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diff --git a/33546-h/33546-h.htm b/33546-h/33546-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ad60b75 --- /dev/null +++ b/33546-h/33546-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10473 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Missioner, by E. Phillips Oppenheim. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + td {vertical-align: top;} + + hr.large {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + hr.medium {width: 45%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + hr.tiny {width: 15%; margin-top: 0.25em; margin-bottom: 0.25em;} + hr.full {width: 100%; margin-top: 0.25em; margin-bottom: 0.25em;} + + div.centered {text-align:center;} /*work around for IE centering with CSS problem part 1 */ + div.centered table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto; text-align:left;} /* work around for IE problem part 2 */ + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .double {display: block; /* fake hr for double rules */ + width: 100%; + height: 3px; + line-height: 3px; + color: black; + margin: 10px auto 10px auto; + padding: 0; + border-top: 1px solid black; + border-bottom: 1px solid black; } + + .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%;} + + .bbox {border: double;} + .centerbox {width: 30em; /* heading box */ + margin: 0 auto; + text-align: center; + padding-top: 1em;} + .n {text-indent:0%;} + .jpg {border: solid black 1px;} + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .right {text-align: right;} + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + .smallgap {margin-top: 0.5em;} + .illogap {margin-top: 1.5em;} + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Missioner, by E. Phillips Oppenheim + +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 Missioner + +Author: E. Phillips Oppenheim + +Illustrator: Fred Pegram + +Release Date: August 27, 2010 [EBook #33546] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MISSIONER *** + + + + +Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 315px;"> +<img src="images/icover.jpg" width="315" height="500" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<div class="centerbox bbox"> + +<h1>The Missioner</h1> + +<div class="double"></div> + +<h2><span class="smcap">By</span> E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM</h2> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<p class="center">Author of “Anna, the Adventuress,” “A Prince of<br /> +Sinners,” “The Master Mummer,” etc.</p> + +<p class="smallgap"> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 103px;"> +<img src="images/i001.jpg" width="103" height="100" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h3><span class="smcap">With Illustrations</span><br/> +<span class="smcap">By</span> FRED PEGRAM</h3> + +<p class="smallgap"> </p> + +<div class="double"></div> + +<div class="centered"> +<table border="0" width="90%" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" summary="PUBLISHER"> + +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3"><h2>A. L. BURT COMPANY</h2></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left"><h3><span class="smcap">Publishers</span></h3></td> +<td> </td> +<td align="right"><h3><span class="smcap">New York</span></h3></td></tr> +</table></div></div> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<p class="center"><i>Copyright, 1907</i>,<br /> +<span class="smcap">By the Pearson Publishing Company.</span></p> + +<hr class="tiny" /> + +<p class="center"><i>Copyright, 1907</i>,<br /> +<span class="smcap">By Little, Brown, and Company.</span></p> + +<hr class="tiny" /> + +<p class="center"><i>All rights reserved.</i></p> + +<p class="center">Published January, 1909.<br /> +<br /> +Fourth Printing</p> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 358px;"> +<img src="images/i003.jpg" class="illogap jpg" width="358" height="500" alt="“Do you mind explaining yourself?” she asked." title="" /> +<span class="caption"><span class="smcap">“Do you mind explaining yourself?” she asked.</span><br /> +[Page <a href="#Page_23">23</a>]     <span class="smcap">Frontispiece.</span></span> +</div> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class="centered"> +<table border="0" width="70%" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="1" summary="CONTENTS"> + +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3">BOOK I</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right"><span style="margin-right: 0.75em;"><small>CHAPTER</small></span></td> +<td align="center"> </td> +<td align="right"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">I</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Mistress and Agent</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">II</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Hunter and his Quarry</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">III</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">First Blood</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">IV</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Beating her Wings</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">V</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Evicted</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">VI</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Cricket and Philosophy</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_52">52</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">VII</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">An Undernote of Music</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">VIII</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Roses</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">IX</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Summer Lightning</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_78">78</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">X</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Still Figure in the Chair</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_85">85</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">XI</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Baying of the Hounds</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">XII</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Retreat</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_100">100</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">XIII</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">A Creature of Impulse</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">XIV</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Searching the Paper</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_114">114</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">XV</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">On the Spree</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">XVI</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Night Side of London</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">XVII</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Victims of Society</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_138">138</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">XVIII</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Letty’s Dilemma</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_147">147</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">XIX</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">A Report from Paris</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">XX</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Like a Trapped Animal</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_162">162</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3"> </td></tr> + +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3">BOOK II</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">I</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Rather a Ghastly Part</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_172">172</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">II</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Playing with Fir</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_180">180</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">III</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Monsieur s’Amuse</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">IV</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">At the “Dead Rat”</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_196">196</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">V</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Awakening</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_204">204</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">VI</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Echo of a Crime</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_210">210</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">VII</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">A Country Walk</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_218">218</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">VIII</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Missing Letty</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_227">227</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">IX</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Foiled!</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_235">235</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">X</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Mysteries in Mayfair</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_244">244</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">XI</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Way of Salvation</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_253">253</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">XII</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Jean le Roi</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_262">262</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">XIII</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The King of the Apaches</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_271">271</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">XIV</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Behind the Palm Trees</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_281">281</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">XV</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Only Way</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_289">289</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">XVI</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Man to Man</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_296">296</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">XVII</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Lord and Lady Bountiful</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_304">304</a></td></tr> + +</table></div> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> +<h1><a name="THE_MISSIONER" id="THE_MISSIONER"></a>THE MISSIONER</h1> + +<h2>BOOK I</h2> + +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>MISTRESS AND AGENT</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span>he lady of Thorpe was bored. These details as to leases and repairs +were wearisome. The phrases and verbiage confused her. She felt obliged +to take them in some measure for granted; to accept without question the +calmly offered advice of the man who stood so respectfully at the right +hand of her chair.</p> + +<p>“This agreement with Philip Crooks,” he remarked, “is a somewhat +important document. With your permission, madam, I will read it to you.”</p> + +<p>She signified her assent, and leaned wearily back in her chair. The +agent began to read. His mistress watched him through half closed eyes. +His voice, notwithstanding its strong country dialect, had a sort of +sing-song intonation. He read earnestly and without removing his eyes +from the document. His listener made no attempt to arrive at the sense +of the string of words which flowed so monotonously from his lips. She +was occupied in making a study of the man. Sturdy and weather-beaten, +neatly dressed in country <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span>clothes, with a somewhat old-fashioned stock, +with trim grey side-whiskers, and a mouth which reminded her somehow of +a well-bred foxhound’s, he represented to her, in his clearly cut +personality, the changeless side of life, the side of life which she +associated with the mighty oaks in her park, and the prehistoric rocks +which had become engrafted with the soil of the hills beyond. As she saw +him now, so had he seemed to her fifteen years ago. Only what a +difference! A volume to her—a paragraph to him! She had gone out into +the world—rich, intellectually inquisitive, possessing most of the +subtler gifts with which her sex is endowed; and wherever the passionate +current of life had flown the swiftest, she had been there, a leader +always, seeking ever to satisfy the unquenchable thirst for new +experiences and new joys. She had passed from girlhood to womanhood with +every nerve of her body strained to catch the emotion of the moment. +Always her fingers had been tearing at the cells of life—and one by one +they had fallen away. This morning, in the bright sunshine which flooded +the great room, she felt somehow tired—tired and withered. Her maid was +a fool! The two hours spent at her toilette had been wasted! She felt +that her eyes were hollow, her cheeks pale! Fifteen years, and the man +had not changed a jot. She doubted whether he had ever passed the +confines of her estate. She doubted whether he had even had the desire. +Wind and sun had tanned his cheeks, his eyes were clear, his slight +stoop was the stoop of the horseman rather than of age. He had the air +of a man satisfied with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span>life and his place in it—an attitude which +puzzled her. No one of her world was like that! Was it some inborn gift, +she wondered, which he possessed, some antidote to the world’s +restlessness which he carried with him, or was it merely lack of +intelligence?</p> + +<p>He finished reading and folded up the pages, to find her regarding him +still with that air of careful attention with which she had listened to +his monotonous flow of words. He found her interest surprising. It did +not occur to him to invest it with any personal element.</p> + +<p>“The agreement upon the whole,” he remarked, “is, I believe, a fair one. +You are perhaps thinking that those <span style="white-space: nowrap;">clauses——”</span></p> + +<p>“If the agreement is satisfactory to you,” she interrupted, “I will +confirm it.”</p> + +<p>He bowed slightly and glanced through the pile of papers upon the table.</p> + +<p>“I do not think that there is anything else with which I need trouble +you, madam,” he remarked.</p> + +<p>She nodded imperiously.</p> + +<p>“Sit down for a moment, Mr. Hurd,” she said.</p> + +<p>If he felt any surprise, he did not show it. He drew one of the +high-backed chairs away from the table, and with that slight air of +deliberation which characterized all his movements, seated himself. He +was in no way disquieted to find her dark, tired eyes still studying +him.</p> + +<p>“How old are you, Mr. Hurd?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“I am sixty-three, madam,” he answered.</p> + +<p>Her eyebrows were gently raised. To her it seemed incredible. She +thought of the men of sixty-three or thereabouts whom she knew, and her +lips <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>parted in one of those faint, rare smiles of genuine amusement, +which smoothed out all the lines of her tired face. Visions of the +promenade at Marienbad and Carlsbad, the Kursaal at Homburg, floated +before her. She saw them all, the men whom she knew, with the story of +their lives written so plainly in their faces, babbling of nerves and +tonics and cures, the newest physician, the latest fad. Defaulters all +of them, unwilling to pay the great debt—seeking always a way out! +Here, at least, this man scored!</p> + +<p>“You enjoy good health?” she remarked.</p> + +<p>“I never have anything the matter with me,” he answered simply. “I +suppose,” he added, as though by an afterthought, “the life is a healthy +one.”</p> + +<p>“You find it—satisfying?” she asked.</p> + +<p>He seemed puzzled.</p> + +<p>“I have never attempted anything else,” he answered. “It seems to be +what I am suited for.”</p> + +<p>She attempted to abandon the <i>rôle</i> of questioner—to give a more +natural turn to the conversation.</p> + +<p>“It is always,” she remarked, “such a relief to get down into the +country at the end of the season. I wonder I don’t spend more time here. +I daresay one could amuse oneself?” she added carelessly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hurd considered for a few moments.</p> + +<p>“There are croquet and archery and tennis in the neighbourhood,” he +remarked. “The golf course on the Park hills is supposed to be +excellent. A great many people come over to play.”</p> + +<p>She affected to be considering the question <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>seriously. An intimate +friend would not have been deceived by her air of attention. Mr. Hurd +knew nothing of this. He, on his part, however, was capable of a little +gentle irony.</p> + +<p>“It might amuse you,” he remarked, “to make a tour of your estate. There +are some of the outlying portions which I think that I should have the +honour of showing you for the first time.”</p> + +<p>“I might find that interesting,” she admitted. “By the bye, Mr. Hurd, +what sort of a landlord am I? Am I easy, or do I exact my last pound of +flesh? One likes to know these things.”</p> + +<p>“It depends upon the tenant,” the agent answered. “There is not one of +your farms upon which, if a man works, he cannot make a living. On the +other hand, there is not one of them on which a man can make a living +unless he works. It is upon this principle that your rents have been +adjusted. The tenants of the home lands have been most carefully chosen, +and Thorpe itself is spoken of everywhere as a model village.”</p> + +<p>“It is very charming to look at,” its mistress admitted. “The flowers +and thatched roofs are so picturesque. ‘Quite a pastoral idyll,’ my +guests tell me. The people one sees about seem contented and respectful, +too.”</p> + +<p>“They should be, madam,” Mr. Hurd answered drily. “The villagers have +had a good many privileges from your family for generations.”</p> + +<p>The lady inclined her head thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>“You think, then,” she remarked, “that if anything should happen in +England, like the French Revolution, I should not find unexpected +thoughts <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>and discontent smouldering amongst them? You believe that they +are really contented?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Hurd knew nothing about revolutions, and he was utterly unable to +follow the trend of her thoughts.</p> + +<p>“If they were not, madam,” he declared, “they would deserve to be in the +workhouse—and I should feel it my duty to assist them in getting +there.”</p> + +<p>The lady of Thorpe laughed softly to herself.</p> + +<p>“You, too, then, Mr. Hurd,” she said, “you are content with your life? +You don’t mind my being personal, do you? It is such a change down here, +such a different existence ... and I like to understand everything.”</p> + +<p>Upon Mr. Hurd the almost pathetic significance of those last words was +wholly wasted. They were words of a language which he could not +comprehend. He realized only their direct application—and the woman to +him seemed like a child.</p> + +<p>“If I were not content, madam,” he said, “I should deserve to lose my +place. I should deserve to lose it,” he added after a moment’s pause, +“notwithstanding the fact that I have done my duty faithfully for four +and forty years.”</p> + +<p>She smiled upon him brilliantly. They were so far apart that she feared +lest she might have offended him.</p> + +<p>“I have always felt myself a very fortunate woman, Mr. Hurd,” she said, +“in having possessed your services.”</p> + +<p>He rose as though about to go. It was her whim, however, to detain him.</p> + +<p>“You lost your wife some years ago, did you not, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>Mr. Hurd?” she began +tentatively. As a matter of fact, she was not sure of her ground.</p> + +<p>“Seven years back, madam,” he answered, with immovable face. “She was, +unfortunately, never a strong woman.”</p> + +<p>“And your son?” she asked more confidently. “Is he back from South +Africa?”</p> + +<p>“A year ago, madam,” he answered. “He is engaged at present in the +estate office. He knows the work <span style="white-space: nowrap;">well——”</span></p> + +<p>“The best place for him, of course,” she interrupted. “We ought to do +all we can for our young men who went out to the war. I should like to +see your son, Mr. Hurd. Will you tell him to come up some day?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, madam,” he answered.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps he would like to shoot with my guests on Thursday?” she +suggested graciously.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hurd did not seem altogether pleased.</p> + +<p>“It has never been the custom, madam,” he remarked, “for either my son +or myself to be associated with the Thorpe shooting parties.”</p> + +<p>“Some customs,” she remarked pleasantly, “are well changed, even in +Thorpe. We shall expect him.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Hurd’s mouth reminded her for a moment of a steel trap. She could +see that he disapproved, but she had no intention of giving way. He +began to tie up his papers, and she watched him with some continuance of +that wave of interest which he had somehow contrived to excite in her. +The signature of one of the letters which he was methodically folding, +caught her attention.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p><p>“What a strange name!” she remarked. “Victor Macheson! Who is he?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Hurd unfolded the letter. The ghost of a smile flickered upon his +lips.</p> + +<p>“A preacher, apparently,” he answered. “The letter is one asking +permission to give a series of what he terms religious lectures in +Harrison’s large barn!”</p> + +<p>Her eyebrows were gently raised. Her tone was one of genuine surprise.</p> + +<p>“What, in Thorpe?” she demanded.</p> + +<p>“In Thorpe!” Mr. Hurd acquiesced.</p> + +<p>She took the letter and read it. Her perplexity was in no manner +diminished.</p> + +<p>“The man seems in earnest,” she remarked. “He must either be a stranger +to this part of the country, or an extremely impertinent person. I +presume, Mr. Hurd, that nothing has been going on in the place with +which I am unacquainted?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly not, madam,” he answered.</p> + +<p>“There has been no drunkenness?” she remarked. “The young people have, I +presume, been conducting their love-making discreetly?”</p> + +<p>The lines of Mr. Hurd’s mouth were a trifle severe. One could imagine +that he found her modern directness of speech indelicate.</p> + +<p>“There have been no scandals of any sort connected with the village, +madam,” he assured her. “To the best of my belief, all of our people are +industrious, sober and pious. They attend church regularly. As you know, +we have not a public-house or a dissenting place of worship in the +village.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p><p>“The man must be a fool,” she said deliberately. “You did not, of +course, give him permission to hold these services?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly not,” the agent answered. “I refused it absolutely.”</p> + +<p>The lady rose, and Mr. Hurd understood that he was dismissed.</p> + +<p>“You will tell your son about Thursday?” she reminded him.</p> + +<p>“I will deliver your message, madam,” he answered.</p> + +<p>She nodded her farewell as the footman opened the door.</p> + +<p>“Everything seems to be most satisfactory, Mr. Hurd,” she said. “I shall +probably be here for several weeks, so come up again if there is +anything you want me to sign.”</p> + +<p>“I am much obliged, madam,” the agent answered.</p> + +<p>He left the place by a side entrance, and rode slowly down the private +road, fringed by a magnificent row of elm trees, to the village. The +latch of the iron gate at the end of the avenue was stiff, and he failed +to open it with his hunting crop at the first attempt. Just as he was +preparing to try again, a tall, boyish-looking young man, dressed in +sombre black, came swiftly across the road and opened the gate. Mr. Hurd +thanked him curtly, and the young man raised his hat.</p> + +<p>“You are Mr. Hurd, I believe?” he remarked. “I was going to call upon +you this afternoon.”</p> + +<p>The little man upon the pony frowned. He had no doubt as to his +questioner.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p><p>“My name is Hurd, sir,” he answered stiffly. “What can I do for you?”</p> + +<p>“You can let me have that barn for my services,” the other answered +smiling. “I wrote you about it, you know. My name is Macheson.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Hurd’s answer was briefly spoken, and did not invite argument.</p> + +<p>“I have mentioned the matter to Miss Thorpe-Hatton, sir. She agrees with +me that your proposed ministrations are altogether unneeded in this +neighbourhood.”</p> + +<p>“You won’t let me use the barn, then?” the young man remarked +pleasantly, but with some air of disappointment.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hurd gathered up the reins in his hand.</p> + +<p>“Certainly not, sir!”</p> + +<p>He would have moved on, but his questioner stood in the way. Mr. Hurd +looked at him from underneath his shaggy eyebrows. The young man was +remarkably young. His smooth, beardless face was the face of a boy. Only +the eyes seemed somehow to speak of graver things. They were very bright +indeed, and they did not falter.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Hurd,” he begged, “do let me ask you one question! Why do you +refuse me? What harm can I possibly do by talking to your villagers?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Hurd pointed with his whip up and down the country lane.</p> + +<p>“This is the village of Thorpe, sir,” he answered. “There are no poor, +there is no public-house, and there, within a few hundred yards of the +farthest cottage,” he added, pointing to the end of the street, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>“is the +church. You are not needed here. That is the plain truth.”</p> + +<p>The young man looked up and down, at the flower-embosomed cottages, with +their thatched roofs and trim appearance, at the neatly cut hedges, the +well-kept road, the many signs of prosperity. He looked at the little +grey church standing in its ancient walled churchyard, where the road +divided, a very delightful addition to the picturesque beauty of the +place. He looked at all these things and he sighed.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Hurd,” he said, “you are a man of experience. You know very well +that material and spiritual welfare are sometimes things very far +apart.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Hurd frowned and turned his pony’s head towards home.</p> + +<p>“I know nothing of the sort, sir,” he snapped. “What I do know is that +we don’t want any Salvation Army tricks here. You should stay in the +cities. They like that sort of thing there.”</p> + +<p>“I must come where I am sent, Mr. Hurd,” the young man answered. “I +cannot do your people any harm. I only want to deliver my message—and +go.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Hurd wheeled his pony round.</p> + +<p>“I submitted your letter to Miss Thorpe-Hatton,” he said. “She agrees +with me that your ministrations are wholly unnecessary here. I wish you +good evening!”</p> + +<p>The young man caught for a moment at the pony’s rein.</p> + +<p>“One moment, sir,” he begged. “You do not <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>object to my appealing to +Miss Thorpe-Hatton herself?”</p> + +<p>A grim, mirthless smile parted the agent’s lips.</p> + +<p>“By no means!” he answered, as he cantered off.</p> + +<p>Victor Macheson stood for a moment watching the retreating figure. Then +he looked across the park to where, through the great elm avenues, he +could catch a glimpse of the house. A humorous smile suddenly brightened +his face.</p> + +<p>“It’s got to be done!” he said to himself. “Here goes!”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>THE HUNTER AND HIS QUARRY</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span>he mistress of Thorpe stooped to pat a black Pomeranian which had +rushed out to meet her. It was when she indulged in some such movement +that one realized more thoroughly the wonderful grace of her slim, +supple figure. She who hated all manner of exercise had the ease of +carriage and flexibility of one whose life had been spent in athletic +pursuits.</p> + +<p>“How are you all?” she remarked languidly. “Shocking hostess, am I not?”</p> + +<p>A fair-haired little woman turned away from the tea-table. She held a +chocolate éclair in one hand, and a cup of Russian tea in the other. Her +eyes were very dark, and her hair very yellow—and both were perfectly +and unexpectedly natural. Her real name was Lady Margaret Penshore, but +she was known to her intimates, and to the mysterious individuals who +write under a <i>nom-de-guerre</i> in the society papers, as “Lady Peggy.”</p> + +<p>“A little casual perhaps, my dear Wilhelmina,” she remarked. “Comes from +your association with Royalty, I suppose. Try one of your own caviare +sandwiches, if you want anything to eat. They’re ripping.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p><p>Wilhelmina—she was one of the few women of her set with whose Christian +name no one had ever attempted to take any liberties—approached the +tea-table and studied its burden. There were a dozen different sorts of +sandwiches arranged in the most tempting form, hot-water dishes with +delicately browned tea-cakes simmering gently, thick cream in silver +jugs, tea and coffee, and in the background old China dishes piled with +freshly gathered strawberries and peaches and grapes, on which the bloom +still rested. On a smaller table were flasks of liqueurs and a spirit +decanter.</p> + +<p>“Anyhow,” she remarked, pouring herself out some tea, “I do feed you +people well. And as to being casual, I warned you that I never put in an +appearance before five.”</p> + +<p>A man in the background, long and lantern-faced, a man whose age it +would have been as impossible to guess as his character, opened and +closed his watch with a clink.</p> + +<p>“Twenty minutes past,” he remarked. “To be exact, twenty-two minutes +past.”</p> + +<p>His hostess turned and regarded him contemplatively.</p> + +<p>“How painfully precise!” she remarked. “Somehow, it doesn’t sound +convincing, though. Your watch is probably like your morals.”</p> + +<p>“What a flattering simile!” he murmured.</p> + +<p>“Flattering?”</p> + +<p>“It presupposes, at any rate, their existence,” he explained. “It is +years since I was reminded of them.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p><p>Wilhelmina seated herself before an open card-table.</p> + +<p>“No doubt,” she answered. “You see I knew you when you were a boy. +Seriously,” she continued, “I have been engaged with my agent for the +last half-hour—a most interesting person, I can assure you. There was +an agreement with one Philip Crooks concerning a farm, which he felt +compelled to read to me—every word of it! Come along and cut, all of +you!”</p> + +<p>The fourth person, slim, fair-haired, the typical army officer and +country house habitué, came over to the table, followed by the +lantern-jawed man. Lady Peggy also turned up a card.</p> + +<p>“You and I, Gilbert,” Wilhelmina remarked to the elder man. “Here’s luck +to us! What on earth is that you are drinking?”</p> + +<p>“Absinthe,” he answered calmly. “I have been trying to persuade Austin +to join me, but it seems they don’t drink absinthe in the Army.”</p> + +<p>“I should think not, indeed,” his hostess answered. “And you my partner, +too! Put the stuff away.”</p> + +<p>Gilbert Deyes raised his glass and looked thoughtfully into its +opalescent depths.</p> + +<p>“Ah! my dear lady,” he said, “you make a great mistake when you +number absinthe amongst the ordinary intoxicating beverages. I +tell you that the man who invented it was an epicure in sensations +and—er—gastronomy. If only De Quincey had realized the possibility +of absinthe, he would have given us jewelled prose indeed.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina yawned.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p><p>“Bother De Quincey!” she declared. “It’s your bridge I’m thinking of.”</p> + +<p>“Dear lady, you need have no anxiety,” Deyes answered reassuringly. “One +does not trifle with one’s livelihood. You will find me capable of the +most daring finesses, the most wonderful coups. I shall not revoke, I +shall not lead out of the wrong hand. My declarations will be touched +with genius. The rubber, in fact, is already won. Vive l’absinthe!”</p> + +<p>“The rubber will never be begun if you go on talking nonsense much +longer,” Lady Peggy declared, tapping the table impatiently. “I believe +I hear the motors outside. We shall have the whole crowd here directly.”</p> + +<p>“They won’t find their way here,” their hostess assured them calmly. “My +deal, I believe.”</p> + +<p>They played the hand in silence. At its conclusion, Wilhelmina leaned +back in her chair and listened.</p> + +<p>“You were right, Peggy,” she said, “they are all in the hall. I can hear +your brother’s voice.”</p> + +<p>Lady Peggy nodded.</p> + +<p>“Sounds healthy, doesn’t it?”</p> + +<p>Gilbert Deyes leaned across to the side table and helped himself to a +cigarette.</p> + +<p>“Healthy! I call it boisterous,” he declared. “Where have they all +been?”</p> + +<p>“Motoring somewhere,” Wilhelmina answered. “They none of them have any +idea how to pass the time away until the first run.”</p> + +<p>“Sport, my dear hostess,” Deyes remarked, “is the one thing which makes +life in a country house almost unendurable.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p><p>Wilhelmina shrugged her shoulders.</p> + +<p>“That’s all very well, Gilbert,” she said, “but what should we do if we +couldn’t get rid of some of these lunatics for at least part of the +day?”</p> + +<p>“Reasonable, I admit,” Deyes answered, “but think what an intolerable +nuisance they make of themselves for the other part. I double No Trumps, +Lady Peggy.”</p> + +<p>Lady Peggy laid down her cards.</p> + +<p>“For goodness’ sake, no more digressions,” she implored. “Remember, +please, that I play this game for the peace of mind of my tradespeople! +I redouble!”</p> + +<p>The hand was played almost in silence. Lady Peggy lost the odd trick and +began to add up the score with a gentle sigh.</p> + +<p>“After all,” her partner remarked, returning to the subject which they +had been discussing, “I don’t think that we could get on very well in +this country without sport, of some sort.”</p> + +<p>“Of course not,” Deyes answered. “We are all sportsmen, every one of us. +We were born so. Only, while some of us are content to wreak our +instinct for destruction upon birds and animals, others choose the +nobler game—our fellow-creatures! To hunt or trap a human being is +finer sport than to shoot a rocketing pheasant, or to come in from +hunting with mud all over our clothes, smelling of ploughed fields, +steaming in front of the fire, telling lies about our exploits—all +undertaken in pursuit of a miserable little animal, which as often as +not outwits us, and which, in an ordinary way, we <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>wouldn’t touch with +gloves on! What do you say, Lady Peggy?”</p> + +<p>“You’re getting beyond me,” she declared. “It sounds a little savage.”</p> + +<p>Deyes dealt the cards slowly, talking all the while.</p> + +<p>“Sport is savage,” he declared. “No one can deny it. Whether the quarry +be human or animal, the end is death. But of all its varieties, give me +the hunting of man by man, the brain of the hunter coping with the wiles +of the hunted, both human, both of the same order. The game’s even then, +for at any moment they may change places—the hunter and his quarry. +It’s finer work than slaughtering birds at the coverside. It gives your +sex a chance, Lady Peggy.”</p> + +<p>“It sounds exciting,” she admitted.</p> + +<p>“It is,” he answered.</p> + +<p>His hostess looked up at him languidly.</p> + +<p>“You speak like one who knows!”</p> + +<p>“Why not?” he murmured. “I have been both quarry and hunter. Most of us +have more or less! I declare Hearts!”</p> + +<p>Again there was an interval of silence, broken only by the stock phrases +of the game, and the soft patter of the cards upon the table. Once more +the hand was played out and the cards gathered up. Captain Austin +delivered his quota to the general discussion.</p> + +<p>“After all,” he said, “if it wasn’t for sport, our country houses would +be useless.”</p> + +<p>“Not at all!” Deyes declared. “Country houses should exist for——”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p><p>“For what, Mr. Deyes? Do tell us,” Lady Peggy implored.</p> + +<p>“For bridge!” he declared. “For giving weary married people the +opportunity for divorce, and as an asylum from one’s creditors.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina shook her head as she gathered up her cards.</p> + +<p>“You are not at your best to-day, Gilbert,” she said. “The allusion to +creditors is prehistoric! No one has them nowadays. Society is such a +hop-scotch affair that our coffers are never empty.”</p> + +<p>“What a Utopian sentiment!” Lady Peggy murmured.</p> + +<p>“We can’t agree, can we?” Deyes whispered in her ear.</p> + +<p>“You! Why they say that you are worth a million,” she protested.</p> + +<p>“If I am I remain poor, for I cannot spend it,” he declared.</p> + +<p>“Why not?” his hostess asked him from across the table.</p> + +<p>“Because,” he answered, “I am cursed with a single vice, trailing its +way through a labyrinth of virtues. I am a miser!”</p> + +<p>Lady Peggy laughed incredulously.</p> + +<p>“Rubbish!” she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“Dear lady, it is nothing of the sort,” he answered, shaking his head +sadly. “I have felt it growing upon me for years. Besides, it is +hereditary. My mother opened a post-office savings bank account for me. +At an early age I engineered a corner in marbles and sold out at a huge +profit. I am like the starving dyspeptic at the rich man’s feast.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p><p>Captain Austin intervened.</p> + +<p>“I declare Diamonds,” he announced, and the hand proceeded.</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina leaned back in her chair as the last trick fell. Her eyes +were turned towards the window. She could just see the avenue of elms +down which her agent had ridden a short while since. Deyes, through half +closed eyes, watched her with some curiosity.</p> + +<p>“If one dared offer a trifling coin of the realm——” he murmured.</p> + +<p>“I was thinking of your theory,” she interrupted. “According to you, I +suppose the whole world is made up of hunters and their quarry. Can you +tell, I wonder, by looking at people, to which order they belong?”</p> + +<p>“It is easy,” he answered. “Yet you must remember we are continually +changing places. The man who cracks the whip to-day is the hunted beast +to-morrow. The woman who mocks at her lover this afternoon is often the +slave-bearer when dusk falls. Swift changes like this are like rain upon +the earth. They keep us, at any rate, out of the asylums.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina was still looking out of the window. Up the great avenue, in +and out amongst the tree trunks, but moving always with swift buoyant +footsteps towards the house, came a slim, dark figure, soberly dressed +in ill-fitting clothes. He walked with the swing of early manhood, his +head was thrown back, and he carried his hat in his hand. She leaned +forward to watch him more closely—he seemed to have associated himself +in some mysterious <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>manner with the mocking words of Gilbert Deyes. Half +maliciously, she drew his attention to the swiftly approaching figure.</p> + +<p>“Come, my friend of theories,” she said mockingly. “There is a stranger +there, the young man who walks so swiftly. To which of your two orders +does he belong?”</p> + +<p>Deyes looked out of the window—a brief, careless glance.</p> + +<p>“To neither,” he answered. “His time has not come yet. But he has the +makings of both.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>FIRST BLOOD</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">A</span> footman entered the room a few minutes later, and obedient, without a +doubt, to some previously given command, waited behind his mistress’ +chair until a hand had been played. When it was over, she spoke to him +without turning her head.</p> + +<p>“What is it, Perkins?” she asked.</p> + +<p>He bent forward respectfully.</p> + +<p>“There is a young gentleman here, madam, who wishes to see you most +particularly. He has no card, but he said that his name would not be +known to you.”</p> + +<p>“Tell him that I am engaged,” Wilhelmina said. “He must give you his +name, and tell you what business he has come upon.”</p> + +<p>“Very good, madam!” the man answered, and withdrew.</p> + +<p>He was back again before the next hand had been played. Once more he +stood waiting in respectful silence.</p> + +<p>“Well?” his mistress asked.</p> + +<p>“His name, madam, is Mr. Victor Macheson. He said that he would wait as +long as you liked, but he preferred telling you his business himself.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p><p>“I fancy that I know it,” Wilhelmina answered. “You can show him in +here.”</p> + +<p>“Is it the young man, I wonder,” Lady Peggy remarked, “who came up the +avenue as though he were walking on air?”</p> + +<p>“Doubtless,” Wilhelmina answered. “He is some sort of a missionary. I +had him shown in here because I thought his coming at all an +impertinence, and I want to make him understand it. You will probably +find him amusing, Mr. Deyes.”</p> + +<p>Gilbert Deyes shook his head quietly.</p> + +<p>“There was a time,” he murmured, “when the very word missionary was a +finger-post to the ridiculous. The comic papers rob us, however, of our +elementary sources of humour.”</p> + +<p>They all looked curiously towards the door as he entered, all except +Wilhelmina, who was the last to turn her head, and found him hesitating +in some embarrassment as to whom to address. He was somewhat above +medium height, fair, with a mass of wind-tossed hair, and had the smooth +face of a boy. His eyes were his most noticeable feature. They were very +bright and very restless. Lady Peggy called them afterwards +uncomfortable eyes, and the others, without any explanation, understood +what she meant.</p> + +<p>“I am Miss Thorpe-Hatton,” Wilhelmina said calmly. “I am told that you +wished to see me.”</p> + +<p>She turned only her head towards him. Her words were cold and +unwelcoming. She saw that he was nervous and she had no pity. It was +unworthy of her. She knew that. Her eyes questioned him calmly. Sitting +there in her light <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>muslin dress, with her deep-brown hair arranged in +the Madonna-like fashion, which chanced to be the caprice of the moment, +she herself—one of London’s most beautiful women—seemed little more +than a girl.</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon,” he began hurriedly. “I understood—I expected——”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>The monosyllable was like a drop of ice. A faint spot of colour burned +in his cheeks. He understood now that for some reason this woman was +inimical to him. The knowledge seemed to have a bracing effect. His eyes +flashed with a sudden fire which gave force to his face.</p> + +<p>“I expected,” he continued with more assurance, “to have found Miss +Thorpe-Hatton an older lady.”</p> + +<p>She said nothing. Only her eyebrows were very slightly raised. She +seemed to be asking him silently what possible concern the age of the +lady of Thorpe-Hatton could be to him. He was to understand that his +remark was almost an impertinence.</p> + +<p>“I wished,” he said, “to hold a service in Thorpe on Sunday afternoon, +and also one during the week, and I wrote to your agent asking for the +loan of a barn, which is generally, I believe, used for any gathering of +the villagers. Mr. Hurd found himself unable to grant my request. I have +ventured to appeal to you.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Hurd,” she said calmly, “decided, in my opinion, quite rightly. I +do not see what possible need my villagers can have of further religious +services than the Church affords them.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p><p>“Madam,” he answered, “I have not a word to say against your parish +church, or against your excellent vicar. Yet I believe, and the body to +which I am attached believes, that change is stimulating. We believe +that the great truths of life cannot be presented to our +fellow-creatures too often, or in too many different ways.”</p> + +<p>“And what,” she asked, with a faint curl of her beautiful lips, “do you +consider the great truths of life?”</p> + +<p>“Madam,” he answered, with slightly reddening cheeks, “they vary for +every one of us, according to our capacity and our circumstances. What +they may mean,” he added, after a moment’s hesitation, “to people of +your social order, I do not know. It has not come within the orbit of my +experience. It was your villagers to whom I was proposing to talk.”</p> + +<p>There was a moment’s silence. Gilbert Deyes and Lady Peggy exchanged +swift glances of amused understanding. Wilhelmina bit her lip, but she +betrayed no other sign of annoyance.</p> + +<p>“To what religious body do you belong?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“My friends,” he answered, “and I, are attached to none of the +recognized denominations. Our only object is to try to keep alight in +our fellow-creatures the flame of spirituality. We want to help +them—not to forget.”</p> + +<p>“There is no name by which you call yourselves?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“None,” he answered.</p> + +<p>“And your headquarters are where?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“In Gloucestershire,” he answered—“so far as we can be said to have any +headquarters at all.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p><p>“You have no churches then?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Any building,” he answered, “where the people are to whom we desire to +speak, is our church. We look upon ourselves as missioners only.”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid,” Wilhelmina said quietly, “that I am only wasting your +time in asking these questions. Still, I should like to know what +induced you to choose my village as an appropriate sphere for your +labours.”</p> + +<p>“We each took a county,” he answered. “Leicestershire fell to my lot. I +selected Thorpe to begin with, because I have heard it spoken of as a +model village.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina’s forehead was gently wrinkled.</p> + +<p>“I am afraid,” she said, “that I am a somewhat dense person. Your reason +seems to me scarcely an adequate one.”</p> + +<p>“Our belief is,” he declared, “that where material prosperity is +assured, especially amongst this class of people, the instincts towards +spirituality are weakened.”</p> + +<p>“My people all attend church; we have no public-house; there are never +any scandals,” she said.</p> + +<p>“All these things,” he admitted, “are excellent. But they do not help +you to see into the lives of these people. Church-going may become a +habit, a respectable and praiseworthy thing—and a thing expected of +them. Morality, too, may become a custom—until temptation comes. One +must ask oneself what is the force which prompts these people to direct +their lives in so praiseworthy a manner.”</p> + +<p>“You forget,” she remarked, “that these are simple folk. Their religion +with them is simply a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>matter of right or wrong. They need no further +instruction in this.”</p> + +<p>“Madam,” he said, “so long as they are living here, that may be so. +Frankly, I do not consider it sufficient that their lives are seemly, so +long as they live in the shadow of your patronage. What happens to those +who pass outside its influence is another matter.”</p> + +<p>“What do you know about that?” she asked coldly.</p> + +<p>“What I do know about it,” he answered, “decided me to come to Thorpe.”</p> + +<p>There was a moment’s silence. Any of the other three, Gilbert Deyes +especially, perhaps, would have found it hard to explain, even to +realize the interest with which they listened to the conversation +between these two—the somewhat unkempt, ill-attired boy, with the +nervous, forceful manner and burning eyes, and the woman, so sure of +herself, so coldly and yet brutally ungracious. It was not so much the +words themselves that passed between them that attracted as the +undernote of hostility, more felt than apparent—the beginning of a +duel, to all appearance so ludicrously onesided, yet destined to endure. +Deyes turned in his chair uneasily. He was watching this intruder—a +being outwardly so far removed from their world. The niceties of a +correct toilet had certainly never troubled him, his clothes were rough +in material and cut, he wore a flannel shirt, and a collar so low that +his neck seemed ill-shaped. He had no special gifts of features or +figure, his manner was nervous, his speech none too ready. Deyes found +himself <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>engaged in a swift analysis of the subtleties of personality. +What did this young man possess that he should convey so strong a sense +of power? There was something about him which told. They were all +conscious of it, and, more than any of them, the woman who was regarding +him with such studied ill-favour. To the others, her still beautiful +face betrayed only some languid irritation. Deyes fancied that he saw +more there—that underneath the mask which she knew so well how to wear +there were traces of some deeper disturbance.</p> + +<p>“Do you mind explaining yourself?” she asked. “That sounds rather an +extraordinary statement of yours.”</p> + +<p>“A few months ago,” he said, “I attended regularly one of the police +courts in London. Day by day I came into contact with the lost souls who +have drifted on to the great rubbish-heap. There was a girl, Martha +Gullimore her name was, whose record for her age was as black as sin +could make it. Her father, I believe, is the blacksmith in your model +village! I spoke to him of his daughter yesterday, and he cursed me!”</p> + +<p>“You mean Samuel Gullimore—my farrier?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“That is the man,” he answered.</p> + +<p>“Have you any other—instances?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“More than one, I am sorry to say,” he replied. “There were two young +men who left here only a year ago—one is the son of your gardener, the +other was brought up by his uncle at your lodge gates. I was +instrumental in saving them from prison a few months ago. One we have +shipped <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>to Canada—the other, I am sorry to say, has relapsed. We did +what we could, but beyond a certain point we cannot go.”</p> + +<p>She leaned her head for a moment upon the slim, white fingers of her +right hand, innocent of rings save for one great emerald, whose gleam of +colour was almost barbaric in its momentary splendour. Her face had +hardened a little, her tone was almost an offence.</p> + +<p>“You would have me believe, then,” she said, “that my peaceful village +is a veritable den of iniquity?”</p> + +<p>“Not I,” he answered brusquely. “Only I would have you realize that +roses and honeysuckle and regular wages, the appurtenances of material +prosperity, are after all things of little consequence. They hear the +song of the world, these people, in their leisure moments; their young +men and girls are no stronger than their fellows when temptation comes.”</p> + +<p>Deyes leaned suddenly forward in his chair. He felt that his +intervention dissipated a dramatic interest, of which he was keenly +conscious, but he could not keep silence any longer.</p> + +<p>“To follow out your argument, sir, to its logical conclusion,” he said, +“why not aim higher still? It is your contention, is it not, that the +seeds of evil things are sown in indifference, that prosperity might +even tend towards their propagation. Why not direct your energies, then, +towards the men and women of Society? There is plenty of scope here for +your labours.”</p> + +<p>The young man turned towards him. The lines of his mouth had relaxed +into a smile of tolerant indifference.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p><p>“I have no sympathy, sir,” he answered, “with the class you name. On a +sinking ship, the cry is always, ‘Save the women and children.’ It is +the less fortunate in the world’s possessions who represent the women +and children of shipwrecked morality. It is for their betterment that we +work.”</p> + +<p>Deyes sighed gently.</p> + +<p>“It is a pity,” he declared. “I am convinced that there is a magnificent +opening for mission work amongst the idle classes.”</p> + +<p>“No doubt,” the young man agreed quickly. “The question is whether the +game is worth the candle.”</p> + +<p>Deyes made no reply. Lady Peggy was laughing softly to herself.</p> + +<p>“I have heard all that you have to say, Mr. Macheson,” the mistress of +Thorpe said calmly, “and I can only repeat that I think your presence +here as a missioner most unnecessary. I consider it, in fact, <span style="white-space: nowrap;">an——”</span></p> + +<p>She hesitated. With a sudden flash of humour in his deep-set eyes, he +supplied the word.</p> + +<p>“An impertinence, perhaps!”</p> + +<p>“The word is not mine,” she answered, “but I accept it willingly. I +cannot interfere with Mr. Hurd’s decision as to the barn.”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry,” he said slowly. “I must hold my meetings out of doors! +That is all!”</p> + +<p>There was a dangerous glitter in her beautiful eyes.</p> + +<p>“There is no common land in the neighbourhood,” she said, “and you will +of course understand that I will consider you a trespasser at any time +you are found upon my property.”</p> + +<p>He bowed slightly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p><p>“I am here to speak to your people,” he said, “and I will do so, if I +have to stop in these lanes and talk to them one by one. You will pardon +my reminding you, madam, that the days of feudalism are over.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina carefully shuffled the pack of cards which she had just taken +up.</p> + +<p>“We will finish our rubber, Peggy,” she said. “Mr. Deyes, perhaps I may +trouble you to ring the bell!”</p> + +<p>The young man was across the room before Deyes could move.</p> + +<p>“You will allow me,” he said, with a delightfully humourous smile, “to +facilitate my own dismissal. I shall doubtless meet your man in the +hall. May I be allowed to wish you all good afternoon!”</p> + +<p>They all returned his farewell save Wilhelmina, who had begun to deal. +She seemed determined to remember his existence no more. Yet on the +threshold, with the handle of the door between his fingers, he turned +back. He said nothing, but his eyes were fixed upon her. Deyes leaned +forward in his chair, immensely curious. Softly the cards fell into +their places, there was no sign in her face of any consciousness of his +presence. Deyes alone knew that she was fighting. He heard her breath +come quicker, saw the fingers which gathered up her cards shake. Slowly, +but with obvious unwillingness, she turned her head. She looked straight +into the eyes of the man who still lingered.</p> + +<p>“Good afternoon, Miss Thorpe-Hatton,” he said pleasantly. “I am sorry to +have troubled you.”</p> + +<p>Her lips moved, but she said nothing. She half inclined her head. The +door was softly closed.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>BEATING HER WINGS</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">N</span>ever was a young man more pleased with himself than Stephen Hurd, on +the night he dined at Thorpe-Hatton. He had shot well all day, and been +accepted with the utmost cordiality by the rest of the party. At dinner +time, his hostess had placed him on her left hand, and though it was +true she had not much to say to him, it was equally obvious that her +duties were sufficient to account for her divided attention. He was +quite willing to be ignored by the lady on his other side—a little +elderly, and noted throughout the country for her husband-hunting +proclivities. He recognized the fact that, apart from the personal side +of the question, he could scarcely hope to be of any interest to her. +The novelty of the situation, Wilhelmina’s occasional remarks, and a +dinner such as he had never tasted before were sufficient to keep him +interested. For the rest he was content to twirl his moustache, of which +he was inordinately proud, and lean back in his chair with the +comfortable reflection that he was the first of his family to be offered +the complete hospitality of Thorpe-Hatton.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p><p>Towards the close of dinner, his hostess leaned towards him.</p> + +<p>“Have you seen or heard anything of a young man named Macheson in the +village?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“I have seen him once or twice,” he answered. “Here on a missionary +expedition or something of the sort, I believe.”</p> + +<p>“Has he made any attempt to hold a meeting?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Not that I have heard of,” he replied. “He has been talking to some of +the people, though. I saw him with old Gullimore yesterday.”</p> + +<p>“That reminds me,” she remarked, “is it true that Gullimore has had +trouble with his daughter?”</p> + +<p>“I believe so,” young Hurd admitted, looking downwards at his plate.</p> + +<p>“The man was to blame for letting her leave the place,” Wilhelmina +declared, in cold, measured tones. “A pretty girl, I remember, but very +vain, and a fool, of course. But about this young fellow Macheson. Do +you know who he is, and where he came from?”</p> + +<p>Stephen Hurd shook his head.</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid I don’t,” he said doubtfully. “He belongs to some sort of +brotherhood, I believe. I can’t exactly make out what he’s at. Seems a +queer sort of place for him to come missioning, this!”</p> + +<p>“So I told him,” she said. “By the bye, do you know where he is +staying?”</p> + +<p>“At Onetree farm,” the young man answered.</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina frowned.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p><p>“Will you execute a commission for me to-morrow?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“With pleasure!” he answered eagerly.</p> + +<p>“You will go to the woman at Onetree farm, I forget her name, and say +that I desire to take her rooms myself from to-morrow, or as soon as +possible. I will pay her for them, but I do not wish that young man to +be taken in by any of my tenants. You will perhaps make that known.”</p> + +<p>“I will do so,” he declared. “I hope he will have the good sense to +leave the neighbourhood.”</p> + +<p>“I trust so,” Wilhelmina replied.</p> + +<p>She turned away to speak once more to the man on her other side, and did +not address Stephen Hurd again. He watched her covertly, with tingling +pulses, as she devoted herself to her neighbour—the Lord-Lieutenant of +the county. He considered himself a judge of the sex, but he had had few +opportunities even of admiring such women as the mistress of Thorpe. He +watched the curve of her white neck with its delicate, satin-like skin, +the play of her features, the poise of her somewhat small, oval head. He +admired the slightly wearied air with which she performed her duties and +accepted the compliments of her neighbour. “A woman of mysteries” some +one had once called her, and he realized that it was the mouth and the +dark, tired eyes which puzzled those who attempted to classify her. What +a triumph—to bring her down to the world of ordinary women, to drive +the weariness away, to feel the soft touch, perhaps, of those wonderful +arms! He was a young man of many conquests, and with a sufficiently good +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>idea of himself. The thought was like wine in his blood. If only it +were possible!</p> + +<p>He relapsed into a day-dream, from which he was aroused only by the soft +flutter of gowns and laces as the women rose to go. There was a +momentary disarrangement of seats. Gilbert Deyes, who was on the other +side of the table, rose, and carrying his glass in his hand, came +deliberately round to the vacant seat by the young man’s side. In his +evening clothes, the length and gauntness of his face and figure seemed +more noticeable than ever. His skin was dry, almost like parchment, and +his eyes by contrast appeared unnaturally bright. His new neighbour +noticed, too, that the glass which he carried so carefully contained +nothing but water.</p> + +<p>“I will come and talk to you for a few minutes, if I may,” Deyes said. +“I leave the Church and agriculture to hobnob. Somehow I don’t fancy +that as a buffer I should be a success.”</p> + +<p>Young Hurd smiled amiably. He was more than a little flattered.</p> + +<p>“The Archdeacon,” he remarked, “is not an inspiring neighbour.”</p> + +<p>Deyes lit one of his own cigarettes and passed his case.</p> + +<p>“I have found the Archdeacon very dull,” he admitted—“a privilege of +his order, I suppose. By the bye, you are having a dose of religion from +a new source hereabouts, are you not?”</p> + +<p>“You mean this young missioner?” Hurd inquired doubtfully.</p> + +<p>Deyes nodded.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p><p>“I was with our hostess when he came up to ask for the loan of a barn to +hold services in. A very queer sort of person, I should think?”</p> + +<p>“I haven’t spoken to him,” Hurd answered, “but I should think he’s more +or less mad. I can understand mission and Salvation Army work and all +that sort of thing in the cities, but I’m hanged if I can understand any +one coming to Thorpe with such notions.”</p> + +<p>“Our hostess is annoyed about it, I imagine,” Deyes remarked.</p> + +<p>“She seems to have taken a dislike to the fellow,” Hurd admitted. “She +was speaking to me about him just now. He is to be turned out of his +lodgings here.”</p> + +<p>Gilbert Deyes smiled. The news interested him.</p> + +<p>“Our hostess is practical in her dislikes,” he remarked.</p> + +<p>“Why not?” his neighbour answered. “The place belongs to her.”</p> + +<p>Deyes watched for a moment the smoke from his cigarette, curling +upwards.</p> + +<p>“The young man,” he said thoughtfully, “impressed me as being a person +of some determination. I wonder whether he will consent to accept defeat +so easily.”</p> + +<p>The agent’s son scarcely saw what else there was for him to do.</p> + +<p>“There isn’t anywhere round here,” he remarked, “where they would take +him in against Miss Thorpe-Hatton’s wishes. Besides, he has nowhere to +preach. His coming here at all was a huge mistake. If he’s a sensible +person he’ll admit it.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p><p>Deyes nodded as he rose to his feet and lounged towards the door with +the other men.</p> + +<p>“Play bridge?” he asked his companion, as they crossed the hall.</p> + +<p>“A little,” the young man answered, “for moderate stakes.”</p> + +<p>They entered the drawing-room, and Deyes made his way to a secluded +corner, where Lady Peggy sat scribbling alone in a note-book.</p> + +<p>“My dear Lady Peggy,” he inquired, “whence this exceptional industry?”</p> + +<p>She closed the book and looked up at him with twinkling eyes.</p> + +<p>“Well, I didn’t mean to tell a soul until it was finished,” she +declared, “but you’ve just caught me. I’ve had such a brilliant idea. +I’m going to write a Society Encyclopædia!”</p> + +<p>Deyes looked at her solemnly.</p> + +<p>“A Society Encyclopædia!” he repeated uncertainly. “’Pon my word, I’m +not quite sure that I understand.”</p> + +<p>She motioned him to sit down by her side.</p> + +<p>“I’ll explain,” she said. “You know we’re all expected to know something +about everything nowadays, and it’s such a bore reading up things. I’m +going to compile a little volume of definitions. I shall sell it at a +guinea a copy, pay all my debts, and become quite respectable again.”</p> + +<p>Deyes shook his head. His attitude was scarcely sympathetic.</p> + +<p>“My dear Lady Peggy, what nonsense!” he declared. “Respectable, indeed! +I call it positively pandering to the middle classes!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p><p>Lady Peggy looked doubtful.</p> + +<p>“It is a horrid word, isn’t it?” she admitted, “but it would be lovely +to make some money. Of course, I haven’t absolutely decided how to spend +it yet. It does seem rather a waste, doesn’t it, to pay one’s debts, but +think of the luxury of feeling one could do it if one wanted to!”</p> + +<p>“There’s something in that,” Deyes admitted. “But an encyclopædia! My +dear Lady Peggy, you don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve got one +somewhere, I know. It came in a van, and it took two of the men to +unload it.”</p> + +<p>Lady Peggy laughed softly.</p> + +<p>“Oh! I don’t mean that sort, of course,” she declared. “I mean just a +little gilt-edged text book, bound in morocco, you know, with just those +things in it we’re likely to run up against. Radium, for instance. Now +every one’s talking about radium. Do you know what radium is?”</p> + +<p>Deyes swung his eyeglass carefully by its black riband.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he admitted, “I’ve a sort of idea, but I’m not very good at +definitions.”</p> + +<p>“Of course not,” Lady Peggy declared triumphantly. “When it comes to the +point, you see what a good idea mine is. You turn to my textbook,” she +added, turning the pages over rapidly, “and there you are. Radium! ‘A +hard, rare substance, invented by Mr. Gillette to give tone to his +bachelor parties.’ What do you think of that?”</p> + +<p>“Wonderful!” Deyes declared solemnly. “Where do you get your information +from?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p><p>“Oh! I poke about in dictionaries and things, and ask every one +questions,” Lady Peggy declared airily. “Would you like to hear some +more?”</p> + +<p>“Our hostess is beckoning to me,” Deyes answered, rising. “I expect she +wants some bridge.”</p> + +<p>“I’m on,” Lady Peggy declared cheerfully. “Whom shall we get for a +fourth?”</p> + +<p>“Wilhelmina has found him already,” Deyes declared. “It’s the new young +man, I think.”</p> + +<p>Lady Peggy shrugged her shoulders.</p> + +<p>“The agent’s son?” she remarked. “I shouldn’t have thought that he would +have cared about our points.”</p> + +<p>“He can afford it for once in a way, I should imagine,” Deyes answered. +“I can’t understand, <span style="white-space: nowrap;">though——”</span></p> + +<p>He stopped short. She looked at him curiously.</p> + +<p>“Is it possible,” she murmured, “that there exists anything which +Gilbert Deyes does not understand?”</p> + +<p>“Many things,” he answered; “amongst them, why does Wilhelmina patronize +this young man? He is well enough, of course, <span style="white-space: nowrap;">but——”</span> he shrugged his +shoulders expressively; “the thing needs an explanation, doesn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“If Wilhelmina—were not Wilhelmina, it certainly would,” Lady Peggy +answered. “I call her craving for new things and new people positively +morbid. All the time she beats her wings against the bars. There are no +new things. There are no new experiences. The sooner one makes up one’s +mind to it the better.”</p> + +<p>Gilbert Deyes laughed softly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p><p>“If my memory serves me,” he said, “you are repeating a cry many +thousand years old. Wasn’t there a <span style="white-space: nowrap;">prophet——”</span></p> + +<p>“There was,” she interrupted, “but they are beckoning us. I hope I don’t +cut with the young man. I don’t believe he has a bridge face.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>EVICTED</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">V</span>ictor Macheson smoked his after-breakfast pipe with the lazy enjoyment +of one who is thoroughly at peace with himself and his surroundings. The +tiny strip of lawn on to which he had dragged his chair was surrounded +with straggling bushes of cottage flowers, and flanked by a hedge thick +with honeysuckle. Straight to heaven, as the flight of a bird, the thin +line of blue smoke curled upwards to the summer sky; the very air seemed +full of sweet scents and soothing sounds. A few yards away, a procession +of lazy cows moved leisurely along the grass-bordered lane; from the +other side of the hedge came the cheerful sound of a reaping-machine, +driven slowly through the field of golden corn.</p> + +<p>The man, through half closed eyes, looked out upon these things, and +every line in his face spelt contentment. In repose, the artistic +temperament with which he was deeply imbued, asserted itself more +clearly—the almost fanatical light in his eyes was softened; one saw +there was something of the wistfulness of those who seek to raise but a +corner of the veil that hangs before the world of hidden +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>things—something, too, of the subdued joy which even the effort +brings. The lines of his forceful mouth were less firm, more +sensitive—a greater sense of humanity seemed somehow to have descended +upon him as he lounged there in the warmth of the sun, with the full joy +of his beautiful environment creeping through his blood.</p> + +<p>“If you please, Mr. Macheson,” some one said in his ear.</p> + +<p>He turned his head at once. A tall, fair girl had stepped out of the +room where he had been breakfasting, and was standing by his elbow. She +was neatly dressed, pretty in a somewhat insipid fashion, and her hands +and hair showed signs of a refinement superior to her station. Just now +she was apparently nervous. Macheson smiled at her encouragingly.</p> + +<p>“Well, Letty,” he said, “what is it?”</p> + +<p>“I wanted—can I say something to you, Mr. Macheson?” she began.</p> + +<p>“Why not?” he answered kindly. “Is it anything very serious? Out with +it!”</p> + +<p>“I was thinking, Mr. Macheson,” she said, “that I should like to leave +home—if I could—if there was anything which I could do. I wanted to +ask your advice.”</p> + +<p>He laid down his pipe and looked at her seriously.</p> + +<p>“Why, Letty,” he said, “how long have you been thinking of this?”</p> + +<p>“Oh! ever so long, sir,” she exclaimed, speaking with more confidence. +“You see there’s nothing for me to do here except when there’s any one +staying, like you, sir, and that’s not often. Mother <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>won’t let me help +with the rough work, and Ruth’s growing up now, she’s ever such a strong +girl. And I should like to go away if I could, and learn to be a little +more—more ladylike,” she added, with reddening cheeks.</p> + +<p>Macheson was puzzled. The girl was not looking him in the face. He felt +there was something at the back of it all.</p> + +<p>“My dear girl,” he said, “you can’t learn to be ladylike. That’s one of +the things that’s born with you or it isn’t. You can be just as much a +lady helping your mother here as practising grimaces in a London +drawing-room.”</p> + +<p>“But I want to improve myself,” she persisted.</p> + +<p>“Go for a long walk every day, and look about you,” he said. “Read. I’ll +lend you some books—the right sort. You’ll do better here than away.”</p> + +<p>She was frankly dissatisfied.</p> + +<p>“But I want to go away,” she declared. “I want to leave Thorpe for a +time. I should like to go to London. Couldn’t I get a situation as +lady’s help or companion or something of that sort? I shouldn’t want any +money.”</p> + +<p>He was silent for a moment.</p> + +<p>“Does your mother know of this, Letty?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“She wouldn’t object,” the girl answered eagerly. “She lets me do what I +like.”</p> + +<p>“Hadn’t you better tell me—the rest?” Macheson asked quietly.</p> + +<p>The girl looked away uneasily.</p> + +<p>“There is no rest,” she protested weakly.</p> + +<p>Macheson shook his head.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p><p>“Letty,” he said, “if you have formed any ideas of a definite future for +yourself, different from any you see before you here, tell me what they +are, and I will do my best to help you. But if you simply want to go +away because you are dissatisfied with the life here, because you fancy +yourself superior to it, well, I’m sorry, but I’d sooner prevent your +going than help you.”</p> + +<p>Her eyes filled with tears.</p> + +<p>“Oh! Mr. Macheson, it isn’t that,” she declared, “I—I don’t want to +tell any one, but I’m very—very fond of some one who’s—quite +different. I think he’s fond of me, too,” she added softly, “but he’s +always used to being with ladies, and I wanted to improve myself so +much! I thought if I went to London,” she added wistfully, “I might +learn?”</p> + +<p>Macheson laughed cheerfully. He laid his hand for a moment upon her arm.</p> + +<p>“Oh! Letty, Letty,” he declared, “you’re a foolish little girl! Now, +listen to me. If he’s a good sort, and I’m sure he is, or you wouldn’t +be fond of him, he’ll like you just exactly as you are. Do you know what +it means to be a lady, the supreme test of good manners? It means to be +natural. Take my advice! Go on helping your mother, enter into the +village life, make friends with the other girls, don’t imagine yourself +a bit superior to anybody else. Read when you have time—I’ll manage the +books for you, and spend all the time you can out of doors. It’s sound +advice, Letty. Take my word for it. Hullo, who’s this?”</p> + +<p>A new sound in the lane made them both turn their heads. Young Hurd had +just ridden up and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>was fastening his pony to the fence. He looked +across at them curiously, and Letty retreated precipitately into the +house. A moment or two later he came up the narrow path, frowning at +Macheson over the low hedge of foxgloves and cottage roses, and barely +returning his courteous greeting. For a moment he hesitated, however, as +though about to speak. Then, changing his mind, he passed on and entered +the farmhouse.</p> + +<p>He met Mrs. Foulton herself in the passage, and she welcomed him with a +smiling face.</p> + +<p>“Good morning, Mr. Hurd, sir!” she exclaimed, plucking at her apron. +“Won’t you come inside, sir, and sit down? The parlour’s let to Mr. +Macheson there, but he’s out in the garden, and he won’t mind your +stepping in for a moment. And how’s your father, Mr. Hurd? Wonderful +well he was looking when I saw him last.”</p> + +<p>The young man followed her inside, but declined a chair.</p> + +<p>“Oh! the governor’s all right, Mrs. Foulton,” he answered. “Never knew +him anything else. Good weather for the harvest, eh?”</p> + +<p>“Beautiful, sir!” Mrs. Foulton answered.</p> + +<p>“Were you wanting to speak to John, Mr. Stephen? He’s about the home +meadow somewhere, or in the orchard. I can send a boy for him, or +perhaps you’d step out.”</p> + +<p>“It’s you I came to see, Mrs. Foulton,” the young man said, “and ’pon my +word, I don’t like my errand much.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Foulton was visibly anxious.</p> + +<p>“There’s no trouble like, I hope, sir?” she began.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p><p>“Oh! it’s nothing serious,” he declared reassuringly. “To tell you the +truth, it’s about your lodger.”</p> + +<p>“About Mr. Macheson, sir!” the woman exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“Yes! Do you know how long he was proposing to stay with you?”</p> + +<p>“He’s just took the rooms for another week, sir,” she answered, “and a +nicer lodger, or one more quiet and regular in his habits, I never had +or wish to have. There’s nothing against him, sir—surely?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing personal—that I know of,” Hurd answered, tapping his boots +with his riding-whip. “The fact of it is, he has offended Miss +Thorpe-Hatton, and she wants him out of the place.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I never did!” Mrs. Foulton exclaimed in amazement. “Him offend +Miss Thorpe-Hatton! So nice-spoken he is, too. I’m sure I can’t imagine +his saying a wry word to anybody.”</p> + +<p>“He has come to Thorpe,” Hurd explained, “on an errand of which Miss +Thorpe-Hatton disapproves, and she does not wish to have him in the +place. She knows that he is staying here, and she wishes you to send him +away at once.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Foulton’s face fell.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m fair sorry to hear this, sir,” she declared. “It’s only this +morning that he spoke for the rooms for another week, and I was glad and +willing enough to let them to him. Well I never did! It does sound all +anyhow, don’t it, sir, to be telling him to pack up and go sudden-like!”</p> + +<p>“I will speak to him myself, if you like, Mrs. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>Foulton,” Stephen said. +“Of course, Miss Thorpe-Hatton does not wish you to lose anything, and I +am to pay you the rent of the rooms for the time he engaged them. I will +do so at once, if you will let me know how much it is.”</p> + +<p>He thrust his hand into his pocket, but Mrs. Foulton drew back. The +corners of her mouth were drawn tightly together.</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Mr. Stephen,” she said, “I’ll obey Miss Thorpe-Hatton’s +wishes, of course, as in duty bound, but I’ll not take any money for the +rooms. Thank you all the same.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t be foolish, Mrs. Foulton,” the young man said pleasantly. “It +will annoy Miss Thorpe-Hatton if she knows you have refused, and you may +just as well have the money. Let me see. Shall we say a couple of +sovereigns for the week?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Foulton shook her head.</p> + +<p>“I’ll not take anything, sir, thank you all the same, and if you’d say a +word to Mr. Macheson, I’d be much obliged. I’d rather any one spoke to +him than me.”</p> + +<p>Stephen Hurd pocketed the money with a shrug of the shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Just as you like, of course, Mrs. Foulton,” he said. “I’ll go out and +speak to the young gentleman at once.”</p> + +<p>He strolled out and looked over the hedge.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Macheson, I believe?” he remarked interrogatively.</p> + +<p>Macheson nodded as he rose from his chair.</p> + +<p>“And you are Mr. Hurd’s son, are you not?” he said pleasantly. +“Wonderful morning, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p><p>Young Hurd stepped over the rose bushes. The two men stood side by side, +something of a height, only that the better cut of Hurd’s clothes showed +his figure to greater advantage.</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry to say that I’ve come on rather a disagreeable errand,” the +agent’s son began. “I’ve been talking to Mrs. Foulton about it.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed?” Macheson remarked interrogatively.</p> + +<p>“The fact is you seem to have rubbed up against our great lady here,” +young Hurd continued. “She’s very down on these services you were going +to hold, and she wants to see you out of the place.”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry to hear this,” Macheson said—and once more waited.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t a pleasant task,” Stephen continued, liking his errand less as +he proceeded; “but I’ve had to tell Mrs. Foulton that—that, in short, +Miss Thorpe-Hatton does not wish her tenants to accept you as a lodger.”</p> + +<p>“Miss Thorpe-Hatton makes war on a wide scale,” Macheson remarked, +smiling faintly.</p> + +<p>“Well, after all, you see,” Hurd explained, “the whole place belongs to +her, and there is no particular reason, is there, why she should +tolerate any one in it of whom she disapproves?”</p> + +<p>“None whatever,” Macheson assented gravely.</p> + +<p>“I promised Mrs. Foulton I would speak to you,” Stephen continued, +stepping backwards. “I’m sure, for her sake, you won’t make any trouble. +Good morning!”</p> + +<p>Macheson bowed slightly.</p> + +<p>“Good morning!” he answered.</p> + +<p>Stephen Hurd lingered even then upon the garden <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>path. Somehow he was +not satisfied with his interview—with his own position at the end of +it. He had an uncomfortable sense of belittlement, of having played a +small part in a not altogether worthy game. The indifference of the +other’s manner nettled him. He tried a parting shaft.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Foulton said something about your having engaged the rooms for +another week,” he said, turning back. “Of course, if you insist upon +staying, it will place the woman in a very awkward position.”</p> + +<p>Macheson had resumed his seat.</p> + +<p>“I should not dream,” he said coolly, “of resisting—your mistress’ +decree! I shall leave here in half an hour.”</p> + +<p>Young Hurd walked angrily down the path and slammed the gate. The sense +of having been worsted was strong upon him. He recognized his own +limitations too accurately not to be aware that he had been in conflict +with a stronger personality.</p> + +<p>“D—— the fellow!” he muttered, as he cantered down the lane. “I wish +he were out of the place.”</p> + +<p>A genuine wish, and one which betrayed at least a glimmering of a +prophetic instinct. In some dim way he seemed to understand, even before +the first move on the board, that the coming of Victor Macheson to +Thorpe was inimical to himself. He was conscious of his weakness, of a +marked inferiority, and the consciousness was galling. The fellow had no +right to be a gentleman, he told himself angrily—a gentleman and a +missioner!</p> + +<p>Macheson re-lit his pipe and called to Mrs. Foulton.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Foulton,” he said pleasantly, “I’ll have to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>go! Your great lady +doesn’t like me on the estate. I dare say she’s right.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure I’m very sorry, sir,” Mrs. Foulton declared shamefacedly. +“You’ve seen young Mr. Hurd?”</p> + +<p>“He was kind enough to explain the situation to me,” Macheson answered. +“I’m afraid I am rather a nuisance to everybody. If I am, it’s because +they don’t quite understand!”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure, sir,” Mrs. Foulton affirmed, “a nicer lodger no one ever had. +And as for them services, and the Vicar objecting to them, I can’t see +what harm they’d do! We’re none of us so good but we might be a bit +better!”</p> + +<p>“A very sound remark, Mrs. Foulton,” Macheson said, smiling. “And now +you must make out my bill, please, and what about a few sandwiches? You +could manage that? I’m going to play in a cricket match this afternoon.”</p> + +<p>“Why you’ve just paid the bill, sir! There’s only breakfast, and the +sandwiches you’re welcome to, and very sorry I am to part with you, +sir.”</p> + +<p>“Better luck another time, I hope, Mrs. Foulton,” he answered, smiling. +“I must go upstairs and pack my bag. I shan’t forget your garden with +its delicious flowers.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a shame as you’ve got to leave it, sir,” Mrs. Foulton said +heartily. “If my Richard were alive he’d never have let you go for all +the Miss Thorpe-Hattons in the world. But John—he’s little more than a +lad—he’d be frightened to death for fear of losing the farm, if I so +much as said a word to him.”</p> + +<p>Macheson laughed softly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p><p>“John’s a good son,” he said. “Don’t you worry him.”</p> + +<p>He went up to his tiny bedroom and changed his clothes for a suit of +flannels. Then he packed his few belongings and walked out into the +world. He lit a pipe and shouldered his portmanteau.</p> + +<p>“There is a flavour of martyrdom about this affair,” he said to himself, +as he strolled along, “which appeals to me. I don’t think that young man +has any sense of humour.”</p> + +<p>He paused every now and then to listen to the birds and admire the view. +He had the air of one thoroughly enjoying his walk. Presently he turned +off the main road, and wandered along a steep green lane, which was +little more than a cart-track. Here he met no one. The country on either +side was common land, sown with rocks and the poorest soil, picturesque, +but almost impossible of cultivation. A few sheep were grazing upon the +hills, but other sign of life there was none. Not a farmhouse—scarcely +a keeper’s cottage in sight! It was a forgotten corner of a not +unpopulous county—the farthest portion of a belt of primeval forest +land, older than history itself. Macheson laughed softly as he reached +the spot he had had in his mind, and threw his bag over the grey stone +wall into the cool shade of a dense fragment of wood.</p> + +<p>“So much,” he murmured softly, “for the lady of Thorpe!”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>CRICKET AND PHILOSOPHY</h3> + +<p style="float: left; font-size: 100%; line-height: 80%; margin-top: 0;">“</p><p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span>he instinct for games,” Wilhelmina remarked, “is one which I never +possessed. Let us see whether we can learn something.”</p> + +<p>In obedience to her gesture, the horses were checked, and the footman +clambered down and stood at their heads. Deyes, from his somewhat +uncomfortable back seat in the victoria, leaned forward, and, adjusting +his eyeglass, studied the scene with interest.</p> + +<p>“Here,” he remarked, “we have the ‘flannelled fool’ upon his native +heath. They are playing a game which my memory tells me is cricket. +Everyone seems very hot and very excited.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina beckoned to the footman to come round to the side of the +carriage.</p> + +<p>“James,” she said, “do you know what all this means?”</p> + +<p>She waved her hand towards the cricket pitch, the umpires with their +white coats, the tent and the crowd of spectators. The man touched his +hat.</p> + +<p>“It is a cricket match, madam,” he answered, “between Thorpe and +Nesborough.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina looked once more towards the field, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>and recognized Mr. Hurd +upon his stout little cob.</p> + +<p>“Go and tell Mr. Hurd to come and speak to me,” she ordered.</p> + +<p>The man hastened off. Mr. Hurd had not once turned his head. His eyes +were riveted upon the game. The groom found it necessary to touch him on +the arm before he could attract his attention. Even when he had +delivered his message, the agent waited until the finish of the over +before he moved. Then he cantered his pony up to the waiting carriage. +Wilhelmina greeted him graciously.</p> + +<p>“I want to know about the cricket match, Mr. Hurd,” she asked, smiling.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hurd wheeled his pony round so that he could still watch the game.</p> + +<p>“I am afraid that we are going to be beaten, madam,” he said dolefully. +“Nesborough made a hundred and ninety-eight, and we have six wickets +down for fifty.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina seemed scarcely to realize the tragedy which his words +unfolded.</p> + +<p>“I suppose they are the stronger team, aren’t they?” she remarked. “They +ought to be. Nesborough is quite a large town.”</p> + +<p>“We have beaten them regularly until the last two years,” Mr. Hurd +answered. “We should beat them now but for their fast bowler, Mills. I +don’t know how it is, but our men will not stand up to him.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps they are afraid of being hurt,” Wilhelmina suggested +innocently. “If that is he bowling now, I’m sure I don’t wonder at it.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p><p>Mr. Hurd frowned.</p> + +<p>“We don’t have men in the eleven who are afraid of getting hurt,” he +remarked stiffly.</p> + +<p>A shout of dismay from the onlookers, a smothered exclamation from Mr. +Hurd, and a man was seen on his way to the pavilion. His wickets were +spreadeagled, and the ball was being tossed about the field.</p> + +<p>“Another wicket!” the agent exclaimed testily. “Crooks played all round +that ball!”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t that your son going in, Mr. Hurd?” Wilhelmina asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes! Stephen is in now,” his father answered. “If he gets out, the +match is over.”</p> + +<p>“Who is the other batsman?” Deyes asked.</p> + +<p>“Antill, the second bailiff,” Mr. Hurd answered. “He’s captain, and he +can stay in all day, but he can’t make runs.”</p> + +<p>They all leaned forward to witness the continuation of the match. +Stephen Hurd’s career was brief and inglorious. He took guard and looked +carefully round the field with the air of a man who is going to give +trouble. Then he saw the victoria, with its vision of parasols and +fluttering laces, and the sight was fatal to him. He slogged wildly at +the first ball, missed it, and paid the penalty. The lady in the +carriage frowned, and Mr. Hurd muttered something under his breath as he +watched his son on the way back to the tent.</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid it’s all up with us now,” he remarked. “We have only three +more men to go in.”</p> + +<p>“Then we are going to be beaten,” Wilhelmina remarked.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p><p>“I’m afraid so,” Mr. Hurd assented gloomily.</p> + +<p>The next batsman had issued from the tent and was on his way to the +wicket. Wilhelmina, who had been about to give an order to the footman, +watched him curiously.</p> + +<p>“Who is that going in?” she asked abruptly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hurd was looking not altogether comfortable.</p> + +<p>“It is the young man who wanted to preach,” he answered.</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina frowned.</p> + +<p>“Why is he playing?” she asked. “He has nothing to do with Thorpe.”</p> + +<p>“He came down to see them practise a few evenings ago, and Antill asked +him,” the agent answered. “If I had known earlier I would have stopped +it.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina did not immediately reply. She was watching the young man who +stood now at the wicket, bat in hand. In his flannels, he seemed a very +different person from the missioner whose request a few days ago had so +much offended her. Nevertheless, her lip curled as she saw the terrible +Mills prepare to deliver his first ball.</p> + +<p>“That sort of person,” she remarked, “is scarcely likely to be much good +at games. Oh!”</p> + +<p>Her exclamation was repeated in various forms from all over the field. +Macheson had hit his first ball high over their heads, and a storm of +applause broke from the bystanders. The batsman made no attempt to run.</p> + +<p>“What is that?” Wilhelmina asked.</p> + +<p>“A boundary—magnificent drive,” Mr. Hurd answered excitedly. “By Jove, +another!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p><p>The agent dropped his reins and led the applause. Along the ground this +time the ball had come at such a pace that the fieldsman made a very +half-hearted attempt to stop it. It passed the horses’ feet by only a +few yards. The coachman turned round and touched his hat.</p> + +<p>“Shall I move farther back, madam?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Stay where you are,” Wilhelmina answered shortly. Her eyes were fixed +upon the tall, lithe figure once more facing the bowler. The next ball +was the last of the over. Macheson played it carefully for a single, and +stood prepared for the bowling at the other end. He began by a graceful +cut for two, and followed it up by a square leg hit clean out of the +ground. For the next half an hour, the Thorpe villagers thoroughly +enjoyed themselves. Never since the days of one Foulds, a former +blacksmith, had they seen such an exhibition of hurricane hitting. The +fast bowler, knocked clean off his length, became wild and erratic. Once +he only missed Macheson’s head by an inch, but his next ball was driven +fair and square out of the ground for six. The applause became frantic.</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina was leaning back amongst the cushions of her carriage, +watching the game through half closed eyes, and with some apparent +return of her usual graceful languor. Nevertheless, she remained there, +and her eyes seldom wandered for a moment from the scene of play. +Beneath her apparent indifference, she was watching this young man with +an interest for which she would have found it hard to account, and which +instinct alone prompted <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>her to conceal. It was a very ordinary scene, +after all, of which he was the dominant figure. She had seen so much of +life on a larger scale—of men playing heroic parts in the limelight of +a stage as mighty as this was insignificant. Yet, without stopping to +reason about it, she was conscious of a curious sense of pleasure in +watching the doings of this forceful young giant. With an easy +good-humoured smile, replaced every now and then with a grim look of +determination as he jumped out from the crease to hit, he continued his +victorious career, until a more frantic burst of applause than usual +announced that the match was won. Then Wilhelmina turned towards Stephen +Hurd, who was standing by the side of the carriage.</p> + +<p>“You executed my commission,” she asked, “respecting that young man?”</p> + +<p>“The first thing this morning,” he answered. “I went up to see Mrs. +Foulton, and I also spoke to him.”</p> + +<p>“Did he make any difficulty?”</p> + +<p>“None at all!” the young man answered.</p> + +<p>“What did he say?”</p> + +<p>Stephen hesitated, but Wilhelmina waited for his reply. She had the air +of one remotely interested, yet she waited obviously to hear what this +young man had said.</p> + +<p>“I think he said something about your making war upon a large scale,” +Stephen explained diffidently.</p> + +<p>She sat still for a moment. She was looking towards the deserted cricket +pitch.</p> + +<p>“Where is he staying now?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“I do not know,” he answered. “I have warned <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>all the likely people not +to receive him, and I have told him, too, that he will only get your +tenants into trouble if he tries to get lodgings here.”</p> + +<p>“I should like,” she said, “to speak to him. Perhaps you would be so +good as to ask him to step this way for a moment.”</p> + +<p>Stephen departed, wondering. Deyes was watching his hostess with an air +of covert amusement.</p> + +<p>“Do you continue the warfare,” he asked, “or has the young man’s prowess +softened your heart?”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina raised her parasol and looked steadily at her questioner.</p> + +<p>“Warfare is scarcely the word, is it?” she remarked carelessly. “I have +no personal objection to the young man.”</p> + +<p>They watched him crossing the field towards them. Notwithstanding his +recent exertions, he walked lightly, and without any sign of fatigue. +Deyes looked curiously at the crest upon the cap which he was carrying +in his hand.</p> + +<p>“Magdalen,” he muttered. “Your missioner grows more interesting.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina leaned forwards. Her face was inscrutable, and her greeting +devoid of cordiality.</p> + +<p>“So you have decided to teach my people cricket instead of morals, Mr. +Macheson,” she remarked.</p> + +<p>“The two,” he answered pleasantly, “are not incompatible.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina frowned.</p> + +<p>“I hope,” she said, “that you have abandoned your idea of holding +meetings in the village.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly not,” he answered. “I will begin next week.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p><p>“You understand,” she said calmly, “that I consider you—as a +missioner—an intruder—here! Those of my people who attend your +services will incur my displeasure!”</p> + +<p>“Madam,” he answered, “I do not believe that you will visit it upon +them.”</p> + +<p>“But I will,” she interrupted ruthlessly. “You are young and know little +of the world. You have not yet learnt the truth of one of the oldest of +proverbs—that it is well to let well alone!”</p> + +<p>“It is a sop for the idle, that proverb,” he answered. “It is the motto +for the great army of those who drift.”</p> + +<p>“I have been making inquiries,” she said. “I find that my villagers are +contented and prosperous. There are no signs of vice in the place.”</p> + +<p>“There is such a thing,” he answered, “as being too prosperous, +over-contented. The person in such a state takes life for granted. +Religion is a thing he hears about, but fails to realize. He has no need +of it. He becomes like the prize cattle in your park! He has a mind, but +has forgotten how to use it.”</p> + +<p>She looked at him steadily, perhaps a trifle insolently.</p> + +<p>“How old are you, Mr. Macheson?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Twenty-eight,” he answered, with a slight flush.</p> + +<p>“Twenty-eight! You are young to make yourself the judge of such things +as these. You will do a great deal of mischief, I am afraid, before you +are old enough to realize it.”</p> + +<p>“To awaken those who sleep in the daytime—is that mischief?” he asked.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p><p>“It is,” she answered deliberately. “When you are older you will realize +it. Sleep is the best.”</p> + +<p>He bent towards her. The light in his eyes had blazed out.</p> + +<p>“You know in your heart,” he said, “that it is not true. You have +brains, and you are as much of an artist as your fettered life permits +you to be. You know very well that knowledge is best.”</p> + +<p>“Do you believe,” she answered, “that I—I take myself not personally +but as a type—am as happy as they are?”</p> + +<p>She moved her parasol to where the village lay beyond the trees. He +hesitated.</p> + +<p>“Madam,” he answered gravely, “I know too little of your life to answer +your question.”</p> + +<p>She shrugged her shoulders. For a moment her parasol hid her face.</p> + +<p>“We are quite <i>à la mode</i>, are we not, my dear Peggy?” she remarked, +with a curious little laugh. “Philosophy upon the village green. +Gilbert, tell them to drive on.”</p> + +<p>She turned deliberately to Macheson.</p> + +<p>“Come and convert us instead,” she said. “We need it more.”</p> + +<p>“I do not doubt it, madam,” he answered. “Good afternoon!”</p> + +<p>The carriage drove off. Macheson, obeying an impulse which he did not +recognize, watched it till it was out of sight. At the bend, Wilhelmina +deliberately turned in her seat and saw him standing there. She waved +her parasol in ironical farewell, and Macheson walked back to the tent +with burning cheeks.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>AN UNDERNOTE OF MUSIC</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">A</span> great dinner party had come to an end, and the Lord-Lieutenant of the +county bowed low over the cold hand of his departing guest, in whose +honour it had been given. A distant relationship gave Lord Westerdean +privileges upon which he would willingly have improved.</p> + +<p>“You are leaving us early, Wilhelmina,” he murmured reproachfully. “How +can I expect to keep my other guests if you desert us?”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina withdrew the hand and nodded her other farewells. The heat of +the summer evening had brought every one out from the drawing-room. The +hall doors stood open. Those of the guests who were not playing bridge +or billiards were outside upon the terrace—some had wandered into the +gardens.</p> + +<p>“My dear Leslie,” she said, as she stood upon the broad steps, “you are +losing your habit of gallantry. A year ago you would not have ventured +to suggest that in my absence the coming or going of your other guests +could matter a straw.”</p> + +<p>“You know very well that it doesn’t,” he answered, dropping his voice. +“You know very <span style="white-space: nowrap;">well——”</span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p><p>“To-night,” she interrupted calmly, “I will not be made love to! I am +not in the humour for it.”</p> + +<p>He looked down at her curiously. He was a man of exceptional height, +thin, grey, still handsome, an ex-diplomat, whose career, had he chosen +to follow it, would have been a brilliant one. Wealth and immense +estates had thrust their burdens upon him, however, and he was content +to be the most popular man in his county.</p> + +<p>“There is nothing the matter?” he asked anxiously.</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p>“You are well?” he persisted, dropping his voice.</p> + +<p>“Absolutely,” she answered. “It is not that. It is a mood. I used to +welcome moods as an escape from the ruts. I suppose I am getting too old +for them now.”</p> + +<p>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>“I wonder,” he said, “if the world really knows how young you are.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t,” she interrupted, with a shudder, “I have outlived my years.”</p> + +<p>A motor omnibus and a small victoria came round from the stables. The +party from Thorpe began slowly to assemble upon the steps.</p> + +<p>“I am going in the victoria—alone,” she said, resting her fingers upon +his arm. “Don’t you envy me?”</p> + +<p>“I envy the vacant place,” he answered sadly. “Isn’t this desire for +solitude somewhat of a new departure, though?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps,” she admitted. “I am rather looking forward to my drive. +To-night, as we came here, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>the whole country seemed like a great garden +of perfumes and beautiful places. That is why I had them telephone for a +carriage. There are times when I hate motoring!”</p> + +<p>He broke off a cluster of pink roses and placed them in her hands.</p> + +<p>“If your thoughts must needs fill the empty seat,” he whispered, as he +bent over her for his final adieux, “remember my claims, I beg. Perhaps +my thoughts might even meet yours!”</p> + +<p>She laughed under her breath, but the light in his eyes was unanswered.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps!” she answered. “It is a night for thoughts and dreams, this. +Even I may drift into sentiment. Good night! Such a charming evening.”</p> + +<p>The carriage rolled smoothly down the avenue from the great house, over +which she might so easily have reigned, and turned into the road. A few +minutes later the motor-car flashed by. Afterwards there was solitude, +for it was already past midnight. Gilbert Deyes looked thoughtfully out +at the carriage from his place in the car. He had begged—very hard for +him—for that empty seat.</p> + +<p>“Of what is it a sign,” he asked, “when a woman seeks solitude?”</p> + +<p>Lady Peggy shrugged her shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Wilhelmina is tired of us all, I suppose,” she remarked. “She gets like +that sometimes.”</p> + +<p>“Then of what is it a sign,” he persisted, “when a woman tires of +people—like us?”</p> + +<p>Lady Peggy yawned.</p> + +<p>“In a woman of more primitive instincts,” she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>said, “it would mean an +affair. But Wilhelmina has outgrown all that. She is the only woman of +our acquaintance of whom one would dare to say it, but I honestly +believe that to Wilhelmina men are like puppets. Was she born, I wonder, +with ice in her veins?”</p> + +<p>“One wonders,” Deyes remarked softly. “A woman like that is always +something of a mystery. By the bye, wasn’t there a whisper of something +the year she lived in Florence?”</p> + +<p>“People have talked of her, of course,” Lady Peggy answered. “In +Florence, a woman without a lover is like a child without toys. To be +virtuous there is the one offence which Society does not pardon.”</p> + +<p>“I believe,” Deyes said, “that a lover would bore Wilhelmina terribly.”</p> + +<p>“Why the dickens doesn’t she marry Leslie?” Austin asked, opening his +eyes for a moment.</p> + +<p>“Too obvious,” Deyes murmured. “Some day I can’t help fancying that she +will give us all a shock.”</p> + +<p>A mile or more behind, the lady with ice in her veins, leaned back +amongst the cushions of her carriage, drinking in, with a keenness of +appreciation which surprised even herself, the beauties of the still, +hot night. The moon was as yet barely risen. In the half light, the +country and the hills beyond, with their tumbled masses of rock, seemed +unreal—of strange and mysterious outline. More than anything, she was +conscious of a sense of softness. The angles were gone from all the +crude places, it was peace itself which had settled upon the land. +Peace, and a wonderful silence! The birds had long <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>ago ceased to sing, +no breath of wind was abroad to stir the leaves of the trees. All the +cheerful chorus of country sounds which make music throughout the long +summer day had ceased. Once, when a watch-dog barked in the valley far +below, she started. The sound seemed unreal—as though, indeed, it came +from a different world!</p> + +<p>The woman in the carriage looked out with steady tireless eyes upon this +visionary land. The breath of the honeysuckle and the pleasant odour of +warm hay seemed to give life to the sensuous joy of the wonderful night. +She herself was a strange being to be abroad in these quiet lanes. Her +only wrap was a long robe of filmy lace, which she had thrown back, so +that her shoulders and neck, with its collar of lustrous pearls, were +bare to the faint breeze, which only their own progress made. Her +gleaming dress of white satin, undecorated, unadorned, fell in delicate +lines about her limbs. No wonder that the only person whom they passed, +a belated farmer, rubbed his eyes and stared at her as at a ghost!</p> + +<p>It seemed to her that something of the confusion of this delightful, +half-seen world, had stolen, too, into her thoughts. All day long she +had been conscious of it. There was something alien there, something +wholly unrecognizable. She felt a new light falling upon her life. From +where? She could not tell. Only she knew that its pitiless routine, its +littleness, its frantic struggle for the front place in the great +pleasure-house, seemed suddenly to stand revealed in pitiful colours. +Surely it belonged to some other woman! It could not be she who did +those things and called them life. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>She, who scarcely knew what nerves +were, was suddenly afraid. Some change was coming upon her; she felt +herself caught in a silent, swift-flowing current. She was being carried +away, and she had not strength to resist. And all the time there was an +undernote of music. That was what made it so strange. The light that was +falling was like summer rain upon the bare, dry places. She was +conscious of a new vitality, a new life, and she feared it. Fancy being +endowed with a new sense, in the midst of an ordinary work-a-day +existence! She felt like that. It was unbelievable, and yet its tumult +was stirring in her heart, was rushing through her veins. Often before, +her tired eyes had rested unmoved upon a country as beautiful as this, +even the mystery of this half light was no new thing. To-night she saw +farther—she felt the throbbing, half-mad delight of the wanderer in the +enchanted land, the pilgrim who hears suddenly the Angelus bell from the +shrine he has journeyed so far to visit. What it meant she could not, +she dared not ask herself. She was content to sit there, her eyes wide +open now, the tired lines smoothed from her forehead, her face like the +face of an eager and beautiful child. No one of her world would have +recognized her, as she travelled that night through the perfumed lanes.</p> + +<p>It was when they were within a mile or two of home that an awakening +came. They had turned into a lonely lane leading to one of the back +entrances to Thorpe, and were climbing a somewhat steep hill. Suddenly +the horses plunged and almost stopped. She leaned forward.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p><p>“What is it, Johnson?” she asked.</p> + +<p>The man touched his hat.</p> + +<p>“The ’osses shied, madam, at the light in the trees there. Enough to +frighten ’em, too.”</p> + +<p>Her eyes followed his pointing finger. A few yards back from the +roadside, a small, steady light was burning amongst the trees.</p> + +<p>“What is it?” she asked quickly.</p> + +<p>“I can’t say, madam,” the man answered. “It looks like a lantern or a +candle, or something of that sort.”</p> + +<p>“There is no cottage there?” she asked.</p> + +<p>The man shook his head.</p> + +<p>“There’s none nearer than the first lodge, madam,” he answered. “There’s +a bit of a shelter there—Higgs, the keeper, built it for a watchman.”</p> + +<p>“Can I take care of the horses for a moment, while you go and see what +it is?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“They take a bit of holding, madam,” the man answered doubtfully. “We +got your message so late at the stables, or I should have had a second +man.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina stepped softly out into the road.</p> + +<p>“I will go myself,” she said. “I daresay it is nothing. If I call, +though, you must leave the horses and come to me.”</p> + +<p>She opened the gate, and raising her skirts with both hands, stepped +into the plantation. Her small, white-shod feet fell noiselessly upon +the thick undergrowth; she reached the entrance of the shelter without +making any sound. Cautiously she peeped in. Her eyes grew round with +surprise, her bosom began rapidly to rise and fall. It was Macheson who +lay there, fast asleep! He had fallen asleep <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>evidently whilst reading. +A book was lying by his side, and a covered lantern was burning by his +left shoulder. He was dressed in trousers and shirt; the latter was open +at the throat, showing its outline firm and white, and his regular +breathing. She drew a step nearer, and leaned over him. Curiously +enough, in sleep the boyishness of his face was less apparent. The +straight, firm mouth, rigidly closed, was the mouth of a man; his limbs, +in repose, seemed heavy, even massive, especially the bare arm upon +which his head was resting. His shirt was old, but spotlessly clean; his +socks were neatly darned in many places. He occupied nearly the whole of +the shelter, in fact one foot was protruding through the opening. In the +corner a looking-glass was hanging from a stick, and a few simple toilet +articles were spread upon the ground.</p> + +<p>She bent more closely over him, holding her breath, although he showed +no signs of waking. Her senses were in confusion, and there was a mist +before her eyes. An unaccountable impulse was urging her on, driving +her, as it seemed, into incredible folly. Lower and lower she bent, till +her hot breath fell almost upon his cheek. Suddenly he stirred. She +started back. After all he did not open his eyes, but the moment was +gone. She moved backwards towards the opening. She was seized now with +sudden fright. She desired to escape. She was breathless with fear, the +fear of what she might not have escaped. Yet in the midst of it, with +hot trembling fingers she loosened the roses from her dress and dropped +them by his side. Then she fled into the semi-darkness.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p><p>The habits of a lifetime die hard. They are proof, as a rule, against +these fits of temporary madness.</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina stepped languidly into her carriage, and commanded her +coachman’s attention.</p> + +<p>“Johnson,” she said, “I found a poor man sleeping there. There is no +necessity for him to be disturbed. It is my wish that you do not mention +the occurrence to any one—to any one at all. You understand?”</p> + +<p>The man touched his hat. He would have been dull-witted, indeed, if he +had not appreciated the note of finality in his mistress’ tone. His +horses sprang forward, and a few minutes later turned into the dark +avenue which led to the house.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>ROSES</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">M</span>acheson woke with the daylight, stiff, a little tired, and haunted with +the consciousness of disturbing dreams. He sprang to his feet and +stretched himself. Then he saw the roses.</p> + +<p>For a moment or two he stared at them incredulously. Then his thoughts +flashed backwards—where or how had he become possessed of them? A few +seconds were sufficient. Some one had been there in the night—most +likely a woman.</p> + +<p>His cheeks burned at the thought. He stooped and took them hesitatingly, +reverently, into his hand. To him they represented part of the mystery +of life, the mystery of which he knew so little. Soft and fragrant, the +touch of the drooping blossoms was like fire to his fingers. Had he been +like those predecessors of his in the days of the Puritans, he would +have cast them away, trampled them underfoot; he would have seen in them +only the snare of the Evil One. But to Macheson this would have seemed +almost like sacrilege. They were beautiful and he loved beautiful +things.</p> + +<p>He made his way farther into the plantation, to where the trees, +suddenly opening, disclosed a small, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>disused slate quarry, the water in +which was kept fresh by many streams. Stripping off his clothes, he +plunged into the deep cool depths, swimming round for several minutes on +his back, his face upturned to the dim blue sky. Then he dressed—in the +ugly black suit, for it was Sunday, and made a frugal breakfast, boiling +the water for his coffee over a small spirit-lamp. And all the time he +kept looking at the roses, now fresh with the water which he had +carefully sprinkled over them. Their coming seemed to him to whisper of +beautiful things, they turned his thoughts so easily into that world of +poetry and sentiment in which he was a habitual wanderer. Yet, every now +and then, their direct significance startled, almost alarmed. Some one +had actually been in the place while he slept, and had retreated without +disturbing him. Roses do not drop from the sky, and of gardens there +were none close at hand. Was it one of the village girls, who had seen +him that afternoon? His cheeks reddened at the thought. Perhaps he had +better leave his shelter. Another time if she came she might not steal +away so quietly. Scandal would injure his work. He must run no risks. +Deep down in his heart he thrust that other, that impossibly sweet +thought. He would not suffer his mind to dwell upon it.</p> + +<p>After breakfast he walked for an hour or so across the hills, watching +the early mists roll away in the valleys, and the sunlight settle down +upon the land. It was a morning of silence, this—that peculiar, +mysterious silence which only the first day of the week seems to bring. +The fields were empty of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>toilers, the harvest was stayed. From its +far-away nest amongst the hills, he could just hear, carried on the +bosom of a favouring breeze, the single note of a monastery bell, whose +harshness not even distance, or its pleasant journey across the open +country, could modify. Macheson listened to it for a moment, and sat +down upon a rock on the topmost pinnacle of the hills he was climbing.</p> + +<p>Below him, the country stretched like a piece of brilliant patchwork. +Thorpe, with its many chimneys and stately avenues, and the village +hidden by a grove of elms, was like a cool oasis in the midst of the +landscape. Behind, the hills ran rockier and wilder, culminating in a +bleak stretch of country, in the middle of which was the monastery. +Macheson looked downwards at Thorpe, with the faint clang of that single +bell in his ears. The frown on his forehead deepened as the rush of +thoughts took insistent hold of him.</p> + +<p>For a young man blessed with vigorous health, free from all material +anxieties, and with the world before him, Macheson found life an +uncommonly serious matter. Only a few years ago, he had left the +University with a brilliant degree, a splendid athletic record, and a +host of friends. What to do with his life! That was the problem which +pressingly confronted him. He recognized in himself certain gifts +inevitably to be considered in this choice. He was possessed of a deep +religious sense, an immense sympathy for his fellows, and a passion for +the beautiful in life, from which the physical side was by no means +absent.</p> + +<p>How to find a career which would satisfy such <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>varying qualities! A life +of pleasure, unless it were shared by his fellows, did not appeal to him +at all; personal ambition he was destitute of; his religion, he was very +well aware, was not the sort which would enable him to enter with any +prospect of happiness any of the established churches. For a time he had +travelled, and had come back with only one definite idea in his mind. +Chance had brought him, on his return, into contact with two young men +of somewhat similar tastes. A conversation between them one night had +given a certain definiteness to his aims. He recalled it to himself as +he sat looking down at the thin blue line of smoke rising from the +chimneys of Thorpe.</p> + +<p>“To use one’s life for others,” he had repeated thoughtfully—it was the +enthusiast of the party who had spoken—“but how?”</p> + +<p>“Teach them to avoid like filth the ugly things of life—help them in +their search for the things beautiful.”</p> + +<p>“What are the things beautiful?” he had asked. “Don’t they mean +something different to every man?”</p> + +<p>Holderness had lifted his beautiful head—the boy with whom he had +played at school—the friend of his younger life.</p> + +<p>“The Christian morality,” he had answered.</p> + +<p>Macheson had been surprised.</p> + +<p>“But you——” he said, “you don’t believe anything.”</p> + +<p>“It is not necessary,” Holderness had answered. “It is a matter of the +intelligence. As an artist, if I might dare to call myself one, I say +that the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>Christian life, if honestly lived, is the most beautiful thing +of all the ages.”</p> + +<p>Macheson walked down to the village with the memory of those words still +in his brain. The bell was ringing for service from the queer, +ivy-covered church, the villagers were coming down the lane in little +groups. Macheson found himself one of a small knot of people, who stood +reverently on one side, with doffed hats, just by the wooden porch. He +looked up, suddenly realizing the cause.</p> + +<p>A small vehicle, something between a bath-chair and a miniature +carriage, drawn by a fat, sleek pony, was turning into the lane from one +of the splendid avenues which led to the house. A boy led the pony, a +footman marched behind. Wilhelmina, in a plain white muslin dress and a +black hat, was slowly preparing to descend. She smiled languidly, but +pleasantly enough, at the line of curtseying women and men with doffed +hats. The note of feudalism which their almost reverential attitudes +suggested appealed irresistibly to Macheson’s sense of humour. He, too, +formed one of them; he, too, doffed his hat. His greeting, however, was +different. Her eyes swept by him unseeing, his pleasant “Good morning” +was unheeded. She even touched her skirt with her fingers, as though +afraid lest it might brush against him in passing. With tired, graceful +footsteps, she passed into the cool church, leaving him to admire +against his will the slim perfection of her figure, the wonderful +carriage of her small but perfect head.</p> + +<p>He followed with the others presently, and found a single seat close to +the door. The service began <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>almost at once, a very beautiful service in +its way, for the organ, a present from the lady of the manor, was +perfectly played, and the preacher’s voice was clear and as sweet as a +boy’s. Macheson, however, was nervous and ill at ease. From the open +door he heard the soft whispering of the west wind—for the first time +in his life he found the simple but dignified ritual unconvincing. He +was haunted by the sense of some impending disaster. When the prayers +came, he fell on his knees and remained there! Even then he could not +collect himself! He was praying to an unknown God for protection against +some nameless evil! He knew quite well that the words he muttered were +vain words. Through the stained glass windows, the sunlight fell in a +subdued golden stream upon the glowing hair, the gracefully bent head of +the woman who sat alone in the deep square pew. She, too, seemed to be +praying. Macheson got up and softly, but abruptly, stole from the +church.</p> + +<p>Up into the hills, as far away, as high up as possible! A day of sabbath +calm, this! Macheson, with the fire in his veins and a sharp pain in his +side, climbed as a man possessed. He, too, was fleeing from the unknown. +He was many miles away when down in the valley at Thorpe some one spoke +of him.</p> + +<p>“By the bye,” Gilbert Deyes remarked, looking across the luncheon table +at his hostess, “when does this athletic young missioner of yours begin +his work of regeneration?”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina raised her eyebrows.</p> + +<p>“To-morrow evening, I believe,” she answered. “He is going to speak at +the cross-roads. I fancy <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>that his audience will consist chiefly of the +children, and Mrs. Adnith’s chickens.”</p> + +<p>“Can’t understand,” Austin remarked, “why a chap who can play cricket +like that—he did lay on to ’em, too—can be such a crank!”</p> + +<p>“He is very young,” Wilhelmina remarked composedly, “and I fancy that he +must be a little mad. I hope that Thorpe will teach him a lesson. He +needs it.”</p> + +<p>“You do not anticipate then,” Deyes remarked, “that his labours here +will be crowned with success?”</p> + +<p>“He won’t get a soul to hear him,” Stephen Hurd replied confidently. +“The villagers all know what Miss Thorpe-Hatton thinks of his coming +here. It will be quite sufficient.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina lit a cigarette and rose to her feet.</p> + +<p>“Let us hope so,” she remarked drily. “Please remember, all of you, that +this is the Palace of Ease! Do exactly what you like, all of you, till +five o’clock. I shall be ready for bridge then.”</p> + +<p>Lady Peggy rose briskly.</p> + +<p>“No doubt about what I shall do,” she remarked. “I’m going to bed.”</p> + +<p>Deyes smiled.</p> + +<p>“I,” he said, “shall spend the afternoon in the rose garden. I +need—development.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina looked at him questioningly.</p> + +<p>“Please don’t be inexplicable,” she begged. “It is too hot.”</p> + +<p>“Roses and sentiment,” he declared, “are supposed to go together. I want +to grow into accord with my surroundings.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p><p>Wilhelmina was silent for a moment.</p> + +<p>“If you have found sentiment here,” she said carelessly, “you must have +dug deep.”</p> + +<p>“On the contrary,” he answered, “I have scarcely scratched the surface!”</p> + +<p>Stephen Hurd looked uneasily from Deyes to his hostess. Never altogether +comfortable, although eager to accept the most casually offered +invitation to Thorpe, he had always the idea that the most commonplace +remark contained an innuendo purposely concealed from him.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Deyes,” he remarked, “looks mysterious.”</p> + +<p>Deyes glanced at him through his eyeglass.</p> + +<p>“It is a subtle neighbourhood,” he said. “By the bye, Mr. Hurd, have you +ever seen the rose gardens at Carrow?”</p> + +<p>“Never,” Hurd replied enviously. “I have heard that they are very +beautiful.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina passed out.</p> + +<p>“The gardens are beautiful,” she said, looking back, “but the roses are +like all other roses, they fade quickly. Till five o’clock, all of you!”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>SUMMER LIGHTNING</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">S</span>tephen Hurd walked into the room which he and his father shared as a +sanctum, half office, half study. Mr. Hurd, senior, was attired in his +conventional Sabbath garb, the same black coat of hard, dull material, +and dark grey trousers, in which he had attended church for more years +than many of the villagers could remember. Stephen, on the other hand, +was attired in evening clothes of the latest cut. His white waistcoat +had come from a London tailor, and his white tie had cost him +considerable pains. His father looked him over with expressionless face.</p> + +<p>“You are going to the House again, Stephen?” he asked calmly.</p> + +<p>“I am asked to dine there, father,” he answered. “Sorry to leave you +alone.”</p> + +<p>“I have no objection to being alone,” Mr. Hurd answered. “I think that +you know that. You lunched there, didn’t you?”</p> + +<p>Stephen nodded.</p> + +<p>“Miss Thorpe-Hatton asked me as we came out of church,” he answered.</p> + +<p>“You play cards?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p><p>The directness of the question allowed of no evasion. Stephen flushed as +he answered.</p> + +<p>“They play bridge. I may be asked to join. It—is a sort of whist, you +know.”</p> + +<p>“So I understand,” the older man remarked. “I have no remark to make +concerning that. Manners change, I suppose, with the generations. You +are young and I am old. I have never sought to impose my prejudices upon +you. You have seen more of the world than I ever did. Perhaps you have +found wisdom there.”</p> + +<p>Stephen was not at his ease.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know about that, sir,” he answered. “Of course, Sunday isn’t +kept so strictly as it used to be. I like a quiet day myself, but it’s +pretty dull here usually, and I didn’t think it would be wise to refuse +an invitation from Miss Thorpe-Hatton.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps not,” Mr. Hurd answered. “On the other hand, I might remind you +that during the forty years during which I have been agent to this +estate I have never accepted—beyond a glass of wine—the hospitality +offered to me by Miss Thorpe-Hatton’s father and grandfather, and by the +young lady herself. It is not according to my idea of the fitness of +things. I am a servant of the owner of these estates. I prefer to +discharge my duties honestly and capably—as a servant.”</p> + +<p>Stephen frowned at his reflection in the glass. He did not feel in the +least like a servant.</p> + +<p>“That’s rather an old-fashioned view, dad,” he declared.</p> + +<p>“It may be,” his father answered. “In any case, I do not seek to impose +it upon you. You are <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>free to come and go according to your judgment. +But you are young, and I cannot see you expose yourself to trouble +without some warning. Miss Thorpe-Hatton is not a lady whom it is wise +for you to see too much of.”</p> + +<p>The directness of this speech took the young man aback.</p> + +<p>“I—she seems very pleasant and gracious,” he faltered.</p> + +<p>“Not even to you,” his father continued gravely, “can I betray the +knowledge of such things as have come under my notice as the servant of +these estates and this young lady. Her father was a fine, +self-respecting gentleman, as all the Thorpe-Hattons have been; her +mother came from a noble, but degenerate, French family. I, who live +here a life without change, who mark time for the years and watch the +striplings become old men, see many things, and see them truthfully. The +evil seed of her mother’s family is in this young woman’s blood. She +lives without a chaperon, without companionship, as she pleases—and to +please herself only.”</p> + +<p>Stephen frowned irritably. His father’s cold, measured words were like +drops of ice.</p> + +<p>“But, father,” he protested, “she is a leader of Society, she goes to +Court and you see her name at the very best places. If there was +anything wrong about her, she wouldn’t be received like that.”</p> + +<p>“I know nothing about Society or its requirements,” his father answered. +“She has brains and wealth, and she is a woman. Therefore, I suppose the +world is on her side. I have said all that I wish <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>to say. You can +perhaps conjecture the reason of my speaking at all.”</p> + +<p>“She wouldn’t take the trouble to make a fool of me,” Stephen answered +bitterly. “I just happen to make up a number, that’s all.”</p> + +<p>“I am glad that you understand the young lady so well,” his father +answered. “Before you go, will you be good enough to pass me the Bible +and my spectacles, and let Mary know that Mr. Stuart will be in to +supper with me.”</p> + +<p>Stephen obeyed in silence. He remembered the time, not so long ago, when +he would have been required to seat himself on the opposite side of the +fireplace, with a smaller Bible in his hand, and read word for word with +his father. His mind went back to those days as he walked slowly up the +great grass-grown avenue to the house, picking his steps carefully, lest +he should mar the brilliancy of his well-polished patent-leather boots. +He compared that old time curiously with the evening which was now +before him; the round table drawn into the midst of the splendid +dining-room, an oasis of exquisitely shaded light and colour; Lady Peggy +with her daring toilette and beautiful white shoulders; Deyes with his +world-worn face and flippant tongue; the mistress of Thorpe herself, +more subdued, perhaps, in dress and speech, and yet with the +ever-present mystery of eyes and lips wherein was always the fascination +of the unknown. More than ever that night Stephen Hurd felt himself to +be her helpless slave. All his former amours seemed suddenly empty and +vulgar things. She came late into the drawing-room, her greeting was as +carelessly kind <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>as usual, there was no perceptible difference in her +manner of speech. Yet his observation of her was so intense that he +found readily the signs of some subtle, indefinable change, a change +which began with her toilette, and ended—ah! as yet there was no +ending. Her gown of soft white silk was daring as a French modiste could +make it, but its simplicity was almost nun-like. She wore a string of +pearls, no earrings, no rings, and her hair was arranged low down, +almost like a schoolgirl’s. She had more colour than usual, a temporary +restlessness seemed to have taken the place of her customary easy +languor. What did it mean? he asked himself breathlessly. Was it Deyes? +Impossible, for Deyes himself was a watcher, a thin smile parting +sometimes the close set lips of his white, mask-like face. After all, +how hopelessly at sea he was! He knew nothing of her life, of which +these few days at Thorpe were merely an interlude. She might have lovers +by the score of whom he knew nothing. He was vain, but he was not wholly +a fool.</p> + +<p>She talked more than usual at dinner-time, but afterwards she spoke of a +headache, and sat on the window-seat of the library, a cigarette between +her lips, her eyes half closed. When the bridge table was laid out, she +turned her head languidly.</p> + +<p>“I will come in in the next rubber,” she said. “You four can start.”</p> + +<p>They obeyed her, of course, but Lady Peggy shrugged her shoulders +slightly. She had no fancy for Stephen’s bridge, and they cut together. +Wilhelmina waited until the soft fall of the cards had ceased, and the +hands were being examined. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>Then, with a graceful movement, she slipped +out of the window and away into the shadows. No signs of her headache +were left. She passed swiftly along a narrow path, bordered by gigantic +shrubs, until she reached a small iron gate. Here for the first time she +paused.</p> + +<p>For several moments she listened. There was no sound from the great +house, whose outline she could barely see but whose long row of lights +stretched out behind her. She turned her head and looked along the +grass-grown lane beyond the gate. There was no one in sight—no sound. +She lifted the latch and passed through.</p> + +<p>For a summer night it was unusually dark. All day the heat had been +almost tropical, and now the sky was clouded over, and a south wind, dry +and unrefreshing, was moving against the tall elms. Every few seconds +the heavens were ablaze with summer lightning; once the breathless +silence was broken by a low rumble of distant thunder.</p> + +<p>She reached the end of the lane. Before her, another gate led out on to +a grass-covered hill, strewn with fragments of rocks. She paused for a +moment and looked backwards. She was suddenly conscious that her heart +was beating fast; the piquant sense of adventure with which she had +started had given place to a rarer and more exciting turmoil of the +senses. Her breath was coming short, as though she had been running.</p> + +<p>The silence seemed more complete than ever. She lifted her foot and felt +the white satin slipper. It was perfectly dry, there was no dew, and as +yet no <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>rain had fallen. She lifted the latch of the gate and passed +through.</p> + +<p>The footpath skirted the side of a plantation, and she followed it +closely, keeping under the shelter of the hedge. Every now and then a +rabbit started up almost from under her feet, and rushed into the hedge. +The spinney itself seemed alive with birds and animals, startled by her +light footsteps in the shelter which they had sought, disturbed too by +their instinct of the coming storm. Her footsteps grew swifter. She was +committed now to her enterprise, vague though it had seemed to her. She +passed through a second gate into a ragged wood, and along a winding +path into a country road. She turned slowly up the hill. Her breath was +coming faster than ever now. What folly!—transcendental!—exquisite! +Her footsteps grew slower. She kept to the side of the hedge, raising +her skirts a little, for the grass was long. A few yards farther was the +gate. The soft swish of her silken draperies as she stole along, became +a clearly recognizable sound against the background of intense silence. +Macheson had been leaning against a tree just inside. He opened the +gate. She stepped almost into his arms. Her white face was suddenly +illuminated by the soft blaze of summer lightning which poured from the +sky. He had no time to move, to realize. He felt her hands upon his +cheek, his face drawn downwards, her lips, soft and burning, pressed +against his for one long, exquisite second. And then—the darkness once +more and his arms were empty.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>THE STILL FIGURE IN THE CHAIR</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">W</span>ith upraised skirts, and feet that flashed like silver across the turf +and amongst the bracken, Wilhelmina flew homewards. Once more her heart +was like the heart of a girl. Her breath came in little sobs mingled +with laughter, the ground beneath her feet was buoyant as the clouds. +She had no fear of being pursued—least of anything in the world did she +desire it. The passion of a woman is controlled always by her sentiment. +It seemed to her that that breathless episode was in itself an epic, she +would not for worlds have added to it, have altered it in any shape or +form. A moment’s lingering might so easily have spoilt everything. Had +he attempted to play either the prude or the Lothario, the delicate +flavour would have passed away from the adventure, which had set her +heart beating once more, and sent the blood singing so sweetly through +her veins. So she sped through the darkness, leaving fragments of lace +upon the thorns, like some beautiful bird, escaped from long captivity, +rushing through a strange world.</p> + +<p>Before she reached the grounds the storm came. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>There was a crash of +thunder, which seemed to tear apart the heavens above, and then the big +raindrops began to fall upon her bare shoulders and her clothes as light +and airy as butterfly’s wings. She abandoned herself to the ruin of a +Paquin gown without a thought of regret; she even laughed softly with +pleasure as she lifted her burning face to the cool sweet deluge, and +lessened her pace in the avenue, walking with her hands behind her and +her head still upraised. It was a wonderful night, this. She had found +something of her lost girlhood.</p> + +<p>She reached the house at last, and stole through the hall like a truant +schoolgirl. Her shoes were nothing but pulp; her dress clung to her +limbs like a grey, sea-soaked bathing-costume; everywhere on the oak +floor and splendid rugs she left a trail of wet. On tiptoe she stole up +the stairs, looking guiltily around, yet with demure laughter in her +glowing eyes. She met only one amazed servant, whom she dispatched at +once for her own maid. In the bath-room she began to strip off her +clothes, even before Hortense, who loved her, could effect a breathless +entrance.</p> + +<p>“Eh! Madame, Madame!” the girl exclaimed, with uplifted hands.</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina stopped her, laughing.</p> + +<p>“It’s all right, Hortense,” she exclaimed gaily. “I was out in the +grounds, and got caught in the storm. Turn on the hot water and cut +these laces—so!”</p> + +<p>To Hortense the affair was a tragedy. Her mistress’ indifference could +not lessen it.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p><p>“Madame,” she declared, “the gown is ruined—a divine creation. Madame +has never looked so well in anything else.”</p> + +<p>“Then I am glad I wore it to-night,” was the astonishing reply. “Quick, +quick, quick, Hortense! Get me into the bath, and bring me some wine and +biscuits. I am hungry. I don’t think I could have eaten any dinner.”</p> + +<p>Hortense worked with nimble fingers, but her eyes at every opportunity +were studying her mistress’ face. Was it the English rain which could +soften and beautify like this? Madame was brilliant—and so young! Such +a colour! Such a fire in the eyes! Madame laughed as she thrust her from +the room.</p> + +<p>“The wine, Hortense, and the biscuits—no sandwiches! I die of hunger. +And send word to the library that I have been caught in the storm, and +must change my clothes, but shall be down presently. So!”</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>She found them, an hour later, just finishing a rubber. Their languid +post-mortem upon a curiously played hand was broken off upon her +entrance. They made remarks about the storm and her ill-luck—had she +been far from shelter? was she not terrified by the lightning? Lady +Peggy remembered her gown. Deyes alone was silent. She felt him watching +her all the time, taking cold note of her brilliant colour, the softer +light in her eyes. She felt that he saw her as she was—a woman suddenly +set free, even though for a few <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>short hours. She had broken away from +them all, and she gloried in it.</p> + +<p>She played bridge later—brilliantly as usual, and with success. Then +she leaned back in her chair and faced them all.</p> + +<p>“Dear guests,” she murmured, “you remember the condition, the only +condition upon which we bestowed our company upon one another in this +benighted place. You remember it was agreed that when you were bored, +you left without excuse or any foolish apologies. The same to apply to +your hostess.”</p> + +<p>“My dear Wilhelmina,” Lady Peggy exclaimed, “I know what you’re going to +say, and I won’t go! I’m not due anywhere till the thirteenth. I won’t +be stranded.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina laughed.</p> + +<p>“You foolish woman!” she exclaimed. “Who wants you to go? You shall be +chatelaine—play hostess and fill the place if you like. Only you +mustn’t have Leslie over more than twice a week.”</p> + +<p>“You are going to desert us?” Deyes asked coolly.</p> + +<p>“It was in the bond, wasn’t it?” she answered. “Peggy will look after +you all, I am sure.”</p> + +<p>“You mean that you are going away, to leave Thorpe?” Stephen Hurd asked +abruptly.</p> + +<p>She turned her head to look at him. He was sitting a little outside the +circle—an attitude typical, perhaps, of his position there. The change +in her tone was slight indeed, but it was sufficient.</p> + +<p>“I am thinking of it,” she answered. “You, Gilbert, and Captain Austin +can find some men to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>shoot, no doubt. Ask any one you like. Peggy will +see about some women for you. I draw the line at that red-haired +Egremont woman. Anybody else!”</p> + +<p>“This is a blow,” Deyes remarked, “but it was in the bond. Nothing will +move me from here till the seventeenth—unless your <i>chef</i> should leave. +Do we meet in Marienbad?”</p> + +<p>“I am not sure,” Wilhelmina answered, playing idly with the cards. “I +feel that my system requires something more soothing.”</p> + +<p>“I hate them all—those German baths,” Lady Peggy declared. “Ridiculous +places every one of them.”</p> + +<p>“After all, you see,” Wilhelmina declared, “illness of any sort is a +species of uncleanliness. I think I should like to go somewhere where +people are healthy, or at least not so disgustingly frank about their +livers.”</p> + +<p>“Why not stay here?” Stephen ventured to suggest. “I doubt whether any +one in Thorpe knows what a liver is.”</p> + +<p>“‘Inutile!’” Lady Peggy exclaimed. “Wilhelmina has the ‘wander fever.’ I +can see it in her face. Is it the thunder, I wonder?”</p> + +<p>Deyes walked to the window and threw it open. The storm was over, but +the rain was still falling, a soft steady downpour. The cooler air which +swept into the room was almost faint with the delicious perfume of +flowers and shrubs bathed in the refreshing downpour.</p> + +<p>“I think,” he said, “that there is some magic abroad to-night. Did you +meet Lucifer walking in the rose garden?” he asked, turning slightly +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>towards his hostess. “The storm may have brought him—even here!”</p> + +<p>“Neither Lucifer nor any other of his princely fellows,” she answered. +“The only demon is here,”—she touched her bosom lightly—“the demon of +unrest. It is not I alone who am born with the wanderer’s curse! There +are many of us, you know.”</p> + +<p>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>“You have not the writing in your face,” he said. “I do not believe that +you are one of the accursed at all. <span style="white-space: nowrap;">To-night——”</span></p> + +<p>She was standing by his side now, looking out into the velvety darkness. +Her eyes challenged his.</p> + +<p>“Well! To-night?”</p> + +<p>“To-night you have the look of one who has found what she has sought for +for a long time. This sounds bald, but it is as near to truth as I can +get.”</p> + +<p>She was silent for a moment. She stood by his side listening to the soft +constant patter of the rain, the far-away rumblings of the dying storm.</p> + +<p>“One has moods,” she murmured.</p> + +<p>“Heaven forbid that a woman should be without them!” he answered.</p> + +<p>“Do you ever feel as though something were going to happen?” she asked +suddenly.</p> + +<p>“Often,” he answered; “but nothing ever does!”</p> + +<p>Lady Peggy came yawning over to them.</p> + +<p>“My dear,” she said, “I feel it in my very bones. I firmly believe that +something is going to happen to every one of us. I have a most +mysterious pricking about my left elbow!”</p> + +<p>“To every one of us?” Stephen Hurd asked, idly enough.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p><p>“To every one of us!” she answered. “To you, even, who live in Thorpe. +Remember my words when you get home to-night, or when you wake in the +morning. As for you, Wilhelmina, I am not at all sure that you have not +already met with your adventure.”</p> + +<p>Deyes lit a cigarette.</p> + +<p>“Let us remember this,” he declared. “In a week’s time we will compare +notes.”</p> + +<p>Stephen Hurd stood up to take his leave.</p> + +<p>“You are really going—soon?” he asked, as he bent over her carelessly +offered hand.</p> + +<p>“As soon as I can decide where to go to,” she answered.</p> + +<p>“Can I give my father any message? Would you care to see him to-morrow +morning?” he asked.</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p>“It is not necessary,” she answered.</p> + +<p>He made his adieux reluctantly. Somehow he felt that the night had not +been a success. She was going away. Very likely he would not see her +again. The great house and all its glories would be closed to him. To do +him justice, he thought of that less than the casual manner of her +farewell. His vanity was deeply wounded. She had begun by being so +gracious—no wonder that he had lost his head a little. He thought over +the events of the last few days. Something had occurred to alter her. +Could he have offended in any way?</p> + +<p>He walked dejectedly home, heedless of the sodden path and wet grass. A +light was still burning in the study. He hesitated for a moment, and +then, turning the handle, entered.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p><p>“You’re late, father,” he remarked, going towards the cupboard to select +a pipe.</p> + +<p>There was no answer. The still figure in the chair never moved. +Something in the silence struck Stephen as ominous. He turned abruptly +round, and for the first time noticed the condition of the room. A chair +was overturned, a vase of flowers spilt upon the table, the low window, +from which one stepped almost into the village street, was wide open. +The desk in front of the motionless figure was littered all over with +papers in wild confusion. Stephen, with a low cry of horror, crossed the +room and laid his hand upon his father’s shoulder. He tried to speak to +him, but the words stuck in his throat. He knew very well that there +could be no reply. His father was sitting dead in his chair.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>THE BAYING OF THE HOUNDS</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">O</span>ut amongst the broken fragments of the storm, on the hill-top and down +the rain-drenched lane, Macheson sought in vain by physical exertion to +still the fever which burned in his veins. Nothing he could do was able +to disturb that wonderful memory, to lessen for an instant the +significance of those few amazing seconds. The world of women, all the +lighter and quieter joys of life, he had, with the fierce asceticism of +the young reformer, thrust so resolutely behind him. But he had never +imagined anything like this! Its unexpectedness had swept him off his +feet. The memory of it was most delicious torture!</p> + +<p>Sleep?—he dared not think of it. Who could sleep with such a fire in +his blood as this? He heard the storm die away, thunder and wind and +rain melted into the deep stillness of midnight. A dim moon shone behind +a veil of mist. The dripping of rain from the trees alone remained. Then +he heard a footstep coming down the lane. His first wild thought was +that she had returned. His eyes burned their way through the darkness. +Soon he saw that it was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>a man who came unsteadily, but swiftly, down +the roadway.</p> + +<p>Macheson leaned over the gate. He would have preferred not to disclose +himself, but as the man passed, he was stricken with a sudden +consciousness that for him the events of the night were not yet over. +This was no villager; he had not even the appearance of an Englishman. +He was short and inclined to be thick-set, his coat collar was turned +up, and a tweed cap was drawn down to his eyes. He walked with uneven +footsteps and muttered to himself words that sounded like words of +prayer, only they were in some foreign language. Macheson accosted him.</p> + +<p>“Hullo!” he said. “Have you lost your way?”</p> + +<p>The man cried out and then stood still, trembling on the roadside. He +turned a white, scared face to where Macheson was leaning against the +gate.</p> + +<p>“Who is that?” he cried. “What do you want with me?”</p> + +<p>Macheson stepped into the lane.</p> + +<p>“Nothing at all,” he answered reassuringly. “I simply thought that you +might have lost your way. These are lonely parts.”</p> + +<p>The newcomer drew a step nearer. He displayed a small ragged beard, a +terror-stricken face, and narrow, very bright eyes. His black clothes +were soaked and splashed with mud.</p> + +<p>“I want a railway station,” he said rapidly. “Where is the nearest?”</p> + +<p>Macheson pointed into the valley.</p> + +<p>“Just where you see that light burning,” he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>answered, “but there will +be no trains till the morning.”</p> + +<p>“Then I must walk,” the man declared feverishly. “How far is it to +Nottingham?”</p> + +<p>“Twenty-five miles,” Macheson answered.</p> + +<p>“Too far! And Leicester?”</p> + +<p>“Twelve, perhaps! But you are walking in the wrong direction.”</p> + +<p>The man turned swiftly round.</p> + +<p>“Point towards Leicester,” he said. “I shall find my way.”</p> + +<p>Macheson pointed across the trees.</p> + +<p>“You can’t miss it,” he declared. “Climb the hill till you get to a road +with telegraph wires. Turn to the left, and you will walk into +Leicester.”</p> + +<p>For some reason the stranger seemed to be occupied in looking earnestly +into Macheson’s face.</p> + +<p>“What are you doing here?” he asked abruptly.</p> + +<p>“I am close to where I am staying,” Macheson answered. “Just in the wood +there.”</p> + +<p>The man took a quick step forwards and then reeled. His hand flew to his +side. He was attacked by sudden faintness and would have fallen, but for +Macheson’s outstretched arm.</p> + +<p>“God!” he muttered, “it is finished.”</p> + +<p>He was obviously on the verge of a collapse. Macheson dragged him into +the shelter and poured brandy between his teeth. He revived a little and +tried to rise.</p> + +<p>“I must go on,” he cried. “I dare not stay here.”</p> + +<p>The terror in his face was unmistakable. Macheson looked at him gravely.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p><p>“You had better stay where you are till morning,” he said. “You are not +in a fit state to travel.”</p> + +<p>The man had raised himself upon one arm. He looked wildly about him.</p> + +<p>“Where am I?” he demanded. “What is this place?”</p> + +<p>“It is a gamekeeper’s shelter,” Macheson answered, “which I am making +use of for a few days. You are welcome to stay here until the morning.”</p> + +<p>“I must go on,” the man moaned. “I am afraid.”</p> + +<p>Almost as he uttered the words he fell back, and went off immediately +into an uneasy doze. Macheson threw his remaining rug over the prostrate +figure, and, lighting his pipe, strolled out into the spinney. The man’s +coming filled him with a vague sense of trouble. He seemed so utterly +out of keeping with the place, he represented an alien and undesirable +note—a note almost of tragedy. All the time in his broken sleep he was +muttering to himself. Once or twice he cried out in terror, once +especially—Macheson turned round to find him sitting up on the rug, his +brown eyes full of wild fear, and the perspiration running down his +face. A stream of broken words flowed from his lips. Macheson thrust him +back on the rug.</p> + +<p>“Go to sleep,” he said. “There is nothing to be afraid of.”</p> + +<p>After that the man slept more soundly. Macheson himself dozed for an +hour until he was awakened by the calling of the birds. Directly he +opened his eyes he knew that something had happened to him. It was not +only the music of the birds—there was a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>strange new music stirring in +his heart. The pearly light in the eastern sky had never seemed so +beautiful; never, surely, had the sunlight streamed down upon so perfect +a corner of the earth. And then, with a quick rush of blood to his +cheeks, he remembered what it was that had so changed the world. He +lived again through that bewildering moment, again he felt the delicious +warmth of her presence, the touch of her hair as it had brushed his +cheek, the soft passionate pressure of her lips against his. It was like +an episode from a fairy story, there was something so delicate, so +altogether fanciful in that flying visit. Something, too, so +unbelievable when he thought of her as the mistress of Thorpe, the +languid, insolent woman of the world who had treated him so coldly.</p> + +<p>Then a movement behind reminded him of his strange visitor. He turned +round. The man was already on his feet. He looked better for his sleep, +but the wild look was still in his eyes.</p> + +<p>“I must go,” he said. “I ought to have started before. Thank you for +your shelter.”</p> + +<p>Macheson reached out for his spirit lamp.</p> + +<p>“Wait a few minutes,” he said, “and I will have some coffee ready.”</p> + +<p>The man hesitated. He looked sorely in need of something of the sort. As +he came to the opening of the shelter, the trembling seized him again. +He looked furtively out as though he feared the daylight. The sunshine +and the bright open day seemed to terrify him.</p> + +<p>“I ought to have gone on last night,” he muttered. “I must——”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p><p>He broke off his sentence. Macheson, too, had turned his head to listen.</p> + +<p>“What is that?” he asked sharply.</p> + +<p>“The baying of dogs,” Macheson answered.</p> + +<p>“Dogs! What dogs?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>“Colonel Harvey’s bloodhounds!”</p> + +<p>The man’s face was ashen now to the lips. He clutched Macheson’s arm +frantically.</p> + +<p>“They are after me!” he exclaimed. “Where can I hide? Tell me quick!”</p> + +<p>Macheson looked at him gravely.</p> + +<p>“What have you been doing?” he asked. “They do not bring bloodhounds out +for nothing.”</p> + +<p>“I have hurt a man down in the village,” was the terrified answer. “I +didn’t mean to—no! I swear that I did not mean to. I went to his house +and I asked him for money. I had a right to it! And I asked him to tell +me where—but oh! you would not understand. Listen! I swear to you that +I did not mean to hurt him. Why should I? He was old, and I think he +fainted. God! do you hear that?”</p> + +<p>He clung to Macheson in a frenzy. The deep baying of the dogs was coming +nearer and nearer.</p> + +<p>“Listen,” Macheson said, “the dogs will not be allowed to hurt you, but +if you are loose I promise that I will protect you from them. You had +better wait here with me.”</p> + +<p>The man fell upon his knees.</p> + +<p>“Sir,” he begged, “I am innocent of everything except a blow struck in +anger. Help me to escape, I implore you. There are others who will +suffer—if anything happens to me.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p><p>“The law is just,” Macheson answered. “You will suffer nothing except +justice.”</p> + +<p>“I want mercy, not justice,” the man sobbed. “For the love of God, help +me!”</p> + +<p>Macheson hesitated. Again the early morning stillness was broken by that +hoarse, terrifying sound. His sporting instincts were aroused. He had +small sympathy with the use of such means against human beings.</p> + +<p>“I will give you a chance,” he said. “Remember it is nothing more. +Follow me!”</p> + +<p>He led the way to the slate pit.</p> + +<p>“Can you swim?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes!” the man answered.</p> + +<p>“This is where I take my morning bath,” Macheson said. “You will see +that though you can scramble down and dive in, it is too precipitous to +get out. Therefore, I have fixed up a rope on the other side—it goes +through those bushes, and is attached to the trunk of a tree beneath the +bracken. If you swim across, you can pull yourself out of the water and +hide just above the water in the bushes. There is just a chance that you +may escape observation.”</p> + +<p>Already he was on his way down, but Macheson stopped him.</p> + +<p>“I shall leave a suit of dry clothes in the shelter,” he said. “If they +should give up the chase you are welcome to them. Now you had better +dive. They are in the spinney.”</p> + +<p>The man went in, after the fashion of a practised diver. Macheson turned +round and retraced his steps towards his temporary dwelling-house.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>RETREAT</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">O</span>ut in the lane a motley little group of men were standing. Stephen Hurd +was in the act of springing off his brown cob. The dogs were already in +the shelter.</p> + +<p>“What the devil are you doing here?” Hurd asked, as Macheson strode +through the undergrowth.</p> + +<p>Macheson pointed to the shelter.</p> + +<p>“I could find no other lodging,” he answered, “thanks to circumstances +of which you are aware.”</p> + +<p>Stephen Hurd kicked the gate open. He was pale and there were deep lines +under his eyes. He was still in his evening clothes, except for a rough +tweed coat, but his white tie was hanging loose, and his patent-leather +shoes were splashed with mud.</p> + +<p>“We are chasing a man,” he said. “Have you seen him?”</p> + +<p>“I have,” Macheson answered. “What has he done?”</p> + +<p>There was a momentary silence. Hurd spoke with a sob.</p> + +<p>“Murdered—my father!”</p> + +<p>Macheson was shocked.</p> + +<p>“You mean—that Mr. Hurd is dead?” he asked, in an awe-stricken tone.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p><p>“Dead!” the young man answered with a sob. “Killed in his chair!”</p> + +<p>The dogs came out of the shelter. They turned towards the interior of +the spinney. The little crowd came streaming through the gate.</p> + +<p>“I gave shelter to a man who admitted that he was in trouble,” he said +gravely. “He heard the dogs and he was terrified. He has jumped into the +slate quarry.”</p> + +<p>The dogs were on the trail now. They followed them to the edge of the +quarry. Here the bushes were trodden down, a man’s cap was hanging on +one close to the bottom. They all peered over into the still water, +unnaturally black. Amies, the head keeper, raised his head.</p> + +<p>“It’s twenty-five feet deep—some say forty, and a sheer drop,” he +declared impressively. “We’ll have to drag it for the body.”</p> + +<p>“Best take the dogs round the other side, and make sure he ain’t got out +again,” one of the crowd suggested.</p> + +<p>Amies pointed scornfully to the precipitous side. Such a feat was +clearly impossible. Nevertheless the dogs were taken round. For a few +minutes they were uneasy, but eventually they returned to the spot from +which their intended victim had dived. Every one was peering down into +the dark water as though fascinated.</p> + +<p>“I thought as they come up once or twice before they were drownded,” +somebody remarked.</p> + +<p>“Not unless they want to,” another answered. “This chap wasn’t too +anxious. He knew his goose was cooked.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p><p>The dogs were muzzled and led away. One by one the labourers and +servants dispersed. Two of them started off to telegraph for a drag. +Stephen Hurd was one of the last to depart.</p> + +<p>“I hope you will allow me to say how sorry I am for you,” Macheson +declared earnestly. “Such a tragedy in a village like Thorpe seems +almost incredible. I suppose it was a case of attempted robbery?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, I’m sure,” Hurd answered. “There was plenty of money left +untouched, and I can’t find that there is any short. The man arrived +after the maids had gone to bed, but they heard him knock at the door, +and heard my father let him in.”</p> + +<p>“They didn’t hear any struggle then?” Macheson asked.</p> + +<p>Hurd shook his head.</p> + +<p>“There was only one blow upon his head,” he answered. “Graikson says +that death was probably through shock.”</p> + +<p>Macheson felt curiously relieved.</p> + +<p>“The man did not go there as a murderer then,” he remarked. “Perhaps not +even as a thief. There may have been a quarrel.”</p> + +<p>“He killed him, anyhow,” Hurd said brokenly. “What time was it when you +first saw him?”</p> + +<p>“About midnight, I should think,” Macheson answered. “He came down the +lane like a drunken man.”</p> + +<p>“What was he like?” Hurd asked.</p> + +<p>“Small, and I should say a foreigner,” Macheson answered. “He spoke +English perfectly, but there was an accent, and when he was asleep he +talked <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>to himself in a language which, to the best of my belief, I have +never heard before in my life.”</p> + +<p>“A foreigner?” Hurd muttered. “You are sure of that?”</p> + +<p>“Quite,” Macheson answered. “There could be no mistake about it.”</p> + +<p>Stephen Hurd mounted his cob and turned its head towards home. He asked +no more questions; he seemed, if possible, graver than ever. Before he +started, however, he pointed with his whip towards the shelter.</p> + +<p>“You’ve no right there, you know,” he said. “We can’t allow it. You must +clear out at once.”</p> + +<p>“Very well,” Macheson answered. “I’m trespassing, of course, but one +must sleep somewhere.”</p> + +<p>“There is no necessity for you to remain in Thorpe at all,” Hurd said. +“I think, in the circumstances, the best thing you can do is to go.”</p> + +<p>“In the circumstances!” The irony of the phrase struck home. What did +this young man know of the circumstances? There were reasons now, +indeed, why he should fly from Thorpe as from a place stricken with the +pestilence. But no other soul in this world could know of those reasons +save himself—and she.</p> + +<p>“I should not, of course, think of holding my services at present,” +Macheson said gravely. “If you think it would be better, I will go +away.”</p> + +<p>Stephen Hurd nodded as he cantered off.</p> + +<p>“I am glad to hear you say so,” he declared shortly. “Go and preach in +the towns where this scum is reared. There’s plenty of work for +missioners there.”</p> + +<p>Macheson stood still until the young man on his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>pony had disappeared. +Then he turned round and walked slowly back towards the slate quarry. +The black waters remained smooth and unrippled; there was no sound of +human movement anywhere. In the adjoining field a harvesting-machine was +at work; in the spinney itself the rabbits, disturbed last night by the +storm, were scurrying about more frolicsome than usual; a solitary +thrush was whistling in the background. The sunlight lay in crooked +beams about the undergrowth, a gentle west breeze was just stirring the +foliage overhead. There was nothing in the air to suggest in any way the +strange note of tragedy which the coming of this hunted man had +nevertheless brought.</p> + +<p>Macheson was turning away when a slight disturbance in the undergrowth +on the other side of the quarry attracted his notice. He stood still and +watched the spot. The bracken was shaking slightly—then the sound of a +dry twig, suddenly snapped! For a moment he hesitated. Then he turned on +his heel and walked abruptly away. With almost feverish haste, he flung +his few belongings into his portmanteau, leaving in the shelter his +flask, a suit of clothes, and several trifles. Five minutes later he was +on his way down the hill, with his bag upon his shoulder and his face +set southwards.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h3>A CREATURE OF IMPULSE</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">U</span>p the broad avenue to the great house of Thorpe, Stephen Hurd slowly +made his way, his hands clasped behind him, his eyes fixed upon the +ground. But his appearance was not altogether the appearance of a man +overcome with grief. The events of the last few days had told upon him, +and his deep mourning had a sombre look. Yet there were thoughts working +even then in his brain which battled hard with his natural depression. +Strange things had happened—stranger things than he was able all at +once to digest. He could not see the end, but there were possibilities +upon which he scarcely dared to brood.</p> + +<p>He was shown into the library and left alone for nearly twenty minutes. +Then Wilhelmina came, languid, and moving as though with tired feet. Yet +her manner was gentler and kinder than usual. She leaned back in one of +the vast easy-chairs, and murmured a few graceful words of sympathy.</p> + +<p>“We were all so sorry for you, Mr. Hurd,” she said. “It was a most +shocking affair.”</p> + +<p>“I thank you very much—madam,” he replied, after a moment’s pause. It +was better, perhaps, for <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>the present, to assume that their relations +were to continue those of employer and employed.</p> + +<p>“I do not know,” she continued, “whether you care to speak about this +shocking affair. Perhaps you would prefer that we did not allude to it +for the present.”</p> + +<p>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>“I am not sure,” he answered, “that it is not rather a relief to have it +spoken of. One can’t get it out of one’s mind, of course.”</p> + +<p>“There is no news of the man—no fresh capture?”</p> + +<p>“None,” he answered. “They are dragging the slate quarry again to-day. I +believe there are some very deep holes where the body may have drifted.”</p> + +<p>“Do you believe that that is the case?” she asked; “or do you think that +he got clean away?”</p> + +<p>“I cannot tell,” he answered. “It seems impossible that he should have +escaped altogether without help.”</p> + +<p>“And that he could not have had, could he?” she asked.</p> + +<p>He looked across at her thoughtfully, watching her face, curious to see +whether his words might have any effect.</p> + +<p>“Only from one person,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Yes?”</p> + +<p>“From Macheson, the fellow who came here to convert us all,” he said +deliberately.</p> + +<p>Beyond a slight elevation of the eyebrows, his scrutiny was in vain, for +she made no sign.</p> + +<p>“He scarcely seems a likely person, does he, to aid a criminal?” she +asked in measured tones.</p> + +<p>Stephen Hurd shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p><p>“Perhaps not,” he admitted, “but at any rate he sheltered him.”</p> + +<p>“As he doubtless would have done any passer-by on such a night,” she +remarked. “By the bye, what has become of that young man?”</p> + +<p>“He has left the neighbourhood,” Hurd answered shortly.</p> + +<p>“Left altogether?” she inquired.</p> + +<p>“I imagine so,” Hurd answered. “I had the shelter destroyed, and I gave +him to understand pretty clearly what your wishes were. There really +wasn’t much else for him to do.”</p> + +<p>Her eyelids drooped over her half closed eyes. For a moment she was +silent.</p> + +<p>“If you hear of him again,” she said quietly, “be so good as to let me +know.”</p> + +<p>Her indifference seemed too complete to be assumed. Yet somehow or other +Hurd felt that she was displeased with him.</p> + +<p>“I will do so,” he said, “if I hear anything about him. It scarcely +seems likely.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina sat quite still. Her head, resting slightly upon the long +delicate fingers of her right hand, was turned away from the young man +who was daring to watch her. She was apparently gazing across the park, +down the magnificent avenue of elms which led to the village. So he was +gone—without a word! How else? On the whole she could not but approve! +And yet!—and yet!</p> + +<p>She turned once more to Hurd.</p> + +<p>“I read the account of the inquest on your father’s death,” she said, +speaking very slowly, with her usual drawl, yet with a softer note in +her voice, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>as though out of respect for the dead man. “Does it not seem +very strange that the money was left untouched?”</p> + +<p>“Yes!” he answered. “Yet, after all, I don’t know. You see, the governor +must have closed with the fellow and shown fight before he got that +knock on the head. If the thief was really only an ordinary tramp, he’d +be scared to death at what he’d done, and probably bolt for his life +without stopping to take anything with him.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it rather surprising to have tramps—in Thorpe?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“I have scarcely ever seen one,” he answered.</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina turned her head slightly, so that she was now directly facing +him. She looked him steadily in the eyes.</p> + +<p>“Has it occurred to you, Mr. Hurd,” she asked, “that this young man may +not have been a tramp at all, and that his visit to your father may have +been on other business than that of robbery?”</p> + +<p>He hesitated for a moment.</p> + +<p>“My father’s connexions with the outside world,” he said slowly, “were +so slight.”</p> + +<p>“Yet it has occurred to you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes!” he admitted.</p> + +<p>“And have you come to any conclusion?”</p> + +<p>“None,” he declared.</p> + +<p>“You carried out my instructions with regard to the papers and documents +belonging to the estate?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, madam,” he answered. “Within five minutes of receiving your +message, they were all locked up in the safe and the key handed to your +messenger.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p><p>“You did not go through them yourself?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“I did not,” he answered, lying with admirable steadiness. “I scarcely +felt that I was entitled to do so.”</p> + +<p>“So that you could not tell if any were missing?” she continued.</p> + +<p>“I could not,” he admitted.</p> + +<p>“Your father never spoke, then, of any connexions with people—outside +Thorpe—likely to prove of a dangerous character?”</p> + +<p>The young man smiled. “My father,” he said, “had not been farther than +Loughborough for twenty years.”</p> + +<p>There was a short silence. Wilhelmina, deliberately, and without any +attempt at concealment, was meditatively watching the young man, +studying his features with a half-contemptuous and yet searching +interest. Perhaps the slightly curving lips, the hard intentness of her +gaze, suggested that he was disbelieved. He lost colour and fidgeted +about. It was a scrutiny not easy to bear, and he felt that it was going +against him. Already she had written him down a liar.</p> + +<p>She spoke to him at last. If the silence had not ended soon, he would +have made some blundering attempt to retrieve his position. She spoke +just in time to avert such ignominy.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Hurd,” she said, “the question of your father’s successor is one +that has doubtless occurred to you as it has to me. I trust that you +will, at any rate, remain here. As to whether I can offer <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>you your +father’s position in its entirety, I am not for the present assured.”</p> + +<p>He glanced up at her furtively. He was certain now that he had played +his cards ill. She had read through him easily. He cursed himself for a +lout.</p> + +<p>“You see,” she continued, “the post is one of great responsibility, +because it entails the management of the whole estates. It is necessary +for me to feel absolute confidence in the person who undertakes it. I +have not known you very long, Mr. Hurd.”</p> + +<p>He bowed. He could not trust himself to words.</p> + +<p>“I have instructed them to send some one down from my solicitor’s office +for a week or so,” she continued, “to assist you. In the meantime, I +must think the matter over.”</p> + +<p>“I am very much obliged to you, madam,” he said. “You will find me, I +think, quite as trustworthy and devoted to your interests as my father.”</p> + +<p>She smiled slightly. She recognized exactly his quandary, and it amused +her. The slightest suggestion of menace in his manner would be to give +the lie to himself.</p> + +<p>“I am coming down this afternoon,” she said, “to go through the safes. +Please be there in case I want you. You will not forget, in case you +should hear anything of Mr. Macheson, that I desire to be informed.”</p> + +<p>He took his leave humiliated and angry. He had started the game with a +wrong move—retrievable, perhaps, but annoying. Wilhelmina passed into +the library, where Lady Peggy, in a wonderful morning robe, was leaning +back in an easy-chair dictating letters to Captain Austin.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p><p>“You dear woman!” she exclaimed, “don’t interrupt us, will you? I have +found an ideal secretary, writes everything I tell him, and spells quite +decently considering his profession. My conscience is getting lighter +every moment.”</p> + +<p>“And my heart heavier,” Austin grumbled. “A most flirtatious +correspondence yours.”</p> + +<p>She laughed softly.</p> + +<p>“My next shall be to my dressmaker,” she declared. “Such a charming +woman, and so trustful. Behave yourself nicely, and you shall go with me +to call on her next week, and see her mannikins. By the bye, Wilhelmina, +am I hostess or are you?”</p> + +<p>“You, by all means,” Wilhelmina answered. “I shall go to-morrow or the +next day. Is any one coming to lunch?”</p> + +<p>“His Grace, I fancy—no one else.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina yawned.</p> + +<p>“Where is Gilbert?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Asleep on the lawn last time I saw him.”</p> + +<p>“No one shooting, then?”</p> + +<p>“We’re going to beat up the home turnips after lunch,” Captain Austin +answered. “It’s rather an off day with us. Gilbert is nursing his +leg—fancies he has rheumatism coming.”</p> + +<p>She strolled out into the garden, but she avoided the spot where Gilbert +Deyes lounged in an easy-chair, reading the paper and smoking +cigarettes, with his leg carefully arranged on a garden chair in front +of him. She took the winding path which skirted the kitchen gardens and +led to the green lane, along which the carts passed to the home farm. +She felt that what she was doing was in the nature <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>of an experiment, +she was yielding again to that most astonishing impulse which once +before had taken her so completely by surprise. She passed out of the +gate and along the lane. She began to climb the hill. About the success +of her experiment she no longer had any doubt. Her heart was beating +with pleasant insistence, a feeling of suppressed excitement sent the +blood gliding through her veins with delicious softness. All the time +she mocked at herself—that this should be Wilhelmina Thorpe-Hatton, to +whom the most distinguished men, not only in one capital, but in Europe, +had paid court, whom the most ardent wooer had failed to move, who had +found, indeed, in all the professions of love-making something +insufferably tedious. She was at once amused and annoyed at herself, but +an instinctive habit of truthfulness forbade even self-deception. Her +cheeks were aflame, and her heart was beating like a girl’s as she +reached the spinney. She recognized the fact that she was experiencing a +new and delightful pleasure, an emotion as unexpected and ridiculous as +it was inexplicable. But she hugged it to herself. It pleased her +immensely to feel that the impossible had happened. What all this army +of men, experienced in the wiles of love-making, had failed to do, a +crazy boy had accomplished without an effort. Absolutely bizarre, of +course, but not so wonderful after all! She was so secure against any +ordinary assault. She felt herself like the heroine of one of Gautier’s +novels. If he had been there himself, she would have taken him into her +arms with all the passionate simplicity of a child.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p><p>But he was not there. On the contrary, the place was looking forlorn and +deserted. The shelter had been razed to the ground—she felt that she +hated Stephen Hurd as she contemplated its ruin—the hedge was broken +down by the inrush of people a few days ago. In the absence of any +sunshine, the country around seemed bleak and colourless. She leaned +over the gate and half closed her eyes. Memory came more easily like +that!</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<h3>SEARCHING THE PAPERS</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span>he late Stephen Hurd had been a methodical man. Every one of those many +packets of foolscap and parchment bore in the left-hand corner near the +top a few carefully written words summarizing their contents. It was +clear from the first that Wilhelmina had undertaken not an examination +but a search. Mortgages, leases, agreements, she left unopened and +untouched. One by one she passed them back to the young man who handed +them out to her, for replacement. In the end she had retained one small +packet of letters only, on the outside of which were simply the initials +P. N. These she held for a moment thoughtfully in her hand.</p> + +<p>“Do you happen to remember, Mr. Hurd,” she said, “whether this small +packet which I have here was amongst the papers which you found had been +disturbed after the attack upon your father?”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry,” the young man answered, “but it is quite impossible for me +to say. I do not remember it particularly.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina turned it over thoughtfully. It was an insignificant packet +to hold the tragedy of a woman’s life.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p><p>“You see,” she continued, “that it has the appearance of having been +tampered with. There are marks of sealing wax upon the tape and upon the +paper here. Then, too,” she continued, turning it over, “it has been +tied up hastily, unlike any of the other packets. The tape, too, is much +too long. It looks almost as though some letters or papers had been +withdrawn.”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid I cannot help you at all,” he admitted regretfully. “My +father never allowed any one but himself to open that safe. Mine was the +out-of-door share of the work—and the rent-book, of course. I kept +that.”</p> + +<p>She slowly undid the tape. The contents of the packet consisted of +several letters, which she smoothed out with her fingers before +beginning to read. Stephen Hurd stood with his back towards her, +rearranging the bundles of documents in the safe.</p> + +<p>“You have no idea then,” she asked softly, “of the contents of this +packet?”</p> + +<p>He turned deliberately round. He was not in the least comfortable. It +was almost as though she could see through his tweed shooting-jacket +into that inner pocket.</p> + +<p>“May I see which packet you refer to?” he asked.</p> + +<p>She showed it to him without placing it in his hand. He shook his head.</p> + +<p>“No!” he said, “I have not noticed them before.”</p> + +<p>She sighed—or was it a yawn? At any rate, her eyes left his face, for +which he was immediately grateful. She began to read the papers, and, +having finished his task, he walked towards the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>window and stood there +looking out. He stood there minute after minute, hearing only the sound +of rustling paper behind. When at last it ceased he turned around.</p> + +<p>She had risen to her feet and was slowly drawing on her gloves. The +letters had disappeared, presumably into her pocket, but she made no +reference to them. When she spoke, her voice was smooth and deliberate +as usual. Somehow or other he was at once conscious, however, that she +had received a shock.</p> + +<p>“I presume, Mr. Hurd,” she said quietly, “that amongst your father’s +private papers you did not discover anything—unexpected?”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid I scarcely follow you, madam,” he answered.</p> + +<p>“I am asking you,” she repeated deliberately, “whether amongst your +father’s private papers, which I presume you have looked through, you +found anything of a surprising nature?”</p> + +<p>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>“I found scarcely any,” he answered, “only his will and a memorandum of +a few investments. May I <span style="white-space: nowrap;">ask——”</span></p> + +<p>She turned towards the door.</p> + +<p>“No!” she said, “do not ask me any questions. To tell you the truth, I +am not yet fully persuaded that the necessity exists.”</p> + +<p>“I do not understand,” he protested.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 342px;"> +<img src="images/i122.jpg" width="342" class="illogap jpg" height="500" alt="“Forgive me,” he said, with his hand upon the gate." title="" /> +<span class="caption">“Forgive me,” he said, with his hand upon the gate. Page <a href="#Page_117">117</a></span> +</div> + +<p>She shrugged her shoulders. She did not trouble to explain her words. He +followed her along the cool, white-flagged hall, hung with old prints +and trophies of sport, into the few yards of garden outside, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>brilliant with cottage flowers. Beyond the little iron gate her carriage +was waiting—a low victoria, drawn by a pair of great horses, whose +sleek coats and dark crimson rosettes suggested rather a turn in the +Park than these country lanes. The young man was becoming desperate. She +was leaving him altogether mystified. Somewhere or other he had missed +his cue: he had meant to have conducted the interview so differently. +And never had she looked so provokingly well! He recognized, with +hopeless admiration, the perfection of her toilette—the trim white +flannel dress, shaped by the hand of an artist to reveal in its simple +lines the peculiar grace of her slim figure; the patent shoes with their +suggestion of open-work silk stockings; the black picture hat and veil, +a delicate recognition of her visit to a house of mourning, yet light +and gossamer-like, with no suggestion of gloom. Never had she seemed so +desirable to him, so fascinating and yet so unattainable. He made a last +and clumsy effort to re-establish himself.</p> + +<p>“Forgive me,” he said, with his hand upon the gate, “but I must ask you +what you mean by that last question. My father had no secrets that I +know of. How could he, when for the last forty years his life was +practically spent in this village street?”</p> + +<p>She nodded her head slowly.</p> + +<p>“Sometimes,” she murmured, “events come to those even who sit and wait, +those whose lives are absolutely secluded. No one is safe from fate, you +know.”</p> + +<p>“But my father!” he answered. “He had no <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>tastes, no interests outside +the boundary of your estates.”</p> + +<p>She motioned to him to open the gate.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps not,” she assented, “yet I suppose that there is not one of us +who knows as much of his neighbour’s life as he imagines he does. Good +afternoon, Mr. Hurd! My visit has given me something to think about. I +may send for you to come to the house before I go away.”</p> + +<p>She drove away, leaning back amongst the cushions with half closed eyes, +as though tired. The country scenery with its pastoral landscape, its +Watteau-like perfections, was wholly unseen. Her memory had travelled +back, she was away amongst the days when the roar of life had been in +her ears, when for a short while, indeed, the waves had seemed likely to +break over her head. An unpleasant echo, this! No more than an echo—and +yet! The thought of old Stephen Hurd lying in his grave suddenly chilled +her. She shivered as she left the carriage, and instead of entering the +house, crossed the lawn to where Gilbert Deyes was lounging. He +struggled to his feet at her approach, but she waved him back again.</p> + +<p>“Sybarite,” she murmured, glancing around at his arrangements for +complete comfort. “You have sent Austin out alone.”</p> + +<p>“Dear lady, I confess it,” he answered. “What would you have? It is too +fine an afternoon to kill anything.”</p> + +<p>She sank into a chair by his side. A slight smile parted her lips as she +glanced around. On a table by his side, a table drawn back into the +shade of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>cedar tree, were several vellum-bound volumes, a tall +glass, and a crystal jug half full of some delicate amber beverage, +mixed with fruit and ice, a box of cigarettes, an ivory paper-cutter, +and a fan.</p> + +<p>“Your capacity for making yourself comfortable,” she remarked, “amounts +almost to genius.”</p> + +<p>“Let it go at that,” he answered. “I like the sound of the word.”</p> + +<p>“I want you to go to Paris for me,” she said abruptly.</p> + +<p>He flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette and looked at her +thoughtfully. Not a line of his face betrayed the least sign of +surprise.</p> + +<p>“To-morrow?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes!”</p> + +<p>“I can get up in time for the two-twenty,” he remarked thoughtfully. “I +wonder whether it will be too late for the Armenonville!”</p> + +<p>She laughed quietly.</p> + +<p>“You are a ‘poseur,’” she declared.</p> + +<p>“Naturally,” he admitted. “We all are, even when the audience consists +of ourselves alone. I fancy I’m rather better than most, though.”</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>“You won’t mind admitting—to me—that you are surprised?”</p> + +<p>“Astonished,” he said. “To descend to the commonplace, what on earth do +you want me to go to Paris for?”</p> + +<p>“I will tell you,” she answered. “Forget for a moment the Paris that you +know, and remember the Paris of the tourist.”</p> + +<p>“Painful,” he answered; “but it is done.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p><p>“The <i>Hôtel de Luxe</i>!”</p> + +<p>“I know it well.”</p> + +<p>“There are a race of creatures there, small, parasitical insects, who +hang about the hall and the boulevard outside—guides they call +themselves.”</p> + +<p>“‘Show you something altogether new this evening, Captain,’” he quoted. +“Yes; I know them.”</p> + +<p>“There is, or was, one,” she continued, “who goes by the name of Thomas +Johnson. He is undersized; he has red cheeks, and puffy brown eyes. He +used to wear a glazed black hat, and he speaks every language without an +accent.”</p> + +<p>“I should know the beast anywhere,” he declared.</p> + +<p>“Find out if he is there still. Let him take you out. Don’t lose sight +of him—and write to me.”</p> + +<p>“To-morrow night,” he said, “I will renew my youth. I will search for +him on the boulevards, and see the sights which make a gay dog of the +travelling Briton.”</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>“You’re a good sort, Gilbert,” she said simply. “Thanks!”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<h3>ON THE SPREE</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">H</span>igh up on the seventh floor of one of London’s newest and loftiest +buildings, a young man sat writing in a somewhat barely furnished +office. He wrote deliberately, and with the air of one who thoroughly +enjoyed his occupation. The place had a bookish aspect—the table was +strewn with magazines and books of reference; piles of literature of a +varied order stood, in the absence of bookshelves, against the wall. The +young man himself, however, was the most interesting object in the room. +He was big and dark and rugged. There was strength in his square-set +shoulders, in the compression of his lips, even in the way his finger +guided the pen across the paper. He was thoroughly absorbed in his task. +Nevertheless he raised his head at a somewhat unusual sound. The lift +had swung up to his floor, he heard the metal gate thrown open. There +was a knock at the door, and Macheson walked in.</p> + +<p>“Victor, by glory!”</p> + +<p>Down went the pen, and Richard Holderness stood up at his desk with +outstretched hands. Macheson <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>grasped them heartily and seated himself +on the edge of the table.</p> + +<p>“It’s good to see you, Dick,” he declared, “like coming back to the +primitive forces of nature, unchanged, unchanging. The sight of you’s +enough to stop a revolution.”</p> + +<p>“You’re feeling like that, are you?” his friend answered, his eyes fixed +upon Macheson’s face. “Yes, I see you are. Go ahead! Or will you smoke +first?”</p> + +<p>Macheson produced his pipe, and his host a great tin of honeydew. +Macheson helped himself slowly. He seemed to be trying to gain time.</p> + +<p>“Blessed compact, ours,” the giant remarked, leaning back in his chair. +“No probing for confidences, no silly questions. Out with it!”</p> + +<p>“I’ve started wrong,” Macheson said. “I’ll have to go back on my tracks +a bit anyway.”</p> + +<p>Holderness grunted affably.</p> + +<p>“Nothing like mistakes,” he remarked. “Best discipline in the world.”</p> + +<p>“I started on a theory,” Macheson continued thoughtfully. “It didn’t pan +out. The people I have been trying to get at are better left alone.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly why?” Holderness asked.</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you,” Macheson answered. “You know I’ve seen a bit of what we +call village life. Their standard isn’t high enough, of course. Things +come too easily, their noses are too close to the ground. They are +moderately sober, moderately industrious, but the sameness of life is at +work all the time. It makes machines of the factory hands, animals of +the country folk. I knew that before I started. I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span>thought I could lift +their heads a little. It’s too big a task for me, Dick.”</p> + +<p>“Of course,” Holderness assented. “You can’t graft on to dead wood.”</p> + +<p>“They live decent lives—most of them,” Macheson continued thoughtfully. +“They can’t understand that any change is needed, no more can their +landlords, or their clergy. A mechanical performance of the Christian +code seems all that any one expects from them. Dick, it’s all they’re +capable of. You can’t alter laws. You can’t create intelligence. You +can’t teach these people spirituality.”</p> + +<p>“As well try to teach ’em to fly,” Holderness answered. “I could have +told you so before, if it had been of any use. What about these +Welshmen, though?”</p> + +<p>“It’s hysteria,” Macheson declared. “If you can get through the hide, +you can make the emotions run riot, stir them into a frenzy. It’s a +debauch. I’ve been there to see. The true spiritual life is partly +intellectual.”</p> + +<p>“What are you going to do now?” Holderness asked.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” Macheson answered. “I haven’t finished yet. Dick, curse +all women!”</p> + +<p>The giant looked thoughtful.</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry,” he said simply.</p> + +<p>Macheson swung himself from the table. He walked up and down the room.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t serious,” he declared. “It isn’t even definite. But it’s like +a perfume, or a wonderful chord of music, or the call of the sea to an +inland-bred viking! It’s under my heel, Dick, but I can’t <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>crush it. I +came away from Leicestershire because I was afraid.”</p> + +<p>“Does she—exist?” Holderness asked.</p> + +<p>“Not for me,” Macheson declared hurriedly. “Don’t think that. I +shouldn’t have mentioned it, but for our compact.”</p> + +<p>Holderness nodded.</p> + +<p>“Bad luck,” he said. “This craving for something we haven’t got—can’t +have—I wish I could find the germ. The world should go free of it for a +generation. We’d build empires, we’d reconstruct society. It’s a deadly +germ, though, Victor, and it’s the princes of the world who suffer most. +There’s only one antidote—work!”</p> + +<p>“Give me some,” Macheson begged.</p> + +<p>The giant looked at him thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>“Right,” he answered, “but not to-day. Clothes up in town?”</p> + +<p>Macheson nodded.</p> + +<p>“We’ll go on the bust,” Holderness declared. “I’ve been dying for a +spree! We’ll have it. Where are you staying?”</p> + +<p>“My old rooms,” Macheson answered. “I looked in on my way from the +station and found them empty.”</p> + +<p>“Capital! We’re close together. Come on! We’ll do the West End like two +gay young bucks. Five o’clock, isn’t it? We’ll walk up Regent Street and +have an ‘apéritif’ at Biflore’s. Wait till I brush my hat.”</p> + +<p>Macheson made no difficulties, but he was puzzled. Holderness he knew +well enough had no leanings towards the things which he proposed with so +much <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>enthusiasm. Was it a pilgrimage they were to start upon—or what? +After all, why need he worry? He was content to go his friend’s way.</p> + +<p>So they walked up Regent Street, bright with the late afternoon +sunshine, threading their way through the throngs of sauntering men and +women gazing into the shops—and at one another! At Biflore’s Macheson +would have felt out of his element but for Holderness’ self-possession. +He had the air of going through what might have been an everyday +performance, ordered vermouth mixed, lit a cigarette, leaned back at his +ease upon the cushioned seat, and told with zest and point a humorous +story. There were women there, a dozen or more, some alone, some in +little groups, women smartly enough dressed, good-looking, too, and +prosperous, with gold purses and Paris hats, yet—lacking something. +Macheson did not ask himself what it was. He felt it; he knew, too, that +Holderness meant him to feel it. The shadow of tragedy was there—the +world’s tragedy....</p> + +<p>They went back to their rooms to dress and met at a popular +restaurant—one of the smartest. Here Macheson began to recover his +spirits. The music was soft yet inspiring, the women—there were none +alone here—were well dressed, and pleasant to look at, the sound of +their laughter and the gay murmur of conversation was like a delightful +undernote. The dinner and wine were good. Holderness seemed to know very +well how to choose both. Macheson began to feel the depression of a few +hours ago slipping away from him. Once or twice he laughed softly to +himself. Holderness looked at him questioningly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p><p>“You should have been with me for the last fortnight, Dick,” he +remarked, smiling. “The lady of the manor at Thorpe didn’t approve of +me, and I had to sleep for two nights in a gamekeeper’s shelter.”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t approve of you to such an extent?” Holderness remarked. “Was she +one of those old country frumps—all starch and prejudice?”</p> + +<p>Then for a moment the heel was lifted, and a rush of memory kept him +dumb. He felt the tearing of the blood in his veins, the burning of his +cheeks, the wild, delicious sense of an exaltation, indefinable, +mysterious. He was tongue-tied, suddenly apprehensive of himself and his +surroundings. He felt somehow nearer to her—it was her atmosphere, +this. Was he weaker than his friend—had he, indeed, more to fear? He +raised his glass mechanically to his lips, and the soft fire of the +amber wine soothed whilst it disquieted him. Again he wondered at his +friend’s whim in choosing this manner of spending their evening.</p> + +<p>“No!” he said at last, and he was surprised to find his voice composed +and natural, “the mistress of Thorpe is not in the least that sort. +Thorpe is almost a model village, and of course there is the church, and +a very decent fellow for vicar. I am not at all sure that she was not +right. I must have seemed a fearful interloper.”</p> + +<p>Holderness stretched his long limbs under the table and laughed softly.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he declared, “it was a hare-brained scheme. Theoretically, I +believe you were right. There’s nothing more dangerous than content. +Sort <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>of armour you can’t get through.... Come, we mustn’t miss the +ballet.”</p> + +<p>They threaded their way down the room. Suddenly Macheson stopped short. +He was passing a table set back in a recess, and occupied by two +persons. The girl, who wore a hat and veil, and whose simple country +clothes were conspicuous, was staring at him with something like fear in +her eyes. Her cheeks were flushed; her lips parted, she was leaning +forward as though to call her companion’s attention to Macheson’s +approach. Macheson glanced towards him with a sudden impulse of +indignant apprehension. It was Stephen Hurd, in irreproachable evening +clothes save only for his black tie, and his companion was Letty.</p> + +<p>Macheson stopped before the table. He scarcely knew what to say or how +to say it, but he was determined not to be intimidated by Hurd’s curt +nod.</p> + +<p>“So you are up in town, Letty,” he said gravely. “Is your mother with +you?”</p> + +<p>The girl giggled hysterically.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no!” she declared. “Mother can’t bear travelling. A lot of us came +up this morning at six o’clock on a day excursion, six shillings each.”</p> + +<p>“And what time does the train go back?” Macheson asked quickly.</p> + +<p>“At twelve o’clock,” the girl answered, “or as soon afterwards as they +can get it off. It was terribly full coming up.”</p> + +<p>Macheson was to some extent relieved. At any rate there was nothing +further that he could do. He bent over the girl kindly.</p> + +<p>“I hope you have had a nice day,” he said, “and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>won’t be too tired when +you get home. These excursions are rather hard work. Remember me to your +mother.”</p> + +<p>He exchanged a civil word with the girl’s companion, who was taciturn +almost to insolence. Then he passed on and joined Holderness, who was +waiting near the door.</p> + +<p>“An oddly assorted couple, your friends,” he remarked, as they struggled +into their coats.</p> + +<p>Macheson nodded.</p> + +<p>“The girl was my landlady’s daughter at Thorpe, and the young man’s the +son of the agent there,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Engaged?” Holderness asked.</p> + +<p>“I’m—afraid not,” Macheson answered. “She’s up on an excursion—for the +day—goes back at twelve.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose he’s a decent fellow—the agent’s son?” Holderness remarked. +“She seems such a child.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose he is,” Macheson repeated. “I don’t care for him very much, +Dick; I suppose I’m an evil-minded person, but I hate leaving them.”</p> + +<p>Holderness looked back into the restaurant.</p> + +<p>“You can’t interfere,” he said. “It’s probably a harmless frolic enough. +Come on!”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<h3>THE NIGHT SIDE OF LONDON</h3> + +<p style="float: left; font-size: 100%; line-height: 80%; margin-top: 0;">“</p><p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">N</span>o stalls left,” Holderness declared, turning away from the box office +at the Alhambra. “We’ll go in the promenade. We can find a chair there +if we want to sit down.”</p> + +<p>Macheson followed him up the stairs and into the heavily carpeted +promenade. His memory of the evening, a memory which clung to him for +long afterwards, seemed like a phantasmagoria of thrilling music, a +stage packed with marvellously dressed women, whose movements were +blended with the music into one voluptuous chorus—a blaze of colour not +wholly without its artistic significance, and about him an air heavy +with tobacco smoke and perfumes, a throng of moving people, more +women—many more women. A girl spoke to Holderness,—a girl heavily +rouged but not ill-looking, dressed in a blue muslin gown and large +black hat. Holderness bent towards her deferentially. His voice seemed +to take to itself its utmost note of courtesy, he answered her inquiry +pleasantly, and accepted a glance at her programme. The girl looked +puzzled, but they talked together for several moments of casual things. +Then Holderness lifted his hat.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p><p>“My friend and I are tired,” he said. “We are going to look for a seat.”</p> + +<p>She bowed and they strolled on down the promenade, finding some chairs +at the further end. The dresses of the women brushed their feet and the +perfume from the clothes was stronger even than the odour from the +clouds of tobacco smoke which hung about the place. Macheson, in whom +were generations of puritanical impulses, found himself shrinking back +in his corner. Holderness turned towards him frowning.</p> + +<p>“No superiority, Victor,” he said. “These are your fellow-creatures. +Don’t look at them as though you’d come down from the clouds.”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t that,” Macheson answered, “it’s a matter of taste.”</p> + +<p>“Taste! Rot!” Holderness answered. “The factory girl’s hat offends my +taste, but I don’t shrink away from her.”</p> + +<p>A girl, in passing, stumbled against his foot. Holderness stood up as he +apologized.</p> + +<p>“I am really very sorry,” he said. “No one with feet like mine ought to +sit down in a public place. I hope you haven’t torn your dress?”</p> + +<p>“It really doesn’t matter,” the girl answered. “I ought to have looked +where I was going.”</p> + +<p>“In which case,” Holderness remarked, with a laugh, “you could not have +failed to see my feet.”</p> + +<p>There were two empty chairs at their table. The girl glanced towards +them and hesitated.</p> + +<p>“Do you mind if we sit down here for a minute,” she asked, “my friend +and I? We are rather tired.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p><p>He drew the chairs towards them.</p> + +<p>“By all means,” he answered courteously. “Your friend does look tired.”</p> + +<p>The party arranged itself. Holderness called to a waiter and gave an +order.</p> + +<p>“My friend and I,” he remarked, indicating Macheson, who was fiercely +uncomfortable and struggling hard not to show it, “are disappointed that +we could not get stalls. We wanted to see La Guerrero and this wonderful +conjurer.”</p> + +<p>“The place is full every night,” the girl answered listlessly. “La +Guerrero comes on at ten o’clock, you can see her from the front of the +promenade easily. You don’t often come here, do you?”</p> + +<p>“Not very often,” Holderness answered. “And you?”</p> + +<p>“Every night,” the girl answered in a dull tone.</p> + +<p>“That must be monotonous,” he said kindly.</p> + +<p>“It is,” she admitted.</p> + +<p>They talked for a few minutes longer, or rather it was Holderness who +mostly talked, and the others who listened. It struck Macheson as +curious that his friend should find it so easy to strike the note of +their conversation and keep it there, as though without any definite +effort he could assume control over even the thoughts of these girls, to +whom he talked with such easy courtesy. He told a funny story and they +all laughed naturally and heartily. Macheson had an idea that the girls +had forgotten for the moment exactly where they were. Something in their +faces, something which had almost terrified him at their first coming, +had relaxed, if it had not passed wholly away. At the sound of a few +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>bars of music one of them leaned almost eagerly forward.</p> + +<p>“There,” she said, “if you want to see La Guerrero you must hurry. She +is coming on now.”</p> + +<p>The two young men rose to their feet. One of the girls looked wistfully +at Holderness, but nothing was said beyond the ordinary farewells.</p> + +<p>“Thank you so much for telling us,” Holderness said. “Come along, +Victor. It is La Guerrero.”</p> + +<p>Macheson breathed more freely when once they were in the throng. They +watched the Spanish dancer with her exquisite movements, sinuous, full +of grace. Holderness especially applauded loudly. Afterwards they found +seats in the front and remained there for the rest of the performance.</p> + +<p>Out in the street they hesitated. Holderness passed his arm through his +companion’s.</p> + +<p>“Supper!” he declared. “This way! Did you know what a man about town I +was, Victor? Ah! but one must learn, and life isn’t all roses and honey. +One must learn!”</p> + +<p>They threaded their way through the streets, crowded with hansoms, +electric broughams, and streams of foot passengers. Holderness led the +way to a sombre-looking building, and into a room barely lit save for +the rose-shaded lamps upon the tables. Macheson gasped as he entered. +Nearly every table was occupied by women in evening dress, women +alone—waiting. Holderness glanced around quite unconcernedly as he gave +up his coat and hat to a waiter.</p> + +<p>“Feeling shy, Victor?” he asked, smiling. “Never mind. We’ll find a +table to ourselves all right.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p><p>They sat in a corner. The girls chattered and talked across them—often +at them. A Frenchwoman, superbly gowned in white lace, and with a long +rope of pearls around her neck, paused as she passed their table. She +carried a Pomeranian under her arm and held it out towards them.</p> + +<p>“See! My little dog!” she exclaimed. “He bite you. Messieurs are +lonely?”</p> + +<p>“Alas! Of necessity,” Holderness answered in French. “Madame is too +kind.”</p> + +<p>She passed on, laughing. Macheson looked across the table almost +fiercely.</p> + +<p>“What are you doing it for, Dick?” he exclaimed. “What does it mean?”</p> + +<p>His friend looked across at him steadfastly.</p> + +<p>“Victor,” he said, “I want you to understand. You are an enthusiast, a +reformer, a prophet of lost causes. I want you to know the truth if you +can see it. There are many sides to life.”</p> + +<p>“What am I to learn of this?” Macheson asked, almost passionately.</p> + +<p>“If I told you,” Holderness answered, “the lesson would only be half +learnt. Sit tight and don’t be a fool. Drink your wine. Mademoiselle in +violet there wants to flirt with you.”</p> + +<p>“Shall I ask her to join us?” Macheson demanded with wasted satire.</p> + +<p>“You might do worse,” Holderness answered calmly. “She could probably +teach you something.”</p> + +<p>It was a dull evening, and many of the tables remained unoccupied—save +for the one waiting figure. The women, tired of looking towards the +door, were smoking cigarettes, twirling their bracelets, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>yawning, and +looking around the room. Many a mute invitation reached the two young +men, but Holderness seemed to have lost his sociability. His face had +grown harder and he seemed glad when their meal was over and they were +free to depart. In the hall below they had to wait for their overcoats. +Macheson strolled idly towards the entrance of another supper room on +the ground floor, and looked in. An exclamation broke from his lips. He +turned towards Holderness.</p> + +<p>“You see the time,” he exclaimed, “and they are here! Those two!”</p> + +<p>Holderness nodded gravely.</p> + +<p>“The girl has been crying,” he said, “and there is an A B C on the +table. It’s up to you, Victor. We may both have to take a hand in the +game. No! I wouldn’t go in. Wait till they come out!”</p> + +<p>They stood in the throng, jostled, cajoled, besought. At last the two +rose and came towards the door. Letty had dried her eyes, but she looked +still pale and terrified. Hurd, on the contrary, was flushed as though +with wine. Macheson took her by the arm as she passed.</p> + +<p>“Letty,” he said gravely, “have you missed your train?”</p> + +<p>She gave a stifled cry and shrank back, when she saw who it was. +However, she recovered herself quickly.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Macheson!” she exclaimed. “How you startled me! I didn’t expect—to +see you again.”</p> + +<p>“About this train, Letty?” he repeated.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Hurd’s watch stopped,” she declared, her eyes filling once more +with tears. “He thought it <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>was eleven o’clock,—and it was ten minutes +past twelve. I don’t know what mother will say, I am sure.”</p> + +<p>“What are you going to do?” he asked.</p> + +<p>She looked round nervously.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Hurd is going to take me to some friends of his,” she answered. +“You see it was his fault, so he has promised to see mother and +explain.”</p> + +<p>Hurd pushed angrily forward.</p> + +<p>“Look here,” he said to Macheson, “have you been following us about?”</p> + +<p>“I have not,” Macheson answered calmly. “I am very glad to have come +across you, though.”</p> + +<p>“Sorry I can’t return the compliment,” Hurd remarked. “Come, Letty.”</p> + +<p>A girl who was passing tapped him on the arm. She was dressed in blue +silk, with a large picture hat, and she was smoking a cigarette.</p> + +<p>“Hullo, Stephen!” she exclaimed. “Edith wants to see you. Are you coming +round to-night?”</p> + +<p>Hurd muttered something under his breath and moved away. Letty looked at +him with horror.</p> + +<p>“Stephen!” she exclaimed. “You can’t—you don’t mean to say that you +know—any of these?”</p> + +<p>She was trembling in every limb. He tried to pass his arm through hers.</p> + +<p>“Don’t be a fool, Letty,” he said. “It’s time we went, or my friends +will have gone to bed.”</p> + +<p>She looked at him with wide-open eyes. Her lips were quivering. It was +as though she saw some new thing in his face.</p> + +<p>“Your friends,” she murmured, “are they—that sort? Oh! I am afraid.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p><p>She clung to Macheson. People were beginning to notice them. He led her +out into the street. Hurd followed, angrily protesting. Holderness was +close behind.</p> + +<p>“I say, you know,” Hurd began, with his arm on Macheson’s shoulder. +Macheson shook it off.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Hurd,” he said, “at the risk of seeming impertinent, I must ask you +precisely where you intend taking this girl to-night?”</p> + +<p>“What the devil business is it of yours?” Hurd answered angrily.</p> + +<p>“Tell me, all the same,” Macheson persisted.</p> + +<p>Hurd passed his arm through Letty’s.</p> + +<p>“Come, Letty,” he said, “we will take this hansom.”</p> + +<p>The girl was only half willing. Macheson declined to let them go.</p> + +<p>“No!” he said, “I will have my question answered.”</p> + +<p>Hurd turned as though to strike him, but Holderness intervened, head and +shoulders taller than the other.</p> + +<p>“I think,” he said, “that we will have my friend’s question answered.”</p> + +<p>Hurd was almost shaking with rage, but he answered.</p> + +<p>“To some friends in Cambridge Terrace,” he said sullenly. “Number +eighteen.”</p> + +<p>“You will not object,” Macheson said, “if I accompany you there?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll see you damned first,” Hurd answered savagely. “Get in, Letty.”</p> + +<p>The girl hesitated. She turned to Macheson.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p><p>“I should like to go to the station and wait,” she declared.</p> + +<p>“I think,” Macheson said, “that you had better trust yourself to me and +my friend.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure of it,” Holderness added calmly.</p> + +<p>She put her hand in Macheson’s. She was as pale as death and avoided +looking at Hurd. He took a quick step towards her.</p> + +<p>“Very well, young lady,” he said. “If you go now, you understand that I +shall never see you again.”</p> + +<p>She began to cry again.</p> + +<p>“I wish,” she murmured, “that I had never seen you at all—never!”</p> + +<p>He turned on his heel. A row was impossible. It occurred to him that a +man of the world would face such a position calmly.</p> + +<p>“Very good,” he said, “we will leave it at that.”</p> + +<p>He paused to light a cigarette, and strolled back down the street +towards the restaurant which they had just left. Letty was crying now in +good earnest. The two young men looked at one another in something like +dismay. Then Holderness began to laugh quietly.</p> + +<p>“You’re a nice sort of Don Quixote to spend an evening with,” he +remarked softly.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<h3>THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span>he girl was still crying, softly but persistently. She caught hold of +Macheson’s arm.</p> + +<p>“If you please, I think I had better go back to Stephen,” she said. “Do +you think I could find him?”</p> + +<p>“I think you had much better not, Letty,” he answered. “He ought not to +have let you miss your train. My friend here and I are going to look +after you.”</p> + +<p>“It’s very kind of you,” the girl said listlessly, “but it doesn’t +matter much what becomes of me now. Mother will never forgive me—and +the others will all know—that I missed the train.”</p> + +<p>“We must think of some way of putting that all right,” Macheson +declared. “I only wish that I had some relations in London. Can you +suggest anything, Dick?”</p> + +<p>“I can take the young lady to some decent rooms,” Holderness answered. +“The landlady’s an old friend of mine. She’ll be as right as rain +there.”</p> + +<p>The girl shook her head.</p> + +<p>“I’d as soon walk about the streets,” she said <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>pathetically. “Mother’ll +never listen to me—or the others. Some of them saw me with Stephen, and +they said things. I think I’ll go to the station and wait till the five +o’clock train.”</p> + +<p>They were walking slowly up towards Piccadilly. A fine rain had begun to +fall, and already the pavements were shining. Neither of them had an +umbrella, and Letty’s hat, with its cheap flowers and ribbon, showed +signs of collapse. Suddenly Macheson had an idea.</p> + +<p>“Look here,” he said, “supposing you spent the night at Miss +Thorpe-Hatton’s house in Berkeley Square—no one could say anything +then, could they?”</p> + +<p>The girl looked up with a sudden gleam of hope.</p> + +<p>“No! I don’t suppose they could,” she admitted; “but I don’t know where +it is, and I don’t suppose they’d take me in anyway.”</p> + +<p>“I know where it is,” Macheson declared, “and we’ll see about their +taking you in. I believe Miss Thorpe-Hatton may be there herself. Stop +that fourwheeler, Dick.”</p> + +<p>They climbed into a passing cab, and Macheson directed the driver. The +girl was beginning to lose confidence again.</p> + +<p>“The house is sure to be shut up,” she said.</p> + +<p>“There will be a caretaker.” Macheson declared hopefully. “We’ll manage +it, never fear. I believe Miss Thorpe-Hatton is there herself.”</p> + +<p>Letty was trembling with excitement and fear.</p> + +<p>“I’m scared to death of her,” she admitted. “She’s so beautiful, and she +looks at you always as though you were something a long way off.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p><p>Macheson was suddenly silent. A rush of memories surged into his brain. +He had sworn to keep away! This was a different matter, an errand of +mercy. Nevertheless he would see her, if only for a moment. His heart +leaped like a boy’s. He looked eagerly out of the window. Already they +were entering Berkeley Square. The cab stopped.</p> + +<p>Macheson looked upwards. There were lights in many of the windows, and a +small electric brougham, with a tall footman by the side of the driver, +was waiting opposite the door.</p> + +<p>“The house is open,” he declared. “Don’t be afraid, Letty.”</p> + +<p>The girl descended and clung to his arm as they crossed the pavement.</p> + +<p>“I shall wait here for you,” Holderness said. “Good luck to you, and +good night, young lady!”</p> + +<p>Macheson rang the bell. The door was opened at once by a footman, who +eyed them in cold surprise.</p> + +<p>“We wish to see Miss Thorpe-Hatton for two minutes,” Macheson said, +producing his card. “It is really an important matter, or we would not +disturb her at such an hour. She is at home, is she not?”</p> + +<p>The footman looked exceedingly dubious. He looked from the card to +Macheson, and from Macheson to the girl, and he didn’t seem to like +either of them.</p> + +<p>“Miss Thorpe-Hatton has just returned from the opera,” he said, “and she +is going on to the Countess of Annesley’s ball directly. Can’t you come +again in the morning?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p><p>“Quite impossible,” Macheson declared briskly. “I am sure that Miss +Thorpe-Hatton will see me for a moment if you take that card up.”</p> + +<p>The footman studied Macheson again, and was forced to admit that he was +a gentleman. He led the way into a small morning-room.</p> + +<p>“Miss Thorpe-Hatton shall have your card, sir,” he said. “Kindly take a +seat.”</p> + +<p>He left the room. Macheson drew up a chair for Letty, but she refused +it, trembling.</p> + +<p>“Oh! I daren’t sit down, Mr. Macheson,” she declared. “And please—don’t +say that I was with Mr. Hurd. I know he wouldn’t like it.”</p> + +<p>“Probably not,” Macheson answered, “but what am I to say?”</p> + +<p>“Anything—anything but that,” she begged.</p> + +<p>Macheson nodded his promise. Then the door opened, and his heart seemed +to stand still. She entered the room in all the glory of a wonderful +toilette; she wore her famous ropes of pearls, the spotless white of her +gown was the last word from the subtlest Parisian workshop of the day. +But it was not these things that counted. Had he been dreaming, he +wondered a moment later, or had that strange smile indeed curved her +lips, that marvellous light indeed flowed from her eyes? It was the lady +of his dreams who had entered—it was a very different woman who, with a +slight frown upon her smooth forehead, was looking at the girl who stood +trembling by Macheson’s side.</p> + +<p>“It is Mr. Macheson, is it not?” she said calmly, “the young man who +wanted to convert my villagers. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span>And you—who are you?” she asked, +turning to the girl.</p> + +<p>“Letty Foulton, if you please, ma’am,” the girl answered.</p> + +<p>“Foulton! Letty Foulton!” Wilhelmina repeated.</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma’am! My brother has Onetree farm,” the girl continued.</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina inclined her head.</p> + +<p>“Ah, yes!” she remarked, “I remember now. And what do you two want of me +at this hour of the night?” she asked frigidly.</p> + +<p>“If you will allow me, I will explain,” Macheson interrupted eagerly. +“Letty came up from Thorpe this morning on an excursion train which +returned at midnight.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina glanced at the clock. It was five minutes to one.</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“She missed it,” Macheson continued. “It was very careless and very +wrong, of course, but the fact remains that she missed it. I found her +in great distress. She had lost her friends, and there is no train back +to Thorpe till the morning. Her brother and mother are very strict, and +all her friends who came from Thorpe will, of course, know that—she +remained in London. The position, as you will doubtless realize, is a +serious one for her.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina made no sign. Nothing in her face answered in any way the +silent appeal in his.</p> + +<p>“I happened to know,” he continued, “that you were in London, so I +ventured to bring her at once to you. You are the mistress of Thorpe, +and in our recent conversation I remember you admitted a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>certain amount +of responsibility as regards your people there. If she passes the night +under your roof, no one can have a word to say. It will save her at once +from her parent’s anger and the undesirable comments of her neighbours.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina glanced once more towards the clock.</p> + +<p>“It seems to me,” she remarked, “that a considerable portion of the +night has already passed.”</p> + +<p>Both Macheson and the girl were silent. Wilhelmina for the first time +addressed the latter.</p> + +<p>“Where have you been spending the evening?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“We had dinner and went to a place of entertainment,” she faltered. +“Then we had supper, and I found out how late it was.”</p> + +<p>“Who is we?”</p> + +<p>The girl’s face was scarlet. She did not answer. Wilhelmina waited for a +moment and then shrugged her shoulders.</p> + +<p>“You are to be congratulated,” she said, with cold irony, “upon your +fortunate meeting with Mr. Macheson.”</p> + +<p>She had touched the bell, and a footman entered.</p> + +<p>“Reynolds,” she said, “show this young person into the housekeeper’s +room, and ask Mrs. Brown to take charge of her for the night.”</p> + +<p>The girl moved forward impulsively, but something in Wilhelmina’s +expression checked her little speech of gratitude. She followed the man +from the room without a word. Wilhelmina also turned towards the door.</p> + +<p>“You will excuse me,” she said coldly to Macheson. “I am already later +than I intended to be.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p><p>“I can only apologize for disturbing you at such an hour,” he answered, +taking up his hat. “I could think of nothing else.”</p> + +<p>She looked at him coldly.</p> + +<p>“The girl’s parents,” she said, “are respectable people, and I am +sheltering her for their sake. But I am bound to say that I consider her +story most unsatisfactory.”</p> + +<p>They were standing in the hall—she had paused on her way out to +conclude her sentence. Her maid, holding out a wonderful rose-lined +opera cloak, was standing a few yards away; a man-servant was waiting at +the door with the handle in his hand. She raised her eyes to his, and +Macheson felt the challenge which flashed out from them. She imagined, +then, that he had been the girl’s companion; the cold disdain of her +manner was in itself an accusation.</p> + +<p>His cheeks burned with a sort of shame. She had dared to think this of +him—and that afterwards he should have brought the girl to her to beg +for shelter! There were a dozen things which he ought to have said, +which came flashing from his brain to find themselves somehow imprisoned +behind his tightly locked lips. He said nothing. She passed slowly, +almost unwillingly, down the hall. The maid wrapped her coat around +her—still he stood like a statue. He watched her pass through the +opened door and enter the electric brougham. He watched it even glide +away. Then he, too, went and joined Holderness, who was waiting outside.</p> + +<p>“Hail, succourer of damsels in distress!” Holderness <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span>called out, +producing his cigar-case. “Jolly glad you got rid of her! It would have +meant the waiting-room at St. Pancras and an all-night sitting. Smoke, +my son, and we will walk home—unless you mind this bit of rain. Was her +ladyship gracious?”</p> + +<p>“She was not,” Macheson answered grimly, “but she is keeping the girl. +I’d like to walk,” he added, lighting a cigar.</p> + +<p>“A very elegant lady,” Holderness remarked, “but I thought she looked a +bit up in the air. Did you notice her pearls, Victor?”</p> + +<p>Macheson nodded.</p> + +<p>“Wonderful, weren’t they?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. She wears them round her neck, and these—these wear always their +shame,” he added, pushing gently away a woman who clutched at his arm. +“Funny thing, isn’t it? What are they worth? Ten thousand pounds, very +likely. A lot of money for gewgaws—to hang upon a woman’s body. Shall +we ever have a revolution in London, do you think, Victor?”</p> + +<p>“Who knows?” Macheson answered wearily. “Not a political one, perhaps, +but the other might come. The sewers underneath are pretty full.”</p> + +<p>They passed along in silence for a few minutes. Neither the drizzling +rain nor the lateness of the hour could keep away that weary procession +of sad, staring-eyed women, who seemed to come from every shadow, and +vanish Heaven knows where. Macheson gripped his companion by the arm.</p> + +<p>“Holderness,” he cried, “for God’s sake let’s <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>get out of it. I shall +choke presently. We’ll take a side street.”</p> + +<p>But Holderness held his arm in a grip of iron.</p> + +<p>“No,” he said, “these are the things which you must feel. I want you to +feel them. I mean you to.”</p> + +<p>“It’s heart-breaking, Dick.”</p> + +<p>Holderness smiled faintly.</p> + +<p>“I know how you feel,” he declared. “I’ve gone through it myself. You +are a Christian, aren’t you—almost an orthodox Christian?”</p> + +<p>“I am not sure!”</p> + +<p>“Don’t waste your pity, then,” Holderness declared. “God will look after +these. It’s the women with the pearl necklaces and the scorn in their +eyes who’re looking for hell. Your friend in the electric brougham, for +instance. Can’t you see her close her eyes and draw away her skirts if +she should brush up against one of these?”</p> + +<p>“It’s hard to blame her,” Macheson declared.</p> + +<p>Holderness looked down at him pityingly.</p> + +<p>“Man,” he said, “you’re a long way down in the valley. You’ll have to +climb. Vice and virtue are little else save relative terms. They number +their adherents by accident rather than choice.”</p> + +<p>“You mean that it is all a matter of temptation?”</p> + +<p>Holderness laughed. They had passed into the land of silent streets. +Their own rooms were close at hand.</p> + +<p>“Wait a little time,” he said. “Some day you’ll understand.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<h3>LETTY’S DILEMMA</h3> + +<p style="float: left; font-size: 100%; line-height: 80%; margin-top: 0;">“</p><p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">Y</span>ou are quite sure,” the girl said anxiously, “that Miss Thorpe-Hatton +wants to see me? You see there’s a train at ten o’clock I could catch.”</p> + +<p>The housekeeper looked up from the menu she was writing, and tapped the +table impatiently with her pencil.</p> + +<p>“My dear child,” she said, “is it likely I should keep you here without +orders? We have sent a telegram to your mother, and you are to wait +until the mistress is ready to see you.”</p> + +<p>“What time does she generally get down?” Letty asked.</p> + +<p>“Any time,” Mrs. Brown answered, resuming her task. “She was back early +last night, only stayed an hour at the ball, so she may send for you at +any moment. Don’t fidget about so, there’s a good girl. I’m nervous this +morning. We’ve twenty-four people dining, and I haven’t an idea in my +head. I’m afraid I shall have to send for François.”</p> + +<p>“Is François the man-cook who comes down to Thorpe?” Letty asked.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown nodded.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p><p>“The <i>chef</i> you should call him,” she answered. “A very clever man, no +doubt, in his way, but takes a lot of keeping in order.”</p> + +<p>“Do you have to look after all the servants?” Letty asked. “Doesn’t Miss +Thorpe-Hatton ever order anything?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brown looked pityingly at her guest.</p> + +<p>“My dear child,” she said, “I doubt if she could tell you to three or +four how many servants there are in the house, and as to ordering +anything, I don’t suppose such a thought’s ever entered into her head. +Here’s James coming. Perhaps it’s a message for you.”</p> + +<p>A footman entered and greeted Letty kindly.</p> + +<p>“Good morning, young lady!” he said. “You are to go into the +morning-room at once.”</p> + +<p>Letty rose with alacrity.</p> + +<p>“Is—is she there?” she asked nervously.</p> + +<p>“She is,” the man answered, “and if I were you, miss, I wouldn’t do much +more than just answer her questions and skedaddle. I haven’t had any +conversation with her myself, but mademoiselle says she’s more than a +bit off it this morning. Slept badly or something.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t frighten the child, James,” Mrs. Brown said reprovingly. “She’s +not likely to say much to you, my dear. You hurry along, and come back +and have a glass of wine and a biscuit before you go. Show her the way, +James.”</p> + +<p>“If you please, miss,” the man answered, becoming once more an +automaton.</p> + +<p>Letty was ushered into a small room, full, it seemed to her as she +entered, of sunshine and flowers. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>Wilhelmina, in a plain white-serge +gown, with a string of beads around her neck of some strange-coloured +shade of blue, was sitting in a high-backed easy-chair. A small wood +fire was burning in the grate, filling the room with a pleasant aromatic +odour, and the window leading into the square was thrown wide open.</p> + +<p>On a table by her side were a pile of letters, an ivory letter-opener, +several newspapers, and a silver box of cigarettes. For the moment, +however, none of these things claimed her attention. The lady of the +house was leaning back in her chair, and her eyes were half closed. If +she had not been sitting with her back to the light, Letty might have +noticed the dark rings under her eyes. It was true that she had not +slept well.</p> + +<p>Letty advanced doubtfully into the room. Wilhelmina turned her head.</p> + +<p>“Oh, it is you,” she remarked. “Come up to the table where I can see +you.”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Brown told me that you wished to see me before I went,” the girl +said hesitatingly.</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina was silent for a moment. She was looking at the girl. Yes! +she was pretty in a rustic, uncultured way. Her figure was unformed, her +hands and feet what might have been expected, and it was obvious that +she lacked taste. Were men really attracted by this sort of thing?</p> + +<p>“Yes!” Wilhelmina said, “I wish to speak to you. I am not altogether +satisfied about last night.”</p> + +<p>Letty said nothing. She went red and then white. Wilhelmina’s +examination of her was merciless.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p><p>“I wish to know,” Wilhelmina said, “who your companion was—with whom +you had dinner and supper. I look upon that person as being responsible +for your lost train.”</p> + +<p>Letty prayed that she might sink into the ground. Her worst imaginings +had not been so bad as this. She remained silent, tongue-tied.</p> + +<p>“I’m waiting,” Wilhelmina said mercilessly. “I suppose it is obvious +enough, but I wish to hear from your own lips.”</p> + +<p>“I—he—I don’t think that he would like me to tell you, ma’am,” she +faltered.</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina smiled—unpleasantly.</p> + +<p>“Probably not,” she answered. “That, however, is beside the question. I +wish to know.”</p> + +<p>The girl was desperate. It was indeed a quandary with her. To offend the +mistress of Thorpe was something like sacrilege, but she knew very well +what Stephen would have had her do.</p> + +<p>“If you please, ma’am,” she said at last, “I can’t.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina said nothing for a moment, only her eyebrows were slowly +lifted.</p> + +<p>“If you do not,” she said, calmly, “I must write to your mother and tell +her what I think of your behaviour last night. I do not care to have +people near me who are disobedient, or—foolish.”</p> + +<p>The girl burst into tears. Wilhelmina watched her with cold patience.</p> + +<p>“I presume,” she said, “that it was Mr. Macheson. You do not need to +mention his name. You need only say ‘Yes!’”</p> + +<p>The girl said nothing.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p><p>“Mr. Macheson lodged with your mother, I believe?” Wilhelmina continued.</p> + +<p>“Yes!” the girl whispered.</p> + +<p>“And you waited upon him?”</p> + +<p>“Yes!”</p> + +<p>The girl lifted her head.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Macheson always behaved like a gentleman to me,” she said.</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina regarded her contemptuously.</p> + +<p>“Your ideas of what constitutes gentlemanly behaviour are probably +primitive,” she said. “I do not think that I need trouble you for any +direct answer. Still, it would be better for you to give it.”</p> + +<p>The girl was again silent. There was a knock at the door. The footman +ushered in Stephen Hurd.</p> + +<p>He entered confident and smiling. He was wearing a new grey tweed suit, +and he was pleased with himself and the summons which had brought him to +London. But the sight of the girl took his breath away. She, too, was +utterly taken by surprise, and forgot herself.</p> + +<p>“Stephen!” she exclaimed, taking a quick step towards him.</p> + +<p>“You! You here!” he answered.</p> + +<p>It was quite enough! But what puzzled Letty was that Wilhelmina did not +seem in the least angry. There was a strange look on her face as she +looked from one to the other. Something had sprung into her eyes which +seemed to transform her. Her voice, too, had lost all its hardness.</p> + +<p>“How do you do, Mr. Hurd?” she said. “I hope <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>you have come to explain +how you dared let this child lose her train last night.”</p> + +<p>“I—really I—it was quite a mistake,” he faltered, darting an angry +glance at Letty.</p> + +<p>“You had supper with her,” Wilhelmina said, “and you knew what time the +train went.”</p> + +<p>“She met some other friends,” Stephen answered. “She left me.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina smiled. She had found out all that she wanted to know.</p> + +<p>“Well,” she said, “I won’t inquire too closely into it this time, only I +hope that nothing of the sort will occur again. You had better have +lunch with Mrs. Brown in the housekeeper’s room, Letty, and I’ll send +you over to St. Pancras for the four o’clock train. I’ll give you a +letter to your mother this time, but mind, no more foolishness of this +sort.”</p> + +<p>The girl tried to stammer out her thanks, but she was almost incoherent. +Wilhelmina dismissed her with a smile. Her manner was distinctly colder +when she turned to Hurd.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Hurd,” she said, “I hope you will understand me when I say that I +do not care to have my agent, or any one connected with the estate, play +the Don Juan amongst my tenants’ daughters.”</p> + +<p>He flushed up to the eyes.</p> + +<p>“It was idiotic of me,” he admitted frankly. “I simply meant to give the +child a good time.”</p> + +<p>“She is quite pretty in her way,” Wilhelmina said, “and her parents, I +believe, are most respectable people. You were perhaps thinking of +settling down?”</p> + +<p>He looked at her in amazement.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p><p>“What, with Letty Foulton!” he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“Why not?” she asked.</p> + +<p>He drew a breath through his teeth. He could scarcely trust himself to +speak for anger.</p> + +<p>“You—are not serious?” he permitted himself to ask.</p> + +<p>“Why not?” she demanded.</p> + +<p>Hurd struggled to express himself with dignity.</p> + +<p>“I should not consider such a marriage a suitable one, even if I were +thinking of marrying at all,” he said.</p> + +<p>She raised her eyebrows.</p> + +<p>“No? Well, I suppose you know best,” she said carelessly. “Is there +anything fresh down at Thorpe?”</p> + +<p>She was angry about that fool of a girl, he told himself. A good sign. +But what an actress! His conceit barely kept him up.</p> + +<p>“There really isn’t anything I couldn’t arrange with Mr. Fields,” he +admitted. “I thought, perhaps, as I was up, you might have some special +instructions. That is why I sent to ask if you would see me.”</p> + +<p>He looked at her almost eagerly. After all, she was the same woman who +had been kind to him at Thorpe. And yet, was she? A sudden thought +startled him. She was changed. Had she guessed that he knew her secret?</p> + +<p>“No!” she said deliberately. “I do not think that there is anything. If +you could find out Mr. Macheson’s address I should be much obliged.”</p> + +<p>Hurd was puzzled. This was the second time. What could she have to say +to Macheson?</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p><p>“He was here last night, but I forgot to ask him,” she continued +equably.</p> + +<p>“Macheson, here!” he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“It was he who brought the girl, Letty,” she said.</p> + +<p>He was silent for a moment.</p> + +<p>“He’s a queer lot,” he said. “Came to Thorpe, of all places, as a sort +of missioner, and he was about town last night most immaculately got up; +nothing of the parson about him, I can assure you.”</p> + +<p>“No!” she answered quietly. “Well, if you can discover his address, +remember I should be glad to hear it.”</p> + +<p>He took up his hat reluctantly. He had hoped at least that he might have +been asked to luncheon. It was obvious, however, that he was expected to +depart, and he did so. On the whole, although he had escaped from an +exceedingly awkward situation, he could scarcely consider his visit a +success. On his way out he passed Deyes, stepping out of a cab piled up +with luggage. He nodded to Hurd in a friendly manner.</p> + +<p>“Miss Thorpe-Hatton in?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Just left her,” Hurd answered.</p> + +<p>Deyes passed on, and was received by the butler as a favoured guest. He +was shown at once into the morning-room.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<h3>A REPORT FROM PARIS</h3> + +<p style="float: left; font-size: 100%; line-height: 80%; margin-top: 0;">“</p><p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">F</span>or the first time in my life,” Deyes declared, accepting the cigarette +and the easy-chair, “I have appreciated Paris. I have gone there as a +tourist. I have drunk strange drinks at the Café de la Paix. I have sat +upon the boulevards and ogled the obvious lady.”</p> + +<p>“And my little guide?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Has disappeared!” he answered.</p> + +<p>“Since when?”</p> + +<p>“A month ago! It is reported that he came to England.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina sat still for several moments. To a casual observer she might +have seemed unmoved. Deyes, however, was watching her closely, and he +understood.</p> + +<p>“I am sorry,” he said, “to have so little to tell you. But that is the +beginning and the end of it. The man had gone away.”</p> + +<p>“That is precisely what I desired to ascertain,” she said. “It seemed to +me possible that the man had come to England. I wished to know for +certain whether it was true or not.”</p> + +<p>“I think,” Deyes said, withdrawing his cigarette and looking at it +thoughtfully, “that it is true.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p><p>“You have any further reason for thinking so,” she asked, “beyond your +casual inquiries?”</p> + +<p>“Well, yes!” he admitted. “I went a little farther than those casual +inquiries. It seemed such a meagre report to bring you.”</p> + +<p>“Go on!”</p> + +<p>“The ordinary person,” he continued smoothly, “would never believe the +extreme difficulty with which one collects any particulars as to the +home life of a guide. More than once I felt inclined to give up the task +in despair. It seemed to me that a guide could have no home, that he +must sleep in odd moments on a bench at the <i>Hôtel de Luxe</i>. I tried to +fancy a guide in the bosom of his family, carving a Sunday joint, and +surrounded by Mrs. Guide and the little Guides. I couldn’t do it. It +seemed to me somehow grotesque. Just as I was giving it up in despair, +the commissionaire at a night café in Montmartre told me exactly what I +wanted to know. He showed me the house where Johnny, as they called him, +had a room.”</p> + +<p>“You went there?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“I did,” he answered.</p> + +<p>“It was locked up?”</p> + +<p>“On the contrary,” he declared, “Mrs. or Miss Guide was at home, and +very pleased to see me.”</p> + +<p>“There was a woman there?”</p> + +<p>“Assuredly. Whether she is there now or not I cannot say, for it is +three days ago, and to me she seemed nearer than that to death!”</p> + +<p>“And about this woman! What was she like? Was she his wife or his +daughter?”</p> + +<p>“He called her his daughter. I am not sure <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>about the relationship. She +had been good-looking, I should say, but she was very ill.”</p> + +<p>“What did she tell you—about the man Johnson?”</p> + +<p>“That he had gone to England to try to get some money. They were almost +destitute! He was a good guide, she said, but people came so often to +Paris, and they liked some one fresh. Then she coughed—how she +coughed!”</p> + +<p>“Did she tell you to what part of England the man Johnson had gone?”</p> + +<p>“I asked her, but she was not sure. I do not believe that she knew. She +said that there was some one in England who was very rich, and from whom +he hoped to be able to get money.”</p> + +<p>“Anything else?”</p> + +<p>“No! I spoke of myself as an old client of Johnny’s, and I left money. +Afterwards, at the café where I lunched, I found a commissionaire who +told me more about our friend.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! What was the name of the café?”</p> + +<p>“The Café de Paris!”</p> + +<p>She took up a screen and held it before her face. There seemed to be +little need of it, however, for her cheeks were as pale as the white +roses by her side.</p> + +<p>“This man Johnny, as they call him,” Deyes continued, “seems to have had +his ups and downs. One big stroke of luck he had, however, which seems +to have kept him going for several years. The commissionaire was able to +tell me something about it. Shall I go on?” he asked, dropping his voice +a little.</p> + +<p>“I should like to know what the commissionaire told you,” she answered.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p><p>“Somehow or other this fellow, Johnny or Johnson as some of them called +him, was recommended to a young lady, a very young lady, who was in +Paris with an invalid chaperon.”</p> + +<p>“Stop!” she cried.</p> + +<p>He looked at her fixedly.</p> + +<p>“You were that young lady,” he said softly. “Of course, I know that!”</p> + +<p>“I was,” she admitted. “Don’t speak to me for a few moments. It was +years ago—but——”</p> + +<p>She bent the screen which she held in her hand until the handle snapped.</p> + +<p>“You seem,” she said, “to have rather exceeded your instructions. I +simply wanted to know whether the man was in Paris or not.”</p> + +<p>He bowed.</p> + +<p>“The man is in England,” he said. “Don’t you think it might be helpful +if you gave me more of your confidence, and told me why you wanted to +hear about him?”</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p>“I would sooner tell you than any one, Gilbert,” she said, “but I do not +want to talk about it.”</p> + +<p>“It must be as you will, of course,” he answered, “but I hope you will +always remember that you could do me no greater kindness—at any +time—than to make use of my services. I do not know everything of what +happened in Paris—about that time. I do not wish to know. I am content +to serve you—blindly.”</p> + +<p>“I will not forget that,” she said softly. “If ever the necessity comes +I will remind you. There! Let that be the end of it.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p><p>She changed the subject, giving him to understand that she did not wish +to discuss it further.</p> + +<p>“You are for Marienbad, as usual?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Next week,” he answered. “One goes from habit, I suppose. No waters +upon the earth or under it will ever cure me!”</p> + +<p>“Liver?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Heart!” he declared.</p> + +<p>“You shouldn’t smoke so many cigarettes.”</p> + +<p>“Harmless,” he assured her. “I don’t inhale.”</p> + +<p>“I think,” she said, “that I shall come over next month.”</p> + +<p>“Do!” he begged. “I’ll answer for the bridge. May I come and lunch +to-morrow?”</p> + +<p>She turned to a red morocco book by her side.</p> + +<p>“A bishop and Lady Sarah,” she said. “Several more parsons, and I think +the duchess.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll face ’em,” he declared.</p> + +<p>“I think I shall send for Peggy,” Wilhelmina said. “She is always so +sweet to the Church.”</p> + +<p>Deyes grinned.</p> + +<p>“I shall go round and look her up,” he declared. “Perhaps she’ll come +and have lunch with me somewhere.”</p> + +<p>She held out her hand.</p> + +<p>“You’re a good sort to have gone over for me,” she said. “The things you +tumbled up against you’d better forget.”</p> + +<p>“Until you remind me of them,” he said. “Very well, I’ll do that. Sorry +I didn’t run Johnny to earth.”</p> + +<p>He went off, and Wilhelmina after a few minutes went to her desk and +wrote a letter to Stephen Hurd.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p><div class="blockquot"><p>“As usual,” she wrote, “when you were here this morning I forgot to +mention several matters upon which I meant to speak to you. The first is +with regard to the man whose brutal assault upon your father caused his +death. I understand that the police have never traced him, have never +even found the slightest clue to his whereabouts. The more I think of +this, the more strange it seems to me, and I am inclined to believe that +he never, after all, escaped from the wood in which he first took +shelter. I know that the slate quarry was dragged at the time, but I +have been told that this was hastily done, and that there are several +very deep holes into which the man’s body may have drifted. I wish you, +therefore, to send over to Nottingham to get some experienced men to +bring back the drags and make an exhaustive search. Please have this +done without delay.</p> + +<p>“Further, I wish to communicate with the young man Macheson, who was in +Thorpe at the time. They may know his address at the post-office, but if +you are unable to procure it in any other way, you must advertise in +your own name. Please carry out my instructions in these two matters +immediately.”</p></div> + +<p>Wilhelmina laid down her pen and looked thoughtfully through the window +into the square. A policeman was coming slowly along the pavement. She +watched him approach and pass the house, his eyes still fixed in front +of him, his whole appearance stolid and matter-of-fact to the last +degree. She watched him disappear with fascinated eyes. After all, he +represented great things; behind him was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>a whole national code; the +machinery of which he was so small a part drove the wheels of life or +death. She turned away from the window with a shrug of the shoulders. +Humming a tune, she threw herself back in her chair, and began the +leisurely perusal of her letters.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<h3>LIKE A TRAPPED ANIMAL</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">M</span>acheson in those days felt himself rapidly growing older. An +immeasurable gap seemed to lie between him and the eager young apostle +who had plunged so light-heartedly into the stress of life. All that +wonderful enthusiasm, that undaunted courage with which he had faced +coldness and ridicule in the earlier days of his self-chosen vocation +seemed to have left him. Some way, somehow, he seemed to have suffered +shipwreck! There was poison in his system! Fight against it as he +might—and he did fight—there were moments when memory turned the life +which he had taken up so solemnly into the maddest, most fantastic fairy +story. At such times his blood ran riot, the sweetness of a strange, +unknown world seemed to be calling to him across the forbidden borders. +Inaction wearied him horribly—and, after all, it was inaction which +Holderness had recommended as the best means of re-establishing himself +in a saner and more normal attitude towards life!</p> + +<p>“Look round a bit, old chap,” he advised, “and think. Don’t do anything +in a hurry. You’re young, shockingly young for any effective work. You +can’t teach before you understand. Life <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>isn’t such a sink of iniquity +as you young prigs at Oxford professed to find it. See the best of it +and the worst. You’ll be able to put your finger on the weak spots quick +enough.”</p> + +<p>But the process of looking around wearied Macheson excessively—or was +it something else which had crept into his blood to his immense +unsettlement? There were several philanthropic schemes started by +himself and his college friends in full swing now, in or about London. +To each of them he paid some attention, studying its workings, listening +to the enthusiastic outpourings of his quondam friends and doing his +best to catch at least some spark of their interest. But it was all very +unsatisfactory. Deep down in his heart he felt the insistent craving for +some fiercer excitement, some mode of life which should make larger and +deeper demands upon his emotional temperament. A heroic war would have +appealed to him instantly—for that, he realized with a sigh, he was +born many centuries too late. For weeks he wandered about London in a +highly unsatisfied condition. Then one afternoon, in the waning of a +misty October day, he came face to face with Wilhelmina in Bond Street.</p> + +<p>She was stepping into her motor brougham when she saw him. He had no +opportunity for escape, even if he had desired it. Her tired lips were +suddenly curved into a most bewildering smile. She withdrew her hand +from her muff and offered it to him—for the first time.</p> + +<p>“So you are still in London, Mr. Macheson,” she said. “I am very glad to +see you.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p><p>The words were unlike her, the tone was such as he had never heard her +use. Do what he could, he could not help the answering light which +sprang into his own eyes.</p> + +<p>“I am still in London,” he said. “I thought you were to go to +Marienbad?”</p> + +<p>“I left it until it was too late,” she answered. “Walk a little way with +me,” she added abruptly. “I should like to talk to you.”</p> + +<p>“If I may,” he answered simply.</p> + +<p>She dismissed the brougham, and they moved on.</p> + +<p>“I am sorry,” she began, “that I was rude to you when you brought that +girl to me. You did exactly what was nice and kind, and I was hateful. +Please forgive me.”</p> + +<p>“Of course,” he answered simply. “I felt sure that when you thought it +over you would understand.”</p> + +<p>“You are not going back—to Thorpe?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Not at present, at any rate,” he answered.</p> + +<p>She looked up at him with a faint smile.</p> + +<p>“You can have the barn,” she said.</p> + +<p>His eyes answered her smile, but his tone was grave.</p> + +<p>“I have given that up—for a little time, at any rate,” he said. “I mean +that particular sort of work.”</p> + +<p>“My villagers must content themselves with Mr. Vardon, then,” she +remarked.</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps,” he said, “ours was a mistaken enterprise. I am not sure. But +at any rate, so far as <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>Thorpe is concerned, I have abandoned it for the +present.”</p> + +<p>She was walking close to his side, so close that the hand which raised +her skirt as they crossed the street touched his, and her soft breath as +she leaned over and spoke fell upon his cheek.</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>He felt the insidious meaning of her whispered monosyllable, he felt her +eyes striving to make him look at her. His cheeks were flushed, but he +looked steadily ahead.</p> + +<p>“There were several reasons,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Do tell me,” she begged; “I am curious.”</p> + +<p>“For one,” he said steadily, “I did an unjust thing at Thorpe. I +sheltered a criminal and helped him to escape.”</p> + +<p>“So it was you who did that,” she remarked. “You mean, of course, the +man who killed Mr. Hurd?”</p> + +<p>“Yes!” he answered. “I showed him where to hide. He either got clean +away, or he is lying at the bottom of the slate quarry. In either case, +I am responsible for him.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” she said, “he is not at the bottom of the slate quarry. I can at +least assure you of that. I have had the place dragged, and every foot +of it gone over by experienced men from Nottingham.”</p> + +<p>“Really,” he said, surprised. “Well, I am glad of it.”</p> + +<p>She sighed.</p> + +<p>“I want you, if you can,” she said, “to describe the man to me. It is +not altogether curiosity. I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>have a reason for wishing to know what he +was like.”</p> + +<p>“He was in such a state of panic,” Macheson said doubtfully, “that I am +afraid I have only an imperfect impression of him. He was not very tall, +he had a round face, cheeks that were generally, I should think, rather +high-coloured, brown eyes and dark hair, almost black. He wore a thick +gold ring on the finger of one hand, and although he spoke good English, +I got the idea somehow that he was either a foreigner or had lived +abroad. He was in a terrible state of fear, and from what I could +gather, I should say that he struck old Mr. Hurd in a scuffle, and not +with any deliberate intention of hurting him.”</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>“I have heard all that I want to,” she declared.</p> + +<p>They walked on in silence for several minutes. Then she turned to him +with a shrug of the shoulders.</p> + +<p>“The subject,” she declared, “is dismissed. I did not ask you to walk +with me to discuss such unpleasant things. I should like to know about +yourself.”</p> + +<p>He sighed.</p> + +<p>“About myself,” he answered, “there is nothing to tell. There isn’t in +the whole of London a more unsatisfactory person.”</p> + +<p>She laughed softly.</p> + +<p>“Such delightful humility,” she murmured, “especially amongst the young, +is too touching. Nevertheless, go on. It amuses me to hear.”</p> + +<p>The note of imperiousness in her tone was pleasantly reminiscent. It was +the first reminder he had received of the great lady of Thorpe.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p><p>“Well,” he said, “what do you want to know?”</p> + +<p>“Everything,” she answered. “I am possessed by a most unholy curiosity. +Your relatives for instance, and where you were born.”</p> + +<p>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>“I have no relatives,” he answered. “I was born in Australia. I am an +orphan, twenty-eight years old, and feel forty-eight, no profession, no +settled purpose in life. I am Japhet in search of a career.”</p> + +<p>She glanced at his shabby clothes. He had been to a mission-house in the +East End.</p> + +<p>“You are poor?” she asked softly.</p> + +<p>“I have enough, more than enough,” he answered, “to live on.”</p> + +<p>Her eyes lingered upon his clothes, but he offered no explanation. +Enough to live on, she reflected, might mean anything!</p> + +<p>“You say that you have no profession,” she remarked. “I suppose you +would call it a vocation. But why did you want to come and preach to my +villagers at Thorpe? Why didn’t you go into the Church if you cared for +that sort of thing?”</p> + +<p>“There was a certain amount of dogma in the way,” he answered. “I should +make but a poor Churchman. They would probably call me a free-thinker. +Besides, I wanted my independence.”</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>“I am beginning to understand a little better,” she said. “Now you must +tell me this. Why did you entertain the idea of mission work in a place +like Thorpe, when the whole of that awful East End was there waiting for +you?”</p> + +<p>“All the world of reformers,” he answered, “rushes <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>to the East End. We +fancied there was as important work to be done in less obvious places.”</p> + +<p>“And you started your work,” she asked, “directly you left college?”</p> + +<p>“Before, I think,” he answered. “You see, I wasn’t alone. There were +several of us who felt the same way—Holderness, for instance, the man +who came to your house with me the other night. He works altogether upon +the political side. He’s a Socialist—of a sort. Two of the others went +into the Church, one became a medical missionary. I joined in with a few +who thought that we might do more effective work without tying ourselves +down to anything, or subscribing to any religious denomination.”</p> + +<p>She looked at him curiously. He was tall, broad-shouldered and muscular. +He wore even his shabby clothes with an air of distinction.</p> + +<p>“I suppose,” she said calmly, “that I must belong to a very different +world. But what I cannot understand is why you should choose a career +which you intend to pursue apparently for the benefit of other people. +All the young men whom I have known who have taken life seriously enough +to embrace a career at all, have at least studied their individual +tastes.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” he answered, smiling, “it isn’t that I fancy myself any better +than my fellows. I was at Magdalen, you know, under Heysey. I think that +it was his influence which shaped our ideas.”</p> + +<p>“Yes! I have heard of him,” she said thoughtfully. “He was a good man. +At least every one says so. I’m afraid I don’t know much about good <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>men +myself. Most of those whom I have met have been the other sort.”</p> + +<p>The faint bitterness of her tone troubled him. There was deliberation, +too, in her words. Instinctively he knew that this was no idle speech.</p> + +<p>“You have asked me,” he reminded her, “a good many questions. I wonder +if I might be permitted to ask you one?”</p> + +<p>“Why not? I can reserve the privilege of not answering it,” she +remarked.</p> + +<p>“People call you a fortunate woman,” he said. “You are very rich, you +have a splendid home, the choice of your own friends, a certain +reputation—forgive me if I quote from a society paper—as a brilliant +and popular woman of the world. Yours is rather a unique position, isn’t +it? I wonder,” he added, “whether you are satisfied with what you get +out of life!”</p> + +<p>“I get all that there is to be got,” she answered, a slight hardness +creeping into her tone. “It mayn’t be much, but it amuses +me—sometimes.”</p> + +<p>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>“There is more to be got out of life,” he said, “than a little +amusement.”</p> + +<p>She shrugged her shoulders.</p> + +<p>“How about yourself? You haven’t exactly the appearance of a perfectly +contented being.”</p> + +<p>“I’m hideously dissatisfied,” he admitted promptly. “Something seems to +have gone wrong with me—I seem to have become a looker-on at life. I +want to take a hand, and I can’t. There doesn’t seem to be any place for +me. Of course, it’s only a phase,” he continued. “I shall settle down +into <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>something presently. But it’s rather beastly while it lasts.”</p> + +<p>She looked at him, her eyes soft with laughter. Somehow his confession +seemed to have delighted her.</p> + +<p>“I’m glad you are human enough to have phases,” she declared. “I was +beginning to be afraid that you might turn out to be just an ordinary +superior person. Perhaps you are also human enough to drink tea and eat +muffins. Try, won’t you?”</p> + +<p>They were in front of her door, which flew immediately open. She either +took his consent for granted, or chose not to risk his refusal, for she +went on ahead, and his faint protests were unheard. His hat and stick +passed into the care of an elderly person in plain black clothes; with +scarcely an effort at resistance, he found himself following her down +the hall. She stopped before a small wrought-iron gate, which a footman +at once threw open.</p> + +<p>“It makes one feel as though one were in a hotel, doesn’t it?” she +remarked, “but I hate stairs. Besides, I am going to take you a long, +long way up.... I am not at home this afternoon, Groves.”</p> + +<p>“Very good, madam,” the man answered.</p> + +<p>They stepped out into a smaller hall. A dark-featured young woman came +hurrying forward to meet them.</p> + +<p>“I shall not need you, Annette,” Wilhelmina said. “Go down and see that +they send up tea for two, and telephone to Lady Margaret—say I’m sorry +that I cannot call for her this afternoon.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p><p>“Parfaitement, madame,” the girl murmured, and hurried away. Wilhelmina +opened the door of a sitting-room—the most wonderful apartment Macheson +had ever seen. A sudden nervousness seized him. He felt his knees +shaking, his heart began to thump, his brain to swim. All at once he +realized where he was! It was not the lady of Thorpe, this! It was the +woman who had come to him with the storm, the woman who had set burning +the flame which had driven him into a new world. He looked around half +wildly! He felt suddenly like a trapped animal. It was no place for him, +this bower of roses and cushions, and all the voluptuous appurtenances +of a chamber subtly and irresistibly feminine! He was bereft of words, +awkward, embarrassed. He longed passionately to escape.</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina closed the door and raised her veil. She laid her two hands +upon his shoulders, and looked up at him with a faint but very tender +smile. Her forehead was slightly wrinkled, her fingers seemed to cling +to him, so that her very touch was like a caress! His heart began to +beat madly. The perfume of her clothes, her hair, the violets at her +bosom, were like a new and delicious form of intoxication. The touch of +her fingers became more insistent. She was drawing his face down to +hers.</p> + +<p>“I wonder,” she murmured, “whether you remember!”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="BOOK_II" id="BOOK_II"></a>BOOK II</h2> + +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>RATHER A GHASTLY PART</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">M</span>ademoiselle Rosine raised her glass. Her big black eyes flashed +unutterable things across the pink roses.</p> + +<p>“I think,” she said, “that we drink the good health of our host, Meester +Macheson, Meester Victor, is it not?”</p> + +<p>“Bravo!” declared a pallid-looking youth, her neighbour at the round +supper table. “By Jove, if we were at the <i>Côte d’Or</i> instead of the +<i>Warwick</i>, we’d give him musical honours.”</p> + +<p>“I drink,” Macheson declared, “to all of us who know how to live! Jules, +another magnum, and look sharp.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, sir,” the man answered.</p> + +<p>There flashed a quick look of intelligence between the waiter and a +maître d’hôtel who was lingering near. The latter hesitated for a +moment, and then nodded. It was a noisy party and none too reputable, +but a magnum of champagne was an order. They were likely to make more +noise still if they didn’t get it. So the wine was brought, and more +toasts were drunk. Mademoiselle Rosine’s eyes <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>flashed softer things +than ever across the table, but she had the disadvantage of distance. +Ella Merriam, the latest American importation, held the place of honour +next Macheson, and she was now endeavouring to possess herself of his +hand under the table.</p> + +<p>“I say, Macheson, how is it none of us ever ran up against you before?” +young Davenant demanded, leaning back in his chair. “Never set eyes on +you myself, from the day you left Magdalen till I ran up against you at +the Alhambra the other evening. Awfully studious chap Macheson was at +college,” he added to the American girl. “Thought us chaps no end of +rotters because we used to go the pace a bit. That’s so, isn’t it, +Macheson?”</p> + +<p>Macheson nodded.</p> + +<p>“It is only the young who are really wise,” he declared coolly. “As we +grow older we make fools of ourselves inevitably, either fools or +beasts, according to our proclivities. Then we begin to enjoy +ourselves.”</p> + +<p>The girl by his side laughed.</p> + +<p>“I guess you don’t mean that,” she said. “It sounds smart, but it’s real +horrid. How old are you, Mr. Macheson?”</p> + +<p>“Older than I look and younger than I feel,” he answered, gazing into +his empty glass.</p> + +<p>“Have you found what you call your proclivities?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“I am searching for them,” Macheson answered. “The trouble is one +doesn’t know whether to dig or to climb.”</p> + +<p>“Why should one search at all?” the other man <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>asked, drawing out a gold +cigarette case from his trousers pocket, and carefully selecting a +cigarette. “Life comes easiest to those who go blindfold. I’ve got a +brother, private secretary to a Member of Parliament. He’s got views +about things, and he makes an awful fag of life. What’s the good of it! +He’ll be an old man before he’s made up his mind which way he wants to +go. This sort of thing’s good enough for me!”</p> + +<p>The magnum had arrived, and Macheson lifted a foaming glass.</p> + +<p>“Davenant,” he declared, “you are a philosopher. We will drink to life +as it comes! To life—as it comes!”</p> + +<p>They none of them noticed the little break in his voice. A party of +newcomers claimed their attention. Macheson, too, had seen them. He had +seen her. Like a ghost at the feast, he sat quite motionless, his glass +half raised in the air, the colour gone from his cheeks, his eyes set in +a hard fast stare. Wilhelmina, in a plain black velvet gown, with a rope +of pearls about her neck, her dark hair simply arranged about her +pallid, distinguished face, was passing down the room, followed closely +by the Earl of Westerdean, Deyes, and Lady Peggy. Her first impulse had +been to stop; a light sprang into her eyes, and a delicate spot of +colour burned in her cheeks. Then her eyes fell upon his companions; she +realized his surroundings. The colour went: the momentary hesitation was +gone. She passed on without recognition; Lady Peggy, after a curious +glance, did the same. She whispered and laughed in Deyes’ ear as they +seated <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>themselves at an adjacent table. He looked round behind her back +and nodded, but Macheson did not appear to see him.</p> + +<p>A momentary constraint fell upon the little party. The American young +lady leaned over to ask Davenant who the newcomers were.</p> + +<p>“The elder man,” he said, “is the Earl of Westerdean, and the pretty +fair woman Lady Margaret Penshore. The other woman is a Miss +Thorpe-Hatton. Macheson probably knows more about them than I do!”</p> + +<p>Macheson ignored the remark. He whispered something in his neighbour’s +ear, which made her laugh heartily. The temporary check to their +merriment passed away. Macheson was soon laughing and talking as much as +any of them.</p> + +<p>“Supper,” he declared, “would be the most delightful meal of the day in +any other country except England. In a quarter of an hour the lights +will be out.”</p> + +<p>“But it is barbarous,” Mademoiselle Rosine declared. “Ah! Monsieur +Macheson, you should come to Paris! There it is that one may enjoy +oneself.”</p> + +<p>“I will come,” Macheson answered, “whenever you will take me.”</p> + +<p>She clapped her hands.</p> + +<p>“Agreed,” she cried. “I have finished rehearsing. I have a week’s +‘vacance.’ We will go to Paris to-morrow, all four of us!”</p> + +<p>“I’m on,” Davenant declared promptly. “I was going anyway in a week or +two.”</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle Rosine clapped her hands again.</p> + +<p>“Bravo!” she cried. “And you, Mademoiselle?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p><p>The girl hesitated. She glanced at Macheson.</p> + +<p>“We will both come,” Macheson declared. “Miss Merriam will do me the +honour to go as my guest.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll stay at the Vivandiére,” Davenant said. “I’ve a pal there who +knows the ropes right up to date. What about the two-twenty to-morrow? +We shall get there in time to change and have supper at Noyeau’s.”</p> + +<p>“And afterwards—<i>au Rat Mort</i>——” Mademoiselle Rosine cried. “We will +drink a glass of champagne with <i>cher</i> Monsieur François.”</p> + +<p>Davenant raised his glass.</p> + +<p>“One more toast, then, before the bally lights go out!” he exclaimed. +“To Paris—and our trip!”</p> + +<p>Some one touched Macheson on the arm. He turned sharply round. Deyes was +standing there. Tall and immaculately attired, there was something a +little ghostly in the pallor of his worn, beardless face, with its many +wrinkles and tired eyes.</p> + +<p>“Forgive me for interrupting you, my dear fellow,” he said. “We are +having our coffee outside, just on the left there. Miss Thorpe-Hatton +wants you to stop for a moment on your way out.”</p> + +<p>Macheson hesitated perceptibly. A dull flush of colour stained his +cheek, fading away almost immediately. He set his teeth hard.</p> + +<p>“I shall be very happy,” he said, “to stop for a second.”</p> + +<p>Deyes bowed and turned away. The room now was almost in darkness, and +the people were streaming out into the foyer. Macheson paid the bill and +followed in the wake of the others. Seeing <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>him approach alone, +Wilhelmina welcomed him with a smile, and drew her skirts on one side to +make room for him to sit down. He glanced doubtfully around. She raised +her eyebrows.</p> + +<p>“Your friends,” she said, “are in no hurry. They can spare you for a +moment.”</p> + +<p>There was nothing in her tone to indicate any surprise at finding him +there, or in such company. She made a few casual remarks in her somewhat +languid fashion, and recalled him to the recollection of Lady Peggy, who +was to all appearance flirting desperately with Lord Westerdean. Deyes +had strolled across to a neighbouring group, and was talking to a +well-known actor. Wilhelmina leaned towards him.</p> + +<p>“Has it ever occurred to you,” she asked quietly, “that you left me a +little abruptly the other afternoon?”</p> + +<p>His eyes blazed into hers. He found it hard to emulate the quiet +restraint of her tone and manner. It was a trick which he had never +cultivated, never inherited, this playing with the passions in kid +gloves, this muzzling and harnessing of the emotions.</p> + +<p>“You know why,” he said.</p> + +<p>She inclined her head ever so slightly to where his late companions were +seated.</p> + +<p>“And this?” she asked. “Am I responsible for this, too?”</p> + +<p>He laughed shortly.</p> + +<p>“It would never have occurred to me to suggest such a thing,” he +declared. “I am amusing myself a little. Why not?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p><p>“Are you?” she asked calmly.</p> + +<p>Her eyes drew his. He almost fancied that the quiver at the corners of +her lips was of mirth.</p> + +<p>“Somehow,” she continued, “I am not sure of that. I watched you now and +then in there. It seemed to me that you were playing a part—rather a +ghastly part! There’s nothing so wearisome, you know, as pretending to +enjoy yourself.”</p> + +<p>“I had a headache to-night,” he said, frowning.</p> + +<p>She bent towards him.</p> + +<p>“Is it better now?” she whispered, smiling.</p> + +<p>He threw out his hands with a quick fierce gesture. It was well that the +great room was wrapped in the mysterious obscurity of semi-darkness, and +that every one was occupied with the business of farewells. He sprang to +his feet.</p> + +<p>“I am going,” he said thickly. “My friends are expecting me.”</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p>“Those are not your friends,” she said. “You know very well that they +never could be. You can go and wish them good night. You are going to +see me home.”</p> + +<p>“No!” he declared.</p> + +<p>“If you please,” she begged softly.</p> + +<p>He crossed the room unsteadily, and made his excuses with the best grace +he could. Mademoiselle Rosine made a wry face. Miss Ella laid her +fingers upon his arm and looked anxiously up at him.</p> + +<p>“Say you won’t disappoint us to-morrow,” she said. “It’s all fixed up +about Paris, isn’t it? Two-twenty from Charing Cross.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p><p>“Yes!” he answered. “I will let you know if anything turns up.”</p> + +<p>They all stood around him. Davenant laid his hand upon his shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Look here, old chap,” he said, “no backing out. We’ve promised the +girls, and we mustn’t disappoint them.”</p> + +<p>“Monsieur Macheson would not be so cruel,” Mademoiselle Rosine pleaded. +“He has promised, and Englishmen never break their workd. Is it not so? +A party of four, yes! that is very well. But alone with Herbert here I +could not go. If you do not come, all is spoilt! Is it not so, my +friends?”</p> + +<p>“Rather!” Davenant declared.</p> + +<p>The other girl’s fingers tightened upon his arm.</p> + +<p>“Don’t go away now,” she whispered. “Come round to my flat and we’ll all +talk it over. I will sing you my new song. I’m crazy about it.”</p> + +<p>Macheson detached himself as well as he could.</p> + +<p>“I must leave you now,” he declared. “I can assure you that I mean to +come to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>He hurried after Wilhelmina, who was saying good night to her friends. A +few minutes later they were being whirled westwards in her brougham.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>PLAYING WITH FIRE</h3> + +<p style="float: left; font-size: 100%; line-height: 80%; margin-top: 0;">“</p><p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">A</span>nd now,” she said, throwing herself into an easy-chair and taking up a +fan, “we can talk.”</p> + +<p>He refused the chair which she had motioned him to wheel up to the fire. +He stood glowering down upon her, pale, stern, yet not wholly master of +himself. Against the sombre black of her dress, her neck and bosom shone +like alabaster. She played with her pearls, and looked up at him with +that faint maddening curl of the lips which he so loved and so hated.</p> + +<p>“So you won’t sit down. I wonder why a man always feels that he can +bully a woman so much better standing up.”</p> + +<p>“There is no question of bullying you,” he answered shortly. “You are +responsible for my coming here. What is it that you want with me?”</p> + +<p>“Suppose,” she murmured, looking up at him, “that I were to say—another +kiss!”</p> + +<p>“Suppose, on the other hand,” he answered roughly, “you were to tell me +the truth.”</p> + +<p>She sighed gently.</p> + +<p>“You jump so rapidly at conclusions,” she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>declared. “Are you sure that +it would not be the truth!”</p> + +<p>“If it were,” he began fiercely.</p> + +<p>“If it were,” she interrupted, “well?”</p> + +<p>“I would rather kiss Mademoiselle Rosine or whatever her name is,” he +said. “I would sooner go out into the street and kiss the first woman I +met.”</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p>“What an impossible person you are!” she murmured. “Of course, I don’t +believe you.”</p> + +<p>He shrugged his shoulders, and glanced at the clock.</p> + +<p>“Are you going to keep me here long?” he asked roughly. “I am going to +Paris to-morrow, and I have to pack my clothes.”</p> + +<p>“To Paris? With Mademoiselle Rosine?”</p> + +<p>“Yes!”</p> + +<p>She laughed softly.</p> + +<p>“Oh! I think not,” she declared. “That sort of thing wouldn’t amuse you +a bit.”</p> + +<p>“We shall see!” he muttered.</p> + +<p>“I am sure that you will not go,” she repeated.</p> + +<p>“Why not?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>“Because—I beg you not to!”</p> + +<p>“You!” he exclaimed. “You! Do you think that I am another of those +creatures of straw and putty, to dance to your whims, to be whistled to +your heel, to be fed with stray kisses, and an occasional kind word? I +think not! If I am to go to the Devil, I will go my own way.”</p> + +<p>“You inconsistent creature!” she said. “Why not mine?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll take my soul with me, such as it is,” he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>answered. “I’ll not make +away with it while my feet are on the earth.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know that you are really a very extraordinary person?” she said.</p> + +<p>“What I am you are responsible for,” he answered. “I was all right when +you first knew me. I may have been ignorant, perhaps, but at any rate I +was sincere. I had a conscience and an ideal. Oh! I suppose you found me +very amusing—a missioner who thought it worth while to give a part of +his life to help his fellows climb a few steps higher up. What devil was +it that sent you stealing down the lane that night from your house, I +wonder?”</p> + +<p>She nodded slowly.</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry you can speak of it like that,” she said. “To me it was the +most delightful piece of sentiment! Almost like a poem!”</p> + +<p>“A poem! It was the Devil’s own poetry you breathed into me! What a poor +mad fool I became! You saw how easily I gave my work up, how I sulked up +to London, fighting with it all the time, with this madness—<span style="white-space: nowrap;">this——”</span></p> + +<p>“Dear me,” she said, “what an Adam you are! My dear Victor, isn’t +it—you are very, very young. There is no need for you to manufacture a +huge tragedy out of a woman’s kiss.”</p> + +<p>“What else is it but a tragedy,” he demanded, “the kiss that is a +lie—or worse? You brought me here, you let me hold you in my arms, you +filled my brain with mad thoughts, you drove everything good and worth +having out of life, you filled it with what? Yourself! And then—you pat +me on the cheek and tell me to come, and be kissed some other day, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>when +you feel in the humour, a wet afternoon, perhaps, or when you are +feeling bored, and want to hunt up a few new emotions! It may be the way +with you and your kind. I call it hellish!”</p> + +<p>“Well,” she said, “tell me exactly what it is that you want?”</p> + +<p>“To be laughed at—as you did before?” he answered fiercely. “Never +mind. It was the truth. You have lain in my arms, you came willingly, +your lips have been mine! You belong to me!”</p> + +<p>“To be quite explicit,” she murmured, “you think I ought to marry you.”</p> + +<p>“Yes!” he declared firmly. “A kiss is a promise! You seem to want to +live as a ‘poseuse,’ to make playthings of your emotions and mine. I +wanted to build up my life firmly, to make it a stable and a useful +thing. You came and wrecked it, and you won’t even help me to rebuild.”</p> + +<p>“Let us understand one another thoroughly,” she said. “Your complaint +is, then, that I will not marry you?”</p> + +<p>The word, the surprising, amazing word, left her lips again so calmly +that Macheson was staggered a little, confused by its marvellous +significance. He was thrown off his balance, and she smiled as a +wrestler who has tripped his adversary. Henceforth she expected to find +him easier to deal with.</p> + +<p>“You know—that it is not that—altogether,” he faltered.</p> + +<p>“What is it that you want then?” she asked calmly. “There are not many +men in the world who have kissed—even my hand. There are fewer +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>still—whom I have kissed. I thought that I had been rather kind to +you.”</p> + +<p>“Kind!” he threw out his arms with a despairing gesture. “You call it +kindness, the drop of magic you pour into a man’s veins, the touch of +your body, the breath of your lips vouchsafed for a second, the elixir +of a new life. What is it to you? A caprice! A little dabbling in the +emotions, a device to make a few minutes of the long days pass more +smoothly. Perhaps it’s the way in your world, this! You cheat yourself +of a whole-hearted happiness by making physiological experiments, +frittering away the great chance out of sheer curiosity—or something +worse. And we who don’t understand the game—we are the victims!”</p> + +<p>“Really,” she said pleasantly, “you are very eloquent.”</p> + +<p>“And you,” he said, “are——”</p> + +<p>Her hand flashed out almost to his lips, long shapely fingers, ablaze +with the dull fire of emeralds.</p> + +<p>“Stop,” she commanded, “you are not quite yourself this evening. I am +afraid that you will say something which you will regret. Now listen. +You have made a most eloquent attack upon me, but you must admit that it +is a perfect tangle of generalities. Won’t you condescend to look me in +the face, leave off vague complaints, and tell me precisely why you have +placed me in the dock and yourself upon the bench? In plain words, mind. +No evasions. I want the truth.”</p> + +<p>“You shall have it,” he answered grimly. “Listen, then. I began at +Thorpe. You were at <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>once rude and kind to me. I was a simple ass, of +course, and you were a mistress in all the arts which go to a man’s +undoing. It wasn’t an equal fight. I struggled a little, but I thanked +God that I had an excuse to give up my work. I came to London, but the +poison was working. Every morning before you were up, and every night +after dark, I walked round your square—and the days I saw you were the +days that counted.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me, how interesting!” she interrupted softly. “And to think that I +never knew!”</p> + +<p>“I never meant you to know,” he declared. “A fool I was from the first, +but never fool enough to misunderstand. When I brought Letty Foulton to +you, I brought her against my will. It was for the child’s sake. And you +were angry, and then I saw you again—and you were kind!”</p> + +<p>She smiled at him.</p> + +<p>“I’m glad you admit that,” she said gently. “I thought that I was very +kind indeed. And you repaid me—how?”</p> + +<p>“Kind!” he cried fiercely. “Yes! you were kind! You were mine for the +moment, you lay in my arms, you gave me your lips! It was an impression! +It amused you to see any human being so much in earnest. Then the mood +passed. Your dole of charity had been given! I must sit apart and you +must smooth your hair. What did it all amount to? An episode, a trifling +debauch in sentiment—and for me—God knows!”</p> + +<p>“To return once more,” she said patiently, “to your complaint. Is it +that I will not marry you?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span></p><p>“I did not ask that—at first,” he answered. “It is a good deal, I +know.”</p> + +<p>“Then do you want to come and kiss me every day?” she asked, “because I +don’t think that that would suit me either.”</p> + +<p>“I can believe it,” he said.</p> + +<p>“I am inclined to think,” she said, “that you are a very grasping and +unreasonable person. I have permitted you privileges which more men than +my modesty permits me to tell you of have begged for in vain. You have +accepted them—I promised nothing beyond, nor have you asked for it. Yet +because I was obliged to talk reasonably to you, you flung yourself out +of my house, and I am left to rescue you at the expense of my pride, +perhaps also of my reputation, from associations which you ought to be +ashamed of.”</p> + +<p>“To talk reasonably to me,” he repeated slowly. “Do you remember what +you said?”</p> + +<p>She shrugged her shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Naturally! And what I said was true enough.”</p> + +<p>“I was to be content with scraps. To go away and forget you, until +chance or a whim of yours should bring us together again.”</p> + +<p>“Did you want so much more?” she asked, with a swift maddening glance at +him.</p> + +<p>He fell on his knees before her couch.</p> + +<p>“Oh! I love you!” he said. “Forgive me if I am unreasonable or foolish. +I can’t help it. You came so unexpectedly, so wonderfully! And you see I +lost my head as well as my heart. I have so little to offer you—and I +want so much.”</p> + +<p>Her hands rested for a moment caressingly upon <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>his shoulders. A whole +world of wonderful things was shining out of her eyes. It was only her +lips that were cruel.</p> + +<p>“My dear boy,” she said, “you want what I may not give. I am very, very +sorry. I think there must have been some sorcery in the air that night, +the spell of the roses must have crept into my blood. I am sorry for +what I did. I am very sorry that I did not leave you alone.”</p> + +<p>He rose heavily to his feet. His face was grey with suffering.</p> + +<p>“I ought to have known,” he said. “I think that I did know.”</p> + +<p>“All the same,” she continued, laying her hand upon his arm, “I think +that you are a rank extremist.”</p> + +<p>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>“I don’t understand,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Shall I teach you?” she whispered.</p> + +<p>He flung her hand away.</p> + +<p>“No!” he said savagely.</p> + +<p>She sighed.</p> + +<p>“I am afraid you had better go away,” she said.</p> + +<p>As he closed the door he fancied that he heard a sob. But it might have +been only fancy.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>MONSIEUR S’AMUSE</h3> + +<p style="float: left; font-size: 100%; line-height: 80%; margin-top: 0;">“</p><p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span>o-night,” young Davenant declared, with something which was +suspiciously like a yawn, “I really think that we must chuck it just a +little earlier. Shall we say that we leave here at two, and get back to +the hotel?”</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle Rosine pouted, but said nothing. The young lady from +America tried to take Macheson’s hand.</p> + +<p>“Yes!” she murmured. “Do let’s! I’m dead tired.”</p> + +<p>She whispered something in Macheson’s ear which he affected not to hear. +He leaned back in his cushioned seat and laughed.</p> + +<p>“What, go home without seeing François!” he exclaimed. “He’s keeping the +corner table for us, and we’re all going to dance the Maxixe with the +little Russian girl.”</p> + +<p>“We could telephone,” Davenant suggested. “Do you know that we haven’t +been to bed before six one morning since we arrived in Paris?”</p> + +<p>“Well, isn’t that what we came for?” Macheson exclaimed. “We can go to +bed at half-past twelve in London. Maître d’hôtel, the wine! My friends +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>are getting sleepy. What’s become of the music? Tell our friend +there—ah! Monsieur Henri!”</p> + +<p>He beckoned to the leader of the orchestra, who came up bowing, with his +violin under his arm.</p> + +<p>“Monsieur Henri, my friends are ‘<i>triste</i>,’” he explained. “They say +there is no music here, no life. They speak of going home to bed. Look +at mademoiselle here! She yawns! We did not come to Paris to yawn. +Something of the liveliest. You understand? Perhaps mademoiselle there +will dance.”</p> + +<p>“Parfaitement, monsieur.”</p> + +<p>The man bowed himself away, with a twenty-franc piece in the palm of his +hand. The orchestra began a gay two-step. Macheson, starting up, passed +his arm round the waist of a little fair-haired Parisienne just +arriving. She threw her gold satchel on to a table, and they danced +round the room. Davenant watched them with unwilling admiration.</p> + +<p>“Well, Macheson’s a fair knockout,” he declared. “I’m hanged if he can +keep still for five minutes. And when I knew him at Oxford, he was one +of the most studious chaps in the college. Gad! he’s dancing with +another girl now—look, he’s drinking champagne out of her glass. +Shouldn’t stand it, Ella.”</p> + +<p>Ella was watching him. Her eyes were very bright, and there was more +colour than usual in her cheeks.</p> + +<p>“It’s nothing to me what Mr. Macheson does,” she said, with a catch in +her voice. “I don’t understand him a bit. I think he’s mad.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p><p>Mademoiselle Rosine leaned across and whispered in her ear. Ella shook +her head.</p> + +<p>“You see—it is any girl with him,” she said. “He dances with them, pays +their bills—see, he pays for Annette there, and away he goes—laughing. +You see it is so with them, too. He has finished with them now. He comes +back to us. Guess I’m not sure I want him.”</p> + +<p>Nevertheless she moved her skirts and made room for him by her side. +Macheson came up out of breath, and poured himself out a glass of wine.</p> + +<p>“What a time they are serving supper!” he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>Davenant groaned.</p> + +<p>“My dear fellow,” he exclaimed, “remember our dinner at Lesueur’s. You +can’t be hungry!”</p> + +<p>“But I am,” Macheson declared. “What are we here for but to eat and +drink and enjoy ourselves? Jove! this is good champagne! Mademoiselle +Rosine!”</p> + +<p>He raised his glass and bowed. Mademoiselle Rosine laughed at him out of +her big black eyes. He was rather a fascinating figure, this tall, +good-looking young Englishman, who spoke French so perfectly and danced +so well.</p> + +<p>“I would make you come and sit by me, Monsieur Macheson,” she declared, +“but Ella would be jealous.”</p> + +<p>“What about me?” Davenant exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“Oh! là, là!” she answered, pinching his arm.</p> + +<p>“I’m sure I don’t mind,” Ella declared. “I guess we’re all free to talk +to whom we please.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p><p>Macheson drew up a chair and sat opposite to them.</p> + +<p>“I choose to look at you both,” he said, banging the table with his +knife. “Garçon, we did not come here to eat your flowers or your +immaculate tablecloth. We ordered supper half an hour ago. Good! It +arrives.”</p> + +<p>No one but Macheson seemed to have much appetite. He ate and he drank, +and he talked almost alone. He ordered another bottle of wine, and the +tongues of the others became a little looser. The music was going now +all the time, and many couples were dancing. The fair-haired girl, +dancing with an older woman, touched him on the shoulder as she passed, +and laughed into his face.</p> + +<p>“There is no one,” she murmured, “who dances like monsieur.”</p> + +<p>He sprang up from his seat and whirled her round the room. She leaned +against his arm and whispered in his ear. Ella watched her with +darkening face.</p> + +<p>“It is little Flossie from the <i>Folies Marigny</i>,” Mademoiselle Rosine +remarked. “You must have a care, Ella. She has followed Monsieur +Macheson everywhere with her eyes.”</p> + +<p>He returned to his place and continued his supper.</p> + +<p>“Hang it all, you people are dull to-night,” he exclaimed. “Drink some +more wine, Davenant, and look after mademoiselle. Miss Ella!”</p> + +<p>He filled her glass and she leaned over the table.</p> + +<p>“Every one else seems to make love to you,” she whispered. “I guess I’ll +have to begin. If you call me Miss Ella again I shall box your ears.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p><p>“Ella then, what you will,” he exclaimed. “Remember, all of you, that we +are here to have a good time, not to mope. Davenant, if you don’t +sparkle up, I shall come and sit between the girls myself.”</p> + +<p>“Come along,” they both cried. Mademoiselle Rosine held out her arms, +but Macheson kept his seat.</p> + +<p>“Let’s go up to the <i>Rat Mort</i> if we’re going,” Ella exclaimed. “It’s +dull here, and I’m tired of seeing that yellow-headed girl make eyes at +you.”</p> + +<p>Macheson laughed and drained his glass.</p> + +<p>“<i>Au Rat Mort!</i>” he cried. “Good!”</p> + +<p>They paid the bill and all trooped out. The fair-haired girl caught at +Macheson’s hand as he passed.</p> + +<p>“<i>Au Rat Mort?</i>” she whispered.</p> + +<p>She threw a meaning glance at Ella.</p> + +<p>“Monsieur is well guarded,” she said softly.</p> + +<p>“Malheureusement!” he answered, smiling.</p> + +<p>Davenant drew him on one side as the girls went for their cloaks.</p> + +<p>“I say, old chap,” he began, “aren’t you trying Ella a bit high? She’s +not a bad-tempered girl, you know, but I’m afraid there’ll be a row +soon.”</p> + +<p>Macheson paused to light a cigarette.</p> + +<p>“A row?” he answered. “I don’t see why.”</p> + +<p>“You’re a bit catholic in your attentions, you know,” Davenant remarked.</p> + +<p>“Why not?” Macheson answered. “Ella is nothing to me. No more are the +rest of them. I amuse myself—that’s all.”</p> + +<p>Davenant looked as he felt, puzzled.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he said. “I’m not sure that Ella sees it in that light.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p><p>“Why shouldn’t she?” Macheson demanded.</p> + +<p>“Well, hang it all, you brought her over, didn’t you?” Davenant reminded +him.</p> + +<p>“She came over as my guest,” Macheson answered. “That is to say, I pay +for her whenever she chooses to come out with us, and I pay or shall pay +her hotel bill. Beyond that, I imagine that we are both of us free to +amuse ourselves as we please.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe Ella looks at it in that light,” Davenant said +hesitatingly. “You mean to say that there is nothing—<span style="white-space: nowrap;">er——”</span></p> + +<p>“Of course not,” Macheson interrupted.</p> + +<p>“Hasn’t she——”</p> + +<p>“Oh! shut up,” Macheson exclaimed. “Here they come.”</p> + +<p>Ella passed her arm through his. Mademoiselle Rosine had told her while +she stood on tiptoe and dabbed at her cheeks with a powder-puff, that +she was too cold. The Messieurs Anglais were often so difficult. They +needed encouragement, so very much encouragement. Then there were more +confidences, and Madame Rosine was very much astonished. What sort of a +man was this Monsieur Macheson, yet so gallant, so gay! She promised +herself that she would watch him.</p> + +<p>“We will drive up together, you and I,” Ella whispered in his ear, but +Macheson only laughed.</p> + +<p>“I’ve hired a motor car for the night,” he said. “In you get! I’m going +to sit in front with the chauffeur and sing.”</p> + +<p>“You will do nothing of the sort,” Ella declared, almost sharply. “You +will come inside with us.”</p> + +<p>“Anywhere, anyhow,” he answered. “To the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>little hell at the top of the +hill, Jean, and drive fast,” he directed. “Jove! it’s two o’clock! Hurry +up, Davenant. We shall have no time there at all.”</p> + +<p>There was barely room for four. Mademoiselle Rosine perched herself +daintily on Davenant’s knee. Ella tried to draw Macheson into her arms, +but he sank on to the floor, and sat with his hands round his knees +singing a French music-hall song of the moment. They shouted to him to +leave off, but he only sang the louder. Then, in a block, he sprang from +the car, seized the whole stock of a pavement flower-seller, and, paying +her magnificently, emptied them through the window of the car into the +girls’ laps, and turning round as suddenly—disappeared.</p> + +<p>“He’s mad—quite mad,” Ella declared, with a sigh. “I don’t believe we +shall see him again to-night.”</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, he was on the pavement outside the <i>Rat Mort</i> awaiting +them, chaffing the commissionaire. He threw open the door and welcomed +them.</p> + +<p>“They are turning people away here,” he declared. “Heaps of fun going +on! All the artistes from the Circus are here, and a party of Spaniards. +François has kept our table. Come along.”</p> + +<p>Ella hung on to him as they climbed the narrow, shabby staircase.</p> + +<p>“Say,” she pleaded in his ear, “don’t you want to be a little nicer to +me to-night?”</p> + +<p>“Command me,” he answered. “I am in a most amenable temper.”</p> + +<p>“Sit with me instead of wandering round so. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>You don’t want to talk to +every pretty girl, do you?”</p> + +<p>He laughed.</p> + +<p>“Why not? Aren’t we all on the same quest? It is the ‘camaraderie’ of +pleasure!”</p> + +<p>They reached the bend of the stairs. From above they could hear the +music, the rattle of plates, the hum of voices. She leaned towards him.</p> + +<p>“Kiss me, please,” she whispered.</p> + +<p>He stooped down and raised her hand to his lips. She drew it slowly away +and looked at him curiously.</p> + +<p>“Your lips are cold,” she said.</p> + +<p>He laughed.</p> + +<p>“The night is young,” he answered. “See, there is François.”</p> + +<p>They passed on. Ella was a little more content. It was the most +promising thing he had said to her.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>AT THE “DEAD RAT”</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">M</span>onsieur François piloted the little party himself to the corner table +which he had reserved for them. He had taken a fancy to this tall young +Englishman, whose French, save for a trifle of accent, was as perfect as +his own, who spent money with both hands, who was gay as the gayest, and +yet who had the air of being little more than a looker-on at the +merriment which he did so much to promote.</p> + +<p>“We are full to-night, monsieur,” he said. “There will be a great crowd. +Yet you see your table waits. Mademoiselle Bolero herself begged for it, +but I said always—‘No! no! no! It is for monsieur and his friends.’”</p> + +<p>“You are a prince,” Macheson exclaimed as they filed into their places. +“To-night we are going to prove to ourselves that we are indeed in +Paris! Sommelier, the same wine—in magnums to-night! My friend is +sleepy. We must wake him up. Ah, mademoiselle!” he waved his hand to the +little short-skirted danseuse. “You must take a glass of wine with us, +and afterwards—the Maxixe! Waiter, a glass, a chair for mademoiselle!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p><p>Mademoiselle came pirouetting up to them. Monsieur was very kind. She +would take a glass of champagne, and afterwards—yes! the Maxixe, if +they desired it!</p> + +<p>They sat with their backs to the wall, facing the little space along +which the visitors to the café came and went, and where, under +difficulties, one danced. The leader of the orchestra came bowing and +smiling towards them, playing an American waltz, and Macheson, with a +laugh, sprang up and guided mademoiselle through the throng of people +and hurrying waiters.</p> + +<p>“Monsieur comes often to Paris?” she asked, as they whirled around.</p> + +<p>“For the first time in my life,” Macheson answered. “We are here on a +quest! We want to understand what pleasure means!”</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle sighed ever so slightly under the powder with which her +pretty face was disfigured.</p> + +<p>“One is gay here always,” she said somewhat doubtfully, “but it is the +people who come seldom who enjoy themselves the most.”</p> + +<p>Macheson laughed as he led her back to their table.</p> + +<p>“You are right,” he declared. “Pleasure is a subtle thing. It does not +do to analyse.”</p> + +<p>Macheson filled her glass.</p> + +<p>“Sit down,” he said, “and tell us about the people. It is early yet, I +suppose?”</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she answered. “There are many who come every night who have not +yet arrived.”</p> + +<p>Ella leaned forward to ask a question, and mademoiselle <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>nodded. Yes! +that was Bolero at the small table opposite. She sat with three men, one +of whom was busy sketching on the back of the menu card. Bolero, with +her wonderful string of pearls, smileless, stolid, with the boredom in +her face of the woman who sees no more worlds to conquer. Monsieur with +the ruffled hair and black eyes? Yes! a Russian certainly. Mademoiselle, +with a smile which belied her words, was not sure of his name, but +François spoke always of His Highness! The gentleman with the +smooth-shaven face, who read a newspaper and supped alone? Mademoiselle +looked around. She hesitated. After all, monsieur and his friends were +only casual visitors. It was not for them to repeat it, but the +gentleman was a detective—one of the most famous. He had watched for +some one for many nights. In the end it would happen. Ah! Some one was +asking for a cake-walk? Mademoiselle finished her wine hastily and +sprang up. She will return? But certainly, if monsieur pleases!</p> + +<p>The band struck up something American. Mademoiselle danced up and down +the little space between the tables. Ella laid her hand upon Macheson’s +shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Why do you want to talk to every one?” she whispered. “I think you +forget sometimes that you are not alone.”</p> + +<p>Macheson laughed impatiently.</p> + +<p>“My dear young lady,” he said, “you too forget that we are on a quest. +We are here to understand what pleasure means—how to win it. We must +talk to every one, do everything everybody else does. It’s no good +looking on all the time.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p><p>“But you never talk to me at all,” she objected.</p> + +<p>“Rubbish!” he answered lightly. “You don’t listen. Come, I am getting +hungry. Davenant, we must order supper.”</p> + +<p>Davenant, whose hair Mademoiselle Rosine had been ruffling, whose tie +was no longer immaculate, and who was beginning to realize that he had +drunk a good deal of wine, leaned forward and regarded Macheson with +admiration.</p> + +<p>“Old man,” he declared, “you’re great! Order what you like. We will eat +it—somehow, won’t we, Rosine?”</p> + +<p>She laughed assent.</p> + +<p>“For me,” she begged, “some caviare, and afterwards an omelette.”</p> + +<p>“Consommé and dry biscuits—and some fruit!” Ella suggested.</p> + +<p>Macheson gave the order and filled their glasses. It was half-past two, +and people were beginning to stream in. Unattached ladies strolled down +the room—looking for a friend—or to make one. Their more fortunate +sisters of the “haute demi-monde” were beginning to arrive with their +escorts, from the restaurants and cafés. Greetings were shouted up and +down the room. Suddenly Ella’s face clouded over again. It was the girl +in blue, with whom Macheson had danced at Lesueur’s, who had just +entered with a party of friends, women in lace coats and wonderful opera +cloaks, the men all silk-hatted—the shiniest silk hats in Europe—white +gloves, supercilious and immaculate. A burst of applause greeted her, +as, with her blue skirts daringly lifted, she danced down the room to +the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>table which was hastily being prepared for them. Her piquant face +was wreathed with smiles, she shouted greetings everywhere, and when she +saw Macheson, she threw him kisses with both hands, which he stood up +and gallantly returned. She was the centre of attraction until +Mademoiselle Anna from the Circus arrived, and to reach her place leaped +lightly over an intervening table, with a wonderful display of red silk +stocking and filmy lingerie. The place became gayer and noisier every +moment. Greetings were shouted from table to table. The spirit of +Bohemianism seemed to flash about the place like quicksilver. People who +were complete strangers drank one another’s health across the room. The +hard-worked waiters were rushing frantically about. The popping of corks +was almost incessant, a blue haze of tobacco smoke hung about the room. +Macheson, leaning back in his place, watched with eyes that missed +little. He saw the keen-faced little man whose identity mademoiselle had +disclosed, calmly fold up his paper, light a cigarette, and stroll +across the room to a table nearly opposite. A man was sitting there with +a couple of women—a big man with a flushed face and tumbled hair. The +waiter was opening a magnum of champagne—everything seemed to promise a +cheerful time for the trio. Then a word was whispered in his ear. The +newcomer bowed apologetically to the ladies and accepted a glass of +wine. But a moment later the two men left the place together—and +neither returned.</p> + +<p>“What are you staring at?” Ella demanded curiously.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p><p>Macheson looked away from the door and smiled quietly.</p> + +<p>“I was wondering,” he answered, “what it was like—outside?”</p> + +<p>“Would you like to go?” she whispered eagerly in his ear. “I’m ready. +The others could come on afterwards.”</p> + +<p>“What, without supper?” he exclaimed. “My dear girl, I’m starving. +Besides—I didn’t mean that altogether.”</p> + +<p>“It’s rather hard to know what you do mean,” she remarked with a sigh. +“Say, I don’t understand you a little bit!”</p> + +<p>“How should you,” he answered, “when I’m in the same fix myself?”</p> + +<p>“I wish you were like other boys,” she remarked. “You’re so difficult!”</p> + +<p>He looked at her—without the mask—for a moment, and she drew back, +wondering. For his eyes were very weary, and they spoke to her of things +which she did not understand.</p> + +<p>“Don’t try,” he said. “It wouldn’t be any good.”</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle sank into her chair opposite to them, breathless and hot. +She accepted a glass of wine and begged for a cigarette. She whispered +in Macheson’s ear that the big man was a forger, an affair of the year +before last. He was safe away from Paris, but the price of his liberty +was more than he could pay. The man there to the left with the lady in +pink, no! not the Vicomte, the one beyond, he was tried for murder a +month ago. There was a witness missing—the case fell through, +but—mademoiselle shook her shoulders significantly. The <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>lady with fair +hair and dark eyes, Macheson asked, was she English? But certainly, +mademoiselle assured him. She was the divorced wife of an English +nobleman. “To-night she is alone,” mademoiselle added, “but it is not +often! Ah, monsieur!”</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle shook her finger across the table. Macheson’s too curious +glance had provoked a smile of invitation from the lady!</p> + +<p>“I really think you might remember that I am here,” Ella remarked. “It +is very interesting to hear you talk French, but I get tired of it!”</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle took the hint and flitted away. Supper arrived and created +a diversion. Nevertheless, Macheson alone of the little party seemed to +have absorbed successfully the spirit of the place. He was almost +recklessly gay. He drank toasts right and left. He was the centre from +which the hilarity of the room seemed to radiate. Davenant was half +muddled with wine, and sleepy. He sat with his arm about Rosine, who +looked more often towards Macheson. Ella, who had refused to eat +anything, was looking flushed and angry. She had tried to link her arm +in her companion’s, but he had gently disengaged it. She kept whispering +in his ear, and sat with her eyes glued upon Mademoiselle Flossie, whose +glances and smiles were all for Macheson. And soon after the end came. +The band began a waltz—“L’Amoureuse”—it was apparently mademoiselle +herself who had commanded it. With the first bars, she sprang to her +feet and came floating down the room, her arms stretched out towards +Macheson. She leaned over the table, her body swaying towards him, her +gesture of invitation <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>piquant, bewitching. Macheson, springing at once +to his feet, rested his hand for a moment upon the table which hemmed +him in, and vaulted lightly into the room. A chorus of laughter and +bravoes greeted his feat.</p> + +<p>“But he is un homme galant, this Englishman,” a Frenchwoman cried out, +delighted. Every one was watching the couple. But Ella rose to her feet +and called a waiter to move the table.</p> + +<p>“I am going,” she said angrily. “I have had enough of this. You people +can come when you like.”</p> + +<p>They tried to stop her, but it was useless. She swept down the room, +taking not the slightest notice of Macheson and his companion, a spot of +angry colour burning in her cheeks. Davenant and Mademoiselle Rosine +stood up, preparing to follow her. The former shouted to Macheson, who +brought his partner up to their table and poured her out a glass of +champagne.</p> + +<p>“Ella’s gone!” Davenant exclaimed. “You’ll catch it!”</p> + +<p>Macheson smiled.</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Are you off too?”</p> + +<p>“As soon as the Johnny brings the bill,” Davenant answered.</p> + +<p>“I’ll settle up,” Macheson declared. “Take the automobile. I’ll follow +you in a few minutes.”</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle Flossie, called back to her own table, hurried off with a +parting squeeze of Macheson’s hand. He sat down alone for a moment. At +the other end of the room, a darkey with a doll’s hat upon his head was +singing a coon song!</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>THE AWAKENING</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">A</span>lone for the first moment of the evening, it seemed to Macheson that a +sudden wave of confounding thoughts surged into his brain, at war from +the first with all that was sensuous and brilliant in this new and +swiftly developed phase of his personality. He closed his eyes for a +moment, and when again he opened them it seemed indeed as though a +miracle had taken place. The whole atmosphere of the room was changed. +He looked around, incredulous, amazed. The men especially were +different. Such good fellows as they had seemed a few moments ago—from +his altered point of view Macheson regarded them now in scornful +curiosity. Their ties were awry, their hair was ruffled, their faces +were paled or flushed. The laughter of women rang still through the +place, but the music had gone from their mirth. It seemed to him that he +saw suddenly through the smiles that wreathed their lips, saw underneath +the barren mockery of it all. This hideous travesty of life in its +gentler moods had but one end—the cold, relentless path to oblivion. +Louder and louder the laughter rang, until Macheson felt that he must +close his ears. The Devil was using his whip indeed.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p><p>Mademoiselle la Danseuse, seeing him alone, paused at his table on her +way through the room.</p> + +<p>“Monsieur is <i>triste</i>,” she remarked, “because his friends have +departed.”</p> + +<p>Macheson shook his head.</p> + +<p>“I am off, too, in a few minutes,” he answered.</p> + +<p>A waiter with immovable face slipped a note into his hand, under cover +of presenting the bill. Macheson read it and glanced across the room. +Mademoiselle Flossie was watching him with uplifted eyebrows and +expectant smile. Macheson shook his head, slightly but unmistakably. The +young lady in blue shrugged her shoulders and pouted.</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle la Danseuse was watching him curiously.</p> + +<p>“I wonder,” she said softly, “why monsieur comes here.”</p> + +<p>“In search of pleasure,” Macheson answered grimly.</p> + +<p>She looked at him fixedly, and Macheson, momentarily interested, +returned her gaze. Then he saw that underneath the false smile, for a +moment laid aside, there was something human in her face.</p> + +<p>“Monsieur makes a brave show, but he does not succeed,” she remarked.</p> + +<p>“And you?” he asked. “Why do you come here?”</p> + +<p>“It pays—very well,” she answered quietly, and left him.</p> + +<p>Macheson settled his bill and called for the vestiaire. In the further +corner of the room two women were quarrelling. The languid senses of +those who still lingered in the place were stirred. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>The place was +electrified instantly with a new excitement. A fight, perhaps—every one +crowded around. Unnoticed, Macheson walked out.</p> + +<p>Down the narrow stairs he groped his way, with the music of the +orchestra, the fierce hysterical cries of the women, the mock cheering +of those who crowded round, in his ears. He passed out into the +blue-grey dawn. The stars were faint in the sky, and away eastwards +little fleecy red clouds were strewn over the house-tops. He stood on +the pavement and drew in a long breath. The morning breeze was like a +draught of cold water; it was as though he had come back to life again +after an interlude spent in some other world. Overhead he could still +hear the music of the “Valse Amoureuse,” the swell of voices. He +shivered, with the cold perhaps—or the memory of the nightmare!</p> + +<p>The commissionaire, hat in hand, summoned a coupé, and Macheson took his +place in the small open carriage. Down the cobbled street they went, the +crazy vehicle swaying upon its worn rubber tyres, past other night +resorts with their blaze of lights and string of waiting cabs; past +women in light boots, in strange costumes, artificial in colour and +shape, painted, bold-eyed, uncanny pilgrims in the City of Pleasure; +past the great churches, silent and stern in the cold morning light; +past weary-eyed scavengers into the heart of the city, where a thin +stream of early morning toilers went on their relentless way. Once more +he entered the obscurity of his dimly lit hotel, where sleepy-eyed +servants were sweeping, and retired to his room, into which he let +himself at last with a sigh <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>of relief. He threw up the blinds and +opened the windows. To be alone within those four walls was a blessed +thing.</p> + +<p>He threw off his coat and glanced at his watch. It was half-past five. +His eyes were hot, but he had no desire for sleep. He walked restlessly +up and down for a few minutes, and then threw himself into an +easy-chair. Suddenly he looked up.</p> + +<p>Some one was knocking softly at his door. He walked slowly towards it +and paused. All his senses were still pulsating with a curious sense of +excitement; when he stood still he could almost hear his heart beat. +From outside came the soft rustling of a woman’s gown—he knew very well +who it was that waited there. He stood still and waited. Again there +came the knocking, to him almost like a symbolical thing in its +stealthy, muffled insistence. He felt himself battling with a sudden +wave of emotions, struggling with a passionate, unexpected desire to +answer the summons. He took a quick step forwards. Then sanity came, and +the moment seemed far away—a part of the nightmare left behind. He +waited until he heard the quiet, reluctant footsteps pass away down the +corridor. Then he muttered something to himself, which sounded like a +prayer. He sank into a chair and passed his hand across his forehead. +The recollection of that moment was horrible to him. He stared at the +door with fascinated eyes. What if he had opened it!</p> + +<p>He still had no desire for sleep, but he began slowly to undress. His +clothes, his tie, everything he had been wearing, seemed to him to reek +of accumulated <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>perfumes of the night, and he flung them from him with +feverish disgust. There was a small bath-room opening from his sleeping +chamber, and with a desire for complete cleanliness which was not wholly +physical, he filled the bath and plunged in. The touch of the cold water +was inspiring and he stepped out again into a new world. Much of the +horror of so short a time ago had gone, but with his new self had come +an ever-increasing distaste for any resumption, in any shape or form, of +his associations of the last few days. He must get away. He rummaged +through his things and found a timetable. In less than an hour he was +dressed, his clothes were packed, and the bill was paid. He wrote a +short note to Davenant and a shorter one to Ella. Ignoring the events of +the last night, he spoke of a summons home. He enclosed the receipted +hotel bill, and something with which he begged her to purchase a +souvenir of her visit. Then he drank some coffee, and with a somewhat +stealthy air made his way to the lift, and thence to the courtyard of +the hotel. Already a small victoria was laden with his luggage; the +concierge, the baggage-master, the porters, were all tipped with a +prodigality almost reckless. Shaven, and with a sting of the cold water +still upon his skin, in homely flannel shirt and grey tweed travelling +clothes, he felt like a man restored to sanity and health as his cab +lumbered over the long cobbled street, on its way to the Gare du Nord. +It was only a matter of a few hours, and yet how sweet and fresh the +streets seemed in the early morning sunshine. The shops were all open, +and the busy housewives <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>were hard at work with their bargaining, the +toilers of the city thronged the pavements, everywhere there was +evidence of a real and rational life. The city of those few hours ago +was surely a city of nightmares. The impassable river flowed between. +Macheson leaned back in his carriage and his eyes were fixed upon the +blue sunlit sky. His lips moved; a song of gratitude was in his heart. +He felt like the prisoner before whom the iron gates have been rolled +back, disclosing the smiling world!</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>THE ECHO OF A CRIME</h3> + +<p style="float: left; font-size: 100%; line-height: 80%; margin-top: 0;">“</p><p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">M</span>acheson, by Jove! Where on earth have you sprung from?”</p> + +<p>Holderness threw down his pen and held out both his hands. Macheson drew +a long sigh of relief.</p> + +<p>“From the pigsties, Dick. Whew! It’s good to see you again—to be here!”</p> + +<p>Holderness surveyed his friend critically.</p> + +<p>“What have you been up to?” he asked. “Look washed out, as though you’d +had a fever or something. I’ve been expecting to see you every day.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve been on a pleasure trip to Paris,” Macheson answered. “Don’t talk +about it, for God’s sake.”</p> + +<p>Holderness roared with laughter.</p> + +<p>“You poor idiot!” he exclaimed. “Been on the razzle-dazzle, I believe. I +wish I’d known. I’d have come.”</p> + +<p>“It’s all very well to laugh,” Macheson answered. “I feel like a man +who’s been living in a sewer.”</p> + +<p>“Are you cured?” Holderness asked abruptly.</p> + +<p>Macheson hesitated. As yet he had not dared to ask himself that +question. Holderness watched the struggle in his face.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p><p>“I’m sorry I asked you that,” he said quietly. “Look here! I know what +you’ve come to me for, and I can give it you. You can start at once if +you like.”</p> + +<p>“Work?” Macheson asked eagerly. “You mean that?”</p> + +<p>“Of course! Tons of it! Henwood’s at his wits’ end in Stepney. He’s +started lecturing, and the thing’s taken on, but he can’t go on night +after night. We don’t want anything second-rate either. Then I want help +with the paper.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll help you with the paper as soon as you like,” Macheson declared. +“I’d like to go to Stepney, too, but could we hit it, Henwood and I?”</p> + +<p>“Of course,” Holderness answered. “What are you thinking of, man? You +haven’t become a straw-splitter, have you?”</p> + +<p>“Not I,” Macheson answered “but you have crystallized your ideas into a +cult, haven’t you? I might find myself on the other side of the traces.”</p> + +<p>“Rot!” Holderness answered vigorously. “Look here! This is what we call +ugliness and dirt. We say that these things make for misery. We say that +it is every man’s duty, and every woman’s, too, to keep themselves clean +and clean-living, for the sake of the community. We take the Christian +code. It is the most complete, the most philosophic, the most beautiful. +We preach it not from the Christian standpoint, but from the point of +view of the man of common sense. Doctrinal religions are all very well +in their way, but the great bald fact remains that the truth has not +been vouchsafed to us through any of them. Therefore we say live the +life and wait. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>From a scientific point of view we believe, of course, +in a future state. It may be that the truth awaits us there. You can +work to that, can’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Of course,” Macheson answered, “but don’t you rather overlook the +support which doctrine gives to the weak and superstitious?”</p> + +<p>“Bah! There are the strong to be considered,” Holderness declared. +“Think how many men of average intelligence chuck the whole thing +because they can’t stomach doctrine. Besides, these people all think, if +you want to confirm ’em or baptize ’em or anything of that sort, that +you’ve your own axe to grind. Jolly suspicious lot the East-Enders, I +can tell you.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll go and see Henwood,” Macheson declared.</p> + +<p>Holderness glanced at his watch.</p> + +<p>“We’ll have something to eat and go together,” he declared. “Look here, +I’m really pushed or I wouldn’t bother you. Can you do me a country walk +in November for the paper? I have two a month. You can take the last +number and see the sort of thing.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll try,” Macheson promised. “You can give me a couple of days, I +suppose?”</p> + +<p>“A week—only I want it off my mind. You can get out somewhere and rub +up your impressions. We’ll dine for half a crown in Soho, and you shall +tell me about Paris.”</p> + +<p>Macheson groaned.</p> + +<p>“Shut up about Paris,” he begged. “The thought of it’s like a nightmare +to me—a nightmare full of puppet gnomes, with human masks and the faces +of devils underneath.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p><p>“The masks came off?” Holderness asked.</p> + +<p>Macheson shivered.</p> + +<p>“They did,” he answered.</p> + +<p>“Do you good,” Holderness declared coolly, locking his desk. “I’ve been +through it. So long as the masks came off it’s all right. What was it +sent you there, Victor?”</p> + +<p>“A piece of madness,” Macheson answered in a low tone, “supreme, utter +madness.”</p> + +<p>“Cured?”</p> + +<p>“Oh! I hope so,” Macheson answered. “If not—well, I can fight.”</p> + +<p>Holderness stood still for a moment. There was a queer look in his eyes.</p> + +<p>“There was a woman once, Victor,” he said, “who nearly made mincemeat of +my life. She could have done it if she liked—and she wasn’t the sort +who spares. She died—thank God! You see I know something about it.”</p> + +<p>They walked out arm in arm, and not a word passed between them till they +reached the street. Then Holderness called a hansom.</p> + +<p>“I feel like steak,” he declared. “Entre-côte with potatoes, maître +d’hôtel. Somehow I feel particularly like steak. We will chuck Soho and +dine at the Café Royal.”</p> + +<p>They talked mostly of Henwood and his work. Holderness spoke of it as +successful, but the man himself was weakly. The strain of holding his +difficult audience night after night had begun to tell on him. +Macheson’s help would be invaluable. There was a complete school of +night classes running in connexion with the work, and also a library. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>“You can guess where the money came from for those,” he added, smiling. +“On the women’s side there was only the cookery, and the care of the +children. All very imperfect, but with the making of great things about +it.”</p> + +<p>They went into the Café proper for their coffee, sitting at a +marble-topped table, and Holderness called for dominoes. But they had +scarcely begun their game before Macheson started from his seat, and +without a word of explanation strode towards the door. He was just in +time to stop the egress of the man whom he had seen slip from his seat +and try to leave the place.</p> + +<p>“Look here,” he said, touching him on the shoulder. “I want to talk to +you.”</p> + +<p>The man made no further attempt at escape. He was very shabby and thin, +but Macheson had recognized him at once. It was the man who had come +stealing down the lane from Thorpe on that memorable night—the man for +whose escape from justice he was responsible.</p> + +<p>“My friend won’t interfere with us,” Macheson said, leading him back to +their seats. “Sit down here.”</p> + +<p>The man sat down quietly. Holderness took up a paper.</p> + +<p>“Go ahead,” he said. “I shan’t listen.”</p> + +<p>“If I am to talk,” the man said, “I must have some absinthe. My throat +is dry. I have things to say to you, too.”</p> + +<p>Macheson called a waiter and ordered it.</p> + +<p>“Look here,” the man said, “I know all that you want to say to me. I can +save you time. It was I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span>who called upon old Mr. Hurd. It was out of +kindness that I went. He has a daughter whom I cannot find. She is in +danger, and I went to warn him. He struck me first. He lost his temper. +He would not tell me where to find her, he would not give me even the +money I had spent on my journey. I, too, lost my temper. I returned the +blow. He fell down—and I was frightened. So I ran away.”</p> + +<p>Macheson nodded.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he said, “you seem to have struck an old man because he would +not let you blackmail him, and I, like a fool, helped you to escape.”</p> + +<p>“Blackmail!” The man looked around him as though afraid of the word. His +cheeks were sunken, but his brown eyes were still bright. “It wasn’t +that,” he said. “I brought information that was really valuable. There +is a young lady somewhere who is in danger of her life. I came to warn +him; I believed what I had always been told, that she was his daughter. +I found out that it was a lie. It was a conspiracy against me. He never +had a daughter. But I am going to find out who she is!”</p> + +<p>“What if I give you up to the police?” Macheson asked.</p> + +<p>“For the sake of the woman whom the old man Hurd was shielding you had +better not. You had very much better not,” was the hoarse reply. “If you +do, it may cost a woman her life.”</p> + +<p>“Why are you staying on in England?” Macheson asked.</p> + +<p>“To find that woman, and I will find her,” he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span>added, with glittering +eyes. “Listen! I have seen her riding in a carriage, beautifully +dressed, with coachman and footman upon the box, an aristocrat. I always +said that she was that. It was a plot against us—to call her that old +man’s daughter.”</p> + +<p>“All this has nothing to do with me,” Macheson said quietly. “The only +thing I have to consider is whether I ought or ought not to hand you +over to the police.”</p> + +<p>The man eyed him craftily. He had little fear.</p> + +<p>“If you did, sir,” he said, “it would be an injustice. I only touched +the old man in self-defence.”</p> + +<p>Macheson looked at him gravely.</p> + +<p>“I hope that that is the truth,” he said. “You can go.”</p> + +<p>The man stood up. He did not immediately depart.</p> + +<p>“What is it?” Macheson asked.</p> + +<p>“I was wondering, sir,” he said, in a confidential whisper, “whether you +could not give me an idea as to who the lady was who called herself +Stephen Hurd’s daughter in Paris six years ago.”</p> + +<p>Macheson shook his head.</p> + +<p>“I have no idea,” he answered curtly.</p> + +<p>The man shuffled away. Macheson lit a cigarette and watched him for a +moment steadfastly through the large gilt-framed mirror.</p> + +<p>“Queer sort of Johnny, your friend,” Holderness remarked.</p> + +<p>“He’s a bad lot, I’m afraid,” Macheson answered. “Somehow or other I +can’t help wishing that I hadn’t seen him.”</p> + +<p>Holderness laughed.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p><p>“Man alive,” he said, “it’s a good thing you’ve come back to me, or +you’d be a bundle of nerves in no time. We’ll get along now, if you’re +ready. You might find something to say to ’em to-night. I know Henwood’s +pretty well pumped dry.”</p> + +<p>They left the place, and took an omnibus citywards.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>A COUNTRY WALK</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">I</span>t was exactly such a day as he would have chosen for his purpose when +Macheson stepped out of the train at the wayside station and set his +face towards Thorpe. A strong blustering wind, blowing down from the +hills, had dried the road of all save a slight coating of mud, a wind +fresh from the forest, so fresh and strong that he walked with his cap +in his hand and his head thrown back, glad to breathe it in his lungs +and feel the sting of it on his cheeks. It seemed to him that he had +been away for months, as he climbed the long hill towards the village. +The fields now were brown instead of green, a pungent smell of freshly +turned earth and burning wood was in his nostrils. The hedges and trees +were bare; he caught a glimpse of the great house itself from an +unexpected point. Everywhere he was receiving familiar impressions. He +came to the avenue up which he had passed on his first visit to the +house, continually he met carts bearing her name, and villagers, most of +whom he noticed with some surprise, looked at him doubtfully. Presently +he arrived at the village itself, and stopped before the long, low, +white house where Stephen Hurd lived. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>He paused for a moment, +hesitating whether to fulfil this part of his mission now, or to wait +until later in the day. Eventually, with the idea of getting the thing +over, he opened the gate and rang the front-door bell.</p> + +<p>He was shown into the study, and in a few minutes Stephen Hurd came in, +smoking a pipe, his hands in his pockets. When he saw who his visitor +was he stopped short. He did not offer his hand or ask Macheson to sit +down. He looked at him with a heavy frown upon his face.</p> + +<p>“You wished to see me?” he said.</p> + +<p>“I did,” Macheson answered. “Perhaps my call is inopportune. I have come +from London practically for no other reason than to ask you a single +question.”</p> + +<p>Hurd laughed shortly.</p> + +<p>“You had better ask it then,” he said. “I thought that you might have +other business in the neighbourhood. Preaching off, eh?”</p> + +<p>“My question is simply this,” Macheson said calmly. “Have you, or had +you, ever a sister?”</p> + +<p>A dull red flush streamed into the young man’s face. He removed his pipe +from his mouth and stared at Macheson. His silence for several moments +seemed to arise from the fact that surprise had robbed him of the powers +of speech.</p> + +<p>“Who put you up to asking that?” he demanded sharply.</p> + +<p>Macheson raised his eyebrows slightly.</p> + +<p>“My question is a simple one,” he said. “If you do not choose to answer +it, it is easy for me to procure the information from elsewhere. The +first <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span>villager I met would tell me. I preferred to come to you.”</p> + +<p>“I have no sister,” Hurd said slowly. “I never had. Now you must tell me +why you have come here to ask me this.”</p> + +<p>“I am told,” Macheson said, “that years ago a girl in Paris represented +herself as being your father’s daughter. She is being inquired for in a +somewhat mysterious way.”</p> + +<p>“And what business is it of yours?” Hurd demanded curtly.</p> + +<p>“None—apparently,” Macheson answered. “I am obliged to you for your +information. I will not detain you any longer.”</p> + +<p>But Stephen Hurd barred the way. Looking into his face, Macheson saw +already the signs of a change there. His eyes were a little wild, and +though it was early in the morning he smelt of spirits.</p> + +<p>“No! you don’t,” he declared truculently. “You’re not going till you +tell me what you mean by that question.”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid,” Macheson answered, “that I have nothing more to tell +you.”</p> + +<p>“You will tell me who this mysterious person is,” Hurd declared.</p> + +<p>Macheson shook his head.</p> + +<p>“No!” he said. “I think that you had better let me pass.”</p> + +<p>“Not yet,” Hurd answered. “Look here! You’ve been in communication with +the man who came here and murdered my father. You know where he is.”</p> + +<p>“Scarcely that, was it?” Macheson answered. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span>“There was a struggle, but +your father’s death was partly owing to other causes. However, I did not +come here to discuss that with you. I came to ask you a question, which +you have answered. If you will permit me to pass I shall be obliged.”</p> + +<p>Hurd hesitated for a moment.</p> + +<p>“Look here,” he said, with an assumption of good nature, “there’s no +reason why you and I should quarrel. I want to know who put you up to +asking me that question. It isn’t that I want to do him any harm. I’ll +guarantee his safety, if you like, so far as I am concerned. Only I’m +anxious to meet him.”</p> + +<p>Macheson shook his head.</p> + +<p>“I do not know where he is myself,” he answered. “In any case, I could +not give you any information.”</p> + +<p>Stephen Hurd stood squarely in front of the door.</p> + +<p>“You’ll have to,” he said doggedly. “That’s all there is about it.”</p> + +<p>Macheson took a step forward.</p> + +<p>“Look here,” he said, “I shouldn’t try that on if I were you. I am +stronger than you are, and I have studied boxing. I don’t care about +fighting, but I am going to leave this room—at once.”</p> + +<p>“The devil you are,” Hurd cried, striking at him. “Take that, you +canting hypocrite.”</p> + +<p>Macheson evaded the blow with ease. Exactly how it happened he never +knew, but Hurd found himself a few seconds later on his back—and alone +in the room. He sprang up and rushed after Macheson, who was already in +the front garden. His attack was so violent that Macheson had no +alternative. He knocked him into the middle of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>his rose bushes, and +opened the gate, to find himself face to face with the last person in +the world whom he expected to see in Thorpe. It was Wilhelmina herself +who was a spectator of the scene!</p> + +<p>“Mr. Macheson,” she said gravely, “what is the meaning of this?”</p> + +<p>Macheson was taken too completely by surprise to frame an immediate +answer. Stephen Hurd rose slowly to his feet, dabbing his mouth with his +handkerchief.</p> + +<p>“A little disagreement between us,” he said, with an evil attempt at a +smile. “We will settle it another time.”</p> + +<p>“You will settle it now,” the lady of the Manor said, with authority in +her tone. “Shake hands, if you please. At once! I cannot have this sort +of thing going on in the village.”</p> + +<p>Macheson held out his hand without hesitation.</p> + +<p>“The quarrel was not of my seeking,” he said. “I bear you no ill-will, +Hurd. Will you shake hands?”</p> + +<p>“No!” Stephen Hurd answered fiercely.</p> + +<p>Macheson’s hand fell to his side.</p> + +<p>“I am sorry,” he said.</p> + +<p>“You will reconsider that, Mr. Hurd,” Wilhelmina said quietly.</p> + +<p>“No!” he answered. “I am sorry, Miss Thorpe-Hatton, to seem ungracious, +but there are reasons why I cannot accept his hand. He knows them well +enough. We cannot possibly be friends. Don’t let us be hypocrites.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina turned away coldly.</p> + +<p>“Very well,” she said. “Mr. Macheson, will you <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span>walk with me a little +way? I have something to say to you.”</p> + +<p>“With pleasure,” he answered. “I’m sorry, Hurd,” he added, turning +round.</p> + +<p>There was no answer. Together they walked up the village street. Already +the shock of seeing her had passed away, and he was fighting hard +against the gladness which possessed him. He had paid dearly enough +already for his folly. He was determined that there should be no return +of it.</p> + +<p>“Which way were you going?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“To the hills,” he answered. “I can leave you at the church entrance. +But before you go——”</p> + +<p>“I am not going,” she answered. “I should love a walk. I will come with +you to the hills.”</p> + +<p>He looked at her doubtfully. She appeared to him so different a person +in her country clothes—a dark brown tailor-made suit, with short skirt, +a brown tam-o’-shanter and veil. She was not much more than a child +after all. Her mouth was a little sad, and she was very pale and seemed +tired.</p> + +<p>“If you care to walk so far,” he said gravely—“and with me!”</p> + +<p>“What am I expected to say to that?” she asked demurely.</p> + +<p>“I think that you know what I mean,” he answered, avoiding her eyes. +“Your villagers will certainly think it strange to see their mistress +walking with the poor missioner who wasn’t allowed to hold his +services.”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid,” she answered, “that my people have learnt to expect the +unexpected from me. Now tell me,” she continued, “what has brought <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>you +back to the scene of your persecutions? I am hoping you are going to +tell me that it is to apologize for the shockingly rude way you left me +last time we met.”</p> + +<p>“I did not know that you were here,” he answered. “I came for two +reasons—first, to collect materials for a short article in a friend’s +magazine, and secondly, to ask a question of Stephen Hurd.”</p> + +<p>“Apparently,” she remarked, “your question annoyed him.”</p> + +<p>“He seemed annoyed before I asked it,” Macheson remarked; “I seem to +have offended him somehow or other.”</p> + +<p>“I should imagine,” she said drily, “that that is not altogether +incomprehensible to you.”</p> + +<p>So she knew or guessed who it was that had been Letty Foulton’s +companion in London. Macheson was silent. They walked on for some +distance, climbing all the time, till Wilhelmina paused, breathless, and +leaned against a gate.</p> + +<p>“I hope,” said she, “that you are collecting your impressions. If so, I +am sure they must be in the air, for you have not looked to the right or +to the left.”</p> + +<p>He smiled and stood by her side, looking downwards. The village lay +almost at their feet, and away beyond spread the mist-wreathed country, +still and silent in the November afternoon. The wind had fallen, the +birds were songless, nothing remained of the busy chorus of summer +sounds. They stood on the edge of a plantation—the peculiar fragrance +of freshly turned earth from the ploughed fields opposite, and of the +carpet of wet leaves beneath <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span>their feet, had taken the place of all +those sweeter perfumes which a short while ago had seemed to belong +naturally to the place.</p> + +<p>“To tell you the truth,” he said, “I have been thinking more about +something which I have to say to you.”</p> + +<p>“Is it something serious?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Rather,” he admitted.</p> + +<p>Her eyebrows were faintly contracted. She looked up at him pathetically.</p> + +<p>“It will keep for a little time,” she said. “Let us finish our walk +first. I am down here alone, and have been dull. This exercise is what I +wanted. It is doing me good. I will not have my afternoon spoilt. See, I +have the key of the gate here, we will go through the plantation and up +to the back of the beacon.”</p> + +<p>She led the way, giving him no time to protest, and he followed her, +vaguely uneasy. Through the plantation their feet fell noiselessly upon +a carpet of wet leaves; outside on the springy turf the rabbits +scampered away in hundreds to their holes. Then they began to climb. +Beneath them the country expanded and rolled away like a piece of +patchwork, dimly seen through a veil of mist. Wilhelmina turned towards +him with a laugh. There was more colour now in her cheeks. She was +breathless before they reached the summit and laid her hand upon his arm +for support.</p> + +<p>“Confess,” she said, “you like me better here than in London, don’t +you?”</p> + +<p>“You are more natural,” he answered. “You are more like what I would +have you be.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span></p><p>She sat down on a piece of grey rock. They were at the summit now. Below +was the great house with its magnificent avenues and park, the tiny +village, and the quaint church. Beyond, a spreading landscape of +undulating meadows and well-tilled land. The same thought came to both +of them.</p> + +<p>“Behold,” she murmured, “my possessions.”</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>“You should be very proud of your home,” he said quietly. “It is very +beautiful.”</p> + +<p>She turned towards him. Her face was as cold and destitute of emotion as +the stone on which she sat.</p> + +<p>“Do you wonder,” she asked, “why I have never married?”</p> + +<p>He shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“A matter of temperament, perhaps,” he said. “You are inclined to be +independent, aren’t you?”</p> + +<p>“There have been things in my life—a very secret chamber,” she said +slowly. “I think that some day I shall tell you about it, for I may need +help.”</p> + +<p>“I shall be glad,” he said simply. “You know that!”</p> + +<p>She rose and shook out her skirts.</p> + +<p>“Come,” she said, “it is too cold to sit down. I am going to take you to +Onetree Farm. Mrs. Foulton must give us some tea. I have a reason, too,” +she added more slowly, “for taking you there.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>THE MISSING LETTY</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">M</span>acheson knew directly they entered the farm that Wilhelmina had brought +him here for some purpose. For Mrs. Foulton straightened herself at the +sight of him, and forgot even her usual respectful courtesy to the lady +of the Manor.</p> + +<p>“I have brought Mr. Macheson to see you, Mrs. Foulton,” Wilhelmina said. +“We want you to give us some tea—and there is a question which I think +you ought to ask him.”</p> + +<p>The woman was trembling. She seemed for the moment to have no words.</p> + +<p>“If you like,” Wilhelmina continued calmly, “I will ask it for you. Did +you know, Mr. Macheson, that Letty Foulton has left home and has gone +away without a word to her mother?”</p> + +<p>“I did not know it,” Macheson answered gravely. “I am very sorry.”</p> + +<p>“You—didn’t know it? You don’t know where she is?” the woman demanded +fiercely.</p> + +<p>“Certainly not,” Macheson answered. “How should I?”</p> + +<p>The woman looked bewildered. She turned towards Wilhelmina as though for +an explanation.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p><p>“Mr. Macheson has himself to blame,” Wilhelmina said, “if his action in +bringing your daughter to me that night has been misunderstood. At any +rate, he cannot refuse to tell you now what he refused to tell me. You +understand, Mr. Macheson,” she added, turning towards him, “Mrs. Foulton +insists upon knowing with whom you found her daughter having supper that +night in London.”</p> + +<p>Macheson hesitated only for a moment.</p> + +<p>“Your daughter was with Mr. Stephen Hurd, Mrs. Foulton,” he said.</p> + +<p>The woman threw her apron over her head and hastened away. They heard +her sobbing in the kitchen. Wilhelmina shrugged her shoulders.</p> + +<p>“What a bore!” she remarked. “We shan’t get any tea. People of this sort +have no self-control.”</p> + +<p>Macheson looked at her sternly.</p> + +<p>“Have the people here,” he asked, “been connecting me with this child’s +disappearance?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose so,” she answered carelessly. “Rather a new line for you, +isn’t it—the gay Lothario! It’s your own fault. You shouldn’t be so +mysterious.”</p> + +<p>“You didn’t believe it?” he said shortly.</p> + +<p>“Why not? You’ve been—seeing life lately, haven’t you?”</p> + +<p>“You didn’t believe it?” he repeated, keeping his eyes fixed upon her.</p> + +<p>She came over to him and laid her hands upon his shoulders. Her pale +face was upturned to his. It seemed open to him to transform her +attitude into a caress.</p> + +<p>“Of course not, dear,” she answered. “If—any one else did, they will +soon know the truth.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p><p>“All the same,” he muttered, “it’s horrible. We must do something!”</p> + +<p>She moved away from him wearily. His thoughts were full of the tragedy +of Letty Foulton’s disappearance. He seemed scarcely to know that she +had been almost in his arms. He turned to her suddenly.</p> + +<p>“I shall go back,” he said, “to speak once more with Stephen Hurd.”</p> + +<p>She looked into his face and saw things there which terrified her. He +had moved already towards the door, but she stood in his way.</p> + +<p>“No!” she cried. “It is not your affair. Let me deal with him!”</p> + +<p>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>“It is no matter,” he said, “for a woman to interfere in.”</p> + +<p>“He will not listen to you,” she continued eagerly. “He will tell you +that it is not your concern.”</p> + +<p>“It is the concern of every honest man,” he interrupted. “You must +please let me go!”</p> + +<p>She was holding his arm, and she refused to withdraw her fingers. Then +Mrs. Foulton intervened.</p> + +<p>She had smoothed her hair and was carrying a tea-tray. They both looked +at her as though fascinated.</p> + +<p>“I hope I have not kept you waiting, madam,” she said quietly. “I had to +send Ruth up for the cream. The boy’s at Loughborough market, and I’m a +bit shorthanded.”</p> + +<p>“I—oh! I’m sorry you bothered about the tea, Mrs. Foulton,” Wilhelmina +said, with an effort. “But how good it looks! Come, Mr. Macheson! I +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span>don’t know whether you’ve had any lunch, but I haven’t. I’m perfectly +ravenous.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve some sandwiches in my pocket,” Macheson answered, moving slowly to +the table, “but to tell you the truth, I’d forgotten them.”</p> + +<p>She drew off her gloves and seated herself before the teapot. All the +time her eyes were fixed upon Macheson. She was feverishly anxious to +have him also seat himself, and he could scarcely look away from the +woman who, with a face like a mask, was calmly arranging the things from +the tray upon the table. When she left the room he drew a little breath.</p> + +<p>“Do they feel—really, these people,” he asked, “or are they Stoics?”</p> + +<p>“We feel through our nerves,” she answered, “and they haven’t many. Is +that too much cream?—and pass the strawberry jam, please.”</p> + +<p>He ate and drank mechanically. The charm of this simple meal alone with +her was gone—it seemed to him that there was tragedy in the arrangement +of the table. She talked to him lightly, and he answered—what he +scarcely knew. Suddenly he interposed a question.</p> + +<p>“When did this girl Letty leave home?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“I am not sure,” she answered. “We will ask Mrs. Foulton.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Foulton came silently in.</p> + +<p>“We want to know, Mrs. Foulton, when Letty went away,” Wilhelmina asked.</p> + +<p>“A week ago to-morrow, madam,” Mrs. Foulton answered. “Is there anything +else you will be wanting?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p><p>“Nothing, thank you,” Wilhelmina answered, and then, seeing that the +woman lingered, she continued:</p> + +<p>“Are you wanting to get rid of us?”</p> + +<p>The woman hesitated.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t that, madam,” she said, “but I’m wanting to step out as soon +as possible.”</p> + +<p>The same idea occurred at once to both Wilhelmina and Macheson.</p> + +<p>“You are going down to the village, Mrs. Foulton?” Wilhelmina asked +gravely.</p> + +<p>“I’m going down to have a bit of talk with Mr. Stephen Hurd, madam,” she +answered grimly. “I’d be glad to clear away as soon as convenient.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina turned round in her chair, and laid her hand upon the woman’s +arm.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Foulton,” she said, “Mr. Macheson and I are going to see him at +once. Leave it to us, please.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Foulton shook her head doubtfully.</p> + +<p>“Letty’s my daughter, madam, thank you kindly,” she said. “I must go +myself.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina shook her head.</p> + +<p>“No!” she said firmly. “You can go and see him afterwards, if you like. +Mr. Macheson and I are going to see what we can do first. Believe me, +Mrs. Foulton, it will be better for Letty.”</p> + +<p>The woman was shaken and Wilhelmina pushed home her advantage.</p> + +<p>“We are going straight to the village now, Mrs. Foulton,” she said. “You +will only have to be patient for a very short time. Come, Mr. Macheson. +If you are ready we will start.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p><p>They walked briskly along the country lane, through the early twilight. +They said little to one another.</p> + +<p>Macheson was profoundly moved by the tragedy of Letty’s disappearance. +With his marvellous gift of sympathy, he had understood very well the +suffering of the woman whom they had just left. He shivered when he +thought of the child. With every step they took, his face resolved +itself into grimmer lines. Wilhelmina was forced at last to protest.</p> + +<p>“After all,” she said, touching his arm, “this young man will scarcely +run away. Please remember that I am not an athletic person—and I have +not much breath left.”</p> + +<p>He slackened his pace at once.</p> + +<p>“I am sorry,” he said. “I was forgetting.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she answered simply, “you were forgetting. I—noticed it!”</p> + +<p>To Macheson, her irritation seemed childish—unworthy. He knew so little +of women—or their moods.</p> + +<p>“What are you going to say to Stephen Hurd?” he asked abruptly.</p> + +<p>“I shall make him marry Letty Foulton,” she answered.</p> + +<p>“Can you do it?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>“He must marry her or go,” she declared. “I will make that quite clear.”</p> + +<p>Macheson drew a little breath. He suddenly realized that for all his +impetuosity, the woman who walked so calmly by his side held the cards. +He slackened his pace. The lane had narrowed now, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>and on either side of +them was a tall holly hedge. Her hand stole through his arm.</p> + +<p>“Well,” she said softly, “you have not told me yet whether your +pilgrimage to Paris was a success.”</p> + +<p>He turned upon her almost fiercely.</p> + +<p>“Yes!” he answered. “It was! A complete success! I haven’t an atom of +sentiment left! Thank goodness!”</p> + +<p>She laughed softly.</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe it,” she whispered in his ear. “You went abroad to be +cured of an incurable disease. Do you imagine that the Mademoiselle +Rosines of the world count for anything? You foolish, foolish person. Do +you imagine that if I had not known you—I should have let you go?”</p> + +<p>“I am not one of your tenants,” he answered grimly.</p> + +<p>“You might be,” she laughed.</p> + +<p>“You are very kind,” he declared. “But I need not tell you that nothing +in this world would induce me to become one.”</p> + +<p>She walked on, humming to herself. He was hard to tame, she told +herself, but the end was so sure. Yet all her experience of his sex had +shown her nothing like this. It was the first time she had played such a +part. Was it only the novelty which she found attractive? She stole an +upward glance at him through the twilight. Taller and more powerful than +ever he seemed in the gathering darkness—so far as looks were concerned +he was certainly desirable enough. And yet the world—her world, was +full of handsome men. It must <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span>be something else which he possessed, +some other less obvious gift, perhaps that flavour of puritanism about +his speech and deportment, of which she was always conscious. He +resisted where other men not only succumbed but rushed to meet their +fate. It must be that, <span style="white-space: nowrap;">or——</span></p> + +<p>She herself became suddenly serious. She looked straight ahead down the +darkening lane. Fate could surely not play her a trick so scurvy as +this. It could not be that she cared. Her hands were suddenly clenched; +a little cry broke from her lips. Her heart was beating like a girl’s; +the delicious thrill of youth seemed to be thawing her long frozen +blood. Not again! she prayed, not again! It was a catastrophe this; +grotesque, impossible! She thrust out her hands, as though to guard +herself from some impending danger. Macheson turned to look at her in +surprise, and her eyes were glowing like stars.</p> + +<p>“Is anything the matter?” he asked.</p> + +<p>She laughed unnaturally.</p> + +<p>“A memory,” she answered, “a superstition if you like. Some one was +walking over the grave of my forgotten days.”</p> + +<p>She pointed to the front of the low white house, now only a few yards +away. A dogcart stood there waiting, with some luggage at the back. +Stephen Hurd himself, dressed for travelling, was standing in the +doorway.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>FOILED</h3> + +<p style="float: left; font-size: 100%; line-height: 80%; margin-top: 0;">“</p><p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">W</span>e seem to be just in time, Mr. Hurd,” Wilhelmina said. “Do you mind +coming back for a moment into your study? Mr. Macheson and I have +something to say to you.”</p> + +<p>He glanced at his watch. He was wholly unable to conceal his annoyance +at their appearance.</p> + +<p>“I am afraid,” he said, with strained civility, “that I can only spare a +couple of minutes.”</p> + +<p>“You are going to town?” she asked, as he reluctantly followed her.</p> + +<p>“Yes!” he answered. “Mr. White wished to see me early to-morrow morning +about the new leases, and I have to go before the committee about this +Loughborough water scheme.”</p> + +<p>“These are my affairs,” she said, “so if you should miss your train, the +responsibility will be mine.”</p> + +<p>“I can spare five minutes,” he answered, “but I cannot miss that train. +I have some private engagements. And, madam,” he continued, struggling +with his anger, “I beg that you will not forget that even if I am in +your employ, this is my house, and I will not have that man in it!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p><p>He pointed to Macheson, who was standing upon the threshold. Wilhelmina +stood between the two.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Hurd,” she said, “please control yourself. There is no reason why +we should any of us quarrel. Mr. Macheson and I are here to speak to you +of a matter in which he has become concerned. I asked him to come here +with me. We have come to see you about Letty!”</p> + +<p>“What about her?” he demanded, with some attempt at bravado.</p> + +<p>“We find that there is an impression in the village that Mr. Macheson is +responsible for her disappearance.”</p> + +<p>Hurd seized his opportunity without a second’s hesitation.</p> + +<p>“How do you know that it isn’t the truth?” he demanded. “He wouldn’t be +the first of these psalm-singing missioners who have turned out to be +hypocrites!”</p> + +<p>Macheson never flinched. Wilhelmina only shrugged her shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Hurd,” she said, “we will not waste time. Mr. Macheson and I are +both perfectly aware that you are responsible for Letty’s +disappearance.”</p> + +<p>“It’s—it’s false!” he declared, swallowing with an effort a more +obnoxious word. “Why, I haven’t left the village since the day she went +away.”</p> + +<p>“But you are going—to-night,” Wilhelmina remarked.</p> + +<p>He flushed.</p> + +<p>“I’m going away on business,” he answered. “I don’t see why it should be +taken for granted that I’m going to see her.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p><p>“Nevertheless,” Wilhelmina said quietly, “between us three there isn’t +the slightest doubt about it. I tell you frankly that the details of +your private life in an ordinary way do not interest me in the least. +But, on the other hand, I will not have you playing the Don Juan amongst +the daughters of my tenants. You have been very foolish and you will +have to pay for it. I do not wish to make you lose your train to-night, +but you must understand that if you ever return to Thorpe, you must +bring back Letty Foulton as your wife.”</p> + +<p>He stared at her incredulously.</p> + +<p>“As my—wife!” he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“Precisely,” Wilhelmina answered. “I will give her a wedding present of +a thousand pounds, and I will see that your own position here is made a +permanent one.”</p> + +<p>He had the appearance of a man beside himself with anger. Was this to be +the end of his schemes and hopes! He, to marry the pretty uneducated +daughter of a working farmer—a girl, too, who was his already for the +asking. He struggled with a torrent of ugly words.</p> + +<p>“I—I must refuse!” he said, denying himself more vigorous terms with an +effort.</p> + +<p>She looked at him steadily.</p> + +<p>“Better think it over, Mr. Hurd,” she said. “I am in earnest.”</p> + +<p>He hesitated for a moment, and then, with a glance at the clock, moved +towards the door.</p> + +<p>“Very well,” he said, “I will think it over. I will let you know +immediately I return from London.”</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p><p>“You can take as long as you like to reflect,” she answered, “but it +must be here in this room. Mr. Macheson and I will wait.”</p> + +<p>He turned towards her.</p> + +<p>“Miss Thorpe-Hatton,” he said, “will you allow me to speak to you alone +for two minutes?”</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p>“It is not necessary,” she answered. “Mr. Macheson does not count. You +can say whatever you will before him.”</p> + +<p>A smile that was half a sneer curved his lips. He was like a rat in a +corner, and he knew that he must fight. He must use the weapon which he +had feared with a coward’s fear.</p> + +<p>“The matter on which I wish to speak to you,” he said, looking straight +at her, “is not directly connected with the affair which we have been +discussing. If you will give me two minutes, I think I can make you +understand.”</p> + +<p>She met his challenge without flinching. She was a shade paler, perhaps; +the little glow which the walk through the enchanted twilight had +brought into her cheeks had faded away. But her gaze was as cool and +contemptuous as before. She showed no sign of any fear—of any desire to +conciliate.</p> + +<p>“I think,” she said, “that I can understand without. You can consider +that we are alone. Whatever you may have to say to me, I should prefer +that Mr. Macheson also heard.”</p> + +<p>Macheson looked from one to the other uneasily.</p> + +<p>“Shall I wait in the passage?” he asked. “I should be within call.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly not,” she answered. “This person,” <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span>she continued, indicating +Stephen with a scornful gesture, “is, I believe, about to make a +bungling attempt to blackmail me! I should much prefer that you were +present.”</p> + +<p>Stephen Hurd drew a sharp breath. Her words stung like whips.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know—about blackmail,” he said, still holding himself in. “I +want nothing from you. I only ask to be left alone. Stop this nonsense +about Letty Foulton and let me catch my train. That’s all I want.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina shrugged her shoulders.</p> + +<p>“You are a very wearisome person,” she declared. “Did you ever know me +to change my mind? Every word I have said to you I absolutely mean. No +more, no less!”</p> + +<p>One of the veins at his temple was protruding. He was passionately +angry.</p> + +<p>“You think it wise,” he cried threateningly, “to make an enemy of me!”</p> + +<p>She laughed derisively, a laugh as soft as velvet, but to him maddening.</p> + +<p>“My dear young man,” she said carelessly, “I think I should prefer you +in that capacity. I should probably see less of you.”</p> + +<p>He took a quick stride forward. He thrust his face almost into hers. She +drew back with a gesture of disgust.</p> + +<p>“You,” he cried, striking the table with his clenched fist, “to pretend +to care what becomes of any fool of a girl who chooses to take a lover! +Is it because you’re in love with this would-be saint here?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p><p>He struck the table again. He was absolutely beside himself with rage. +He seemed even to find a physical difficulty in speech. Wilhelmina +raised her eyebrows.</p> + +<p>“Go on,” she said coolly. “I am curious to hear the rest.”</p> + +<p>Macheson suddenly intervened. He stepped between the two.</p> + +<p>“This has gone far enough,” he said sternly. “Hurd, you are losing your +head. You are saying things you will be sorry for afterwards. And I +cannot allow you to speak like this to a woman—in my presence!”</p> + +<p>“Let him go on,” Wilhelmina said calmly. “I am beginning to find him +interesting.”</p> + +<p>Hurd laughed fiercely.</p> + +<p>“What!” he cried. “You want to hear of your ‘Apache’ lover, the man you +took from the gutters of Paris <span style="white-space: nowrap;">into——”</span></p> + +<p>Macheson struck him full across the mouth, but Wilhelmina caught at his +arm. She had overestimated her courage or her strength—he was only just +in time to save her from falling.</p> + +<p>“Brute!” she muttered, and the colour fled from her cheeks like breath +from a looking-glass.</p> + +<p>Macheson laid her on the couch and rang the bell. Suddenly he realized +that they were alone. From outside came the sound of wheels. He sprang +up listening. Wilhelmina, too, opened her eyes. She waved him away +feebly. He smiled back his comprehension.</p> + +<p>“The servants are coming,” he said. “I can hear them. I promise you that +if he catches the train, I will!”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 333px;"> +<img src="images/i247.jpg" class="illogap jpg" width="333" height="500" alt="“Go on,” she said coolly, “I am curious to hear the +rest.”" title="" /> +<span class="caption"><span class="smcap">“Go on,” she said coolly, “I am curious to hear the +rest.”</span> Page <a href="#Page_240">240</a></span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p><p>He vaulted through the window which he had already opened. The sound of +wheels had died away, but he set his face at once towards the station, +running with long easy strides, and gradually increasing his pace. +Stephen Hurd, with his handkerchief to his mouth, and with all his +nerves tingling with a sense of fierce excitement, looked behind him +continually, but saw nothing. Long before he reached the station he had +abandoned all fear of pursuit. Yet during the last half-mile Macheson +was never more than a few yards from him, and on St. Pancras platform he +was almost the first person he encountered.</p> + +<p>“Macheson! By God!”</p> + +<p>He almost dropped the coat he was carrying. He looked at Macheson as one +might look at a visitor from Mars. It was not possible that this could +be the man from whom he had fled. Macheson smiled at him grimly.</p> + +<p>“How did—how did you get here?” the young man faltered.</p> + +<p>“By the same train as you,” Macheson answered. “How else? Where are you +going to meet Letty?”</p> + +<p>Hurd answered with a curse.</p> + +<p>“Why the devil can’t you mind your own business?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>“This is my business,” Macheson answered.</p> + +<p>Then he turned abruptly round towards the hesitating figure of the girl +who had suddenly paused in her swift approach.</p> + +<p>“It is my business to take you home, Letty,” he said. “I have come to +fetch you!”</p> + +<p>Letty looked appealingly towards Stephen Hurd. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span>What she saw in his +face, however, only terrified her.</p> + +<p>“Look here,” he said thickly, “I’ve had almost enough of this. You can +go to the devil—you and Miss Thorpe-Hatton, too! I won’t allow any one +to meddle in my private concerns. Come along, Letty.”</p> + +<p>He would have led her away, but Macheson was not to be shaken off. He +kept his place by the girl’s side.</p> + +<p>“Letty,” he said, “are you married to him?”</p> + +<p>“Not yet,” she answered hesitatingly. “But we are going to be.”</p> + +<p>“Where are you going to now?”</p> + +<p>She glanced towards Stephen.</p> + +<p>“I am going to take her away with me,” he declared sullenly, “as soon as +I can get my luggage on this cab.”</p> + +<p>“Letty,” Macheson said, “a few hours ago Miss Thorpe-Hatton offered +Stephen Hurd a dowry for you of a thousand pounds, if he would promise +to bring you back as his wife. He refused. He has not the slightest +intention of making you his wife. I am sorry to have to speak so +plainly, but you see we haven’t much time for beating about the bush, +have we? I want you to come with me to Berkeley Square. Mrs. Brown will +look after you.”</p> + +<p>She turned towards the young man piteously.</p> + +<p>“Stephen,” she said, “tell Mr. Macheson that he is mistaken. We are +going to be married, aren’t we?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he answered. “At least I always meant to marry you. What I shall +do if every one starts bullying me I’m sure I don’t know. Cut the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span>whole +lot of you, I think, and be off to the Colonies.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t mean that, Stephen,” she begged.</p> + +<p>He pointed to the cab laden now with his luggage.</p> + +<p>“Will you get in or won’t you, Letty?” he asked.</p> + +<p>She shrank back.</p> + +<p>“Stephen,” she said, “I thought that you were going to bring mother up +with you.”</p> + +<p>He laughed hardly.</p> + +<p>“Your mother wasn’t ready,” he said. “We can send for her later.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you think, Stephen,” she pleaded, “that it would be nice for me +to stay with Mrs. Brown until—until we are married?”</p> + +<p>“If you go to Mrs. Brown,” he said gruffly, “you can stay with her. +That’s all! I won’t be fooled about any longer. Once and for all, are +you coming?”</p> + +<p>She took a hesitating step forward, but Macheson led her firmly towards +another hansom.</p> + +<p>“No!” he answered, “she is not. You know where she will be when you have +the marriage license.”</p> + +<p>Stephen sprang into his cab with an oath. Even then Letty would have +followed him, but Macheson held her arm.</p> + +<p>“You stay here, Letty,” he said firmly.</p> + +<p>She covered her face with her hands, but she obeyed.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>MYSTERIES IN MAYFAIR</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span>hat night, and for many nights afterwards, Macheson devoted himself to +his work in the East End. The fascination of the thing grew upon him; he +threw himself into his task with an energy which carried him often out +of his own life and made forgetfulness an easy task. Night after night +they came, these tired, white-faced women, with a sprinkling of sullen, +dejected-looking men; night after night he pleaded and reasoned with +them, striving with almost passionate earnestness to show them how to +make the best of the poor thing they called life. Gradually his efforts +began to tell upon himself. He grew thinner, there were shadows under +his eyes, a curious intangible depression seemed to settle upon him. +Holderness one night sought him out and insisted upon dinner together.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Victor,” he said, “I have a bone to pick with you. You’d +better listen! Don’t sit there staring round the place as though you saw +ghosts everywhere.”</p> + +<p>Macheson smiled mirthlessly.</p> + +<p>“But that is just what I do see,” he answered. “The conscience of every +man who knows must be <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span>haunted with them! The ghosts of starving men and +unsexed women! What keeps their hands from our throats, Dick?”</p> + +<p>“Common sense, you idiot,” Holderness answered cheerfully. “There’s a +refuse heap for every one of nature’s functions. You may try to rake it +out and cleanse it, but there isn’t much to be done. Hang that mission +work, Victor! It’s broken more hearts than anything else on earth! A man +can but do what he may.”</p> + +<p>“The refuse heap is man’s work!” Macheson muttered.</p> + +<p>“But not wholly his responsibility,” Holderness declared. “We’re part of +the machine, but remember the wheels are driven by fate, or God, or +whatever the hidden motive force of the universe may be. Don’t lose +yourself, Macheson! Sentiment’s a good thing under control. It’s a +sickly master.”</p> + +<p>“You call it sentiment, if one feels the horror of this garbage heap! +Come to-night and look into their faces.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve done it,” Holderness declared. “I’ve been through it all. Hang it +all, do you forget that I’m the editor of a Socialist magazine? No! feel +it you must, but don’t let it upset your mental balance. Don’t lose your +values!”</p> + +<p>Macheson left his friend in a saner frame of mind. His words came back +to him that night as he watched the little stream of people file out +from the bare white-washed building, with its rows of cheap cane chairs. +It was so true! To give way to despair was simply to indulge in a +sentimental debauch. Yet in a sense he had never felt so completely the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span>pitiful ineffectiveness of his task. How could he preach the Christian +morality, expound the Christian doctrines, to a people whose very +sufferings, whose constant agony, was a hideous and glaring proof that +by the greater part of the world those doctrines were ignored!</p> + +<p>A man was shown into his room afterwards, as he was putting on his +overcoat. Almost with relief Macheson saw that he at least had no +pitiful tale to tell. He was a small dapper man, well dressed, and spoke +with a slight American accent.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Macheson,” he said, “I’m taking the liberty of introducing myself. +Peter Drayton my name is, never mind my profession. It wouldn’t interest +you.”</p> + +<p>Macheson nodded.</p> + +<p>“What can I do for you?” he asked, with some curiosity.</p> + +<p>“Say, I’ve been very much interested in these talks of yours to the +people,” Mr. Drayton remarked. “But it’s occurred to me that you’re on +the wrong end of the stick. That’s why I’m here. You’re saying the right +things, and you’ve got the knack of saying them so that people have just +got to listen, but you’re saying them to the wrong crowd.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t understand,” Macheson was forced to confess.</p> + +<p>“Well, I reckon it’s simple enough,” Drayton answered. “These people +here don’t need to have their own misery thrust down their throats, even +while you’re trying to show them how to bear it. It’s the parties who +are responsible for it all that you want to go for. See what I mean?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p><p>“I think so,” Macheson admitted, “but——”</p> + +<p>“Look here,” Drayton interrupted, “you’re a man of common sense, and you +know that life’s more or less a stand-up fight. Those that are licked +live here in Whitechapel—if you can call it living—and those who win +get to Belgravia! It’s a pitiless sort of affair this fight, but there +it is. Now which of the two do you think need preaching to, these +people, or the people who are responsible for them? You’ve started a +mission in Whitechapel—it would have been more logical, if there’s a +word of truth in your religion, to have started it in Mayfair.”</p> + +<p>Macheson laughed.</p> + +<p>“They wouldn’t listen to me,” he declared.</p> + +<p>“I’d see to that,” Drayton answered quickly. “It’s my business. I want +you to give a course of—well, we’d call them lectures, in the West End. +You can say what you like. You can pitch into ’em as hot as Hell! I’ll +guarantee you a crowded audience every time.”</p> + +<p>“I have no interest in those people,” Macheson said. “Why should I go +and lecture to them? My sympathies are all down here.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly,” Drayton answered. “I want you to stir up the people who can +really help, people who can give millions, pull down these miles of +fever-tainted rat holes, endow farms here and abroad. Lash them till +their conscience squeaks! See? What’s the good of preaching to these +people? That won’t do any good! You want to preach to the really +ignorant, the really depraved, the West-Enders!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span></p><p>“Do I understand,” Macheson asked, “that you have a definite scheme in +which you are inviting me to take part?”</p> + +<p>Drayton lit a cigarette and led the way out.</p> + +<p>“Look here,” he said, “I’ll walk with you as far as you’re going, and +tell you all about it....”</p> + +<p>It was a sort of pilgrimage which Macheson undertook during these +restless nights, a walk seemingly purposeless, the sole luxury which he +permitted himself. Always about the same hour he found himself on the +garden side of Berkeley Square, always he stood and looked, for a period +of time of which he took no count, at the tall, dimly lit house, across +whose portals he had once passed into fairyland. Then came a night when +everything was changed. Lights flashed from the windows, freshly painted +window-boxes had been filled with flowers, scarce enough now; everything +seemed to denote a sudden spirit of activity. Macheson stood and watched +with a curious sense of excitement stirring in his blood. He knew very +well what was happening. She was coming, perhaps had already arrived in +town. He realized as he stood there, a silent motionless figure, how far +gone in his folly he really was, how closely woven were the bonds that +held him. For time seemed to him of no account beside the chance of +seeing her, if only for a moment, as she passed in or out. He never knew +how long he waited there—it was long enough, however, for his patience +to be rewarded. Smoothly, with flashing lights, a little electric +brougham turned into the Square and pulled up immediately opposite to +him. The tall footman sprang to the ground, the door flew open, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span>he saw +a slim, familiar figure, veiled and dressed in a dark travelling +costume, pass leisurely up the steps and into the arc of light which +streamed through the open door. The brougham glided away, the door was +closed, she was gone. Still Macheson leaned forward, watching the spot +where she had been, his heart thumping against his sides, his senses +thrilled with the excitement of her coming. Suddenly his attention was +diverted in a curious manner. He became conscious that he was not the +only watcher under the chestnut trees. A man had stolen out from amongst +the deeper shadows close up to the railings, and was standing by his +side. Macheson recognized him with a start.</p> + +<p>“What are you doing here?” he asked abruptly.</p> + +<p>His fellow-watcher, too, showed signs of excitement. His cheeks were +flushed. He pointed across the road with shaking finger, and looked up +into Macheson’s face with a triumphant chuckle.</p> + +<p>“Run to earth at last!” he exclaimed. “You saw her! You saw her, too!”</p> + +<p>“I saw a lady enter that house,” Macheson answered. “What of it?”</p> + +<p>The man whom he had once befriended drew a breath between his clenched +teeth.</p> + +<p>“There she goes!” he muttered. “The woman who dared to call herself the +daughter of a poor land-agent! The woman who is deceiving her world +to-day as she deceived us—once! Bah! It is finished!”</p> + +<p>He started to cross the road. Macheson kept by his side.</p> + +<p>“Where are you off to?” he asked.</p> + +<p>The man pointed to the brilliantly lit house.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span></p><p>“There!” he answered fiercely. “I am going to see her. To-night! At +once! She shall not escape me this time!”</p> + +<p>“What do you want with her?” Macheson asked.</p> + +<p>“Money—or exposure, such an exposure,” the man answered. “But she will +pay. She owes a good deal; but she will pay.”</p> + +<p>“And supposing,” Macheson said, “that I were to tell you that this lady +is a friend of mine, and that I will not have you intrude upon her—what +then?”</p> + +<p>Something venomous gleamed in the man’s eyes. A short unpleasant laugh +escaped him.</p> + +<p>“Not all the devils in hell,” he declared, “would keep me from going to +her. For five years she’s fooled us! Not a day longer, not an hour!”</p> + +<p>Macheson’s hand rested lightly upon the man’s shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Can you reach her from prison?” he asked calmly.</p> + +<p>The man turned and snarled at him. He knew well enough that escape or +resistance alike was hopeless. He was like a pigmy in the hands of the +man who held him.</p> + +<p>“This isn’t your affair,” he pleaded earnestly. “Let me go, or I shall +do you a mischief some day. Remember it was you who helped me to escape. +You can’t give me away now.”</p> + +<p>“I helped you to escape,” Macheson said, “but I did not know what you +had done. There is another matter. You have to go away from here quietly +and swear never to <span style="white-space: nowrap;">molest——”</span></p> + +<p>The man ducked with a sudden backward movement, and tried to escape, but +Macheson was on his guard.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p><p>“You are a fool,” the man hissed out, his small bead-like eyes +glittering as though touched with fire, his thick red lips parted, +showing his ugly teeth. “It is money alone I want from her. I have but +to breathe her name and this address in a certain quarter of Paris, and +there are others who would take her life. Let me go!”</p> + +<p>Then Macheson was conscious of a familiar figure crossing the street in +their direction. He had seen him come furtively out of the house they +had been watching, and had recognized him at once. It was Stephen Hurd. +Keeping his grasp upon his captive’s shoulder, Macheson intercepted him.</p> + +<p>“Hurd,” he said, “I want to speak to you.”</p> + +<p>Hurd started, and his face darkened with anger when he saw who it was +that had accosted him. Macheson continued hurriedly.</p> + +<p>“Look here,” he said. “I owe you this at any rate. I have just caught +our friend here watching this house. Have you ever seen him before?”</p> + +<p>Hurd looked down into the face of the man who, with an evil shrug of the +shoulders, had resigned himself—for the present—to the inevitable.</p> + +<p>“Never,” he answered. “Can’t say I’m particularly anxious to see him +again. Convert of yours?” he asked, with a sneer.</p> + +<p>“He is the man who visited your father on the night of his death,” +Macheson said.</p> + +<p>Stephen Hurd was like a man electrified. He seized hold of the other’s +arm in excitement.</p> + +<p>“Is this true?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>The man blinked his eyes.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p><p>“You have to prove it,” he said. “I admit nothing.”</p> + +<p>“You can leave him to me,” Stephen Hurd said, turning to Macheson.</p> + +<p>Macheson nodded and prepared to walk on.</p> + +<p>“There is a police-station behind to the left,” he remarked.</p> + +<p>Hurd took no notice. He had thrust his arm tightly through the other +man’s.</p> + +<p>“I have been looking for you,” he said eagerly. “We must have a talk +together. We will take this hansom,” he added, hailing one.</p> + +<p>The man drew back.</p> + +<p>“Are you going to take me to the police-station?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>“Police-station, no!” Hurd answered roughly. “What good would that do +me? Get in! Café Monico!”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>THE WAY OF SALVATION</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">H</span>olderness leaned back in his worn leather chair and shouted with +laughter. He treated with absolute indifference the white anger in +Macheson’s face.</p> + +<p>“Victor,” he cried, “don’t look at me as though you wanted to punch my +head. Down on your knees, man, and pray for a sense of humour. It’s the +very salt of life.”</p> + +<p>“That’s all very well,” Macheson answered, “but I can’t exactly see——”</p> + +<p>“That’s because you’re deficient,” Holderness shouted, wiping the tears +from his eyes. “I haven’t laughed so much for ages. Here you come from +the East to the West, with all the world’s tragedy tearing at your +heart, flowing from your lips, a flagellator, a hater of the people to +whom you speak, seeking only to strike and to wound, and they accept you +as a new sensation! They bare their back to your whip! They have made +you the fashion! Oh! this funny, funny world of ours!”</p> + +<p>Macheson smiled grimly.</p> + +<p>“I’ll grant you the elements of humour in the situation,” he said, “but +you can scarcely expect <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span>me to appreciate it, can you? I never came here +to play the mountebank, to provide a new sensation for these tired dolls +of Society. Dick, do you think St. Paul could have opened their eyes?”</p> + +<p>Holderness shook his head.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” he declared. “They’re a difficult class—you see, they +have pluck, and a sort of fantastic philosophy which goes with breeding. +They’re not easily scared.”</p> + +<p>Macheson thought of his friend’s words later in the afternoon, when he +stood on the slightly raised platform of the fashionable room where his +lectures were given. Not a chair was empty. Macheson, as he entered, +gazed long and steadily into those rows of tired, distinguished-looking +faces, and felt in the atmosphere the delicate wave of perfume shaken +from their clothes—the indescribable effect of femininity. There were +men there, too, mostly as escorts, correctly dressed, bored, vacuous, +from intent rather than lack of intelligence. Macheson himself, +carelessly dressed from design, his fine figure ill-clad, with untidy +boots and shock hair, felt his anger slowly rising as he marked the stir +which his coming had caused. He to be the showman of such a crowd! It +was maddening! That day he spoke to them without even the ghost of a +smile parting his lips. He sought to create no sympathy. He cracked his +whip with the cool deliberation of a Russian executioner.</p> + +<p>... “I was asked the other day,” he remarked, “by an enterprising +journalist, what made me decide to come here and deliver these lectures +to you. I did not tell him. It is because I wanted <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span>to speak to the most +ignorant class in Christendom. You are that class. If you have +intelligence, you make it the servant of your whims. If you have +imagination, you use it to enlarge the sphere of your vices. You are +worse than the ostrich who buries his head in the sand—you prefer to go +underground altogether....</p> + +<p>“As you sit here—with every tick of your jewelled watches, out in the +world of which in your sublime selfishness you know nothing, a child +dies, a woman is given to sin, a man’s heart is broken. What do you +care? What do you know of that infernal, that everlasting tragedy of sin +and suffering that seethes around you? Why should you care? Your life is +attuned to the most pagan philosophy which all the ages of sin have +evolved. You have sunk so low that you are content to sit and listen to +the story of your ignominy....”</p> + +<p>What fascination was it that kept them in their places? Holderness, who +was sitting in the last row, fully expected to see them leave their +seats and stream out; Macheson himself would not have been surprised. +His voice had no particular charm, his words were simple words of abuse, +he attempted no rhetorical flourishes, nor any of the tricks of oratory. +He stood there like a disgusted schoolmaster lecturing a rebellious and +backward school. Holderness, when he saw that no one left, chuckled to +himself. Macheson, aware that his powers of invective were spent, +suddenly changed his tone.</p> + +<p>Consciously or unconsciously, he told them, every one was seeking to +fashion his life according to some hidden philosophy, some unrealized +ideal. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span>With religion, as it was commonly understood, he had, in that +place at any rate, nothing to do. Even the selfish drifting down the +stream of idle pleasures, which constituted life for most of them, was +the passive acceptance in their consciousness of the old “fainéant” +philosophy of “laissez faire.” Had they any idea of the magnificent +stimulus which work could give to the emptiest life! For health’s sake +alone, they were willing sometimes to step out of the rut of their +easy-going existence, to discipline their bodies at foreign +watering-places, to take up courses of physical exercises, as prescribed +by the fashionable crank of the moment. What they would do for their +bodies, why should they not try for their souls! The one was surely as +near decay as the other—the care of it, if only they would realize it, +was ten thousand times more important! He had called them, perhaps, many +hard names. There was one he could not call them. He could not call them +cowards. On the contrary, he thought them the bravest people he had ever +known, to live the lives they did, and await the end with the equanimity +they showed. The equivalent of Hell, whatever it might be, had evidently +no terrors for them....</p> + +<p>He concluded his address abruptly, as his custom was, a few minutes +later, and turned at once to leave the platform. But this afternoon an +unexpected incident occurred. A man from the middle of the audience rose +up and called to him by name.</p> + +<p>Macheson, surprised, paused and turned round. It was Deyes who stood +there, immaculately dressed in morning clothes, his long face pale as +ever, his manner absolutely and entirely composed. He was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span>swinging his +eyeglass by its narrow black ribbon, and leaning a little forward.</p> + +<p>“Sir,” he said, once more addressing Macheson, “as one of the audience +whose shortcomings have so—er—profoundly impressed you, may I take the +liberty of asking you a question? I ask it of you publicly because I +imagine that there are many others here besides myself to whom your +answer may prove interesting.”</p> + +<p>Macheson came slowly to the front of the platform.</p> + +<p>“Ask your question, sir, by all means,” he said.</p> + +<p>Deyes bowed.</p> + +<p>“You remind me, if I may be permitted to say so,” he continued, “of the +prophet who went about with sackcloth and ashes on his head, crying +‘Woe! woe! woe!’ but who was either unable or unwilling to suggest any +means by which that doleful cry might be replaced by one of more +cheerful import. In plain words, sir, according to your lights—what +must we do to be saved?”</p> + +<p>There was a murmur of interest amongst the audience. There were many +upon whom Macheson’s stinging words and direct denunciation had left +their mark. They sat up eagerly and waited for his answer. He came to +the edge of the platform and looked thoughtfully into their faces.</p> + +<p>“In this city,” he said, “it should not be necessary for any one to ask +that question. My answer may seem trite and hackneyed. Yet if you will +accept it, you may come to the truth. Take a hansom cab, and drive as +far, say, as Whitechapel. Walk—in any direction—for half a mile. Look +into the faces of the men, the women and the children. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span>Then go home and +think. You will say at first nothing can be done for these people. They +have dropped down too low, they have lost their humanity, they only +justify the natural law of the survival of the fittest. Think again! A +hemisphere may divide the East and the West of this great city; but +these are human beings as you are a human being, they are your brothers +and your sisters. Consider for a moment this natural law of yours. It is +based upon the principle of the see-saw. Those who are down, are down +because the others are up. Those men are beasts, those women are +unsexed, those children are growing up with dirt upon their bodies and +sin in their hearts, because you others are what you are. Because! +Consider that. Consider it well, and take up your responsibility. They +die that you may flourish! Do you think that the see-saw will be always +one way? A revolution in this world, or justice in the next! Which would +you rather face?”</p> + +<p>Deyes bowed slightly.</p> + +<p>“You have given me an answer, sir, for which I thank you,” he answered. +“But you must allow me to remind you of the great stream of gold which +flows all the while from the West to the East. Hospitals, mission +houses, orphanages, colonial farms—are we to have no credit for these?”</p> + +<p>“Very little,” Macheson answered, “for you give of your superfluity. +Charity has little to do with the cheque-book. Besides, you must +remember this. I am not here to-day to plead the cause of the East. I am +here to talk to you of your own lives. I represent, if you are pleased +to have it <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span>so, the Sandow of your spiritual body. I ask you to submit +your souls to my treatment, as the professor of physical culture would +ask for your bodies. This is not a matter of religion at all. It is a +matter, if you choose to call it so, of philosophy. Your souls need +exercise. You need a course of thinking and working for the good of some +one else—not for your own benefit. Give up one sin in your life, and +replace it with a whole-hearted effort to rescue one unfortunate person +from sin and despair, and you will gain what I understand to be the +desire of all of you—a new pleasure. Briefly, for your own sakes, from +your own point of view, it is a personal charity which I am advocating, +as distinguished from the charity of the cheque-book.”</p> + +<p>“One more question, Mr. Macheson,” Deyes continued quietly. “Where do we +find the lost souls—I mean upon what principle of selection do we +work?”</p> + +<p>“There are many excellent institutions through which you can come into +touch with them,” Macheson answered. “You can hear of these through the +clergyman of your own parish, or the Bishop of London.”</p> + +<p>Deyes thanked him and sat down. The lecture was over, and the people +slowly dispersed. Macheson passed into the room at the back of the +platform. Drayton, who was waiting for him there, pushed over a box of +cigarettes. He knew that Macheson loved to smoke directly he had +finished talking.</p> + +<p>“Macheson,” he said solemnly, “you’re a marvel. Why, in my country, I +guess they’d come and scratch <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span>your eyes out before they’d stand plain +speaking like that.”</p> + +<p>Macheson was looking away into vacancy.</p> + +<p>“I wonder,” he said softly, “if it does any good—any real good?”</p> + +<p>Drayton, who was looking through a cash-book with gleaming eyes, opened +his lips to speak, but thought better of it. He pointed instead towards +the table.</p> + +<p>The usual pile of notes was there—all the latest novelties in fancy +stationery were represented there, crested, coroneted, scented. Macheson +began to tear them open and as rapidly destroy them with a little +gesture of disgust. They were mostly of the same type. The girls were +all so anxious to do a little good, so tired of the wearisome round of +Society, wouldn’t Mr. Macheson be very kind and give them some personal +advice? Couldn’t he meet them somewhere, or might they come and see him? +They did hope that he wouldn’t think them bold! It would be such a help +to talk to him. The married ladies were bolder still. They felt the same +craving for advice, but their proposals were more definite. Mr. Macheson +must come and see them! They would be quite alone (underlined), there +should be no one else there to worry him. Then followed times and +addresses. One lady, whose coronet and motto were familiar to him, would +take no denial. He was to come that afternoon. Her carriage was waiting +at the side door and would bring him directly to her. Macheson looked up +quickly. Through the window he could see a small brougham, with cockaded +footman and coachman, waiting outside. He swept all the notes into the +flames.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span></p><p>“For Heaven’s sake, go and send that carriage away, Drayton,” he begged.</p> + +<p>Drayton laughed and disappeared. On the table there remained one more +note—a square envelope, less conspicuous perhaps than the others, but +more distinguished-looking. Macheson broke the seal. On half a sheet of +paper were scrawled these few lines only.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“For Heaven’s sake, come to me at once.—Wilhelmina.”</p></div> + +<p>He started and caught up his hat. In a few minutes he was on his way to +Berkeley Square.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>JEAN LE ROI</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">O</span>ver a marble-topped table in a retired corner of the café Stephen Hurd +listened to the story of the man whom Macheson had delivered over to +him, and the longer he listened the more interesting he found it. When +at last all was told, the table itself was strewn with cigarette stumps, +and their glasses had three times been replenished. The faces of both +men were flushed.</p> + +<p>“You see,” the little man said, glancing for a moment at his +yellow-stained fingers, and then beginning to puff furiously at a fresh +cigarette, “the time is of the shortest. Jean le Roi—well, his time is +up! He may be here to-morrow, the next day, who can tell? And when he +comes he will kill her! That is certain!”</p> + +<p>Hurd shuddered and drank some of his whisky.</p> + +<p>“Look here,” he said, “we mustn’t have that. Revenge, of course, he will +want—but there are other ways.”</p> + +<p>The little man blinked his eyes.</p> + +<p>“You do not know Jean le Roi,” he said. “To him it is a pastime to kill! +For myself I do not know the passions as he would know them. Where +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span>there was money I would not kill. It would be as you have said—there +are other ways. But Jean le Roi is different.”</p> + +<p>“Jean le Roi, as you call him, must be tamed, then,” Hurd said. “You +speak of money. I have been her agent, so I can tell you. What do you +think might be the income of this lady?”</p> + +<p>Johnson was deeply interested. He leaned across the table. His little +black eyes were alight with cupidity.</p> + +<p>“Who can tell?” he murmured. “It might be two, perhaps three, four +thousand English pounds a year. Eh?”</p> + +<p>Stephen Hurd laughed scornfully.</p> + +<p>“Four thousand a year!” he repeated. “Bah! She fooled you all to some +purpose! Her income is—listen—is forty thousand pounds a year! You +hear that, my friend? Forty thousand pounds a year!”</p> + +<p>The little man’s face was a study in varying expressions. He leaned back +in his chair, and then crouched forward over the table. His beady eyes +were almost protruding, a spot of deeper colour, an ugly purple patch, +burned upon his cheeks. The words seemed frozen upon his lips. Twice he +opened his mouth to speak and said nothing.</p> + +<p>Stephen Hurd took off his hat and placed it upon the table before him. +His listener’s emotion was catching.</p> + +<p>“Forty thousand pounds,” he said softly, “livres you call it! It is a +great fortune. She has deceived you, too! You must make her pay for it.”</p> + +<p>Johnson was recovering himself slowly. His <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span>voice when he spoke shook, +but it was with the dawn of a vicious anger!</p> + +<p>“Yes!” he muttered, speaking as though to himself, “she has deceived us! +She must pay! God, how she must pay!”</p> + +<p>His fingers twitched upon the table. He was blinking rapidly.</p> + +<p>“There is the money,” he said softly, “and there is Jean le Roi!”</p> + +<p>It was a night of shocks for him. Again his eyes were dilated. He shrank +back in his chair and clutched at Hurd’s sleeve.</p> + +<p>“It is himself!” he whispered hoarsely. “It is Jean le Roi! God in +Heaven, he will kill us!”</p> + +<p>Johnson collapsed for a moment. In his face were all the evidences of an +abject fear, and Stephen Hurd was in very nearly as evil a plight. The +man who was threading his way through the tables towards them was +alarming enough in his appearance and expression to have cowed braver +men.</p> + +<p>“Jean le Roi—he fears nothing—he cares for nothing, not even for me, +his father,” Johnson muttered with chattering teeth. “If he feels like +it he will kill us as we sit here.”</p> + +<p>Hurd, who was facing the man, watched him with fascinated eyes. He was +over six feet high, and magnificently formed. Notwithstanding his ready +made clothes, fresh from a French tailor, his brown hat ludicrously too +small and the blue stubble of a recently cropped beard, he was almost as +impressively handsome as he was repulsive to look at. He walked with the +grace of a savage animal in his native woods; there was something indeed +not altogether <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span>human in the gleam of his white teeth and stealthy, +faultless movements. He came straight to where they sat, and his hand +fell like a vice upon the shoulder of the shrinking elder man. It was +further characteristic of this strange being that when he spoke there +was no anger in his tone. His voice indeed was scarcely raised above a +whisper.</p> + +<p>“What are you doing here, old man?” he asked. “Why did you not meet me? +Eh?”</p> + +<p>“I will tell you, tell you everything, Jean,” Johnson answered. “Sit +down here and drink with us. Everything shall be made quite clear to +you. I came for your sake—to get money, Jean. Sit down, my boy.”</p> + +<p>Jean le Roi sat down.</p> + +<p>“I sit with you,” he said, “and I will drink with you, because I have no +money to pay for myself. But we are not friends yet, old man! I will +hear first what you have done. And who is this?”</p> + +<p>His eyes flashed as he looked upon Hurd. Johnson interposed quickly.</p> + +<p>“A friend, a good friend,” he exclaimed. “He will be of service to us, +great service. Only a few minutes ago he told me something astounding, +something for you also to hear, dear Jean. It is wonderful news.”</p> + +<p>Jean le Roi interrupted.</p> + +<p>“What I want to hear from you,” he said, in a soft, vicious whisper, “is +why, when they let me out of that cursed place, you were not there with +money and clothes for me, as I ordered. But for the poor faithful +Annette, whom I did not desire to see, I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span>might have starved on the day +of my release. <span style="white-space: nowrap;">Stop!——”</span> he held up his hand as Johnson was on the +point of pouring out a copious explanation, “order me brandy first. Tell +them to bring me the bottle. Do not speak till I have drunk.”</p> + +<p>They called a waiter and gave the order. They waited in an uneasy +silence until it arrived. Jean le Roi drank at first sparingly, but his +eyes rested lovingly upon the bottle.</p> + +<p>“Now speak,” he commanded.</p> + +<p>Johnson told his story with appropriate gestures.</p> + +<p>“After it was all over,” he began rapidly, “and one saw that a rescue +was impossible, I followed madame! It was a moment of fury, I thought. +She will repent, she will pay for lawyers for his defence. So I hung +about her hotel, only to find that she had left, stolen away. As you +know, she did not appear at the trial! It was a bargain with the police +that they should not call her if she betrayed you! She escaped me, Jean, +and as you know, I had no money. All, every penny had been spent on your +clothes and your horse and carriage, to make you a gentleman.”</p> + +<p>Jean le Roi extended his hands. “Money well spent indeed! Let the old +man continue!”</p> + +<p>“She escaped me, Jean, and it was many months before I found a clue on +an old label—just the words ‘Thorpe, England.’ So I wrote there, and +the letter did not come back as the others. I waited a little time and I +wrote again, this time to receive an answer! It was a stern, angry +letter from a man who called himself her father, and signed himself +Stephen Hurd. He was what is called here an <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span>estate agent, and he had +not very much money. He would not send one pound. He said that the +marriage was illegal, and if one came to England he threatened the law! +I wrote again—humbly, piteously. I spoke of your hardships. I told how +all the time you raved of your dear wife, how you repented your +madness—how it was for love of her only that you had committed such a +crime! There came no answer. I forwarded the letters which you had +written to her—I begged, oh! how I begged for just a little money for +the small luxuries, the good wine, the tobacco, the newspapers. They +sent nothing!”</p> + +<p>Jean le Roi drew in his breath with a gasp.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” he muttered. “So they sent nothing!”</p> + +<p>“Not one sou, Jean—not one sou! And all the while the time of your +release was drawing near. What could I do! Well, I raised the money. How +I will not tell you, my boy, but I went on a fruit boat from Havre to +Southampton, and from there down to Thorpe. I saw the old man Stephen +Hurd. It was on a Sunday night that I arrived, and I found him alone. He +was as hard, Jean, as his letters. When I pressed him he ordered me out +of the house. I would not go. I said that I would see my +daughter-in-law. I would remain until I saw her, I said, even if I slept +under a hedge. Again he ordered me out of the house. I was firm; I +refused. Then he struck me, there was a quarrel, and he fell. I thought +at first that he was unconscious, but when I examined him—he was dead.”</p> + +<p>Johnson finished his speech in a stealthy whisper, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span>leaning half way +across the table. Jean le Roi poured himself out more brandy, but he was +unmoved.</p> + +<p>“The old trick, I suppose,” he remarked carelessly, making a swift +movement with his hand.</p> + +<p>“No! no!” Johnson declared earnestly. “I used no weapon! It was an +accident, a pure accident. Remember that this is his son. He would not +be here if it was not quite certain that it was accident—and accident +alone.”</p> + +<p>Jean le Roi lifted his head and gazed curiously at Stephen Hurd.</p> + +<p>“So you,” he murmured, “are my brother-in-law?”</p> + +<p>Johnson leaned once more across the table.</p> + +<p>“It is where you, where we all have been deceived,” he said +impressively. “Listen. She was never the daughter of Stephen Hurd at +all. It was a schoolgirl’s freak to take that name, when she was eluding +her chaperon and amusing herself in Paris. Stephen Hurd was her +servant.”</p> + +<p>“And she?” Jean le Roi asked softly.</p> + +<p>Johnson spread out his yellow-stained fingers. His voice trembled, his +eyes shone. It was like speaking of something holy.</p> + +<p>“She is a great lady,” he said. “She goes to Court, she has houses, and +horses and carriages, troops of servants, a yacht, motor-cars. She is +rich—fabulously rich, Jean. She has—listen—forty thousand pounds, +livres mind, a year.”</p> + +<p>“More than that,” Hurd muttered.</p> + +<p>“More than that,” Johnson repeated.</p> + +<p>Jean le Roi was no longer unmoved. He drew a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span>long breath and his teeth +seemed to come together with a click.</p> + +<p>“There is no mistake?” he asked softly. “An income of forty thousand +pounds?”</p> + +<p>“There is no mistake,” Stephen Hurd assured him. “I will answer for +that.”</p> + +<p>Jean le Roi’s face was white and vicious. Yet for a time he said nothing +and his two companions watched him anxiously. There was something +uncanny about his silence.</p> + +<p>“It is a great deal of money,” he said at last. “Often in prison I was +hungry, I had no cigarettes. I was forced to drink water. A great deal +of money! And she is my wife! Half of what she has belongs to me! That +is the law, eh?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know about that,” Stephen Hurd said, “but she has certainly +treated you very badly.”</p> + +<p>Jean le Roi struck the table with his fist, not violently, and yet +somehow with a force which made itself felt.</p> + +<p>“It is over—that!” he said. “I am a man who knows when he has been +ill-treated; who knows, too, what it is that a wife owes to her husband. +Tell me where it is that she lives, old man. Write it down.”</p> + +<p>Johnson drew from his pocket a stump of pencil and the back of an +envelope. He wrote slowly and with care. Jean le Roi extended the palm +of his hand to Stephen Hurd.</p> + +<p>“He will warn madame, perhaps,” he suggested. “Why does he sit here with +us, this young man? Is it that he, too, wants money?”</p> + +<p>“No! no! my son,” Johnson intervened hastily. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span>“Madame treated him +badly. He would not be sorry to see her humiliated.”</p> + +<p>Jean le Roi smiled.</p> + +<p>“It shall be done,” he promised. “But from one of you I must have money. +I cannot present myself before my wife so altered. No one would believe +my story.”</p> + +<p>“How much do you want?” Hurd asked uneasily.</p> + +<p>“Twenty pounds English,” Jean le Roi answered. “I cannot resume my +appearance as a gentleman on less.”</p> + +<p>Hurd took out some notes.</p> + +<p>“I will lend you that,” he said slowly.</p> + +<p>Jean le Roi’s long fingers took firm hold of the notes. He buttoned them +up in his pocket, slapped the place where they were, and poured out more +brandy.</p> + +<p>“Now,” he said, “I am prepared. Madame shall discover what it means to +deceive her fond husband!”</p> + +<p>Hurd moved in his seat uneasily. There was something ominous in the +villainous curve of the man’s lips—in the utter absence of any direct +threats. What was it that was passing in his mind?</p> + +<p>“You are not thinking of any violence?” he asked. “Remember she is a +proud woman, and you cannot punish her more than by simply appearing and +declaring yourself.”</p> + +<p>Jean le Roi smiled.</p> + +<p>“We shall see,” he declared.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h3>THE KING OF THE APACHES</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">W</span>ilhelmina was resting—and looked in need of it. All the delicate +colours and fluttering ribbons of her Doucet dressing-jacket could not +hide the pallor of her cheeks, or the hollows under her eyes. Macheson, +who came in sternly enough, felt himself moved to a troublous pity. +Nothing seemed left of the great lady—or the “poseuse”!</p> + +<p>“You are kind,” she murmured, “to come so soon. Sit down, please!”</p> + +<p>“Is there any trouble?” he asked. “You look worried.”</p> + +<p>She laughed unnaturally.</p> + +<p>“No wonder,” she answered. “For five years I have been living more or +less on the brink of a volcano. From what I have heard, I fancy that an +eruption is about due.”</p> + +<p>“Tell me about it,” he asked.</p> + +<p>She passed him a telegram. It was from Paris, and it was signed Gilbert +Deyes.</p> + +<p>“Jean le Roi was free yesterday. Left immediately for England.”</p> + +<p>Macheson looked up. He did not understand.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span></p><p>“And who,” he asked, “is Jean le Roi?”</p> + +<p>She looked him in the eyes.</p> + +<p>“My husband,” she told him quietly. “At least that is what I suppose the +law would say that he was.”</p> + +<p>Macheson had been prepared for something surprising, but not for this. +He looked at her incredulously. He found himself aimlessly repeating her +words.</p> + +<p>“Your husband?”</p> + +<p>“I was married five years ago in Paris,” she said in a dull, emotionless +tone. “No one over here knows about it, or has seen him, because he has +been in prison all the time. It was I who sent him there.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t believe this,” he said, in a low tone. “It is too amazing.”</p> + +<p>Then a light broke in upon him and he began to understand.</p> + +<p>“He is in England now,” she said, “and I am afraid.”</p> + +<p>“Jean le Roi?” he muttered.</p> + +<p>“King of the Apaches,” she answered bitterly. “‘The greatest rogue in +Paris,’ they said, when they sentenced him.”</p> + +<p>“Sentenced him!” he repeated, bewildered.</p> + +<p>“He has been in prison since the day we were married,” she continued. +“It was I who sent him there.”</p> + +<p>He bowed his head. He felt that it was not right to look at her. An +infinite wave of tenderness swept through his whole being. He was +ashamed of his past thoughts of her, of his hasty <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span>judgments. All the +time she had been carrying this in her bosom. Her very pride seemed to +him now magnificent. He felt suddenly like a querulous child.</p> + +<p>“What can I do to help you?” he asked softly.</p> + +<p>She came a little nearer to him.</p> + +<p>“I am afraid,” she said, dropping her voice almost to a whisper. “Ever +since I heard the story of his life, as it was told in court, I have +been afraid. When he was taken, he swore to be revenged. For the last +twenty-four hours I have felt somehow that he was near! Read this!”</p> + +<p>She passed him a letter. The notepaper was thick and expensive, and +headed by a small coronet.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“My dearest wife,” it began. “At last this miserable separation +comes to an end! I am here in London, on my way to you! Prepare +to throw yourself into my arms. How much too long has our +happiness been deferred!</p> + +<p>“I should have been with you before, dear Wilhelmina, but for +more sordid considerations. I need money. I need money very +badly. Send me, please, a thousand pounds to-morrow between +three and four—or shall I come and fetch it, and you?</p> + +<p>“As you will.</p> + +<p class="right"><span style="margin-right: 2em;">“Your devoted husband,</span><br /> +“Jean.”</p></div> + +<p>He gave her back the letter gravely.</p> + +<p>“What was your answer?” he asked.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span></p><p>“I sent nothing,” she declared. “I did not reply. But I am +afraid—horribly afraid! He is a terrible man. If we were alone, he +would kill me as you or I would a fly. If only they could have proved +the things at the trial which were known to be true, he would never have +seen the daylight again. But even the witnesses were terrified. They +dared not give evidence against him.”</p> + +<p>“Will you tell me,” Macheson asked, “how it all came about? Not unless +you like,” he added, after a moment’s hesitation. “Not if it is painful +to you.”</p> + +<p>She sat down upon the couch, curling herself up at the further end of +it, and building up the pillows at the further end to support her head. +Against the soft green silk, her face was like the face of a tired +child. Something seemed to have gone out of her. She was no longer +playing a part—not even to him—not even to herself. There was nothing +left of the woman of the world. It was the child who told him her story.</p> + +<p>“You must listen,” she said, “and you may laugh at me if you like, but +you must not be angry. My story is the story of a fool! Sit down, +please—at the end of the couch if you don’t mind! I like to have you +between me and the door.”</p> + +<p>He obeyed her in silence, and she continued. She spoke like a child +repeating her lesson. She held a crumpled-up lace handkerchief in her +hand, and her eyes, large and intent, never left his.</p> + +<p>“This is the story of a girl,” she said, “an orphan <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span>who went abroad +with a chaperon to travel in Europe and perfect her French. In Paris the +chaperon fell ill, the girl hired a guide recommended by the hotel, to +show her the sights.</p> + +<p>“They saw all that the tourist sees, and the chaperon was still ill. The +girl thought that she would like to see something of the Parisians +themselves; she was tired of Cook’s English people and Americans. So she +gave the guide money to buy himself clothes, and bade him take her to +the restaurants and places where the world of Paris assembled. It was +known at the hotel, perhaps through the servants, that the girl was +rich. The guide heard it and told some one else. Between them they +concocted a plot. The girl was to be the victim. She was only eighteen.</p> + +<p>“One day they were lunching at the Café de Paris—the guide and the +girl—when a young man entered. He was exceedingly handsome, and very +wonderfully turned out after the fashion of the French dandy. The guide, +as the young man passed, rose up and bowed respectfully. The young man +nodded carelessly. Then he saw the girl, and he looked at her as no man +had ever looked before. And the girl ought to have been angry, but +wasn’t.</p> + +<p>“She asked the guide who the young man was. He told her that it was the +Duke of Languerois, head of one of the oldest families in France. His +father and grandfather, and for a time he himself, had been in their +service! The girl looked across at the young man with interest, and the +young man returned her gaze. That was what he was there for.</p> + +<p>“As they left the restaurant her guide fell behind <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span>for a moment, and +when she looked round she saw him talking to the young man. Of course +she wanted to know what they had been saying, and with much apparent +reluctance the guide told her. The young man had been inquiring about +mademoiselle, where they spent their time, how he could meet them. Of +course he had told nothing. But the young man was very persistent and +very much in earnest! She encouraged the guide to talk about him, and +she believed what she was told. He was rich, noble, adored in French +society, and he was in love with mademoiselle. She was very soon given +to understand this.</p> + +<p>“For several days the young man was always in evidence. He was perfectly +respectful, he never attempted to address her. It was all most cunningly +planned. Then one evening, when she was driving with her guide through a +narrow street, a man sprang suddenly upon the step of her carriage and +snatched at her jewels. Another on the other side had passed his arm +round the guide’s neck and almost throttled him, and a third was +struggling with the coachman. It was one of those lightning-like attacks +by Apaches, which were common enough then—at least it seemed like one. +The girl screamed, and, of course, the young man, who had been following +in another voiture, appeared. One of the thieves he threw on to the +pavement, the others fled. And the young man was a hero! It was well +arranged!”</p> + +<p>Her voice broke for a moment, and Macheson moved uneasily upon the sofa. +If he could he would have stopped her. He could guess as much of the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span>miserable story as it was necessary for him to know! But she ignored +his threatened interruption. She was determined, having kept her secret +for so long, that he should know now the whole truth.</p> + +<p>“After that, things moved rapidly. The girl was as near her own mistress +as a child of her age could be. She was lonely and the young man proved +a delightful companion. He had many attractive gifts, and he knew how to +make use of them. All the time he made love to her. For a time she +resisted, but she had very little chance. She was just at the age when +all girls are more or less fools. In the end she consented to a secret +marriage. Afterwards he was to take her to his family. But that time +never came.</p> + +<p>“They were married at eleven o’clock one morning, and went afterwards to +a café for déjeûner. The young man that day was ill at ease and nervous. +He kept looking about him as though he was afraid of being followed. He +spoke vaguely of danger from the anger of his noble relations. They were +scarcely seated at luncheon before a man came quietly into the place and +whispered a few words in his ear. Whatever those few words were, the +young man went suddenly pale and called for his hat and stick. He wrote +an address on a piece of paper and gave it to the girl. He begged her to +follow him in an hour—he would introduce her then to his friends. And +he left her alone. The girl was troubled and uneasy. He had gone off +without even paying for the luncheon. He had the air of a desperate man. +She began to realize what she had done.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span></p><p>“She was preparing to depart when an Englishman, who had been +lunching at the other end of the room, came over, and, with a word +of apology, sat down by her side. He saw that she was young, and a +fellow-countryman, and he told her very gravely that he was sure she +could not be aware of the character of the man with whom she had been +lunching. Her eyes grew wide open with horror. The man, he said, was the +illegitimate son of a French nobleman, and his mother had been married +to a guide—her guide! He had perhaps the worst character of any man in +Paris. He had been tried for murder, imprisoned for forgery, and he was +now suspected of being the leader of a band of desperate criminals who +were dreaded all over Paris. This and other things he told her of the +man whom she had just married. The girl listened as though turned to +stone, with the piece of paper which he had given her crumpled up in her +hands. Then the police came. They asked her questions. She pretended at +first to know nothing. At last she addressed the commissionary. If she +gave him the address where this young man could be found, he and all his +friends, might she depart without mention being made of her, or her name +appearing in any way? The commissionary agreed, and she gave him the +piece of paper. The Englishman—it was Gilbert Deyes—took her back to +her hotel, and the police captured Jean le Roi and the whole band of his +associates. The girl returned to England that night. Jean le Roi was +sentenced to six years’ penal servitude. His time was up last week.”</p> + +<p>“What a diabolical plot!” Macheson exclaimed. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span>“But the marriage! It +could have been annulled, surely?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps,” she answered, “but I did not dare to face the publicity. I +felt that I should never be able to look any one in the face again. I +had given my name to the guide Johnson as Clara Hurd. I hoped that they +might never find me.”</p> + +<p>“They cannot do you any harm,” Macheson declared. “Let me go with you to +the lawyers. They will see that you are not molested.”</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p>“It is not so easy,” she said. “The marriage was quite legal. To have it +annulled I should have to enter a suit. The whole story would come out. +I could never live in England afterwards.”</p> + +<p>“But you don’t mean,” he protested, “to remain bound to this blackguard +all your life!”</p> + +<p>“How can I free myself,” she asked, “except by making myself the +laughing-stock of the country?”</p> + +<p>“Why did you send for me?” he asked bluntly.</p> + +<p>“To ask for your advice—and to protect me,” she added, with a shiver. +“It is not only money that Jean le Roi wants! It is vengeance because I +betrayed him.”</p> + +<p>“As for that, I won’t leave you except when you send me away,” he +declared. “And my advice! If you want that, the right thing to me seems +simple enough. Go at once to your lawyers. They will tell you the proper +course. At the worst, the man could be bought off for the present.”</p> + +<p>She raised her head.</p> + +<p>“I will not give him one penny,” she declared. “I have always sworn +that.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span></p><p>“But I’m afraid if you won’t try to divorce him that he can claim some,” +Macheson said.</p> + +<p>“Then he must come and take it by force,” she declared.</p> + +<p>There was silence between them. Then she rose to her feet and came and +stood before him.</p> + +<p>“I ought to have told you all this long ago,” she said simply. “To-day I +felt that I must tell you without another hour’s delay. Now that you +know, I am not so terrified. But you must promise to come and see me +every day while that brute remains in London.”</p> + +<p>“Yes! I promise that,” he answered, also rising to his feet.</p> + +<p>They heard her maid moving about in the bedroom.</p> + +<p>“Hortense is reminding me that I must dress for dinner,” she remarked +with a faint smile. “One must dine, you know, even in the midst of +tragedies.”</p> + +<p>Macheson prepared to take his departure.</p> + +<p>“I shall come to-morrow,” he said, “if you do not send for me before.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<h3>BEHIND THE PALM TREES</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">L</span>ady Peggy was fussing round the drawing-room, talking to all her guests +at once.</p> + +<p>“I haven’t the least idea who takes anybody in,” she declared. “James +said he’d see to that, so you might just as well put your hand in a +lucky-bag. And I’m not at all sure that you’ll get any dinner. I’ve got +a new <i>chef</i>—drives up in a high dogcart with such a sweet little +groom. He may be all right. Jules, the maître d’hôtel at Claridge’s, got +him for me, and, Wilhelmina, sooner than come out like a ghost, I’d +really take lessons in the use of the rouge-pot. My new maid’s a perfect +treasure at it. No one can ever tell whether my colour’s natural or not. +I don’t mind telling you people it generally isn’t. But anyhow, it isn’t +daubed on like Lady Sydney’s—makes her look for all the world like one +of ‘ces dames,’ doesn’t it? I’m sure I’d be afraid to be seen speaking +to her if I were a man. Gilbert,” she broke off, addressing Deyes, who +was just being ushered in, “how dare you come to dinner without being +asked? I’m sure I have not asked you. Don’t say I did, now. You refused +me eight times running, and I crossed you off my list.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span></p><p>Deyes held out a card as he bowed over his hostess’s fingers.</p> + +<p>“My dear lady,” he said, “here is the proof that I am not an intruder. I +am down to take in our hostess of Thorpe!”</p> + +<p>“You have bribed James,” she declared. “I hope it cost you a great deal +of money. I will not believe that I asked you. However, since you are +here, go and tell Wilhelmina some of your stories. I hate pale cheeks, +and Wilhelmina blushes easily. No use looking at the clock, Duke. Dinner +will be at least half an hour late, I’m sure. These foreign <i>chefs</i> have +no idea of punctuality. What’s that? Dinner served! Two minutes before +time. Well, we’re all here, aren’t we? I knew it would be either too +early or too late. Duke, you will have to take me in. By the time we get +there the soup will probably be cold. You’d better pray that we’re +starting with caviare and oysters! Such a slow crowd, aren’t they—and +such chatterboxes! I wish they’d move on a little faster and talk a +little less. No! Only thirty. Nice sociable number, I call it, for a +round table. I asked Victor Macheson, the man who’s so rude to us all +every Thursday afternoon for a guinea a time—I don’t know why we pay it +to be abused,—but he wouldn’t come. I met him before he developed, and +I don’t think he liked me.”</p> + +<p>“You got my telegram?” Deyes asked, as he unfolded his napkin.</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina nodded.</p> + +<p>“Yes!” she answered. “It was very good of you to warn me. I have had—a +letter already. The campaign has begun.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span></p><p>Deyes nodded.</p> + +<p>“Chosen your weapons yet?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“I haven’t much choice, have I?” she answered, a little bitterly. “I +fight, of course.”</p> + +<p>Deyes was carefully scanning the menu through his horn-rimmed eyeglass.</p> + +<p>“Becassine à la Broche,” he murmured. “I must remember that.”</p> + +<p>Then he turned in his chair and looked at Wilhelmina.</p> + +<p>“You are worrying,” he declared abruptly.</p> + +<p>She shrugged her shoulders, alabaster white, rising from the unrelieved +black of her velvet gown.</p> + +<p>“My maid’s fault,” she added. “I ought to have worn white. Of course I’m +worrying. I don’t care about carrying the signs of it about with me +though. I think I shall have to adopt Peggy’s advice, and go to the +rouge-pot.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps,” he said deliberately, “it will not be necessary.”</p> + +<p>She looked up at him quickly. His words sounded encouraging.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“I mean that a way may be found to induce a certain gentleman to return +to his native country and stay there,” Deyes said smoothly. “After +dinner we are going to have some talk. Please oblige me now by +abandoning the discussion and eating something. Ah! that champagne will +do you good.”</p> + +<p>Her neighbour on the other side addressed her, and Wilhelmina was +conscious of a sudden lightening <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span>of the load upon her heart. Like every +one else, she had confidence in this tall, self-contained man whose life +was somewhat of a mystery even to his friends, and who had about him +that suggestion of power which reticence nearly always brings. He was +going to help her. She pushed all those miserable thoughts away from +her. She became herself again.</p> + +<p>“Let no one imagine,” Lady Peggy said, carefully knocking the end of a +cigarette upon the table, “that I am going to try to catch the eyes of +all you women, and go sailing away with my nose in the air to look at +engravings in the drawing-room. You can just get up and go when you +like, any or all of you. There are bridge tables laid out for you in the +library, music and a hopping girl—I don’t call it dancing—in the +drawing-room, a pool in the billiard-room, or flirtation in the +winter-garden. Coffee and liqueurs will follow you wherever you go. Take +your choice, good people. For myself, the Duke is telling me stories of +Cairo. J’y suis, j’y reste. I’m only thankful no one else can hear +them!”</p> + +<p>The party at the great round table dispersed slowly by two and threes. +Wilhelmina and Deyes strolled into the winter-garden. Deyes lit a +cigarette and stood with his hands behind him. Wilhelmina was leaning +against the back of a chair. She was too excited to sit down.</p> + +<p>“Please!” she begged.</p> + +<p>Deyes threw his cigarette away. His face seemed to harden and soften at +the same time. His mouth was suddenly firm, but his eyes glowed. All the +boredom was gone from his manner and expression.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span></p><p>“Wilhelmina,” he said, “I have wanted to marry you ever since I saw you +in the Café de Paris with that atrocious blackguard who has caused you +so much suffering. You may remember that I have hinted as much to you +before!”</p> + +<p>She was startled—visibly disturbed.</p> + +<p>“You know very well,” she said, “that you are speaking of impossible +things!”</p> + +<p>“Things that were impossible, Wilhelmina,” he said. “Suppose I take Jean +le Roi off your hands? Suppose I promise to send him back to his own +country like a rat to his hole? Suppose I promise that your marriage +shall be annulled without a line in the newspapers, without a single +vestige of publicity?”</p> + +<p>“You cannot do it,” she murmured eagerly.</p> + +<p>“You want your freedom, then?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes! I want my freedom,” she answered. “I have a right to it, haven’t +I?”</p> + +<p>“And I,” he said slowly, “want you!”</p> + +<p>There was a short pause. Through the palms came the faint wailing of a +violin, the crash of pianoforte chords, the clear soft notes of a +singer. Wilhelmina felt her eyes fill with tears. She was overwrought, +and there were new things, things that were strange to her, in the worn, +lined face of the man who was bending towards her.</p> + +<p>“Wilhelmina,” he said softly, “life, our life, does its best to strangle +the emotions. One feels that one does best with a pulse which has +forgotten how to quicken, and a heart which beats to the will of its +owner. But the most hardened of us come to grief <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span>sometimes. I am afraid +that I have come—very much to grief!”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry,” she said quietly.</p> + +<p>He drew away and his face became like marble.</p> + +<p>“You mean—that it isn’t any use?” he asked hoarsely.</p> + +<p>She looked at him, and he did not press for words.</p> + +<p>“Is it—the missioner?” he asked.</p> + +<p>Her head sank a little lower, but still she did not answer. Gilbert +Deyes drew himself upright. He remembered the cigarette which had burnt +itself out between his fingers, and he carefully re-lit it.</p> + +<p>“I am now,” he said, blowing a cloud of blue smoke into the heart of a +yellow rose, “confronted by a somewhat hackneyed, but always interesting +problem. Do I care for you enough—or too little—or too much—to +continue your friend, when my aid will probably ensure the loss of you +for ever! It is not a problem to be hurried over, this!”</p> + +<p>“There is no need for haste,” she answered. “I know you, Gilbert, better +than you know yourself. I am very sure that you will help me—if you +can.”</p> + +<p>He laughed bitterly.</p> + +<p>“You are a good deal surer of me than I am of myself,” he answered. “Why +should I give you up to a boy who hasn’t learnt yet the first lesson of +life?”</p> + +<p>“What is it?” she asked. “I am not clear that I have graduated.”</p> + +<p>“You can see it blazoned over the portals as you pass through the +gates,” he answered, “‘Abandon all enthusiasm, ye who enter here.’ The +pathways of life are heaped with the corpses of those who will <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span>not +understand. Do you think that this boy will fare better than the rest, +with his preaching and lectures and East End work? It’s sheer +impertinence! Man, the individual, is only a pawn in the game of life. +Why should he imagine that he can alter the things that are?”</p> + +<p>“Even the striving to alter them,” she said, “may tend towards +betterment.”</p> + +<p>“A platitude,” he declared—“and hopeless!”</p> + +<p>She raised her eyes to his.</p> + +<p>“Anyhow,” she said softly, “I care for him.”</p> + +<p>He bowed low.</p> + +<p>“Incomprehensible,” he murmured. “Take your freedom and marry this young +man if you must. But I warn you that you will be miserable. Apples and +green figs don’t grow on the same tree.”</p> + +<p>He drew an envelope from his pocket and handed it to her.</p> + +<p>“Jean le Roi,” he said, “was married to Annette Hurier, in the town of +Châlons, two years before he posed before you as the Duke of Languerois. +You will find Annette’s address in there. It took me a year to trace +this out—a wasted year! Bah! you women are all disappointments. We will +go and play bridge.”</p> + +<p>Lady Peggy stared at Wilhelmina when they entered the library a few +minutes later.</p> + +<p>“What on earth have you been doing to her, Gilbert?” she demanded. +“She’s a changed woman!”</p> + +<p>“Making love to her!” Deyes answered.</p> + +<p>Lady Peggy laughed.</p> + +<p>“If I believed you,” she declared, “I’d give up this rubber and go and +lose myself amongst the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span>palms with you. Come and cut in—you too, +Wilhelmina.”</p> + +<p>But Wilhelmina excused herself. She drove homewards with a soft smile +upon her lips, and the dead weight lifted from her heart.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<h3>THE ONLY WAY</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">I</span>t was a round table, too, at which Macheson dined that night, but with +a different company. For they were all men who sat there, men with +earnest faces and thoughtful eyes. The graces of evening dress and +society talk they knew nothing of. They were the friends of Macheson’s +college days, the men who had sworn amongst themselves that, however +they might live, they would devote the greater part of their life to +their fellow-creatures.</p> + +<p>They were smoking pipes, and a great bowl of tobacco was on the table. +Few of them took wine, but Macheson and Holderness were drinking whisky. +Holderness, their senior, was usually the one who started their informal +talk.</p> + +<p>“My work’s been easy enough all the time,” he remarked, leaning forward. +“There were no end of labour-papers, but all being run either for the +trades’ unions, or some special industrial branch. I started a labour +magazine—Macheson found the money, of course—and I’m paying my way +now. I don’t know whether the thing does any good. At any rate it’s an +effort! I’ve been hearing about your colony, Franklin. I shall want an +article on it presently.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span></p><p>A tall, thin young man removed his pipe from his mouth.</p> + +<p>“You shall have it as soon as I can find time,” he answered. “We’re +going strong, but really there’s very little credit due to me. It was +Macheson’s money and Macheson’s idea. We’ve got an entire village now +near Llandirog, and the whole population come from the prisons. Macheson +and I used to attend the police-courts ourselves, hear all the cases, +and form our own conclusions as to the prisoners. If we thought there +was any hope for them, we made a note, met them when they came out, and +offered them a job, on probation—in our village. We have to leave it to +the chaplains now—I can’t spare time to be always in London. We’ve two +woollen mills, a saw-mill, and a bakery, besides all the shops, and +nearly a thousand acres of well-farmed land. At first the people round +were terribly shy of us, but that’s all over now. Why, we have less +trouble with the police in our village than any for miles around. We’re +paying our way, too.”</p> + +<p>“You’ve done thundering well, Franklin,” Macheson declared. “I remember +what a rough time you had at first. Uphill work, wasn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“That’s what makes it such a relief to have pulled through,” Franklin +declared, re-lighting his pipe. “I shouldn’t like to say how much I had +to draw from Macheson before we turned the corner. Glad to say we’ve +paid a bit back now, though. Tell us about your idea, Holroyd. They tell +me it’s working well in some of the large cities.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span></p><p>“It’s simple enough,” Holroyd answered, smiling. “It was just the +application of common sense to the laws of charity. Nearly every one’s +charitable by instinct—only sometimes it’s so difficult for a busy man +to know exactly when and how to give. I started in one of the big +cities, looking up prosperous middle-class families. I’d try to induce +them, instead of just writing cheques for institutions and making things +for bazaars, to take a personal interest in a family of about the same +size as their own who were in a bad way. When they promised, all I had +to do was to find the poor family and bring them together, and it was +astonishing how much the one could do for the other without undue +effort. There were the clothes, of course, and old housekeeping things, +odd bits of furniture, food from the kitchen, a job for one of the boys +in the garden, a day’s work for one of the girls in the house. I tell +you I have lists of hundreds of poor families, who feel now that they +have some one to fall back upon, and the richer half of the combination +take a tremendous interest in their foster-family, as some of them call +it. Sometimes there is trouble, but the world is governed by majorities, +and in the majority of cases the thing has turned out excellently.”</p> + +<p>“There’s the essence of charity in the idea—the personal note,” +Macheson remarked. “How’s the Canadian farm going, Finlayson?”</p> + +<p>“We’re paying our way,” Finlayson answered, “and you should see our +boys. They come out thin and white—all skin and bones. You wouldn’t +recognize one of them in six months! They’re good workers, too. We’ve +nine hundred altogether in the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span>North-West, and we want more. I’m hoping +to take a hundred back with me.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a grand country,” Macheson said. “I’m glad it’s part of the +Empire, Finlayson, or I should grudge you those boys. We can’t spare too +many. Hinton, your work speaks for itself.”</p> + +<p>Hinton, the only one in clerical dress, smiled a little wearily.</p> + +<p>“Sometimes,” he said, “I wish it would speak a little louder. East End +work is all the same. One feels ashamed of preaching religion to a +starving people.”</p> + +<p>Macheson nodded his sympathy.</p> + +<p>“I know what you mean,” he said. “It drove me from the East to the West. +We should preach at the one and feed the other!... Of course, I +personally have always been handicapped. I haven’t been able to +subscribe to any of the established churches. But I do believe in the +laws of retribution, whether you call them human or Divine. One’s moral +delinquencies pay one out just as bodily excesses do. Always one’s debts +are to be paid, and it’s a terrible burden the drones must carry. After +all, I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s heaps of sound moral +teaching to be drummed into our fellow-creatures without the necessity +of being orthodox!”</p> + +<p>“You speak lightly of your own work, Macheson,” Franklin said, “but +there is one thing we must none of us forget. Our schools, our farms, +our colonies, all our attempts, indeed, owe their very being to your +open <span style="white-space: nowrap;">purse——”</span></p> + +<p>Macheson held out his hand.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span></p><p>“Franklin,” he said, “I want to tell you something which I think none of +you know. I want to tell you where most of my money came from, and +you’ll understand then why I’ve been so anxious to get rid of it—or a +part of it—in this way. Did you ever hear of Ferguson Davis, the +money-lender? Yes, I can see by your faces you did. Well, he was my +mother’s brother, and he died without a will when I was a child, and the +whole lot came to me!”</p> + +<p>“A million and a quarter,” some one murmured.</p> + +<p>“More,” Macheson answered. “I was at Oxford when I understood exactly +the whole business, and it seemed like nothing but a curse to me. Then I +talked to the dear old professor, and he showed me the way. I can +honestly say that not one penny of that money has ever been spent, +directly or indirectly, upon myself. I believe that if the old man could +come to life and read my bank-book he’d have a worse fit than the one +which carried him off. I appointed myself the trustee of his fortune, +and it’s spread pretty well all over the world. I’ve never refused to +stand at the back of any reasonable scheme for the betterment of our +fellow-creatures. There have been a few failures perhaps, but many +successes. The Davis buildings are mine—in trust, of course. They’ve +done well. I’ve a larger scheme on hand now on the same lines. And in +spite of it all the money grows! I can’t get rid of it. The old man +chose his investments well, and many of our purely philanthropic schemes +are beginning to pay their way. It isn’t that I care a fig about the +money, but you must <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span>try to make these things self-supporting, or you +injure the character of those who benefit by them. Now I’ve told you all +the truth, but don’t let it go out of this room. You can consider +yourselves fellow-trustees with me, if you like. Show me an honest way +to use money for the real benefit of the world’s unfortunates, and it’s +yours as much as mine.”</p> + +<p>“It’s magnificent,” Franklin murmured.</p> + +<p>“It’s justice,” Macheson answered. “The money was wrung from the poor, +and it goes back to them. Perhaps it’s a saner distribution, for it’s +the improvident and shiftless of the world who go to the money-lender.”</p> + +<p>There was a knock at the door. The hall-porter of the club in which they +were holding their informal meeting entered and addressed Macheson.</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, sir,” he said, “but there is a young man here who +wants to see you at once. He would not give his name, but he says that +his business is urgent.”</p> + +<p>“Where is he?” Macheson asked.</p> + +<p>“In the smaller strangers’ room, sir.”</p> + +<p>Macheson excused himself, and, crossing the hall, entered the barely +furnished apartment, on the left of the entrance. A young man was +walking up and down with fierce, restless movements. He was pale, +untidily dressed, and in his eyes there was a curious look of terror, as +though all the time he saw beyond the walls of the room things which +kept him breathless with fear. Macheson, pausing for a moment on the +threshold, failed on the instant to recognize him. Then he closed the +door and advanced into the room.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span></p><p>“Hurd!” he exclaimed. “What do you want? What is the matter?”</p> + +<p>“Matter enough,” Hurd declared wildly. “I have been a fool and a +blackguard. Those two got round me—the old man and his cursed step-son! +I must have been mad!”</p> + +<p>“What have you done?” Macheson asked sharply.</p> + +<p>“She treated me badly,” Hurd continued, “made a fool of me before you, +and turned me away from Thorpe. I wanted to cry quits with her, and +those two got hold of me. Jean le Roi is her husband. She refused to see +him—to hear from him. Letty Foulton is there, and I have been allowed +to visit her. I knew the back way in, and I took Jean le Roi there—an +hour ago—and he is waiting in her room until she comes home!”</p> + +<p>“Good God!” Macheson murmured. “You unspeakable blackguard!”</p> + +<p>He glanced at the clock. It was past midnight.</p> + +<p>“What time was she expected home?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>“Soon after eleven! She was only dining out. He—he swore that he only +wanted to talk to her, to threaten her with exposure. She deserved that! +But he is a madman. When I left him I was afraid. He carries a knife +always, and he kept on saying that she was his wife. I left him there +waiting—and when I wanted him to promise that there should be no +violence, he laughed at me. He is hidden in her room. I thought that it +was only money he wanted—but—<span style="white-space: nowrap;">but——”</span></p> + +<p>Macheson flung him on one side. He caught up his hat and rushed out of +the club.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<h3>MAN TO MAN</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">H</span>ortense smiled softly to herself as she laid down the ivory-backed +brushes. What did it mean, she wondered, when her mistress went out with +tired eyes and pallid cheeks, and came home with the colour of a rose +and eyes like stars, humming an old French love-song, and her feet +moving all the time to some unheard music? It was years since she had +seen her like this! Hortense knew the signs and was well pleased. At +last, then, the household was to be properly established. A woman as +beautiful as her mistress without a lover was to Hortense an +incomprehensible thing.</p> + +<p>“You can go now, Hortense,” her mistress ordered. “I will have my coffee +half an hour earlier to-morrow morning.”</p> + +<p>“Very good, madame,” the girl answered. “There is nothing else to-night, +then?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing, thank you,” Wilhelmina answered. “You had better go to bed +now. I have been keeping you up rather late the last few evenings. We +must both turn over a new leaf.”</p> + +<p>Hortense departed, smiling to herself. It was always like this—when it +came. One thought of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span>others and one wanted to be alone. She, too, +hummed a few bars of that love-song as she climbed the stairs to her +room.</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina rose from her chair and stood for a moment looking at herself +in the long, oval looking-glass. Hortense had chosen for her a French +dressing-jacket, with the palest of light blue ribbons drawn through the +lace. Wilhelmina looked at herself and smiled. Was it the light, the +colouring, or was she really still so good to look at? Her hair, falling +over her shoulders, was long and silky, the lines seemed to have been +smoothed out of her face—she was like herself when she had been a girl! +She followed the slender lines of her figure, down past the lace of her +petticoat to her feet, still encased in her evening slippers with +diamond buckles, and she laughed softly to herself. What was she yet but +a girl? Fate had cheated her of some of the years, but she was barely +twenty-five. How wonderful to be young still and feel one’s blood flow +to music like this! Her thoughts ran riot. Her mouth trembled and a +deeper colour stained her cheeks. Then she heard a voice behind her, a +living voice in her room. And as swiftly as those other mysterious +thoughts had stolen into her heart, came the chill of a deadly, +indescribable fear.</p> + +<p>“Charming! Ravishing! It is almost worth the six years of waiting, dear +wife!”</p> + +<p>She began to tremble. She could not have called out or framed any +intelligible sentence to save her life. It was like a nightmare. The +horror was there, without the power of movement or speech.</p> + +<p>He moved his position and came within the range <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span>of her terrified +vision. Hurd’s twenty pounds and a little more added to it had done +wonders. He wore correct evening clothes, correctly worn. Except for his +good looks—the good looks of a devil—he would have attracted notice +nowhere. He leaned against the couch, and though his lips curled into a +sneer, there was a flame in his eyes, a horrible admiration.</p> + +<p>She tried to pray.</p> + +<p>“You are overcome,” he murmured softly. “Ah! Why not? Six years since +our happiness was snatched from us, chérie! Ah! but it was cruel! You +have thought of me, I trust! You have pitied me! Ah! how often I have +lain awake at night in my cell, fondly imagining some such reunion—as +this.”</p> + +<p>She forced herself to speak through lips suddenly pale. What strange +words they sounded, frozen things, scarcely audible! Yet the effort hurt +her.</p> + +<p>“I will give you—the money,” she said. “More, if you will!”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” he said reflectively, “the money! I had forgotten that. It was not +kind of you to run away and hide, little woman! It was not kind of you +to send me nothing when I was in prison! Oh! I suffered, I can tell you! +There is a good deal to be made up for! Pet, if you had not reminded me, +just now these things seem so little. Dear little wife, you are +enchanting. Almost you turn my head.”</p> + +<p>He came slowly towards her. She threw up her hands.</p> + +<p>“Wait!” she begged, “oh, wait! Listen! I am in your power. I admit it. I +will make terms. I will sign anything. What is it that you want? <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span>You +shall be rich, but you must go away. You must leave me now!”</p> + +<p>He looked at her steadily and it seemed to her that his eyes were on +fire with evil things.</p> + +<p>“Little wife,” he said, with a shade of mockery in his lowered tone. “I +cannot do that. Consider how you were snatched from my arms! Consider +the cruelty of it. As for the money—bah! I have come to claim my own. +Don’t you understand, you bewitching little fool? It is you I want! The +money can wait! I cannot!”</p> + +<p>He came nearer still and she shrank, like a terrified dumb thing, +against her magnificent dressing-table, with its load of priceless +trinkets. She tried to call out, but her voice seemed gone, and he only +laughed as he laid his hand over her mouth and drew her gently towards +him. With a sudden unnatural strength she wrested herself from his arms.</p> + +<p>“Oh! listen to me, listen to me for one moment first,” she begged +frantically. “It’s true that I married you, but it was all a plot—and I +was a child! You shall have your share of my money! Leave me alone and I +swear it! You shall be rich! You can go back to Paris and be an +adventurer no longer. You shall spend your own money. You can live your +own life!”</p> + +<p>Even then her brain moved quickly. She dared not speak of Annette, for +fear of making him desperate. It was his cupidity to which she appealed.</p> + +<p>“I am no wife of yours,” she moaned. “You shall have more money than you +ever had before in your life. But don’t make me kill myself! For I +shall, if you touch me!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span></p><p>He was so close to her now that his hot breath scorched her cheek.</p> + +<p>“Is it that another has taken my place?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes!—no! that is, there is some one whom I love,” she cried. “Listen! +You know what you can do with money in Paris. Anything! Everything!”</p> + +<p>He was so close to her now that the words died away upon her lips.</p> + +<p>“Little wife,” he whispered, “don’t you understand—that I am a man, and +that it is you I want?”</p> + +<p>Again she tried to scream, but his hand covered her mouth. His arm was +suddenly around her. Then he started back with an oath and looked +towards the door of her bedroom.</p> + +<p>“Who is in that room?” he asked quickly.</p> + +<p>“My maid,” she lied.</p> + +<p>He took a quick step across the room. The door was flung open and +Macheson entered. Wilhelmina fainted, but forced herself back into +consciousness with a sheer effort of will. Sobbing and laughing at the +same time, she tried to drag herself towards the bell, but Jean le Roi +stood in the way. Jean le Roi was calm but wicked.</p> + +<p>“What are you doing in my wife’s bedroom?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“I am here to see you out of the house,” Macheson answered, with one +breathless glance around the room. “Will you come quietly?”</p> + +<p>“Out of my own house?” Jean le Roi said softly. “Out of my wife’s room? +Who are you?”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 327px;"> +<img src="images/i308.jpg" class="illogap jpg" width="327" height="500" alt="The bone snapped, and the knife fell from the nerveless +fingers." title="" /> +<span class="caption">The bone snapped, and the knife fell from the nerveless +fingers. Page <a href="#Page_301">301</a></span> +</div> + +<p>“Never mind,” Macheson answered. “Her friend!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> Let that be enough. And let me tell you this. If I had come too late I +would have wrung your neck.”</p> + +<p>Jean le Roi sprang at him like a cat, his legs off the ground, one arm +around the other’s neck, and something gleaming in his right hand. +Nothing but Macheson’s superb strength saved him. He risked being +throttled, and caught Jean le Roi’s right arm in such a grip that he +swung him half round the room. The bone snapped, and the knife fell from +the nerveless fingers. But Macheson let go a second too soon. Jean le +Roi had all the courage and the insensibility to pain of a brute animal. +He stretched out his foot, and with a trick of his old days, tripped +Macheson so that he fell heavily. Jean le Roi bent over him on his +knees, breathing heavily, and with murder in his eyes. Macheson scarcely +breathed! He lay perfectly still. Jean le Roi staggered to his feet and +turned towards Wilhelmina.</p> + +<p>“You see, madame,” he said, seizing her by the wrist, “how I shall deal +with your lovers if there are any more of them. No use tugging at that +bell. I saw to that before you came! I’m used to fighting for what I +want, and I think I’ve won you!”</p> + +<p>He caught her into his arms, but suddenly released her with a low animal +cry. He knew that this was the end, for he was pinioned from behind, a +child in the mighty grip which held him powerless. “You are a little too +hasty, my friend,” Macheson remarked. “I was afraid I might not be so +quick as you on my feet, so I rested for a moment. But no man has ever +escaped from this grip till I chose to let him go. Now,” he added, +turning to Wilhelmina, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span>“the way is clear. Will you go outside and rouse +the servants? Don’t come back.”</p> + +<p>“You are—quite safe?” she faltered.</p> + +<p>“Absolutely,” he answered. “I could hold him with one hand.”</p> + +<p>Jean le Roi lifted his head. His brain was working swiftly.</p> + +<p>“Listen!” he exclaimed. “It is finished! I am beaten! I, Jean le Roi, +admit defeat. Why call in servants? The affair is better finished +between ourselves.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina paused. In that first great rush of relief, she had not +stopped to think that with Jean le Roi a prisoner, and herself as +prosecutrix, the whole miserable story must be published. He continued.</p> + +<p>“Give me money,” he said, “only a half of what you offered me just now, +and you shall have your freedom.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina smiled. Something of the joy of a few hours ago came faintly +back to her.</p> + +<p>“I have already that,” she answered. “I learnt the truth to-night.”</p> + +<p>Jean le Roi shrugged his shoulders. The game was up then! What an +evening of disasters!</p> + +<p>“Let me go,” he said. “I ask no more.”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina and Macheson exchanged glances. She vanished into her room +for a moment, and reappeared in a long wrapper.</p> + +<p>“Come with me softly,” she said, “and I will let you out.”</p> + +<p>So they three went on tiptoe down the broad stairs. Macheson and +Wilhelmina exchanged no <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span>words. Yet they both felt that the future was +different for them.</p> + +<p>“You can give Mr. Macheson your address,” Wilhelmina said, as they stood +at the front door. “I will send you something to help you make a fresh +start.”</p> + +<p>But Jean le Roi laughed.</p> + +<p>“I play only for the great stakes,” he murmured, with a swagger, “and +when I lose—I lose.”</p> + +<p>So he vanished into the darkness, and Macheson and Wilhelmina remained +with clasped hands.</p> + +<p>“To-morrow,” he whispered, stooping and kissing her fingers.</p> + +<p>“To-morrow,” she repeated. “Thank God you came to-night!”</p> + +<p>She was too weary, too happy to ask for explanations, and he offered +none. All the time, as he crossed the Square and turned towards his +house, those words rang in his ears—To-morrow!</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<h3>LORD AND LADY BOUNTIFUL</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">D</span>eyes caught a vision of blue in the window, and crossed the lawn. Lady +Peggy leaned over the low sill. Between them was only a fragrant border +of hyacinths.</p> + +<p>“You know that our host and hostess have deserted us?” she asked.</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>“They have gone over to this wonderful Convalescent Home that Macheson +is building in the hills,” he remarked. “I am not sure that I consider +it good manners to leave us to entertain one another.”</p> + +<p>“I am not sure,” she said, “that it is proper. Wilhelmina should have +considered that we are her only guests.”</p> + +<p>She sat down in the window-sill and leaned back against the corner. She +had slept well, and she was not afraid of the sunshine—blue, too, was +her most becoming colour. He looked at her admiringly.</p> + +<p>“You are really looking very well this morning,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” she answered. “I was expecting that.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span></p><p>“I wonder,” he said, “how you others discover the secret of eternal +youth. You and Macheson and Wilhelmina all look younger than you did +last year. I seem to be getting older all by myself.”</p> + +<p>She looked at him critically. There were certainly more lines about his +face and the suspicion of crow’s-feet about his tired eyes.</p> + +<p>“Age,” she said, “is simply a matter of volition. You wear yourself out +fretting for the impossible!”</p> + +<p>“One has one’s desires,” he murmured.</p> + +<p>“But you should learn,” she said, “to let your desires be governed by +your reason. It is a foolish thing to want what you may not have.”</p> + +<p>“You think that it is like that with me?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“All the world knows,” she answered, “that you are in love with +Wilhelmina!”</p> + +<p>“One must be in love with someone,” he remarked.</p> + +<p>“Naturally! But why choose a woman who is head and ears in love with +some one else?”</p> + +<p>“It cannot last,” he answered, “she has married him.”</p> + +<p>Lady Peggy reached out for a cushion and placed it behind her head.</p> + +<p>“That certainly would seem hopeful in the case of an ordinary +woman—myself, for instance,” she said. “But Wilhelmina is not an +ordinary woman. She always would do things differently from other +people. I don’t want to make you more unhappy than you are, but I +honestly believe that Wilhelmina is going to set a new fashion. She is +going to try and re-establish the life domestic amongst the upper +classes.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span></p><p>“She always was such a reformer,” he sighed.</p> + +<p>Lady Peggy nodded sympathetically.</p> + +<p>“Of course, one can’t tell how it may turn out,” she continued, “but at +present they seem to have turned life into a sort of Garden of Eden, and +do you know I can’t help fancying that there isn’t the slightest chance +for the serpent. Wilhelmina is so fearfully obstinate.”</p> + +<p>“The thing will cloy!” he declared.</p> + +<p>“I fancy not,” she answered. “You see, they don’t live on sugar-plums. +Victor Macheson is by way of being a masterful person, and Wilhelmina is +only just beginning to realize the fascination of being ruled. Frankly, +Gilbert, I don’t think there’s the slightest chance for you!”</p> + +<p>He sighed.</p> + +<p>“I am afraid you are right,” he said regretfully. “I began to realize it +last night, when we went into the library unexpectedly, and Wilhelmina +blushed. No self-respecting woman ought to blush when she is discovered +being kissed by her own husband.”</p> + +<p>“Wilhelmina,” Lady Peggy said, stretching out her hand for one of Deyes’ +cigarettes, “may live to astonish us yet, but of one thing I am +convinced. She will never even realize the other sex except through her +own husband. I am afraid she will grow narrow—I should hate to write as +her epitaph that she was an affectionate wife and devoted mother—but I +am perfectly certain that that is what it will come to.”</p> + +<p>“In that case,” Deyes remarked gloomily, “I may as well go away.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span></p><p>“No! I shouldn’t do that,” Lady Peggy said. “I should try to alter my +point of view.”</p> + +<p>“Direct me, please,” he begged.</p> + +<p>“I should try,” she continued, “to put a bridle upon my desires and take +up the reins. You could lead them in a more suitable direction.”</p> + +<p>“For instance?”</p> + +<p>“There is myself,” she declared.</p> + +<p>He laughed quietly.</p> + +<p>“You!” he repeated. “Why, you are the most incorrigible flirt in +Christendom. You would no more tie yourself up with one man than enter a +nunnery.”</p> + +<p>She sighed.</p> + +<p>“I have always been misunderstood,” she declared, looking at him +pathetically out of her delightful eyes. “What you call my flirtations +have been simply my attempts, more or less clumsy, to gain a husband. I +have been most unlucky. No one ever proposes to me!”</p> + +<p>He laughed derisively.</p> + +<p>“Your victims have been too loquacious,” he replied. “How about Gayton, +who went to Africa because you offered to be his friend, and Horris—he +came to my rooms to tell me all about it the day you refused him, and +Sammy Palliser—you treated him shockingly!”</p> + +<p>“I had forgotten them,” she admitted. “They were nice men, too, all of +them, but they all made the same mistake. I remember now they did +propose to me. That, of course, was fatal.”</p> + +<p>“I scarcely see——” he began.</p> + +<p>She patted him gently on the arm.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span></p><p>“My dear Gilbert,” she said, “haven’t I always said that I never intend +to marry any one who proposes to me? When I have quite made up my mind, +I am going to do the proposing myself!”</p> + +<p>“Whether it is Leap Year or not?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Decidedly!” she answered. “Men can always shuffle out of a Leap Year +declaration. My man won’t be able to escape. I can promise you that.”</p> + +<p>“Does he—exist then?” Deyes asked.</p> + +<p>She laughed softly.</p> + +<p>“He’s existed for a good many years more than I have,” she answered. “I +wasn’t thinking of marrying a baby.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! Does he know?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m not sure,” she said thoughtfully. “He ought to, but he’s such +a stupid person.”</p> + +<p>It was then that Gilbert Deyes received the shock of his life. He +discovered quite suddenly that her eyes were full of tears. For the +first time for many years he nearly lost his head.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps,” he suggested, dropping his voice and astonished to find that +it was not quite so steady as usual, “he has been waiting!”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid not,” she answered, looking down for a moment at the buckle +in her waistband.</p> + +<p>He looked round.</p> + +<p>“If only he were here now,” he said. “Could one conceive a more +favourable opportunity? An April morning, sunshine, flowers, everything +in the air to make him forget that he is an old fogey and doesn’t +<span style="white-space: nowrap;">deserve——”</span></p> + +<p>She lifted her eyes to his, now deliciously wet. Her brows were +delicately uplifted.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span></p><p>“I couldn’t do it,” she murmured, “unless he were in the same room.”</p> + +<p>Deyes stepped over the hyacinths and vaulted through the window.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>Wilhelmina selected a freshly cut tree-stump, carefully brushed away the +sawdust, and sat down. Macheson chose another and lighted a cigarette. +Eventually they decided that they were too far away, and selected a +tree-trunk where there was room for both. Wilhelmina unrolled a plan, +and glancing now and then at the forest of scaffold poles to their left, +proceeded to try to realize the incomplete building. Macheson watched +her with a smile.</p> + +<p>“Victor,” she exclaimed, “you are not to laugh at me! Remember this is +my first attempt at doing anything—worth doing, and, of course, I’m +keen about it. Are you sure we shall have enough bedrooms?”</p> + +<p>“Enough for a start, at any rate,” he answered. “We can always add to +it.”</p> + +<p>She looked once more at that forest of poles, at the slowly rising +walls, through whose empty windows one could see pictures of the valley +below.</p> + +<p>“One can build——” she murmured, “one can build always. But think, +Victor, what a lot of time I wasted before I knew you. I might have done +so much.”</p> + +<p>He smiled reassuringly.</p> + +<p>“There is plenty of time,” he declared. “Better to start late and build +on a sure foundation, you know. A good many of my houses had to come +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span>down as fast as they went up. Do you remember, for instance, how I +wanted to convert all your villagers by storm?”</p> + +<p>She smiled.</p> + +<p>“Still—I’m glad you came to try,” she said softly. “That horrid foreman +is watching us, Victor. I am going to look the other way.”</p> + +<p>“He has gone now,” Macheson said, slipping his arm around her waist. +“Dear, do you know I don’t think that one person can build very well +alone. It’s a cold sort of building when it’s finished—the life built +by a lonely man. I like the look of our palace better, Wilhelmina.”</p> + +<p>“I should like to know where my part comes in?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Every room,” he answered, “will need adorning, and the lamps—one +person alone can never keep them alight, and we don’t want them to go +out, Wilhelmina. Do you remember the old German, who said that beautiful +thoughts were the finest pictures to hang upon your walls? Think of next +spring, when we shall hear the children from that miserable town running +about in the woods, picking primroses—do you see how yellow they are +against the green moss?”</p> + +<p>Wilhelmina rose.</p> + +<p>“I must really go and pick some,” she said. “What about your pheasants, +Victor?”</p> + +<p>He laughed.</p> + +<p>“I’ll find plenty of sport, never fear,” he answered, “without keeping +the kiddies shut out. Why, the country belongs to them! It’s their +birthright, not ours.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span></p><p>They walked through the plantation side by side. The ground was still +soft with the winter’s rains, but everywhere the sunlight came sweeping +in, up the glade and across the many stretching arms of tender +blossoming green. The ground was starred with primroses, and in every +sheltered nook were violets. A soft west wind blew in their faces as +they emerged into the country lane. Below them was the valley, hung with +a faint blue mist; all around them the song of birds, the growing sounds +of the stirring season. Stephen Hurd came cantering by, and stopped for +a moment to speak about some matter connected with the estates.</p> + +<p>“My love to Letty,” Wilhelmina said graciously, as he rode off. Then she +turned to Macheson.</p> + +<p>“Stephen Hurd is a little corner in your house,” she remarked.</p> + +<p>“In our house,” he protested. “I should never have considered him if he +had not worked out his own salvation. If he had reached me ten minutes +<span style="white-space: nowrap;">later——”</span></p> + +<p>She gripped his arm.</p> + +<p>“Don’t,” she begged.</p> + +<p>He laughed.</p> + +<p>“Don’t ever brood over grisly impossibilities,” he said. “The man never +breathed who could have kept you from me. Across the hills home, or are +your shoes too thin?”</p> + +<p>He swung open the gate, and they passed through, only to descend the +other side, along the broad green walk strewn with grey rocks and +bordered with gorse bushes, aglow with yellow blossom. They skirted the +fir plantation, received the respectful <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span>greetings of Mrs. Green at the +gamekeeper’s cottage, and, crossing the lower range of hills, approached +the house by the back avenue. And Wilhelmina laughed softly as they +passed along the green lane, for her thoughts travelled back to one wild +night when, with upraised skirts and flying, trembling footsteps, she +had sped along into a new world. She clung to her husband’s arm.</p> + +<p>“I came this way, dear, when I set out that night—to kiss you.”</p> + +<p>He stooped down and kissed her full on the lips.</p> + +<p>“A nice state you flung me into,” he remarked.</p> + +<p>“It was rather an exciting evening,” she said demurely.</p> + +<p>They walked straight into the morning-room, which was indiscreet, and +Wilhelmina screamed.</p> + +<p>“Peggy,” she cried, “Peggy, you bad girl!”</p> + +<p>The two women went off together, of course, to talk about it, and Deyes +and Macheson, like Englishmen all the world over, muttered something +barely comprehensible, and then looked at one another awkwardly.</p> + +<p>“Care for a game of billiards?” Macheson suggested.</p> + +<p>“Right oh!” Deyes answered, in immense relief.</p> + +<h3>THE END</h3> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Transcriber’s Note:</span></h3> + +<p>Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters’ errors; otherwise, +every effort has been made to remain true to the author’s words and intent.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Missioner, by E. 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