when she was alone, a personality which, when it +stood before her in flesh and blood, seemed to fill space +and obliterate other objects.</p> + +<p>She had, in the chapel, re-affirmed over and over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Page 252]</a></span> +again her resolution to overcome this obsession, and +now, as she walked that evening, her heart cried out +for indulgence just for one brief moment, for permission +to think of this personality, and to read details of it in +every moonlit faēade of old Oxford, in every turn of the +time-worn lanes and passages.</p> + +<p>The temptation had come upon her, because it was +so dreary to be loved by Boreham. His talk seemed +to mark her spiritual loneliness with such poignant +insistence; it made it so desperately plain to her that +those sharp cravings of her heart could not be satisfied +except by one man. It had made her see, for the first +time, that the sacred dead, to whom she had raised a +shrine, was a memory and not a present reality to her; +and this thought only added to her confusion and her +grief.</p> + +<p>What was there to hold on to in life?</p> + +<p>"O, put thy trust in God!" came the answer.</p> + +<p>"Help me to make the mischance of my life a +motive for greater moral effort. Help me to be a +willing sacrifice and not an unwilling victim." And +as she uttered these words she moved with more rapid +steps.</p> + +<p>Shadows were visible on the roadway; roofs glimmered +and the edges of the deep window recesses were +tinged with a dark silver. She passed under the walls +of All Souls and emerged again into the High. A figure +she recognised confronted her. She tried to pass it +without appearing to be aware of it, and she hurried on +with bent head. But it turned, and Bingham's voice +spoke to her.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Dashwood," he called softly.</p> + +<p>She was forced to slacken her pace. "Oh, Mr. Bingham!" +she said, and he came and walked by her, +making pretence that he was disturbing her solitude +because he had never been told the dinner-hour at the +Lodgings, when Lady Dashwood invited him, and, what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Page 253]</a></span> +was more important, he had forgotten to say that he +would be very glad if Mrs. Dashwood would make use +of him as a cicerone if she wanted any more sight-seeing +in Oxford and the Warden was unable to accompany +her. This was the pretence he put before her.</p> + +<p>Then, when he had said all this and had walked a +few yards along the street with her, he seemed to forget +that his business with her ought to be over, and remarked +that he had been trying to save Boreham's +soul.</p> + +<p>"His soul!" said May, with a sigh.</p> + +<p>"I've been trying to make him work."</p> + +<p>"Doesn't he work?" asked May.</p> + +<p>"No, he preaches," said Bingham. "If he had a +touch of genius he might invent some attractive system +of ethics in which his own characteristics would be the +right characteristics; some system in which humility +and patience would take a back seat."</p> + +<p>May could not help smiling a little, Bingham's voice +was so smooth and soft; but she felt Boreham's loneliness +again and ceased smiling.</p> + +<p>"Or he might invent a new god," said Bingham, +"a sort of composite photograph of himself and the +old gods. He might invent a new creed to go along +with it and damn all the old creeds. But he is incapable +of construction, so he merely preaches the +destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, which is a soft +job. Wherever he is, there is Sodom and Gomorrah! +You see my point? Egotism is always annoyed at +egotisms. An egotist always sees the egotism of other +people. The egotism of those round him, jump at him, +they get on his nerves! He has to love people who are +far, far away! You see my point? Well, I've been +trying to make him take on a small bit of war work!"</p> + +<p>"And will he take it?" asked May.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Bingham; "I've just left +him, a prey to conflicting passions."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Page 254]</a></span></p> + +<p>May was silent.</p> + +<p>"Are you going back to King's?" asked Bingham.</p> + +<p>She and Bingham were walking along, just as she +and Boreham had been walking along the same street, +past these same colleges not an hour ago. Was she +going back to the Lodgings? Yes, she thought, in fact +she knew she was going back to the Lodgings.</p> + +<p>"May I see you to the Lodgings?" asked Bingham.</p> + +<p>There seemed no alternative but to say "Yes."</p> + +<p>"There are many things I should like to talk over +with you, Mrs. Dashwood," said Bingham, stepping +out cheerfully. "I should like to roam the universe +with you."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid you would find me very ignorant," +said May.</p> + +<p>"I would present you with facts. I would sit at +your feet and hold them out for your inspection, and +you, from your throne above, would pronounce judgment +on them."</p> + +<p>"It is the ignorant people who always do pronounce +judgment," said May. "So that will be all right. +You spoke of Mr. Boreham preaching. Well, I've just +been preaching. It's a horrid habit."</p> + +<p>Bingham gave one of his surprising and most cultured +explosions of laughter. May turned and looked +at him with her eyebrows very much raised.</p> + +<p>"I am laughing at myself," he explained. "I +thought to buy things too cheaply."</p> + +<p>May looked away, pondering on the meaning of his +words. At last the meaning occurred to her.</p> + +<p>"You mean you wanted to flatter me, and—and I +began to talk about something else. Was that what +made you laugh?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"That's it," said Bingham. "I wanted to flatter +you because it is a pleasure to flatter you, and I forgot +what a privilege it was."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said May, quietly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Page 255]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Cheap, cheap, always cheap!" said Bingham. +"Cheapness is the curse of our age. The old Radical +belief in the right to buy cheaply, that poison has +soaked into the very bone of politics. It has contaminated +our religion. The pulpit has decided in favour +of cheap salvation."</p> + +<p>May looked round again at Bingham's moonlit +profile.</p> + +<p>"No more hell!" he said, "no more narrow way, +no more strait gate to heaven! On the contrary, +we bawl ourselves blue asserting that the way is broad, +and that every blessed man Jack of us will find it. Yes," +he went on more slowly, "we have no use now for a +God who can deny to any one a cheap suburban +residence in the New Jerusalem. And so," he +added, "I flatter you, stupidly, and—and you forgive +me."</p> + +<p>They walked on together for a moment in silence.</p> + +<p>"I don't deserve your forgiveness," he said. "But +I desire your forgiveness. I desire your toleration as +far as it will go. Perhaps, if you were to let me talk on, +I might go too far for your toleration," and now he +turned and looked at her.</p> + +<p>"You would not go too far," said May. "You +are too much detached; you look on——" and here +she hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Oh, damn!" said Bingham, softly; "that is the +accursed truth," and he stared before him at the +cracks in the pavement as they stood out sharply in +the moonlight.</p> + +<p>"You mustn't mind," said May, soothingly.</p> + +<p>"I do mind," said Bingham; "I should like to be +able to take my own emotions seriously. I should +like to feel the importance of my being highly strung, +imaginative, a lover of beauty and susceptible to the +charms of women. Instead of which I am hopelessly +critical of myself. I see myself a blinking fool, among<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Page 256]</a></span> +other fools." Bingham's lips went on moving as if he +were continuing to speak to himself.</p> + +<p>"When a woman takes you and your emotions +seriously, what happens then?" asked May very softly, +and she looked at him with wide open eyes and her +eyebrows full of inquiry.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" sighed Bingham, "that was long ago. I +have forgotten—or nearly." Then he added, after a +moment's silence: "May I talk to you about the +present?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, do," said May.</p> + +<p>"There!" said Bingham, resentfully, "see how +you trust me! You know that if I begin to step on +forbidden ground, you have only to put out your finger +and say 'Stop!' and I shall retire amiably, with a +jest."</p> + +<p>"That is part of—of your—your charm," said May, +hesitatingly.</p> + +<p>"My charm!" repeated Bingham, in a tone of +sarcasm.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry I used the word charm," said May. +"I will use a better term, your personality. You are +so alarming and yet so gentle."</p> + +<p>Bingham turned and gazed at her silently. They +were now very near the Lodgings.</p> + +<p>"Thanks," he said at last. "I know where I am. +But I knew it before."</p> + +<p>A great silence came upon them. Sounds passed +them as they walked; men hurried past them, occasionally +a woman, a Red Cross nurse in uniform. The +sky above was still growing more and more luminous. +All the rest of the way they walked in silence, each +thinking their own thoughts, neither wishing to speak. +When they reached the Lodgings Bingham walked into +the court with her.</p> + +<p>"Won't you come in?" she asked, but it was a +mere formality, for she knew that he would refuse.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Page 257]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's too late," he said.</p> + +<p>"And you are coming to dinner to-morrow at +eight?" She laid emphasis on the hour, to hide the +fact that she was really asking whether he meant to +come at all, after their talk about his personality.</p> + +<p>"Yes, at eight," he said. "Good-bye."</p> + +<p>As he spoke the moon showed full and gloriously, +coming out for a moment sharply from the fine gauzy +veil of grey that overspread the sky, and the Court was +distinct to its very corners. The gravel, the shallow +stone steps at the door, the narrow windows on each side +of the door, the sombre walls; all were illumined. And +Bingham's face, as he lifted his cap, was illumined too. +It was a very dark face, so dark that May doubted if she +really had quite grasped the details of it in her own mind. +His eyes seemed scarcely to notice her as she smiled, +and yet he too smiled. Then he went back over the +gravel to the gate without saying another word. She +did not look at his retreating figure. She opened the +door and went in. Other people in the world were +suffering. Why can't one always realise that? It would +make one's own suffering easier to bear.</p> + +<p>The house seemed empty. There was not a sound +in it. The dim portraits on the walls looked out from +their frames at her. But they had nothing to do with +her, she was an outsider!</p> + +<p>She walked up the broad staircase. She must +endure torture for two—nearly three more days! The +hours must be dealt with one by one, even the minutes. +It would take all her strength.</p> + +<p>At the head of the stairs she paused. Her desire +was to go straight to her room, and not to go into the +drawing-room and greet her Aunt Lena. Gwendolen +would very likely be there in high spirits—the future +mistress of the house—the one person in the world to +whom the Warden would have to say, "May I? Can I?"</p> + +<p>"Don't be a coward! Other people in the world<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Page 258]</a></span> +are suffering besides you," said the inner voice; and May +went straight to the drawing-room door and opened it.</p> + +<p>The room was dark except for a glimmer from a +red fire. May was going out again, and about to close +the door, when her aunt's voice called to her, and the +lights went up on each side of the fireplace. May +pushed the door back again and came inside.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Lena!" she called.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood had been sitting on the couch +near it. She was standing now. It was she who had +put up the lights. Her face was pale and her eyes +brilliant.</p> + +<p>"May, it's all over!" she called under her breath.</p> + +<p>May stood by the door. It was still ajar and in her +hand.</p> + +<p>"All over! What is all over?" she asked +apprehensively.</p> + +<p>"Shut the door!" said Lady Dashwood, in a low +voice.</p> + +<p>May shut the door.</p> + +<p>"Gwendolen has broken off her engagement!" said +Lady Dashwood, controlling her voice.</p> + +<p>May always remembered that moment. The room +seemed to stretch about her in alleys fringed with chairs +and couches. There was plenty of room to walk, +plenty of room to sit down. There was plenty of time +too. It was extraordinary what a lot of time there +was in the world, time for everything you wanted to +do. Then there was the portrait over the mantelpiece. +He seemed to have nothing to do. She had +not thought of that before. He was absolutely idle, +simply looking on. And below these trivial thoughts, +tossed on the surface of her mind, flowed a strange, +confused, almost overwhelming, tide of joy.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Page 259]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + +<h3>A CAUSE AND IMPEDIMENT</h3> + +<p class="above2">"Oh!" was all that May said.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood looked at her and looked again. +She put out her hand and rested it on the mantelshelf, +and still looked at May. May was taking off one of +her gloves. When she had unfastened the buttons +she discovered that she was wearing a watch on her +wrist, and she wound it up carefully.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood was still looking, all her excitement +was suppressed for the moment. What was +May thinking of—what had happened to her?</p> + +<p>"For how long?" asked May, and she suddenly +perceived that there had been a rigid silence between +them.</p> + +<p>"For how long?" exclaimed Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said May.</p> + +<p>"The engagement is broken off!" said Lady +Dashwood. "Broken off, dear!"</p> + +<p>"Not permanently?" said May, as if she were +speaking of an incident of no particular importance.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood's eyes gleamed. "For ever," she +said.</p> + +<p>May looked at her watch again and began to wind +it up again. It refused to be wound any more. May +looked at it anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Gwendolen goes to-morrow," said Lady Dashwood. +"It is she who has broken off the engagement, +and she is going away before Jim returns. It is all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Page 260]</a></span> +over, May, and I have been waiting for half an hour +to tell you the news. I have scarcely known how to +wait."</p> + +<p>May went up and kissed her silently.</p> + +<p>"You are the only person I can speak to," said +Lady Dashwood. "May, I feel as if this couldn't be +true. Will you read this?" And she put a letter +into May's hands. As she did so she saw, for the first +time, that May's hands were trembling. She drew the +letter back and said quietly: "No, let me read Marian +Potten's letter to you. I want to read it again for my +own sake, though I have read it half a dozen times +already."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Potten!" said May. "Aunt Lena, you'll +think me stupid, but I haven't grasped things."</p> + +<p>"Of course not," said Lady Dashwood. "And I +am too much excited to explain properly. I suppose +my nerves have been strained lately. I want to hear +Marian's letter read aloud. Listen, May! Oh, my +dear, do listen!"</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood turned the letter up to the light +and began to read in a slow, emphatic, husky voice—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Lena</span>,<br /></p> + +<p>"Certain things have happened of which I +cannot speak, and which necessitated a private interview +between Gwendolen and myself. But what I am +going to tell you now concerns you, because it concerns +the Warden. In our interview Gwendolen confided to +me that she had serious misgivings about the wisdom +of her engagement. They are more than misgivings. +She feels that she ought not to have accepted the +Warden's offer. She feels that she never considered +the responsibilities she was undertaking, and she had +nobody to talk the matter over with who could have +given her sensible advice. She feels that neither her +character nor her education fit her to be a Warden's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Page 261]</a></span> +wife, and she shrinks from the duties that it involves. +All this came out! I hope that you and the Warden +will forgive the fact that all this came out before me, +and that I found myself in the position of Gwen's +adviser. She has come to the conclusion that she +ought to break off this engagement—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.</p></div> + +<p class="signoff">"Yours ever,<br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Marian Potten</span>."<br /> +</p> + + +<p class="above2">Lady Dashwood folded up the letter and put it back +into its envelope. She avoided looking at May just now.</p> + +<p>"Marian must feel very strongly on the subject<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Page 262]</a></span> +to offer to send her own car," she said. "I have never +known her do such a thing before," and Lady Dashwood +smiled and looked at the fire. "So the whole thing is +over! But how did it all come about? What happened? +I've been thinking over every possible accident +that could have happened to make Gwen change +her mind in this sudden way, and I am still in the dark," +she went on. "Do you think that Gwendolen had +any misgivings about her engagement when she left +this house after lunch, May? I'm sure she hadn't." +Here Lady Dashwood paused and looked towards May +but not at her. "It all happened at Potten End! +I'm certain of it," she added.</p> + +<p>May, having at last completely drawn off both her +gloves, was folding and unfolding them with unsteady +hands.</p> + +<p>"It's a mystery," said May.</p> + +<p>"But I don't care what happened!" said Lady +Dashwood, solemnly; "I don't really want to know. +It is over! I can't rest, I can't read, I can't think +coherently. I can only be thankful—thankful beyond +words."</p> + +<p>May walked slowly in the direction of the door. +"Yes, all your troubles are over," she said.</p> + +<p>"Do you remember, May," went on Lady Dashwood, +"how you and I stood together just here, under +the portrait, when you arrived on Monday? Well, all +that torment is over. All that happened between then +and now has been wiped clean out, as if it had never +been."</p> + +<p>But all had not been wiped out. Some of what +happened had been written down in May's mind and +couldn't be wiped out.</p> + +<p>"Don't go this moment; sit down for a little, +before you go and dress," said Lady Dashwood, "and +I'll try and sit, for I must talk, I must talk, and, May +dear, you must listen. Come back, dear!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Page 263]</a></span></p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood sat down on one side of the fireplace +and looked at May, as she came back and seated +herself on the opposite side. There was the fireplace +between them.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you glad?" asked Lady Dashwood. +"Aren't you glad, May?"</p> + +<p>"I am very glad," said May. "I rejoice—in your +joy."</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood leaned back in her chair, and let +her eyes rest on May's face.</p> + +<p>"I can't describe to you what I felt when Gwendolen +came in half an hour ago. She came in quietly, +her face pale and her eyes swollen, and said quite +abruptly: 'I have broken on my engagement with +Dr. Middleton. Please don't scold me, please don't +talk about it; please let me go. I'm miserable enough +as it is,' and she put two letters into my hand and went. +May, I took the letter addressed to Jim and locked it +up, for a horrible fear came on me that some one might +destroy that letter. Besides, I had also the fear that +because the thing was so sudden it might somehow not +be true. Well, then I came down here again and waited +for you. I waited in the dark, trying to rest. You came +in very late. I scarcely knew how to wait. I suppose I +am horribly excited. I am feeling now as Louise feels +constantly, but I can't get any relief in the way she does. +A Frenchwoman never bottles up anything; her method +is to wear other people out and save her own strength +by doing so. From our cradles we are smacked if we +express our emotions; but foreigners have been encouraged +to express their emotions. They believe it +necessary and proper to do so. They gesticulate and +scream. It is a confirmed habit with them to do so, +and it doesn't mean much. I dare say when you or +I just say 'Oh!' it means more than if Louise uttered +persistent shrieks for half an hour. But she is a good +soul——" And Lady Dashwood ran on in this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Page 264]</a></span> +half-consequent, half-inconsequent way, while May sat +in her chair, busy trying to hide the trembling of her +knees. They would tremble. She tried holding them +with her hands, but they refused to stop shaking. +Once they trembled too obviously, and Lady Dashwood +said, in a changed tone, as if she had suddenly observed +May: "You have caught cold! You have caught a +chill!"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I have," said May, and her knees knocked +against each other.</p> + +<p>"You have, my dear," said Lady Dashwood; and as +she pronounced this verdict, she rose from her chair with +great suddenness. There was on her face no anxiety, +not a trace of it, but a certain great content. But as +she rose she became aware that her head ached and she +felt a little dizzy. What matter!</p> + +<p>"I may have got just the slightest chill," said May, +rising too, "but if so, it's nothing!"</p> + +<p>"Most people like having chills, and that's why they +never take any precautions, and refuse all remedies," +said Lady Dashwood, making her way to the door with +care, and speaking more slowly and deliberately; "but +I know you're not like that, and I'm going to give you +an infallible cure and preventive. It'll put you right, +I promise. Come along, dear child. I ought to have +known you had a chill. I ought to have seen it written +on your brow 'Chill' when you came in; but I've been +too much excited by events to see anything. I've been +chattering like a silly goose. Come upstairs, I'm going +to dose you."</p> + +<p>And May submitted, and the two women went +out of the drawing-room together up the two or three +steps and into the corridor. They walked together, +both making a harmless, pathetic pretence: the one to +think the other had a chill, the other to own that a +chill it was, indeed, though not a bad chill!</p> + +<p>What was Gwendolen doing now? Was she crying?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Page 265]</a></span> +"Poor thing, poor little neglected thing!" thought +Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"Marian can be very high-handed," she whispered +to May. "I have known her do many arbitrary things. +She would be quite capable of—— But what's the +good! Poor Gwen! I couldn't pity her before, I felt +too hard. But now Jim is safe I can think reasonably. +I'm sorry for her. But," she added, "I'm not sorry +for Belinda."</p> + +<p>Now that they had reached May's room, May +declared that she was not as sure as she had been that +she had got a chill.</p> + +<p>But the chill could not be dropped like that. Lady +Dashwood felt the impropriety of suddenly giving up +the chill, and she left the room and went to search for +the infallible cure and preventive. As she did so she +began to wonder why she could not will to have no +headache. She was so happy that a headache was +ridiculous.</p> + +<p>When she returned, May was in her dressing-gown +and was moving about with decision, and her limbs no +longer trembled.</p> + +<p>"I don't pity Belinda," said Lady Dashwood, pretending +not to see the change. "I don't pity her, +though I suppose that she, too, is merely a symptom +of the times we live in." Here she began to pour out +a dose from the bottle in her hand. "It can't be a +good thing, May, for the community that there should +be women who live to organise amusement for themselves; +who merely live to meet each other and their +men folk, and play about. It can't be good for the +community? We ought all to work, May, every one +of us. Writing invitations to each other to come and +play, buying things for ourselves, seeing dressmakers +isn't work. There, May!" She held out the glass to +May. Each kept up the pretence—pretending with +solemnity that May had been trembling because she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Page 266]</a></span> +had possibly got a chill. It was a pretence that was +necessary. It was a pretence that covered and protected +both of them. It was a brave pretence. "No," +said Lady Dashwood again, and firmly, as she released +the glass. "It isn't good for the community to have +a class of busy idlers at the top of the ladder."</p> + +<p>May had taken the glass, and now she tipped it up +and drank the contents. They were hot and stinging!</p> + +<p>Then May broke her silence, and imitating a voice +that Lady Dashwood knew well, uttered these words:</p> + +<p>"Oh, damn the community!"</p> + +<p>"Was it very nasty?" said Lady Dashwood, +laughing. "Ah, May, I can laugh now at Belinda! +Alas! I can laugh!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Page 267]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV</h2> + +<h3>CONFESSIONS</h3> + +<p class="above2">What stung Gwendolen, what made her smart almost +beyond endurance, was that she had exchanged the +Warden for an umbrella. The transaction had been +simple, and sudden, and inevitable. The Warden +was in London, a free man, and there was the umbrella +in the corner of the room, hers. It was looking at her, +and she had not paid for it. The bill would be sent to +the Lodgings, the bill for the umbrella and the gloves. +The bill would be re-directed and would reach her—bills +always did reach one, however frequently one +changed one's address. Private letters sometimes +got misdirected and mislaid, but never bills. Friends +sometimes say, "We couldn't write because we didn't +know your address." Tradespeople never say this, +they don't omit to send their bills merely because they +don't know your address. If they don't know your +address, they search for it!</p> + +<p>The pure imbecility of her behaviour at Christ +Church about that ten-shilling note was now apparent +to Gwendolen. She could not think, now, how she +could have done anything so inconceivably silly, and so +useless as to put herself in the power of Mrs. Potten. +She would never, never in all her life, do such a thing +again. Another time, when hard up and needing +something necessary, she would borrow, or she would +go straight to the shop and order "the umbrella" +(as after all, she had done), and she would take the +sporting chance of being able to pay the bill some time.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Page 268]</a></span> +But never would she again touch notes or coins that +belonged to people she knew, and especially those +belonging to Mrs. Potten! Oh, what a wickedly cruel +punishment she had to bear, merely because she had +had a sort of joke about ten shillings belonging to +Mrs. Potten.</p> + +<p>One thing she would never forgive as long as she +lived, and that was Mrs. Potten's meanness. She +would never forget the way in which Mrs. Potten +took advantage of her by getting her into Potten +End alone, with nobody to protect her.</p> + +<p>First of all Mrs. Potten had pretended to be +merely sorry. Then she spoke about Mr. Harding +and Mr. Bingham being witnesses and made the whole +thing appear as a sort of crime, and then she ended +up with saying: "The Warden must not be kept in +ignorance of all this! That is out of the question. +He has a right to know." That came as an awful +shock to Gwendolen, and made her burst into tears.</p> + +<p>"Are you afraid, child, he will break off the engagement?" +was all that Mrs. Potten said, and then +the horrid old woman asked all sorts of horrid questions, +and wormed out all kinds of things: that the +Warden had not actually said he was in love, that he +had scarcely spoken to her for three days, and that he +had not said "good-bye" that morning when he left +for London. How Mrs. Potten had managed to sneak it +out of her Gwendolen did not know, but Mrs. Potten +gave her no time to think of what she was saying, and +being so much upset and so much afraid of Mrs. Potten +lots of things came out. And yet all the time she knew +things were going wrong because of the wicked look on +Mrs. Potten's face.</p> + +<p>However, Gwendolen had all through stuck to it +(and it was the truth) that she had never intended to +do more than "sort of joke" with the note, and this +Mrs. Potten simply wouldn't understand. And when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Page 269]</a></span> +she, Gwendolen, promised, on her honour, to make it +"all right," by wiring to her mother to send her a +postal order for ten shillings by return, Mrs. Potten +sprang like a tiger on her: "Why wire for it? Why +not return it now?" Oh, the whole thing was awful!</p> + +<p>After this Mrs. Potten's voice had changed to ice, +and she put on a perfectly beastly tone.</p> + +<p>"Gwendolen, you shock me beyond words, and +oblige me to take a very decided step in the matter."</p> + +<p>Then she stopped, and Gwendolen could recall +that horrible moment of suspense. Then came words +that made Gwendolen shudder to think of.</p> + +<p>"I have a very great respect for the position of a +Warden—it is a position of trust; and I have also +personally a very great respect for the Warden of +King's. I give you an alternative. Break off your +engagement with him at once, quietly, or I shall make +this little affair of the note known in Oxford, so that +the Warden will have to break the engagement off. +Which alternative do you choose?"</p> + +<p>The very words repeated themselves over and over +in Gwendolen's memory, and she flung herself on her +bed and gave way to a passion of tears. No, she +would never forgive Mrs. Potten.</p> + +<p>When the bell sounded for dinner, Gwendolen +struggled off the bed and went to look at herself in the +glass. She couldn't possibly go downstairs looking +like that, even if she were dressed. Yet pangs of hunger +seized Gwendolen. She had eaten one wretched little +slice of bread and butter at Potten End, moistening +it with her tears, and now she wanted food. Several +minutes passed.</p> + +<p>"They won't care even if I'm dead," moaned +Gwendolen, and she listened.</p> + +<p>A knock came at her door, and Louise entered.</p> + +<p>"If <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mademoiselle</span> has a headache would she like +to have some dinner brought up to her?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Page 270]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, thanks," said Gwendolen, and she kept her +face away from the direction of the door so that Louise +could not see it.</p> + +<p>"What would <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mademoiselle</span> like? Some soup?"</p> + +<p>Oh, how wretched it all was! And when all +might have been so different! And soup—only soup!</p> + +<p>"I don't care," said Gwendolen, "some sort of +dinner—any dinner."</p> + +<p>"Ah, dinner!" said Louise.</p> + +<p>When she had gone, Gwendolen tied two handkerchiefs +together and fastened them round her forehead +to look as if she had a headache—indeed, she had +a headache—and a heartache too!</p> + +<p>Presently dinner was brought up, and Gwendolen +ate it in loneliness and sadness. She did not leave +anything. She had thought of leaving some of the +meat, but decided against it. After she had finished, +and it had been cleared away, she had sat looking at +the fire for a few minutes with eyes that were sore +from weeping. Then she got up and began to undress. +Life was a miserable thing! She got into +bed and laid her hot head down on the cool pillow +and tried not to think. But she listened to every +sound that passed her door. It was horrible to be +alone and forgotten. She had asked to be left alone, +but she had not meant to be alone so long. Then +there suddenly sprang into her mind the recollection +of the strange form she thought she had seen in the +library. She really had thought she had seen him. +Were such things true?</p> + +<p>What about the disaster? Perhaps it was <em>her</em> +disaster he had come to warn <em>her</em> about and that +was why <em>she</em> saw him. Perhaps God sent him! +This thought thrilled her whole being, and she lay +very still. Perhaps God had meant to tell <em>her</em> that +she must be careful, and she had not been careful. +But then how could she have guessed?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Page 271]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gwendolen had been confirmed only two years +ago. She remembered that the preparation for confirmation +had been a bore, and yet had given her a +pleasant sensation of self-approbation, because she +was serving God in a manner peculiarly agreeable +to Him by being in the right Church, especially now +in these times of unbelief and neglect of religion. +She had a pleasant feeling that there were a great many +people disobeying Him; and that heaps of priggish +people who fussed about living goody-goody lives, +were not really approved of by Him, because they +didn't go to church or only went to wrong churches.</p> + +<p>Then she recalled the afternoon when she was +confirmed. She was at school and there were other +girls with her, and the old bishop preached to them, +and went on and on and on so long, and was so dull +that Gwendolen ceased to listen. But she had gone +through it all, and had felt very happy to have it over. +She felt safe in God's keeping. But now she was alone +and miserable, and felt strangely unprotected by God, +as if God didn't care!</p> + +<p>Was that strange form she had seen in the library +sent not by God but by the devil to frighten her? If +the Warden had been in the house she would have felt +less frightened, only now—now she was so horribly +alone. Even if he had been in the house, though she +couldn't speak to him, she would have been less +frightened.</p> + +<p>Gwendolen listened for footsteps in the corridor—would +any one come to her? Why had she spoken +to Lady Dashwood as if she didn't want to be disturbed? +Suppose nobody came? And what about +the devil? Should she ring?</p> + +<p>At last, unable to bear herself and her thoughts +any longer she rose from her bed and put on her +dressing-gown. She opened her door and peeped out +into the corridor. There was just a glimpse of light,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Page 272]</a></span> +and she could see pretty clearly from end to end. She +could hear what sounded like a person near the head +of the staircase. Gwendolen darted forwards towards +the curtained end of the corridor. But when she +reached the curtain she saw old Robinson going down +the staircase.</p> + +<p>Gwendolen went back a few steps along the corridor +and returned to her room. She pushed the door open. +It was too silent and too empty, it frightened her. +Should she ring the bell? If she rang the bell what +would she say? The dinner had been cleared away. +What should she ask for if she rang?</p> + +<p>With a groan of despair she went outside again +and again listened. Somebody was approaching the +corridor. Somebody was coming into the corridor. +She stood where she was. It was Mrs. Dashwood who +was coming. She had mounted the steps, and here +she was walking towards her. Gwendolen stood still +and waited.</p> + +<p>May saw the figure of the girl, clutching her dressing-gown +round her, and staring with large distended eyes +like a hunted animal.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" asked May. "Do you feel ill, +Gwen?"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said the girl, with a shiver, "I'm so glad +you've come! I can't go into my bedroom alone. Oh, +I am so wretched!"</p> + +<p>"I'll take you into your bedroom," said May, and +she led Gwen in and closed the door behind them.</p> + +<p>"You were in bed," she said. "Get in again and +I will straighten you up." She helped Gwendolen to +take off her dressing-gown.</p> + +<p>"You can't stay with me a little?" demanded +Gwen, and her lips trembled. "I've such a headache."</p> + +<p>The handkerchiefs were still bound round her head, +and were making her hot and uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>"Poor Gwen!" said May. "Yes, I'll stay a little.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Page 273]</a></span> +I dare say some <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Eau-de-Cologne</span> would help your headache +to go."</p> + +<p>"I haven't got any. I've only got scent," said +Gwen, as she stepped into bed.</p> + +<p>"I have some," said May. "I'll go and fetch it. +I'll be back in a moment."</p> + +<p>Gwendolen sat up in bed, drawing the clothes up +to her neck, waiting. The moment she was alone in +the room, the room seemed so dismal, and the solitude +alarming. There was always the devil——</p> + +<p>"Sitting up?" said May, when she came back with +the <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Eau-de-Cologne</span> in her hand.</p> + +<p>Gwendolen sank down in the bed. How comforting +it was to have Mrs. Dashwood waiting on her and +talking about her and being sympathetic. She had +always loved Mrs. Dashwood. She was so sweet. +Now, if only, only she had not made that horrible +blunder, she would have had the whole household +waiting on her, talking about her and being sympathetic! +Oh!</p> + +<p>May brought a chair to the bed, and began to smooth +the dark hair away from Gwen's face.</p> + +<p>"I think you would be cooler with those handkerchiefs +off," she said. "I can't get to your forehead +very well with the <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Eau-de-Cologne</span>."</p> + +<p>Gwen signified her consent with a deep sigh, and +May slipped the bandage off and put it away on the +dressing-table.</p> + +<p>Then she dabbed some of the <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Eau-de-Cologne</span> +softly on to the girl's forehead.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you <em>know</em>," whispered Gwen, as the +scent of the perfume came into her nostrils.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said May.</p> + +<p>"I hope the servants don't know," groaned Gwen.</p> + +<p>"I don't think any one knows, but just ourselves," +said May, in a soothing voice; "and no one but +ourselves need know about it."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Page 274]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, it's horrible!" groaned Gwen again. "I +can't bear it!"</p> + +<p>"It is hard to bear," said May, as she smoothed the +girl's brow.</p> + +<p>After a little silence Gwendolen suddenly said—</p> + +<p>"You don't believe in that ghost?"</p> + +<p>"The ghost?" said May, a little surprised at this +sudden deviation from the cause of Gwendolen's grief.</p> + +<p>"You thought it was silly?" said Gwen, tentatively.</p> + +<p>"Not silly, but fanciful," said May.</p> + +<p>Gwendolen moved her head. "I think I was; +but I still see him, and I don't want to. I have begun +to think about him, now, this evening. I had forgotten +before——"</p> + +<p>"You must make up your mind not to think of it. +It isn't a real person, Gwen."</p> + +<p>Gwendolen still kept her head slightly round towards +May Dashwood, though she had her eyes closed so as +not to interfere with the movements of May's hand on +her brow.</p> + +<p>"Do you think the devil does things?" she asked +in an awed voice.</p> + +<p>May hesitated for a moment and then said: "We +do things, and some of us call it the devil doing things."</p> + +<p>"Then you don't believe in the devil?" asked +Gwendolen, opening her eyes.</p> + +<p>"I don't think so, Gwen," said May. "But God +I am sure of."</p> + +<p>Gwendolen lay still for a little while. She was +thinking now of her troubles.</p> + +<p>"You don't do any wrong things?" asked Gwendolen, +tentatively.</p> + +<p>"We all do wrong things," said May.</p> + +<p>"I mean wrong things that people make a fuss +about," said Gwendolen, thinking of Mrs. Potten, and +the drawing-room at Potten End.</p> + +<p>"Some things are more wrong than others," said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Page 275]</a></span> +May. "It depends upon whether they do much harm +or not."</p> + +<p>Gwendolen pondered. This was a new proof of +Mrs. Potten's meanness. What she, Gwen, had done +had harmed nobody practically.</p> + +<p>"I'm miserable!" she burst out.</p> + +<p>"Poor Gwen!" murmured May.</p> + +<p>Gwendolen lay still. Her heart was full. When +she had once left the Lodgings, and was at Mrs. Potten's +she would be among enemies. Now, here, at least she +had one friend—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.</p> + +<p>"I didn't want to break off the engagement," she +said at last, unable to keep her thoughts much longer +to herself.</p> + +<p>"You didn't want to!" said May gently. It was +scarcely a question, but it drew Gwendolen to an +explanation of her words.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Potten made me," she said.</p> + +<p>"No one could make you," said May, quietly. +"Could they?"</p> + +<p>"She did," said Gwen, with a burst of tears. "I +wanted to make it all right, and she wouldn't let me. +If only I could have seen the Warden, he would have +taken my side, perhaps," and here Gwen's voice became +less emphatic. "But Mrs. Potten simply made me. +She was determined. She hates me. I can't bear +her."</p> + +<p>"Had you done absolutely nothing to make her so +determined?" asked May wondering.</p> + +<p>"Nothing—except a little joke——" began Gwen. +"It was merely a sort of a joke."</p> + +<p>"A joke!" said May, and her voice was very low +and strange.</p> + +<p>The umbrella standing in the corner of the room in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Page 276]</a></span> +the shadow seemed to make faces at Gwen. Why +hadn't she put the horrid thing in the wardrobe?</p> + +<p>"It was only meant as a sort of joke," she repeated, +and then the overwhelming flood of bitter memory +coming upon her, she yielded to her instinct and poured +out to May, bit by bit, a broken garbled history of the +whole affair—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.</p> + +<p>And this was a story told by one who might have +been the Warden's wife! May went on soothing the +girl's hair and brow with her hand.</p> + +<p>"And Mrs. Potten wouldn't let me make it all right. +She refused to let me, though I begged her to, and +gave her my word of honour," wept Gwen, indignantly. +Then she suddenly said, "Oh, the fire's going out and +perhaps you're cold!" for she was fearful lest her +visitor would leave her. "When my dinner was taken +away too much coal was put on my fire, and I was too +miserable to make a fuss."</p> + +<p>"I'm not cold," said May. "But I will stir up the +fire." She rose from her chair and went to the fire, +and poked it up into a blaze.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid, Gwen, that you couldn't make it all +right with Mrs. Potten, except by——"</p> + +<p>"By what?" asked Gwen, becoming suddenly +excited. "If only Dr. Middleton had not been away, +I might have borrowed from him. Do you mean that?"</p> + +<p>"No," said May, with a profound sigh, as she came +back to the bedside. "It was a question of honour, +don't you see? You couldn't have made it right, +except by being horrified at what you had done and +feeling that you could never, never make it right! Do +you understand what I mean?"</p> + +<p>Gwen was trying to understand.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Page 277]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That would have made Mrs. Potten worse," she +said hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"No," said May, with a quiet emphasis on the word. +"If you had really been terribly unhappy about your +honour, Mrs. Potten would have sympathised! Don't +you see what I mean?"</p> + +<p>"But how could I be so terribly unhappy about +such a mere accident?" protested Gwen, tearfully. +"I might have returned the money. I very nearly +did twice, only somehow I didn't. It just seemed +to happen like that, and it was such a little +affair."</p> + +<p>May sat down again and put her cool hand on the +girl's brow. It was no use talking about honour to +the child. To Belinda and Co. honour was, what was +expected of you by people who were in the swim, and +if Mrs. Potten had made no discovery, or had forgiven +it when it was made, Gwendolen's "honour" would +have remained bright and untarnished. That was +Gwendolen's sense of the moral situation! Her +vision went no further. Still May's silence was disturbing. +Gwendolen felt that she had not been understood, +and that she was being reproved by that silence, +though the reproof was gentle, very different from the +kind of reproof that would probably be administered +by her mother. On the other hand, the reproof was +not merited.</p> + +<p>"Would you," said Gwendolen, with a gulp in her +throat, "would you spoil somebody's whole life +because they took some trifle that nobody really missed +or wanted, intending to give it back, only didn't somehow +get the opportunity? Would you?"</p> + +<p>"Your whole life isn't spoiled," said May. "If +you take what has happened very seriously you may +make your life more honourable in the future than +it has been. Don't you see that if what you had done +had not been discovered you might have gone on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Page 278]</a></span> +doing these things all your life. That would have +spoiled your life!"</p> + +<p>"But my engagement!" moaned Gwen. "I +shall have to go to that horrid Stow, unless mother has +got an invitation for me, and mother will be so upset. +She'll be so angry!"</p> + +<p>What could May say to give the girl any real understanding +of her own responsibilities? Was she to +drift about like a leaf in the wind, without principles, +with no firm basis upon which she could stand and take +her part in the struggle of human life?</p> + +<p>What was to be done?</p> + +<p>May did her best to put her thoughts into the +plainest, simplest words. She had to begin at the +beginning, and speak as to a child. As she went on +May discovered that one thing, and one thing only, +really impressed Gwen, and that was the idea of courage. +Coward as she was, she did grasp that courage was of +real value. Gwen had a faint gleam of the meaning +of honour, when it was a question of courage, and +upon this one string May played, for it gave a clear +note, striking into the silence of the poor girl's moral +nature.</p> + +<p>She got the girl to promise that she would try and +take the misfortune of her youth with courage and +meet the future bravely. She even induced Gwendolen +then and there to pray for more courage, moral and +physical, and she did not leave her till she had added +also a prayer for help in the future when difficulties +and temptations were in her path. They were vague +words, "difficulties and temptations," and May knew +that, but it is not possible in half an hour to straighten +the muddle of many years of Belinda and Co.</p> + +<p>"Have courage," she said at last, "I must go, +Gwen. Good-night," and May stooped down to kiss +the dark head on the pillow. "God protect you; +God help you!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Page 279]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Good-night," sighed Gwen; "I'll try and go to +sleep. But could you—could you put that umbrella +into the wardrobe and poke up the fire again to make a +little light?"</p> + +<p>And May put the umbrella away in the wardrobe +and poked up the fire.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Page 280]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> + +<h3>THE ANXIETIES OF LOUISE</h3> + +<p class="above2">The one definite thought in May's mind now was that +she must leave Oxford before the Warden's return. +A blind instinct compelled her to take this course.</p> + +<p>It was not easy for her to say to Lady Dashwood +quite unconcernedly: "You won't mind my running +away to-morrow, will you? You won't mind if I run +off, will you? All your troubles are over, and I do +want to get back to-morrow. I have lots of things to +do—to get ready before Monday."</p> + +<p>It was not easy to say all this, but May did say it. +She said it in the corridor as they were bidding each +other good night.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood's surprise was painful. "I do mind +your running off," she said, and she looked a little bewildered. +"Must you go to-morrow? Must you? +To-morrow!"</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood had talked a great deal, both before +May went into Gwendolen's room and afterwards, when +May came back again to the drawing-room. May had +told the reason for her long absence from the drawing-room, +but in an abstracted manner; and Lady Dashwood, +observing this, looked long and wistfully at her, +but had asked no questions. All she had said was, +"I'm glad you've been with the child," and she spoke +in a low voice. Then she had begun talking again of +things relevant and irrelevant, and in doing so had +betrayed her excitement. It was indeed May now who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Page 281]</a></span> +was calm and self-contained, all trace of her "chill" gone, +whereas Lady Dashwood was obviously over-excited.</p> + +<p>It was only when May said good night, and made +this announcement about going away on the following +day, that Lady Dashwood's spirits showed signs of +flagging.</p> + +<p>That moment all her vivacity suddenly died down +and she looked no longer brisk and brilliant, but limp +and tired, a hollow-eyed woman.</p> + +<p>"I do mind," she repeated. But she gave no reason +for minding, she merely added: "Don't go!" and +stared at her niece pathetically.</p> + +<p>But May was firm. She kissed her aunt very affectionately, +and was very tender in her manner and voice, +but she was immovable.</p> + +<p>"I must go, dear," she said; and then she repeated +again: "Your troubles are over! Seriously, Aunt +Lena, I want to go!"</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood sighed. "You have done a great +deal for me, May," she said, and this gratitude from her +Aunt Lena shook May's courage more than any protest.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to go," she said, "but I must go." +That was her last word.</p> + +<p>And May wanted to go early. Everything must be +ready. She wanted to get away as soon as Gwendolen +had gone. She must not risk meeting the Warden! +He might return to lunch, she must go before lunch. +She must not see him come back. She could not bear +to be in the house when he read the letter from Gwendolen. +<em>That</em> was what made her fly. To stay on and +witness in cold blood his feelings at being rescued, to +witness his humiliation, because he was rescued, would +be an intrusion on the privacy of a human soul. She +must go. So May packed up over night, slept uneasily +and in snatches, conscious of Oxford all the time, +conscious of all that it meant to her!</p> + +<p>It was a grey morning when she got up and looked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Page 282]</a></span> +out of narrow window's on to the quiet, narrow grey +street. She heard no one moving about when she +came down the broad staircase and into the hall, prepared +to go, hardening herself to go, because to stop +would be impossible.</p> + +<p>In the breakfast-room she found Lady Dashwood. +The two women looked at each other silently with a +smile only of greeting. They could hear steps outside, +and Gwendolen came in with swollen eyes and smiled +vaguely round the room.</p> + +<p>"Good morning," she said, and then gulped. Poor +girl! She was making an effort to be brave, and May +gave her a glance that said plainly her approval and her +sympathy.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood was almost tender in her manner.</p> + +<p>Gwen ate hurriedly, and once or twice made spasmodic +faces in trying not to break down.</p> + +<p>Of course, no reference was made to anything that +had happened, but it was necessary to talk a little. +Silence would have made things worse. So Lady +Dashwood praised Potten End, and said it was more +bracing there than at Oxford; and May said she had +not seen Potten End. Then both ladies looked at each +other and started some other subject. They spoke at +great length about the weather. At last breakfast +was over, and Lady Dashwood rose from her chair and +looked rather nervously across at Gwendolen.</p> + +<p>"I'm ready," said Gwendolen, bravely. "At least, +I've only got to put my hat on."</p> + +<p>"There is no hurry, dear," said Lady Dashwood. +"Let me see, you have nearly an hour." The car was +to come at ten—an unearthly hour except in Oxford +and at Potten End.</p> + +<p>Gwendolen disappeared upstairs, and the two ladies +lingered about in the breakfast-room, neither able to +attend to the papers, though both read ostentatiously. At +last the car was announced and they went into the hall.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Page 283]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gwendolen came downstairs hastily. That horrible +umbrella was in her hand, in the other hand was a +handkerchief. She was frowning under her veil to keep +herself from crying.</p> + +<p>"Well, good-bye, Gwen," said Lady Dashwood, +and she kissed the girl on both cheeks. "Good-bye, +dear; give my love to Mrs. Potten."</p> + +<p>"Thanks——" began Gwen, but her voice began +to fail her. "Thanks——"</p> + +<p>"My love to Mrs. Potten," repeated Lady Dashwood +hurriedly, and Gwendolen turned away without +finishing her sentence.</p> + +<p>May kissed Gwendolen and murmured in her ear: +"Brave girl!" "Good-bye," she said aloud.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," said Gwen.</p> + +<p>There was the familiar hall, its great bevelled doors, +its oak panelling and its wide oak staircase. There +was the round table in the middle under the electric +chandelier and the dim portraits on the walls. All was +familiar, and all had been thought of as hers for a time, +all too short; for a day that now seemed as if it could +never have been; for a dream and no part of the reality +of Gwen's life.</p> + +<p>There outside was the car which was to take her +away for ever. Robinson Junior was holding open the +door, his snub nose well in the air, his cheeks reddened +by the chill autumn wind. He was waiting for her to +get in. Then he would bang the door to, and have +done with her, and the Lodgings would never again +have anything to do with her—nor Oxford.</p> + +<p>Oh, it was too wretched, but brave she would be, +and Mrs. Dashwood at least would pity her and understand. +What Lady Dashwood thought she did not +care so very much.</p> + +<p>Gwen went down the steps and got into the car. +Robinson Junior did bang the door. He banged it +and caught a piece of Gwendolen's skirt. Then he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Page 284]</a></span> +opened the door with ferocity as if it was somebody +else's fault. Gwendolen pulled her skirt and he banged +the door to again. This time it shut her out from the +Lodgings. The last moment had come. The car moved. +The two ladies waved their hands. Robinson Junior +raised his finger to his ear. The car turned and went +out of the Court into the narrow street.</p> + +<p>It was all over! Robinson Junior did not come +in. He slipped somewhere round at the back with +mysterious swiftness, and Lady Dashwood shut the +door herself. It was like closing a book at "The End" +or writing a last Will and Testament. It was all over!</p> + +<p>Then Lady Dashwood, who had been so composed +that May had been deceived into thinking that she +had almost recovered from her excitement and fatigue, +suddenly leaned against the hall table. "May!" she +called.</p> + +<p>May did not hear her name called, she was already +retreating up the staircase to her room as hastily as +she dared. There was not much time, and yet she +had not told her Aunt Lena yet that she meant to leave +that very morning; she had mentioned no hour.</p> + +<p>Her luggage was packed and labelled. Her hat +and coat and gloves, exactly the things she had arrived +in from Malvern, were there waiting for her to put +them on and go away. Meanwhile <em>he</em> was in Town, +little dreaming of what was happening. He would be +back soon. It would be horrible if he arrived before +she left, and there was still an hour before she must +start for the station! She would put on her hat and +then go down, tell her Aunt Lena that she must go in +an hour, and talk to her, give herself up to her till the +taxi came. No, it would be impossible for him to +arrive before she left; she was foolish to worry about +it. It was pure nonsense—merely a nervous fear.</p> + +<p>When she had put on her hat, it flashed into her +mind that Mr. Bingham was coming to dinner, ostensibly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Page 285]</a></span> +to meet her. After their talk together she must write +to him. She must scribble a little note and get it +taken to All Souls. She must tell him that she had +to leave Oxford quite unexpectedly.</p> + +<p>She sat down at her writing table and took up a pen. +She wrote a few words, and thought the words too cold +and too abrupt. She must begin again, and she tore +up the letter and threw it into the waste-paper basket. +She wanted to write sympathetically and yet not to +appear to think he needed sympathy. She wanted to +write as if she was very much disappointed at not +meeting him again, but without putting it into words +that would sound self-assured—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.</p> + +<p>This lack of vanity in May had led many people, +who did not understand her, to accuse her of flirting.</p> + +<p>But May, in writing to Bingham, realised to the full +<em>his</em> attractions. He was too interesting a personality +to be going about unclaimed. He ought to make some +woman happy—some nice woman—not herself.</p> + +<p>She began a fresh letter and was at the first sentence +when a knock came at the door.</p> + +<p>"Come in," she called.</p> + +<p>In came Louise, looking full of sinister importance. +Her hair, which was never very tidy, looked as if it had +taken an intelligent interest in some crisis.</p> + +<p>Louise glanced round the room at the luggage, at +the coat, at the hat on May's head.</p> + +<p>"Oh, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>, what a desolation!" cried Louise, +and she wrung her hands.</p> + +<p>"I have packed very well, Louise," said May Dashwood. +"I am accustomed to do it—I have no maid."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Page 286]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, what a desolation!" repeated Louise, as she +advanced further into the room. Then she stopped and +announced, with an affectation of horrible composure: +"I come to inform <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> that it is impossible for her +to depart."</p> + +<p>May put down her pen. "What is the matter, +Louise?"</p> + +<p>Louise drew in her breath. "My lady suffers," +she began, and as she proceeded her words flowed more +and more quickly: "while <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> prepares to forsake +her, my lady faints upon the floor in the breakfast +parlour, she expires."</p> + +<p>May rose, her heart beating.</p> + +<p>"She now swallows a glass of brandy and a biscuit +brought by Mrs. Robinson, who is so slow, so slow and +who understands nothing, but has the keys. I call and +I call, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">eh bien</span>, I call—oh, but what slowness, what +insupportable delay."</p> + +<p>May put her letter inside the writing case and moved +away from the writing-table. She was composed now.</p> + +<p>"Is she very ill?" she asked quietly.</p> + +<p>"My lady has died every day for two weeks," continued +Louise; "for many days she has died, and no +one observes it but myself and the angels in heaven. +<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> agonises, over what terrible events I know +not. But they know, the spirits of the dead—they +know and they come. I believe that, for this house, +this Lodgings is gloomy, this Oxford is so full of sombre +thought. My Lady Dashwood martyrs herself for others. +I see it always with <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Monsieur le</span> General Sir John Dashwood, +excellent man as he is, but who insists on catching +severe colds in the head—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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Page 287]</a></span> +to assist at this terrible crisis, that I go to rush upstairs +for <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>. I go to rush, but I am detained! +'Stay!' cries my lady, 'I forbid you to speak of it. +I am not ill—it is an indisposition of the mildest.' You +see, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>, the extraordinary generosity of my Lady +Dashwood! Her soul full of sublime resignation! 'I +go to prevent <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> Mrs. Dashwood's departure,' +I cry! My lady replies with immense self-renunciation, +like that of the blessed saints: 'Say nothing, my poor +Louise. I exist only to do good on this earth. I ask +for nothing for myself. I suffer alone. I endure without +complaint. I speak not of my extreme agony in +the head. I do not mention the insupportable nausea +of the stomach. I subdue my cries! I weep silently, +alone in the presence of my God.'"</p> + +<p>Louise paused for a second for breath.</p> + +<p>Nothing at this moment could have made May +smile. She looked at Louise with gravity.</p> + +<p>"But," continued Louise, with the same vehement +swiftness, "a good moment arrives. The form too +full of Mrs. Robinson hides me as I escape from the +room. I come to <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> here. <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Eh bien!</span>" Here +Louise broke off and, glancing round the room, made +a gesture that implied unpacking May's luggage and +putting everything back in the proper place. "I unpack +for <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>, immediately, while Madame descends +and assures my lady that she does not forsake her at +the supreme moment."</p> + +<p>Louise's eyes now seemed to pierce the space in +front of her, she defied contradiction.</p> + +<p>"I will go and see Lady Dashwood," said May, +calmly. "But don't unpack yet for me. I shall put +her ladyship to bed, Louise. Go and see that everything +is ready, please."</p> + +<p>"I go to countermand <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame's</span> taxi," said Louise, +astutely.</p> + +<p>"You can do that," said May; "I shall wait till<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Page 288]</a></span> +the doctor comes—anyhow. Ask Robinson to telephone +at once."</p> + +<p>May went down to the breakfast-room, and found +Mrs. Robinson's stout form coming out of the door. +Within Lady Dashwood was seated in a chair by the fire.</p> + +<p>"I am perfectly well, May," said Lady Dashwood, +lifting up a white face to her niece as she came up to her. +"I have sent Mrs. Robinson away. That silly old fool, +Louise, has made Robinson telephone for a doctor."</p> + +<p>"Quite right of her," said May, quietly, "and I +shall stop till he has come and gone."</p> + +<p>"You didn't mean to go before lunch?" murmured +Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"I can go after lunch," said May.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood leaned her head back in a weak +manner.</p> + +<p>"Not so convenient to you perhaps, dear," she murmured, +but in a voice that accepted the delay to May's +departure. She accepted it and sighed and stared into +the fire, and said not one word about the Warden, +but she said: "I'm not going to bed. The house will +be empty enough as it is;" and May knew she was +thinking of the Warden's return.</p> + +<p>"You must go to bed," May replied.</p> + +<p>"I can't go to bed, child. I shall stay up and look +after things," said Lady Dashwood, and she knew she +was speaking with guile. "You forget, dear, that—the +house will be so empty!"</p> + +<p>"I shall put you to bed," said May.</p> + +<p>"How do you know I shall remain?" said Lady +Dashwood. "The doctor will say that there is nothing +wrong." She looked white and obstinate and clung +to her chair.</p> + +<p>Then at last May said: "I am going to stay on till +the doctor comes. Like all managing people, you are +absolutely irresponsible about yourself, Aunt Lena. +I shall have to stay and make you obey me."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Page 289]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, I didn't know I was so wicked!" sighed Lady +Dashwood, in a suddenly contented voice. Now she +allowed herself to be helped out of her chair and led +upstairs to her room. "And can you <em>really</em> stay, +May? <em>Really</em>, dear?"</p> + +<p>"I must," said May. "You are so wicked."</p> + +<p>"Oh dear, am I wicked?" said Lady Dashwood. +"I knew my dear old John was very tiresome, but I +didn't know I was!"</p> + +<p>So May remained. What else could she do? She +left Lady Dashwood in Louise's hands and went to her +room. What was to be done about Mr. Bingham? +May looked round the room.</p> + +<p>Her boxes had disappeared. Her clothes were all +put away and the toilet table carefully strewn with her +toilet things. Louise had done it. On the little table +by the bed stood something that had not been there +before. It was a little plaster image of St. Joseph. It +bore the traces of wear and tear from the hands of the +pious believer—also deterioration from dust, and +damage from accidents. Something, perhaps coffee, +had been spilt upon it. The machine-made features +of the face also had shared this accidental ablution, +and one foot was slightly damaged. The saint was +standing upon a piece of folded paper. May pulled +out the paper and unfolded it. Written in faultless +copper-plate were the words: "Louise Dumont prays +for the protection of <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> every day."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Page 290]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> + +<h3>THE FORGIVENESS OF THE FATES</h3> + +<p class="above2">Lady Dashwood submitted gracefully to being put to +bed and propped up by pillows.</p> + +<p>The doctor had come, pronounced his patient very +greatly over-fatigued though not seriously ill, but he +had forbidden her to leave her bed till he gave permission.</p> + +<p>"Keep a strict watch over her," he had said to +May, outside in the corridor. "She has got to the +point when rest will put her right, or fatigue will put +her all wrong."</p> + +<p>When he had gone May came back into her aunt's +room.</p> + +<p>"Now you know what it is to be under orders," she +said with a smile.</p> + +<p>"And what about you, dear?" murmured Lady +Dashwood, sweetly. "You can't stay on, of course, +darling?"</p> + +<p>May frowned to herself and then smiled. "I shall +stay till the doctor comes again, because I can't trust +you, dear aunt, to keep in bed, if I go."</p> + +<p>"You can't trust me," sighed Lady Dashwood, +blissfully. "I am beginning to realise that I am not +the only reasonable person in the world. I suppose it +is good for me, but it is very sad for you, May, to be +sacrificed like this."</p> + +<p>May said she wasn't being sacrificed, and refused +to discuss the matter any longer.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Page 291]</a></span></p> + +<p>So Lady Dashwood lay quietly looking at the narrow +windows, from which college roofs opposite could be +seen in a grey Oxford daylight. She made no reference +to the Warden's return. She did not tell May when he +was expected home, whether he was coming back to +lunch, or whether he was coming by a late afternoon +train. She did not even mention his name. And May, +too, kept up the appearance of not thinking about him. +She merely looked up with a rather strained attention +if the door opened, or there were sounds in the corridor.</p> + +<p>The time came for her to go down to lunch, and +Lady Dashwood did not even say: "You will have to +take lunch alone." But she said: "I wonder what +Marian Potten and Gwendolen are doing?"</p> + +<p>So May went into the dining-room and glanced +round her with apprehension.</p> + +<p>Two places were laid, one for the Warden at the +head of the table and one at his right hand.</p> + +<p>"You expect the Warden?" she asked of Robinson, +who was standing in the room alone, and she came +towards the table apprehensively.</p> + +<p>He pulled out her chair and said: "No, m'm, I +don't think 'e will be in to lunch."</p> + +<p>May sat down and breathed again. "You think +he will be late?" she asked, speaking as one who cares +not, but who needs the information for purposes of +business.</p> + +<p>"'E said to me, m'm," said Robinson, as he handed +a dish to her with old gnarled hands that were a little +shaky but still full of service, "as I was 'andin' 'im 'is +'at what 'e wears in London: 'If I'm not 'ome in time +for lunch, I shall be 'ome by 'alf-past five.'"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes," said May. "Then you'll be putting tea +for him in the library, won't you, Robinson?"</p> + +<p>Robinson assented. "Yes, m'm, if you 'as tea +with 'er ladyship." Then he added, "We're glad, +m'm, that you're stayin' on,"—now he dropped his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Page 292]</a></span> +voice to a confidential whisper, and wore the air of one +who is privileged to communicate private information +to a member of the family—"because that French +Louise is so exactin' and that jealous of Mrs. Robinson, +and no one can't expect a learned gentleman, what 'as +the 'ole college on 'is shoulders and ain't used to ladies, +to know what to do."</p> + +<p>"No, of course not," said May.</p> + +<p>"But we've all noticed," said Robinson, solemnly, +as he poured out some water into May's glass, "as 'ow +'er ladyship's indisposition 'as come on gradual."</p> + +<p>Here he ended his observations, and he went and +stood by his carving table with his accustomed bearing +of humble importance.</p> + +<p>But it would have been a mistake to suppose that +Robinson was really humble. He was, on the contrary, +proud. Proud because he was part of King's College +and had been a part thereof for fifty years, and his father +had been part before him. But his pride went further. +He was proud of the way he waited. He moved about +the room, skimming the edges of the long table and +circumventing chairs and protruding backs of awkward +guests with peculiar skill. Robinson would have had +much sympathy with the Oxford chaplain who offered to +give any other clerical gentlemen a generous handicap +in the Creed and beat them. Robinson, had he been +an ecclesiastic, would have made such a boast himself. +As it was, he prided himself on being able to serve +round an "ontray" on his own side of the table and +lap over two out of the other man's, easy. Robinson +was also proud of having a master with a distinguished +appearance, and this without any treachery to the late +Warden's bald head and exceedingly casual nose. There +was no obligation on Robinson's part to back up the +old Warden against the new, or indeed the new against +the old, because all Wardens were Wardens, and the +College was continuous and eternal.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Page 293]</a></span></p> + +<p>Robinson gloried on there being many thousand +volumes in the library. Mrs. Robinson did not share +his enthusiasm. He enjoyed opening the door to other +Heads of colleges and saying: "Not at 'ome, sir. Is +there any message I can take, sir?" for Robinson felt +that he was negotiating important affairs that affected +the welfare of Oxford. When waiting on the Warden, +Robinson's solemnity was not occasioned by pure +meekness, nor was his deferential smile (when a smile +was suitable) an exposition of snobbery nor the flattery +of the wage-earner. Robinson was gratifying his +own vanity; he was showing how he grasped the +etiquette of his profession. Also he experienced +pleasure in being necessary to a human being whose +manner and tastes were as impressive as they were +unaccountable.</p> + +<p>"There's more of these 'ere periodicals coming in," +he said that very afternoon, as he arranged the lamp +in the library, "though there aren't no more Germans +among 'em, than there ever were before in my time." +He spoke to Robinson Junior, who had followed him +into the library.</p> + +<p>"'E don't read 'em," said Robinson Junior, his +nose elevated, in the act of drawing the curtains.</p> + +<p>"'Ow d'you know?" asked Robinson.</p> + +<p>"They ain't cut, not all of 'em," said Junior.</p> + +<p>"'E don't read the stuff what is familiar to 'im," +explained Robinson, and so saying, he took from some +corner of the room a little table and set it up by a chair +by the fire, for the Warden's tea-tray.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile May Dashwood had taken tea with her +Aunt Lena and then had gone to her own room. So +that when the Warden did arrive, just about half-past +five, he found no one moving about, no one visible. +He came in like a thief in the night, pale and silent. +He glanced round the hall, preoccupied apparently, +but really aware of things that were around him to a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Page 294]</a></span> +high degree of sensitiveness. He moved noiselessly, +rang the bell, and then looked at the table for letters. +Robinson appeared immediately. The Warden's +narrow eyes, that seemed to absorb the light that +fell upon them, rested upon Robinson's face with +that steady but veiled regard with which a master +controls those who are under him.</p> + +<p>The Warden did not ask "Where are the ladies?" +he asked whether Lady Dashwood was in.</p> + +<p>"In 'er room, sir," said Robinson; and he then +proceeded to explain why, and gave the doctor's report. +"Nothin' alarmin', sir."</p> + +<p>The Warden said "Ah!" and looked down at the +table. He glanced over the letters that were waiting +for him. He gathered them in his hands.</p> + +<p>"Tea is in the library for you, sir," said old Robinson; +"I will bring it in a minute."</p> + +<p>The Warden went upstairs.</p> + +<p>He went past the drawing-room and past his bedroom +into the library. He threw his letters down on +the writing-desk, walked to the fire, and then walked +back again to the desk. Then he finally went out of +the room and passed the head of the staircase and up +the two or three steps into the corridor.</p> + +<p>He had been into the corridor three times since the +arrival of his sister. Once when he conducted her to +her room, on her arrival, once again when she had made +alterations in the bedrooms and had asked for his +approval, and then on that wretched night when he +had gone to calm Gwendolen and assure her that there +were no such things as ghosts. Now he went along +over the noiseless floor, anxious to meet no one. Why +was Lena ill? He knew why Lena was ill, but for a +moment he felt wearily vexed with her. Why did she +make things worse? This feeling vanished when he +opened her door and went in, and saw her sitting up +in bed supported by pillows. Then his feeling was of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Page 295]</a></span> +remorse, of anger increased against himself, and himself +only.</p> + +<p>She was turning the pages of a paper, ostentatiously +looking at the illustrations, but she was really waiting +in suspense for his arrival and thinking of nothing +else.</p> + +<p>She looked up at him with a strange smile. +"Back!" she said. "And you find me malingering!"</p> + +<p>He came up to the bed. "You've been ill," he +said, and he did not return her smile. "I'm very sorry, +Lena."</p> + +<p>"No, only tired," she said. "And I am already +better, Jim," she went on, and now she showed great +nervousness and her voice was jerky. "I have a letter +for you. I want you to read it at once, dear, but not +here; read it in the library. Don't stay now; go +away, dear, and come and see me afterwards."</p> + +<p>She gave him the letter with the handwriting downwards. +She had thought this out beforehand. She +feared the sight of his emotion. She could not bear it—just +now. She was still feeling very shaky and very +weak.</p> + +<p>He took the letter and turned it over to see the +handwriting. She thought he made a movement of +surprise. His face she did not look at, she looked at +the paper that was lying before her. She longed for +him to go away, now that the letter was safely in his +hands. He guessed, no doubt, what the letter was +about! He must guess!</p> + +<p>She little knew. He no more guessed its contents +than he would have guessed that in order to secure his +salvation some one would be allowed to rise from the +dead! The letter he regarded as ominous—of some +trouble, some dispute, something inevitable and +miserable.</p> + +<p>"I hope you have everything you want, Lena," he +said as he walked to the door. "I hope Louise doesn't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Page 296]</a></span> +fuss you." Then he asked: "Have you ever fainted +before?"</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood said she hadn't, but added that +people over fifty generally fainted, and that she would +not have gone to bed had not dear May insisted on it +as well as Louise.</p> + +<p>He went out. He found the corridor silent. He +walked along with that letter in his pocket, feeling a +great solitude within him. When he passed Gwendolen's +door, something gripped him painfully. And +then there was <em>her</em> door, too!</p> + +<p>He returned to the library and sat down by the tea-table +and the fire.</p> + +<p>From his chair his eyes rested upon the great +window at the end of the library. It was screened by +curtains now. It was there, at that exact spot by the +right-hand curtain, that Gwendolen had fancied she +saw the ghost. A ghost, a thin filmy shape was probably +her only conception of something Spiritual. +That the story of the Barber's ghost, the story +that he came as a prophet of ill tidings to the Warden +of the College, seemed to fit in with recent events, +the events of the last few days; this only made +the whole episode more repulsive. He must train +Gwendolen—if indeed she were capable of being +trained! The mother would be perhaps even a +greater obstacle to a sane and useful life than Gwendolen +herself.</p> + +<p>Very likely Gwendolen's letter was to announce +that Lady Belinda insisted on coming at once, whether +there was room for her or not; or possibly the letter +contained some foolish enclosure from Lady Belinda, +and Gwendolen was shy of communicating it, but had +been ordered to do so.</p> + +<p>Possibly the letter contained a cutting announcing +the engagement! He had glanced through the <i>Times</i> +yesterday and this morning very hastily. Gwendolen's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Page 297]</a></span> +mother might be capable of announcing the engagement +before it had actually taken place!</p> + +<p>He poured out a cup of tea and drank it, and then +took the letter from his pocket.</p> + +<p>He started at the opening of his door. Robinson +brought in an American visitor, who came with an +introduction. The introduction was lying on the desk, +not yet opened. The Warden rose—escape was impossible. +He put the letter back into his pocket.</p> + +<p>"Bring fresh tea, Robinson," said the Warden.</p> + +<p>But the stranger declined it. He had business in +view. He had a string of solemn questions to ask upon +world matters. He wanted the answers. He was +writing a book, he wanted copy. He had come, metaphorically +speaking, note-book and pencil in hand.</p> + +<p>The Warden, with his mind upon private matters, +looked gloomily at this visitor to Oxford. Even about +"world" matters, with that letter in his pocket, he +found it difficult to tolerate an interviewer. How was +he to get through his work if he felt like this?</p> + +<p>The American, too, became uneasy. He found the +Warden unwilling to give him any dogmatic pronouncements +on the subject of Literature, on the +subject of Education, or the subject of Woman now and +Woman in the immediate future. The Warden declined +to say whether the Church of England would work +for union or whether it was going to split up and +dwindle into rival sects. He was also guarded in his +remarks about the political situation in England. He +would not prophesy the future of Labour, or the fate +of Landowners. The Warden was not encouraging. +With that letter in his pocket the Warden found it +difficult to assume the patient attention that was due +to note-book visitors from afar.</p> + +<p>This was a bad beginning, surely! How was the +future to be met?</p> + +<p>The American was about to take his leave, considerably<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Page 298]</a></span> +disappointed with the Heads of Oxford colleges, +but he suspected that American neutrality +might be at the bottom of the Warden's reticence.</p> + +<p>"I am not one of those Americans," he said, rising, +"who regard President Woodrow Wilson as the only +statesman in the world at this present moment."</p> + +<p>The Warden threw his cigarette into the fire. +"Wilson has one qualification for statesmanship," +he said, rising and speaking as if he was suddenly +roused to interest by this highly contentious subject.</p> + +<p>The American was surprised. "I presume, coming +from you, Professor, that you speak of the President's +academic training?" he said.</p> + +<p>"I am not a Professor," said the Warden, at last +sufficiently awakened from his preoccupation to make +a correction that he should have made before. "The +University has not conferred that honour upon me. +Yes, I mean an academic training. When a man who +is trained to think meets a new problem in politics +he pauses to consider it; he takes time; and for this +the crowd jeer at him! The so-called practical man +rarely pauses; he doesn't see, unless he has genius, +that he mustn't treat a new problem as if it were an +old one. He decides at once, and for this the crowd +admire him. 'He knows his own mind,' they say!"</p> + +<p>The Warden spoke with a ring of sarcasm in his +voice. It was a sarcasm secretly directed against himself. +That letter in his pocket was the cause.</p> + +<p>He had been confronted in the small world of his +own life with a new problem—marriage, and he ought +to have understood that it was new, new to himself, +complicated by his position and needing thought; and +he had not thought, he had acted. He had belied +the use and dignity of his training. Had he any +excuse? There was the obligation to marry, and there +was "pity." Were these excuses? They were +miserable excuses.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Page 299]</a></span></p> + +<p>But he had no time to argue further with himself, +the inexorable voice of the man standing opposite to +him broke in.</p> + +<p>"In your view, Warden, the practical man is too +previous?" said the American, making notes (in his +own mind).</p> + +<p>"He is too confident," said the Warden. "It is +difficult enough to make an untrained man accept a +new fact. It is still more difficult to make him think +out a new method!"</p> + +<p>"I opine," said the American, "that in your view +President Wilson has only one qualification for statesmanship?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't say that," said the Warden. "He may +have the other, I mean character. Wilson may have +the moral courage to act in accordance with his mental +insight, and if so, if he has both the mental and moral +force necessary, he might well be, what you do not +yourself hold, the only living statesman in the world. +Time will tell."</p> + +<p>Here the Warden smiled a curious smile and made +a movement to indicate that the visit must come to +an end. He must be alone—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.</p> + +<p>When the door closed upon the stranger, the +Warden, sick with himself and sick with the world, +turned to his desk. His letters must be looked through +at once. Very well, let him begin with the letter in +his pocket.</p> + +<p>But he first sorted his other letters, throwing away +advertisements and useless papers. Then he took the +letter from his pocket. The very handwriting showed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Page 300]</a></span> +incapacity and slackness. At dinner he would have +the writer of this letter on one side of him, and on the +other—he dared not think! The Warden ground his +teeth and tore open the letter, and then a knock came +at his door.</p> + +<p>"Come in," he said almost fiercely.</p> + +<p>Robinson came in. "I was to remind you, sir, +that Mr. Bingham would be here to dinner."</p> + +<p>So much the better. "Very well, Robinson," he +said.</p> + +<p>Robinson withdrew.</p> + +<p>The letter was a long one. It was addressed at +the top "Potten End."</p> + +<p>"Potten End," said the Warden, half aloud. This +was strange! Then she was not in the house!</p> + +<p>The letter began—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Dr. Middleton</span>,<br /></p> + +<p>"When you get this letter I shall have left +your house and I shan't return. I hope you will forgive +me. I don't know how to tell you, but I have +broken off our engagement——"</p></div> + + +<p class="above2">The Warden stared at the words. There were +more to come, but these—these that he had read! +Were they true?</p> + +<p>"My God!" he exclaimed, below his breath, "I +don't deserve it!" and he made some swift strides in +the room; "I don't deserve it!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Page 301]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> + +<h3>ALMA MATER</h3> + +<p class="above2">The Warden went to the door and turned the key. +Why, he did not know. He simply did it instinctively. +Then he finished reading the letter; and having read +it through, read it again a second time. He was a +free man, and he had obtained his freedom through +a circumstance that was pitifully silly, a circumstance +almost incredibly sordid and futile.</p> + +<p>Her humiliation was his humiliation, for had he +not chosen her to be his companion for life? Had +he not at this time, when the full responsibility of +manhood was placed on every man, had he not chosen +as the mother of his children, a moral weakling?</p> + +<p>He locked the letter up in his desk and paced the +length of the room once or twice. Then he threw +himself into a chair and, clasping his head in his hands, +remained there motionless. Could he be the same +man who had a few days ago, of his own free will, +without any compulsion, without any kind of necessity, +offered himself for life to a girl of whom he knew +absolutely nothing, except that she had had a miserable +upbringing and an heredity that he could not +respect? Was it her slender beauty, her girlishness, +that had made him so passionately pitiful?</p> + +<p>From an ordinary man this action would have been +folly, but from him it was an offence! A very great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Page 302]</a></span> +offence, now, in these times. On the desk lay some +pages of notes—notes of a course of public lectures +he was about to give, lectures on the responsibility +of citizenship, in which he was going to make a strong +appeal to his audience for a more conscious philosophy +of life. He was going to urge the necessity for greater +reverence for education. He was going to speak not +only of the burden of Empire, but of the new burden, +the burden of Democracy, a Democracy that is young, +independent, and feeling its way. He was going to +speak of the true meaning of a free Democracy, no +chaotic meaningless freedom, but the sane and ordered +freedom of educated men, Democracy open-eyed and +training itself, like a strong man, to run a race for +some far-off, some desired goal to which "all creation +moves."</p> + +<p>He was in these lectures going to pose not only as +a practical man but as a preacher, one of those who +"point the way"; and meanwhile he had bound himself +to a girl who not only would be unable to grasp +the meaning of any strenuous moral effort, but who +would have to be herself guarded from every petty +temptation that came in her way. He was (so he said +to himself, as he groaned in his spirit) one of those +many preachers who, in all ages, have talked of moral +progress, and who have missed the road that they +themselves have pointed out!</p> + +<p>He was fiercely angry with himself because he +had called the emotion that he had felt for Gwendolen +in her mischance a "passionate pity." It was +a very different emotion from that which wrung him +when his old pupils, one by one, gave up their youth +and hope in the service of their country. That indeed +was a passionate pity, a pity full of remorseful gratitude, +full of great pride in their high purpose and their +noble self-sacrifice. On his mantelpiece, within arm's +length of him, lay an open book. It was a book of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Page 303]</a></span> +poems, and there were verses that the Warden had +read more than once.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"City of hope and golden dreaming."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>A farewell to Oxford. It was the farewell of youth in +its heyday to</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"All the things we hoped to do."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And then followed the lines that pierced him now with +poignant sadness as he thought of them—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Dreams that will never be clothed in being,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mother, your sons have left with you."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The Warden groaned within himself. He was +part of that Alma Mater; that city left behind in +charge of that sacred gift!</p> + +<p>He loathed himself, and this deep self-humiliation of +a scrupulous gentleman was what his sister had shrunk +from witnessing. It was this deep humiliation that +May Dashwood fled from when she hid herself in +her room that afternoon.</p> + +<p>The Warden was not a man who spent much +time in introspection. He had no subtlety of self-analysis, +but what insight he had was spent in +condemning himself, not in justifying himself. But +now he added this to his self-accusations, that if +May Dashwood had not suddenly stepped across his +path and revealed to him true womanhood, gilded—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.</p> + +<p>The Warden sat on, crushed by the weight of his +humiliation. And he had been forgiven, he had been +rescued from his own folly. His mistake had been +wiped out, his offence pardoned.</p> + +<p>And what about Gwendolen herself? What about +this poor solitary foolish girl? What was to be her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Page 304]</a></span> +future? Swiftly she had come into his life and swiftly +gone! What, indeed, was to become of her and her +life?</p> + +<p>And so the Warden sat on till the dressing-bell +rang, and then he got up from his chair blindly.</p> + +<p>He had been forgiven and rescued too easily. He +did not deserve it. How was it that he had dared to +quote to May Dashwood those solemn, awful words—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And the glory of the Lord is all in all!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>It must have seemed to her a piece of arrogant self-righteousness.</p> + +<p>And she had said: "What is the glory of the +Lord?" and had answered the question herself. Her +answer had condemned him; the glory of the Lord +was not merely self-restraint, stoical resignation, it was +something more, it was "Love" that "beareth all +things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth +all things."</p> + +<p>"For he that loveth not his brother whom he +hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not +seen?"</p> + +<p>The Warden dressed, moving about automatically, +not thinking of what he was doing. When he left his +bedroom he passed the head of the staircase. There +were letters lying on the table, just as letters had lain +waiting for him on that evening, on that Monday +evening, when he found Gwendolen reading the letter +from her mother and crying over it. Within those few +short days he had risked the happiness and the usefulness +of his whole life, and—God had forgiven him.</p> + +<p>He passed the table and went on. Lena must have +been waiting for him, expecting him! Perhaps she +had been worrying. The thought made him walk +rapidly along the corridor.</p> + +<p>He knocked at her door. Louise opened it.</p> + +<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Entrez, Monsieur</span>," she said, in the tone and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Page 305]</a></span> +manner of one who mounts guard and whose permission +must be obtained.</p> + +<p>She stood aside to let him pass, and then went out +and pulled the door to after her.</p> + +<p>The Warden walked up to the bed.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood's face was averted from him. +"Jim," she said wistfully, and she put her hand +over her eyes and waited for the sound of his +voice.</p> + +<p>She was there, waiting for him to show her what +sort of sympathy he needed. He did not speak. He +came round to the side of the bed where she was lying, +by the windows. There he stood for a moment looking +down upon her. She did not look up. She looked, +indeed, like a culprit, like one humbled, who longed +for pardon but did not like to ask for it. And it was +this profound humble sympathy that smote his heart +through and through. What if anything had happened +to this dear sister of his? What if her unhappiness +had been too great a strain upon her?</p> + +<p>He knelt down by the bed and laid his face on her +shoulder, just as he used to do when he was a child. +Neither of them spoke. She moved her hand and +clasped his arm that he placed over her, and they remained +like this for some minutes, while a great peace +enclosed them. In those few minutes it seemed as if +years dropped away from them and they were young +again. She the motherly young woman, and he the +motherless boy to whom she stood as mother. All the +interval was forgotten and there they were still, mother +and son.</p> + +<p>When at last he raised himself he found that her +eyes were dim with tears. As to himself, he felt +strangely quieted and composed. He pulled a chair +to the bedside and sat down, not facing her, but sideways, +and he rested his elbow on the edge of her pillow +his other hand resting on hers.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Page 306]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Did you get through all you wanted to, in Town?" +she asked, smiling through her tears.</p> + +<p>"Lena!" he said in a low voice, "you want to +spare me. You always do."</p> + +<p>His voice overwhelmed her. His humility pierced +her like a sword.</p> + +<p>"It was all my fault, dear," she began; "entirely +my fault."</p> + +<p>"No," he said, in a low emphatic voice.</p> + +<p>"It was." She reiterated this with almost a sullen +persistence.</p> + +<p>"How could it possibly be your fault?" he said, +with deep self-reproach.</p> + +<p>"It was," she said, "though I cannot make +you understand it. Jim, you must forget it all, +for my sake. You must forget it at once, you have +things to do."</p> + +<p>"I have things to do," he said. "I seemed in +danger of forgetting those things," he said huskily. +"As to forgetting, that is a difficult matter."</p> + +<p>"You must put it aside," she said, and now she +raised herself on her pillows and stared anxiously into +his face. "You made a mistake such as the best man +<em>would</em> make," she argued passionately. "How can +a strong man suspect weakness in others? You know +how it is, we suspect in others virtues and vices that +we have ourselves. You know what I mean, dear. +A drunkard always suspects other men of wanting to +drink!" and she laughed a little, and her voice trembled +with an excitement she found it difficult to suppress. +"Thieves always suspect others of thieving. An +amorous man sees sex motives in everything. Do you +suppose an honourable man doesn't also suspect others +of honourable intentions?"</p> + +<p>He made no reply.</p> + +<p>"Besides, you have always been eager to think +the best of women. You've credited them, even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Page 307]</a></span> +with mental gifts that they haven't got! You have +been over-loyal to them all your life! And now"—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.</p> + +<p>The Warden leant over her. Her special pleading +for him was so familiar to him. She had corrected +his faults, admonished him when necessary, but had +always upheld his self-respect, even in small matters. +She was fighting now for the preservation of his sense of +honour.</p> + +<p>"Anyhow, darling," she said, "you must forget!"</p> + +<p>"You are exhausted," he said, "in trying to make +black white. I ought not to have come in and let you +talk. Lena, what has happened this week has knocked +you up. I know it, and even now you are worrying +because of me. I will forget it, dear, if you will pick +up again and get strong."</p> + +<p>"I am better already," she said, and the very +faintest smile was on her face. "I am rather tired, +but I shall be all right to-morrow. All I want is a +good night's sleep. I want to sleep for hours, and I +shall sleep for hours now that I have seen you."</p> + +<p>A knock came on the door.</p> + +<p>"They are looking for you, dear," said Lady +Dashwood.</p> + +<p>The Warden slowly rose from his seat. "I must +go now, Lena," he said, "but I shall come in again +the last thing. I shall come in without knocking if I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Page 308]</a></span> +may, because I hope you will be asleep, and I don't +want to wake you."</p> + +<p>"Very well," she said smiling. "You'll find me +asleep. I feel so calm, so happy."</p> + +<p>He bent down and kissed her and then went to +the door. She turned her head and looked after him. +Louise was at the door.</p> + +<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Monsieur</span> Bingham is arrived," she said; "I +regret to have disturbed <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Monsieur</span>."</p> + +<p>The Warden walked slowly down the corridor. +There was something that he dreaded, something that +was going to happen—the first meeting of the eyes—the +first moment when May Dashwood would look at +him, knowing all that had happened!</p> + +<p>He passed the table again on which lay his letters. +He would look through all that pile of correspondence +after Bingham had gone.</p> + +<p>Robinson was hovering at the stairhead. "Mr. +Bingham is in the drawing-room, sir."</p> + +<p>"Alone?" asked the Warden.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Dashwood is there, sir," said Robinson.</p> + +<p>"How have you arranged the table?" asked the +Warden.</p> + +<p>"I've put Mrs. Dashwood close on your right, +sir," said Robinson, secretly amazed at the question; +"Mr. Bingham on your left, sir."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the Warden. "Yes, of course!" +passing his servant with an abstracted air.</p> + +<p>"Shall I announce dinner, sir?" asked Robinson, +hurrying behind and measuring his strength for what +he was about to perform in the exercise of his duty.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the Warden, still moving on, and now +near the drawing-room door.</p> + +<p>Robinson made a wondrous skip, a miracle it was +of service in honour of the Warden; he flew past his +master like an aged but agile Mercury and pounced +upon the drawing-room door handle. Then he threw<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Page 309]</a></span> +the door open. He waited till the Warden had advanced +to a sufficient distance in the room towards +the guests who were waiting by the fireside, and then +he uttered, in his penetrating but quavering voice, the +familiar and important word—</p> + +<p>"Dinner!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Page 310]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> + +<h3>DINNER</h3> + +<p class="above2">"I am sorry I'm late," said the Warden quietly, and +he looked at both his guests. "I have been with +Lady Dashwood. I must apologise, Bingham, for her +absence. I expect Mrs. Dashwood has already told +you that she is not well."</p> + +<p>The bow with which the Warden offered his arm +to May was one which included more than the mere +formal invitation to go down to dinner, it meant a +greeting after absence and an acknowledgment that +she was acting as his hostess. It was one of those +ceremonial bows which men are rarely able to make +without looking pompous. He had the reputation, +in Oxford, of being one of the very few men who, in +his tutorial days, could present men for degrees with +academic grace.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, Bingham," he said; "I have only +just returned, or I might have secured a fourth to +dinner—yes, even in war time."</p> + +<p>May went downstairs, wondering. Wondering how +it was that the worst was so soon over, and that, after +all, instead of feeling a painful pity for the man whose +arm held hers in a light grasp, she felt strangely timorous +of him.</p> + +<p>She was profoundly thankful for the presence of +Bingham, who was following behind, cheerful and +chatty, having put aside, apparently, all recollection<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Page 311]</a></span> +of the conversation of the evening before. Yes, whatever +his secret thoughts might have been, Bingham +appeared to have forgotten that there were any moonlight +nights in the streets of Oxford. For this, May +blessed him.</p> + +<p>They entered the long dining-room and, sitting at +the Warden's end of the table, formed a bright living +space of light and movement. Outside that bright +space the room gradually sombred to the dark panelled +walls. The Warden, in his high-backed chair, looked +the very impersonation of Oxford. This was what +struck Bingham as he glanced at his host, and the +thought suggested that hater of Oxford, the Warden's +relative, Bernard Boreham.</p> + +<p>"I have just got your friend Boreham to undertake +a job of work," said Bingham. "It'll do him a +world of good to have work, a library to catalogue for +the use of our prisoners. He wanted to shove off the +job to some chaplain. I was to procure the chaplain, +just as if all men weren't scarce, even chaplains!"</p> + +<p>Composed as the Warden was, he looked at Bingham +with something of eager attention on his face, as if +relying on him for support and conversation.</p> + +<p>"Poor old Boreham, he is a connection of mine by +marriage," he said, and as the words fell from his lips, +he, in his present sensitive mood, recoiled from them, +for they implied that Boreham was not a friend. +Why was he posing as one who was too superior to +choose Boreham as a friend?</p> + +<p>"Talking of chaplains," said Bingham, who knew +nothing of what was going on in the Warden's mind, +and thought this sudden stop came from dislike of any +reference to Boreham—"talking of parsons, why not +release all parsons in West End churches for the war?"</p> + +<p>A smile came into May's face at the extreme sweetness +of Bingham's voice; a warning that he was about +to say something biting.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Page 312]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Release all parsons who have smart congregations," +continued Bingham, in honied tones; "parsons +with congregations of jolly, well-dressed women, women +who enjoy having their naughtiness slanged from the +pulpit just as they enjoy having their photographs in +the picture papers. Their spiritual necessities would +be more than adequately provided for if they were +given a dummy priest and a gramophone."</p> + +<p>May's smile seemed to stimulate Bingham's imagination.</p> + +<p>"To waste on them a real parson with a soul and +a rudimentary intellect," he went on, "is like giving +a glass of Moselle to an agricultural labourer when he +would be happy with a mug of beer. But the Church +wastes its energies even in this time of heartbreakings."</p> + +<p>"I should like to see you, Bingham," said the +Warden, smiling too, and turning his narrow eyes, +in his slow deliberate manner, towards his guest, +"as chairman to a committee of English bishops, on +the Reconstruction of the Church."</p> + +<p>"I've no quarrel with our bishops," said Bingham; +"I don't want them to extol every new point of view +as they pass along. I don't expect them to behave +like young men. Nor do I expect them to be like the +Absolute, without 'body, parts or passions.' My indictment +is not even against that mere drop in the +ocean, 'good Christian souls,' but against humanity +and human nature!" Bingham looked from one to +the other of his listeners. "Until now, the only people +we have taken quite seriously are the very well dressed +and the—well, the undressed. The two classes overlap +continually. But now we've got to take everybody +seriously; we are going to have a Democracy. Human +nature has got a new tool, and the tool is Democracy. +The new tool is to be put into the same foolish old +hands, and we shall very soon discover what we shall +call 'the sins of Democracy.' What is fundamentally<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Page 313]</a></span> +wrong with us is what apparently we can't help: it's +that we are ourselves, that we are human beings." +Bingham smiled into his plate. "We adopt Christianity, +and because we are human beings we make +it intellectually rigid and morally sloppy. We are +patronising Democracy, and we shall make it intellectually +rigid and morally sloppy too—if we don't +take care. Everything we handle becomes intellectually +rigid and morally sloppy. And yet we still fancy +that, if only we could get hold of the right tools, our +hands would do the right work."</p> + +<p>"The Reconstruction of Human Nature is what +you are demanding," said the Warden.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's what we want," sighed Bingham. +"When we have got rid of the Huns, we must begin +to think about it."</p> + +<p>"If you saw the children I have seen, Mr. Bingham," +said May, quietly, "you would want to begin at once, +and I think you would be hopeful."</p> + +<p>There was on the Warden's face a sudden passionate +assent that Bingham detected.</p> + +<p>"All men," said Bingham, leaning back in his chair +and regarding his two listeners with veiled attention—"all +men like to hear a woman say sweet, tender, +hopeful things, even if they don't believe them. As +for myself, Mrs. Dashwood, I admit that your 'higher +optimism' haunts me too at times; at rare times +when, for instance, the weather in Oxford is dry and +bright and bracing."</p> + +<p>If he had for a moment doubted it since the afternoon +at the Hardings', Bingham was now sure, as sure +as a man can be of what is unconfessed in words, that +between this man and woman sitting at the table with +him was some secret sensitive interest that was not +friendship.</p> + +<p>How did this conviction affect Bingham and Bingham's +spirits? It certainly did not put a stop to his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Page 314]</a></span> +flow of talk. Rather, he talked the more; he was even +more sweetly cynical and amiably scintillating than +usual. If his heart was wounded, and he himself was +not sure whether it was or not, he hid that heart successfully +in a sheath of his own sparks.</p> + +<p>A pause came when Robinson put out the light +over the carving-table and withdrew with Robinson +Junior. The dining-room was silent. Bingham drank +some wine, the Warden mused, and May Dashwood sat +with her eyes on a glass of water by her, looking at it +as if she could see some vision in its transparency. +The fire was glowing a deep red in the great stone +chimney-piece at the further end of the room. A coal +fell forward upon the hearth with a strangely solitary +sound. Bingham glanced towards the fire and then +round the room, and then at his host, and lastly at +May Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"I heard a rumour," he said, and he took a sip of +his claret, "that your college ghost had made an appearance!"</p> + +<p>There came another silence in the room.</p> + +<p>"One doesn't know how such rumours come about," +continued Bingham; "perhaps you hadn't even heard +of this one?" He looked across at May and round +at the Warden. Neither of them seemed to be aware +that a question was being asked.</p> + +<p>"I didn't know King's even claimed a ghost," +said Bingham again. "I've heard of the ghost +of Shelley in the High," he added, smiling. "A +ghost for the tourist who comes to see the Shelley +Memorial."</p> + +<p>May looked down rather closely at the table.</p> + +<p>The Warden moved stiffly. "I don't believe +Shelley would want to come," he said. "He always +despised his Alma Mater."</p> + +<p>"He was a bit of an <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">enfant terrible</i>," said Bingham, +"from the tutor's point of view."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Page 315]</a></span></p> + +<p>May raised her eyes with relief; the Warden had +parried the question of the ghost with skill.</p> + +<p>"And I don't believe," said the Warden, "that +any one returns who has merely roystered within our +walls," and he smiled.</p> + +<p>Bingham was now looking very attentively at the +Warden out of his dark eyes.</p> + +<p>"Jeremy Bentham," he said, "seems to have been +afraid of ghosts, when he was an undergraduate here. +He was afraid of barging against them on dark college +staircases. It's a fear I can't grasp. I would much +rather come into collision with any ghost than with +the Stroke of the 'Varsity Eight, whether the staircase +was dark or not."</p> + +<p>"If there are ghosts," said the Warden, pensively, +"I should expect to see Cranmer, on some wild night, +wandering near the places where he endured his passion +and his death. Or I should expect to see Laud pacing +the streets, amazed at the order and discipline of +modern Oxford. If personal attachment could bring +a man from the grave," he went on, meeting Bingham's +eyes with a smile, "why shouldn't that least ghostly +of all scholars, your old master, Jowett—why shouldn't +he walk at night when Balliol is asleep?"</p> + +<p>"Then there was nothing in the rumour," +said Bingham, "that your King's ghost has turned +up?"</p> + +<p>"The Warden doesn't believe in ghosts," said May, +looking across the table eagerly. She remembered +how he had stood by the bedside of Gwendolen +that night. She recalled the room vividly, the +gloom of the room and he alone standing in the light +thrown upon him by the lamp. She could recall every +tone of his voice as he said: "You thought you saw +something. You made a mistake. You saw nothing, +you imagined that you saw—there was nothing," and +how his voice convinced <em>her</em>, as she stood by the fire<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Page 316]</a></span> +and listened. How long ago was that—only three +days—it seemed like a month.</p> + +<p>"No," said the Warden, "I don't believe in ghosts. +At least, I don't believe that our dead"—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."</p> + +<p>May's eyes dropped! What the Warden was saying +stabbed her, not merely because of the words he said, +but because his voice conveyed the sense of that +poignant pain.</p> + +<p>"Such men as I speak of," he went on, "Oxford +must always have possessed, even in the boisterous +days when you fellows of All Souls," he said, addressing +Bingham, "used to pull your doors off their hinges to +make bonfires in honour of the mallard. There always +have been these men, students shy and sensitive, +shrinking from the rougher side of the ordinary man, +shrinking from ordinary social life; men who are only +courageous in their devotion to learning and to truth; +men who are lonely with that awful loneliness of those +who live in the world of thoughts. I knew one such man +myself. Those who believe in ghosts may come upon +the shades of these men in the passages and in the +cloisters at night, or hiding in the dark recesses of our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Page 317]</a></span> +college windows. Why, I can feel them everywhere—and +yet I don't believe in ghosts." The Warden placed +his elbows upon the table and rested his chin upon his +hands, and looked down at the table-cloth.</p> + +<p>May said nothing; she was listening, her face bent +but expressive even to her eyebrows.</p> + +<p>"Neither do I," said Bingham, in an altered voice. +"I don't believe in ghosts, and yet, what do we know +of this world? We talk of it glibly. But what do we +know of the forces which make up the phantasmagoria +that we call the World? What do we know of this +vast universe? We perceive something of it by touch, +by sight, sound and smell. These are the doors through +which its forces penetrate the brain of man. These +doors are our way of 'being aware' of life. The +psychology of man is in its infancy. And remember"—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.</p> + +<p>"And we don't even know whether our ways of +perceiving are the only ways," said the Warden.</p> + +<p>"Anyhow," said Bingham, turning to him, "the +ghosts you 'feel,' and which you and I don't believe +in, belong to the old Oxford, the Oxford which is gone."</p> + +<p>There came a sudden silence in the long room, and +May felt that she ought to make a move. She looked +at the Warden.</p> + +<p>"That Oxford," continued Bingham, "is gone for +ever. It began to go when men hedged it round with +red brick, and went to live under red-tiled roofs with +wives and children."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it has gone," said the Warden. "Must you +leave us!" he asked, rising, as May looked at him and +made a movement to rise.</p> + +<p>Bingham rose to his feet, but he stood with his hand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Page 318]</a></span> +holding the foot of his glass and gazing into its crimson +depths.</p> + +<p>"Pardon, Middleton! Mrs. Dashwood, one moment," +he said, and he raised his glass solemnly till it +was almost on a level with his dark face. "Will you +pledge me?" he asked. "To the old Oxford that is +past and gone!"</p> + +<p>The Warden and May were both drinking water. +They raised their glasses and touched Bingham's wine +which glowed in the light from above, almost suggesting +something sacramental. And Bingham himself looked +like a smooth, swarthy priest of medięval story, half-serious +and half-gay, disguised in modern dress.</p> + +<p>"To the Oxford of sacred memory," he said.</p> + +<p>They drank.</p> + +<p>May was thinking deeply and as she was about to +place her glass back upon the table, the thought that +was struggling for expression came to her. She lifted +her glass: "To the Oxford that is to be," she said +gently. She glanced first at Bingham, and then her +eyes rested for a moment upon the Warden.</p> + +<p>Bingham watched her keenly. He could see that +at that moment she had no thought of herself. Her +thoughts were of Oxford alone, and, Bingham guessed, +with the man with whom she identified Oxford.</p> + +<p>Bingham hesitated to raise his glass. Was it a +flash of jealousy that went through him? A jealousy +of the new Oxford and all that it might mean to the +two human beings beside him? If it was jealousy it +died out as swiftly as it had come.</p> + +<p>He raised his glass.</p> + +<p>"To the Oxford of the Future," said the Warden.</p> + +<p>"<span lang="la" xml:lang="la">Ad multos annos</span>," said Bingham.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Page 319]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXX</h2> + +<h3>THE END OF BELINDA AND CO.</h3> + +<p class="above2">Lady Dashwood professed to be very much better the +next morning when May looked in to see how she had +slept.</p> + +<p>"I'm a new woman," she said to May; "I slept +till seven, and then, my dear, I began to think, and +what do you think my thoughts were?"</p> + +<p>May shook her head. "You thought it was Sunday +morning."</p> + +<p>"Quite true," said Lady Dashwood; "I heard the +extra bells going on round us. No, what I was thinking +of was, what on earth Marian Potten did with Gwendolen +yesterday afternoon. I'm quite sure she will +have made her useful. I can picture Marian making +her guest put on a big apron and some old Potten +gloves and taking her out into the garden to gather +beans. I can picture them gathering beans till tea-time. +Marian is sure to be storing beans, and she +wouldn't let the one aged gardener she has got left +waste his time on gathering beans. I can see Marian +raking the pods into a heap and setting fire to the +heap. I imagined that after tea Gwendolen played the +'Reverie' by Slapovski. After dinner: 'Patience.'"</p> + +<p>May pondered.</p> + +<p>"And now. May," said Lady Dashwood, looking +tired in spite of her theory that she had become a new +woman, "it's a lovely day; even Louise allows that +the sun is shining, and I can't have you staying indoors<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Page 320]</a></span> +on my account. I won't allow you in my bedroom +to-day. I shall be very busy."</p> + +<p>"No!" said May, reproachfully. "I shall not +allow business."</p> + +<p>"I'm just going to write a letter to my dear old +John, whom I've treated shamefully for a week, only +sending him a scrawl on half a page. Now, I want +you to go to church, or else for a walk. I can tell you +what the doctor says when you come back."</p> + +<p>May said neither "Yes" nor "No." She laughed +a little and went out of the room.</p> + +<p>In the breakfast-room the Warden was already +there. They greeted each other and sat down together, +and talked strict commonplaces till the meal was over. +He did not ask May what she was going to do, neither +did she ask him any questions. They both were following +a line of action that they thought was the right +one. Neither intended meeting the other unless circumstances +compelled the meeting; circumstances +like breakfast, lunch and dinner. It was clear to both +of them that, except on these occasions, they had no +business with each other. The Warden was clear +about it because he was a man still ashamed.</p> + +<p>May was clear that she had no business to see the +Warden except when necessity occasioned it, because +each moment made her more unfaithful to the memory +of the dead, to the memory of the dead man who could +no longer claim her, who had given away his all at the +call of duty and who had no power to hold her now. +So she, too, being honourably proud, felt ashamed in +the presence of the Warden.</p> + +<p>All that morning was wasted. The doctor did not +come, and May spent the time waiting for him. Lady +Dashwood sat up in bed and wrote an apparently interminable +letter to her husband. Whenever May +appeared she said: "Go away, May!" and then she +looked long and wistfully at her niece.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Page 321]</a></span></p> + +<p>Two or three men came to lunch and went into the +library afterwards with the Warden, and May went to +her Aunt Lena's room.</p> + +<p>"The doctor won't come now till after three, May, +so you must go out, or you will really grieve me," said +Lady Dashwood. "Jim will take you out. He came +in just after you left me before lunch, and I told him +you would go out."</p> + +<p>"You are supposed to be resting," said May, "and +I can't have you making arrangements, dear Aunt +Lena. I shall do exactly what I please, and shall not +even tell you what I please to do. I do believe," she +added, as she shook up the pillows, "that in the next +world, dear, you will want to make plans for God, and +that will get you into serious trouble."</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood sighed deeply. "Oh dear, oh +dear," she said, "I suppose I must go on pretending +I'm ill."</p> + +<p>May shook her head at her and pulled down the +blinds, and left her in the darkness suitable for repose.</p> + +<p>The Warden had not mentioned a walk. Perhaps he +hadn't found an opportunity with those men present! +Should she go for a walk alone? She found herself +dressing, putting on her things with a feverish haste. +Then she took off her coat and sat down, and took her +hat off and held it on her knees.</p> + +<p>She thought she heard the sound of a voice in the +corridor outside, and she put on her hat with trembling +fingers and caught up the coat and scarf and her gloves.</p> + +<p>She went out into the corridor and found it empty +and still. She went to the head of the stairs. There +was no sound coming from the library. But even if +the Warden were still there with the other men, she +might not hear any sounds of their talk. They might +be there or they might not. It was impossible to tell.</p> + +<p>Perhaps he had gone to look for her in the drawing-room +and, finding no one there, had gone out.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Page 322]</a></span></p> + +<p>The drawing-room door was open. She glanced in. +The room was empty, of course, and the afternoon +sunshine was coming in through the windows, falling +across the floor towards the fireplace. It would soon +creep up to the portrait over the fireplace.</p> + +<p>May waited several minutes, walking about the +room and listening, and then she went out and closed +the door behind her. She went down the staircase into +the hall, opened the front door very slowly and went out.</p> + +<p>An indescribable loneliness seized her as she walked +over the gravelled court to the gates. The afternoon +sunshine was less friendly than rain and bitter wind. +She took the road to the parks, meeting the signs of the +war that had obliterated the old Sunday afternoons of +Oxford in the days of peace. Here was suffering, a +deliberate preparation for more suffering. Did all this +world-suffering make her small personal grief any less? +Yes, it did; it would help her to get over the dreary +space of time, the days, months, years till she was a +grey-haired woman and was resigned, having learned +patience and even become thankful!</p> + +<p>Once she thought she saw the figure of the Warden +in the distance, and then her heart beat suffocatingly, +but it was not he. Once she thought she saw Bingham +walking with some other man. He rounded the walk +by the river and—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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Page 323]</a></span> +demands sympathy and understanding from friends, men +and women, but something very different from a wife? +Was the Warden one of those men who prefer a wife +to be shallow because they shrink from any permanent +demand being made upon their moral nature or their +intellect? Perhaps the Warden craved a wife who +was thoughtless, and, choosing Gwendolen, was disappointed +in her, solely because he found she was not +trustworthy. That suspicion was a bitter one. Was +it an unjust suspicion?</p> + +<p>As May walked, the river beside her slipped along +slowly under the melancholy willows. The surface of +the water was laden with fallen leaves and the wreckage +of an almost forgotten summer. It was strangely sad, +this river!</p> + +<p>May turned away and began walking back to the +Lodgings. There was a deepening sunshine in the +west, a glow was coming into the sky. Oh, the sadness +of that glorious sunset!</p> + +<p>May was glad to hide away from it in the narrow +streets. She was glad to get back to the court and to +enter the darkened house, and yet there was no rest +for her there. Soon, very soon, she would say good-bye +to this calm secluded home and go out alone into the +wilderness!</p> + +<p>She walked straight to her room and took off her +things, and then went into Lady Dashwood's room. +Louise was arranging a little table for tea between the +bed and the windows.</p> + +<p>"Well!" cried Lady Dashwood. "So you have +had a good walk!"</p> + +<p>"It was a lovely afternoon," said May. She looked +out of the window and could see the colour of the sunset +reflected on the roof opposite.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood watched Louise putting a cloth on +the table, and remarked that "poor Jim" would be +having tea all alone!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Page 324]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I think the Warden is out," said May, as she stood +at the window.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood, but at that +moment the doctor was ushered into the room. He +apologised for coming so late in the day, he had been +pressed with work. "I'm perfectly well," said Lady +Dashwood; "I don't need a doctor, you are simply +wasted on me. I can come down to dinner."</p> + +<p>There was no doubt that she was better. The +doctor admitted it and praised her, but he refused to +let her get up till the next day, and then only for tea +in the drawing-room; and, strange to say, Lady Dashwood +did not argue the point, merely remarking that +she wasn't sure whether she could be trusted to remain +in bed. She wouldn't promise that she could be +trusted.</p> + +<p>When the doctor left May slipped out with him, +and they went along the corridor together.</p> + +<p>"How much better is she?" she asked. "Is she +really on the road to being quite well?"</p> + +<p>"She's all right," said the doctor, as they went +down the staircase, "but she mustn't be allowed to +get as low as she was yesterday, or there will be trouble."</p> + +<p>"And," said May, "what about me?" and she +explained to him that she was only in Oxford on +a visit and had work in London that oughtn't to +be left.</p> + +<p>"Has she got a good maid?" asked the doctor.</p> + +<p>"An excitable Frenchwoman, but otherwise useful." +They were at the front door now.</p> + +<p>"And you really ought to go to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"I ought," said May, and her heart seemed to be +sinking low down—lower and lower.</p> + +<p>"Very well," said the doctor, "I suppose we must +let you go, Mrs. Dashwood," and as he spoke he pulled +the door wide open. "Here is the Warden!" he said.</p> + +<p>There was the Warden coming in at the gate. May<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Page 325]</a></span> +was standing so that she could not see into the court. +She started at the doctor's remark.</p> + +<p>"I'll speak to him," he said, and, bowing, he went +down the steps, leaving the door open behind him. +May turned away and walked upstairs. She wouldn't +have to tell the Warden that she was going to-morrow; +the doctor would tell him, of course. Would he +care?</p> + +<p>She went back to the bedroom, and Lady Dashwood +looked round eagerly at her, but did not ask her any +questions.</p> + +<p>"Now, dear, pour out the tea," she said. "The +doctor was a great interruption. My dear May, I wish +I wasn't such an egotist."</p> + +<p>"You aren't," said May, sitting down and pouring +out two cups of tea.</p> + +<p>"I am," said Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"Why?" asked May.</p> + +<p>"Well, you see," said Lady Dashwood, "I was +terribly upset about Belinda and Co., because Belinda +and Co. had pushed her foot in at my front door, or +rather at Jim's front door; but she's gone now, as far +as I'm personally concerned. She's a thing of the +past. But, and here it comes, Belindas are still rampant +in the world, and there are male as well as female +Belindas; and I bear it wonderfully. I shall quite +enjoy a cup of tea. Thanks, darling."</p> + +<p>"If anybody were to come and say to you," said +May, looking deeply into her cup, "'Will you join a +Society for the painless extermination of Belindas—Belindas +of both classes—Belindas in expensive furs, +and tattered Belindas,' wouldn't you become a member, +or at least give a guinea?"</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood smiled a little. "Dear May, how +satirical you are with your poor old aunt!"</p> + +<p>"I'm not satirical," said May.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid," groaned Lady Dashwood, "it's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Page 326]</a></span> +mainly because we think things will be made straight +in the next world that we don't do enough here. Now, +I haven't that excuse, May, because you know I never +have looked forward to the next world. Somehow I +can't!"</p> + +<p>Something in her aunt's voice made May look round +at her.</p> + +<p>"Don't be sorrowful, dear," she said.</p> + +<p>"Now that I've slanged Belinda," murmured Lady +Dashwood, "I've begun to think about my own short-comings."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, dear aunt," said May. "You are not +accustomed to think about yourself; it must be a sign +that you are not feeling well. I shall ring for Louise." +May spoke in a bantering voice, but her eyes did not +smile.</p> + +<p>"For mercy's sake, don't," said Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>The glow had faded from the roof of the college +opposite, and had become grey and cold when May got +up and took the little tea tray from her Aunt Lena's +bed.</p> + +<p>"Now, I've got just a few lines more to add to my +letter to my old dear one," said Lady Dashwood. +"Suppose you go down and see what's happening?"</p> + +<p>"What's happening!" said May, but she did +not ask a question, merely she repeated her aunt's +words.</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear," said Lady Dashwood. "What's happening. +All sorts of things happen, you know; things +go on! Please ring, I want Louise to clear away. +Now, go down into the drawing-room and, if you see +Jim, give him my love."</p> + +<p>May went into the empty drawing-room and sat +there till it grew dark, doing nothing. Robinson came +in to make up the fire and draw the curtains. He +apologised for his lateness, explaining that he did not +think any one was in the drawing-room.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Page 327]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Will you have dinner with 'er ladyship?" he +asked, "or in the dining-room, m'm? The Warden +is dining in 'all."</p> + +<p>May walked to a little table and took up one of the +books that were lying there.</p> + +<p>"Upstairs, please, Robinson," she answered.</p> + +<p>She began looking through the book, turning over +the pages, but the print seemed unintelligible. She +stood listening to Robinson's movements in the room. +Then the door opened and the Warden came in and +startled her so much that she dropped the book upon +the table.</p> + +<p>He was in his gown, just come back from chapel. +He came some way into the room and stood at a little +distance from her. She did not look at him, though +she turned towards him in acknowledgment of his +presence.</p> + +<p>"Wasn't the sunset wonderful?" she said.</p> + +<p>"It was a wonderful sunset!" he said.</p> + +<p>Robinson was still busy in the room, and the Warden +moved to the fireplace and stood looking as if he was +undecided whether to stay or to go.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry I have to dine out this evening," said +the Warden. "I have no choice in the matter, unfortunately."</p> + +<p>"Of course," said May. "Please don't think of me. +I have Aunt Lena to look after."</p> + +<p>"You are very good to her," he said, and lingered +for a moment.</p> + +<p>Robinson was now going towards the door with his +soft, light, though rather shambling movements.</p> + +<p>The Warden moved towards the door too, and then +stopped and said—</p> + +<p>"There isn't anything I can do for you, any book +I can lend you for this evening?"</p> + +<p>"No, thanks very much," said May. "I have all +I want," and she took up the book she had dropped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Page 328]</a></span> +with an air of wanting it very much, and went towards +the chair she had been sitting in before Robinson disturbed her.</p> + +<p>The Warden swung himself round. She could hear +the sound of his robe against the lintel of the door +as he went out and left her alone. He might have +stayed a few minutes if he had wished! He didn't +wish!</p> + +<p>When she went to her Aunt Lena's bedroom, half +an hour later, she found that he had been there, sitting +with her and talking, and had gone five minutes ago. +The Warden seemed to move like some one in a dream. +He came and went and never stayed.</p> + +<p>During dinner Lady Dashwood said, not ą propos +of anything—</p> + +<p>"Your poor Uncle John is beginning to get restive, +and I suppose I shall have to go back to him in a few +days. Having done all the mischief that I could, I +suppose it is time I should leave Oxford. Louise will +be glad and Jim will be sorry, I am afraid. I haven't +broken to him yet that my time is coming to an end. +I really dread telling him. It was different when he +was a college tutor—he had only rooms then. Now he +has a house. It's very dismal for him to be alone."</p> + +<p>Here Lady Dashwood stopped abruptly and went +on eating. About nine o'clock she professed to be +ready "to be put to bed," and May, who had been +knitting by her side, got up and prepared to leave her +for the night.</p> + +<p>As she kissed her she wondered why her Aunt Lena +had never asked her how long she was going to stay. +Why hadn't she told her after seeing the doctor, and +got it over? The Warden knew and yet did not say +a word, but that was different!</p> + +<p>Should she tell her aunt now? She hesitated. +No, it might perhaps make her wakeful. It would be +better to give her nothing to think about. There would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Page 329]</a></span> +be time to-morrow. She would tell her before breakfast, +on the way downstairs. It would be giving her +long enough notice if she put off her journey till the +late afternoon. And there <em>was</em> no need to leave on +Monday till the late afternoon.</p> + +<p>"You are going down into the drawing-room +again?" said Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"Yes; you must sleep well, dear," said May, +bending down and kissing her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, very well," said Lady Dashwood, closing her +eyes.</p> + +<p>Later on disturbing thoughts came to her. Why +had May ceased to show any emotion? Why had she +become quiet and self-contained? That wasn't a good +sign. And what about to-morrow? Did she mean +to go? She had said nothing, but she might have +made up her mind to go. And there was Jim going in +and out and doing <em>nothing</em>! Oh, why couldn't the +dear things see that they were made for one another? +Why couldn't they go about mysterious, blown up +with self-importance—and engaged?</p> + +<p>When Louise came in she found her mistress still +awake.</p> + +<p>"Louise, before you settle me, see if Mrs. Dashwood +has gone to bed. Don't disturb her, of course."</p> + +<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Bien, Madame</span>," said Louise; and she left the +room with the air of one who is going to fathom a +mystery.</p> + +<p>"What a nuisance Louise is," sighed Lady Dashwood, +turning on her pillow. She did not turn her +head again when Louise came back.</p> + +<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> is not in her room," said Louise, in a +voice of profound interest, and she waited to hear the +result.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Lady Dashwood, brightening a little. +"Well, Louise, light a night light and leave it at the +other end of the room, so that the light doesn't come<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Page 330]</a></span> +on my face! I don't want to be in complete darkness +or the Warden will not come in. He will think I am +asleep."</p> + +<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> will not sleep?" demanded Louise.</p> + +<p>"Of course I shall sleep," said Lady Dashwood, +and she began thinking again.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Page 331]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXI</h2> + +<h3>A FAREWELL</h3> + +<p class="above2">When May went back again to the drawing-room she +did not sit down immediately but walked round, taking +up the books that were lying about. Some she had +read, and the book she had taken up by accident before +dinner did not interest her. She took up one after +another and read the title, and then, seeing a small +soft yellow volume full of verse, she carried it with her +to her chair. She might be able to read and follow +something slight; she could not concentrate herself on +anything that needed thought.</p> + +<p>She opened the volume. It was an anthology of +Victorian verse. She began looking through it. She +read and read—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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Page 332]</a></span> +were like the echo of a voice, a voice that thrilled her +even in memory!</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And the Glory of the Lord shall be all in all."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>She read the poem through and through again. It +took hold of her.</p> + +<p>She sat musing over it. The clock struck ten. To +sit on and on was like waiting for him! She resented +the thought bitterly. She rose from her chair, meaning +to take the book up with her to her room. To have it +beside her would be a little consolation. She would +read it through again the last thing before trying to +sleep. She was already walking to the door, very +slowly, her will compelling unwilling limbs.</p> + +<p>"You are just going?" said the Warden's voice. +He had suddenly opened the door and stood before her.</p> + +<p>"I was going," she said, and held on to the book, +open as it was at the last page. "Have you just come +back from dinner?"</p> + +<p>"I have just come back," he said, and he closed +the door behind him. But he stayed near the door, +for May was standing just where she had stood when +he came in, the book in her hand. "I regretted +very much that you should be alone this last evening +of your stay——" He paused and looked at her.</p> + +<p>"I ought to have asked some one to dine with you. +I am so little accustomed to guests, but I ought to have +thought of it."</p> + +<p>"I am used to being alone in the evening," said +May, now smoothing the page of her book with her +free hand. "Except on Saturdays and Sundays, when +I go to friends of mine, I am usually alone—and generally +glad to be, after my day's work. Besides, I have +been with Aunt Lena this evening. I only left her an +hour ago."</p> + +<p>He came nearer and stood looking at her and at +the book in her hands. He seemed suddenly to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Page 333]</a></span> +recognise the book, and saw that it was open at the +last page.</p> + +<p>"I ought not to have quoted that to you," he said +in a low voice; "those words of that poem—there +under your hand."</p> + +<p>"Why not?" she asked, shutting the book up and +holding it closed between her hands. "Why shouldn't +you have quoted it?" and she looked at the book +intently, listening for his voice again.</p> + +<p>"Because it savoured of self-righteousness, and that +was not becoming in a man who had brought his own +troubles upon himself."</p> + +<p>May did not look up at him; she felt, too keenly +the poignancy of that brief confession, dignified in its +simplicity, a confession that a weaker man would have +been afraid to make, and a man of less intelligence +could not have made because he would not have understood +the dignity of it. May found no words with +which to speak to him; she could only look at the +carpet stupidly and admire him with all the pulses in +her body.</p> + +<p>"Your interpretation of 'the Glory of the Lord' +is the right one; I think—I feel convinced of it."</p> + +<p>He stood before her, wearing a curiously pathetic +expression of diffidence.</p> + +<p>That moment passed, and then he seemed to force +himself back into his old attitude of courteous reserve.</p> + +<p>"You were just going when I came in," he said, +moving and putting out his hand to open the door for +her. "I am keeping you."</p> + +<p>"I was going," said May, "but, Dr. Middleton——"</p> + +<p>He let his arm drop. "Yes?" he said.</p> + +<p>"You have, I am afraid, a totally wrong idea +of me."</p> + +<p>He stared straight into her face as she spoke, but +it was his veiled stare, in which he held himself aloof +for reasons of his own.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Page 334]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't think so," he said quickly.</p> + +<p>"I talked about 'my interpretation' of the words +you quoted," she said, "just as if I spoke from some +special knowledge, from personal experience, I mean. +I had no intention of giving you that idea; it was +merely a <em>thought</em> I expressed."</p> + +<p>How could she say what her heart was full of without +betraying herself? He was waiting for her to +speak with a strained look in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"And, of course, any one can 'think.' I am +afraid——Somehow—I find it impossible to say +what I mean—I—I am horribly stupid to-night."</p> + +<p>She moved forward and he opened the door, and +held it open for her. She went out with only a brief +"Good-night," because no more words would come. +She had said all she was able to say, and now she walked +along trying to get her breath again. In the corridor +she came upon Louise, who seemed to have sprung +suddenly from nowhere.</p> + +<p>"Can I assist <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>?" said Louise, her face +full of unrestrained curiosity. "Can I brush <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame's</span> +hair?"</p> + +<p>May made one or two more steps without finding +her voice, then she said—</p> + +<p>"No, thank you, Louise." And feeling more than +seeing the Frenchwoman's ardent stare of interrogation, +she added: "Louise, you may bring back my travelling +things, please, the first thing to-morrow morning. +I shall want them."</p> + +<p>Louise was silent for a moment, just as a child is +voiceless for a moment before it bursts into shrieks. +She followed May to her door.</p> + +<p>"I shall pack everything for <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>," she exclaimed, +and her voice twanged like steel. She followed +May into her bedroom. "I shall pack everything +when <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> goes truly." Here she glanced round +the room, and her large dark eyes rested with wild<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Page 335]</a></span> +indignation on the little stained figure of St. Joseph +standing on the table by the bed.</p> + +<p>The small pathetic saint stood all unconscious, its +machine-made face looking down amiably upon the +branch of lilies in its hands.</p> + +<p>"I want them early," said May, "because I prefer +to pack myself, Louise. You are such a kind creature, +but I really prefer waiting upon myself."</p> + +<p>"I shall pack for <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span>," repeated Louise.</p> + +<p>May went to the toilet table and put down the book +that she was carrying.</p> + +<p>"Good night, Louise," was all she said.</p> + +<p>Louise moved. She groaned, then she took hold +of the door and began to withdraw herself behind it.</p> + +<p>"I wish <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> a good repose. I shall pack +for <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame, comme il faut</span>," she said with superb +obstinacy, and she closed the door after her.</p> + +<p>Good repose! Repose seemed to May the last word +that was suitable. Fall asleep she might, for she was +strong and full of vigour, but repose——!</p> + +<p>She read the poem once again through when she +was in bed. Then she laid the book under the pillow +and turned out the light.</p> + +<p>How many hours had she still in Oxford? About +seventeen hours. And even when she was back again +at her work—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.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>And it was in this spirit of resignation, held more +fully than before, that she met him again at breakfast.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Page 336]</a></span> +She was in the breakfast-room first and seized the +paper, determined to behave as cheerfully as if she had +arrived, and not as if she was going away. She was +going to make a successful effort to start her new life +at once, her life with Oxford behind her. She was not +going to be found by him, when he entered, silent and +reminiscent of last evening.</p> + +<p>When the Warden came in she put down the paper +with the air of one who has seen something that suggests +conversation.</p> + +<p>"I suppose," she said, starting straight away +without any preliminary but a smile at him and an +inclination of her head in answer to his old-fashioned +courteous bow as he entered—"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."</p> + +<p>The Warden did not smile. "Ah, yes!" he remarked, +and he looked abstractedly at the coffee-pot +and at the chair that May was about to seat herself in. +"Ah, yes!" he said again; then he added: "Have +I kept you waiting?"</p> + +<p>"Not a bit," said May.</p> + +<p>"I ran in to see Lena," he explained.</p> + +<p>May took her place opposite the coffee. He watched +her, and then went and sat down at the opposite end +of the table in his own seat. Then he got up and went +to the side table.</p> + +<p>Try as they would they were painfully conscious +of each other's movements. Everything seemed +strangely, cruelly important at that meal. May +poured out the Warden's cup, and that in itself was +momentous. He would come and take it, of course! +She moved the cup a little. He waited on her from +the side table and then looked at his coffee.</p> + +<p>"Is this for me?" he asked.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Page 337]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes," said May; "it is yours."</p> + +<p>He took up the cup and went round with it to +his place, as if he was carrying something rare and +significant.</p> + +<p>They sat opposite each other, these two, alone +together, and for the last time—possibly. They +talked stiffly in measured sentences to each other, talk +that merely served as a defence. And behind this +talk both were painfully aware that the precious +moments were slipping away, and yet nothing could +be done to stay them. It was only when the meal +was over, and there was nothing left for them to do +but to rise and go, that they stopped talking and +looked at each other apprehensively.</p> + +<p>"You are not going till the afternoon?" he questioned.</p> + +<p>"Not till the afternoon," she answered, but she +did not say whether she was going early or late. She +rose from the table and stood by it.</p> + +<p>"The reason why I ask," he said, rising too, "is +that I cannot be at home for lunch, and afterwards +there is hospital business with which I am concerned."</p> + +<p>May had as yet only vaguely decided on her train, +though she knew the trains by heart. She had now to +fix it definitely, it was wrung from her.</p> + +<p>"I may not be able to get back in time to go with +you to the station, but I hope to be in time to meet +you there, to see you off," he said; and he added: "I +hope to be in time," as if he doubted it nevertheless.</p> + +<p>"You mustn't make a point of seeing me off," +said May. "And don't you think railway-stations +are places which one avoids as much as possible?" +She asked the question a little tremulously and smiled, +but did not look at him.</p> + +<p>"Ours is pretty bad," he said, without a smile. +"But I hope it won't have the effect of making you +forget that there is any beauty in our old city. I hope<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Page 338]</a></span> +you will carry away with you some regret at parting—some +memory of us."</p> + +<p>"Of course I shall," said May; and detecting the +plaintiveness of her own voice, she added: "I shall +have to come and see it again—as I said—perhaps +ten years hence, when—when it will be different! It +will be most interesting."</p> + +<p>He moved slowly away as if he was going out, and +then stopped.</p> + +<p>"I shall manage to be in time to see you off," he +said, as if some alteration in his plans suddenly occurred +to him. "I shall manage it."</p> + +<p>"You mustn't put off anything important for me," +May called softly after him. "In these days women +don't expect to be looked after; we are getting mighty +independent," and there was much courage in her +voice.</p> + +<p>He wavered at the door. "You don't forbid me +to come?" he questioned, and he turned and looked +at her.</p> + +<p>"Of course not," said May, and she turned away +quickly and went to the window and looked out. "I +hope I am not brazenly independent!" She added +this last sentence airily at the window and stared out +of it, as if attracted by something in the quadrangle.</p> + +<p>She heard him go out and shut the door.</p> + +<p>She waited some little time doing nothing, standing +still by the window—very still. Then she went out +of the room, up the staircase and into the corridor +towards her aunt's bedroom.</p> + +<p>She knocked and went in.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood turned round and looked at her. +Something in May's face arrested her.</p> + +<p>"A lovely morning, May. Just the day for seeing +Oxford at its best."</p> + +<p>And this forced May to say, at once, what she was +going to say. She was going away in the afternoon.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Page 339]</a></span></p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood received May's news quietly. She +gave May a look of meek resignation that was harder +to bear than any expostulation would have been.</p> + +<p>"Everybody is going," she said slowly, and lying +back on her pillows with a sigh. "I must be going +directly, as soon as I am up and about. I can't leave +your Uncle John alone any longer, and there is so much +that even an old woman can do, and that I had to put +aside to come here."</p> + +<p>May was standing at the foot of the bed looking at +her very gravely.</p> + +<p>"I can't imagine you not doing a lot," she said.</p> + +<p>"I shall be all right in a couple of days," said Lady +Dashwood. "What was wrong with me, dear, was +nerves, nerves, nothing but nerves, and I am ashamed +of it. When I am bouncing with vigour again, May, +I shall go. I shall leave Oxford. I shall leave Jim."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you will have to," said May, vaguely.</p> + +<p>"Jim will be horribly lonely," said Lady Dashwood.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid so," said May, slowly.</p> + +<p>"Imagine," said Lady Dashwood, "Jim seeing +me off at the station and then coming back here. +Imagine him coming back alone, crunching over the +gravel and going up the steps into the hall. You know +what the hall is like—a sweet place—and those dim +portraits on the walls all looking down at him out of +their faded eyes! All men!"</p> + +<p>May looked at her Aunt Lena gravely.</p> + +<p>"Then see him look round! Silence—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."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said May. She did not smile.</p> + +<p>"Now, my dear," said Lady Dashwood, "I'm not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Page 340]</a></span> +going to think about it any more! I've done with it. +Let's talk of something else." That, indeed, was the +last that Lady Dashwood said about it.</p> + +<p>When lunch time came May found herself seized +with a physical contraction over her heart that prevented +food from taking its usual course downward. +She endured as long as she could, but at last she got +up from the long silent table just as Robinson was +about to go for a moment into the pantry. She threw +a hurried excuse for going at his thin stooping back. +She said she found she "hadn't time," and she examined +her watch ostentatiously as she went out of the room.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to take my last farewell of Oxford," +May said, looking for a moment into Lady Dashwood's +room. "I'm going for a walk. I am going to look +at the High and at Magdalen Bridge."</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood smiled rather sadly. "Ah, yes," +she said.</p> + +<p>May found Louise packing with a slowness and an +elaborate care that was a reproof somehow in itself. +It seemed to say: "Ungrateful! All is thrown away +on you. You care not——"</p> + +<p>May put on her hat, and through the mirror she +saw Louise rolling up Saint Joseph with some roughness +in a silk muffler.</p> + +<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame</span> does not like Oxford?" said Louise, +drily, as she stuffed the saint into a hat.</p> + +<p>"I care for it very much, Louise," said May, hastily +putting on her coat. "Oxford is a place one can never +forget."</p> + +<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Eh, bien oui,</span>" said Louise, enigmatically.</p> + +<p>Then May went out and said farewell to the towers +and spires and the ancient walls, and went to look at +the trees weeping by Magdalen Bridge. It was all +photographed on her memory. In the squalid streets +of London, where her work lay, she would remember +all this beauty and this ancient peace. There would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Page 341]</a></span> +be no possibility of her forgetting it! She would +dream of it at night. It would form the background +of her life.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Back again in the Lodgings, she found that she had +only a few minutes more to spare before she must leave. +She took farewell of Louise, and left her standing, her +hand clasping money and her eyes luminous with reproach. +There was, indeed, more than reproach, a +curious incredulity, a wonder at something. May did +not fathom what it was. She did not hear Louise +muttering below her breath—</p> + +<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Ah, mon Dieu!</span> these English people—this <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Monsieur</span> +the Warden—this <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Madame la</span> niece. Ah, this +Lodgings! Ah, this Oxford!"</p> + +<p>In the drawing-room May found Lady Dashwood +in a loose gown, seated on a couch and "Not at home" +to callers.</p> + +<p>Only a few minutes more!</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I've been very long," said May. "But +it is difficult to part with Oxford."</p> + +<p>"Is it so difficult?" asked Lady Dashwood, then +she suddenly pulled herself up and said: "Oh, May, +a note was left just after you went out by Mrs. Potten. +She wouldn't come in. Mark that, May! She had +been seeing Gwendolen off. The girl has gone to her +mother. Marian wants me to lunch with her to-morrow. +I telephoned her a few moments ago that +I would go and see her later in the week. I wonder +if she wants to speak to me about Gwen? I can't help +wondering. Oh dear, the whole thing seems like a +dream now! Don't you think so?"</p> + +<p>May was drinking a hurried cup of tea. "No, it +seems very real to me," she said.</p> + +<p>Lady Dashwood looked at her silently. The +Warden had not returned. At least there was no +sign of his being in the house.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Page 342]</a></span></p> + +<p>Robinson came in to announce the taxi.</p> + +<p>"Is the Warden in?" asked Lady Dashwood, half +raising herself.</p> + +<p>No, the Warden was not in.</p> + +<p>"He will meet you at the station," said Lady +Dashwood, nodding her head slowly at her niece.</p> + +<p>"He may not be able to," said May, going up to +the sofa. She spoke as if it were a matter of unconcern. +She must keep this up. She had counselled +Gwendolen to be brave! This thought brought with +it a little sob of laughter that nearly choked her. +"Good-bye, Aunt Lena," she said, throwing her arms +round Lady Dashwood, and the two rested their heads +together for a moment in a silent embrace. Then they +parted.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," said Lady Dashwood. "Look out +for poor Jim on the platform. Look out for him!"</p> + +<p>They kissed once or twice in formal fashion, and +then May walked away to the door and went out +without looking back.</p> + +<p>The door closed behind her and Lady Dashwood +was left alone.</p> + +<p>She lay back on the cushions. The sun was coming +in through the windows much as it had done that +afternoon when she was reading the telegram from +May.</p> + +<p>"I can't do any more," she murmured half aloud; +"I can't."</p> + +<p>Her eyes wandered to the fire and up to the portrait +over the fireplace. The light falling on the +painted face obliterated the shadows at the corners of +the mouth, so that he seemed to be smiling.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Page 343]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXII</h2> + +<h3>THE WARDEN HURRIES</h3> + +<p class="above2">The Warden was on his way to the station. For three +days he had done what he could to keep out of May +Dashwood's presence. He had invented no excuses +for seeing her, he had invented reasons for not seeing +her. These three days of self-restraint were almost +over.</p> + +<p>He could have returned home in time to take her +to the railway-station himself if he had intended to +do so. His business was over and he lingered, a +desperate conscientiousness forcing him to linger. He +allowed himself to be button-holed by other men, not +completely aware of what was being said to him, because +all the time in his imagination he saw May +waiting for him. He pictured her going down the +staircase to the hall and getting into her taxi alone. +He pictured this while some one propounded to him +plans, not only for successfully getting rid of party +politics, but for the regeneration of the whole human +race. It was at that point that he broke away. +Some one else proposed walking back to King's with +him.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to the station," said the Warden, and +he struck off by himself and began to walk faster. He +had run it too close, he risked missing her altogether. +That he did not intend. He meant to arrive a moment +before the train started. It was surely not part of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Page 344]</a></span> +duty to be absolutely discourteous! He must just +say "Good-bye." He began to walk still faster, for +it seemed likely that he might be too late even to +say "Good-bye."</p> + +<p>In Beaumont Street a taxi was in sight. He hailed +it and got in. The man seemed an outrageously long +time getting the car round and started. He seemed +to be playing with the curb of the pavement. At last +he started.</p> + +<p>The squalor of the approach to the station did not +strike the Warden this afternoon. It always had +struck him before unpleasantly. Just now he was +merely aware of vehicles to be passed before he +could reach the station, and he had his eyes on his +watch continually to see how the moments were going. +Suppose the train moved off just as he reached the +platform? The Warden put his hand on the door +ready to jump out. He had the fare already in the +other hand. The station at last!</p> + +<p>He got out of the taxi swiftly. No, the train was +there and the platform was sprinkled with people—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."</p> + +<p>A sudden rage filled him. He ran his eyes along +the whole length of the platform. She was probably +seated in a carriage already, reading, Oxford forgotten +perhaps! In that case why was he hurrying like this? +Why was he raging?</p> + +<p>No, there she was! The sight of her made his +heart beat wildly. She was there, standing by an open +carriage door, looking wistfully along the platform, +looking for him! A porter was slamming the doors +to already.</p> + +<p>The Warden strode along and came face to face +with her. Under the large brimmed hat and through +the veil, he could see that she had turned ashy pale.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Page 345]</a></span> +They stared for a moment at each other desperately, +and he could see that she was trembling. The porter +laid his hand on the door. "Are you getting in, m'm?"</p> + +<p>Only a week ago the Warden had committed the one +rash and foolish action of his life. He had done it in +ignorance of his own personal needs and with, perhaps, +the unconscious cynicism of a man who has lived for +forty years unable to find his true mate. But since +then his mind had been lit up with the flash of a sudden +poignant experience. He knew now what he wanted; +what he must have, or fail. He knew that there was +nothing else for him. It was this or nothing. The +sight of her face, her trembling, pierced his soul with +an amazing joy, and it seemed as if the voice of some +invisible Controller of all human actions, great and +small, breathed in his ear saying: "Now! Take your +chance! This is your true destiny!"</p> + +<p>There was no one in the carriage but a young girl +at the further end huddled behind a novel. But had +there been twenty there, it would not have altered his +resolution. The Warden placed his hand on May's +arm.</p> + +<p>"I am travelling with this lady as far as Reading," +he said to the porter, "but I have come too late to get +a ticket. Tell the guard, please."</p> + +<p>The Warden showed no sign now of haste or excitement; +he had regained his usual courteous and deliberate +manner, for the purpose of his life was his again. He +helped her in and followed her. The door was banged +behind them. There was May's little bundle of rug +and umbrella on the seat. He moved it on one side +so that she could sit there. The train began to slide off.</p> + +<p>May sank into her seat too dazed to think. He sat +down opposite to her. They both knew that the +moment of their lives had come.</p> + +<p>Then he leaned forward, not caring whether he was +observed or not observed from the other end of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Page 346]</a></span> +carriage. He leaned forward and grasping both of +May's hands in his, he looked into her eyes with his +own slow moving, narrow eyes that absorbed the light. +The corners of her mouth were trembling, her eyelids +trembling.</p> + +<p>They never spoke a word as the train moved +away and left behind that fair ancient city enshrined +in squalor and in raucous brick; left behind the flat +meadows, the sluggish river and the leafless crooked +willows; but a strange glory came from the west and +flooded the whole earth and the carriage where they +sat.</p> + +<p class="above4"></p> +<p class="center"><b><big>THE END</big></b></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><small>PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES, ENGLAND</small></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h5>Transcriber's Note</h5> + +<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected, with the exception +of those contained within letters, which are thought to be deliberate.</p> + +<p>Where a word has been spelled inconsistently within the text (e.g. +to-day and today), the spellings have been changed to the one more +frequently used.</p> + +<p>All other spellings and punctuation are as in the original text.</p> + +<p><a href="#top">Return to top</a>.</p> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The New Warden, by Mrs. David G. 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